i had a request!! hopefully you could get to it. i was thinking about a fic with Kingfisher and reader where he finds out reader is pregnant and how he acts during the pregnancy and maybe some smut for my dirty whore self🤭😏😏 seeing as i am a very big whore for this man right here.
Summary: Your mate was protective enough over just you; bringing a baby into the mix? You can only imagine how feral Fisher could get.
SR’s Note: Soooo when I went and saw Wuthering Heights, this song IMMEDIATELY went with this request inside my brain, lol -- steamy movie, and a steamy request. I also wrote this while ovulating, so I hope that helps? HAHAH anyways, tmi per usual... I just hope y'all like this one. <3 Haven't gotten to write for Fisher in a minute. (Edit to add: I am truly not feeling well today, and definitely not in a space to try and write the second to last Selection chapter but I didn’t want to leave you all with ✨nothing✨ lmao so I finished this little *piece* up that’s been in my drafts, so I could at least give ya something. Enjoy!)
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @spookypersondinosaur @bookishbishhh (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
To say your husband had over reacted when first told the news would be the understatement of the century.
You'd waited until things had settled between the Fae courts and Sanasroth, waited until a quiet evening when not even Archer was around to interrupt; and that was when you told him.
A child, you admitted. The two of you would soon share a child.
He'd been elated, sure -- you would've hoped as much, being both mated and married for a few good years now. And with the Blood Court not posing as much of a threat to Yvelia, it seemed the Winter Palace would be the perfect place to begin preparing for your unborn child's arrival.
Everything seemed to just, simply fall into place.
That is, if you could ignore your husband's incessant fussing.
"I told Archer to be more careful where he walks," Fisher fussed, frowning as the little sprite scuttled from the room, leaving behind a few glowing embers in his wake. "Is he not aware just how dangerous raw Brimstone can be for a youngling?"
There were many nights like these where Kingfisher would become irritated at those he even trusted most; it didn't matter who you were, if you even so much as thought of posing a threat to his baby, he'd have something to say about it.
Signing, you placed a soft hand atop his, your gaze focusing on him rather than the buffet before you.
"Fisher, we talked about this," you said calmly, your other hand resting atop your swelling stomach. "Archer is more than capable of watchign where he steps, and his embers practically fizzle out as soon as they hit the ground. I don't think there's any need for worry-"
Fisher huffed, running a hand through his hair.
"I just want to be sure there are no safety concerns for my family -- not where our baby is concerned, or you, love."
SMiling softly, you leaned in and kissed his cheek. This is how these conversations would typically go, Fisher slipping into overprotective-dad mode, and just needing a little calm-down from his wife, which you were always happy to give.
:* ✧･ﾟ: *
However, there were other times that Fisher found himself slipping into a different role, other than overbearing father; man with many hats, this guy was. It seemed if he wasn't consumed with thoughts of your child, or criticizing others for how they acted so near his pregnant wife, he was, well... reminding you just how much he liked seeing you pregnant, to put it plainly.
Much like tonight, it seemed.
The inkwell tipped over with a soft clink, black ink spilling over the edge of the oaken desk. Kingfisher didn’t even flinch, he just plucked the ruined parchment up before the ink could bleed further, his fingers rather careful despite the growing mess.
“Third one today,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. "You'd think by now I'd be a pro at signing these things." The corner of his mouth twitched when you snorted.
“Maybe stop signing documents like you’re stabbing them,” you suggested, leaning against the edge of his desk. The weight of your belly pressed into the wood, a silent reminder neither of you needed yet always noticed. His gaze flicked down and lingered, then dragged back up to your face with deliberate slowness.
“I don’t stab,” he deadpanned. “I emphasize.”
You rolled your eyes, but the laughter bubbled up anyway.
"Besides," he continued, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip as his eyes fixated on your (rather large, given how far along you were) cleavage. "My mind is... elsewhere tonight."
Outside, the distant hum of the ballroom seeped through the study door. The music, chatter, the clink of glasses -- it was all a celebration Tal had organized, though you’d lost track of him halfway through the evening. Kingfisher had whisked you away under the pretense of needing your opinion on incoming trade agreements; but the second the door of his study had shut, he’d dragged you into a kiss that tasted like weeks of pent up need.
His thumb brushed your lower lip, and you caught his wrist before he could pull back.
"You're avoiding the party," you accused, though your voice lacked any real bite. The pad of his thumb pressed gently against your throat, feeling your gentle heartbeat beneath your delicate skin.
"And what if I am?" Kingfisher murmured, standing and stepping around the desk until the warmth of his chest pressed against your back. His free hand settled on the curve of your belly, possessive in a way that made your breath catch. "Can't blame a man for wanting to spend time with his wife alone."
The words were low and rough at the edges, but his eyes... those damn green eyes... they were so unbearably soft, the kind he only used for you.
Still, you wouldn't take the bait -- you'd been with him long enough by now to know what exactly he was playing at.
"Mhm... and, you need to do this now, when we have all night that we can be alone together?" You said, your voice a sultry tune. "You're sure this has nothing to do with Carrion-"
Fisher's hand stilled, his breath hot as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.
"That no-good smuggler had no business standing so close to my wife -- let alone, getting you laughing like that."
Ahh, so there it was.
The only sound in the darkened space was the rustle of fabric as Kingfisher’s hand resumed, sliding up your side and tracing the dip of your waist before settling at just beneath your breasts.
“You’re rediculous,” you murmured, though you didn’t really mind -- not when his gaze burned like this, like he would burn the world down if it meant having you all to himself. "You know Carrion is just a friend."
“You know I can’t help it,” he admitted, uncharacteristically earnest. "And I'm not sure he feels the same."
His hands cupped your full breasts, pressing you closer against him, your ass resting right against his tightening slacks.
“You’re going to make me ruin my dress,” you murmured, though your hands were already reaching behind your head, your fingers tangling in his dark locks.
“Good,” he muttered, nipping at your earlobe. “Then you’ll have to stay in here with me.”
The words were supported by the slow slide of his hand up and over your shoulder, fingers tangling in the pins holding your hair in place. One came loose with a soft ping, bouncing off the desk before rolling somewhere beneath it. You laughed, the sound dissolving into a gasp as his mouth trailed down your neck, canines scraping lightly over your pulse.
Kingfisher’s lips were hotter and more insistent than they had any right to be, and when he bit down just above your collarbone, your knees wobbled. His arms hooked under your thighs as he turned you around, lifting you onto the desk.
“You’re... sinful,” you breathed, but the protest was weak and half-hearted at best. Especially when his hands slid up your thighs, pushing the fabric of your gown higher. You leaned your head back, your now free-flowing locks falling loosely over one shoulder.
“And you love me for it,” he countered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your knee. The scrape of his stubble made you shiver, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your stocking. His grin was slow and predatory, but his touch was delicate like you were something precious.
Something to be worshiped.
“You’re so beautiful like this Y/N,” he murmured, lips brushing the soft skin of your thigh. “Full with my child. Mine.”
You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging until he looked up at you, his pupils blown wide.
“Kingfisher please,” you demanded, voice unsteady.
He exhaled a laugh against your skin, his tongue licking at your smooth, perfect skin.
"You're all mine, Y/N," he repeated, rougher this time like the word had been dragged through gravel. "Every inch of you."
His mouth followed the claim, trailing upward until his breath ghosted over the damp lace between your thighs. Your back arched slightly as he teased, but his free hand splayed across your belly as if to remind you both why you were here.
The distant hum of voices and music drowned out by the hitch of your breathing and the wet, open-mouthed kisses Kingfisher pressed to your inner thigh. When his teeth grazed your sensitive skin, you hissed, fingers tightening in his hair. He groaned at the pull, the sound vibrating against you, and for a heartbeat, you thought he might finally stop teasing. But then his head tilted, and his tongue swiped a slow, torturous stripe through the fabric instead.
"Fisher, fuck-"
The protest died in your throat as he hooked a finger under the lace, draggign it aside. The cool air against your bare pussy was a shock, but not half as much as the first flat press of his tongue against it. Your hips jerked, but his arm across your hips held firm, pinning you to the desk as he licked into you like a man starved.
His fingers soon replaced his mouth, thick as they pushed inside. You gasped as he crooked them just right, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.
"My baeutiful wife," he muttered, voice choked. "Fuck -- my perfect mate."
You barely recognized the noise that escaped you. The desk creaked beneath you, ink-stained papers crumpling under your grip as pleasure coiled tight in your belly, sharper from the weeks of careful avoidance.
But now? Now he was everywhere, unhinged and hungry, his free hand gripping your thigh hard enough to leave marks as he fingered you through your climax, his name a broken chant on your lips.
"Ohhh Gods, Fisher... mmmnph yes yes yes..."
The aftershocks still trembled through you when Kingfisher finally pulled his fingers free, his lips glistening as he licked each one clean. His eyes never left yours; darkened emerald, ravenous, the way he only ever looked when you were beneath him and coming undone.
He grinned coyly as he stood, kissing your swollen belly gently before readjusting your gown, and yet again reminding you exactly why you'd fallen in love with him in the first place.
Summary: You're not entirely sure what has come over you on this vacation; could it be the summer sun? The sandy beaches? Whatever it is, it has you looking at your close friend in a very, very different light.
SR’s Note: Okay guys I just went and watched the new Obsession movie and oh myyYYYYY it was so good! So creepy, but so so good and I am (for lack of a better word) obsessed, lol. I saw an edit on Tik Tok of the movie to this song, and I made this image collage a while ago when I got Pinterest inspo -- can you see where I'm headed with this? The thoughts and ideas just all fell into place for me inside my little brain, haha. I hope you enjoy this (very short) break from The Selection! xo
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @spookypersondinosaur @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
"You’re staring," Ridoc said, tipping his head back to drain the last of his drink. The ice clinked against the glass as he set it down on the small, weathered wooden table between you. His grin was lazy and sun-warmed, the kind that made your stomach do a slow little flip.
You hadn’t realized you were staring. Or maybe you had, and just didn’t quite care. The beach was quiet this late in the afternoon, most of the squad scattered; some napping in the shade of the palms, others still splashing in the turquoise shallows further down the shore. The Isle of Hedotis stretched around you like a postcard, all golden sand and swaying grass, but your attention kept snagging on the way Ridoc’s damp shirt clung to his abdomen, the way his fingers drummed absently against his muscled thigh.
"Just thinking," you said, stretching your legs out in front of you. The sun had painted your skin gold, and the salt air had left your hair in wild, wind-tangled waves.
"About?" Ridoc leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His eyes were bright with amusement, but there was something else there too, you'd realized. Something that hadn’t been there even a week ago, back at Basgiath, when the two of you were still just squadmates, just... friends.
Now?
You weren't sure what to call how you felt.
"About how you're burning," you lied, reaching out to flick a bit of peeling skin on his forearm. His skin was warm under your fingertips, and you lingered a second too long before pulling back.
Ridoc snorted, rubbing at the spot where you'd touched him.
"Bullshit. You were definitely thinking something else -- known you long enough to see all your little tells, Y/N."
He stretched, the hem of his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of tanned stomach, and you caught yourself tracking the movement before forcing your gaze back to his face.
His grin widened, like he'd noticed. "Spill it, Y/L/N."
You hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the edge of your shorts. The words stuck in your throat; how do you tell someone you've started noticing the way their laugh sounds different in the mornings, or how their knee feels pressed against yours beneath the table?
Before you could answer, a strong sea breeze sent Ridoc's drink toppling. The glass hit the sand with a dull thud, and he swore, lunging to grab it before the last of his drink could spill. You both reached for it at the same time, fingers brushing, and the contact sent an electric jolt up your arm.
"Shit," Ridoc muttered, fingers closing around the glass just as yours did. His palm was rough against yours, warm from the sun, and neither of you pulled away immediately. The silence between you stretched, thick with something unspoken, until Ridoc finally cleared his throat and sat back, glass in hand.
"Guess I'll need a refill," he said, but his voice was lower than usual, his gaze flickering to your mouth before he looked away again.
You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the space between you -- too much and not enough all at once. The wind had died down as quickly as it had come, leaving the air still and heavy, and you could hear the distant laughter of your squadmates down the shore.
Ridoc tapped his fingers against the glass again, the rhythm uneven, like his thoughts were elsewhere.
"You know," he said after a beat, "you never actually answered my question."
"Which one?" you asked, though you knew exactly what he meant.
"The one where I asked what you were thinking about." He tilted his head, sunlight catching in his tousled hair. "Before the drink disaster?"
You exhaled slowly, tracing the condenastion on your own untouched glass. The truth perched on the tip of your tongue; how you'd been thinking about the way his stubble scraped his collarbone when he stretched, how you'd memorized the exact shade of brown his eyes turned in the late afternoon light.
But admitting that felt like tipping over an edge neither of you had named yet. An edge you hadn't realize you'd come so close to, had it not been for this vacation.
"Maybe I was thinking about how you still owe me for that bet last week," you deflected, nudging his foot with yours.
Ridoc barked a laugh, leaning back in his chair.
"Oh, that's rich. You're the one who-"
He cut himself off abruptly when you lifted an eyebrow, daring him to continue. The silence stretched until his grin softened into something quieter.
"You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
The way he said it, so low and almost intimate -- it sent a shiver down your spine, despite the heat. You watched his throat work as he swallowed, the pulse flickering beneath his skin. When he spoke again, his voice was rough around the edges.
"Just tell me already, you know how the suspense kills me."
Your pulse skittered beneath your skin like one of the island's crabs. Ridoc's gaze held yours, and you realized that he wasn’t going to let you deflect this time.
"Go on," he urged, quieter now. The intensity in his voice was new, a low thrum that settled somewhere deep in your stomach. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry.
"You first," you challenged, though your voice wavered.
Ridoc exhaled sharply through his nose, a laugh that wasn’t quite a laugh. He set the glass down carefully, then leaned forward, closing the space between you until his knees brushed yours again.
"Fine," he said, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass absentmindedly. "If I'm being honest, I’ve been thinking about how you taste."
Your breath caught in your throat, the words landing like a brand against your skin. Ridoc didn’t look away, didn’t even flinch; he just held your gaze with a certainty that made your pulse thrum wildly.
The confession hung between you, raw and electric, and for a heartbeat, the entire world narrowing to the space where his knee pressed against yours.
"You..." you started, then stopped, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts. The admission was so blunt, so Ridoc, that you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, nervous and breathless.
"That’s not fair," you managed, shaking your head. "You can’t just say things like that."
"Why not?" He tilted his head, his grin sharpening at the edges. "You asked."
His thumb left the glass to trace idle circles on the table between you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. "And I’m tired of pretending I haven’t been wondering."
The honesty in his voice unraveled something in your chest. You’d spent the last week cataloging every accidental brush of his fingers, every time his laughter had curled warm and low in your ears; but hearing it laid bare like this, so unapologetically, made your stomach swoop.
"You could've just kissed me," you murmured before you could stop yourself, the words slipping out like a secret you'd been holding too tight. Ridoc's fingers stilled against the table. You focused on the space between his thumb and your wrist, close enough to feel the warmth, but not close enough to touch.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"Would you have let me?"
His voice was barely above a whisper, sandpaper-rough, and you realized then that he'd been holding back just as much as you had. The thought sent a thrill through you, that this tension hadn't been one-sided, that every lingering glance and accidental touch had been as deliberate as your own.
You didn't answer with words. Instead, you reached across the table, your fingers brushing his wrist, tracing the his sun-warmed skin. His pulse jumped under your touch.
The wind picked up again, sending a palm frond skittering across the sand behind him. Somewhere down the beach, Garrick whooped as Imogen shoved him into the shallows, their laughter carrying on the salt-stained breeze. But here, under the faded wooden canopy of the beach bar, it felt like you were the only two people in the world.
Ridoc’s gaze flicked from your fingers on his wrist to your face, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat -- then his hand turned, catching yours, his fingers sliding between yours with a certainty that made your breath stutter. His palm was calloused from years of wielding daggers, but his grip was rather gentle.
"No answer is not an answer," he murmured, though the way his thumb traced the inside of your wrist suggested he already knew.
You bit your lip, watching the way sunlight caught the gold flecks in his eyes.
"Would you really have kissed me?" you asked, your voice barely louder than the waves lapping at the shore. The question felt dangerous, but the way his fingers tightened around yours sent fireworks off thorugh your veins.
Ridoc didn’t hesitate.
"Every damn day since we got here." The admission was raw, like he’d been holding it back for too long. His free hand reached up, brushing a wind-tangled strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheekbone. The touch was fleeting, but it burned like a brand. "Especially when you look at me like that."
"Like what?" you breathed, leaning into his touch without thinking.
"Like you're trying to memorize me," Ridoc murmured, his thumb lingering at the corner of your mouth. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back up with a slow, deliberate drag that made your stomach clench. "Like you're afraid I'll disappear if you blink."
The honesty in his voice unraveled you further. You had been memorizing him -- the way the sun caught the dark stubble along his jaw, how his shirt clung to the dip of his collarbones where ocean water had pooled. The realization that he'd noticed, that he'd been watching you watch him, sent heat crawling up your neck.
His fingers tightened around yours, pulling you forward until the edge of the table dug into your ribs. You could smell the salt on his skin, the faint tang of citrus from his drink.
"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenged, but his voice was softer now, almost pleading.
You couldn't.
Ridoc exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound caught between a laugh and a sigh, and then suddenly his free hand was cupping the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your wind-knotted hair. The kiss wasn’t gentle; it was desperate, hungry, the kind of kiss that felt like finally catching fire after weeks of smoldering.
His mouth was warm as he pressed it to yours, and you melted into him before you could think better of it, your fingers tightening around his like you were afraid he’d pull away.
But he didn’t. Instead, Ridoc let go of your hand only to grab the edge of the table and push his chair back, pulling you with him as he stood. The sudden movement sent his glass toppling again, this time thudding against the sand and spilling out the remaining ice, but neither of you glanced down. His other hand slid from your neck to your waist, tugging you flush against him until you could feel the hammering of his heart through his shirt.
"You have no idea," he muttered against your lips, his voice ragged, "How long I’ve wanted to do that."
You’d spent the last week drowning in stolen glances and accidental touches, but this -- the solid weight of him against you, the way his fingers dug into your hip... this was it. This was your peak.
"Try me," you breathed, tilting your head to catch his mouth again, and Ridoc groaned low in his throat, his grip tightening.
Somewhere down the beach, Garrick let out another whoop, the sound distant but jarring enough to make Ridoc stiffen. He pulled back just far enough to glance over your shoulder, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"We should..." he started, then stopped, his gaze flicking back to your mouth. "Fuck. We should go somewhere. Unless of course you want an audience."
You didn’t answer, you just grabbed Ridoc’s hand and tugged him toward the line of palms swaying further down the beach, their leaves swaying in the wind.
His fingers laced through yours again, and the way he followed without hesitation sent another ping of excitement through you. The sand shifted underfoot, slowing your steps, but Ridoc’s grip tightened, following you forward like he couldn’t bear to wait another second.
✧･ﾟ: *
The shade of the palms enveloped you both as you stumbled into the quiet space between two leaning trunks, the air thick with the scent of salt. Ridoc didn’t give you time to catch your breath; his hands found your hips, pressing you back against the rough trunk, his mouth crashing into yours with a hunger that made your knees weak.
You gasped into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you.
"Be honest, Y/N," Ridoc murmured against your lips, his breath ragged. His thumbs traced the bare skin above the waistband of your shorts, sending shivers up your spine despite the warmth. "Tell me you’ve been thinking about this too."
You didn’t need to answer. The way you arched into him, the way your nails scraped lightly against his scalp as you kissed him again, deeper this time, was answer enough. Ridoc groaned, his hands sliding up your sides.
"Fuck," he muttered, nipping at your lower lip before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and the want in them stole your breath. "I’ve been losing my mind watching you in that tiny swimsuit all week."
Ridoc’s words curled hot against your skin, and you laughed breathlessly, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you again, deeper this time. His hands slid from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you harder against the rough bark of the palm tree, the friction sending sparks up your spine.
"You’re one to talk," you managed between kisses, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. "You’ve been walking around shirtless since we got here like it’s your job."
He grinned against your lips, teeth catching your lower lip in a teasing nip.
"And you’ve been staring." His hands slid lower, gripping the backs of your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. The sudden shift knocked a gasp from your throat, and Ridoc took advantage, slanting his mouth over yours with a hunger that left you dizzy.
The world narrowed to the heat of his body, the salt-tang of his skin, the way his fingers dug into your hips like he was afraid you’d vanish if he loosened his grip. You barely registered the scratch of bark against your back, too focused on the way Ridoc’s breath hitched when you tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged.
He groaned, the sound vibrating against your lips, and suddenly his mouth was on your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin below your ear.
"You have no idea," he muttered, his voice rough, "how many times I’ve imagined this."
His lips trailed lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, and you arched into him further, your pulse thunderign in your ears.
His words sent a shudder through you, the heat of his mouth branding you. You could feel the hard press of his hips against yours, the way his breathing had gone ragged, each exhale warm against the damp curve of your shoulder.
"Show me," you breathed. The challenge in your voice was barely there, but Ridoc caught it, his grip on your thighs tightening as he lifted you higher against the tree.
Ridoc pulled back just far enough to meet your gaze, his lips swollen from kissing, and his eyes darkened.
"Fuck Y/N, you're going to kill me," he muttered before his mouth crashed into yours again, swallowing your gasp as his hands slid up your back beneath your shirt. His palms were rough against your skin, but the way they traced your spine was achingly deliberate, like he was mapping every inch of you.
The distant sound of waves and laughter faded entirely when Ridoc’s thumb brushed the edge of your swimsuit top, his touch feather-light but electrifying. You arched into him instinctively, and he groaned against your lips, his fingers hooking under the fabric.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, though the way his breath hitched betrayed how little he wanted to.
You didn’t. Instead, you nipped at his lower lip, relishing the way his grip tightened in response. Ridoc laughed, a rough, breathless sound before his mouth found yours again, his hands finally slipping beneath the fabric. The first brush of his fingers against bare skin drew a sharp inhale from you, your nails digging into his shoulders.
His touch was searing, every brush of his fingers sending sparks skittering across your skin. You gasped into the kiss as his palm slid fully under your swimsuit top, his thumb tracing slow, maddening circles over your nipple. Ridoc’s breath hitched when you rolled your hips against him, the friction drawing a ragged groan from his throat.
"Gods above," he muttered against your lips, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh tighter. "You’re..."
The rest of his sentence dissolved into a hiss as you agian bit down lightly on his lower lip, your fingers twisting in his hair. He responded instantly, his mouth slanting over yours with renewed hunger, his touch turning bolder, more insistent. The rough bark of the palm tree dug into your back, but the discomfort was distant, secondary to the heat of Ridoc’s body pressing into yours, the way his heartbeat thundered against your chest.
When his fingers finally tugged your swimsuit top down, the warm island air ghosting over your bared skin, Ridoc pulled back just far enough to look at you, really look at you. His gaze was molten, but there was something tender that made your breath catch.
"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough, like the word had been torn from him.
Before you could respond, his mouth was on your collarbone, his lips trailing lower and lower until his tongue flicked over your nipple. You gasped, your back arching off the tree.
“F-fuck, Ridoc-“
Ridoc chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through you.
"Sensitive," he mused, his breath warm against your damp skin.
His tongue circled your nipple again, slow and teasing before his teeth grazed the sensitive peak, just enough to make you whimper. Ridoc hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, his hands tightening on your thighs to keep you pinned against the tree.
"You make the sweetest sounds Y/N," he murmured, his lips brushing your heated skin with each word. "Been imagining that, too."
You barely had time to process the confession before his mouth was on yours again, swallowing your moan as his fingers traced the waistband of your shorts. The rough pad of his thumb dipped beneath the fabric, skimming your hipbone, and your stomach muscles clenched. Ridoc grinned into the kiss, clearly pleased with himself, and you nipped his lower lip in retaliation.
He laughed breathlessly before shifting his grip, one arm hooking under your thighs as he turned, pressing your back into the sand instead of the tree. The sudden movement knocked the air from your lungs, but Ridoc was already leaning over you, his knees bracketing your hips, his gaze dark.
"Much better," he declared, brushing a streak of sand from your cheekbone with an unusual gentleness before his mouth descended on yours again.
You could taste the salt on his lips and the lingering tang of citrus from his cocktail. His hands roamed freely now, tracing the curves of your waist and the dip of your ribs like he was memorizing you by touch. When his fingers finally slipped beneath the hem of your shorts, teasing the skin of your inner thigh, you gasped, your hips lifting off the sand.
"God's above Ridoc," you chided, your eyes squeezing shut. "Are you just going to play with me all day, or do something for real?"
Ridoc's fingers stilled against your thigh, his breath hitching as he felt the way you arched into his touch.
"Someone's eager," he muttered against your lips, the words strained. He swallowed hard, his thumb tracing slow circles just above the hem of your shorts, the touch feather-light but searing. "Tell me you want this, just as bad as I do."
The plea in his voice undid you. You didn't hesitate, you just caught his wrist and guided his hand higher, your fingers trembling in his.
"Yes," you breathed, and that single word seemed to shatter whatever restraint he had left.
His mouth crashed into yours again, hungry and desperate, as his fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric. The first brush of his touch against your wet heat drew a ragged moan from your throat, and Ridoc swallowed the sound greedily.
"Good Gods," he gritted out, his fingers sliding through your slick with a slowness that made your toes curl into the sand. "Fucking tight-"
You cut him off with a roll of your hips, urging his fingers deeper, and Ridoc groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he obliged. The stretch of his fingers was perfect, just enough to make your breath stutter, and when his thumb found your clit, you nearly lost it.
"Ridoc," you gasped, fingers twisting in his dark hair.
His name tore from your lips like a prayer, and Ridoc shuddered against you, his breath hot on your collarbone.
“Say my name again,” he murmured, his fingers never slowing their torturously perfect rhythm. "Sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth."
You obliged, whispering his name like a curse, a plea -- and felt the growl vibrate through his chest as he kissed the ligth skin beneath your ear.
His thumb pressed harder against your clit, the pressure just shy of too much, and your vision blurred at the edges. Ridoc’s free hand slid up your ribs, his callouesd fingers tracing the curve of your breast before his palm settled over your racing heartbeat.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he breathed, his lips brushing your jaw. “All flushed and...” He swallowed hard when your hips bucked against his hand, your thighs tightening around his wrist. “...and wrecked, just for me.”
You gasped as his fingers curled inside you, hitting just the right spot. “You're a cocky bastard.”
Ridoc laughed and nipped at your throat.
“And you’re about to cum,” he countered, his thumb circling faster, his fingers dragging against that spot again; and Gods, he was right. The coil in your belly tightened, your back muscles clenching as the pleasure crested. Ridoc’s mouth found yours just as you toppled over the edge, swallowing your cry as you trembled beneath him, his fingers slowing but not stopping.
When his fingers finally stilled inside you, his breath was ragged against your lips as you came down from your high. His thumb brushed one last, tender circle over your clit before he withdrew, his touch lingering like he couldn’t bear to pull away entirely. Ridoc’s gaze darkened as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, his tongue sliding out to taste you off of them. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly yet again.
“Shit,” he muttered, his voice quiet like he hadn’t expected you to taste so good. His eyes found yours, and for a heartbeat, the only sound between you was the soft crashing of waves in the distance.
Then his hands were on your hips, flipping you onto your stomach with a growl that made your pulse spike. The sand was warm beneath your palms, grains sticking to your clammy skin as Ridoc settled over you, his chest pressed against your back, his hips slotting against yours with a friction that drew a whimper from your throat.
His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands slid down your sides, gripping your waist.
“We're not done,” he murmured, more command than request. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down just enough to expose the curve of your ass, and you shivered as the warm air ghosted over newly bared skin.
Ridoc’s groan was unfiltered as his palm smoothed over the swell of your ass, his grip tightening for a fleeting second before his hand left you again, instead moving to untie his own bottoms. The first brush of his cock head against your slick heat drew a gasp from you, your hips canting back into his touch on instinct.
“Someone's eager,” he teased, but his voice was strained, his own hips grinding against you in a way that betrayed how badly he wanted this too.
You whined when he finally granted you the pleasure of slipping the head past your folds, his girth beginning the delicious stretch you admittedly hadn't had in quite some time. Ridoc sighed as he inched forward, his free hand gripping your ass as he pressed himself further inside of you.
"So fucking tight," he commented again, working to control his breathing with every inch of him that disappeared inside of you. Once he'd fully sheathed himself, he drew back, slipping his length in and out of your hole once more.
You meweled at the sensation, the past few days of surpressed desires finally bubbling to the surface as Ridoc began fucking you, right there on the Hedotis sand.
"So... b-big," you babbled, your vision blurring as his pace quickened. He growled lowly, both hands resting on your hips as he brought your ass flush with his pelvis, mesmerized by the way your butt bounced with every thrust. "Gods, Ridoc -- feels so good-"
"Yeah? You like the way I fuck your tight pussy, baby?" He said softly, leaning over you once more and kissing just below your ear. You let out a sharp cry as he began moving faster, his cock ramming into you more forcefully with every passing second. Your fingers gripped at the sand beneath you, desperate for anything to hold on to -- but he didn't let up.
"Shit, so so sexy, baby," he went on, his balls slapping against your clit as he fucked the life out of you. When the feeling became too much and you felt too full, unable to hold back your desperate moans anymore; Ridoc's hand reached around, clamping down over your open mouth.
"I promise I respect you, Y/N," he uttered, his hips stuttering. "But for the next few moments, it's going to seem like I don't."
Your eyes went wide as he tugged you up off of your hands, causing you to balance yourself on only your knees as he pulled you against him. Your back was pressed to his chest, the new angle driving him deeper into your cunt and making you see stars with the way he was forcing his cock up into you. Moaning against his hand was no use; the sounds were muffled as he drove into you with all he had, his breath coming hot and ragged as his mouth pressed against your shoulder.
"Fuck," he swore, his other arm moving from your hip to wrap around your waist. "I'm filling this pussy-"
You trembled as your second orgasm ripped through you, your walls clenching around Ridoc's throbbing cock as he slowed. He grunted low and breathy as he released, warm seed painting your inner walls as he softly thrusted the last of his efforts up into you.
After a few quiet moments, he removed his hand from your mouth, instead brushing your wild hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. You slumped against him, his dick still half-hard inside of you as you sat back into his lap, welcoming his comfort as he held you against him. His soft kisses to your cheeks, nose, and then mouth again weren't anything to complain over, either.
"I... can't believe you just let me do that," he said, a soft smile playing at his lips. Despite yourself, you couldn't help but to bark a laugh at his words.
"I didn't let you do anything," you teased, eraching up and toying with a strand of his dark hair. "I told you, I don't know what's happened this vacation, but... I've been thinking about you differently, too."
This had him blushing, in that cute, boyish way you were stunned that you hadn't noticed before. It wasn't until after he'd helped you off of him and gotten you back into your clothes properly that he spoke again, his fingers threading through yours as the two of you made for the beach and your squad yet again.
"Stay with me tonight," he offered, subtly glancing at the palace where your group had rooms occupied for the next week. "I... I would like it if you'd stay the night. In my room. Only if you want to, of course."
You couldn't surpress the grin creeping onto your lips, not caring even when Garrick and Imogen halted their beach volleying to gape at the two of you. Instead, you did what felt like the most natural thing in the world; you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his awaiting lips.
His shock alone would've usually done it for you, but when his hand slid around your waist and found the small of your back, you knew that whatever was happening, was right.
"I wouldn't want to spend my night anywhere else."
Pairing(s): Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Xaden, Liam, Kingfisher, Dorian x reader
Warning(s): making out, grinding, nothing too crazy
Summary: One Princess, 17 eligible males fighting for a spot beside her throne -- who will she pick, if any of them? Make your voice heard as you help direct the narrative in this gripping new series, detailing the Selection process and all the juicy details it brings!
SR’s Note: Oh my God guys the votes were INSANELY close last chapter! What I will say is, your comments most certainly do count, and maybe one or two people are staying/leaving this episode simply due to comments cancelling out votes to go home and vice versa. Again, I reiterate that it is important to both vote and comment, as both are important! (Edit to add) I think a lot of you are not actually reading what you’re voting for right now and just clicking without understanding. The voting / commenting is the same every chapter. YOURE VOTING FOR WHO YOU WANT TO GO HOME. PLEASE READ THE ACTUAL WORDS I HAVE TYPED BEFORE JUST RANDOMLY CLICKING. ‼️ This series is READER-GUIDED, and every single vote and comment will decide the direction of this story! So please be sure to read carefully, VOTE, and COMMENT after reading (pay attention to the polls)!
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @spookypersondinosaur @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker @acourtofbatboydreams @embersofonyx @ilove4thwing @taylorkindafruity @jchameleon @bxm-2121 @liamwanrlore @pizzapizzapepperoni @glacialllamashard @classytrenchminotaur @regaltitanwarrior (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
You'd never felt so... antsy, before. So, out of place, in your own home.
Was it because there were still six men living in it, and one would soon be your husband in just a couple of weeks? Perhaps. Or, perhaps it was the knowledge that as well as becoming a wife, you'd take on another title, the weight of it feeling far heavier than you'd anticipated; Queen.
The day was sweltering, and you couldn't bring yourself to sit outside with the remaining men as they trained this morning. Not even the sight of six well-built, highly athletic, toned men could pull you from this, odd funk you'd slipped into.
Had it been the letters you'd received? Was it the act of turning away man after yearning man that did this to you? Maybe it was the ghost of Azriel's lips on yours from just a few nights ago, still lingering as he danced with you beneath the moonlight...
Or maybe it was Cassian's, when he'd laughed with you and kissed away your smiles in the peach grove last week.
...Perhaps it was the thought of Xaden, and his hands all over you as your mouths danced while the waves crashed against the rocky coast below the cliff's edge.
It could even be Liam, when you'd both taken that tumble into the fountain -- the sweet boy couldn't help but to simply pull you in, and press his lips to yours.
Or maybe it was Rhysand; sweet, sexy Rhysand. Those sinful words, whispered during a dance across a crowded ballroom floor -- the reminder of how he'd been your first kiss in quite some time actually, sneaking around in the gardens with you and pretending as though the act of getting caught couldn't outweigh the act itself.
Good God, you were in trouble.
You shook your head, wishing to clear it as you descended the long staircase to the palace cellars. Beneath the castle, your family had many rooms under lock and key -- you had your favorites, the wine cellar ranking high for sure. But your favorite room of all? It had to be the crown room.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The soft overhead lights twinkled as you pushed the heavy door open slowly, the weight of it creaking on it's hinges. Inside, you could already see the glittering tiaras of all kinds, twinkling as each crystal caught the light above; some old, ages old, and some new, just for you.
You could practically feel your shoulders relaxing as you stepped through the threshold, taking in the beautiful sight before you. Just being here, down here in the cool, darkened room -- it always brought you a sense of peace, it could calm you down even on your worst of days.
It'd been maybe 10 minutes, your thoughts eddying when a voice pulled you from your peace.
"My mother loved that one. Quite a lot, actually."
Your head whipped up as your father's silhouette stood in the doorway, leaning against the metal with the most nonchalance you'd ever seen in him. You only smiled, fond of the memory.
"I remember. It seemed grandmother always chose this one, especially for her more important events."
He breathed softly through his nose as he stepped closer. He examined the ruby-encrusted gold tiara between your fingers, his eyes watery as he recalled the welcome thoughts of his mother.
"She wore it the day you were born," he said, taking the tiara when you offered it to him. "She wore it the day your sister as born, too. She wanted to wear it on her wedding day, but... unfortunately, the jewelry didn't match the dress."
You chuckled softly at this, suddenly sad that your grandmother wasn't here to help you now. She always had the best advice, even in her old age; it'd been nearly 10 years now since she passed, but she would've been the perfect person to help you in your situation now.
Your father must've been reading you like a book, with the words that came from him next.
"I'd give anything to have her here with us now," he commented, placing the ruby and gold ornament back on it's selective pillow. "She'd be more than thrilled to see her oldest granddaughter getting married, in just a couple of weeks."
You sighed then, wishing to not think about that. You turned your attention on a silvery, pearled tiara instead -- this one looking far more ornate than the others. You didn't reach for it, however, your father followed your line of sight.
"I'm sorry -- I know you likely retreated down here to not think about that right now."
You shrugged softly, wringing out your hands.
"It's not that it's just..." you trailed off, hanging your head. "Father, I don't know how you did it. I don't know how grandma did it before you. How? How do you choose just one person, picking who you'll spend forever with, and hoping you don't choose wrong?"
Your father was quiet then, instead reaching out and plucking the pearly crown from it's case. He examined it slowly before he finally spoke again.
"My mother chose this crown on her wedding day. It matched her gown best, she said -- she only ever wore it on the day she married my father."
He paused, and instead of speaking, you waited for him to go on.
"Your mother chose this same tiara on the day we married," he said, a smile ghosting his lips. "She looked radiant; my God, I can still remember the way she looked as though it were just yesterday."
You listened and tried to take his words at what they were, not thinking too far into things. He turned to you then, placing the tiara atop your head, his fingers ruffling the long strands around your face.
"My dear girl, no one is forcing you to choose anything, should it not be what you want," he said softly, his eyes peering into yours. You felt the emotion clawing up your throat, not quite believeing your ears. "Your grandmother decided what was best for her, and then I did following her example; and I couldn't be more grateful for what this life and that choice has brought me."
You looked up at him, watery-eyed as he leaned in and kissed your forehead.
"You choose what tiara best suits Y/N, and you also choose what path best suits her, too."
He pulled back, holding your face in his hands. You weren't ashamed when a tear slid down your cheek, though your father just gave you a knowing smile. You nodded at his words, unable to speak; and you were grateful that he didn't push for further conversation.
When he left you alone again with your own thoughts, you closed the door behind him, leaning against and sliding down it. When you reached the stone floor at last, the tears came faster, your mind swirling with a million unanswered questions.
Was your father really saying what you'd been wishing for from the start? Would your parents really understand if you'd chose no man, but rather left the Selection single, and ruling the country on your own?
The thought would've sent you jumping for joy, had it been a few months ago; but, it wasn't a few months ago. You'd gotten to know these guys, really know them -- and now, you felt more confused than ever about where your heart truly lied.
To say you left the crown room with a clearer mind than you entered with later that evening would be a total and absolute lie.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The following evening, you'd been stewing when you drew your bath, took it, and then got out. Any idea of relaxation hadn't even crossed your mind, not with the Selection coming to a close in just a few short weeks and at the end of it, a wedding.
You sighed loudly as you strode into your room, only glancing at the growing pile on your desk by the window. Fabric swatches, differing pamphlets featuring "wedding flora", and dress sketches were littered amongst a million other decisions you weren't ready to make.
The queen had been frequenting your quarters, each time with a new set of decisions and a million more thoughts for you to ponder. If not that, your every moment was filled with a new meeting, a new fitting, another sit-down with the royal wedding planner and...
It was all feeling so... much. For Christ sakes, you hadn't even decided on the biggest decision of all yet; the groom.
The knock came at your door just after 9 PM, and after calming down your emotions, you called out for the visitor to enter.
No one came.
"I said come in!" You shouted, this time a bit more pointedly. Still nothing. No more persisting knocks, no noise on the other side.
You rose slowly, fearing the worst. As you stepped toward your door at once, your heart leapt as a small, brown envelope was slid beneath it.
Anger filled your entire body as you stomped over, snatched the note right up, and tore it open. A cold sense of dread washed over you as you read it, the simmering anger drying right up with every word.
You're going to make a fine queen, Y/N. I can only hope to feel your lips on mine, and our hearts joining together as one in a few very, short weeks from now.
You glared at the paper, crumpling it and throwing it at your vanity mirror.
"Yeah, you and every other male here."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You'd taken a few days to focus solely on the tasks before you; tea with the wedding planner on Thursday afternoon, a meeting with both the Queen and wedding photographer that evening, then brunch with the press again on Friday morning for the pre-wedding story release, all to be followed by a meeting with the royal correspondant about, you guessed it; stationery. How enthralling.
It was now Saturday morning, and you found yourself in the dressing room with your mother, Delancey, and the royal seamstress. Lucille's presence wasn't necessary of course, though she felt like your only reprieve during this never-ending bridesmaid dress fitting.
"Alright, Delancey, how do you feel?" The seamstress asked, scuttling to the side as Delancey turned. She beamed at the satin gown, admiring the way the cowl neck draped just perfect and the length reached just the right height.
"Oh my -- this fits quite perfect, actually," she said, still grinning as she took herself in through the floor-length mirror in front of her. You smiled softly, happy that she was happy in what she was wearing; that is, until your mother turned her attention yet again on you.
"And, what does our future queen think?"
You swallowed as every eye in the room focused on you.
"I, uh I think it looks perfect, of course," you rushed out. You wiped your palms on the skirts of your lavender gown, hoping no one would notice your claminess. Delancey smiled, twirling atop the little stage yet again; however, your mother felt unrelentless today.
"And, have you formed an opinion yet on the wine yet, or the champagne for the evening toast?" She asked, sounding innocent enough. You pressed your lips together, not quite in the mood for this conversation at the moment.
"The... moscato, is fine mother. And, the champagne... we'll use it for the toast."
Lucille figeted nervously as your mother kept speaking.
"And, the moscato -- the cherry is what you want, I'm assuming?"
You sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger.
"Yes, mother."
She nodded, making a mental note so relay the information to the chef team later. "And the evening pastries-"
"Mother!" You said exasperatedly, looking to her incredulously. "Can we for once just focus on something else? Something that doesn't require me to make a decision, or think about this wedding, or have to do with me at all?"
The room was silent, even the seamstress was looking at you in horror. You realized too late that what you said was out of line, and your heart sank even more as you watched your mother's face tighten, her next words chosen carfeully.
"Well, if you must know, this "wedding", is yours," she said, her words clipped. She stared down at the floor, not meeting your eye. "So forgive me for simply trying to help you, and all I ask is your opinion so that possibly the best day of your life will look exactly how you want it to."
You gulped back the tears that threatened to spill. Was this the pre-wedding jitters people spoke of? Were you being what the normal folk would call, a "bridezilla" right now?
You opened your mouth to speak, to spologize, to say anything -- but your mom didn't want to hear it.
"I suggest taking the evening off, Princess. It seems you could use a bit of... destressing, before we reconviene." She glanced to Lucille, who only nodded and tapped you on the shoulder, beckoning you to follow her up and out of the room. You looked to Delancey apologetically, however, even she wouldn't meet your eye.
"Mother, I-"
"I'll see you tomorrow morning, dear."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The rest of the evening was spent alone. You'd taken dinner alone in your room, bathed, and now sat before your vanity; with Lucille asking to brush or braid your hair, or do anything for you, really.
"Lucille... I'd rather like to be alone this evening, if you don't mind."
Lucille's face fell as she nodded, understanding that you needed the time. You sighed, turning to face her before she let herself out.
"Lucille... I appreciate you very much," you said, which was only met with a short nod. "I... I don't know what I'd do without you."
Lucille simply curtseyed, and unlatched the door, before walking out.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
It was late yet again, your bedside candle burnt nearly down to the wick when a soft knock came at your door. Sitting up in your bed, you set aside your novel, hoping and praying it wasn't another stranger.
"I swear, if you're here to deliver another note, just show yourself already-"
The door opened a slit, and then opened wider when Delancey met your eye. You frowned, your shoulders relaxing as your sister stood in the doorway.
"Delancey? What ever are you doing here so late in the evening-"
"Shhh," she chided, narrowing her eyes at you. "After that little stunt you pulled today with mother at my fitting, I could choose to ignore you until you apologize," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "But, I'd rather bring you something that will calm you down, knowing your big day is right around the corner."
You snorted, shaking your head.
"Delancey, I love you, but what could you possibly bring me-"
"Not what," she said, grinning slyly. "Who."
You rose from the bed as a familiar face made itself seen behind Delancey, and she quickly let him through. You wasted no time running to him as he opened his arms wide, that vexing little smirk apparent on his lips that you'd missed so much.
"Kingfisher?"
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You'd spent the next hour or so catching Fisher up on everything that had happened since he left; every man sent home, every date, all of it. When you considered censoring out a few details here or there, he only urged you on, encouraging you to lay everything out between the two of you as though they were cards on a table.
When you finished, he only sat before you quietly, his fingers scratching at his chin.
"So... there are letters, you say?" He began, his green eyes meeting yours in the dim candle light. "Do you have any idea who could possibly be sending them?"
You sighed, breathing out a long breath through your nose.
"No, not al all, actually." You paused. "Well, I presume they're coming form one of the men still living in the palace, and it must be someone Lucille or the guard trusts as they were able to be so easily let into my room to place the first one."
Kingfisher nodded slowly, his brows knitting. "And, this isn't something affecting your final decision?"
No.
Yes?
You huff. "Fisher, I don't know, honestly. If I knew who they were from, yeah, maybe. But not knowing is... truly vexing me."
He adjusted in his spot where he sat at the foot of your bed.
"Would something so simple as a letter-writer's identity help you make your decision, in the end, I mean?"
You were quiet for a long moment. You supposed he was right, as irritating as it still was when he was -- you'd never tell him that, though.
"I suppose not," you finally concluded, folding your hands in your lap. "I just... I need to send people home, and fast. With not much time left, I don't want to get anyone's hopes up-"
"Alright, then allow me to help you," he offered, grinning at you again. "That is why Delancey ordered me here on such an urgent matter anyway, right? Clearly you're having issues making decisions; would you let an old friend offer their insight, maybe give you some peace of mind?"
You relaxed against your pillows, nodding softly in appreciation. He nodded once back.
"Good. So, let's see, who do we have left... there's Dorian, right? And Azirel of course -- no surprise there," he said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. Leaning forward, you shoved his shoulder; but he only chuckled at your weak attempt and kept going.
"I think I saw Liam earlier when Delancey let me in, oh, and of course the High Lord; again, not surprised you haven't let go of that one yet."
You rolled your eyes.
"And... who am I missing?"
You cleared your throat. "Cassian, and Xaden as well."
He nodded as he remembered. "Ahh, right. Okay, so... let's say you send two more of them home by the turn of next week-"
"Two?!" You said in shock, but Kingfisher only held up a hand.
"Two," he said firmly. "Newsflash, Princess, the wedding is in two weeks. You need to start standing on your choices, and doing it fast."
You huffed, flopping back against your pillows.
"So -- who to keep. Well, I guess you could always just choose who you like most," he teased, which only earned him a glare. "Or, you could make pros and cons. Ask yourself qualifying questions; non-negotiables, make or break things."
You sat up again, taking him more seriously.
"Go on."
He shrugged. "Well, who's the person you see in the group with the most experience?"
You were quiet as you considered, and Kingfisher kept on, not necessarily needing to hear your answers, but merely wanting you to consider these things to yourself.
"Who brings you the most joy when you see them, rather on scheduled outings or otherwise?" He shrugged. "Possibly non-appropriate to ask the future queen, but... who might have more of a lustful relationship, one that will fade as time goes on and you age, as opposed to others who are more in touch with you as a person?"
You bit your lip, not liking the answers coming to mind.
"Who feels like they'll be able to shoulder the role of leader, King, and husband best -- and who are you worried may not be ready to handle all of that yet?"
Your eyes drooped as you realized what needed to be done, and the decision on the two men who'd be leaving next became crystal clear.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Kingfisher had slipped out in the early-morning hours of Sunday morning, and though you'd lost sleep as you spent most of the night talking to him, that didn't deter you from making things right at your breakfast meeting with your mother and the wedding painter.
You'd attended the meeting with high spirits, indulging your mother with every question the painter asked; where would the violinist be set up? Should she paint on the left or right side of the harp player? What time should she arrive on the big day to begin?
Once you'd answered every last question, you'd done right by your mother and apologized; the relief on her face and warmth in her hug seemed to send your world spinning in the right direction again, her support suddenly becoming one of the pillars you begun to lean on most during this entire process.
By dinner that evening, you were confident in what you needed to do next, and when everyone had finished their meal, you'd found Liam's arm and pulled him aside at once.
"Liam; a word, once you're finished?"
Liam's face lit up as he registered your presence, quickly folding his napkin and following you out into the hallway, the sunset painting the stone hallways in hues of orange and pink. He walked quietly beside you, seemingly unaware of the hard conversation to come in just a very few, short moments.
"Liam... I... wanted to thank you, for entering into the Selection to begin with," you started, staring down at the floor ahead as you spoke. "I'm... I'll be forever grateful that I got to meet someone as charming and loveable as you."
Liam grinned, his expression unfaltering. "I could say the same, Princess; I am grateful to you and your family for sharing your home with me, and allowing me the chance to get to know you more than just a name in the papers tossed on my front doorstep."
When you didn't continue, Liam paused, pulling you both to a stop.
"Is... something else going on, Princess? You know I'm here, whatever it is you need to talk to me about."
You forced yourself to meet those impossibly blue eyes, and tried to keep your lip from trembling as you forced the next words out.
"Liam... I'm sending you back home to your family, tomorrow morning."
Any and all light in Liam's face had instantly drained, his throat bobbing as his eyes searched yours for meaning.
"I... don't understand."
You bit your bottom lip to keep from getting emotional. "Liam, it's not you at all, it's... the wedding is in a few short weeks, and-"
"... I didn't make the cut," he finished, his shoulders sagging. You reached forward on instinct, hugging him and pressing your cheek to his chest.
"No, Liam, I... I truly am grateful to know you, and will forever call you a friend. No one I've ever met has had the kind heart quite like yours, nor the humor and light in their spirit. I just..."
"You're looking for the next King, is all." He nodded grimly, barely touching you as he half-hugged you back. "It's nothing to get upset over, Princess. It's your choice."
You pulled back, eyes wet as you gazed up at him.
"You have to believe me that this is a very, very hard once to make."
He nodded slowly, removing his hands from where they rested timidly on your waist, He ran a hand through his blonde locks, taking a step back from you at last.
"I do believe you, Princess."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
News that Liam had gone spread quickly, especially when he didn't join the group for the patio luncheon Monday afternoon. Unfortunately, you couldn't even confide in Delancey at this moment; she had chosen to sit next to Dorian again today, the two of them smiling at one another as though the other was the very sun in the sky.
You'd dressed in a butter yellow gown after the meal, readying for your afternoon in the library; an afternoon that, you'd set up in advance.
And thank God you did.
"I didn't take you for much of a reader."
You fixed Azriel with an unimpressed look, and he only chuckled softly as he scanned the stacks, stalking slowly just ahead of you. The library was silent, save for the clerk working near the entrance as she slid borrowed tomes back into their places among the rows.
"Really? What did you suppose I did all day then, besides being the country's Princess, that is?"
He shook his head, nonchalantly pulling a title from the top row.
"Figured you probably tried on your various gowns, or played with your many tiaras," he teased, his eyes leaving the page as they slid to you. "Or perhaps stared at your own beautiful face in your vanity mirror all day long."
You nudged him with your hip, and he laughed for real this time; the soft sound airy and delicate in the quiet space. You couldn't hide the pink staining your cheeks at his compliment, however.
"Ahh yes, all such stereotypical royal hobbies I suppose." You selected one of your favorite books from the middle row, thumbing through it's pages. "I'll have you know I am quite educated, aside from being royal and beautiful."
He smirked, his gaze roaming your face.
"Now that I don't doubt." He placed his title back where he got it, stepping forward as though in search of something else. You followed along quickly, not wanting to loose him in the endless rows; the library was nearly empty anyways, and finding him could become difficult if he'd wandered too far.
You had your nose buried in some other book when he spoke again.
"I... heard you sent Liam home this morning," he offered quietly, his skin soft as he touched your bare shoulder. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I can only imagine how hard this process must be for you."
You lifted your chin to meet his eyes, your blood singing as he didn't remove his hand from your skin.
"It... well, it's never a welcome situation to have to send people home, that's for sure," you said, glancing around and eralizing the two of you had strayed to one of the further corners of the library. "But, I suppose it gets me one step closer to making my decision on my future husband after all, right?"
Azriel's eyes had focused solely on you, his hands free of any books he'd collected as his free hand came to brush your hair back behind your ear.
"I suppose your right, Y/N," he said softly, his gaze dropping to your lips, despite his best attempts not to. "I can only be grateful you've kept me here this long, and allowed me to see the real you."
You swallowed thickly, the title turning heavy in your hand as you inched closer.
"Azriel... there's no way I would've sent you home just yet," you said, the tone more sultry than you intended. The golden light of the afternoon filtered in through the stained glass windows, painting the rows beyond in honey gold light; but just by standing before you, Azriel himself had you feeling golden from the inside-out.
"Still interested in me, then?" He teased, that rogueish grin apparent on his sensual lips. You grinned, pressing up onto your tiptoes.
"Very."
It felt natural when Azriel kissed you, as though anything else in the world could not be as important as this. His hands were gentle at first, pressing you against him as his lips danced with yours; but when your book slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a thud, he took the hint.
Your fingers tangled messily in his hair as his hands slid beneath your ass, testing at first, and then lifting as he backed you up against the heavy row of bookshelves behind you. The spines hit your back softly, his hand coming in as a barrier to the spot where you pressed against the stacks, his mouth devouring you now with unrestrained hunger.
The tiny whimper escaped your throat first, your ankles crossing as you wrapped your legs around his waist. His fingers squeezed at your ass, a soft growl rippling through him at the noise; his restraint was being tested, that was for sure.
His lips left yours in favor of kissing down your cheek, your jaw, your throat -- and once he got to the sweet spot near the base of your neck, you couldn't help the whimper that escaped you.
"Azriel,"
He paused, dark eyes meeting yours in warning as his hardening bulge pressed against your panties beneath your dress.
"Don't..." he panted, his gaze flicking to where your cleavage rose and fell below his line of sight. "Don't say my name like that, Y/N."
You widened your eyes, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as his cock throbbed.
"Mmm, and why not?" You teased, leaning in to kiss him again. "Last I checked, I'm the one in charge around here, hm?"
He gasped for breath, his eyes wild as he pressed himself against you.
"F-fuck, please -- I won't do this, Y/N, not before-"
He paused, stilling as the thought occured to you both at the same time.
Not before you're married.
You wouldn't allow him to think on it, instead pulling his lips to yours again, tugging roughly at his shirt collar.
"Az, please, I... want this," you panted, parting your lips as his tongue swept belween them. He groaned beneath his breath, the front of his slacks straining as he felt you grinding against him. God, what had come over you? You didn't care -- not one bit.
"Princess, I-"
You whimpered as you moved your hips against his, the pads of his fingers digging into your ass. He pulled back, only for a moment before gazing up at you, drunk off just the taste of your mouth alone.
"I want to know every intelligent thought in that pretty head of yours, Y/N," he mumbled, kissing you again. "Every one of your favorite books, every idea you have about running your country; I want to know it all."
You melted into him, kissing him as your heart warmed at his words. Kingfisher's questions replayed in your mind, again and again and again, but one you'd struggled with finally held clarity, right then in that moment.
With Azriel, it was never just lust between the two of you; he seemed to truly care for you as an individual, separate from your title and your crown. The physicality was there in ways of attraction too, of course -- but with him, you'd never worry about that fading, or the lack of being intellecutally interested in one another not being there to begin with.
It was then that you realized with Rhysand, all this ever was was a game of hormones; he was a leader, that was for sure. But, he had his own court, and there would be no way he'd leave that for Illea, at least not entirely.
You needed a man, a husband, who'd be there for all of it. Not just the intimacy, or the romance; the battles, the hard conversations, and the need to be by your side as you led your country down the right path.
Which is why Rhysand was the next to go, albeit far more diplomatic than you'd expected, by evening the following day.
And now? You were one week away from your coronation and wedding, with four men still living among you, not knowing which would yet walk down the aisle to you.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
(Edit to add) I think a lot of you are not actually reading what you’re voting for right now and just clicking without understanding. The voting / commenting is the same every chapter. YOURE VOTING FOR WHO YOU WANT TO GO HOME. PLEASE READ THE ACTUAL WORDS I HAVE TYPED BEFORE JUST RANDOMLY CLICKING. ‼️
Oh my GOD guys I really wasn't expecting to have to send Rhys home, but I DEFINITELY wasn't expecting to have to send home Liam!
Nonetheless, we're 1 week from the big day! VOTE for the man leaving us next chapter, and COMMENT who needs to be here for the last chapter before the finale!
Pairing(s): Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Xaden, Liam, Garrick, Dorian x reader
Warning(s): none
Summary: One Princess, 17 eligible males fighting for a spot beside her throne -- who will she pick, if any of them? Make your voice heard as you help direct the narrative in this gripping new series, detailing the Selection process and all the juicy details it brings!
SR’s Note: Again, I know this is late and I ask for your forgiveness! Only 2 chapters left after this one until the finale -- I truly do not know who will win at this point, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts! You'll come to see that The Summer I Turned Pretty heavily influenced a scene in this chapter... I just couldn't not include it. Also, let it be known that I HEAR YOU, okay -- I agree that Azriel was robbed of a dance last episode, and I fully intend to satiate all of you by the end of the day. (; This series is READER-GUIDED, and every single vote and comment will decide the direction of this story! So please be sure to read carefully, VOTE, and COMMENT after reading (pay attention to the polls)!
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @spookypersondinosaur @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker @acourtofbatboydreams @embersofonyx @ilove4thwing @taylorkindafruity @jchameleon @bxm-2121 @liamwanrlore @pizzapizzapepperoni @glacialllamashard @classytrenchminotaur @regaltitanwarrior (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
"And you mean to tell me you used our childhood play-spot for such activities?"
Delancey's voice was shrill and incredulous as she paced around your room, her eyes wide as she tried to wrap her head around your words. You rolled your eyes, straightening the ribbon you'd selected and tied your half half back with -- a pretty peach one, as you were to forego your tiara today.
"Oh Delancey, don't be so dramatic," you chided, glancing at the long silk tie in the mirror and stepping back. You ran a hand over your peach-colored gown, smoothing the minute wrinkles there. "It was only a kiss, it's not like we were-"
The knock at your bedroom door had you both gasping softly, the conversation immediately on hold as your mother's face came into view in the doorway.
"Lovely morning ladies," she greeted, stepping inside. You eyed her carefully, adjusting the last few details of your daily outfit as she took up a seat on your sofa. "Delancey, I did not expect to find you here."
Delancey scowled, rolling her eyes dramatically.
"Mother, you know how I despise the morning lessons in the kitchen," she grumbled, but your mother could only shake her head.
"Delancey, a princess knows her staff, as well as how to cook alongside them," she scolded, folding her hands neatly over her knee. "You mustn't skip your culinary lessons every week, my dear-"
Your sister put her hands on her hips, her gaze fixating on you at once.
"Mother, have you heard what's new with Y/N lately?" She announced, effectively changing the subject. "Apparently, one of our guests has left her a note, a love letter of sorts -- and, you wouldn't believe what she was doing with Sir Riorson up near the cliffside where we used to play-"
"Delancey!" You halted, but your sister merely shrugged. Before she could say more, and before you could tear into her for outing your escapades to your mother like that, the Queen rose, her voice silencing everything else in the room.
"A note, you say?"
You and your sister turned then, both looking to your mother. You just stared, your mouth open but no words coming out -- Delancey had apparently taken the hint as well, glancing quickly between both you and your mother. The queen sighed, touching her fingers to her brow.
"Well, you've already let the cat out of the bag -- you may as well give me the details at this point. One of you."
Delancey gulped, looking away. You growled, glaring at your sister before speaking.
"After the ball last weekend, I came back to my room and found a note lying beneath my pillow," you explained through gritted teeth. The Queen listened, unamused, as you explained the contents of the message.
"I don't know who it's from, let me be clear," you asserted, folding your arms. "I just know it was for me, and someone got it in here without my knowing."
Your mother's brow twitched at this, however, she simply strode past you and made for the door at once.
"Whomever sent it, however they got it in here, is a breach of privacy and security," your mother concluded, letting herself out. "I'll have a word with the guard this afternoon about upping the watch near your corridors -- especially with so many unknown guests in the palace at this time."
You took a step after her, reaching out a hand as if to as her to halt.
"Mother, it's really no big-"
But she was gone, flowing skirts and all.
You turned to Delancey, brows narrowed on her sheepish-looking face.
"Now look what's happened -- I may very well never receive another letter, all because you insisted on blabbing to mother," you reprimanded, reaching for the dainty flats set out near the end of your bed. Delancey only shrugged.
"I don't quite like when mother's attention is on me," she said, as if that were an acceptable answer. "I'd much rather her focus be on you."
You huffed, tugging on your flats and sweeping for the door, not realizing just how much the motion resembled your mother before you.
"I'll be out all day," you said dismissively, turning your nose up. "Don't go rummaging through my jewelry boxes while I'm out, will you?"
Delancey's grin was feline, as she wiggled her fingers in farewell.
"Enjoy your date, Princess -- try to keep it in your pants, this time."
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The weather was pleasant, and the evening sun shone beautifully through the trees of the peach grove just beyond the town market. It's glittering, golden rays reflected how you were feeling inside -- whether that be from the day's activities, or the company you were keeping, you wouldn't think too long about.
"I'm surprised they let you go this far out without an entourage, Princess!"
Cassian's words were light-hearted, but he wasn't wrong; you'd practically bribed the three soldiers meant to escort you on today's outing to wait for you near the town square, wishing to truly just be alone for once outside of the palace grounds.
You shrugged. "I did what needed to be done, and besides -- I've got you here to protect me, should anything go awry."
Cassian chuckled as you playfully nudged him, his sidelong gaze fixated on the way your lips tilted up in a smile.
"Believe me, Princess, if anyone would be doing the protecting, I am sure it would be you."
You playfully rolled your eyes at his jokes.
"Right -- because no enemy is a match for me, especially compared to the 6' 5'' warrior beside me," you teased. Cassian shook his head with a grin, looking out at the grove of trees.
"I haven't forgotten how cleanly you shot that arrow," he reminded you, his gaze more pointed when he looked at you again. "I would have no doubt you could hold your own, and defend in a fight."
You blushed, remembering the way his hands had felt as he held you that day out on the field, your back pressed against his chest-
"That sounds like a challenge, Cassian."
Cassian paused then, stopping there in the middle of the path. You paused a few feet ahead of him, your brows furrowing.
"Is there-"
You screamed wildly as he charged toward you, scooping you up by the waist and hauling you over his shoulder. You clutched your fruit basket for dear life, vising blurry as Cassian bounded ahead, gripping you as though you weighed nothing.
"Cassian-!"
He laughed, loud and full of joy this time as he continued on, his voice echoing between the lush green trees.
"You threaten me with a good time, Princess!"
It wasn't until he slowed that you realized you'd been laughing, too -- a real laugh, not the faux, pretty mask you learned to fake in uncomfortable situations.
As the two of you stood within the peach groves now, you realized that the golden feeling wasn't just happiness, or because you were having a pleasant day; it was acceptance. Friendship.
Dare you even say, the idea of love.
Cassian set you gown gently, his hands resting on your hips for a moment too long after you were surely comfortable on your own two feet again. You hadn't quite minded, exactly -- in that moment, you were exactly where you wanted to be. And, with who you wanted to be with.
He delighted in the way your face flushed under his gaze; unbeknownst to you, he simply couldn't help but to touch you, be near you. He'd pour his very heart out in this instant, had you asked him to -- just the sound of his name on your lips had his control over his urges barely leashed.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
"Are there fruits of this sort where you're from?"
The sun sank lower and lower toward the horizon, the warm haze painting the hues in your hair beautifully as the two of you strode along. You'd find a ripe fruit every now and then, and Cassian, being the gentleman he is, would pick the ones that were too high for you to reach.
You hadn't minded, really. In fact, you quite liked his company; or, just the company of another, for that matter. A male, someone who may very well slide a ring onto your finger in a few short weeks.
The thought made you shiver.
"No," he responded then, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. "The fruits and flora of the Night Court are... well, rather exotic, so to speak."
You paused, a flash of juicy pink catching your eye from far above. The perfectly smooth fruit dangled just above, taunting you as it swayed with the breeze. Cassian followed your line of sight, smiling to himself once he saw the object of your desire.
"Ahh," he mused, rolling his shoulders. "Now, I'd never dream of telling the future Queen 'no', but... that one looks to be even out of my reach, Princess."
You frowned, your gaze dropping. You hadn't meant to stare at his muscled shoulders, hadn't meant to imply anything at all -- but seconds later, Cassian's hands had found your waist again.
"Now there's an idea," he beamed, kneeling before you. Your eyes widened as he hoisted you effortlessly onto a shoulder, only barely grunting under your weight as you stood. You squealed as he rose, taller and taller and taller-
"Don't drop me-!"
Cassian laughted then, his shoulders shaking and only making your unstable feeling even worse.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied, his forearm wrapping around your knees. Your hands fisted the collar of his shirt as you leaned forward, not daring to sit up straight as the ground grew more and more distant below.
"Go on then -- pick away," he said charmingly. You took a deep, steadying breath before straightening your spine, ever so slowly as Cassian neared the branch boasting the most perfect treat you'd seen all day. You reached, reached, reached up...
"Got it!"
Cassian's hands were gentle as he slowly lowered you back down, lingering for just a moment too long again as though he didn't quite want to pull away. You beamed up at him, not quite sure you wanted him to either.
"Have you ever eaten a peach before?" You asked sweetly, holding up the fresh-picked sweetness between the two of you. Cassian smiled softly, his gaze fixated more on you as opposed to your new prize.
"I can't say that I have," he admitted, and your jaw dropped.
"Seriously? You've never tried one before?"
You went to wipe the surface of the fruit on your dress, but Cassian's fingers covered yours before you could do it. He took the stone fruit from you, instead wiping it on his own clothing, as though to spare you from becoming imperfect in any way. He extended it to you again, his gaze as soft as his smile.
"Never," he reiterated, electricity shocking through his veins when your fingers brushed his. You contemplated a moment, thinking this through.
"It seems only fair you have the first bite then," you shrugged, holding it to him again. Cassian chuckled, shaking his head.
"Ladies first," he offered, and you rolled your eyes playfully.
"Do you not believe me that it is delicious?" You teased, bringing the fruit to your lips. Cassian opened his mouth to answer, but my God was he transfixed the moment your lips touched the delicacy in your hand. He watched as your eyes slowly fluttered shut, the fruity, sweet taste lingering on your tongue as you tore a bite from the peach.
Cassian wanted to kick himself for the vulgar thoughts running through his mind at the sight.
"Mmmm," you groaned, tipping your head back as you swallowed. Cassian's gaze followed the movement of your delicate throat, swallowing as he tried to block out every thought threatening his good-boy conscience. "God, this is good."
When you finally did open your eyes, tearing into the fruit again and torturing the male with another bite, reality came back to you, and you realized how selfish you must look.
"Oh my," you giggled, pressing your fingers to your lips. "I've made such a mess; I hope you won't think less of me for this, Cassian. Perhaps you're prompted to try it now?"
Cassian's gaze had darkened as he looked at you, watching as again you threatened to soil your dress by wiping your wet lips with it. He stepped forward quickly, one hand taking yours and lowering your lifted skirts as the other fisted his own shirt. The fabric was soft as he lightly dabbed at your chin, at the trail of juice slipping from the corner of your mouth and running slowly down your neck. You gazed up at him, watching achingly as he took care of you -- that is, until his eyes met yours again.
"I do think I'd like to try it now, yes."
You silently held up the fruit between the two of you in offerring. Cassian took it, chucking it over his shoulder as his hands found your waist with practiced ease -- and pulled your lips right against his own.
The grove was quiet, other than the sounds of nature and swaying leaves in the breeze; but inside your head, the sound of your heartbeat, was anything other than silent.
When he did pull back, he was grinning again, that handsome, charming smile that had your knees nearly buckling at the sight of it.
"Quite sweet indeed, Princess."
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You'd taken a few days to yourself after the date with Cassian. You needed to reflect, truly -- with so much going on, you didn't want to do your contry a disservice in neglecting your royal duties, either. You'd nearly forgotten about the matter of Dorian Haviliard, and those blasted trade agreements with Auderlan that required more of your attention than you were happy to give.
Now you sat at your vanity, brushing out your unbound hair after a long day -- a morning meeting with your father, another interview with a local reporter on the 'status of the Selection', and a gruelling dinner filled with too many stares and even more unanswered questions.
You sighed as you ran the brush through your locks, admiring the way the evenlight glistened against the crystals of your tiara when a soft knocking came at your door.
"Come in!"
You waited a few moments, but there was no reply. No turn of a handle, no unlatching of a lock. Strange, you thought -- your staff all had access to your suite. Who could be visiting at this hour that wouldn't be able to allow themself inside?
Rising, you smoothed out the front of your robe, grateful for the full, fluffy fabric that covered you from the shoulders down -- was it proper? No, of course not. But neither was a stranger knocking on your bedroom door at nearly nine o'clock at night.
When you tugged open the wooden barrier, you frowned. Was this some sort of joke?
Peeking out into the hallway, you looked left -- nothing. You looked right -- bare hallway, for as far as you could see. Sighing in annoyance, you spoke softly.
"Ha ha, very funny Delancey-"
As you spun on your heel to walk back inside, the corner of your slipper caught on something starchy, and crinkled.
You stopped right then, your head turning sharply as you peered down at the floor -- at the brown envelope lying just there, right before your doorway. Heartbeat racing, you snatched it up; sure enough, it looked identical to the one you'd received the other night, only this time, it wasn't under your pillow.
Had you not been in your quarters, would someone have entered and left it inside, instead?
You swallowed your fear and slammed the door shut, locking it and pressing your back against it's hard surface. Your breath was ragged as you looked at the envelope, the paper shaking in your grip as you tried steadying yourself.
Once you'd sat back down at your vanity, you tore the damned thing open, yanking out the parchment and studying the familiar handwriting on the white sheet yet again.
I believe I've been in love with you since I met you, Princess. Perhaps before we even met -- I just might not have known it, yet.
You're every star in my night's sky, though you shine especially bright among all others. I can only pray to kneel before you some day, should you wish to accept me as your other half; to me, I feel as though you're already mine.
Your stomach churns as you read the words, over and over and over again. What does that even mean, in love since we met? For God's sakes, this was real-life, not some sort of fairytale -- no one truly falls in love simply at the sight of another.
You glare at the paper, slapping it down atop your vanity at once. Rubbish, you think, making way for your bed instead; at least sleep would bring you some confort, much unlike the anonymous letter writer would on any given night.
There had to be an answer to all of this. A solution as to why these letters were being left in the first place.
And as you finally drifted off, you decided that come first light tomorrow, you'd begin your search for an answer.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Your search was halted almost as quickly as it began the next morning, as you came to breakfast ready to play detective; but only found your father and sister seated at the long dining table.
"Where... where is everyone?" You asked, confused. As far as you knew, no one had plans for the day, other than yourself and your little "investigation" you'd been planning.
Your father cleared his throat to answer, but Delancey beat him to it.
"Mother's rounded up all of the men for a lesson in royal manners," she explained, setting down her water goblet. "Sort of a catillion, but strictly for royal matters and shortened down to a one-day lesson."
You huffed, none of the food spread across the table buffet even looking appetizing anymore.
"Well, do you know how long she plans to hold them hostage? Surely she can't plan to spend the entire day with them-"
"There is a lot to learn, when you're not born into royalty," your father mused, taking another bite of his french toast. "Your mother will simply utilize all the time necessary to ensure the men are trained, and expectations are set. One of them is to be the next King of this country, you know."
So everyone kept reminding you.
You folded your arms across your chest. "So we're really to just wait around all day, maybe seeing them by lunch and hoping they'll join us by dinner?"
Your father sighed in exasperation.
"Well, I am rather making the most of my time; I have quite the stack of reports to file, and a few letters I've been meaning to correspond to."
You looked pleadingly at your sister for any sort of help, though she was rather fixated on the melon slice decorating her plate.
"I have morning culinary lessons, and then I planned to use my day off to enjoy the outdoors," she said, finally looking to you then. "Perhaps you could use the fresh air too, sis? It is a rather lovely day -- could do you wonders to get out in it."
Oh, you were sure it could.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
It was needless to say that the men were not at lunch, nor dinner, that day. Your mother truly had kept them all hours; you could only imagine how they must be feeling.
None of that deterred you from what needed to be done, though. Your night of reflection had brought you clarity on a few things, and with another note appearing at your bedroom after the first one, you needed to start getting answers to the questions you so seeked.
Garrick was surprised to see you when he entered his quarters after sundown, his look of surprise turning to fear as he took in the way you sat properly atop his bed. He entered cautiously, taking slow steps as though you were a venomous snake poised to strike.
"Uh... hi, there," he said, with a tone of confusion. You looked up as he approached, a soft smile on your lips as to not intimidate him or come off too strong so quickly. He began to shrug of fhis coat, and that's when you rose.
"Garrick -- I hope the lessons went well today," you said, attempting casual conversation. Garrick looked sidelong to you with raised brows, still skeptical.
"It... did," he said slowly, stooping to unlace his boots. "Your mother is lovely."
You hummed in approval, but he kept speaking.
"I'm sorry, are you here to kick me out?"
You paused, eyes round as you fought for what to say next.
Yes.
No.
Yes, but I need to ask you something first.
Swallowing, you finally answered.
"I, um... I actually came here to ask you about something," you said, slipping the brown envelope from your dress pocket. Garrick glanced at it and his brows furrowed.
"Do you recognize this?"
He looked at you for a long moment, and then an amused smile spread across his lips.
"You're asking me if I've ever seen a plain, brown envelope before."
You huffed, flopping onto the bed once more.
"Noooo," you drawled, folding your hands in your lap. "I mean, is it yours? Did you... drop it, on accident?" Or on purpose.
Garrick only shrugged, his expression pure innocence.
"Nope, not mine, if that's what you're implying," he said. "I don't know if I've ever had use for one of those, actually. Don't write letters very often."
You felt a relief honestly, that it wasn't him -- though your heart sank, as you realized you were no closer to finding out who did leave it behind for you. Your relief was short-lived, as you knew what you needed to do next.
"Garrick... I did come here this evening, for a purpose other than asking about the envelope."
He nodded slowly, his lips pressing together and forming a straight line.
"Ahh, so you are kicking me out then."
You rose, striding for him quickly.
"No! No, it's not... as harsh as that, it's-"
"Nah, it's cool. I get it," he reasoned, reaching for his sleepwear folded near the end of his bed. "Lookin' for a husband and all that. It can only be one of us, can't be all of us."
You sighed softly, stepping towards his open door.
"I'm sorry, Garrick."
He shrugged, yanking his tunic up over his head of curls and tugging on his sleep shirt in place of it.
"Nah, no hard feelings. I know the decision is impossible. Hey, when you go though, do you mind shutting off my lights on your way out? I'm heading to bed."
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The night air was cool against your skin as you leaned against your marble balcony railing, the clear sky alight with the evening's constellations. You had tried clearing your mind since meeting with Garrick nearly an hour ago, but none of your usual calming-rituals had worked; lying down had only left you restless, and unfortunately, no book was good enough this evening to distract you from your racing thoughts.
It seemed the only good thing about this day was how well Garrick had reacted to your request for him to depart in the morning, which in all honesty, was quite unexpected. Appreciated, sure -- but unexpected.
"I hoped I'd get to see you today."
You'd never turned around faster in your life.
Behind you, leaning against your balcony doorframe, stood none other than Azriel; his white shirt still crisp, his black slacks fitted. His hair was the giveaway that he'd fared a long day as well -- it appeared as though his fingers had run through it more than a few times.
"My God, Azriel -- you startled me!"
He smirked softly, pushing off of the doorframe and instead joining you near the balcony's edge. As he approached, you couldn't help but to stare.
"How did you even get in here, anyway?"
He shrugged, leaning against the marble ledge beside you.
"Your handmaiden -- Lucille, is it? -- she let me in."
You side-eyed him for a long moment, before ultimately not thinking too much of it. Besides, your mind was already far too full of other thoughts; why Lucille would be letting Azriel into your room unannounced was not something you also need worry about.
And if you were honest, you didn't quite care if or when he came into your room, should he so please to do so.
You cleared your throat, not even wanting to go there.
"Long day?"
He nodded quietly, again running his long, scarred fingers through his hair.
"It was," he admitted, folding his hands over the balcony's edge. "I hadn't realized there were so many... standards, that came with royalty."
Your heart nearly stopped right then and there, a cold, small feeling washing over you at his words.
"Oh," is all you said, looking out at the courtyard once more. "Is it... do you think it'll be too much? For you to handle, I mean?"
Azriel turned to look at you then, a real grin on his lips now.
"I don't quite think so," he answered, leaning closer. "Why, are you considering me for the job?"
Your cheeks flushed, red hot. You were grateful for the cover of darkness, so that maybe he wouldn't see just how pink you'd turned.
Yes, you thought.
"I... I mean... um-"
He shook his head slowly, his hand gently taking yours in his own. You halted your stammering, both grateful that he was giving you an out and also speechless as you felt his other hand find your waist as though he'd done this a million times.
"Share a dance with me, Princess?" He asked then, his dark hazel eyes peering down into yours. "Perhaps it'll help us both clear our minds of the day."
You didn't even want to begin to wonder how he'd picked up on your overthinking so easily.
You didn't respond, but rather allowed him to pull you gently to him, his palm resting on your lower back. Your opposing hand rested atop his shoulder, the two of you slipping into a rhythm that felt both natural and so unpracticed. You stepped with him, his body slowly guiding yours as he led the two of you around your bedroom balcony, the only sounds to be heard were the nature in the distance.
After a few moments of silence, you broke it with what you hoped would sound like a light-hearted joke.
"I thought we were past you calling me that," you said, offerring a small smile. Azriel simply gazed down at you, appreciating the way the moonlight danced in your eyes. His hand holding yours had let go, instead coming to rest against your cheek.
"I remember, Y/N," he said pointedly, flashing you a rare smile. Your heart soared as his thumb softly grazed the apple of your cheek, his nose inching closer and closer to yours by the second.
"That still doesn't change the fact that you're my Princess, though."
As it usually tended to be with Azriel, you didn't think. You just did.
Your lips met his instantly, his breath hitching as you pressed up onto your tippy toes to kiss him. It wasn't as soft as it had been last time; this time, it felt true. Real.
You wanted his lips on yours.
His hand pressed against your back, pulling you into him as his hand cupped your cheek. Your lips moved in their own sort of tango, every unspoken word between the two of you sounding more like a conversation just in the way your mouths worked against one another. He only pulled back for a second, kissing your cheek, and then your forehead, and then your lips again.
"You're the brightest star in tonight's sky, Y/N; and you deserve a husband that makes you feel that way every day for the rest of your life."
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Chapter 8
The playing field has been leveled! She's kissed each one of the remaining contenders, which makes this week's poll even more difficult.
VOTE for who should leave next! 2 WILL GO HOME NEXT CHAPTER -- vote wisely!
COMMENT for who you wish to stay! Only a few chapters left before the finale!
Summary: One Princess, 17 eligible males fighting for a spot beside her throne -- who will she pick, if any of them? Make your voice heard as you help direct the narrative in this gripping new series, detailing the Selection process and all the juicy details it brings!
SR’s Note: Guys, I apologize, I know this is late and you had to wait! You'll just have to forgive me, I have had the most busy week ever ever. This is getting harder and harder -- we're getting down to the wire, yall! This series is READER-GUIDED, and every single vote and comment will decide the direction of this story! So please be sure to read carefully, VOTE, and COMMENT after reading (pay attention to the polls)!
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @spookypersondinosaur @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker @acourtofbatboydreams @embersofonyx @ilove4thwing @taylorkindafruity @jchameleon @bxm-2121 @liamwanrlore @pizzapizzapepperoni (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
It'd been a few months now since the men had moved into the palace, effectively disrupting everything from order to your routine to your life entirely. You couldn't complain, though, especially on nice mornings like these -- mornings they spent with the guard out in the courtyard, training.
The view was nice, and luckily, your bedroom balcony overlooked this little session nicely.
"Eyeing the males again, are we darling?"
You yelped at the sound of your mother's sudden voice behind you, your hand flying to your chest in embarassment as she appeared in the doorway. You gasped for breath, adjusting your haphazard tiara as you regained your balance, trying to find any explaination as to what exactly you were doing out here.
"I, no, of course not mother, I..."
She chuckled, striding forward with that elegant, queenly grace of hers you hoped to inherit one day. She peeked subtly over the balcony railing, her slitted eyes glancing at you sidelong as her devilish grin grew. Your jaw dropped, a laugh escaping as you nudged her with your elbow.
"Mother!"
She simply shrugged, turning her back to the courtyard and leaning a gentle elbow atop the marble railing. Her expression turned more serious, and you cleared your throat, forcing your gaze away from the rather endearing scene below.
"I didn't come out here for mere gawking," she said, her eyes rolling with a gentle smile. You smiled softly, matching her pose as you too leaned against the stone. "I wanted to discuss with you the idea of the ball, the one thrown in your honor?"
You nodded slowly.
Oh, that.
Right.
She'd mentioned the idea the other night over dinner, and you'd effectively changed the subject to avoid the conversation then -- however, there was no avoiding it now as she pinned you with her gaze now.
"Yes, mother. The one you'd mentioned before."
She smiled, appreciative of your attentiveness.
"Ah, my dear, so you do remember -- yes, that's the one. Well, I want to host our royal partners and the high families in our council for the evening, nothing too grand of course, just an event that the papers can have enough to talk about for the next few weeks before you announce your engagement."
Your stomach plummeted then. Your... engagement. You'd nearly forgotten how close it had gotten, how... serious all of this was. In almost a month now, you'd be declaring your husband to the country, announcing who'd be taking your hand in marriage, ruling your country right along side you...
The thought made your stomach churn, the lingering feelings of ditching this whole idea and sending every last one of them packing still feeling like a rather fine option indeed.
Your mother had continued speaking, but her voice had faded out.
"...and we'll have the servers bring around options for food and drink of course, but the ball itself won't be all that much, I know how you dislike too much of a big ordeal." She paused then, noticing how your eyes had glazed over. "Y/N, are you still present?"
You blinked, your thoughts eddying as you studied her once more, forcing a smile onto your lips.
"Of course, mother," you lied, nodding in faux enthusiasm. "I'm sure whatever you and the event specialist come up with will be just divine."
No sooner had the conversation ended and your bedroom door had shut behind the Queen, you'd run to the bathroom, your stomach royalling with the thoughts still clouding your mind.
An engagement.
A month.
And so, so little time left.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You'd tried on more dresses than you could count, had your hair put up and pinned 20 different ways, and Lucille even practiced a few different makeup looks on you that week in preparation for Saturday's ball -- Her Highness's Honor, your mother had deemed it. All you wished to do was lie down, or crack the spine of a new book, or perhaps just enjoy your tea peacefully in the greenhouse...
Kingfisher would've shaken his head at you, for acting like such a simpering fool.
Ridoc would've told you to keep your chin up, that perhaps Saturday evening would bring you more answers than you realized you were looking for.
You were beginning to realize that in your head, Ridoc sounded a whole lot like Delancey, as she prattled on, sitting beside the tub you were currently soaking in.
"This is going to be a blast, and you know it," she teased, thumbing to the next page of the weekly newsprint. She flicked her gaze to you quickly before she continued on, her eyes roving over the text so quickly that you weren't sure if she was actually reading the words or not. "Besides, it's an excuse to dance with each and every one of them if you so feel like it -- it's not like you're being asked to announce your engagement at the ball."
There it was again, that word. Engagement.
You sunk lower into the tub, so low that just your face and hair were above the waterline, framed by the delicate bubbles.
The newspaper ruffled as Delancey squinted overtop of it, her eyes mere slits as she took in your demeanor. Hard to tell, beneath the mud mask, hair towel, and cucumbers laid atop your eyelids -- but a sister could see through any mask, it seemed.
"You're not seriously going to sulk over a ball being thrown in your honor, are you?"
Sighing, you rolled your shoulders, wiggling your fingers underneath the water.
"No, Delancey. I'm not." You said simply, not elaborating on the subject. She silently rolled her eyes, leaning against the edge of the porcelain.
"This could be your chance, you know? To figure things out, see what you really want-"
You cut her off with a huff.
"Everyone keeps telling me that, but... what if even I'm not sure of what that is yet?"
Delancey was quiet for a moment, pondering this. She simply shrugged, though you couldn't see the movement.
"Well. Then, you just don't know quite yet. Like I said, you don't need to know know by Saturday, just... maybe have a general idea," she said, a lilt to her voice. You gumbled, moving to a sitting position as you peeled the cucumbers from your eyes at once.
"And, what if I didn't choose one at all?" You said abruptly, squinting as the soft light of the spa flooded your vision once more. "What if I just don't choose? What then?"
Delancey's eyes went wide, before she burst out in a laugh, waving a dismissive hand.
"Oh please," she chuckled, rolling her eyes as she made to stand. "We both know you're not getting out of this without a man on your arm and a rock on your finger."
She rose then, grabbing a clean towel from the nearby caddy and setting it on the tub's rim, her eyes finding yours only once more as she made to leave.
"You should get out soon -- you'll prune."
And with that, she was gone.
You knew she was right.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
By Saturday afternoon, you'd felt more prepared than you'd expected earlier in the week; perhaps it was the energy-infused tea Rhysand had so kindly offered you this morning, or the extra cinnamon bun that Garrick had saved and hald-delivered to you after breakfast.
Either way, you were ready.
You'd bathed in your finest soaps, lathered on your most expensive of creams, and shaved yourself nearly hairless, save for your head of course... you were into self care, sure, but your attentiveness this morning even had Lucille glancing at you with a side eye.
"Is this another one of your mother's normal celebrations, or should we be expecting something... far more grand?" She asked, getting to work on your curls. You grinned, finding her eye through the mirror glass.
"I appreciate your humor Lucille, but no, this one is another one of her usuals, thrown in my honor so that the papers might have something to gossip about until..."
Your joy was short-lived as you choked on the word again, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of becoming someone's wife.
"... my coronation," you recovered quickly. Lucille nodded, brushing through your hair.
"Ahh. I see," she went on, her fingers working quickly. "And, you plan to make the most of the evening?"
You couldn't hide your grin this time, giggling at her antics.
"Well of course, Lucille; if I'm going to be made to find a husband, I may as well test them out to see which ones can lead me in a waltz," you flipped your hand pompously, and Lucille giggled from behind you. Laughing with her, you almost didn't hear the knock on your door before it opened, another one of your family's handmaidens quickly stepping into the room and curtsying.
"Good evening miss," she said politely, a few strands of her thin blonde hair falling from behind her hankerchief tied atop her head. You smiled sweetly at her, watching in awe as she carefully brought in the oversized gown bag, her nimble fingers gripping the hanger as the cellophane threatened to swallow her whole.
"Do you need-"
You made to stand, but Lucille gently pressed your shoulder, encouraging you to stay seated.
"Mary Kate, allow me."
Lucille quickly made her way to the blonde -- Mary Kate -- and took the garment bag from her, hanging the hook on a high bar just inside your wardrobe. Mary Kate watched in awe, peering into your deep closet for only a moment before Lucille shooed her out with a faux disapproving look.
Mary Kate curtsied once more before heading for the door.
"Enjoy your ball, miss."
You smiled, waving to her instead.
"Thank you for bringing my dress, Mark Kate. It was so lovely to meet you."
A faint blush stained her cheeks as she departed, closing the door quietly behind her. Lucille sucked in a long breath, turning her attention to your hair once more.
"Now, back to more important matters," she said, plucking at another lock. Her brow furrowed as she worked it into a curl, her gaze wandering to the garment bags reflection in the mirror yet again. "Which gown did you choose for the ball tonight, anyway? I feel like you tried on no less than fifty."
A small, devilish smile crept onto your face then. Without another word, Lucille watched as your face changed -- and she squealed in excitement as she knew exactly which one you'd chosen.
Those silly papers would have something to talk about for the next few weeks, and that would be for certain.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The news came at the worst time, Eris thought, as he straightened his tie and looked himself over one last time. His heart squeezed at the thought of leaving you tonight, going back to his wretched court, and stepping into a role he felt he was not yet prepared for -- claiming a title he did not yet want.
A title he'd much prefer to have in Illea, by your side, if he could have things his way. But, there was no stopping it now; what was done was done, and the Autumn Court now needed a High Lord.
He could only hope you'd understand.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The chandeliers glittered near the ceilings of the grand ballroom, light refracting in each crystal as candle flames danced along each wall. Faces, both familiar and not, milled about, drinking, snacking, and discussing one thing or another -- that is, until the room fell silent, and the grand entry doors atop the staircase were swung wide.
Your father's voice carried across the space as he raised an engraved champagne flute, his attention drawn to you at once.
"Ladies and gentlemen of our country alike," he announced, pausing everyone in their conversations. "I'd like to make a toast to the woman of the hour, the reason for the celebration this evening, and one of my greatest accomplishments in my life."
Your mother smiled warmly, her eyes wet as she gazed upward. Lucille fluffed your skirts one last time, gave your hair a long sweep, and set your crown strait with a cheeky wink from the shadows of the doorway.
"Please welcome my daughter, your soon to be queen of Illea, Princess Y/N!"
The ballroom was alight with clapping and cheering, and you stepped out, the light breaking around you nicely. Amidst the celebrations were gasps as you came into full view, your gown and presence rendering many of the partygoers speechless as you began your descent, skirts flowing behind you like fallen petals from a basket of roses.
Many of the males, especially the ones currently courting you, couldn't tear their eyes away; the crimson color was sinful, sure, but the silhouette accentuated every dip and curve of you in a feminine but not so scandalous manner. It was mind boggling how you managed to do it, appear so regal yet so tempting at the same time.
There were quite a few men quickly making their way through the crowd, knowing they'd want to pull you first for the evening; however, Rhysand was the first one to make it to you.
Your eyes met his deep violet ones as he swaggered toward you, his fine suit of chic black hugging him nicely. You grinned, more than happy to see him again.
"Now why am I not surprised you're somehow just... here?" You said, tilting your head with a grin. He chuckled lightly, his gaze dipping to your wine-painted lips. "Perhaps you'd just been waiting around for me, is that it?"
His movement was so smooth that you nearly missed it as his hand slid into yours, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he pulled you closer to him. He grinned, amusement dancing in his stare.
"And so what if I was," he said lowly, his other hand sliding around your waist. Surely enough, the quartet had begun their ballad, and couples had begun pairing off around you for the first dance. "Is it a crime to ensure I get the first dance of the evening with the Princess?"
You shook your head slowly, your feet moving in time with his as he begun to lead you slowly, minding your voluminous skirts and avoiding stepping on them in the process. Your free hand found his shoulder then, and you continued talking as the two of you fell into easy rhythm.
"I've missed you the past few days," you admitted, hating the way your gaze flicked to his lips and then back up to his eyes again. "I mean, I've missed... all, of you. It's been so much, you know. Preparing, and getting ready for this ball, and-"
He chuckled low again, the sound a deep rumble in his chest.
"It's alright to just admit you've missed me, Y/N."
Your cheeks pinkened at that, and Rhysand grinned, knowing his comment had landed right where he'd wanted it to. You were coming to find that, somehow, things just always seemed to work out just perfectly for him...
You cleared your throat, aiming to change the subject.
"So, what have you been up to in the meantime?" You asked. Before you could think, like it always was with him, another sassy line popped into your mind and you just had to spill it before thinking. "Daydreaming of me, I suppose?"
Rhys's steps slowed then as he leaned in, his lips barely brushing your ear. Goosebumps erupted up your arms and shoulders at the small touch, every nerve ending on fire.
"Oh, I've been daydreaming of many things involving you, Princess," he said, his voice rougher than before. "A few examples include sitting beside you on your throne, or kneeling before it as I hold your knees apart, or perhaps bending you over the side of it, while I take you from behind..."
Your eyes had gone saucer wide, your face draining of color as he whispered those filthy nothings into your ear, his hand at your back keeping you close as you two continued to sway. Heat had gathered low in your belly at the thoughts, the words he was saying, and good God had those words sounded good...
But then he pulled away, the sounds of applause again filling the room as the song came to an end. Rhysand's half-lidded gaze found yours once more as he beheld you, smirking at your look of disbelief.
"But, perhaps I'll elaborate on that more another time."
You swallowed, not knowing what to do. What to say. You couldn't speak, simply staring up at him, head clouded with lust as he undressed you with his stare -- a lion sizing up a lamb.
A kind, male voice sounded from your right, pulling you from your trance at once; pulling you from, whatever effect Rhysand always seemed to have on you.
"Do you mind if I borrow you for the next one?"
When you turned, you'd never felt more elated and edged all at once as you came face-to-face with the heir of the Autumn Court.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You'd tried, so hard to block out Rhysand's words... but you were simply a lost cause, perhaps, as they kept running around and around in your mind, the visuals of said words not helping either as you now tried to focus on Eris. He was a good male, a kind one too -- he hadn't so much as kissed you even when you'd let him do more, for God's sakes. He deserved your time, your attention.
He deserved more.
"Y/N, I... tonight will be my last night here, in the palace."
His words stopped you dead in your tracks. Perhaps he was going to get it.
You halted, right there in the ballroom, uncaring of the others still moving around you. Your mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again, as you tried to understand just why.
"Eris-"
"It's not you," he rushed out, his hands lightly gripping your arms. "Gods, no. It could never be you. If I had it my way, I'd be here until the end. Gods, I'd get down on one knee now if you'd let me."
That was unexpected. Heat creeped up your neck at his words, still trying to piece together what he was saying as his amber eyes bore into yours.
"My father," he began again, swallowing thickly. "I've received word that my father has been killed."
Your shoulders fell limp then, any explaination you were trying to make plausable in your mind disappearing as he words hit home.
"Oh... oh Eris, I'm so sorry," you said softly, pulling him close. He allowed you to embrace him, his heart racing at the touch -- but his answering chuckle had you even more confused.
"It's... there's no need for sympathy, really. He was a horrible person," he said, nodding once. You pulled back, looking up at him again. "But, with him now gone, my court... well, they need a High Lord."
Your heart sank, as you began to truly understand what he meant. You looked away.
"Oh... I see."
He sighed heavily, taking your hands lightly in his.
"I truly, want to thank you for this opportunity," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "Your family is no less than wonderful, and have treated each one of us as though we already belong here, and I can say I have not once felt unwelcome in your home; and for that, I am forever grateful."
He kissed your other hand, and found your eyes again.
"Most of all, I'm grateful to know you, Princess -- you'll make a lovely Queen, but I truly believe you'll be an even lovelier wife. Any man would be so lucky to share a single piece of your heart."
Tears began to sting your eyes, and you blinked quickly to avoid ruining all of Lucille's hard work. Eris leaned in, quickly dabbing at your cheeks with his sleeve, uncaring of the residue or inky stains ruining the fabric.
A true King indeed.
"Will you visit?"
You hated how wobbly and tearful the words sounded, but Eris pulled you against him again at last, swaying you slowly as the song came to a close.
"Oh, you know I will. You have a marvelous grove, and I couldn't stay away from you too long, you know."
You laughed then, sniffling as you worked to recollect yourself. You were grateful as he shielded you from prying eyes, allowing you to get your emotions in check once more in private before any onlookers could notice. To them, you simply looked like another couple sharing a dance.
"Eris, the woman who one day shares your heart will be lucky, too. You'll make a fine High Lord -- and though I don't want to see you go, I can only commend you for doing what's best for your province."
Eris' heart warmed at that, his hand slowly sliding up and down your back. He leaned down, kissing the top of your head one last time as the last note of the harp was played.
After that, he was gone.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You'd danced twice more, done a lap with your father and spoke to about 30 different guests, and then been pulled by your mother in the opposite direction to be introduced to about 30 more when your feet began to hurt, your social battery running on very low.
Luckily, you'd spotted Delancey by the dessert table and bolted -- both for a treat to aid your pounding head, and for an excuse not to speak to another attendee you did not yet already know.
"God, I needed this," you moaned, devouring truffle after truffle from the tabletop spread. Delancey giggled at you, forgetting sometimes that you were in fact going to be Queen soon and shouldn't be acting like this. "Head's been hurting all night, just want to go to bed."
Delancey popped a vanilla cake ball of her own into her mouth, struggling to chew it all at once and talk at the same time.
"Yeah, I think it's... almost over," she said, a hand covering her mouth as she worked to chew up the gooey goodness. You'd plucked a champagne flute from the server's tray as he passed, your throat like sandpaper. Bracing your hand on the table, you tilted your head back and downed it, the liquid like sparkling gold as it flowed down your throat...
"Ladies! A little birdy told me there's only one dance left tonight -- and while I'd love to continue being your partner of the evening, Delancey, I figure I should grace our future Queen with my presence at least once."
Delancey swallowed whatever was left in her mouth immediately, her spine stick straight as she dropped her hand. You paused, fighting the immediate eye roll as you tilted your head forward, finding none other than Dorian Havilliard standing before you.
You glowered at him, setting the empty champagne flute down hard on the table.
"You sure you want to waste your last dance on me?" You mocked, sighing as you readjusted the corset top of your dress. "If there's only one left, I'm sure that it's not me you wish to spend it with."
Dorian only held that stupid, princely grin on his face.
"No, I insist. Besides, Delancey doesn't mind -- we've been partners all evening. Do you, Delancey?"
Both you and the prince turned to your sister, his expression pleasant and yours pleading. Delancey only shook her head, shrugging.
"Not at all," she said, winking at you. You shot her a glare before turning back to Dorian again.
"See? Now come, princess. We should get to the center before they begin playing."
You folded your arms, raising a brow at him.
"What if I already have a partner for the last dance? There are other men participating in The Selection aside from just you, you know."
Dorian smirked, looking side to side before shrugging lightly.
"And yet, none of them are over here asking for your hand, now are they?"
Your glare turned lethal, especially as he took your hand without another word, tugging you toward the very middle of the ballroom. You protested, scoffing and growling, baring your teeth at Delancey over your shoulder. She merely giggled at you, delighting in your antics as you were dragged off against your will by the prince.
He halted once he'd gotten you to the ballroom's center, grinning as he offered you his hand, one lying respectfully on your waist. You scoffed, smacking it away -- he rolled his eyes at you, and you had to fight the ghost of a grin as he offered it again, this time you taking it.
The music swelled again, for the last time that evening, and Dorian began to dance.
You were paraded around, the silence between the two of you filled with the strings and the notes and the soft taps of shoes on marble; and in that moment, your heart sung again. You were dancing again, truly dancing -- as much as you hated to admit it, the feeling was euphoric.
"I'll admit you've got a good waltz," you said breathily, keeping in step with the prince as he stepped, turn after turn. He smiled at that.
"Was that, a compliment, Princess?" He asked, spinning you once gracefully before pulling you in again, keeping in perfect step. You scowled at him nonetheless.
"Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves, Havilliard."
The music slowed and the two of you did as well, your steps smaller to match the rhythm. You couldn't help but let your mind wander to the last time you'd been in this very ballroom, the same wonderful feelings running through you, but more. Different hands, a different male -- different lips-
"Sorry to disappoint you, Princess. I realize you may have wanted to share you final dance with Azriel this evening."
You snapped out of the daydream, wondering if you indeed were thinking it aloud.
"What was that?"
Dorian smiled knowingly.
"Azriel?" He repeated, laughing incredulously when you gave him a look of confusion. "Oh come now Princess. Don't pretend like we both don't know what happened last time the two of you were in this room together."
Your jaw dropped, and your hand left his momentarily to smack his shoulder.
"And just how would you know about that?"
He chuckled, shaking his head slowly before spinning you away from him.
"The same way," he said, pulling you back to him. "You know about Delancey and I."
The song ended then, and everyone applauded -- however, you heard none of it. For once, Dorian Havilliard had brought you a sense of undeniable, unyielding clarity.
As the reporters flocking the exits like gnats scribbled furiously into their parchments, you began to understand why Dorian had asked you for a dance tonight -- and you were quite glad that, though you'd put up a valiant fight, he'd gotten you to share the last one with him.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The moon was full and bright when you'd finally reached your chambers that night, just past 12 midnight as you turned the doorhandle and let yourself inside. You nearly wept at the sight of your bed, the silken sheets practically calling out to you, begging you to come and lie atop them.
You'd made quick work of undressing, lying your gown gently draped across the plush sofa by the window -- it was far too late in the evening for any of the servant staff to still be on duty, not that you'd expected Lucille at this hour. Nonetheless, you'd ask for her assistance in carefully hanging the beautiful thing in the morning.
Once your face had been scrubbed clean, hair brushed through once, and tiara laid delicately on your vanity, you'd allowed yourself a gentle flop atop your plush sheets, the blankets billowing out beneath you with the sudden movement. You grinned, your fingers brushing against the soft sheets in admiration as you drew in a long breath, finally allowing yourself to relax after a rollercoaster of an evening.
After nearly 15 minutes of snuggling against your duvet, you'd crawled up toward your pillows, albeit slowly as you felt like your bones weighed a hundred pounds at this point. Settling down against your head pillow, your eyes fluttered shut, sleep nearly claiming you when-
Crinkle.
Your eyes widened.
You sat upright instantly, looking down at your pillow, and the foreign object you'd unknowingly just lied down on. There, on the satin white fabric, lie a small brown envelope, sealed with a red wax seal.
What?
Furrowing your brow, you snatched it up, turning it over in your hands. There was no name on it, though it had to be for you -- it was on your pillow, anyway.
A chill went through you as you considered just how it had gotten in here, on your bed... and when? By whom?
You pushed the thoughts aside, wasting no time in tearing the envelope open. Straining in the dim light, your eyes adjusted to the writing on what seemed to be a hand written note.
I missed you tonight at the ball, Princess, though you were the most beautiful woman in the room -- it's no wonder every man in there had his eyes on you this evening. I hate to admit it, but I despise watching other men spend time with the woman I love.
You slowly set down the note, your mind racing. Who had you seen? Who hadn't you seen? Who had wished they'd seen you more? The note could have been from anyone, which was the frightening part -- the handwriting wasn't distinct enough to distinguish it apart from anyone else staying in the palace.
And again, the more important question; how in the world had they gotten it past your locked bedroom door?
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Who knew one simple note left on a pillow could send a girl into a full-blown frenzy.
You felt bad after sleeping the weekend away, and made time on Monday for another date. The day was nice, and you were feeling casual enough (or so you were pretending, as you masked every stirring thought and emotion over that silly envelope).
Xaden sat before you now, casually leaned back against a hand as he worked on an apple -- his first choice from the picnic basket you'd packed. Like a gentleman, he'd carried the heavy wicker thing up here to the cliffside, and helped in setting out the blanket when the breeze threatened to whisk it away...
And you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy watching those muscles being put to good use, either.
"Great view," he commented, looking out at the water beyond. You smiled softly, tucking a windblown strand of hair behind your hair as you too looked out.
"I love coming up here," you admitted, turning toward the half-open picnic basket. Inside lie a rather intriguing pouch of cubed cheese; you reached for them. "My sister and I used to come up here often as kids. Bring our not-so-royal toys up here, play where our parents wouldn't find us."
Xaden chuckled at this, taking a rather large bite out of his apple. You stared for just a moment longer than you needed to at his perfectly white teeth, and his mouth as he chewed, watching the way his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. "Whatever could you possibly mean by that?"
You scooted closer, blushing at the memory. "You know, things like... wooden swords, or toy dragons, or... oh gosh, little toy cars with flames painted on the sides that we'd find down at the town markets on Sundays-"
Xaden was actually chuckling now, turning his gaze to you with raised brows. "Wow, really? Toy swords and trinkets are considered no-nos for the King and Queen?"
You shook your head slowly, fighting your smile. Xaden was a good choice for today's company, it seemed, as all thoughts of that ridiculous letter faded away for the time being as you chatted. He also hadn't gotten much time with you yet, so this was a great opportunity for that.
And, well... he was easy on the eyes, too.
"For two young princesses, one of them a fututre queen-to-be?" You asked, folding your legs beneath you. "Oh, no. They thought much more apropriate activities included things like dancing, playing an instrument, sewing, or learning to bake for example."
Xaden stilled, his impossibly dark eyes looking sidelong at you.
"Are you telling me you know how to cook?"
You scoffed, shoving his shoulder.
"Who do you think packed all of the food for today!"
He held up his hands in surrender, a sultry smile on his lips.
"Look, whatever is in there does smell delicious, but... I don't know, you have staff for everything it seems, I just figured you had someone for that, too."
You leveled him with a look, not entirely sure what to say. He instead reached into the basket, rooting around for a bit before producing a lemon bar. Delight shown in those onyx eyes, and you perked up as he smiled softly.
"Now that I know this was made by the Princess herself," he said, biting into the corner of it. He nodded slowly, his eyes sliding closed. "Oh yeah. Uh huh. I knew I would enjoy this, but... this is good, Y/N."
You grinned, cheeks flushing at the praise. He opened his eyes to gaze at you again, watching in admiration as you blushed at his compliments. He extended the treat out to you, his face a mask of confidence as his eyes watched yours.
"Would you share with me, Princess?"
You opened your mouth, first to object, but...
When you said nothing, leaning forward even more, Xaden held the lemon goodness to you, allowing you to savor some right out of his hand. His eyes darkened as your perfect, pink lips closed around the powdery, sugary surface, every innocent thought leaving his mind when your tongue darted out to lick away the sticky residue clinging to your lower lip.
He swallowed the rest in one bite, noticing the smudge of powder against your perfect skin -- and without thinking, he leaned forward, his thumb brushing at the corner of your mouth.
"You've... got something," he said softly, his nose mere inches from yours now. Your heart skipped a beat, the scent of leather and citrus radiating from him and becoming intoxicating.
You leaned into his touch, not objecting as his fingers uncurled, his hand now cupping your jaw. You gazed up at him with half-lids when he spoke again, his voice lethally calm for a man whose mouth was near inches from yours.
"I wonder if kissing you right now would get me sent home," he muttered, his nose brushing yours. His free hand slowly slid overtop the fabric of your sundress, his tanned, golden skin so at odds with the pale blue of your attire.
Grinning, you nearly closed the gap.
"Do it and find out, Wingleader."
He surged forward with a growl, his lips pressing against yours quickly, fiercely. You groaned into him, your small hand wrapping around his wrist as his thumb stroked your cheek. His lips moved languidly against yours, his free hand now pressed against your waist.
He'd tugged you toward him, pulling you closer and closer until you'd gotten nearly in his lap. His hand had slid around the small of your back, pressing you against the hard planes of his chest -- and you'd be a liar to say your core wasn't on fire right now.
You pulled back, just for a moment as you caught your breath, your chest heaving. He looked down, watched as your delicate breasts moved up and down with your ragged inhales; but after a few moments, he spoke softly again.
"I've been wanting to do that since the day I first met you," he admitted, his thumb mirgating to now trace the outer lines of your lips. You let him, pressing tiny kisses to the pad of his finger as he went. "So, what's the verdict? You keepin' me and sending one of the other poor schmucks home, or am I going to be next to go?"
You giggled, leaning up to kiss his nose playfully.
"I think I might just keep you around a little while longer, Riorson."
And with that, you'd indeed kept your word, as later that week, you said farewell to Bodhi Durran instead.
✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Chapter 7
Yoikes... this was a long time coming, with quite a few new developments! These men are getting frisky, aren't they?
You know the drill! VOTE for the guy who will go home next week!
COMMENT who needs to stay!
I was wondering if you could do a smutty fic involving Xaden, Garrick and Liam where the reader is on the chubbier side and kind of feels insecure about herself but the three of them show her exactly what they think of her one night after a bit of mirthroot is smoked? I’m on the chubbier side and am craving a fic with these three boys tbh😅😅 like as filthy as you can make it please and thank you😅😅
Summary: When you're feeling low, you can always count on your three best friends to cheer you up; you just never expected them to do it quite like this.
SR’s Note: Uhhhh accept this as my peace offerring for not writing the next episode of The Selection yet?? Lol I've been so not with it this week mentally, and today has been the first day in a few days that I've actually felt like writing anything -- and tbh, this request screamed at me louder than the others, and I just couldn't bring myself to do The Selection quite yet. Do not fear; I will feed you soon, my loves. For now, a snack, perhaps. Also this song choice is *chefs kiss* bc I just got my 5SOS tickets for this summer with my friends woo woo
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @spookypersondinosaur @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
"You're staring again." The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, half-teasing, half-nervous as you catch Xaden's dark eyes lingering on the curve of your waist where your tunic has ridden up.
Garrick snorts from his sprawled position on the floor, tossing a playing card onto the makeshift "table" between you all, using a few stacked books instead.
"Of course he is," he says, voice warm with amusement. "You’re the only interesting thing in this room."
Liam, ever the quiet one, just smirks and nudges your knee with his boot, sending a jolt through you. The dorm smells faintly of leather, and that lingering musk of sweat from today’s trainign. Xaden’s private dorm is hardly luxurious, but it's a rare sanctuary away from the judging eyes of the others, always wondering the why and how of your friendship with these three.
You shift uncomfortably, hyper-aware of the way your back presses against the wooden leg of Xaden's bed, your skin and thighs thicker than most of the lithe, wiry girls in the quadrant. It’s impossible not to notice the difference, not when the sparring rings and mess hall feel like galleries of unspoken comparison.
Xaden exhales slowly, his gaze never leaving yours from where he sits across from you as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, tightly wrapped bundle.
"Maybe we need something to help you stop thinking so damn much," he says, unraveling the cloth to reveal a few dried strands of mirthroot. The scent hits you immediately; earthy and sweet, with an undertone of something sagey.
Garrick’s grin widens as he snatches it from Xaden’s fingers.
"Finally. Been waiting for you to break this out, after the damn week I've had..."
He rolls the mirthroot between his palms before tearing off a piece, pressing it into the thin paper Liam produces from his jacket pocket. The flame from the oil lamp at Xaden's bedside flickers as he reaches up to snatch it, lighting it without hesitation. The ember glows red-hot before he takes a deep drag, the soft gray smoke swirling in the air before dissipating entirely.
You watch, pulse thrumming as he passes it to Liam, who inhales with practiced ease before offering it to you. Your fingers brush his, and the contact lingers just a second too long.
"You’ve never tried it?" Liam murmurs, studying your hesitation.
"Not with company," you admit, voice lower than intended.
The joint is warm against your lips, the mirthroot’s smoke trailing thick and honeyed into your lungs. You hold it for a breath too long, exhaling slowly as the heat spreads through your chest. Garrick’s laugh is low and approving as he stares, no shame in his dark eyes.
"There she goes," he murmurs, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dip to your mouth. "Always a good girl, aren't you."
You scoff, but Xaden beats you to it with his retort.
"I don't think 'good girls' hang out with older guys alone in their dorms, and smoke mirth after midnight, Garrick."
The second hit is easier, the third even more so, and by the fourth pass of the smoke, the room tilts pleasantly, your insecure edges softened. Xaden’s fingers brush yours as he takes the joint from you, his touch deliberate as he leans over the card box.
"Better?" he asks, his voice rough. You nod, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he’s leaned, the heat radiating off him.
Garrick stretches, rolling his shoulders, and the movement pulls his tunic taut across his chest.
"You know," he says, voice lazy with smoke, "you’re the only one who doesn’t see it."
"See what?" you ask, though your pulse is already picking up.
"How fucking gorgeous you are," Garrick says, blunt as a hammer strike, and the words land like a spark to flint. Your breath catches; part shock, part aching want you’ve buried for months. Liam’s thigh presses harder against yours, a silent reinforcement while Xaden leans back just enough to let his gaze drag over you in admiration.
"You think we haven’t noticed?" Xaden’s voice like gravel. He flicks the roll onto the bedside table and reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers trail down the line of your jaw.
"The way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating. How your hips sway when you walk. The fucking sounds you make when you’re sparring-"
"Gods," you choke out, your face burning. Garrick cuts in with a grin.
"Yeah, that. That right there." He gestures at you, both broad palms upturned. "You think others stare because they judge you? Sweetheart, I can guarantee they stare because they're hungry."
Liam's hand lands on your knee then, his touch solid through the fabric of your pants. His thumb traces slow circles, the touch feather-light but deliberate.
"I can tell you don’t believe us," he murmurs, voice low enough that it thrums through you like a second pulse. His eyes are dark with something you’ve never seen directed at you before. "I guess we’ll have to show you, then."
The words coil tight in your stomach. Xaden shifts closer, "table" be damned as he wades right through it, his touch soft but insistent as he tugs you onto his lap.
"Tell us to stop," he says, but his fingers are already sliding up your arms, tracing the curve of your shoulders. His breath is warm against your neck when he leans in, lips barely grazing your skin. "Be the good girl you are, and say it."
You don’t. Instead, you grin, biting your lip as the words come out, no thought or restraint in holding them back or filtering any thought in your brain at all before speaking.
"Don't you know that "good girls" are just bad girls that haven't been caught yet?"
The silence stretches, thick with the anticipation until Garrick growls and pushes off the floor in one smooth motion. His hands find your waist like he’s measuring the dip of it, the flare of your hips, the very feel of you.
"Fuck," he mutters, almost to himself. "Knew you’d feel like this."
You turn, gazing at him over your shoulder, and it's like time itself stops. How had you gotten yourself in this situation? These were your friends, for Gods sakes... but... by the Gods, with Xaden's mouth at your throat, Liam's gaze practically undressing you from where he sat only a few feet away, and Garrick's gaze peering down at you-
His mouth was on yours then, rough and insistent, swallowing the gasp you just couldn't hold back. His tongue strokes against yours, tasting of mirthroot and something hotter. You arch back into him without thinking, hands fisting in Xaden's tight shirt, and Garrick groans into your mouth. In front of you, Xaden’s hands slide around your waist, pulling you toward him again. His erection presses against your pelvis, and Garrick's against the curve of your ass -- the feeling of them both had you whimpering against Garrick’s lips.
Liam rises slowly from the floor, his movements downright predatory. He doesn’t touch you, not yet anyway. He just circles behind Garrick, his gaze primal as he watches his friends eat you alive.
“Just look at you,” he murmurs, his usually soft voice so rough. “Our bad girl indeed, wet for all three of us at once.” His fingers press at Garrick’s shoulder, a silent command, and Garrick pulls back with a growl, leaving your lips swollen and wet.
Xaden’s hands glide up your sides, fingertips skimming the underside of your breasts through your tunic.
“Tell me,” he murmurs against your ear, breath hot. “Tell me how much you want this, all three of us, worshipping you tonight.” His thumbs brush over your nipples, and you realize it wasn't really a question, but a demand. Garrick’s fingers dig into your hips as he continues pressing his hips against your plush ass, allowing Liam to kneel to your side.
Garrick tugs your tunic up, exposing the soft curve of your stomach, the dip of your waist. His lips follow the path of his hands, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.
“Fuck, you’re soft,” he mutters against you, biting lightly at the swell of your hip. Xaden’s fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head back, and his mouth finds your jaw, teeth scraping your pulse.
Garrick's hands slide higher, pushing your tunic up until the cool air hits your bare breasts.
"I don't understand," Liam growls, watching as Garrick palms the soft weight of your boobs, thumbs brushing your nipples. "Why you'd ever think poorly of yourself."
Xaden releases your hair only to cup your face, bringing your lips to his for a searing kiss that steals all of your breath. His tongue fucks your mouth in slow, deliberate strokes, mimicking the rhythm you suddenly ache for lower.
"He's right," Garrick murmurs against your shoulder, biting lightly. "You're fucking perfect, Y/N." His hands squeeze your breasts, pinching and toying with your nipples between his fingers until you whimper into Xaden's mouth.
Xaden takes your moment of weakness to maneuver you onto your knees, allowing Liam to undo and Garrick to remove your pants swiftly. Your trousers are tossed aside, your thighs spread before you can think to protest.
"Mmmm," Garrick breathes, marvelling at the dampness already gathering between your legs. His middle and ring fingers swipe through your folds, and your body tenses; but Xaden is quick with his hands, as he leans back against his dresser, pulling you right along with him. Garrick has to work to leash a pathetic whimper as your ass is now on full display, your face down as your lips are still connected with Xaden's. His hands palm your cheeks gently, tugging your thonge aside before licking a slow stripe up your center.
Your eyes fly open at the feeling, your walls fluttering around nothing.
"Nmmph-" you groan against Xaden's mouth, gasping for air when he finally does give you a second to breathe. "Ohhhh, fuck, fuck-"
Garrick’s tongue drags through your folds again, slower this time, savoring the taste of you with a groan that vibrates against your skin. Your fingers tangle in Xaden's hair, holding on in a loose efffort to steady yourself. Xaden’s hand slides down to palm your breast where it's now pressed against him, thumb circling your nipple in time with Garrick’s languid strokes.
"Fuck, she’s dripping," Garrick mutters against you, his breath hot and uneven. His tongue flicks over your clit with precision that wrenches a ragged cry from your throat, sparks dancing behind your eyes.
Liam inchesforward, his fingers threading through yours where they’re clenched in Xaden's hair. He guides your left to his own belt, pressing your palm against the hard length straining beneath the leather.
"Feel that?" he rasps, lips brushing your ear. "That’s for you. All for you." His hips roll against your hand, and the choked noise he makes sends heat pulsing through your veins.
"Gods, Liam," you cry, biting your lip at you gaze up at him. "S-so fucking big..."
Xaden’s teeth graze your shoulder as Garrick’s mouth works you open, his tongue delving deeper, fucking you quick. Pleasure coils tighter, your hips jerking against his face, but Garrick holds you still with a growl, refusing to let you chase your release.
"Not yet," Liam murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. Liam's hand trails down the curve of your arched spine, his fingers dipping between your legs to join Garrick’s mouth at once. Two long fingers slide into you, curling just right, and your back arches painfully at the feel.
"Seem like a good girl to me," Xaden grits out, his restraint barely leashed. "Taking us so fucking well."
Liam’s belt clatters to the floor, his cock springing free against your palm. He guides your grip around him as his fingers plunge in and out of you, his breath hitching as you stroke him from root to tip.
"Gods... I;m gonna fuck you next," he promises, his voice heavy. Your thumb smears the precum beading at his tip, spreading it down his length with your hand. "We're gonna ruin you for anyone else."
You can't form words, not with Garrick's tongue circling your clit with maddening strokes, not with Xaden's mouth latched onto your skin, not with Liam's cock heavy and throbbing in your grip, fucking you with those long delicious digits. The mirthroot haze thickens your blood, every sensation amplified as you try so hard to focus on what's happening.
Garrick's lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently at first, then harder until you're gasping, your thighs trembling against his shoulders. He pulls back just enough to gaze down at you, his chin glistening.
"Love how you taste," he rasps, then dives back in, his tongue lapping at you with relentless precision. Your vision whites out for a second, your rhythm faltering. You're almost grateful for Liam's hand wrapping around yours, guiding your fingers on his cock.
"Want you to cum," Xaden commands against your ear, his voice frayed at the edges. "Let all those thoughts in that pretty head go."
Your shaking frantically, so close to unraveling completely. Garrick hums against you, the vibration finally tipping you over the edge. Pleasure crashes through you in waves, your throat raw as you cry out, your grip tightening around Liam almost painfully.
Before you can catch your breath, Liam's lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to Xaden's bed. Garrick follows, stripping off his tunic with a rough tug, his muscles flexing under the flickering lamplight. Liam kisses you breathless, his tongue mapping your mouth like he's memorizing you, not giving a fuck that you're still reeling in the aftershocks of your first orgasm.
You feel Xaden's fingers tracing your folds again, gathering your wetness, then pressing back inside with three fingers this time. Your squeal as Xaden scissors his fingers, stretching you slowly.
"Gods damn, she's tight," Xaden growls, glancing to where Garrick palms his own cock beside the bed. "This is going to feel like heaven."
Liam pulls back from your mouth just as Xaden withdraws his fingers, leaving you empty yet again. The cool air hits your slick, making you shiver. It's only a second before Garrick’s hands are on you again, flipping you onto your stomach with a possessiveness. His calloused palms skate up your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between your legs. You feel the thick head of his cock nudge against your entrance, and your heart skips a beat.
Garrick pushes into you with one slow, relentless thrust. Your mouth falls open on a silent cry, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he stretches you impossibly wide. He groans, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.
"Fuck, you’re perfect," he grits out, hips snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt.
Liam’s hands grip your chin, lifting your head higher as he kneels beside you, his cock glistening in the lamplight.
"Open," he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip. You obey instinctively, your tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin as he slides into your mouth with a satisfied groan. The stretch is delicious, the weight of him heavy on your tongue as he sets a slow, deep rhythm.
Xaden watches with dark, hungry eyes, his hand stroking himself in time with Garrick’s thrusts.
"That’s it," he rasps, his free hand tangling in your hair to guide you along Liam's length. "Take him down that pretty throat, just like that."
Garrick’s pace quickens, his fingers digging into your ass as he fucks you harder, deeper. Every snap of his hips drags a muffled moan from your throat, the vibrations making Liam curse and thrust faster.
Garrick’s thrusts grow erratic, his breath hot against your back as he murmurs filthy praises into your skin. “Such a good fucking girl, huh? Taking me so deep-”
His teeth graze your shoulder blade, the sharp sting making you clench around him and he groans, hips stuttering. Xaden's fingers tighten in your hair, Liam's cock sliding deeper down your throat as your head tips back further.
“Gonna c-come,” the blonde warns, and you gurgle around him, the vibration wrenching a broken noise from his chest. Garrick watches as spit slides down your chin, the shine of it sinful in the dark room as you struggle to fit all of Liam between those pretty, pink lips.
“Perfect fucking body,” Xaden murmurs, his thumb pressing into the dimple above your ass. “You look even better filled up so good, stuffed full of cum-”
Garrick’s hips jerk forward one last time, his release spilling into you with a groan that’s half your name. His eyes squeeze shut, trying to shut out the fact that his best friend's words, combined with the feel of your cunt sucking him in like there was no tomorrow, had him releasing more than he ever had with any other female.
Liam's chest falls and rises unevenly as he paints your throat with his seed, his expression of pure bliss something you wish you could capture and stare at forever. His lips are slightly parted as he jerks himself off onto your tongue, abdomen clenching with every spurt of cum he shoots right down your delicate little throat.
If he were being honest, he liked it when you weren't so "good"... in fact, he rather preferred you this way.
You were flipped onto your back with a roughness that sends sparks skittering up your spine, Xaden's hands framing your face as he kissed you. You could taste the mirthroot’s lingering sweetness on his lips, feel the intention behind his actions... and the thoughts send heat pooling low in your belly again.
“It's my turn,” Xaden growls against your pulse, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, pressing your knees up to your chest. The stretch burns deliciously as he sinks into you in one smooth thrust, his cock filling the space Garrick left behind. Your nails rake down his back, hissing at the fullness, but Xaden doesn’t give you time to adjust -- he sets a brutal pace immediately, hips slamming into yours with a force that knocks the air from your lungs.
Garrick kneels beside you, fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your face toward him.
“You're taking him like you were made for it, Y/N.” His other hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit immediately. The dual sensation of Xaden’s cock fucking you deep, Garrick’s fingers circling your cli once more has your cunt spasming, a broken cry tearing from your throat.
Liam’s hands are soft as he touches you, the gentle praising touches so at odds to the sensations you're feeling below. His lips kiss your cheek, nip at your collarbone, suck a mark just above the swell of your breast. His mouth pauses just below your ear, gently kissing and tickling at the skin there until you’re writhing.
“Y/N I know you're close,” he mutters against your skin, teeth grazing. Xaden’s thrusts grow rougher, his grip on your legs bruising as he chases his own release.
Your world narrows to the push-pull of Xaden's hips, the heat of Garrick's fingers, the scrape of Liam's teeth...
"F-fuck, I'm-"
Hot tears stream down your cheeks as you allow yourself your final release, every last ounce of built up tension, every last insecurity, every last lingering thought is let go. You're gripping Xaden's cock as he fucks you through it, his dark eyes pinning you to the bed as he watches you come undone, so beautiful and wrecked beneath him-
"Holy fucking GODS-"
His hips stutter, and then still completely as he pants, his head thrown back as warm fluid fills you entirely. The room is quiet, save for the labored breathing shared between the four of you, quiet admiration hanging between the stolen glances the men still share as the gaze at your wrung out, ravished body before them.
Liam swallows hard, kissing your forehead softly once before shrugging back into his briefs. He doesn't move to get off of the mattress, his eyes instead opting to wander lazily over the rounds of your cheeks and slanted nose.
"I meant every word," he said softly, his gaze unwavering. You turned your half-lidded stare onto him, sure you looked a wretched mess at this point; however, the three warriors around you saw nothing of the sort.
"You need to remember how you feel right now," Xaden said, voice low as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee. You shook gently as he lowered your legs, wishing nothing more than to wrap the sheets around you, hide yourself from their prying eyes yet again. "Stop thinking so much. You think things that aren't true."
"Damn straight," Garrick said, huffing as he struggled back into his pants. You giggled lazily as you watched him nearly fall over, the effects of the mirthroot clearly not having worn off quite yet. You made to sit, but Liam's hands were there, tugging one of Xaden's pillows behind your head.
"Y/N, please," he said softly, gently pushing you back against the plush. "You need to relax."
You sighed in relief when your head hit the pillowcase, your dry, red eyes finally falling shut. Your head swam, the feeling of being on a rollercoaster in full swing, the voices around you fading, fading, fast...
Warning(s): fluff, allusions to smutty activities but nothing serious
Summary: Ridoc is far different from the reckless guy he was in college vs the man he is now, for now he dons far more important titles other than rider; husband, and father.
SR’s Note: Ummm daddy Ridoc has me blushing and squealing and kicking my feet okay oh my gosh -- that's all, that's the post. Enjoy, love you all, and I hope you love this as much as I did thinking about it hehe <3
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @spookypersondinosaur @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
The afternoon sunlight slanted through the kitchen window, catching on the faded scar along Ridoc’s forearm as he balanced a giggling four-year-old on his hip.
“Alright, my most fearless girl,” he said, adjusting his grip as she squirmed. “You’re gonna help me stir this batter, yeah?”
His daughter, nose already dusted with flour from an earlier escape attempt, nodded solemnly, tiny fingers gripping the wooden spoon like it was a sword.
Behind them, the back door creaked open, followed by the telltale thump of a toddler’s boots hitting the floorboards.
“Mama!” The shout was muffled, half-buried in the fabric of a coat being wrestled off by small, determined hands. Ridoc didn’t even turn, just tilted his head toward the sound of you following your youngest inside.
“Did you drag half the forest in with you, Scout?”
Your son appeared in the doorway just before you did, cheeks flushed from the cold, clutching a fistful of something green and mangled.
“Look, Daddy! Grasses!” He brandished them proudly, and Ridoc made a show of inspecting the offering, nodding as if it were a royal decree.
“Excellent find! Now, go wash your hands; we’re making cookies for your Mama.”
The kitchen smelled like vanilla and burnt sugar; Ridoc had never quite mastered the art of not scorching the edges. But the chaos was warm and lived-in, the dining chairs comfortable from where you now sat. He caught your eye over the your eldest's head and grinned, the same lopsided smile that had first convinced you to sneak out with him after curfew all those years ago.
Somehow, impossibly, it still made your heart flutter.
Your son bolted for the sink, his boots leaving tiny muddy prints in his wake. You sighed softly -- so much for popping a squat -- and hoisted your baby boy up, smiling to yourself as he reached for the soap without complaint.
Ridoc shifted your daughter to his other hip, her flour-dusted fingers now smearing across his shirt. "Leaving evidence I see," he muttered, catching your eye again as she dipped her hand back into the mixing bowl. "She's a natural saboteur."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The cookies were slightly lopsided, with suspiciously adult-sized fingerprints along the edges. They were just coming out of the oven when your daughter decided she'd had enough of baking. She wriggled free, dropping to the floor with a thump, and immediately made a beeline for the lazy Susan tucked into the open, lower corner cabinets. You just watched, half-amused as she spun it with all the reckless enthusiasm of a cadet on threshing day.
Ridoc barely glanced up from sliding the next tray into the oven.
"My sweet Wren, if you launch the salt shaker again, I'm demoting you from warrior to infantry."
She giggled, undeterred, and gave the turntable another fierce whirl. A jar of cinnamon wobbled dangerously close to the edge, but Ridoc was already moving, swiping it up with one hand while catching your son mid-sprint with the other.
"This is a two-front war then," he announced, tossing the jar to you without looking. You caught it just as your daughter lunged for the sugar canister. "...and the eastern rank's collapsing!"
You giggled into your hand as your son, now perched on Ridoc's shoulders like a tiny general surveying a battlefield, pointed at the oven.
"Cookies!" he declared, as if this were new intel. Ridoc nodded gravely.
"Roger that. Extraction in T-minus…" He glanced at the timer, then at the flour-streaked chaos of the kitchen. "…Let's call it five years."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The cookies were objectively terrible.
One batch was charcoal at the edges, doughy in the middle; another had melted together into a big, goopy blob. But your daughter presented them to you on a chipped plate like they were stolen crown jewels, her face solemn beneath the frosting she'd swiped along her cheekbone.
"For my mama," she whispered, as if it were a sacred oath.
You grinned, leaning down to kiss her on her head of dark, wild curls.
"Why thank you, my dearest Wren. I'm so excited to try them!"
Ridoc leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you took a bite of the least-burnt one. His grin widened when you didn't immediately gag.
"See? I told you she'd inherit your tactical genius." He ducked as your daughter swiped at the table, and hurled a handful of sprinkles at him a direct hit to the collarbone, and then caught her wrist before she could reload.
"Ah ah ah, missy. We talked about this, remember? No war crimes before naptime."
You swallowed the cookie, more out of love than any real enjoyment. Ridoc slid the final batch into the oven, and scooped up your son with his free arm just as you reached for Wren.
"All right, busybodies," he announced, you both communicating silently and heading for the stairs despite their squirming protests. "After all this excitement, nap time is officially underway."
Your son let out a dramatic groan, kicking his feet ineffectually against Ridoc’s ribs, while your daughter immediately went limp, her limbs dangling like a ragdoll’s.
"We have one casualty," you deadpanned, shaking her slightly. "She’s gone. Pour one out for the fallen."
Ridoc chuckled at this, your dry sense of humor reminding him yet again why he fell in love with and married you in the first place.
You followed your husband upstairs, stepping over the trail of discarded building blocks and hot wheels your son had left in his earlier playtime throughout the house. You paused at the top step, shifting your grip as your daughter suddenly "revived". Your son twisted to peer over Ridoc's shoulder at you.
"Mama carry," he demanded, stretching his arms out with the imperiousness of a king summoning a subject. Ridoc feigned offense.
"Betrayed by my own son. Cold."
Your son, sensing weakness, immediately wriggled harder. "Down!" he insisted instead, kicking at Ridoc's hip. "Run!" Ridoc sighed but set him down, keeping a firm grip on the back of his tunic as the toddler immediately bolted for the bedroom; or more accurately, the precarious stack of storybooks beside it.
"Big mistake, buddy," Ridoc called after him. "You've left your fleet exposed!"
Your husband lunged forward and caught the toppling books one-handed, just as your son yanked at the bottom volume.
Your daughter, meanwhile, had decided your shoulder was the perfect vantage point to watch the disaster. She patted your cheek with sticky fingers.
"Daddy funny," she announced solemnly, as if this were groundbreaking intelligence. From the hallway, Ridoc snorted.
"Daddy's hilarious, thank you."
You giggled, kissing her cheek still smeared with dried icing.
"Your daddy is many things," you said softly, your heart warming as your daughter brushed the tip of her tiny nose with yours.
Ridoc herded your son toward the bedroom with gentle nudges, dodging tiny elbows with the ease of long practice. "And Daddy's also about to deploy the secret weapon."
You knew what was coming. So did your son, judging by his delighted shriek as Ridoc swept him up again, this time tossing him onto his little twin-bed with just enough force to bounce. Your daughter squirmed in your arms, already wailing injustice at being left out. Ridoc shot you a half-pleading look as he caught your son mid-leap for another throw.
"Mommy! Reinforcements needed," he said over the excitement. "We're losing ground!"
You deposited your daughter onto her own bed beside her brother's with a gentle bounce, her giggles dissolving into breathless shrieks as Ridoc promptly scooped her up and tossed her high enough to brush the ceiling.
“Incoming!” he warned, catching her effortlessly while your son launched himself at Ridoc’s legs like a tiny battering ram. Ridoc staggered dramatically, collapsing onto the mattress with a theatrical groan, both children immediately pouncing on him like victorious rebels.
“Ahh! I've been defeated,” he gasped, one arm flung over his eyes. “By my own kin. The betrayal cuts deep, ya know.”
Your son, ever the opportunist, seized the moment to climb onto Ridoc’s chest and peer down at him with narrowed eyes.
“Daddy’s a bad dragon,” he declared, poking Ridoc’s sternum. “Burn him!”
Your daughter, always eager to follow her brother’s lead, mimed blowing fire with a sound more like a wet sneeze. Ridoc cracked one eye open.
“Pathetic flames! My scales are laughing.”
He blew a raspberry against your son’s palm when he tried to “scorch” him again, sending the toddler into convulsions of laughter.
You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as Ridoc let them “vanquish” him three more times, each defeat more elaborate than the last, complete with twitching limbs and whispered death soliloquies that devolved into tickling counterattacks. Eventually, though, the energy waned.; your daughter yawned mid-pounce, blinking slowly as Ridoc caught her under the arms and held her against him.
“Ah. The sleep spell begins to take effect,” he murmured, lowering her slowly onto the pillows. Your son, ever stubborn, rubbed his eyes with balled fists but shook his head violently when Ridoc reached for him.
“No nap,” he insisted, voice already thick.
Ridoc hummed, untangling a tiny fist.
“Alright, alright. But you’ve got to at least pretend to rest. For morale.”
He stretched out beside Scout, an arm curled around him, and began recounting some absurd, half-remembered Basgiath tale -- the one where Aotrom nearly set Ridoc's flight jacket and supplies ablaze just before formation. That wasn't quite how you remembered it, but you let him rattle on anyways.
His voice was a low, steady rumble, fingers tracing idle patterns on your son's back as the story meandered into nonsense. Your son’s eyelids drooped, then snapped open, then drooped again.
Your daughter succumbed first, her head lolling against her soft pillows with a soft sigh, fingers still loosely clutching at her blankets. Ridoc didn’t miss a beat in his storytelling, though his voice dropped even lower, smoothing into something like a lullaby.
“And then Ridoc, being the brilliant rider he was, decided the best way to put out the flames was to roll down the...”
Your son interrupted with a sudden, sleepy gasp.
“Daddy,” he whispered, as if struck by divine revelation. “You forgot Mama’s cookies.”
Ridoc blinked, then winced; the last tray he'd thrown in before bringing the kids upstairs, he must've forgotten to set a timer for.
“Hmm... an oversight, on Daddy's account.” He shifted carefully, extricating himself from the tangle of limbs without jostling the boy.
“Duty calls,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your son's forehead as his eyes finally fluttered shut.
You followed him out, pausing in the doorway to watch their chests rise and fall in unison; your son’s thumb drifting toward his mouth, your daughter’s curls fanned across the pillow like a halo. Ridoc’s hand found the small of your back as you stepped into the hallway, his touch warm even through the fabric of your shirt.
“Mission accomplished,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “Though I can’t guarantee they won’t start to fuss the second we-”
A muffled thump from the bedroom cut him off. You both froze, waiting, but there was only the rustle of blankets and the soft, sleepy sigh of your daughter rolling over. Ridoc exhaled through his nose, shoulders relaxing.
“False alarm.” His fingers trailed down to hook into your belt loop, tugging you closer as you descended the stairs. You grinned, your nose brushing his. “Now. About those cookies...”
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The kitchen looked like a flour bomb had detonated. The mixing bowl lay upturned near the sink, a lone wooden spoon sticking out of it like a surrender flag. Ridoc surveyed the damage with the eye of someone who’d spent years navigating battlefield debris.
“Hm. We got messier than I expected,” He picked at a clump of dough with his fingers, dropping it into the sink. “Why doesn't the kitchen ever look like this when you cook?”
You snorted, bending to pick up the plate your daughter had so ceremoniously presented earlier. A single, misshapen cookie remained; the one you’d taken a bite of, its edges jagged where tiny hands had broken it free from the others.
"I'll let you sort that one out yourself, dear."
Ridoc plucked the treat from your fingers before you could protest, popping the rest into his mouth with a grimace.
“Gods,” he mumbled around the mouthful. “It’s worse than I thought. Like eating charcoal with a sugar chaser.”
Ridoc swallowed the last of the cookie with an exaggerated gag, then grinned when you swatted his shoulder.
"Worth it," he declared, dusting flour off his trousers with a careless swipe. "Every baking disaster is a learning opportunity, am I right?"
He snagged your wrist before you could retreat, tugging you into the circle of his arms despite the mess clinging to both of you.
"Speaking of opportunities..."
His mouth found the flour smudged along your exposed collarbone, his tongue swiping over the spot with deliberate slowness. He groaned softly, and even after all this time, your stomach tightened at the sound.
"This tastes better on you."
The oven timer chose that moment to shriek, the sound entirely too loud in the quiet of the house. Ridoc groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
"The universe hates me."
But he released you with a parting squeeze, turning to yank open the oven door. A cloud of smoke billowed out, revealing a tray of blackened cookies. Ridoc poked at them with a spatula.
"Huh. Well, at least I remembered to set the timer, anyway."
You grabbed the fire extinguisher from under the sink just in case, but Ridoc, ever the optimist, was already chiseling at the edges with the enthusiasm of an archaeologist.
"If we can at least scrape them off, the pan can be saved," he reasoned, chipping off a fragment and offering it to you. "You taught me as much."
You grinned, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
"I'm glad that information stuck. I'd quite enjoy keeping my pans rather than tossing them each time, thank you."
His gaze lingered at your closeness, and followed when you hoisted yourself onto the counter beside him. He tossed the spatula into the sink with a clatter, stepping between your knees where they dangled off the edge of the marble. His grin went sharp at the edges, the same one he’d worn when you'd finally agreed to go out with him.
“You're a dangerously gorgeous woman, you know that?” he murmured, flour-dusted fingers sliding into your back jean pockets and tugging you to the edge of the counter. You squeaked in delight, your hands resting on his muscled shoulders. “You know I can’t resist-”
The smoke alarm chose that moment to screech again, a piercing wail that sent the birds outside into a frenzy. Ridoc didn’t even blink, just reached over your shoulder to yank the battery pack free with a practiced twist. The sudden silence rang louder than the alarm.
“Such universal sabotage,” he declared, tossing the batteries onto the pile of abandoned mixing bowls. “The Gods must know I'm gaining ground.”
You leaned in, nose brushing his, and stole the breathless laugh right out of his mouth. Ridoc’s hands slid up your back, leaving trails of flour in their wake, pulling you closer as he slotted himself closer between your thighs. His soft mouth tasted of his poor, burnt sugar cookies, the memory coming to mind from almost a decade ago when you’d kissed him behind the armory for the first time.
“You're a terrible cook,” you muttered against his lips.
Ridoc nipped at your lower lip in retaliation.
“And yet.” He rocked forward, hips pressing between yours with deliberate intent. “You...”
His protest dissolved into a groan as your teeth grazed his throat. “...married me anyway.”
Ridoc’s hands were halfway under your shirt, flour fingerprints be damned when the sound of tiny feet thundering down the hallway froze you both mid-motion. Working quickly, he gripped you with a gentle, practiced ease and lifted you from the counted, setting you onto the floor in an instant. You barely had time to balance yourself once more before your son barreled into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in wild tufts and his eyes wide with the urgency only a toddler could muster.
"Daddy!" he gasped, skidding to a halt and nearly toppling over. "Dragon in my room! A bad!"
Ridoc didn’t miss a beat. He approached your baby with the grace of a man who’d spent years recovering from near-disasters, crouching to meet your son at eye level.
"Where's he hiding?" he asked, his voice very serious. Your son gazed up at him solemnly, his little chest heaving.
"Under the bed. Scary dragon."
You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Ridoc stroked his chin, the picture of a seasoned cadet weighing his options.
"Hmm. Is it a napping dragon or hungry dragon?"
Your son’s eyes widened further.
"Hungry," he whispered, as if the word itself might summon the beast. Ridoc nodded.
"Then we’ll need reinforcements." He straightened, offering your son his hand. "Grab your sword, soldier. Let's make our attack."
You shook your head slowly, grinning as you husband tossed you a wink over his shoulder. That one look said everything he couldn't in that moment, everything that needed to be put on pause the moment either of your kids needed you; I love you, and you understand, which, of course you did, and most exciting of all, we'll finish this later.
Summary: One Princess, 17 eligible males fighting for a spot beside her throne -- who will she pick, if any of them? Make your voice heard as you help direct the narrative in this gripping new series, detailing the Selection process and all the juicy details it brings!
SR’s Note: And the crowd is... confused as fuck? By last week's votes? Lmaooo I am just playin (sort of) but I genuinely am a little confused because while I understand voting to keep characters that you want to see have more of a chance with the reader (don't worry, I have plans for more characters to come in the next few episodes!) I genuinely do not understand voting off characters that already have an established, good connection with the reader either. *insert thinking emoji here* I am happy to write this the way you guys decide it to go, however I also think stories should make sense, and what does not make much sense to me is the votes showing one thing, and then half the comments asking for the same characters to stay. (': I'm kind of convinced people are not reading what they're voting for before just clicking. That being said, PLEASE read EVERYTHING before just clicking on a name, as every vote counts. Also -- your comments count! For every vote there is for a character to leave, if I have just as many people asking for that person to stay, it cancels out, and vice versa of course (example being, Kingfisher. He was sent home, despite people asking him to stay as his vote to leave was overwhelming the comments asking him to stay). All of that being said; I shall get off my soapbox, and deliver to you, the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy, and rest assured that I am keeping an overall tally of every comment from every chapter so far as well as this will factor into the ultimate winner in the end! This series is READER-GUIDED, and every single vote and comment will decide the direction of this story! So please be sure to read carefully, VOTE, and COMMENT after reading (pay attention to the polls)!
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker @bookishbishhh @acourtofbatboydreams @embersofonyx @ilove4thwing @taylorkindafruity @jchameleon @bxm-2121 @liamwanrlore @pizzapizzapepperoni (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
You'd awoken the next morning, feeling as though you were floating on air. Every step was light as you padded to your wardrobe, allowing every ounce of positivity into your day as you thumbed through your outfit choices for the day.
"Someone had a good night," Lucille murmured, straightening your bedsheets, grunting softly as she rounded the bed to fix the other side. "Was it... mmph," she paused, fluffing a pillow. "...anything to do with the music, coming from the ballroom?"
You paused, grinning softly at the memory. You tried to hide the blush on your cheeks at the memory, remembering the way Azriel's hands had felt on your waist, and that mouth...
Oh God.
"My," Lucille said softly, her grin wide and unabashed. "You must be smitten, then."
Your eyes widened then, the color draining from your face at the thought. You turned on your heel quickly, your mussed hair swishing around your shoulders with the effort.
"No," you insisted, rifling through your day dresses quicker now. "I am not. He is but one male in a group of many, and-"
"...and, you had a rather pleasant time with him, did you not?"
You groaned dramatically, selecting a rather simple off-shoulder gown and tossing it onto the bed. You began unbuttoning your nightdress, shaking your head.
"And so what if I had," you volleyed, stripping down to your underthings and yanking the dress quickly from the hanger. Lucille didn't even try to step in and assist, she just... let you work out your frustration, right there on that poor dress. "I wouldn't go so far as to call it love, Lucille."
She giggled, pressing her fingers to her lips.
"But, you could, if you wanted to."
You rolled your eyes.
"You're a hopeless romantic, friend -- I am simply practical." You swiftly freed your hair from the dress's hemline, yanking it free with a huff. "And, there are still men in this group I have not had a chance with yet -- I at least owe them that before deciding on something so... so..."
Lucille raised an eyebrow.
"So, life changing as true love?"
You laughed, nudging her with your shoulder playfully before sitting before your vanity, allowing her to begin combing through your hair.
"Whatever you say, Lucille. We'll see if any of them even get the chance to call it that within the next few weeks."
Lucille sighed, brushing softly through your bed head.
"You deserve a chance at love too, Princess."
Your retort died on your tongue then, her words softening the ice beginning to freeze the warmth that had thawed some piece of your heart the night before. Your eyes met hers in the mirror, fleetingly before she turned back to her work, her brush fixing on a soft knot.
You swallowed before you could think too hard on it.
"I am giving myself a chance, Lucille, I promise -- and I'll prove it to you. I'm taking someone on a date this very afternoon."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The tall grasses tickled your knees as you walked through the field, the first daisies of the year beginning their bloom. Your dress had been perfect for the occasion, the idea for flower picking coming to you on a whim -- but, it seemed like the perfect scene for you and Ridoc to finally spend some alone time.
"So, do you come out here often?" He asked, the basket swaying from his fingers as he walked. He'd carried it for you like a gentleman, his eyes gazing swiftly across the rows and rows of white flowers. "It seems so... quiet out here."
You chuckled, hands clasped behind your back as you walked beside him.
"Well, sometimes I quite enjoy some peace and quiet, given the life I live," you paused, glancing over your shoulder. Sure enough, per your parents order, two of the royal guard had lingered a few hundred yards behind -- far, but not near far enough. "I can imagine you don't get much peace nor quiet where you come from."
"Me? Oh, no, not really," he laughed, nudging you with his elbow. "If it's too quiet, usually means somethings wrong."
You smiled softly, glancing sidelong at him. He wore an outfit of all black, clothes he'd brought with him from when he first arrived; clearly, he wasn't fond of the provided royal garb. You hated to admit how almost out of place he looked, so tough in a place as soft as this.
The armed guards trailing the two of you, you supposed, looked quite out of place as well though too, and you wouldn't be one to judge.
"What's it like, Basgiath -- I'm pronouncing it right, right?"
He smiled, kicking a small rock along the path with the toe of his boot.
"Yeah, that's right -- that's just the school, but, the actual place is Navarre," he corrected, shrugging in nonchalance. "It's pretty awesome, if I'm being honest. I always knew I wanted to be a rider when I went off to college, but, actually like, riding one, I mean, holy shit, it's like, awesome," he chuckled. "And, when we're not riding dragons, well... there are other things to ride, too."
A faint blush painted your cheeks as your eyes widened, and Ridoc stopped walking right then and there. He turned to you instantly, his own eyes wide. "Oh Gods, I'm so sorry, I forgot you're like, an actual Princess, and I probably shouldn't say stuff like that-"
A slow grin spread across your lips until you couldn't contain it anymore. A delicate laugh escaped your lips, dancing in teh air between you prettier than the sound of windchimes in the summer. Ridoc just stared at you, unsure what to do.
"Uh... are you.. okay? You're not like, having a stroke, are ya?"
You laughed harder, a hand pressed to your abdomen as you bent at the waist. You leaned forward, your free hand pressed against his chest as you giggled, tears welling in your eyes. Ridoc's chest rumbled beneath your palm as he joined in, laughing tentatively along with you.
Once you finally caught your breath, wheezing and stuttering, you stood again, inhaling deeply.
"Oh God Ridoc, wow," you breathed, smoothing your hands over your skirts again. "I've never had someone speak so freely before me like you just have."
His hands were out in case you needed them to brace yourself, however you'd stood just fine on your own two feet by now.
"I swear it, people walk on eggshells around me, speaking as though I'm some sort of child who cannot handle hearing such vulgar, nor hilarious things like you've just said," the last part came out in a breathless laugh, and Ridoc grinned, falling into step alongside you again. He swallowed, finally allowing himself to breathe again after his near-fatal mistake.
"I mean, if I'm being honest, I think you're actually pretty normal for like, a Princess, you know?" He said, picking a daisy leaning into the pathway and lying it in your basket. You smiled softly at this, the words meaning more than he'd ever know. "Don't get me wrong, we can like, tell, you're gonna be a Queen, y'know with the tiaras and all, but like... you just seem like a really good friend, to all of us. That's all."
You paused, taking his hand in yours and giving it a squeeze. He smiled down at you, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the edges.
"Ridoc, that's probably the nicest thing anyone has every said to me. Truly," you said softly. He shrugged, turning back to the path as you continued on again.
"I usually aim for funny, but... hey, I'll take a pretty girl calling me nice every once in a while, too."
You beamed, welcoming the heat rising to your cheeks with the compliment. A soft laugh esceped his lips at this, his bright smile reflecting your own as he dared another look at you.
He paused after a few moments, his fingers wrapping around a particularly long step drooping a bit further onto the path than the other flowers surrounding it.
"Usually, people back home just call me the 'funny one'," he said, pausing as he plucked the stem from the root. He gently placed the flower in the basket, his gaze sliding to you again. "It's not often that "nice" comes to mind first for women when complimenting me."
You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling upward. A confession for a confession, then.
Stooping, your fingers prodded at the stem of a fresh flora as well, tugging it from the Earth.
"People typically compliment my leadership skills or my beauty before they notice anything further, much less comment on my friendship," you said, dropping it into the basket just beside Ridoc's blossom. "And I think you are quite nice indeed, Ridoc."
He smiled at this, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He reached for another flower instead.
"I've never gone on a real date before, typically when I spend time with girls it's just... in my dorm, or, in whatever vacant space we can find back at the school," he said, huffing a laugh. He dropped the flower into the wicker basket. "I appreciate you asking me to join you today, to let me experience a real date, Princess."
You smiled softly, reaching for your own bud of choice.
"I usually don't go on dates either -- you can imagine how hard it would be to find a boyfriend as a royal, much less find privacy to spend time with one once you determine he might not be a spoiled, pompous, princeling like the rest."
You dropped the flower into the basket, and Ridoc laughed.
"Oh, so she is funny, too!"
You giggled, pressing your fingers to your lips.
"So, I take it you don't really have a thing for Princes then?"
You sigh, scratching at your forearm. "It's not that, it's just... most of them are just that. Princes. Spoiled and arrogant. They're just not... real. They mostly with to court and marry for title, to become King in their own realm, and expect the woman to just follow along and give up her own status to sit obediently beside him," you explained, waving your hands animatedly as Ridoc continued picking and dropping flowers into the basket.
"I bet that makes Dorian's time here real hard then," he said, chuckling. You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him with your elbow.
"No, Prince Dorian is..." you trailed off. What was it you thought of the young, Auderlanian Prince, anyway? Sure, you'd originally viewed him to be a farse, stuck up, fool... but after seeing him with Delancey-
"Anddddd she's too stunned to speak," Ridoc said, grinning through his teeth. "Must be the Prince-effect, or something."
You laughed, waving him off.
"No, no, I assure you it's not that. He's just.... well, I suppose he's just different than most."
Ridoc shrugged, following as you turned a corner in the path. A small clearing opened ahead, the stream coming into view littered with large rocks and a small pavillion ahead. You breathed a sigh of relief as the mid-day sun had begun to shine down a bit too warmly, and you'd been contemplating a rest anyway.
"Shall we?" You suggested, motioning toward the streambed and wooden structure ahead. Ridoc nodded in agreement.
"Lead the way, Princess."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The following few days passed slowly, and you began running through your remaining options; first, to yourself, and then to Delancey, as she sat atop your bed, the remaining male's application's littered around her.
"...says here that Garrick currently holds the title of Section Leader in his home country of Navarre, at the war college of... Baz-guy-ith," Delancey said, sounding out the last word. You smiled to yourself as you worked the needle through the square of fabric, listening to Delancey go on as you busied yourself with your stitchwork. "Sounds like he may know what it's like to hold a learship title."
You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, him and half of the others. Go on."
She sighed, setting his paper aside and selecting the next one from the stack. "Alright then. Cassian -- General of the Night Court." She paused, skimming down the page. Your cheeks warmed, remembering the happy memory of him teaching you how to shoot the arrow that day out on the field -- how seen he'd made you feel.
Delancey made a low sound in her throat. "Umm.. lower born in the Illyrian regions, he worked his way up in ranks-"
"I don't quite care how low-born he is," you said softly, your heart hurting as you imagined the life he must've suffered to get to where he was now. A life you haven't yet got to talk with him about. "He's a kind male indeed."
Delancey shrugged. "Oh, I don't disagree, sister." She set aside his paper, selecting the next leaflet from the pile.
"Alright, here's one we haven't explored yet, don't know why," she added quietly. You whipped your head toward her, frowning from where you sat in your windowsill nook. "Bodhi. Held the position of Executive Officer, and is now also a Section Leader at none other than-"
"Basgiath, I know," you interrupted, setting down your stitching hoop and facing her fully. "Delancey, there are only so many days in the week that I can spend on these boys you know-"
"Mhm," she said sarcastically, her brows raised as she dropped his paper in the "reviewed" pile. "I'm just saying he's cute, the least you could do is take a stroll through the gardens-"
You groaned dramatically, flopping back against the pillows of the windowseat in exasperation. Your buried your face in your hands. "Delanceyyyyy, please."
Your sister giggled, snatching up the next paper. The room fell silent for a moment as she cleared her throat quietly, simply reading over the paper to herself. Your fingers spread as you looked over at her, your hands falling away from your face completely as a confused look replaced your earlier annoyed one.
"Well, go one with it."
Delancey's eyes dropped to the floor, and she simply set the paper aside.
"Perhaps we... skip that one, for now."
You fixed her with a look that begged her to explain, and she chewed her lip nervously.
"I... doubt you want to hear much about Dorian Havilliard, anyway."
Your heart skipped a beat. Indeed, you did want to hear about the Auderlanian Prince -- but not for the reasons your sister could understand. With the trade agreement now in place, of course you wanted more information on the son of the man responsible for such high value trade between your territories...
And, of course, anyone with eyes could see the way he looked at your sister like she was his sun, moon, and all of his stars. Of course you wanted to know more about the man after your sister's heart, and her heart only.
However, she wouldn't understand all of that yet; couldn't. Not until the time was right.
So, you did what was appropriate -- what made sense.
You tilted up your chin and scowled.
"Ugh, of course not. Please, just skip his and spare me. Let's just move onto the next male, Delancey."
She straightened at this, perking up again as she took the next application in her hands, skimming before reading it aloud.
"Azriel, the Night Court's Shadowsinger," she declared, her gaze finding yours over the top of the paper as she wiggled her eyebrows. "6"5', Illyrian-born, and has had years of training in both battle and-"
"Okay, enough!" You squealed, cheeks rosy as you chucked a throw pillow at her. She squealed, hands raised as it his the bed, scattering papers everywhere. The room was alight with laughter as she refiled the papers into their piles, tossing the frilly pillow at you once more.
"Come on, Delancey, give me the real stuff, something I can work with -- not just where they're from, or their occupation. Something real good."
A devilish grin overtook her lips as she yanked up the next paper, cackling as she found the footnotes.
"Oh boy, this one is good -- Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, of course," she tossed you a wink. "We remember him, sure, you made out with him in the gardens after dark..."
"Delancey!"
She was dying of laughter, but kept on. "Alright! Alright. It says here that..." She paused, wheezing. "He has an issue with... lint? As in, clothing, lint?"
Your brows knit, mouth agape.
"What?!"
Your laughter could be heard from the dungeouns in the basement at this point, the two of you hollering and carrying on as Delancey thumbed through the rest.
"Oh God -- says here that Ridoc doesn't know how to sew! Ha! Perhaps you wouldn't be a fine match afterall," your sister whooped, and you nearly doubled over, clutching at your stomach. She tossed the paper aside, reaching for another.
"Pffft, Eris Vanserra once offered his entire kingdom and life savings when courting a female he thought he had fallen in love with," Delancey rolled her eyes through her giggles.
You pressed your fingers to your lips, your lower abdomen warming at the memory of his hands resting on you in the grove despite the rediculous admission on that paper. "Sheesh, what a romantic."
Delancey had already snatched the next pamplet, her eyes quickly roving over the text. "Oh my... now here's a new name. Xaden Riorson, Wingleader," she paused, gasping as her cheeks flushed. "Y/N! Good God, you could have fun with this one."
Your eyes widened in horror, fearing the worst.
"Oh no, Delancey, whatever could it say that-"
"His most embarassing moment was when he broke an armoire whilst in the middle of..." she trailed off, her eyes meeting yours in shock. "Y/N... you might just be the luckiest, but most sinful Queen in all of Illea should you choose to marry this man-"
"Stop!" You squealed, hiding behind your hands again. You'd admit, of course, that Xaden was handsome -- intimidatingly so. That might be why you hadn't yet approached him, or at least that was the excuse you allowed yourself to give. But good God, the thought of him taking you against an armoire, that hard body pressed against you so thoroughly that the wood itself broke-
"Hello? Earth to Y/N?" Delancey sing-songed, her laughter gone as she shook another paper in the air. You gulped, blinking twice as you came back to the situation at hand. You plastered on a fake smile, as though you hadn't just been imagining such... unqueenly thoughts.
Delancey cleared her throat. "Ahem. Alright, almost done. Liam," she said, reading down the page. "Again, such a handsome face. He'd make for a nice King, as far as the public would be concerned." She said shrugging. You sighed, rising as you gathered your stitching materials at once.
"I'm sure you're right, Delancey, but... I need a little more than a nice face for someone that I'll be spending the rest of my life with," you countered, and Delancey shrugged.
"True, true. Says here he likes woodcarving," she offered, tossing his application aside. "That's gotta count for something, right?"
You sighed, placing your hobby materials back in their cabinet drawer.
"I suppose so. Sure."
Delancey silently looked over the last application, scowling as she read through it.
"Okay, now I don't understand how you've even entertained the idea of this one so long!" She exclaimed, sending an appalled look your way. "This says that Carrion Swift is not open to the idea of having children in the future... like, at all," she explained, slapping his paper onto the stack in finality. "I mean, that has to be a dealbreaker for you, doesn't it?"
You found her looking at you through your vanity mirror's reflection, her eyes meeting yours in question. Your brows furrowed as you contemplated this. You'd mentioned wanting children of your own, many times you'd thought... why was it that your father chose an applicant as such to be in the running for a life-changing decision as important as this? Did he simply skim over that bit of information, or was he doing it as a way to not pressure you into having chilren, should you not want to continue the royal bloodline?
You shook your head at the rediculous thought.
"Yes," you answered her then. "It is."
And keeping true to your promise, Carrion was kindly sent back home by the end of the week.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Monday brought meetings, with your parents, then with your other advisors, and with a public liason your family had hired on your behalf to connect both the royal court to the public directly. Thank God this one was nothing like Halden, and seemed to report accurate, truthful words, straight from the source; but still, the days were long that were filled with meetings like these, and after a few in a row, you wanted nothing more than a day off to relax.
Thursday was quite pleasant as you prepared for the day, finishing your morning steamed chocolate (your favorite) and headed out to the gardens for a nid-morning walk. The hedge roses would be fuller in bloom by now, and you were excited to see them in their full, white glory; that is, until a voice behing you interrupted your solemn walk.
A male voice, of course.
You fought the urge to ball your fists, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath before you turned, a pleasant, controlled smile on your face as Liam approached, his steps quick as he ran down the stairs and across the stone path, making his way to you.
"Princess! Oh my, I do apologize, I just... I saw you heading this way, and-"
"No no, no need for apologies," you assured, giving him a fake smile. Once he finally made it to you, he bowed, his impossibly blue eyes meeting yours as he rose again. You waved a hand, your half-smile real this time.
"Oh, Liam, no need," you said. "And please, you can call me Y/N."
He nodded, a small smile creeping onto his lips.
"Y/N then, wonderful." He said, his voice low and even. You would admit, of all of the men still here, he wasn't the worst option that could've come and interrupt you during your morning of solace. He paused, then seeming to remember why he'd come, rushed to explain his presence.
"Oh! I, uh, I'm sorry, I just... I wanted to ask if you were, proccupied, this morning. I just, we haven't gotten to spend much time together yet, and I didn't want you to get the idea that I didn't want to spend time alone with you-"
Your brows raised, and his cheeks pinkened as he smiled, nervously laughing. You grinned at his stuttering, your arms folding over your chest.
"You're making the first move?" You asked, the question coming out more sultry than you'd intended. Liam's chest rose and fell deeply, his gaze working to stay glued to your face and not dip down to your lower-cut sundress of choice today.
"I... suppose I am, Princess. Y/N, I mean." He said, running a stressed out hand through his hair. You pursed your lips at this, deciding then and there how you felt about this little 'interruption'.
Your fingers slid around his bent elbow, and you tugged him forward, further along the garden path.
"Well, come along then, if you must," you teased, tossing him a wink. "I suppose you'll just have to tour the gardens with me this morning."
He smiled then, real and bright as he fell into step beside you, his other hand resting gently over yours curled around his arm.
"Nothing would make me happier."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You surprised even yourself as you sat with Liam now, relaxed on the edge of the fountain as he worked on one of his wood carvings. You'd shown him the sprawl of your family's palace, all the way to the far corners and vegetation in the south. You were pleasantly surprised when the conversation never lulled, somehow a topic always coming up for one of you to ask the other about; and now, the two of you sat, you watching the sheer artistry of his wood working as he listened to you chatter on about your family's history.
"...which brings us to today, with me and Delancey. We're the last of our bloodline, and with us both being females, whomever we marry would need to take our last name, should we wish to carry on the Y/L/N legacy."
Liam paused, turning his blue eyes on you again.
"And, is that something you'd want? Children, anyway?"
Your heart thundered in your chest. Gods, why was he looking at you like that? Why did he look like that? Sure, it'd been quite some time since you'd been intimate, per se, but... you felt like a wild dog in heat, for God's sakes.
"I... well, yes, of course," you swallowed thickly, fisting your skirts with sweaty palms. "In the future, sure."
Liam nodded, turning back to his knife and wood. You waited for him to continue, but when he did not, you simply asked the question dancing between the two of you.
"Do... you?"
Liam didn't look up this time. He just shrugged in nonchalance.
"I would, yes. With the right woman, someone I love, of course."
He looked up then, finding you already gazing down at him. Your cheeks flushed when he caught you staring, and he huffed a laugh, shaking his head before carving again. You swallowed, crossing your ankles and trying to focus on literally anything else, anything but his long, perfect fingers, moving so elegantly...
"So what're you-"
"Actually, I've finished," he said at the same time, brushing away the last of the shavings and settling aside his whittling knife. Your eyes widened as they trained on his work, his hand extending the small, intricate artwork to you in offerring.
"For you, Y/N," he said softly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks once more. "Forgive me for not picking you a real one, but... real flowers wither and die eventually. This, you'll be able to keep, for as long as you want it."
Your heart squeezed as you accepted the carved wooden rose, the petals intricately hollowed out and resembling the florals now in bloom throughout your garden. You turned it over in your fingers, looking on in wonder at the sheer detail in it.
"My... Liam, this is... far too generous, I... truly don't know what to say," you said softly, bringing the gift close to your heart as you met his eye again.
"A beautiful flower for a beautiful Queen to be, both inside and out." He noted, and you'd realized how close you'd leaned toward him. Grinning, heart feeling like it'd explode, you set the gift down on your other side, whirling and throwing your arms around the blonde. His hands found your waist as he tugged you to him in a solid embrace, his nose tickling the bare skin at your neck.
Before you could realize your mistake, your shout was cut off by the water splashing around you, your every sense instantly screaming cold and wet. You released your hold on Liam, your arms moving to push yourself up, legs working to find balance once again as you flopped around just beneath the surface of the water.
It wasn't long before your lungs were flooded with air once more, those strong hands never leaving your waist as you were hauled onto your knees, the water chest-level at once.
"Oh... God!" You exclaimed, your jaw hung open at the sight of your soaking hair plastered to your shoulders and chest. You looked down, hands splayed in disgust though the water was pure and crystalline; you watched as your sundressed flowed around you in the pool with the waves. When your eyes finally lifted to meet Liam's, you realized he was grinning, smiling, actually; barely containing his laughter.
It burst out of him the moment your narrowed eyes softened, your own shoulders shaking as you two couldn't help but to giggle at the mortifying situation.
"Liam, I'm... I'm so sorry, truly, I've never-"
Before you could speak another word, his hands had easily tugged you to him, his lips soft as they shut you right up. You gave a surprised little jump as your mouths connected, the contact cold at first -- but once you registered that he had indeed kissed you, well... you simply melted. Your hands rested atop his shoulders as you inhaled, leaning against him gently. His hands slid up your spine, pressing you flush against him as his lips moved, kissing you again, and again, and again... and by the word, you felt like it still wasn't enough.
He pulled back, breathless with a smile, gazing down into your eyes with his half lidded stare.
"I apologize, Y/N. I suppose you're coming to find out today just how much I like to make the first move after all."
You chuckled then, your fingers curling at his shirt collar as you pulled him to you again, your lips dancing with his more fiercely this time. He breathed you in, a hand reaching up to cup your cheek as he did, savoring every last second with you that he could.
When the two of you finally had dragged yourselves out of the fountain and wrung out your clothes the best you could, you'd tried to sneak back inside, making it back to your quarters to clean up without being spotted; it was a miracle you hadn't been already.
But as you rounded the corner, clinging to one another and giggling as you left a trail of wet behind you -- you came face to face with your parents, wide-eyed and already in their evening wear as they made their way to the dining hall for dinner.
Your mother just stared, her lips parted in silent gasp at the scene before her while your father's face became unreadable, a look of confusion overtaking him paired with a slight head tilt.
"Is there something the two of you would like to share with us?"
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Explaining what happened at the fountain to your parents was one thing, but sending Ridoc home come Saturday was another entirely.
You'd found him in his quarters, reading some sort of textbook at the small desk in his room when you entered, his door left open.
He'd smiled when you walked in, though the smile fell once he took in your overall demeanor.
"I'd... say I'm happy to see you, but typically when a woman enters my bedroom looking like she's going to be sick, I prepare for the worst," he said, though the joke didn't quite bring light to the situation. You glanced around the guest room, noticing how clean it was -- it looked as though barely anyone had moved in, save for his belongings piled in one corner. His bags were parely even unpacked, most of his clothes washed and refolded inside. Was he expecting this?
"Ridoc, I... wanted to come and, talk," you ground the words out, sitting opposite him at the table. He looked sidelong at you, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
"Okay... what's up?" He asked, crossing one leg over a knee so casually. Interally, you shuddered. God, don't get comfortable now, it only made this harder.
You cleared your throat, your nail finding a ridge in the wooden surface and tracing it, your eyes fixating on that point, anywhere but on him.
"Ridoc, I... I really enjoyed spending time with you the other day, in the field," you explained, your stomach churning. "And, what you said really meant a lot to me. About, being a good friend, and about being more than just what people see at first glance."
Ridoc nodded slowly, gazing out the window. You dared a glance up at him, and wanted to vomit. He knew what was coming too.
"I meant what I said, about you too. I think you're a kind person, and I think that you're worthy of many things-"
"Just not the title of King," he said softly, his gaze not faltering. Your eyes stung as your gaze shot up, fixing on his hardened jaw, his stoney stare.
"No! No Ridoc, it's not that, it's just-"
"It's fine, Y/N, you don't have to explain," he said dejectedly, his throat working. "You can't help it if you only see me as a friend."
A small noise escaped from your throat as the first tear fell, simmering as it slid down your cheek. You stood quickly, the chair legs scraping the floor as you got up, rounding the desk and squatting before Ridoc at once.
"Ridoc please," you pleaded, looking up at him tearfully. He turned his gaze on you now, wide-eyed as the next Illean Queen kneeled before him. "You know this isn't what I want to do, I just... I need to be true to my heart, and-"
"Princess, please don't ever kneel before me," he said then, reaching out to take your hands in his. He helped you get to your feet then, standing with you. All traces of hardness leached from his face as he peered down at you, his hands cupping your cheeks as he brushed away your tears.
"I don't want you to cry, not for me, or for anyone else; and you should never have to kneel before anyone, let alone some whiny, Navarrean brute like myself," he said, smiling softly. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I shouldn't have reacted that way -- I forgot, that's prince behavior."
You laughed then, real and watery as more tears came; Ridoc didn't care, he just tugged you to his chest, stroking your hair with his hand.
"You are a good friend, and this just proves it," he said, kissing the top of your head where your crown usually sat. He continued to sway you gently as the tears kept falling, not caring how long you needed him. "A good friend is honest, and if you know that between us is nothing more than friendship, I'd rather you tell me this up front than lead me on for weeks to come."
You sniffled, pulling back to finally look up at him. Long gone was the tough rider in all black that looked so out of place in that field of daisies; now stood a real friend before you, someone who saw you for more than what appeared on the outside, but for what was hidden within.
And again, you had to endure the pain of letting another friend walk out of your home, leaving you to continue this journey without them.
"Thank you," you said hoarsely, hugging him for real. He smiled, squeezing your shoulders.
"I believe in you," he said. "I know one of these lucky assholes will outshine the rest -- don't make it too easy for them, though."
You laughed again, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand as you let him go.
"I'm going to miss you so much, Ridoc."
His smile this time was softer as his gaze met yours.
"And I'll miss you, Princess."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Chapter 6
VOTE FOR WHO SHOULD GO HOME NEXT! Top two most voted out (should the comments not say otherwise overall) will leave next week.
COMMENT who you want to stay! (Do not spam please). Every user that comments who they want to stay gets one tally each added to that character for next week + overall!
hiii! i’d like something with both xaden and brennan if possibile? maybe a secret relationship that is discovered when reader or one of them gets hurt and is super angsty?
Summary: When the difficulty of choosing becomes impossible, the two options don’t force you to decide one way or the other. Why make a decision on just one when you can share them both?
SR’s Note: Guys this one is short I am sorry. However I love the “why choose?” trope I’m ngl and this was ittttt haha. I hope you enjoy!
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
The dagger slips from your fingers as you drop to one knee, the clatter of steel on stone drowned out by the roar of battle around you. Blood blooms hot and thick beneath your ribs, seeping through the gaps in your leathers like ink on parchment.
"Shit; hold on!"
A familiar voice barks above the haze, rough with panic. Strong hands catch you before your face meets the dirt, and the world tilts violently as you’re hauled against a broad chest. Xaden’s scent fills your nose as his heartbeat thunders against your shoulder.
"I’ve got you. Just stay awake."
But consciousness is a slippery thing. The edges of your vision blur into the chaos of the battlefield; flashing blades, dragon wing’s streaking the sky, the distant scream of someone who didn’t dodge fast enough. You try to speak, to tell him it’s worse than it looks, but your tongue feels too heavy. The last thing you hear before darkness drags you under is his ragged curse, low and desperate against your hair.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You wake in fragments — the sting of stitches pulling at your skin, the bitter tang of tonics on your tongue, the muffled argument raging just beyond the tent’s walls.
"-should have been watching her flank." Brennan’s voice is sharp, uncharacteristically cold.
"You think I don’t know that?" Xaden snaps back, though the fury in his words is broken at the edges. "I was there."
A beat of silence. Then, quieter: "How bad is it?"
The answer comes slow, grudging. "Bad enough."
You don’t mean to eavesdrop. But the weight of their worry presses against your ribs, heavier than the bandages wrapped around your torso. You’ve spent months carefully balancing the two of them; laughing at Brennan’s dry wit in the strategy tents, letting Xaden’s lingering touches in the training yard steal your breath. But now, with pain blurring your thoughts, the guilt coils tight in your stomach.
They deserve better than this. Better than you.
The tent flap jerks open with a violence that sends a draft of cold air skimming over your fevered skin. Two silhouettes fill the entrance, one broad-shouldered and rigid, the other leaner but no less tense. The argument dies the moment their eyes land on you.
Xaden reaches you first, his calloused fingers brushing the damp hair from your forehead with a genterness that belies the fury still darkening his expression.
“You,” he growls, “are never allowed to scare me like that again.”
His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, lingering just a heartbeat too long before he forces himself to pull away.
Brennan doesn’t touch you. He folds himself onto the stool beside your cot instead, elbows braced on his knees, gaze fixed on the bloodstained bandages peeking beneath your thin blanket.
“You’ve been lying to us,” he says, quieter than you’ve ever heard him.
Your breathing stalls. There’s no accusation in his voice; just exhaustion, and something worse: understanding.
Brennan’s words hang in the air, sharp as the scent of antiseptic clinging to the tent. You swallow, and the movement sends a spike of pain through your ribs; proof you’re alive, proof you’re here to face this. Xaden hasn’t moved, his body angled between you and the tent flap as if he could shield you from the truth itself. His jaw works silently, like he’s chewing on something bitter.
"You knew," you whisper. It isn’t a question.
Brennan exhales through his nose, fingers flexing against his thighs.
"Not until today." His gaze lifts, and the raw honesty there makes your stomach twist.
"When Xaden carried you in, screaming for the healers…" He cuts himself off, shakes his head. "I’ve never seen him like that. And I realized… I looked exactly the same, shouting like a damned fool, thinking you were as good as dead, Y/N."
Xaden makes a low, wounded noise in his throat. He doesn’t deny it.
Xaden’s fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for you, but something holds him back; pride, maybe, or the weight of Brennan’s quiet admission hanging between you all. The tent feels too small suddenly, the air thick with everything unsaid. You shift gingerly, wincing as the motion pulls at your stitches, and Brennan’s hand flies out instinctively, hovering just above your arm before he catches himself and withdraws.
"You’ve been playing both of us," Xaden says finally. His voice is rough with a tired sort of resignation that breaks something deep inside you.
You open your mouth, but the excuses die on your tongue. There’s no point lying, not when they’re looking at you like that, like they’ve already peeled back every defense you’ve ever built and found the messy, yearning heart of you beneath.
"I didn’t mean to," you whisper. It sounds pathetic even to your own ears.
Brennan leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze never leaving yours. "Didn’t you?"
You want to look away from Brennan’s piercing stare, but you can’t. His eyes are simmering now, and the vulnerability there makes your throat tighten.
"I tried to choose," you admit, voice weak. "Every damn day, I tried." The confession spills out like a wound reopening.
"But every time I thought I could, I’d see one of you across the courtyard, or hear the other laugh, and…" Your fingers twist in the thin blanket. "I just couldn’t."
Xaden exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.
"Fuck."
The word isn’t angry; it’s almost relieved, like he’s been holding his breath for months. "You should’ve said something."
"And what?" You laugh, bitter and tired. "Destroyed everything? Made you both hate me?"
Your vision blurs, and you swipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand. "You’re the two best things in my life. I couldn’t-"
Brennan’s hand lands on yours, warm and steady.
"You don’t have to choose, hon." His thumb brushes your knuckles, deliberate. "Not if we don’t force you."
Xaden makes a sound like he’s been punched; sharp and breathless. His dark eyes flick to Brennan, searching for a trick, a joke, anything but the quiet certainty written across the other man’s face. Brennan doesn’t flinch. He just holds your hand tighter, like he’s solidifying his stance.
"You’re serious," Xaden says. It’s also not a question.
Brennan tilts his head, the ghost of his usual smirk playing at his lips. "When have you ever known me not to be?"
The tension in Xaden’s shoulders doesn’t ease, but something in his expression shifts, like he’s running calculations in his head, weighing the risks. Then, slowly, he sinks onto the cot beside you, his thigh pressing warm against yours through the blanket. His fingers find the back of your neck, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin.
"You’re really okay with this?" he asks Brennan, voice low.
Brennan’s smirk deepens, but his eyes never leave yours.
“I’m not sharing you lightly,” he says, voice rough with something you’ve never heard from him before. “But I’d rather have half of you than watch you break yourself down trying to choose, or Gods above, lose you entirely if you don’t choose me at all.”
His thumb strokes your pulse point, slow and deliberate. “And let’s be honest — neither of us was really going to walk away willingly, was he?”
Xaden huffs a laugh, sharp and surprised, like he hadn’t expected Brennan to strip the truth that bare. His fingers tighten briefly on your neck before relaxing, his breath warm against your temple.
“Absolutely not,” he mutters again, but this time it’s almost fond. “You’re right about that.”
Brennan stands then, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Rest, sweetheart,” he says softly, his knuckles brushing your cheek. “We can talk about this more later.”
Xaden follows suit, smoothing your hair behind your ear and kissing your cheek softly.
“We’ll be here when you wake, Y/N.” He says quietly, his onyx eyes fading as your consciousness drifts away from you once again. “Both of us.”
Summary: When you tell your mate you are pregnant, you're not sure what to expect -- but, if you know how to do anything, it's how to ease Azriel's self-doubts and negative self-talk.
SR’s Note: I came prepared to yap today before you read, LOL. I just got one of those mega Comfrt blankets, and it's 1. adorable but 2. the softest most comfiest thing I've ever experienced omfg. I'm also having a good day, I've been writing in between work calls so I've been pretty productive. Also my new rhode lip glosses came in! Yippee! Just positive vibes all around -- 'kay now lets get into it, yeah? xo
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
Azriel's voice was barely above a whisper, his shadows curling tight around his wrists like coiled ropes. You'd seen him stunned before, usually in battle, usually with a blade sticking out of someone else... but never like this. Never with his golden-brown eyes wide enough that you could count every fleck of hazel in them.
You pressed your palm to his chest, feeling the rapid thud beneath his leathers.
"Pregnant," you repeated, softer this time. The word still felt strange in your mouth, like a secret you weren’t supposed to say aloud. "About two months along. Madja confirmed it this morning."
His fingers twitched at his sides, then lifted, slow and hesitant, before settling over yours. His touch warmly seeped into your skin, even if the way his brows furrowed wasn’t.
"You're sure?"
You snorted, tipping your head back to look at him fully.
"Unless Madja’s been secretly moonlighting as a prankster, yes."
Azriel’s shadows slithered down his arms, wrapping around your wrist in a gentle hold, as if they too needed confirmation this was real. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, the touch impossibly tender now.
"And... a daughter?" he murmured, the words catching in his throat like he was afraid to give them too much weight.
You grinned, squeezing his hand.
"Madja says it’s too early to tell for certain, but-" You shrugged, mischief curling in your chest. "Your shadows seem convinced. They’ve been hovering near my stomach all week, twirling in my hair and getting excited when I pull out my hair ribbons."
His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile breaking through the shock. Then, just as quickly, it faltered. His gaze dropped to where your joined hands rested against your abdomen, and something dark flickered behind his eyes.
"What if I’m… not good at this, Y/N?" The admission came out raw, barely audible.
You stepped into him, close enough that his wings instinctively curved around you, blocking out the evening light.
"Az," you said, tipping your chin up to meet his eyes. "You taught Nyx how to throw a dagger without maiming himself. You remember every one of Feyre’s favorite paints before she even asks. And,"
You poked his chest, right over his heart.
"You bring me tea every morning before I’m even awake, because you know I’ll forget to drink it otherwise."
Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose, his wings tightening around you. The shadows clinging to your wrist pulsed faintly, betraying his racing thoughts.
"That’s different," he muttered, voice low. "Tea is simple. A child is… not, my love."
You rolled your eyes, catching his chin between your fingers and forcing him to look down at you.
"And yet," you said slowly, "somehow, every time Rhys sends you to deal with the Illyrians, you come back without starting a war. That’s not simple either, now is it."
His brow furrowed, but you pressed on before he could argue.
"And when Cassian was in recovery this last go around, who stayed up reading those terrible romance novels to him every night, because he refused to admit he couldn’t hold the pages himself?"
A reluctant huff escaped him, his thumb brushing absently over your hip.
"He would’ve whined for weeks if I’d said no. And though Nesta loves those books herself, there's no way she'd stay up that late, just for the purpose of doing something nice for him."
"Youre such a liar," you said, grinning. "You like his whining. You just pretend you don’t."
Azriel's breath caught, but it wasn't from shock; it was the sound of a man trying desperately not to laugh. His shadows flickered against your skin, restless but lighter now, as if your teasing had chased away some of the tension coiled in his chest.
"You're insufferable," he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward, betraying him.
You leaned into him, pressing your forehead against his collarbone.
"And yet you accepted me as your mate," you murmured into the worn leather of his armor. His scent wrapped around the two of you, familiar as the weight of his wings at your back. "Which means, by default, you have excellent judgment. Fatherhood included."
A low rumble vibrated through his chest, half-growl, half-reluctant amusement. His fingers traced idle patterns along your spine, calloused but infinitely careful.
"And I'd make the same decision again, a million times over." He declared, leaning in to kiss you on the forehead. You leaned into him then, resting your cheek against his chest as he tugged you close, his hands brushing slowly up and down your lower back.
"What if she’s afraid of me?" The question was so quiet you almost missed it, buried beneath the rustle of his wings adjusting around you. "The shadows. The… the rest of it."
You pulled back just enough to see his face -- to see the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the way his gaze flickered to your stomach and away again, as if he couldn’t bear to linger on the thought for too long.
"You know you'll be the perfect mother, Y/N, you're the most caring woman I've ever known; but, our daughter will grow. She'll learn of me, what I've done in my life, how I've tortured, been tortured, and-"
"Azriel," you said, softly now, all teasing gone. "She’s going to love your shadows. She's going to love you," You said, the lump in your throat growing as you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "All, of you."
You paused, then added with deliberate lightness, "And if she’s anything like her father, she’ll have a truly dramatic flair for sulking."
Azriel’s breath stuttered out in something perilously close to a laugh, his shadows curling around your fingers like curious, half-tamed creatures.
"Dramatic," he repeated, voice dry as he flicked the tip of your nose lightly. "You’re one to talk."
You arched a brow, pressing a hand to your chest in mock offense.
"Me? Never."
You let your fingers drift down to rest over your stomach, where the faintest swell had begun to show beneath your tunic. You were just happy to see his mood improving, his dark thoughts of his daughter's impending disapproval eddying.
"Besides, I’m not the one who once sulked for three days because Cassian ate the last of the vanilla ice."
Azriel’s wings flexed behind him, the movement ruffling the air between you in the small kitchenette.
"That frozen cream was from the Winter Court," he grumbled, as if this justified everything. "And he knew it was mine."
You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips. "See? Dramatic."
Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose, his shadows swirling lazily around your intertwined fingers.
"You're impossible," he murmured, but the tension in his shoulders had eased, just slightly. His thumb traced the curve of your hipbone, a silent apology for the weight of his doubts.
"I just don't want to be... too much." The words were rough, scraped raw from a place deep inside him; a place you knew too well, after years of learning the jagged edges of his silence. "What if she needs something I can't give? What if you need me, and I just can't be what you need, as a mate or a father?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. You caught his hand, pressing it flat against your stomach where the barest swell of life curled beneath your skin.
"Then you'll figure it out," you said simply. "We will figure it out, together, Az. I promise. And, nothing that you can or can't do is going to make me love you any less -- you're mine, and that's forever."
You tilted your head, studying the way his shadows clung to your wrist, as if afraid to let go. "You're good at figuring things out, Az. It's kind of your thing."
A muscle flickered in his jaw, but his fingers flexed against your stomach.
"And if I-" He broke off, his wings shifting uneasily as he moved them more behind him. "If I'm not here enough. With the patrols, and the reports, and-"
You scoffed, cutting him off.
"Please. You once flew through a snowstorm because I might have mentioned craving figs from the Summer Court." You poked his ribs, grinning when he twitched. "You'll be here. Even if you have to drag Rhys off his throne to delegate a few meetings so you can be. And I'm sure, he will be the first to understand."
Azriel’s fingers stilled against your stomach, his shadows flickering in the silence like candle flames caught in a draft. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, as if the weight of your words had pinned him in place. He knew you were right, about all of it -- most times, he just let his own rediculous thoughts get in his own way.
Then, his thumb brushed over the fabric of your tunic again, tracing the curve of your body slowly.
"You really believe that," he said, not a question but a quiet realization, as if he’d only just understood the depth of your faith in him.
You caught his wrist, pressing his palm more firmly against you.
"I know it, and she will too," you corrected, voice firm. "I’ve seen you with the little hellions in Illyria who still flinch when their fathers walk into a room. And I’ve watched you kneel in the dirt to show them how to hold a blade so it won’t slip."
You tilted your head, meeting his gaze squarely. "You’re already the male they go to when no one else will listen. Our daughter will be no different."
His wings rustled, the leathery sound vulnerable in the stillness of the kitchen.
"It’s not the same," he whispered, but there was less conviction in it now, the edges of his doubt fraying. "They’re not..."
He trailed off, jaw tightening as his shadows coiled tighter around your arm, as if they could shield you from the unspoken end of that sentence: They’re not mine.
You leaned up, brushing your lips against the scarred curve of his jawline.
"No," you agreed softly. "They’re not. But she will be. And that’s why you’ll be even better for her." You felt him sigh, the finality of the tension leaving his shoulders at once as he leaned against the kitchen island.
"Azriel," you whispered, looking up to see the way his eyes had gone suspiciously bright. "You’re allowed to want this. To be happy about it."
Azriel’s exhale shuddered through him, his handsd pulling you closer until the only sound was your shared breaths in the small space. His forehead dropped to yours, the bridge of his nose brushing against your skin like he needed the contact to steady himself.
"Happy," he repeated, the word rough, as if it were a language he hadn’t spoken in centuries. His thumb pressed lightly against your stomach again, a silent question. "I am. I just," He swallowed hard. "I want to make sure I do this right."
You caught his face between your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze.
"You will, Az; we both will. We're in this together," you said fiercely, bringing his lips to yours then. He leaned into the kiss, his fingers bracing your waist as he pulled you against him, as close as he could get you in that moment, every unspoken thought and worry slipping from his mind the minute your mouth met his.
When you finally did pull back, he couldn't help but smile as the last rays of sunlight streamed in from the window, illuminating you in what he could describe as nothing other than an angel before his eyes.
He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear before he spoke again, his voice thick with a different emotion now, the earlier fear gone as his usual, undying love for his mate and now mother of his child stood before him.
"I'm the luckiest male in Prythian to have you, Y/N," he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Our daughter is going to have a wonderful example of a woman in her life, because there is no one better than the mother she has."
Tears lined your eyes then as you leaned against him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you hugged him tight. Nothing in this world could ever change the way you saw Azriel; his past, his mistakes, none of it.
And you knew, even now, his daughter wouldn't bat an eye at any of those things either.
Summary: One Princess, 17 eligible males fighting for a spot beside her throne -- who will she pick, if any of them? Make your voice heard as you help direct the narrative in this gripping new series, detailing the Selection process and all the juicy details it brings!
SR’s Note: Y'all this episode is insane HAHA I realize I say that everytime, but I genuinely mean it this time. Keep in mind, not only do votes count, I also keep a tally of all comments of all the chapters combined to determine the overall winner for this series! Your comments matter, as they not only count for the next episode, but the winning guy overall. (: This series is READER-GUIDED, and every single vote and comment will decide the direction of this story! So please be sure to read carefully, VOTE, and COMMENT after reading (pay attention to the polls)! Happy reading, and enjoy.
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker @bookishbishhh @acourtofbatboydreams @embersofonyx @taylorkindafruity @jchameleon @bxm-2121 @pizzapizzapepperoni (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
The papers had their headlines, and all of them were trained on the Selection and on you; Next In Line Sends Male After Male Home In Search of Husband, and Ruthless Illean Princess Picking Off Men One By One As Selection Narrows Week by Week.
Rubbish, all of it, most of it untrue anyway -- and all for the public's enjoyment.
"It's simply rediculous!"
Your brows knit as you sit at the small tea table, the cup rattling as your elbow bumped against the white painted metal. Kingfisher looked out of place as he sat across from you, finally quiet for once as he allowed you to let your frustration loose. You weren't entirely sure why it was him that you invited here this morning...
Perhaps it was because you knew he'd actually listen, and not judge the words that came out of your mouth for being so "unqueen-like".
A small smile snaked across his lips as you slapped the newsprint down onto the table's surface, huffing and crossing your arms.
"I mean, half of that is untrue, pure rubbish that some uneducated, underpaid journalist was tasked with coming up with to spew about to the townspeople," you ranted, your right hand gesturing wildly. Kingfisher watched in amusement, reaching for his teacup. "And the other half is... well, overexaggerated, and completely oversexualized!"
Fisher paused at this, his cup halfway to his lips. His eyes looked up at you across the table beneath dark brows, a question dancing in them. Heat blazed your cheeks, the realization of what you'd just said not quite registering in your mind. "I mean, for God's sakes, a kiss is hardly close to what they're-"
"You, kissed, one of us?" Kingfisher said, his voice unnaturally soft. You paused, your fingers stilling midair. Your gaze finally found his, and that's when you felt the embarassment, the realization washing over you all at once. Well, there's no hiding from this conversation now.
You swallowed, shaking your head sharply. "Yeah, I... just once. Only one, I mean." You waved a dismissive hand, and then snatched your tea to busy yourself as if this was no big deal. "It was nothing, really."
Fisher nodded, setting his china down slowly and leaning back in the comically small chair. "And... the news knows of this?"
You shrugged, looking out at the ferns around the greenhouse to avoid his piercing stare.
"I suppose so."
He nodded slowly, his arms folded as he studied you.
"It's... odd that the commonfolk could catch wind of something like this, but somehow, none of us here within these walls knew a thing," he surmised, scratching at his chin. "Well, I guess I can't speak for the others, but... I hadn't heard anything."
You huffed, setting down your cup with a bit too much force.
"Well, it wasn't exactly public information," you grit out. "I don't know how it leaked, Fisher. I don't quite care, either -- the point is, I don't appreciate the country accepting the idea that I'm sleeping around with every single one of you, just to send you home a week later. That's hardly what's going on here."
Fisher's brows had risen, his hands following in surrender.
"Hey, don't get angry at me, Princess, I'm on your side here," he said, flattening his lips into a thin line. "I just wish you wouldn't let what everyone else thinks about you bother you so much."
You snorted, rolling your eyes.
"That may be easy for you, Fisher, however I am next in line for the throne. I kind of have to care."
He breathed in, slow and controlled, before folding his hands in his lap. It was quiet between you two, you stewing and him thinking, before he spoke again.
"So, who was the lucky guy?"
Your eyes shot up, an angry scowl on your face.
"What?"
He grinned, a lethal, serpentlike thing that sent a thrill through you and filled you with rage all at once.
"Which one of the guys shared in your tryst?" He said again, lifting his cup and draining it, as though this was a casual conversation. Maybe for him, it was. "Or, is that classified information as well?"
You glared at him, fingers digging into your arms as your lips pressed together. He chuckled then, shaking his head at your reaction.
"Fine. Don't tell me. Guess I can just read about it, can't I?"
That got you angry.
You stood quickly, the chairlegs scraping the pebbled pavement of the outdoor green house. An exasperated huff escaped your lips, your frown still trained on that horribly beautiful face of his.
"You're such a niusance, Kingfisher," you scolded, shoving your chair back in toward the table and turning on your table to leave. "You can never just be, pleasant, or, I don't know, be a good friend, God forbid."
You should've known meeting with him would only end in you getting irritated, that's how it always went with him.
Before your fingers could wrap around the doorhandle to go back inside the palace, a warm hand had closed around your wrist, spinning you quickly before you were pinned to the glass behind you. A gasp broke free from your lips as Kingfisher gently held you against the door, his body dangerously close as his fingers hooked under your chin to tilt your face upward.
Whatever words you prepared died on your tongue when he opened his mouth, the sentences coming out not at all what you'd prepared yourself to hear.
"You allow what others say and think of you to dictate too much of your mental wellbeing, and you allow it to affect your life far too much, Princess." He paused, his gaze dipping to your lips. "If you'd learn to just ignore the outside noise, and live your life for you and you only -- you'd realize just how incredible of a woman, and a leader you truly are."
Your eyes were wide, and you were absolutely speechless as his hand slid around your waist, gripping the doorhandle behind you and twisting it. The door gently swung open behind you, but you didn't move, couldn't, not when his words had struck you dumb and frozen you right there in place.
You hated to admit how your heart sank when his hand left your face, and he slid past you, casually walking off down the corridor and venturing off further into the palace.
The ghost of his touch, and the reminder of his words lingered long into the night, and every day after.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You'd been on two more dates that week, and by Friday, you'd made up your mind on Dain. He was just not fit to be a King, and though he was nice and promised to write, his time had come to an end at the palace. He'd spent all of Friday with you, and you'd even kept him past dinner to share in one final meal together before letting him go, just so you could at least give him as much time as possible before his inevitable departure.
As his carriage rolled away, all you could think about was the sludge the papers would be dragging your name through, come Monday.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
By the following Tuesday, you'd woken early to prepare for the day ahead. You'd successfully avoided the daily news the day prior, not wanting anything to sour your plans for this evening; and more importantly, your meeting with your father this morning.
Lucille had gotten you bathed, brushed, and made up by 10, and you were sat in your Father's office by 10:30, promptly on time to begin your planned discussion.
He smiled at you from across his desk, though it didn't quite meet his eyes, a tell you'd learned long ago meant that this would be a rather serious conversation, as opposed to a familial one.
"Y/N," he began, clearing his throat. "I appreciate you making time to meet with me today."
You nodded, leaning forward in your seat.
"Of course, Father. You know I always have time for you, and especially if it pertains to the wellbeing of our country."
He nodded, shuffling a few papers on his desk. "Yes, I have a few updates and things to discuss with you on that," he continued, pulling a few choice leaflets free. "The first is the trade agreement with Auderlan. Obviously, this would be in our favor, whether you choose to wed Prince Dorian or not-"
You huffed, all formality leaving your body as you slumped back in your chair.
"Yeah, you won't need to worry about that. I will not be wedding Dorian."
Your father paused, looking at you from beneath his glasses. He made a face, and scribbled something on the paper, shaking his head once.
"Alright then... that's that, I suppose. I would advise not to count him out, though. At least not until the trade agreement has gone through," he proposed, repotting his quill and looking to you again. "We both know the King over there has his ways, and should his son return home too quickly..."
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head.
"I understand... keep him here until both parties have signed, and then once the deal is done, I can cut him loose." You sighed heavilythrough your nose. "God, I hate to send others home before that pompous prick though."
Your father frowned, giving you a look that said watch your language. You straightened your shoulders, shifting in your seat to sit upright once more as you noticed your skirts beginning to wrinkle.
"Moving on," he suggested, changing the topic. "The papers. Have you read them lately, my darling?"
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. Your response was muffled when you gave it.
"Yes, Father, of course I have."
Your Father was quiet for a moment as he chose his words carefully.
"I... I just thought," he proposed, clearing his throat again when you didn't look up. "That, perhaps we could do things more, publicly. You know, be a bit more open, and honest with this whole process, and really show the public what it's like to go through the Selection..."
He trailed off as his daughter looked up at him, confused and incredulous. He waved his hands in front of him defensively.
"I'm not saying we need to expose each and every moment of this thing for the public's viewing pleasure! I'm just saying that, perhaps if we did a few interviews with reporters, and, had you go on a few public dates with the lads, then the journalists would have more truth to go on, as opposed to the ideas and... utter fantasies they're basing their stories off of now," he explained.
You chewed on your lip. He did have a point, of course -- showing the public that, you were approachable and taking this thing seriously would help sway their perception of you away from this oversexual, boy-crazy monster that the papers had turned you into lately. Interviews were always risky, you never knew what to expect; but that way, there'd be no lies being reported on, either.
But, public meant real; real people, watching you go on real dates. At least here in the palace you could play pretend -- pretend that in the end you'd be married, pretend that you could truly fall in love in a matter of months, and pretend that, in the end, you'd come out of this with a King on your arm.
You still weren't sure if any of that was even possible.
"Y/N? Your thoughts?"
You came back to the present, finding your father's gaze once more. Giving him an apologetic look, you nodded, folding your hands in your lap politley.
"Yes, father; I think the idea of going public with this is, a great one. It'll really show we're serious, and, give the people something good to talk about, for once."
Your father was pleased with this, as he moved on to the other topics of the meeting to be discussed. You couldn't help but to let your mind wander; wander back to Kingfisher's words, his touch, the way he looked at you like you weren't really you. Not a queen, not even a princess; just Y/N, like he saw in you what you couldn't just see for yourself.
He'd be disappointed to hear of the new plans you'd made for the upcoming dates.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The air was cool that evening as you rode through the grove, the horse moving slowly beneath you. Luckily, Eris had been riding since he was a child, and, also luckily, he was a handsome choice to share a horseback with.
A light breeze passed as you rode along, the trees swaying with the newest of spring apples.
"So, you've never ridden on your own then?" Eris questioned, his voice strong as he sat behind you. You worked to ignore the small flutter in your lower belly as his hands brushed your waist, telling yourself he had to hold onto you somehow.
Your fingers tightened on the reigns.
"No, never," you said, turning just so to peer over your shoulder at him. "My father loves to ride, and has always said he wished for a son at times so he'd have some one to take riding with him."
Eris chuckled at this, the sound rich and deep, like carmelized cinnamon over apples in autumn.
"Perhaps he'll have his wish once you're wed," he said, inching forward. "But, there's no reason you couldn't learn to ride. Look at you now; you've only just gotten on one this evening, and you're already doing quite well!"
You blushed, his compliment landing right where he wanted it to.
"I suppose that's true. And, you're right, my father would love a son-in-law who'd appreciate the art of horseback riding; didn't you say you've been doing just that, since you were just a young boy?"
Eris grinned proudly at this, his beautiful white smile shining in the fading light.
"Ahh, a fast learner and a sharp memory -- you'll make a fine queen indeed, Princess." He winked, and you giggled.
Stop it, you chided, mentally slapping yourself. This was merely your first date, first real interaction with him really, and he was already charming your metaphorical pants right off.
"But, to answer your question, yes," he responded. "My father taught me at quite a young age to ride, among other things. Knowing how to ride and wield a weapon simultaneously? That requires some practice; however, to be a usccessful King, these are things one needs to know." He finished with a simple shrug.
You tugged lightly on the horse's reigns, pulling her to a halt. Eris lurched forward, apologizing lightly as his chest brushed against your back.
"Wait," you said, brows knitting. "You mean to tell me that you too, are an heir, in your country?"
Eris smiled again, the genuine act not appearing cocky nor condescending.
"This is true, Princess."
You stared off into the grove, quiet as you processed this. Eris grew concerned, his hand on your waist patting softly.
"I... I do apologize, Princess, for not telling you sooner. I just, I saw how you reacted to Dorian, and, I just... I didn't want to give you the wrong impression of me. That's all."
You looked over your shoulder at him, gazing into those blazing amber eyes. Concern and apology flashed in them, and before you could think better of it, you said, "I think we'll take a break here. Allow her to drink from the stream, and... see if we can find any, apples, that have ripened yet."
Eris nodded once, hurt flashing across his features. Gods, you messed up. What could you say? That he was considerate? Wrong for not telling you? Smart for letting you know him first before his title?
He slipped effortlessly off of the mare, his boots hitting the grass with a thud as his gaze turned to you once more. You swallowed as you looked down, not sure how this part was going to work. Before you could think too long about it, his large hands had found your waist again, and he was hauling you off of the animal, his grim firm but delivery gentle as he set you on the ground, cautious of your skirts and all.
When you found your footing, you looked up, right into his eyes this time. And God, were they gorgeous.
"I'll, um, tie her close to the stream, if you'll allow me just a moment."
You nodded silently, mezmerized as you watched him move, guiding your family's horse toward a tree, looping her reigns effortlessly around the branches. You watched as his face contorted in concentration as he worked, the last of the day's light hilighting the red hues of his hair beautifully...
"Shall we, explore the grove, Princess? I'd love to see more of the grounds you grew up on," Eris asked lightly, making his way back over to you. You nodded, reaching out a gloved hand and looping it through his elbow. He smiled softly at this, a soft dimple appearing in his left cheek.
The two of you walked along the rows of trees, discussing childhood memories from the palace and talking about Illean culture and traditions alike; he'd inquired all about holidays, the food, and your favorite seasons as well, seeming to love hearing your voice more than anything else, no matter the topic.
Once the stars had begun to appear in the sky, and the evenlight had faded to a deep indigo, he'd turned to you.
"I suppose I should probably be getting you back," he suggested with a soft chuckle, the hint of unease still lingering there. "I wouldn't want your guard coming to hunt me down for keeping you out past curfew."
Your expression softened as you stepped closer, your grip on his elbow slipping as you intwined your fingers with his instead.
"Eris... I want you to know that, I don't care that your an heir to your own country," you explained, gazing up into his face. His gaze melted at this, his shoulders visibly relaxing. "In fact, that's even better news, if were comparing person to person -- between you and Dorian, the two of you are likely the most prepared for the job."
Eris chuckled, the sound loose as he ran a hand through his hair. He stepped closer, his breath clouding before his lips.
"I'm unsure of that, Princess." He confessed, his gaze dipping. "I've, never been wed, before."
You cackled at this, leaning forward and pressing a hand to his chest.
"Oh, Eris -- none of have," you laughed, and he laughed right along with you. His free hand slid over yours, holding it against his heart.
"And... the future queen of Illea has, no curfew."
In that moment, you saw it, felt it, nearly took the opportunity; and you knew Eris wanted it too, but the male had too much respect, and instead leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek instead.
You blushed regardless when he pulled away, smiling at you as though the two of you truly had kissed.
And you hadn't stopped smiling as you drifted off to bed that night, either.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
By Thursday you were preparing for your interview the day to follow, having Delancey read you preparation questions in the lounge after lunch. The rain had cancelled the group date for the day, which you didn't mind much as it had given you more time to prepare for tomorrow; having these answers rehearsed would ensure you would not look a fool, and the papers would not be able to make you out to be something you were not any longer.
However, with the group date cancelled, the men were stuck inside as well. With many of them busying themselves in the gym or the library, some had taken to walking the grounds -- the interior, grounds.
"Princess Y/N," Delancey said, reading from her parchment. "Is it true that, given the chance, you would choose to meet your husband in a more, organic way, as opposed to the Selection method?"
Her eyes met yours, and you rolled out your shoulders, sitting tall. You crossed your ankles, hands delicate over one knee as you spoke, the portrait of the next queen to be.
"Why, of course this would be the preferred way of meeting one's forever true love," you began, your crafted answer materializing in your mind. Delancey nodded encouragingly, urging you to keep going. "However, with the Selection, I am given such a wide range of options, and have been able to meet so many wonderful men through this process; I truly believe my future husband is here, and I intend to find him, and marry him in a few short months time."
Delancey gave a short nod of approval, moving onto the next line on the paper.
"Princess, how do you feel about simultaneously dating 17 men..."
Her words ran together as a shadow passed behind her in the hallway, pausing for only a moment, but long enough to catch your attention. There he stood, listening, and judging; Kingfisher. His disappointed gaze told you all you needed to know as he shook his head slowly, taking in the scene before him.
"Unbelieveable," he muttered, his fist clenching as he continued walking quickly down the corridor, not wanting to watch your false performance any longer. You rose immediately, catching Delancey off-guard. She paused, looking behind her, but Kingfisher was already gone.
"What... where are you-"
"Just, a moment, please Delancey?" You rushed out, your flats softly tapping against the polished stone as you rushed out of the lounge, the air cutting around your sleek form as you ran. You looked side to side, not seeing him at first -- then, to your right, nearly halfway down the hallway, he was storming off.
"Kingfisher!"
Your calling out to him was not enough. He continued on, as though you'd said nothing at all. You huffed, charging down the hall -- thankfully, you'd worn your suit jacket and slacks, hair pulled tight in a bun as though the interview were real. All in the name of preparation, however, it helped you now as you made after him, barely able to keep up.
"KINGFISHER!"
Your voice rang out against the stone walls, and his steps faltered, but he didn't turn. You huffed out a breath, slowing your pace as your heart raced.
"Kingfisher, as the Princess of Illea, I command you to stop!"
This worked; Fisher paused then, unmoving in the middle of the hallway. He didn't turn, didn't even flinch when you made it to him, your flats slapping against the marble as you approached. When you rounded him and faced him fully, you already had the explaination lined up on your tongue.
"Kingfisher, please. Let me explain-"
He looked up at the ceiling, his lips pressed together before he looked right down at you.
"No, Y/N, you need to listen. You've needed to listen for quite some time."
You paused, mouth still open as his hands softly grasped your biceps, uncaring how he was touching the future queen of Illea.
"Look. I don't know what it will take for you to finally see in yourself what I see in you; but clearly, nothing I say or do for you works." He said, his piercing green eyes actually filling with hurt. "I hate that you allow yourself to be so affected by what others say and think of you -- to me, you're not just the Princess, or the next Queen. You're Y/N first, and until you realize that..." he trailed off, his hands releasing you.
"I can't stay here. I can't fake this whole think like you can. And I can't... I just can't do this. I'm sorry."
You stepped back as though he'd slapped you.
"Fisher what... what are you talking about?"
He looked up at the ceiling, avoiding your eyes as they began to fill with rtaitorous tears. You blinked rapidly, brows narrowing as you attempted to hold them back.
"Come on Y/N, you were never gonna pick me in the end anyway." He said quietly, swallowing hard. You watched the line of his throat, the first tear falling as the gravity of his decision began to weigh on your shoulders. "I'm just helping you out."
You let out a soft sob, angry as Hell. Angry at him, angry at yourself, angry at the damned newspeople. Angry at all of it.
Your fists pounded on his chest, but he didn't move. Just kept staring at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his back as though you didn't exist anymore.
"Kingfisher that's not true! You don't know that," you yelled, punching and punching and punching. You'd never been so violent in your life, but in this moment, God you wanted to cling to him and pummel him all at once. "You can't just, walk out on me like this!"
He swallowed again, his eyes glassy and deserted.
"I can. And I will." He said, regret filling his words. You were crying now, tears streaming down your face as you looked up at him, pleading. "You said it yourself, I'm not pleasant. I'm not kind. I'm not a good friend. I could never be the King you need, and I certainly couldn't be the man you need to put on a brave face in front of some phony journalist."
You wailed, collapsing against him. His arms caught you as you cried, his hands pressing against your spine as you sobbed into his chest. You inhaled the scent of him, just one last time, for the last time, as your fingers fisted his shirt -- as though if you held on tight enough, he wouldn't leave.
"Fisher, you were my friend," you choked out, hiccupping around the words. "You're rude, and annoying, and so, so fucking irritating -- but I love all those things about you. I need you, Fisher. I need you here, to get through this. I can't get through this without you, I just can't."
Your voice broke on the last word, and Kingfisher pulled you back from his chest to look right down into your watery eyes. His throat worked as a hint of a smile ghosted his lips, his fingers brushing a stray tendril of hair plastered to your cheek away from your face as his other hand still held you upright.
"I'm the lucky guy, Y/N," he said, his hand pulling your cheek flush against his chest. "Just to meet you, and know you, the real you -- it's me. I'm the lucky guy."
You shook violently as tears poured out of you, Kingfisher clutching you to his chest for dear life. He held you there for what felt like too long, and not long enough, the hallway empty and gray despite the rain falling just beyond the windows. It'd never be long enough, as you'd never be held in his arms like that again.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
When the dawn broke over the horizon the following morning, Kingfisher was gone.
You don't know why you expected anything else -- he told you he was leaving, and if you'd gotten to know him by now, you knew he wasn't a liar.
Your heart still broke when you raced to his quarters in the early morning hours, only to find his bed empty and his things gone.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The journalist had arrivived that afternoon, and even by then you'd found it hard to collect yourself long enough for Lucille to get you ready for their arrival. She'd of course been first to understand how you felt, she could see it in your face that something had been wrong as she'd assisted you in getting ready that morning, picking out your finest pants and jacket for the event.
French twisted hair, light makeup. You'd switched your flats for nude heels, though -- you found that, you actually preferred them and, well, they were just cuter.
You now sat in the lounge, your parents on your either side, and Delancey on your mother's right. The remaining gentlemen had chairs set up behind the couches in two rows, all of them dressed sharply. You would give it to them, they all looked quite nice, each standing out in their own way; Dorian, of course, because of the gleaming crown he wore. Eris, and his reassuring smile that actually worked to calm your nerves a bit. And Azriel, seated in the back, his dark hazel eyes seeming to say, you've got this.
For once, you were actually quite glad to have them all there.
"Good evening, princess," the male journalist greeted, his sandy blonde hair brushed to the side. He bowed at the waist, greeting you politely; you returned it with a curtsey, your family mirroring the sentiment, though you'd much rather hand back to him the bile he'd been spreading about you the past few weeks. Curtseying to him felt like the action of a weak fool, at this point.
You all took you seats, the journalist with his quill and parchment in hand as well as his assistant beside him, sat before a small table with a typewriter atop it. She looked young, not much older than yourself, though the way her blonge hair was pinned back in such a severe bun made her look older. Was she just putting on a facade, too?
"I do appreciate your family's time," the journalist said, looking to your family. "My name is Halden, and this is my assistant Morrigan; we plan to report everything said here today with accuracy and precision. we want to hear your truth, and only your truth, so we can share it with the public."
His assistant, Morrigan, typed all of this, her fingers moving at the speed of light. You merely stared at Halden, but your father spoke for the family instead.
"That sounds perfect. Please, ask your questions. We're happy to answer."
Halden nodded, looking down at his paper, and then back up at you.
"Princess, do you mind sharing your feelings about the Selection during the mens arrival? It's been said that you came across unenthused, irritated, and unexcited. We want to set the record straight -- could you please clarify this for us?"
Wow, get right to the point, then.
You rolled your shoulders back.
"Well," you began, tilting your chin up. "I will admit that, a few of the men didn't quite appeal to me right at first... which may be why I didn't seem so excited to meet them to begin with," you explained. "However, after getting to know a few of them more after these first few weeks, I've come to change my mind."
Your mother's hand was warm on your back as she patted it. Good answer. You tended to agree.
Halden must not have, as he pushed on.
"This is called into question, as you sent one of the men home after the very first night. Was it that Clark Kent had a bad first impression, or did something more scandalous happen that the public should be aware of?"
Your pulse spiked. Halden really knew how to push your buttons.
"No," you said, standing your ground. "Clark Kent is a lovely man. He actually walked me back to my quarters after dinner the first night, and I got to know him quite well in the short time we spent together. We talked, and laughed, and I actually quite liked him, a lot." You paused, the twinge of pain spearing again through your heart at the memory. "I sent him home because... well, I liked him rather quickly, and that was... frightening."
Halden was not having it. "So, you mean to imply that you and Mr. Kent were alone, in your room, getting to know one another? And you sent him home after your shared night with one another?"
Your father glared, shifting forward in his seat.
"We will be moving onto the next question," he said tersely. "And I will not be allowing you to take anything out of context in my home, Sir Halden, or you shall be promptly removed. Is that clear?"
Halden simply shrugged, the portrait of nonchalance.
"I understand," he said casually, crossing an ankle over his knee as he skimmed for the next question. Once he found it, he smirked.
"Another one for you, if you don't mind, Princess."
You drew in a long inhale, breathing slowly and then exhaling. You met his gaze, aiming to exude no emotion whatsoever.
"Ask it."
"The gardens, have been quite the controversial topic among the public," he started, and you could already tell where this was going. You glanced sidelong at Rhys, who was already looking at you, a small, confident smile on his lips. "Tell us, what exactly happened in those hedges, and was it the reason you sent Lucien home so abruptly?"
Your palms began to sweat. This was a lot harder than you thought.
You should've never agreed to this.
"Lucien's departure had nothing to do with what happened in the hedgemaze," you responded, glancing at Rhys once more. "And... what happened in those bushes is nobody's business but mine."
A few low gasps sounded in the room, including from your parents and from a few of the men behind you. Your mother looked bewildered as she looked to you, the cryptic answer not sitting well with anyone, really.
Halden leaned forward.
"Care to elaborate?"
You gave him a sneering smile.
"No. Next question."
Kingfisher would've been proud.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Halden's questions didn't get any easier, but he did ease off of you a little bit; he asked your mother about her own Selectionback in the day, and your father about the trade agreements with Auderlan. This got Dorian's attention, and you thanked God it wasn't you who he asked. Your father answered with perfect grace, stating that the agreement had no bearing on Dorian and would not affect him staying nor leaving Illea, as his time here was completely up to my discretion. That was most certainly a bullet dodged on your end, and had Dorian sitting back in his chair more easily by the time Halden asked his next question.
"Alright, we're almost wrapped up here," he declared, and you couldn't be happier to here it. That is, until his attention was on you again. "Princess Y/N, our last run of the weekly paper had reported twelve men still remaining in the running for your hand, however, only eleven sit before us today -- care to explain who isn't here with us, and why?"
Your smile dropped, and your heart immediately sank.
Of course this asshole would notice that Kingfisher wasn't here.
You glanced behind you, at the empty chair at the end of the back row -- this wasn't a question you'd prepared for, not a situation that you'd even entertained until it happened so quickly last night.
Gulping, you turned back to Halden again.
"Um... earlier, th-this morning, K-K-Kingfisher, left," you tried, your voice shaking as you tried to force the words out past the lump growing in your throat. "He... decided that, th-this process wasn't the right, thing f-for him, and... he, left."
The room was silent other than Morrigan's furious typing, and even Halden sat there dumbstruck, nto quite knowing what to say next.
"Wow... uh, I've never heard of someone leaving the Selection on their own," he said, sounding only a smidge remorseful. Whatever you thought you heard was gone the second he opened his mouth again. "What was it that drove him away, do you think? Dating multiple men at once, or the refusal for physical intimacy that finally did it for him?"
Your father was on his feet faster than you could gasp, his finger pointed at the front doors.
"Get out of my home, now," he demanded, rage filling his normally soft features. "You are no longer welcome in this palace."
Halden stood, looking smug as a criminal.
"One last question, for the other Princess, actually," he said, gathering his things. Guards had begun to move, but not fast enough. "Tell me, is it true that you have a thing for one of your sister's suitors, Dorian Havilliard, or is he really here with the future queen of Illea's best interest in mind?"
Delancey's face immediately pinkened, and you reached across your mother's lap, clasping your hands in hers and telling her don't answer that.
"Get OUT!" Your father yelled, and the guards had descended, heading straight for the phony journalist and his assistant. Halden looked to Dorian, who'd risen and was staring at Delancey with longing.
"Any comment, Auderlan?"
Dorian glared at Halden, squaring his shoulders. He knew that, with all of these people in the room, these reporters, he needed to make a choice -- whether it be the truth or not, he'd have to amend later. Both his and your country were at stake, and the way you were looking back at him, pleading silently that he'd just say the right thing...
"I'm... here only to win the future Queen's hand in marriage, Sir. I have no other alterior motives."
Dorian's jaw ticked as he ground out the lie, the taste of it like ash in his mouth. It didn't matter, as Delancey had already begun to sob anyway; and after hearing it, actually hearing the words aloud, she stood, excusing herself and then bolting from the room.
Guards hauled Halden off his feet, dragging him to the doors at once. You glared at him, wishing him only the worst.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, you sick, disgusting, bastard. For all of the harm you've caused this family."
You turned to watch as Azriel stood among the men, denouncing the reporter as he was tossed out of the palace at once. You couldn't beleive your ears, couldn't believe he'd be so brave to speak to someone that way, to defend your family so publicly like that -- and have no shame while doing it.
You turned to your parents as chaos ensued around the room, speaking quickly.
"I need to go find Delancey-"
Your mother gripped your arm, her eyes wide as she looked right into yours, curiousity piquing with a million unanswered questions.
"I don't think that will be necessary," she said. "Lucille has already gone to fetch her."
You huffed. "Mother, she needs to talk-"
"No ma'am," you father interrupted, motioning for the three of you to exit the lounge. "It seems there is much that we need to talk about, as there are things we were not previously aware of."
You allowed them to guide you out into the hallway, and back to their suite for privacy. A dreaded conversation was to come, that was for sure. But all you could think about was Delancey, and how she must feel. You knew she had begun to feel for Dorian, and only an idiot would be blind to see that he didn't find interest in her as well.
When you turned, looking one last time into the lounge for any sign of him, you found none.
Dorian Havilliard was nowhere to be found.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
What had begun with your parents as a terse conversation had ended in a full-blown argument. Between the pestering questions about your intimacy with Rhysand, questioning your alone time with Cassian out on the archery range (where you swore to them nothing even remotely romantic happened), and even them insisting that the guard follow you out on further venturing dates, duch as the one you'd shared with Eris earlier in the week, declaring it was for "protection only" -- you'd just had enough.
"I need to rest," you'd said when you had enough, the weight of the day finally getting to you. The amount of questions you'd needed to answer today, the masks you'd put on and worn for so many people... Kingfisher was right. You couldn't handle it, being a version of yourself all the time, for everyone else. You needed someone that could handle and appreciate you, the real you.
But you also needed someone that could handle the weight of being a King, as well.
You'd quickly changed after the meeting into a loose, cobalt gown that fit you nicely, but was flowy enough to feel comfortable -- and thank God you did. As you passed your room now, you felt the sense of longing to just go inside, lock the door, and lie down for the remainder of the evening; however, you'd still not seen Delancey, and having not spoken to your little sister yet, you at least wanted to ensure that she was alright.
Your heels clicked loudly as you made your way down the grand staircase into the ballroom, hoping that you'd find your sister there. Just beyond, the ballroom sectioned off into the music theater, Delancey's most favorite room in the entire castle; her piano sat there, thoroughly played as it was her favorite instrument and passtime alike.
Knowing it brought her peace, especially in a time like this, you were headed there next.
Your foot had just braced the ballroom floor when someone appeared on the other end of the ballroom -- a figure, entering from the theater entrance. Your heart skipped a beat.
"Delancey?"
Your gaze lifted, heart beating faster as you recognized Azriel crossing the room instead, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he walked. He gave you that small, reserved smile again -- the one that had caught your attention from the first day you'd met.
"Not Delancey, but I can act like it if ou let me try."
You grinned despite your sour mood, sppreciating his humor as he neared. He was still in his suit pants from earlier, looking handsome of course -- though he'd shed his jacket, and now only wore his white button down and cobalt necktie, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
"I doubt it. You don't seem like the type."
Now he smiled.
"You're probably right."
You sighed, swallowing nervously when things got quiet.
"I noticed you weren't at dinner," he said suddenly, his fingers reaching to rub at the back of his neck. "I, hope it's okay, I asked the server to ensure a plate be brought to your room later tonight when you returned."
Your gaze softened, and your heart skipped a beat as you looked up into his face. His cheeks has the faintest of blushes to them, and you couldn't help but to smile to yourself -- you'd never had someone do something so, caring for you before, outside your family of course.
"Azriel, I... that's incredibly considerate, thank you," you said, reaching out to place a soft hand on his arm. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you for the kindness."
He immediately looked down at where you touched him, his brown hair falling into his eyes as he stared at your hand on his arm.
Sensing his discomfort, you removed your hand slowly. You began to hear the faintest of music playing, from just the other room, the soft touch of fingers on piano keys...
"I think that's my sister anyway," you chuckled awkwardly, shuffling past him, your skirts swirling around his legs. "I'd better go-"
He paused, his fingers stilling as he caught your waist in his grasp. You whirled, your eyes wide as you gazed right up at him.
"Dance with me," he asked, his voice low and even. Your breath caught as you watch the plea in his eyes, the hue unlike anything you'd ever seen. "Please, Princess."
You sighed, glancing sidelong at the floor.
"Azriel... I've had such a long day, and I really need to make sure Delancey is okay, and-"
He tugged you close then, gently as his hand slid around your waist, the other slipping gently from your inner bicep all the way down to your fingers. You went quiet as the clock chimed 9 PM, the lights dimming with the bell toll. Azriel stepped slowly with you, pressing you against him as he began to sway the two of you in sync; and immediately, you let him.
"If I may, Princess," he began. "It seems as though you're always taking care of everyone else, and every thing else around you -- which, I can understand, as you are to be Queen in a few short months."
You nodded. "Don't remind me."
He chuckled, the sound beautiful as he moved your free hand to his shoulder, lying both hands respectfully on your waist as you continued to move.
"I won't, then -- I'll even stop calling you Princess, should you want me to. I'll just call you by your name, Y/N," he said, smiling as he said it. "That's much more beautiful anyway."
You surpressed your growing grin as you blushed, shaking your head slowly.
"You're... cheeky."
"Cheeky?" He said incredulously. "Why? I just want to share a dance with a beautiful girl, who I can appreciate for her many qualities other than just her royal status, by the way," he added, making you giggle. "And, she also happens to be a very good dancer."
You shrugged, stepping closer into his space.
"I grew up in this ballroom," you said, inclining your head as you looked up at the vaulted, painted ceilings. "I spent my evenings here in lessons, and my sister was in just the room over, tapping away at the piano. I loved the ballet most, but I also practiced the waltz, and the tango of course, and..."
You looked back at Azriel, who was watching you in wonder. Your eyes widened as you laughed, swatting his shoulder.
"What! Why are you looking at me like that?"
He stayed quiet for just a moment, his gaze never faltering as the music swelled from the other room. His swaying paused for only a moment as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"I'm just watching how breathtaking you are, especially when you speak of the things you love."
Your heart nearly burst right then and there -- but Azriel gave you no time to dwell on his poetic words as he swooped you into the next waltz, his steps wider and faster this time. You squealed as he paraded you around the entire room, spinning you and twirling you and skipping with you to the tune of the piano, all while keeping in perfect step.
You were breathless, laughing and panting, smiling from ear to ear as you neared the center of the room, the final crescendo of the ballad coming to a close. He twirled you, once, twice, spun you outward and then back into his chest, allowing your skirts to flare beautifully out around you. And then...
When the final note had come, he'd done it. He'd leaned you back, his arms strong as he dipped you, his nose brushing yours as the two of you shared breath. His grin was wider now, his perfect teeth actually showing in the romantic chandelier light -- he was so close, you could count every freckle on his nose...
You didn't think. You surged forward and kissed him, his lips meeting yours in what felt like the closing of a chapter you'd been waiting forever to finish. Azriel paused, his fingers flexing against your back before he lifted you upright, effectively breaking the kiss at once as the two of you stood once more.
His chest heaved more than it should as he stared down at you, his face unreadable. His eyes were dark, his hands still pressing you flush against him as your palms lie flat against his chest. Your eyes widened as the worst thoughts came to the forefront of your mind.
"Oh God... Azriel, I'm so sorry, I didn't-"
He pulled you to his mouth again, his lips moving against yours instantly as electricity surged between the two of you. You whined softly as his lips slid against yours, and he inhaled deeply at the sound, his fingers clutching at you as he held you against his chest. Your legs had long turned to jelly the feel of his lips on yours being the only thing keeping you grounded to the Earth at this point.
When you broke apart, just a fraction of an inch as you gasped for air, his knuckles brushed against your cheek, his eyes taking in every detail of you all over again.
"Never in my life," he said softly, pausing after brushing your hair behind your ear. You leaned in, kissing him yet again, needing his mouth connected to yours right now, in this moment.
"Az," you sighed, your fingers fisting the collar of his shirt. "Finish that sentence?"
He swallowed, his brows lowering. He leaned in one last time, kissing your forehead softly.
"Not yet, love," he whispered, his lips brushing your skin. "I promise I will tell you, once the time is right."
You leaned into him, allowing for just a moment for him to fully embrace you; to feel his warmth, his closeness, and something... else, you didn't quite want to process yet.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You were waltzing, tippy toed, back and forth, twirling around when Azriel left you to find your sister, the feeling of just, him not ready to leave you yet. Never in your life had you felt so warm inside, so, full, so ... embraced.
As the piano grew louder as you approaced the music theater, your steps slowed. You kept toward the entrance doors, unsure if it was truly Delancey inside; it had to be, the way the piano was being played.
But then, you heard it.
Laughter.
You peeked your head around the corner.
Your heart stopped.
Sat at the piano, your sister was there, playing with the intensity she always had. Her fingers flew over the keys, her whole heart poured out right there on the ivory. Her face was still red from crying, but... she had the biggest smile on her face, her pearly whites gleaming as she laughed, looking sidelong at-
Dorian, who sat right beside her, his megawatt smile mirroring her own. His fingers matched hers, playing the same song in a lower tune, his shoulder bumping hers and making her laugh as they went. She tossed her head back, smiling and giggling louder than the music coming out of the grand, louder than you'd heard her in ages.
Your fingers came to your lips, shaking. Precious tears filled your eyes at the sight, all of your misjudgements running through your mind, showing you just how wrong you were about him. This wasn't about you, it'd never been about you -- he'd loved her from the start, he was here for her, and if it took lying about it just to stay here, to be with her... he'd do it. You'd keep him here, treaty be damned, Selection be damned, all of it be damned if it meant your sister's happiness would be ensured in the end.
Tears fell as you wept, happiness overflowing as you watched your sister's happiness truly shine through. She didn't need you to check on her, Azriel had been right; your sister was just fine indeed.
And as much as you hated to admit it, Delancey may have just been right about Dorian Havilliard being both wonderful, handsome, and talented at the end of the day.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Chapter 5
Uh oh... be prepared for TWO guys to leave next week! Top two votes are outta here next chapter -- vote wisely!
COMMENT who needs to stay! Reminder that your comments not only are tallied for the next chapter, but are compiled to determine the overall series winner as well -- your voice matters, let it be heard!
Hi! I wonder, can I pour some thoughts that I have been thinking about on the Empyrean? Because I finished OS this week and my mind won't budge from all the theories and what-could-be! I dreaded the emotional impact of this book so much!
I know things will be fine, eventually. The genre, the fact Riorgale is endgame (according to RY), and the pivotal role the romance takes in the series makes certain of that. It Is practically a ride for angst to get the happy, and it is the middle of the series so of course it'll be high feelings! I am still dreading the emotional angst though!
I totally think the "cure" would be universal, or at least they'll eliminate the biggest of the threats by the venin. Still, I also like the idea of finding a cure specifically for Xaden by some means. Theories with the gods seem a pretty solid start too. I just really hope he'll be cured or find his control in the end of the 4th book, though I think (dread) that structure-wise it'd be handled in the first part of book 5. I want them back together as soon as possible to face the biggest threat together!
Anyway, one thing I'd love to see when he'll be himself (mostly?) again is him just... reacquinincing himself to emotions? Like the overwhelming pour of feelings he'd have when his soul is back. The shame, the guilt, the horror, the hope, the love, everything! Like a newborn who needs to learn how to handle his emotions, which is funny considering he's Xaden, known for his control and ruthlessness? Like if he doesn't cry (and not because of Violet getting hurt) what's the damn point of making him feel again? His shadows spiraling because he cannot for the love of Dunne control the emotions he buried in the ice?
Anyway I just want them to have that down before being happy please,I can't believe I started this series, just to find out it's a trilogy, then to find it'd actually 5 books! And that the next is years away!
Summary: A college AU centered around the touch and go relationship you had with the Xaden Riorson.
SR’s Note: So... can you tell I've had a lot of free time on my hands lately? Lol, I've been writing so much and churning out these fics / requests like nobody's business -- I hope that you're all enjoying them! This one is a bit different than the usual, however I loverd the idea for it so I took it and ran with it. Also, to the original messager, I am always happy to hear your thoughts! Thank you for sharing; I'm also happy to share to continue the conversation for those who may want to hear your take as well, and voice their's in the comments. (: Always feel free to message me -- I love to chat! <3
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
"You're seriously going to wear that?" Cat said, leaning against the doorframe of your dorm room with a smirk. Her eyebrows lifted as she took in your outfit; a black crop top and tight jeans, your usual go-to when you weren’t trying too hard. Which, tonight, you definitely weren’t.
You tossed your phone onto the bed, screen still lit with the last unanswered text to Xaden, three days old now.
"It’s just another dumb Pi Kap party," you muttered, shoving your feet into your sneakers without bothering to tie the laces, shoving them inside the shoes instead. "Not like I’m trying to impress anyone."
Cat snorted, pushing off the doorframe to grab your wrist.
"Uh-huh. And that’s why you’ve been staring at your phone all week like it’s about to confess its undying love for you."
She tugged you toward the door. "Come on. If we show up late, all the good vodka will be gone, and then what’s even the point?"
✧･ﾟ: *
Outside, the humid night air clung to your skin as you crossed the quad toward the Pi Kappa Alpha House. The bass from the party thudded through the sidewalk, vibrating up your legs. You could already hear the shrieks of laughter, the clink of bottles, the slurred shouts of guys trying to out-alpha each other.
Normal Friday night stuff. Nothing special.
Until you walked through the front door and saw him.
God, you hated the way he could draw your attention, no matter the place, the party; regardless if he belonged to the frat or not. Tonight was no exception, he drew your gaze, standing in a crowded room that wasn't even his.
Xaden leaned against the kitchen counter, a red plastic cup dangling from his fingers like he couldn’t be bothered to hold it properly. He was laughing at something some girl in a neon bikini top said, his head tipped back just enough to show off the line of his throat.
You knew that laugh, knew the way his shoulders shook when he really meant it. Knew a lot of things you wished you didn’t right now.
Cat elbowed you in the ribs. "Told you," she singsonged, before disappearing into the crowd.
Great. Abandoned already.
You grabbed the nearest bottle, someone’s abandoned tequila -- and took a swig straight from the neck. The burn steadied you, or maybe it just made everything else feel a little less sharp. Either way, by the time you’d made it to the pool area out back an hour later, the buzz had settled nicely behind your eyes, warm and familiar.
Aaaannnnd there he was again.
Xaden was in the water now, shirtless of course, his arms slung over the edge of the pool while two girls floated nearby, their giggles carrying over the splashing. One of them said something, and he grinned; that lazy, effortless grin that used to be yours.
Your fingers tightened around the bottle.
Then... he looked up.
His eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, the noise of the party faded. Just like that. Like someone had turned down the volume on the world.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just watched you, water dripping from his hair down his toned, tanned chest.
You took another drink.
The tequila burned its way down your throat again, but this time it didn’t dull the sting in your chest. Xaden was still staring at you, his dark eyes unreadable. The girl beside him said something, tugging at his arm, but he didn’t even glance her way. He just kept watching you, like he was waiting to see what you’d do next. Like this was some kind of game.
You stepped forward before you could think better of it. The concrete around the pool was slick with spilled drinks and water, but your feet carried you steadily until you were right at the edge, looking down at him.
"Having fun?" You asked, voice sharper than you’d intended.
One of the girls, the one in the neon bikini, giggled nervously, glancing between you and Xaden. He finally tore his gaze away from you to shoot her a dismissive smile.
"Give us a minute," he said, and though his tone was light, there was no room for argument. She pouted but swam away, her friend following with a dramatic splash.
Xaden hauled himself out of the pool in one smooth motion, water slicing off his torso as he stood. He was close enough now that you could smell the chlorine on his skin. He grabbed a towel from a nearby chair, rubbing it roughly over his hair before slinging it around his shoulders.
"You gonna stand there all night," He said. "Or are you actually gonna talk to me?"
You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest; a weak attempt to shield yourself from the way his proximity made your pulse jump.
"Oh, now you want to talk?" The words came out bitter, laced with tequila and three days of unanswered texts. "Funny how that works."
Xaden’s lips twitched, like he was fighting a smirk. He stepped closer, water dripping from his shorts onto your sneakers.
"You’re the one who showed up here," he said, voice low. "Pretty sure that counts as talking."
The noise of the party surged back -- someone shrieking as they cannonballed into the pool, the bass from the speakers rattling your ribs. But all you could focus on was the way Xaden’s gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second before flicking back up.
A familiar heat coiled in your stomach. Damn him. Damn you. Damn whatever this was between you that never seemed to die, no matter how many times you tried to kill it.
"You’re such an asshole," you muttered, but there was no venom left in it.
Xaden exhaled through his nose, a quiet, knowing sound that made your jaw tighten.
"Yeah," He said, so casually it stung. "You keep telling me that."
He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist -- just a ghost of contact, but enough to send a jolt up your arm. "And yet, here you are."
You swallowed hard, the tequila sour on your tongue. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you'd actually drown without me around to save you."
That got a real laugh out of him, rough and familiar.
"Bullshit." His thumb traced the inside of your wrist, slow, deliberate. "You miss me."
The words hung between you, too honest to laugh off. You could've pulled away. Should've. Instead, you let your fingers curl slightly against his, a traitorous admission. His grip tightened instantly, like he'd been waiting for it.
Xaden didn’t wait for you to respond. His hand slid up your arm, fingers pressing into your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you all over again.
"Come on," He said, voice rough at the edges, the way it always got when he was done pretending. "Let’s go somewhere quiet."
You should’ve said no. Should’ve pulled away, walked back to Cat, laughed it off like none of this mattered. But your feet were already moving, following him through the crowd, past the kitchen where someone had spilled a tray of Jell-O shots, up the stairs where the music faded into something muffled and distant. His grip on your wrist never loosened, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.
The bedroom he led you to was small, one of the Pi Kap guys, with a twin bed shoved against the wall and a desk littered with empty beer cans. Xaden kicked the door shut behind you, and the click of the latch sounded louder than it should have. For a second, neither of you moved. Then he stepped into your space, his breath warm against your temple when he spoke.
"You’re pissed at me," he murmured, not a question.
"Obviously," you said, but your hands were already fisting in the damp fabric of his shorts, pulling him closer.
His laugh was low, vibrating against your collarbone as he crowded you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed.
"Obviously," he echoed, mocking, but his hands were already sliding under your crop top, calloused fingers skating over the dip of your waist. You hated how easily your body remembered him, how your hips angled into his touch before you could stop them.
"You’re such a dick," you breathed, but it came out shaky, ruined by the way his teeth grazed your neck.
"Yeah," Xaden agreed, voice thick. His palm slid up your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your bra. "You love it."
You didn’t deny it. Couldn’t, when his mouth was on yours, hot and insistent, tasting like chlorine and cheap beer. His tongue slid against yours, familiar and demanding, and you bit down on his lower lip just to hear him groan. He retaliated by gripping your thighs and yanking you forward until you were sprawled beneath him, the cheap mattress springs creaking in protest.
His hands were insistent, tugging at the hem of your crop top, fingers slipping beneath the fabric to trace the curve of your spine, pressing into the dimples above your hips like he was relearning the map of your body. Your nails scraped down his back as he nipped at your collarbone, leaving marks you’d regret tomorrow.
"Still mad?" He murmured against your skin, voice rough with amusement.
"Yes," You lied, gasping when his teeth found your earlobe.
Xaden laughed, low and knowing, his breath hot against your neck.
"Liar."
His knee pressed between your thighs, the friction sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. You bit back a whimper, but he heard it anyway, felt it in the way your fingers clenched in his hair.
"You always make that sound when you’re pretending you don’t want me," he said, dragging his mouth down your throat. "It’s fucking adorable."
You shoved at his shoulders, but there was no force behind it. "Shut up."
Xaden caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head with effortless strength. His other hand slid down your side, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before hooking into the waistband of your jeans.
"Make me," he challenged, his breath hot against your throat. The dare in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, the same way it always had. You hated how well he knew you, how easily he could unravel you with just a look, a touch, a single fucking word.
You bucked against him, but his weight held you down. His damp shorts rubbed against your thighs as his fingers popped the button of your jeans, the sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room.
"You're still wearing too many clothes," he muttered, dragging the zipper down slowly, his knuckles brushing your stomach. The casual arrogance in his tone made your toes curl.
You opened your mouth to snipe back, but his lips crashed into yours again, swallowing whatever retort you’d mustered. His tongue was insistent, his kiss messy with teeth and too much pressure, the way you liked it when you were both too far gone to care about finesse. You moaned into his mouth, your hips lifting off the mattress to grind against the hard line of his thigh. Xaden broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at you.
"Fuck," he breathed, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip. "You have no idea what you do to me, Y/N. Fucking drug I can't quit."
You wanted to say something clever, something cunning even, but then his hand slipped past the waistband of your panties, his fingers finding you wet and aching for him already. Your head fell back against the mattress as he stroked you, his touch teasingly light, just enough to make you squirm.
"Xaden," you gasped, your fingers twisting in the sheets.
His fingers curled inside you, slow and deliberate, the pad of his thumb pressing just right against your clit.
"Still pissed?" He said, his voice a rough whisper against your neck again. You could feel his smirk against your skin as your hips jerked into his hand, betraying you completely.
"Fuck you," you gasped, but it came out shattered, a half moan.
Xaden chuckled, the sound dark and pleased, his breath hot against your ear. "That’s the plan."
His fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving you clenching around nothing, and you made a noise of protest before you could stop yourself. He kissed you again, deep and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours as he yanked your jeans and panties down your thighs in one rough motion as you kicked out of your sneakers. The cool air hit your damp skin, but then his hands were on you again, dragging you in one rough motion to the edge of the bed.
You barely had time to register the shift before he was kneeling between your legs, his mouth replacing his fingers. Your hands fisted in his hair as his tongue laved over you, like he was savoring the taste of you.
"God... Xaden," You choked out, your thighs trembling against his shoulders. He hummed against you, the vibration sending a jolt up your spine, and you tugged at his hair, torn between pulling him closer and shoving him away before you came apart too fast.
He didn’t let up. His tongue flicked over your clit in quick, relentless circles, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you from squirming away. Your breathing turned ragged, your hips rolling helplessly against his mouth as the coil in your stomach tightened unbearably.
He chuckled, pulling back as his free hand snaked beneath your bra again, giving your breast a gentle squeeze as he gazed up at your blissed out face.
"Prettiest girl I've ever seen," he said softly, his gaze betraying his usual cool exterior. Before you could call him on it, he dove back in, his mouth sucking roughly at your clit as his fingers plunged in and out of you at a fast pace.
Just as you were about to tip over the edge, he leaned back in finality, leaving you gasping and desperate.
"You’re evil," You panted, glaring down at him.
Xaden smirked up at you, his lips glistening in the dim light.
"Yeah," He agreed, voice low. "But you like that about me, now don't you?"
Before you could retort, he surged up, capturing your mouth with his again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You groaned into the kiss, your hands gripping his shoulders as he pushed you back onto the mattress. His weight settled over you, his erection pressing against your thigh through his damp shorts.
"You're still wearing too much," you muttered, tugging at the waistband of his shorts as you threw his earlier tease back at him. Xaden leaned back just enough to strip them off, the fabric hitting the floor with a wet slap. His cock sprang free instantly, thick and already leaking, and your mouth watered at the sight. You reached for him, but he caught your wrist, pinning it above your head again.
"Uh-uh," He chided, his free hand gripping your jaw lightly. "You don't get to touch yet."
You sighed. "Xaden-"
His name came out as a whine, and he chuckled, the sound dark.
"Say please," He murmured, his hand finding your core again as his thumb began circling your clit in slow, maddening strokes. You writhed beneath him, your hips lifting off the bed, but he held you down effortlessly.
"Please," you gasped, your pretty painted nails digging into his palm.
That was all he needed. In one smooth motion, he lined himself up and pushed inside you, the stretch familiar and perfect. You cried out, your legs wrapping around his waist as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. For a moment, neither of you moved, just breathing each other in, the air thick with the scent of sex. Then Xaden pulled back almost all the way before thrusting back in, hard and deep, knocking the breath from your lungs.
His rhythm was punishing from the start, each thrust driving you deeper into the mattress, the cheap bedframe rattling against the wall. You dug your heels into the small of his back, urging him on, nails scraping down his shoulders when he angled his hips just right to hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur. Xaden groaned against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he fucked you with a kind of focused intensity that left no room for thought; only sensation, only the slick slide of his cock inside you, the way your body clenched around him like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
"Fuck," he gritted out, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel..."
He didn't finish the sentence, just bit down on your shoulder instead, as if the words had been punched out of him. You whimpered, the sharp sting mixing with the pleasure coiling low in your stomach until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
His hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. The dual stimulation was almost too much, the pressure building too fast; you gasped, your thighs trembling around him as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you. Xaden didn’t let up, fucking you through it, his grip on you damn near bruising as he chased his own release.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was flipping you over and pulling your ass into the air, his palm pressing between your shoulder blades to keep your chest low. The new angle was deeper, rougher, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that had you seeing stars all over again. One of his hands tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you squeal into the mattress.
"Say it, Y/N," he demanded, his voice ragged.
"Say what?" You cried into the sheets, your fingers clawing at the mattress as he drove into you with relentless precision. Every thrust sent sparks up your spine, your body arching back against him involuntarily.
"You know what," Xaden growled, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. His grip tightened in your hair, tugging just enough. "Say you missed this. Missed me."
You bit your lip, stubborn even as your hips rocked back against him, meeting him stroke for stroke. The denial died on your tongue when he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your heart skip a beat. A broken moan tore from your throat instead.
Xaden chuckled darkly, his free hand sliding around your waist to press against your clit, his fingers working in tandem with the snap of his hips.
"Mhm. That’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice thick. "Always so damn stubborn."
The coil in your stomach tightened impossibly, your vision blurring at the edges as pleasure built like a storm. You were close, so close, but he slowed his thrusts abruptly, drawing out the torment.
You arched beneath him, your hips grinding back against his in silent demand, but Xaden held firm, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to make your scalp prickle. The mattress creaked beneath you as you writhed, his cock buried deep inside you, moving tantalizingly slow now.
Xaden exhaled a ragged laugh against the back of your neck, his breath hot and uneven. He rocked into you slowly, deliberately, the drag of his cock inside you maddeningly perfect. "For the record... I missed you too."
You choked back a whimper, your fingers twisting in the sheets. The pressure was unbearable -- his weight pinning you down, his body refusing to give you what you needed, the heat between your thighs coiled so tight you could barely breathe.
"Xaden... please," His name came out broken, half a plea, and you hated how weak you sounded.
He hummed, the sound vibrating against your skin as he nipped at your shoulder.
"You're close," he murmured, his voice rough. His thumb circled your clit again, feather-light, just enough to make your hips jerk. "Just admit it, and I'll let you come."
The words clawed at your throat -- I missed you, I missed this, fuck, I missed everything we had -- but pride had your jaw clenched tight. You tried to twist away, but Xaden's grip was unrelenting, his hips pinning yours to the mattress. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, and you gasped, your legs shaking with the effort of holding back.
"Fine," you hissed, your voice raw. "I missed you, Xaden. Happy?"
Xaden exhaled sharply, his laugh more of a groan. "Almost."
His hand left your hair, sliding down to grip your ass as he pulled out almost completely, then drove back in with a brutal thrust that punched the air from your lungs.
"Now come for me."
You didn’t have a choice. The orgasm tore through you like a live wire, your back arching as you came with a sound that was half sob, half scream. Xaden didn’t let up, fucking you through it with rough, uneven strokes, his breath ragged against your back. His rhythm faltered, and then he was burying himself deep with a groan that vibrated through your spine, his hips stuttering against yours as he spilled inside you.
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant thump of bass from downstairs. Xaden’s weight pressed you into the mattress, his chest heaving against your back, his skin slick with sweat. You could feel his heartbeat where your bodies were still connected -- fast, like it had been racing just as hard as yours.
He exhaled sharply, his breath warm against your shoulder, then rolled off you with a grunt. The sudden absence of his heat made you shiver, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin. You didn’t move, just lay there staring at the crumpled sheets, your limbs heavy and spent. The room smelled sweat and the faint tang of chlorine.
"You good?" Xaden’s voice was rough, quieter than usual. You turned your head to see him propped up on one elbow atop the mattress, his dark eyes scanning your face like he was looking for something; regret, maybe, or satisfaction?
You weren’t sure which one you were feeling either.
"Yeah," You muttered, rolling onto your back to stare at the ceiling. The fan above you spun lazily, casting weird shadows across the room. Your throat was dry, your voice hoarse from moaning his name like some pathetic cliché. You hated how easily he could reduce you to this, how quickly the anger and jealousy could dissolve into want, then into something even messier.
Xaden adjusted beside you, the shifting under his weight as he reached for an unopened bottle of water on the nightstand. He took a long swig before offering it to you, his fingers brushing yours as you grabbed it. The contact sent a stupid little jolt through your fingertips -- like your body hadn’t gotten the memo that this was supposed to be meaningless. You drank greedily, the water cool against your raw throat, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.
"Wow," Xaden drawled, flopping back onto the pillows with his arms behind his head. The smirk on his face was infuriatingly smug. "Guess I still got it."
You threw the bottle at his chest. It bounced off with a dull thud, water sloshing onto his skin.
"Watch it," you muttered. Your limbs felt like overcooked noodles, your brain still fuzzy from the tequila and the aftershocks still tingling through your pelvis.
Xaden chuckled, swiping a hand over his damp torso before turning his head to look at you. His dark eyes were softer now, the usual sharpness blurred at the edges.
"You gonna stay mad at me all night?" He asked, his voice quieter than before.
You swallowed hard, the aftertaste of him still lingering on your tongue. The ceiling fan's rhythmic hum filled the silence between you.
"I should be," You said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. It came out weaker than you’d intended, the fight long since drained out of you.
Xaden exhaled through his nose, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. His fingers traced idle patterns along your bare hip, the touch deliberate.
"But?"
You turned your head to frown at him, but the effect was ruined by the way your body instinctively curled into his touch.
"But you’re impossible," you muttered, shoving at his shoulder halfheartedly. He didn’t budge, just grinned down at you like he’d already won.
"You love it," he said, rolling onto his side to face you fully. "This... whatever we have going on."
His knee brushed yours atop the tangled sheets, and you hated how familiar it felt, how right. His thumb grazed your cheek, lingering just a second too long. "It's okay to admit it."
You swatted his hand away, but your fingers lingered against his; stupid, traitorous things.
"I admit nothing," you lied, your pulse jumping. The fan's breeze cooled your heated skin, but Xaden's gaze burned hotter than the tequila still swimming through your veins.
He hummed, low and knowing, shifting closer until his knee slotted between yours. The sheets rustled, still damp from pool water and sweat.
"Such a pretty liar," he murmured, dragging his nose along your jaw. His breath hitched when your nails scraped lightly down his ribs -- a tell you'd memorized months ago. "You always get quiet after."
The observation prickled your skin. You had gone quiet the first time you'd slept together freshman year, curled into his chest while he traced shapes between your shoulder blades. You'd pretended not to notice when he'd pressed his lips to your hairline at 3 AM. Pretended that, despite the gentleness, Xaden was just another guy you could be casual with. A simple, college relationship that was just too complicated to work.
But after all this time, both of you knew that wasn't true. In all of the dates you'd avoided with other people, all of the sleepless nights you'd spent without the other -- the truth was harder to face than this rediculous tango you seemed to always get stuck in, pushing eachother away just to inevitably pull one another back in once again.
Some things were just too dangerous to name aloud, you supposed.
Summary: You never expected than an unwelcome rooming situation would end up in... well, unpacked feelings.
SR’s Note: Okay, this part is FAR more in depth than part one, LOL. However, I feel that part one is essential for context, so if you have not read it, go read that one first! The part as suggested by @shadowmarurader , and I hope it achieves all of your hopes and dreams as it took me quite some time to write and make absolutely perfect. (': Enjoy!
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
That was the first thing you noticed when you woke up, tangled in sheets that weren’t yours, in a bed that wasn’t yours either.
"You're hogging the blankets again," Dain muttered from beside you, voice rough with sleep. His arm brushed yours as he reached over to tug at the fabric, his fingers warm against your skin. You froze, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was; how close you’d been all night.
It had started with the cold. The heating in the girl's dormitory had been unreliable for weeks, and when the frost crept through the cracks in the stone walls, Dain had wordlessly tossed you an extra blanket.
Then, when that wasn’t enough, he’d gruffly suggested you move to his bed -- his, because it was pushed against the wall, trapping what little warmth remained.
"It’s practical," he’d said, as if that explained why your heart pounded every time his shoulder brushed yours in the dark.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Morning light spilled through the narrow window now, painting stripes across the floor. You should have pulled away, should have pretended this was just another inconvenient arrangement. But you didn’t. Instead, you curled your fingers into the blanket and stayed perfectly still, savoring the quiet.
He stilled when your knuckles grazed his wrist -- just barely, just enough that you noticed it. You hadn’t meant to do it. Or, maybe you had. The line between accidents and intentions had blurred somewhere over the last few weeks.
Dain didn’t pull away.
His fingers still clutched the blanket, but he wasn’t tugging anymore. The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken, until he finally cleared his throat, sitting up and stretching out his arms.
“You’re going to be late,” he said, his voice low. “You know Sloane will skin you if you miss drills again. And so will your brother.”
You knew he was right. You also knew he was deflecting. But the way his thumb absently traced the edge of the blanket, like he was memorizing the texture of it, made your stomach flip.
You snorted, rolling your eyes as you watched him stand, moving to grab clean clothes from his dresser drawer.
"He's not my Wingleader though, is he."
This made him shake his head, a small smile playing at his lips. He tugs on a fresh black shirt, and you have to force yourself not to stare.
"That Riorson attitude is going to get you in trouble one of these days, you know that?"
You roll over and sit up before you could do something stupid, like crawl closer, or god forbid, kiss him. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, the cold air hits your bare skin like a slap, and you suppress a shiver.
"I'm up," you mumbled, but your voice cracked halfway through. "And I quite like my attitude problem, thank you very much."
Dain just sighs at this, the mattress shifting as he sits atop it and begins lacing up his boots. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you could feel his gaze on the back of your neck, warm and heavy.
"Your hair’s a mess," he said after a beat, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.
"Thanks," you deadpanned, reaching up to rake your fingers through the tangled strands. "Real comforting, Aetos."
He snorted, and then... then his fingers brushed yours as he reached forward, tugging a knot free for you. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt down your spine.
"There," he muttered, so close you could feel his breath against your ear. "Now you look slightly less like a gryphon attacked you in your sleep."
You should have moved, should have told him to keep his hands to himself. But his fingers lingered in your hair, rough and gentle all at once, and your breath caught somewhere between your ribs. The morning light painted the room in gold, the reflection dancing across the vinyls hung so precisely above your bed; but all you could focus on was the warmth of his touch, the way his thumb grazed the nape of your neck like he didn’t want to pull away either.
"That's... better," he murmured, his voice thick. Then, abruptly, he cleared his throat and stood, putting distance between you like the space was necessary as he headed for the door.
You swallowed hard, staring at the wall instead of watching him pull on the straps of his pack.
"Th-Thanks," you managed, though it came out softer than you meant it to.
Dain paused, his hand still hovering over the knob. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his mind was working like he was debating something.
"You should…" he started, then stopped, shaking his head. "Never mind. Just, don’t be late. Your brother will probably think it's my fault, and kick my ass for it." He didn’t look back as he left, the door clicking shut behind him with finality.
You exhaled, long and slow, pressing your palms against your thighs to stop them from trembling. The room felt too big without him in it, the silence oppressive. Even the cold seemed sharper now, biting at your skin where his touch had been moments ago.
You dressed quickly, tugging on your uniform with jerky movements, trying not to think about the way his fingers had lingered in your hair.
Trying and failing.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Sloane was waiting for you outside the training yard, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched.
"You look like shit," she announced, flicking a stray leaf from your shoulder. "Ugh, and you smell like guy again." Her nose wrinkled, but there was no malice in it -- just the blunt honesty you’d always loved about her.
Your stomach twisted. "It’s not... we didn’t-"
"Relax," Sloane snorted, elbowing you lightly. "I know you didn't do anything. You'd be grinning like an idiot if you had." She paused, studying your face, then smirked. "Though you are blushing like you did."
You swatted at her, but your hands were unsteady. The scent of wintry pine, Dain's scent, still clung to your clothes, and suddenly you were hyperaware of every trace he'd left on you.
Sloane's smirk softened into something far more understanding. "You're really gone on him, aren't you?"
You just rolled your eyes, tugging her toward formation.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Drills passed in a blur. Your muscles moved on autopilot, but your mind kept circling back to the way Dain's fingers had lingered in your hair, the warmth of his breath against your ear. By the time the bell tolled for break, your stomach was in knots. You weren't interested in taking a break, however. You were-
"Hey."
The voice behind you made you jump. Dain’s voice, low and steady, like he hadn’t spent the morning with his fingers tangled in your hair.
You turned slowly, gripping the strap of your pack too tight. He stood closer than necessary, his shoulders blocking out the chatter of the courtyard. His gaze flicked over your face, lingering a beat too long on your mouth before he cleared his throat and held out a wrapped bundle.
"You skipped breakfast," he said, like it was an observation, not an accusation.
You took the offering gingerly, your fingers brushing his. The contact sent a spark up your arm, and you swore his breath caught at the contact. The scent of warm bread and spiced meat wafted through the cloth; your favorite, the one you’d mentioned offhandedly weeks ago.
He’d remembered.
"Thanks," you murmured, clutching the food like a lifeline. "I was running a bit behind, if you recall."
Dain just shrugged, but his eyes were dark. He shifted his weight, boots scuffing the dirt, and for a moment, you thought he might say something else. But then a group of first-years jostled past, laughing too loud, and the moment was gone.
"Don’t skip meals," he muttered, already stepping back. "You’ll pass out during sparring, and I’m not carrying you to the healers again."
You rolled your eyes, a smile working its way onto your lips at the memory. His hands had wrapped around you that day, the genuine look of concern etched into the lines of his face when you'd fallen during training and hadn't gotten back up...
"You only wish you could hold a woman that close again, Aetos."
He shook his head, grinning reluctantly as he stalked off. You watched him go, wishing deep down that he'd stay. Occupy more of your time than he already did, even if it was just all in your head.
The bread was still warm when you unwrapped it, the spices sharp against your tongue. You forced yourself to take small bites, though your stomach churned with hunger. Sloane had since vanished, leaving you standing alone in the courtyard, clutching Dain’s offering like a secret.
Across the training yard, he was already back to work, barking orders at a group of cadets struggling with their forms. His voice carried, rough and commanding, but his shoulders were tense in a way you recognized; the same tension that had coiled in him this morning when his fingers lingered against your skin. You wondered if anyone else noticed the way his gaze flicked toward you every few minutes, quick and furtive, like he just couldn’t help himself.
The next two weeks passed in a haze of drills and dust. By the time evening settled over the dormitory on the third Friday, your muscles ached, but your mind buzzed with restless energy. The heating had given out again, and the stone walls radiated a damp chill that seeped into your bones. You hesitated in the doorway of your shared room (your room, really) as your fingers tightened around the strap of your pack. Dain was already inside, sitting on the edge of his bed with his elbows braced on his knees, staring at the floor.
He didn’t look up when you entered, but his shoulders stiffened. The silence between you was thick. You busied yourself with unpacking your bag from the day, your movements concise, until the scrape of his boots against the floor made you freeze.
"Did you eat?" Dain asked, voice rough, like he'd been holding the words in all day. His gaze flicked up to yours, just for a second, before dropping back to his hands. You noticed the way his fingers flexed against his thighs.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
"Yeah," you lied, because the bread he'd given you had turned to ash in your mouth hours ago. The lie tasted bitter, but the truth (that you couldn't stop thinking about him long enough to swallow) was even worse.
Dain exhaled sharply through his nose, like he just knew. He always knew.
"Liar," he muttered, but there was no real heat in it. Just exhaustion. Just something that sounded a little too much like concern.
The bed frame creaked as he stood, his shadow stretching long across the floor between you. You held your breath as he crossed the room, every muscle in your body wound tight. But he just grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of his bed and held it out without meeting your eyes.
"It's freezing," he said gruffly. "And I know you haven't been eating. I can see it, Y/N -- you forget that I see you every day. I know what you look like. What you're supposed to look like."
The blanket was warm when you took it, warmer than it should have been, like he’d been holding it for a while. Your fingers brushed his, and this time, neither of you pulled away. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring, until Dain cleared his throat and nodded toward the bed.
"You know the drill," he said, switching the subject. "It’s practical."
You knew what he meant: the wall trapped the heat, the blankets were thicker, his body was-
Stop.
You swallowed hard and nodded, clutching the blanket to your chest like armor.
"Right. Practical."
The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat back down, his back to you while he tugged off his boots. You watched the way his shoulders moved under his shirt, the way his fingers lingered on the laces like he was stalling. The room was too quiet, the air too thick. You should have said something, anything... but the words tangled in your throat.
Then, without warning, Dain turned his head just enough to catch your gaze over his shoulder.
"You’re thinking too loud," he muttered, and the corner of his mouth twitched; almost a smile, but not quite. "It’s annoying, Riorson."
You choked on a laugh, sudden and unexpected, and the tension in the room fractured like ice underfoot.
"Sorry," you muttered, though you weren’t -- not really. The ghost of his almost-smile lingered in the dim light, and something reckless unfurled in your chest. You clutched the blanket tighter, stepping closer until your knee brushed the edge of the mattress.
"You’re one to talk. I can hear you grinding your teeth from here."
Dain stiffened, then huffed a breath through his nose: half amusement, half surrender.
"Fine," he conceded, dragging a hand down his face. "But if you steal the blankets again, I’m pushing you onto the floor."
The threat was empty, and you both knew it. Still, your pulse jumped as you slid onto the bed beside him, careful to leave a sliver of space between you. The sheets were still warm where he’d been sitting, and the scent of pine clung to the fabric. You focused on the wall ahead, on the cracks in the stone, on anything but the way his breath hitched when your elbow brushed his.
"You’re still thinking too loud," he muttered after a beat, his voice low enough to rumble through the mattress.
You exhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to relax. "Maybe I wouldn’t be if you weren’t listening so hard," you shot back, though your voice lacked its usual bite. The blankets rustled as Dain shifted beside you, his arm brushing yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, even through the layers of fabric separating you.
Silence settled between you again, but this time it was different -- charged, like the air before a storm. You stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the stone, trying to ignore the way his breathing had slowed to match yours.
Then, softly, Dain sighed.
"Turn around," he murmured, so quiet you almost missed it.
Your pulse spiked. "What?"
"You heard me." There was no smirk in his voice now, just something raw and unguarded. Slowly, you rolled onto your side to face him, only to find Dain already looking at you, his dark eyes reflecting the faint moonlight through the window. His jaw was tight, like he was holding his breath.
"This is stupid," he muttered, but his hand lifted anyway, hovering inches from your face before he finally let his fingers brush your cheekbone. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a current through your entire body.
You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, so impossibly gentle. The room was silent except for the ragged sound of his breathing, the way it hitched when your eyelashes fluttered against his fingertips.
“Dain,” you whispered, and his name felt like a confession. His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered there for a heartbeat too long, and something in your chest cracked open.
“This is a bad idea,” he murmured, but his hand slid into your hair anyway, fingers tangling in the strands like he’d been wanting to do it all day. His breath was warm against your lips when he leaned in, close enough that you could count the freckles dusting his nose.
“Tell me to stop, Y/N.”
You didn’t.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
His kiss was nothing like you expected; soft at first, hesitant, as if he was still waiting for you to push him away. But when your fingers twisted into the front of his shirt, dragging him closer, the hesitation shattered. Dain groaned against your mouth, his hands tightening in your hair as he rolled you onto your back, his body pressing you into the mattress with a hunger that stole your breath entirely. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart where your palm rested against his chest, the way his muscles tensed under your touch like he was holding himself back.
“You’re sure?” he rasped between kisses, his voice rough enough to send heat pooling low in your stomach.
"P-Please, Dain," You whimpered against his lips, your nails scraping lightly down his spine, and he shuddered, his forehead dropping to yours with a shaky exhale.
“Gods above,” he breathed, fingers tracing the line of your jaw like you were something fragile. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
The admission unraveled something in you. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours, and he obliged, pulling the fabric over his head in one swift motion. Moonlight painted the planes of his chest in silver, highlighting the scars and the taut muscle beneath. You traced them with trembling fingers, memorizing each and every one, admiring the way his stomach clenched when your nails dragged lightly over his V-line.
It was when your fingers danced along his twitching cock that he surged forward again, his hands everywhere all at once. Tangling in your hair, gripping at your breasts, tugging impatiently at the hem of your tank top until fabric gave way.
His mouth followed, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above your collarbone.
"This is so wrong," he whispered, sitting back a bit to admire you once he'd freed you of your thin top. You blushed, fighting the urge to cross your arms over your chest -- but with the way Dain was looking at you, like he could eat you alive...
His lips found your nipple at once, his tongue dancing along the pebbled skin as his gaze stayed trained on your face. You gasped, arching into him, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders.
"Dain-" His name came out ragged, more plea than word, and he groaned against your skin like it undid him.
"You feel too good," he muttered, voice thick with want as his palm slid between your thighs, calloused fingers mapping your skin as he ventured deeper. His touch burned through you, leaving fire in its wake as he moved to the other breast, licking and biting at you as you simpered beneath him like a whiny brat.
"Dain... holy shit, Dain-"
He chuckled lowly, his fingers bypassing your thin cotton shorts as he found the seam of your thong, tugging it aside roughly. The pre-soaked fabric was wet on his fingers before he even had the chance to explore you, and the feeling had him hardening further.
"Your brother is going to fucking kill me," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. You growled, your hands finding their way into his hair as you tugged him forward, reconnecting his mouth with yours.
Surprised by your dominance, he wasted no time in plunging both fingers into your weeping hole, curving them just right as you writhed under his touch. You shuddered, clutching at him, and he made a low, possessive sound in his throat. His hips pressed against the mattress, the hard length of him unmistakable even through layers of fabric, and you clenched hard as you realized he was softly rocking back and forth to try and generate friction as he fucked you with his fingers.
He stilled suddenly, pulling back just enough to search your face. Your eyes opened slowly, your Wingleader gazing down at you with his brow furrowed.
"Tell me what you want," he breathed, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, but the restraint in his voice was unmistakable. He’d stop if you asked -- and the realization made your chest ache.
But you didn’t ask. You wanted this, wanted him and even more; all the feelings you'd bottled up for months ran laps through your mind, threatening to spill over at any second. It'd be so easy to tell him, and juts finally be honest about it.
Instead, you hooked a leg around his hips, dragging him closer, and his restraint finally shattered.
"I want my Wingleader to fuck me, like he's been fantasizing about doing for months now."
Dain’s mouth crashed into yours again, hungry and insistent, his hands sliding under you to pull you flush against him. The friction was electric, and you whimpered into his mouth, your nails digging into his biceps. He growled -- actually growled -- and made quick work of freeing himself from his sweatpants, kicking them off and not giving a single shit where they landed. You worked fast as you shimmied out of your shorts and undied; and by the Gods did Dain feel like he died and went to heaven as you finally lay fully bare beneath him.
"Gods... Y/N..." he meweled, lining up his thick cock with your cunt. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, gazing up at him innocently as he pressed into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch. Your lips parted as he sheathed himself in you, bringing his hips flush with yours before slowly sliding out, and pressing back in again.
"Can't... believe you... thought about doing it... this slow..."
Dain glared down at you as you chuckled, teasing him even in a moment like this despite the delicious bite the stretch of his cock gave you. He immediately yanked himself out of you and rammed himself back in, drawing a surprised cry from your throat.
"So impatient," he chastized, his hips snapping against yours brutally. "You've always been a brat, under that innocent demeanor Y/N -- you really do need your Wingleader to teach you a lesson."
Your jaw had fallen all the way open, your breath escaping you as Dain fucked you, hard. His hands had pinned both of yours above your head as he worked you open, the only sounds in your otherwise quiet room the lewd slap of skin on skin. Your eyes dared to flutter closed, until you heard his voice again.
“Look at me,” he whispered, voice raw, and when you did, the intensity in his gaze stole your breath. There was no smirk now, no deflection -- just hunger, raw and undisguised.
His eyes traced your body like he was memorizing it, watching the way your expression shifted, how your breasts bounced. His grip on your wrists was tight, but it was the way he watched you, like you were something precious, something... his ...that undid you completely.
When he did let go, his hands moving to grip your waist instead, you reached for him, dragging your fingertips down his chest, and he shuddered, his forehead dropping to yours with a groan.
“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, but his hips kept jerking forward anyway. "You're going to actually, fucking kill me."
The bed creaked under the force of his movements, the sound swallowed by the heavy press of your shared breaths. His thumb found the peak of your breast, circling just hard enough to make you whimper, and the way his eyes darkened at the sounds you made sent more heat pooling low in your stomach, the finality of your orgasm building quickly.
"That’s it," he murmured, dragging his mouth along your jaw. "Let me hear you."
You barely recognized your own voice when it broke around his name. Dain groaned like you’d struck him, his hips stuttering before he caught himself, slowing to a torturous grind that had your toes curling into the sheets.
"Fuck... you’re so-" He bit off the words with a sharp exhale, his forehead pressing against yours as he fought for control. The veins in his arms stood out starkly where he braced himself above you, his biceps trembling with the effort of holding back.
Dain’s hands slid beneath you with a growl, flipping you onto your stomach before you could gasp. His knee pressed between yours, parting your legs as his body settled over you, his chest hot against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder and you shuddered, arching your ass back against him with a soft plea.
"Even better," he muttered against your skin, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine before gripping your hips. The re-entry was seamless, thanks to how wet he'd already gotten you, and the sound you'd made when he'd filled you with his cock at this angle was music to his ears. His thrusts were deeper now, slower, each one dragging a soft pant from your throat. You clutched at the sheets, your fingers twisting in the fabric as he leaned forward to nip at your earlobe.
"Let go," he rasped, his hand sliding forward as his fingers entertwined with yours. "Need to feel you cum around my cock, Y/N."
Tears dotted your vision as your orgasm ripped through you, and fell apart right there beneath him. His hands gripped your ass as he found his own peak, his breath warm against your shoulderblade when he finally did pull out of you.
The two of you fell asleep that night as you always had; sharing sheets and keeping eachother warm. Except this time, you were deliciously sore, and surely in love as you dozed off, wrapped up in both the blankets and Dain's strong arms.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The days after were torture. Dain avoided your gaze in the mess hall, his jaw tight whenever you passed in the corridors. He barked orders at you during drills with a cold precision that stung, and you mirrored his distance, pretending not to notice the way his fingers twitched whenever you brushed by.
Nights were even worse. He slept rigid on his side of the bed, the space between you a chasm neither dared to cross. You told yourself it must've just been the sex, it had to have been -- that he’d gotten what he wanted, and moved on.
The ache in your chest disagreed.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The announcement came at dawn that following week.
"The boy's dorm repairs are complete," Professor Kaori declared, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "All cadets are to return to their original assignments by sundown tomorrow. We'll cancel trainings during the day, and resume on Wednesday to allow everyone to settle back into their rooms."
A cheer rose from the crowd, but your stomach plummeted. Sloane whooped, slinging an arm around your shoulders.
"Finally! No more smelling that big-headed Aetos’s boots," she teased, but her grin faltered when you didn’t laugh.
"You are happy, right?"
You forced a nod, but your eyes flicked to Dain, standing stiffly by the armory, his face unreadable. Sloane sighed, her hand softly resting on your shoulder.
"Y/N... it's been weeks, and the two of you have barely even talked, I mean... he's kind of a douchebag, if you think about it-"
You cleared your throat, shaking your head as you looked down at the grass.
"It's alright Sloane, really. I just... I don't even know what I was thinking. Getting caught up with our Wingleader, anyway. How stupid of me to think it was anything other than what it really was."
Sloane sighed, tugging you into her side and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. She gave you a gentle squeeze, poking you in the side until you couldn't help but crack a smile.
"Awww, see? There's my girl -- Dain's a fucking idiot anyway if he can't see how great you are. An absolute, fucking, idiot."
You nodded once, only daring one more glance at him before you allowed her to lead you away, and back to the dorms again.
"You're right. An idiot, for sure."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Watching Dain pack his things that evening felt like a betrayal. You stared as he folded his clothes with numb fingers, acutely aware of your silence as you leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. The room still held every reminder of him, in the way your records still hung perfectly on the wall and in the way the blanket at the end of your bed still smelled like him.
Your throat burned.
"Guess this is it," you said, far too bright for how you truly felt.
Dain’s jaw flexed. "Guess so."
The words hung between you, brittle and insufficient. He picked up the first of his boxes, and turned to leave. He froze when his eyes met yours, filling with unshed tears that he couldn't believe he was seeing.
His box hit the ground immediately with a hard thud.
"Y/N," he said tenderly, his hand coming to brush against your cheek as a single tear fell. Your lip trembled as you worked to withold all of the words unsaid, every feeling you'd bottled up and swore you'd never let see the light of day-
"Please, Y/N; what has you so upset?"
You'd never heard him speak so... softly in your life. His tone had you wanting to melt into him, had you allowing him to take you into his arms yet again, allowing him to push the door shut and pull you back into the room you'd spent so much time together in.
The tears came fast, but your words came faster.
"Dain, I've never cared for anyone in my life like I care for you. I think about you every moment of the day, and you linger even in my dreams; I hate the fact that I can't focus, I can't eat, I can't sleep just because of how much I'm fucking thinking about you," you stumbled out, the words jumbling together. Dain's eyes widened as he sat back on his mattress, pulling you to stand between his parted knees.
"I don't think I have ever longed for someone, or some thing, more in my life than I long for you, Dain Aetos. What I thought was an unfortunate pairing of us sharing this Godsforsaken dorm room, turned out to actually be one of the best things that ever happened to me. You, are one of the best things that's ever happened to me."
You hiccuped, but Dain's eyes were glued to yours as you kept on.
"I realize now that none of it matters, and after the night we shared... together," you say softly, your cheeks flushing at the intimate memory. "I understand that keeping things appropriate between us is probably for the best anyways, and we tried it out, you got what you wanted, and-"
Dain shook his head at this, his brown hair swooshing with the effort.
"Wait wait wait, hold on." He paused, looking up at you in confusion. "You really think I only wanted you for... that?"
You bit your bottom lip, and shrugged, tears filling your eyes yet again.
"I mean... yeah, I guess? After that night, you avoided me, every chance you got." Your heart sank further as you kept speaking your truth. "No more check ins to make sure I am eating throughout the day. No more early mornings where you bring me down to the square for coffee, to 'get me ready for the day' even though you know it's just my favorite."
You were ugly crying now, your breaths sawing in and out of you.
"And every night when I'm laying next to you, all I can think about is how badly I just want us to be together, while knowing it's not what you want."
Dain's eyes softened at this, and his hand reached up again, brushing your tears away as they fell. He pulled you into him, hugging you into his chest; you couldn't help your self as you inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of him yet again as you bawled into his shoulder.
His hands were warm and comforting as he rubbed your back, drawing your legs up into his lap as he readjusted you to sit more comfortably against him. He whispered softly into your hair, pressing soft kisses against the top of your head as you worked to calm yourself down, refocusing on him and how his simple touches brought you peace.
When you finally pulled back enough to look him in the eyes again, you sniffled as his warm and inviting expression met yours. Long gone was the demanding, soulless Wingleader that treated you like any other cadet; your Dain was back, and he was holding you in his arms.
He took a long breath before he finally spoke.
"Y/N, I apologize for ever making you feel diminished to nothing more than your body," he began, his thumb tracing soft circles on your thigh. "I have never felt that way about you. Of course, I loved what had happened that night, that's for sure," he paused, grinning when you chuckled. "But I think the thought of admitting that you meant more to me than being just my roommate, or another one of my cadets was much scarier than I would like to admit."
You swallowed, your hands finding their way to his chest. You toyed with the neckline of his tee, your thumb tracing patterns along his skin just above the fabric as he continued on.
"I think it started that first night that I moved in, actually. What an ironic twist of fate," he chuckled. "I never thought that I'd be sitting here, admitting that I've fallen in love with one of my own cadets; let alone, a Riorson, at that."
Your soft smile reappeared at his words, your gaze finding his again.
"Dain Aetos, did you just admit that you were in love with me?"
He scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully and making you giggle in the process.
"Don't let that get to your head," he said, his eyes lingering on your lips longer than usual. "I only distanced myself because I knew it was wrong. Wingleaders aren't supposed to-"
You leaned forward then, smushing your lips against his and effectively cutting him off. He inhaled deeply, his hands sliding up your waist as he held you close, his mouth moving in sync with yours. Gods, you'd missed him -- his touch, his mouth, all of him.
He pulled back with a grin, his eyes barely open as he peeked at you.
"Your ego didn't need to hear all that, did it?"
You chuckled, kissing his cheek, then his nose, and then his lips again.
"Probably not -- but yours definitely doesn't need to hear that I'm in love with you too, Dain."
He smiled, really smiled at this before kissing you deeply, his hands splaying against your back as your mouths danced in tandem. Your fingers carded through his hair, the kiss a mix of lips and teeth and tongues -- the most delicious you'd ever had.
You pulled back, heaving, with one hand over his heart. It beat wildly beneath your fingers, his calm exterior no match for the emotions welling inside.
"For the record, I don't give a shit what we 'should' or 'shouldn't' do," you said matter of factly. Dain huffed a laugh at this.
"I'm well aware, you play by your own set of rules, Riorson." He kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck. "And so we're clear, I don't give a shit either. I just want you, and that's final."
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Morning came far too soon. Sloane kicked open the door at dawn, her grin faltering when she found you curled into Dain’s chest, his arm slung possessively over your waist.
"Oh," she said, blinking. "I don't know if this was what I was expecting, or wasn't." Then, slowly, her smirk returned.
"Nevermind, the two of you are fools -- I totally called this."
Dain groaned, dragging a pillow over his face. You hid your laugh in his shoulder, pulling the blankets up higher to not expose your body to anyone else but you nor your... boyfriend.
The sun climbed higher, painting the room in hues of morning orange.
"I'll leave you alone," Sloane sing-songed, making her way out of your dorm once more. "But don't forget that he's still moving out today, boyfriend or not. You're my best friend and roomie first."
The door swung shut behind her, and Dain smiled softly as you grinned up at him.
"She's.... well, Sloane."
He ran a hand through his hair, leaning his head back against the headboard.
"Your brother is going to kill me when he finds out about... all of this."
You leaned in, kissing his cheek before snuggling into his chest once more.
"Oh, without a doubt. And, so will Kaori, and your father, and likely all of the other professors here at this school -- you are still my Wingleader, after all."
His eyes glinted then, a playful smirk overtaking his features as his hands settled on your hips. You squealed as he flipped you, pinning you to the mattress as he hovered only inches above you.
Summary: Your boyfriend and girlfriend are sure to remind you just how much you mean to them, in the most exciting way possible.
SR’s Note: This is part 2, requested by @bookofriverr so be sure to check out part 1 for some context if you so please. (: Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this rather smutty part 2 to Third Wheel! xoxo
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
The bathroom in the back of the bar was cramped, poorly lit, and the air thick with the smell of spilled beer and cheap cleaner.
However, you'd never felt more excited in your life as both your boyfriend and girlfriend cornered you inside, their gazes predatory as you stood waiting before them.
It wasnt long before Violet was pressing you against the sink, her hips slotting against yours, her mouth hot and insistent as she kissed you. Xaden’s hands were everywhere at once; tangling in your hair, skimming down your sides, gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.
"Gods, you’re perfect," he growls against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point just hard enough to make you gasp. All of your pre-conceived, lingering doubts that had clouded your mind mere moments ago seemed to slip away as they began to touch you -- a common occurrence, that, you hated to admit happened more often than not. They both just seemed to have that effect on you.
Violet pulls back just far enough to smirk at you, her fingers working at the buttons of your shirt with practiced ease.
"You’re all ours tonight, Y/N" She murmurs, and the way she says it like it’s a fact, like it’s the only truth that matters sends a shiver down your spine.
Xaden’s laugh is low, vibrating against your shoulder as he leans in to nip at your earlobe. "She’s right," He says, his voice rough. "No distractions. Just us."
The sink digs into your lower back, cold and unyielding, but you barely notice. Violet’s hands slide under your shirt, her palms warm against your skin, her thumbs brushing over your ribs like she’s counting them. Xaden’s mouth finds yours, his kiss deep as his tongue slides against yours in a way that makes your knees weak. You can still taste the whiskey limgering on his lips.
Violet’s fingers twist in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your throat to Xaden’s wandering mouth.
"Just look at you," She breathes, her voice thick. "So fucking pretty like this, Y/N -- our girl to spoil."
Xaden hums in agreement, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, lifting you carefully onto the edge of the sink. The porcelain is unforgiving, but you don’t care, not when Violet’s pressing closer, her body flush against yours, her breath mingling with yours in the space between your mouths.
Her fingers tighten in your hair, her grip just shy of painful as she tilts your head back further, her mouth finding the sensitive spot beneath your jaw. Xaden’s hands skim up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher, his calloused fingers rough against your clothed core.
"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice gravelly. "You’re already so wet for us, haven't even played with you yet."
The words alone are enough to make your stomach clench, heat pooling low and insistent between your legs. Violet’s lips trail down your neck, her teeth scraping lightly over your collarbone before she tugs your shirt open the rest of the way, her hands reaching around your abdomen as she works to free your breasts.
"How lucky are we?"
Your bra is tugged off then, your breasts nipping at the exposure to the open air. Violet's pupils blow wide at the sight, and Xaden’s answering smirk is wicked as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your underwear, teasing you but not quite giving you what you need.
You lean into his touch, a whimper escaping your lips, and Violet captures it with her mouth. Her tongue slides against yours, her hands roaming over your body like she’s memorizing every curve, her fingertips toying with your nipples as she delights in every soft sound she can pull out of you.
Xaden’s fingers finally, finally slip lower, circling your clit with a precision that has your hips jerking off the sink.
"That’s it," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Wanna see you let go for us, Y/N."
Violet pulls back just enough to watch your face, her eyes dark with hunger as she drags her thumb over your bottom lip.
"You always take us both so well," She breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "And after tonight, you deserve to cum on Xaden's fingers, sweetheart."
The praise coils tight in your chest, mingling with the pleasure building under Xaden’s touch until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. His fingers slide inside you, curling just right as he's done a million times over, and your head falls back against the mirror with a thud, your vision going hazy at the edges.
Xaden’s fingers move with a relentless rhythm, his palm pressing against your clit just enough to make your thighs shake. Violet’s hands frame your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as she kisses you again, swallowing the moan that spills from your lips.
"You sound so pretty," She whispers against your mouth, her teeth catching your lower lip just enough to sting. The sharpness of it only makes the pleasure brighter, a contrast that has your fingers digging into Xaden’s shoulders for balance.
The mirror behind you is cold against your bare back, but you barely register it, not when Violet’s mouth is trailing down your chest, her tongue flicking over your right nipple before she sucks hard enough to make your back arch. Her fingers play with your other as she stimulates you, the pressure building in your lower tummy mounting to near unbearable lengths.
Xaden’s free hand grips your hip, holding you steady as his fingers fuck you faster, his breath ragged against your neck.
"You’re close," he growls, and it’s not a question -- he knows your body well enough to feel the tension coiling tight in your muscles.
Violet pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, her lips swollen from kissing, her fingers tracing idle patterns over your ribs.
"You should see yourself," She says. "You’re gorgeous like this, falling apart under us."
The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your hips rocking against Xaden’s hand as he adds a third finger, stretching you just enough to make your breath catch.
The pleasure crests suddenly, violently, your vision whiting out for a second as you come with a cry that Violet muffles with her mouth. Xaden doesn’t let up, his fingers working you through it until you’re squirming, oversensitive and gasping. Violet giggles against your lips, her hands sliding down to grip your thighs as she nips at your jaw.
"That’s it," she praises, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Just like that, sweetheart."
The aftershocks ripple through you, leaving your legs trembling and your breath ragged against Violet’s lips. She kisses you softly, her mouth slow and indulgent now, savoring the way you melt against her. Xaden’s fingers withdraw slowly, his touch lingering as he brushes his thumb over your slick inner thigh, his breath hot against your shoulder.
"Gods above," he murmurs, and the hunger in his voice sends a fresh shiver down your spine. He lifts his hand then, his eyes meeting Violet's as her tongue lolls out flat in an instant. Your eyes widen as you witness the hottest thing you've ever seen play out before you, as Xaden pushes all three fingers into Violet's mouth, allowing her to suck your essence off of his digits. She groans softly, her eyes fluttering shut before opening once more, glancing sidelong at you as her tongue laps at her fingers, savoring every last drop of you off of them.
Xaden watches her intently, his pants growing tighter by the second; and though you just came down from the highest of highs, by the Gods the things you were ready to do with her.
You swallowed thickly, and she grinned.
"Ready go get out of here?" She asked sweetly, glancing between the two of you. "Or, did you have plans for more?"
Xaden chuckled, shaking his head as he held out a hand to help you down from the sink. You leaned forward, kissing her once on the nose before readjusting your skirt and reaching for your bra.
"Vi, I think our 'plans for more' will require a lot more space, and perhaps an actual bed as opposed to a small bathroom for the things I would like to do for the two of you."
Summary: You never imagined losing the one you loved most in battle. It's a tough world for riders -- an unforgiving, cruel world at that.
SR’s Note: This was a request for a part 2 from @freakishfandomfiend so if you have not read part 1, I would reccommend as it is angsty but not nearly as sad as this part. (': This was a hard write. But I hope it was what you were looking for, and you enjoy despite the long wait!
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @mgcfalls @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
The first time you saw Liam Mairi, he was soaking wet. Not the romantic, rain-soaked kind of wet that glistens under golden sunlight; no, this was the dripping, boot-squelching kind that came on conscription day, following a long week of relentless storms. He’d just helped some other poor first-year out of a puddle, and when he turned, grinning like he’d "won" the annual Threshing, his hair was plastered to his forehead, his uniform was three shades darker than regulation, and you thought, oh Gods, he’s obnoxious.
Oh Gods, he's handsome.
Two months later, you learned he folded his socks. Not just tossed them into his rickety dorm room drawer, but actually folded them, crisp edges aligned like he was preparing for inspection. You’d laughed so hard you nearly choked on your breakfast roll.
“What?” He’d said, defensive but grinning, like he knew exactly how ridiculous it was. “It’s efficient.”
The sparring pits dried out by mid-spring, but Liam never stopped being ridiculous. He stole your favorite dagger once, he just tucked it into his belt and walked away like he hadn’t noticed you glaring at him. Then he “returned” it three days later, balanced on a tower of pastries from the kitchen.
“Consider it a trade,” he’d said. You’d thrown a raspberry tart at his head.
You remember the way his hands felt when he pulled you into shadowy corners between classes, the way his breath hitched when you traced the scar above his eyebrow (the one he got from falling out of a tree at nine, not from battle, though he’d never admit it).
“Tell anyone,” He’d warned, pressing a kiss to your palm, “and I’ll deny it.”
And of course, when he wasn't being so obnoxious, he'd do something so heart-tighteningly romantic, like set up an entire picnic and evening for just the two of you, just so he could whisper sweet nothings to you and remind you just how much you meant to him the night before battle. No funny jokes, no silly business; just real, honest, Liam.
The boy you'd realized, that in those few short months, you'd fallen so, so madly in love with.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You don’t remember screaming when the news reached you. You don’t remember your knees hitting the ground, or the way your hands clawed at your own chest like you could rip the pain out of it. All you remember is the silence afterward, the way the world snapped into something sharp and wrong, like a broken blade shoved back into its sheath.
Someone’s hands are on your shoulders. You blink, and the world swims back into focus; Xaden’s face, grim and blood-streaked, his dark eyes shadowed with something worse than exhaustion.
“He didn’t suffer,” he says, but the words are too heavy for his voice. You want to believe him. You don’t.
The box springs beneath the worn mattress creak when you finally sit down, your body numb except for the ache behind your ribs. Liam’s things are still stacked neatly on the shelf by his bed -- a spare dagger, a book on hydrologic theory with a cracked spine, a single matchstick tucked in among all of his little wooden carvings. You pick up the matchstick, and your hands shake so badly you almost drop it.
Xaden doesn’t say anything, whether he clocks your trembling hands or not. He just sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours, and lets the silence stretch until it’s almost bearable.
The matchstick snaps between your fingers, brittle and sudden. You stare at the broken halves, the frayed wood fibers sticking out like tiny, accusing fingers. Xaden exhales sharply beside you, but he doesn’t move; he doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t try to take it away from you, either. He just watches, his dark eyes tracking the way your thumb rubs over the splintered edge, slow and absent, like you’re trying to smooth out something that can’t be fixed.
“He stole this,” You say, and your voice doesn’t sound like yours. It’s too thin, too raw. “From Imogen's pack. Said he needed it for-”
You stop. You can’t remember. Your throat closes around the words, and suddenly, the matchstick feels like the only thing holding you together.
Xaden’s hand settles over yours, warm and calloused, his fingers curling gently around your clenched fist. “You don’t have to talk,” he murmurs.
But you do. Because if you don’t, the silence will swallow you whole.
“He was supposed to come back,” You whisper. “He promised.”
Xaden’s grip tightens, just for a second, before he lets go. His jaw works, like he’s chewing on something bitter. “He always kept his promises,” he says finally. “Until he couldn’t.”
The words hang between you, heavy and final. You turn the matchstick over in your palm, tracing the rough edge where it broke. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember Liam’s laugh, bright and reckless, like he’d just gotten away with something. You remember the way he’d tilt his head when he was about to say something funny, the way his nose scrunched up when he was trying not to smile. The memories come in flashes, bright and damn near blinding.
You press the broken matchstick into Xaden’s palm without meaning to, your fingers brushing his before you pull away. His skin is warm, roughened by years of swordplay, but it’s the faint tremor in his grip that undoes you. Xaden Riorson doesn’t shake. Not ever.
A sound escapes your throat -- half sob, half laugh -- when you notice the smudge of ink on parchment, folded neatly and sticking out of his pants pocket.
Liam’s handwriting.
A hastily scribbled note, probably some ridiculous bet they’d made before the battle. You reach for it instinctively, but Xaden pulls back, the look he gives you full of guilt.
"Y/N, you really should rest-"
The infirmary door creaks open, and for one stupid, breathless second, you think it’s him -- that Liam will saunter in with his sleeves rolled up and his blonde hair a mess, grinning like he’s just pulled off the greatest stunt in history.
But it’s just Garrick, his face ashen beneath the dirt, a bundle of fabric clutched in his hands. Liam’s jacket. The one you’d stitched the lining of last month, after he’d torn it on the training course.
Garrick doesn’t speak. He just sets it on the cot between you and Xaden, his fingers lingering on the fabric for a heartbeat too long before he turns and leaves. The silence he leaves behind is thick enough to choke on.
The jacket smells like him, like leather and the stupid citrus soap he insisted on using even though you teased him for smelling like a merchant’s son. Your fingers curl into the fabric before you can stop yourself, the stitches you’d sewn rough under your fingertips. The lining is torn again. Of course it is. Liam never could keep anything intact for longer than a week.
Xaden’s hand hovers near your elbow, like he’s afraid you might shatter if he touches you.
“He wore that just this morning,” he says quietly. “Tried to act like he wasn’t pissed about the ripped stitching.” There’s a pause, the kind that feels like a wound. “He was terrible at lying.”
A laugh punches its way out of your chest, wet and broken.
“He was terrible at a lot of things.” Like staying alive.
The words lodge in your throat, sharp as a dagger’s edge, but Xaden hears them anyway. His jaw tightens, and for the first time since he found you, his mask slips, just enough to show the raw, bleeding grief beneath.
You unfold the jacket with trembling hands, half-expecting some absurd trinket to tumble out -- a stolen spoon, a half-burnt sketch, one of his little carvings that you prized as though they were gold. But there’s nothing. Just the faint imprint of his body in the fabric, the shape of him still pressed into the seams. You press your face into the collar and breathe, and for a heartbeat, it’s like he’s right there.
The jacket is still warm. That’s the stupidest part, like his body heat lingered just for you, like some cruel trick of the universe to make you believe, even for a second, that he’s not gone. You clutch it tighter, and the leather creaks under your fingers.
Xaden shifts beside you, his knee pressing against yours. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.
A scrap of parchment flutters from the jacket’s pocket when you lift it, drifting to the floor like a leaf in autumn. Xaden catches it before you can, his movements quick and precise, but not quick enough; you see Liam’s messy scrawl, the ink smudged at the edges like he’d written it in a hurry. Xaden’s grip tightens on the paper, his knuckles whitening, and for a moment, you think he’ll crumple it. Instead, he holds it out to you, his face unreadable.
You take it with phantom hands. The words are simple, stupidly so: Don’t forget to eat. And if you don’t, I’ll steal your dessert again.
It’s dated the morning of the battle. There’s a crude drawing of a tart beneath it, the edges of the parchment stained with what might’ve been jam. You press your thumb over the stain, and suddenly, you’re back in the mess hall, Liam’s laughter ringing in your ears as he dodges your half-hearted swipe for the pastry he’d just stolen from your plate.
The memory hits like a blow, and you fold forward, the jacket pressed to your chest, the note crumpling in your fist. Xaden’s hand settles between your shoulder blades, warm and steady, his fingers splaying wide like he’s trying to hold you together.
“He had one for me too,” He says, his voice low. “Told me not to be an asshole.”
The jacket muffles your ragged breathing, the scent of citrus sharp enough to carve open your ribs. You don’t realize you’re rocking forward until Xaden’s palm presses harder against your spine, anchoring you to the mattress. The note in your hand is damp with shed tears now, the ink bleeding into your skin like a bruise. You unfold it again, smoothing the creases with shaking fingers, as if you could iron out the finality of it.
“He stole my dagger last week,” You say suddenly, your voice cracked at the edges. “Left it in my boot with a ribbon tied around the hilt. Pink. Like I’d ever-”
Your breath hitches. Xaden’s thumb rubs a slow circle between your shoulder blades, the callouses catching on the fabric of your tunic.
“He knew you’d hate it,” he murmurs. The ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Outside, the wind howls through the courtyard, rattling the dorm's shutters. You stare at the splintered matchstick still clenched in Xaden’s other hand, the wood fibers catching the lamplight like tiny fractures. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes until colors bloom behind your lids.
Xaden exhales through his nose, long and controlled. When you drop your hands, he’s staring at Liam’s jacket. His fingers twitch toward the collar where the stitching is fraying again before he balls them into a fist.
“He nearly tripped over his own feet running to formation on his first morning,” he says abruptly. “Nearly skidded face-first into Aetos. Do you remember that?” The words are ash in his mouth.
The jacket slips from your fingers when you laugh, a sharp, startled sound that scrapes your throat. Liam would’ve loved that, you think. That even now, he’s making you laugh while your ribs crack open with grief.
Xaden’s hand curls around your wrist, his thumb pressing into your pulse point like he’s counting each beat to make sure you’re still here.
You focus on the ink staining the paper in his pocket instead of the way your chest caves in.
“I don't remember that part. Did he really?” You ask, your voice fraying at the edges.
Xaden’s mouth twitches. “Almost knocked Dain's boot clean off.” He lets go of your wrist to drag a hand down his face, smearing dirt and dried blood across his cheekbone. The motion stretches at his pocket just enough to reveal more of the edge of that damn note again.
You reach out your hand before you can think better of it.
For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. Then Xaden exhales sharply and hands it to you himself. The note is short, written in Liam’s sloping hand: If I die today, tell her I stole her dagger on purpose. And that she’s shit at folding socks. There’s a postscript beneath it, smudged with what might’ve been ale: Don’t be an asshole, and live.
Your fingers tighten around the paper, the note blurring as your vision swims. Liam’s handwriting dissolves into a mess of charcoal and grief.
“He wrote that last night,” Xaden says, his voice rough. “Shoved it at me like it was a damn shopping list.” His jaw works, and for a moment, you see the raw, unfiltered agony in his eyes -- the kind he’d never let anyone witness. “I told him to stop being dramatic.”
The laugh that tears out of you is jagged, half-hysterical. Of course Liam would leave a note like that. Of course he’d make it a joke, even now. You press the heel of your hand to your mouth, but it doesn’t stop the sob building in your chest. Xaden’s hand lands on the back of your neck, his grip firm, grounding.
“You need to rest, Y/N,” he mutters, and you try to focus just on breathing again, shuddering, the air scraping your lungs like sandpaper.
Liam's room is silent for quiet some time, quiet tears still streaming down your cheeks as you cling to his jacket for dear life. Xaden's hand on your shoulder is more comfort than you'd ever expect, and honestly it's helping hold you together right now -- you're both holding eachother together through it, it seems.
When the sun finally begins to dip, and the sky turns to gray, Xaden gives you one last reassuring squeeze before he stands, leaving you to finally rest in the quiet of Liam's quarters.
You weren't sure how you were going to do this. How you'd go on, lying in his bed alone, tonight and every night after. How you'd sit with your friends in the mess hall, one seat empty until the end of time.
How you'd never stare into his beautiful, brilliant blue eyes ever again.
Your head hit his pillow with ease, the familiarity of his bed bringing you comfort and pain all at once as he was not there to join you in it. His jacket was warm as you clutched it to your chest, closing your eyes as you tried to remember every curve, hue, and fracture of his face. A face you swore you'd never forget.
"I love you," you whispered into the dark, the empty room your only answer. "I'll find you again, Liam Mairi."
For the first time all day, you finally felt at peace as a sence of security washed over you -- as though two strong arms had enveloped you in a hug, and promised you that it would all be okay.
I was hoping I could request a Garrick fic? Maybe something where him and the reader are good friends, but clearly have feelings for eachother? (Obvious to everyone but them) with some jealousy and angst, and it comes to a head on a squad night out and they end up confessing feelings (maybe get a bit hot and heavy *wink wink*)
Thankies! You’re writing is honestly so beautiful💙
Summary: Neither you nor your best friend have ever been good at being honest about your feelings for one another — but one stormy night out on the town would change everything.
SR’s Note: I loved this song as soon as it came out and this was the perfect ask to use it for. <3 Enjoy!
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @cherry-hotline @obi-wansgirl @therevoloutionhasbegun @poisonivy2267 @interphellar @delulustar @imjustagirl324 @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
Garrick Tavis had a laugh that could stop a bar fight mid-swing; not because it was loud, but because it was infectious. The kind of laugh that made even the most stone-faced rider crack a smile, whether they wanted to or not.
Right now, that laugh was bouncing off the sticky wooden walls of The Rusty Nail, drawing attention as he leaned back in his chair, nearly tipping it. You rolled your eyes and reached out to steady him before he could crash into the group of cadets behind you.
"Gods, someone cut him off," you said, nudging the half-empty glass out of his reach.
Garrick's grin widened, his dark eyes glinting under the dim tavern lights. "Aw, c'mon. You're not my mother, are ya Y/N?"
"No, but I am the one who’ll have to drag your ass back to campus when you can’t walk," you shot back, though there was no real bite to it.
"You'd carry me?" Garrick teased, his voice low and rough with the drink. His fingers brushed yours as he reached for the ale again, deliberately ignoring your warning. The contact sent a jolt up your arm, but you snatched your hand back before he could notice. Across the table, Imogen coughed into her fist, eyes darting between you two like she was watching a particularly bad high school play.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The night blurred as it went on; more drinks, more laughter, Garrick's thigh pressing against yuors under the table until you couldn't think straight.
And then... well, then she showed up.
Some first-year rider with copper hair and a smirk that clung to Garrick like ivy.
You didn't catch her name, didn't want to, but you saw the way she leaned into his space, how her fingers lingered on his forearm when she laughed at something he said. Your stomach twisted at the sight, especially when he smiled back.
"Who's that?" you muttered to Imogen, who raised an eyebrow like you'd just asked why the sky was blue.
"Relax," she said, patting your knee. "Garrick's about as interested in her as he is in getting a root canal."
But the reassurance did nothing to stop the hot coil of irritation tightening in your chest.
"You sure? Because from where I'm sitting, she looks more appetizing to him than a slice of chocolate cake."
You drained your glass in one go, the beer bitter on your tongue, and stood. The chair legs scraped against the floorboards loud enough that Garrick glanced up, his smile faltering when he caught your expression.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
Outside, the air was thick with the promise of rain, the kind that just smelled like lightning. You didn't get far before Garrick’s voice cut through the noise of the tavern behind you.
"Hey, Y/N wait." His hand closed around your wrist, warm and familiar -- but you shook him off.
"Don’t you have a fan club to entertain?" You snapped, immediately regretting the way the words came out.
Garrick blinked like you’d slapped him, his hand slowly dropping to his side. The laughter that had been so easy moments ago was gone, replaced by something hurt showing in his expression.
"You’re seriously upset about that?" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration edging into his voice. "Y/N, she was just-"
"I don’t care," You lied, crossing your arms. The first fat raindrops hit the dirt between you, darkening the ground in uneven splotches as thunder rumbled in the distance, low and threatening.
Garrick exhaled hard through his nose. "You’re being ridiculous."
"You're the one who's ridiculous," You shot back, but your voice cracked halfway through, betraying you. The rain started to come down harder now, soaking through your shirt in mere seconds. Garrick's jaw tightened as he stared at you, water dripping from his dark lashes.
Imogen chose that moment to stumble out of the tavern, clutching her flight jacket over her head.
"Oh, wonderful," she groaned, eyeing the storm. "We're never making it back to campus in this."
Garrick didn't look away from you. "Then we're staying at the inn down the road."
"No," You said automatically, even though you knew it was the only option. The thought of being trapped in a room with him right now made your chest ache.
Garrick's brows narrowed.
"Y/N, I'm not sober enough to have this conversation with you right now-"
"Then don't!" You shot back, crossing your arms in defiance. "Take your dumb girlfriend and get a room, why don't you."
Imogen rolled her eyes dramatically behind you, already ushering a few other members of your squad down the street in the direction of the old motel. You weren't sure where you were going with this, but you were surely not going to let Garrick think he won this time.
Unfortunately, as always, he somehow had the upper hand.
"You're being rediculous and acting petty, Y/N," he griped, stooping to wrap his arms around your knees. "I'm not your boyfriend, remember? You love to painfully remind me of this, every, fucking, time."
You shrieked when he tossed you over his shoulder as he had a hundred time sbefore; albeit, a bit less stable, thanks to the alcohol. You gripped his jacket, the world tilting as he began heading for the inn.
"Garrick Tavis, put me down right this instant-"
"Let's just agree not to talk for the rest of the night, alright?" He argued, and you grumbled back. Frowning, you watched as The Rusty Nail disappeared from sight, and focused more on the faintest of butterfly wings in the pit of your stomach to ignore.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
The inn was much closer than you remembered; just a short, rain-soaked walk down the muddy path, the kind of place riders frequented when they needed shelter but didn’t want questions asked. The sign swung violently in the wind, its rusted hinges screaming like a banshee when you approached. Inside, the air smelled of damp wool and cheap whiskey, and Imogen wasted no time securing rooms for everyone, tossing you a key and an extra set of clothes from her bag with a look that said don’t be an idiot before vanishing down the hall with the others.
Garrick didn’t speak as you climbed the narrow staircase, water dripping from his clothes onto the warped floorboards. The silence between you was even heavier than the storm outside. The key turned with a reluctant click, revealing a room barely large enough for the bed shoved against the far wall.
One bed. Of course.
“I’ll take the floor,” Garrick muttered, stripping off his soaked jacket and tossing it over the room’s lone chair.
You swallowed hard, watching the way his shirt clung to his shoulders. “Don’t be stupid. The bed’s big enough.”
Garrick hesitated, his fingers pausing on the buttons of his shirt as if suddenly aware of your gaze.
"Yeah. Right."
His voice was gruff, the usual warmth absent. He turned away, peeling the damp fabric off with a quiet sigh. The muscles in his back flexed under the flickering lamplight, and you forced yourself to look at the floor instead, at the puddle forming around his boots.
Neither of you spoke as you changed into the dry clothes Imogen had shoved into your hands at the door. The storm raged outside, wind howling through the cracks in the window frame. When you finally slipped under the thin blanket, Garrick kept to the very edge of the mattress, his otherwise exposed body rigid. Of course he hadn't brought anything else to change into, and now slept in nothing more than his boxers.
The space between you might as well have been a canyon.
･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *
You woke to cold sheets and the pale light of dawn seeping through the curtains. Garrick’s side of the bed was empty, the blanket neatly tucked in, as if he’d never been there at all.
Your chest tightened.
Maybe he’d left early to avoid you. Maybe last night had been the final crack in whatever fragile thing existed between you.
The thought made your throat burn. You wouldn't blame him -- you had acted way out of line, that is for how a "friend" should acto toward another "friend".
But, if you were being honest with yourself, Garrick was never really just your friend. He'd always been more.
Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you pressed your palms into your eyes. Enough. You were done pretending, done letting stupid jealousy and pride twist everything into knots. If Garrick hated you now, so be it, but at least you’d tell him the truth.
The floorboards creaked under your bare feet as you crossed to the window, pushing the thin curtains aside. Outside, the storm had mostly passed, leaving the world washed clean; muddy puddles reflecting the pale morning sky, the air crisp with the scent of wet earth.
No sign of Garrick out on the town's streets. Your fingers tightened on the curtain fabric.
You were halfway into your now-dried socks when the door clicked open. Garrick appeared there, thank the Gods, his hair damp as if he’d just come in from the rain. His arms full of wildflowers; goldenrod and bluebells and tulips of white, their petals still beaded with the morning's dew. He froze when he saw you, his throat working as if he’d rehearsed something and promptly forgotten it.
“You left,” you said, hating how small your voice sounded.
Garrick exhaled, stepping inside and kicking the door shut with his boot.
“Couldn’t sleep.” He held out the flowers awkwardly, stems clutched in his fist like a weapon. “Picked these. For you.”
You stared at the wildflowers, their petals trembling slightly in his grip.
"You walked all the way to the meadow in the rain?" You asked, voice barely above a whisper. The goldenrod was speckled with mud, the bluebells and tulip stems bent from where he'd clutched them too tightly.
Garrick's jaw worked, his usual confidence frayed at the edges.
"Yeah. Well." He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, leaving a streak of dirt across his skin. "Needed to think." The flowers drooped between you like an unspoken question.
You reached out, your fingers brushing his as you took them. The stems were cold and damp.
"You're an idiot," you said softly, but there was no heat left in it, just exhaustion and something almost tender.
Garrick's hand lingered near yours, his calloused fingertips hovering like he couldn't decide whether to pull away or close the distance.
"Yeah," he admitted, voice rough. "But so are you."
The flowers trembled between your fingers, their fragile petals brushing against your palms like a whispered confession. Garrick's gaze burned into you, unwavering despite the way his breath hitched slightly when your thumb traced over a bruised bluebell.
"You're right," You murmured, lifting your eyes to his. "I am an idiot."
Garrick's brow furrowed, his hand finally settling over yours, warm and rough against your skin.
"What?"
You supposed he wasn't expecting you to actually agree with him.
"I should've told you," You began, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "About how I feel. Instead of..."
You gestured vaguely at the flowers, at the space between you that had felt like a chasm all night. "Instead of acting like that."
Garrick’s fingers tightened around yours, the wildflowers crushed between your palms now, their scent rising faintly. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, as if he was memorizing the shape of them.
“Told me what?” He asked, voice low, like he already knew but needed to hear it anyway.
Your pulse thudded in your throat. “That I-”
The words stuck, suddenly too big, too real. You swallowed hard, your free hand lifting to press against his chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath his damp shirt. “That I’m in love with you, you ass.”
Garrick exhaled sharply, his grip on your hand going slack for a heartbeat before tightening again, pulling you closer until the flowers were crushed against his chest.
“Say that again,” he demanded, his other hand coming up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.
“I love you,” You repeated, louder this time, more confident. Garrick’s breath slowed, his fingers stilling against your jaw. For a moment, he just stared at you, his dark eyes searching yours like he was waiting for you to take it back, to laugh and call it a joke.
"Gods Y/N, I've been waiting to hear you say that since I met you."
His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him. The crushed flowers released their scent between you, sweet and wild, as Garrick’s mouth crashed into yours.
It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, messy, his lips warm and insistent, his teeth catching your lower lip in a way that sent heat spiraling down your spine. You gasped into the kiss, your hands fisting in his damp shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you.
Garrick groaned, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands sliding down to your hips to lift you effortlessly onto the edge of the bed. The flowers tumbled to the floor, forgotten.
“Say it again,” He murmured against your mouth, his voice rough with want. His fingers skimmed under the hem of your shirt, calloused and warm against your bare skin, making you shiver. "I need to hear it again, Y/N. I need to hear that you love me, just as much as I love you."
“I love you, Garrick,” You breathed, arching into his touch. "I always have."
Garrick’s hands trembled as they slid up your sides, his fingertips branding your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt.
“Again,” he rasped, his breath hot against your neck as his lips traced the frantic pulse there. "I love you, Y/N."
You leaned into him, your nails scraping down his back, reveling in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.
“Please, Garrick, I love you,” you whispered, the words dissolving into a gasp as his teeth grazed your collarbone. "Fuck, I love you more than anything."
His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, ragged and broken, as he dragged you further onto the bed, his body pressing yours into the mattress. The scent of rain and wildflowers clung to him as his hips pressed against yours, the nudge of his growing erection against your mound drawing a moan from deep in your throat.
His mouth found yours again, swallowing your sounds as his hands roamed, rough and impatient, as if he couldn’t decide where to touch first. The hem of your shirt rode up under his palms, his fingers skimming the bare skin of your stomach before sliding higher.
You gasped as his thumb brushed over the peak of your breast, the fabric suddenly too thick, too there. Garrick growled against your lips, his hands dropping to yank the offending garment over your head before you could protest.
The cold air hit your skin, but you barely felt it, not with the way Garrick was looking at you, his dark eyes raking over your exposed body like he was starving.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice wrecked. "You're beautiful, Y/N."
His hands hovered over you, trembling slightly, as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed. You reached for him, pulling him down, your mouth crashing into his with bruising force.
Garrick’s hands were everywhere, mapping the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips beneath the fabric of your pants. His mouth trailed fire down your throat, his teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point before he soothed the sting with his tongue.
You squirmed beneath him, gasping when his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, dragging them down your legs with a frustrated growl at the stubborn fabric.
The moment you were laid bare, his hands slid back up your thighs, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, spreading you open for his viewing pleasure. The heat of his gaze burned between your legs, his breath broken.
“Gods above,” he muttered again, voice thick. “Look at you.” His fingers traced your folds, slow and deliberate, dragging a whimper from your lips.
“Garrick... please-”
He didn’t let you finish. His mouth crashed into yours again, swallowing your whimper as his fingers dipped inside you, curling just right. Your back bowed off the bed, nails digging into his shoulders as he worked you with relentless precision, seeming to already know your needs without ever having touched you so intimately before.
"Y-yes Garrick... s-so good-"
His thumb circled your clit with rough, perfect circles, and you shattered with a cry, your thighs clamping around his wrist as pleasure ripped through you. Garrick’s fingers slowed then, drawing out the aftershocks until you whimpered, oversensitive. He kissed the soft sounds from your lips, his free hand fumbling with the laces of his pants, his movements jerky with impatience.
"I love you, Y/N, and I want you more than anything in this world," he admitted, his lips brushing just below your ear as he spoke. Your chest rose and fell as you worked to control your breathing, the excitement mounting for this moment that you'd only ever dreamed about before.
"But I'm not going to do this if it's not something you want, too."
Your eyes met his, and it felt like the world stopped spinning. Raindrops halted their freefall outside, the birds paused mid-flight in the sky beyond; it was just you and Garrick in that moment. Your Garrick.
"Garrick, I need you to trust me, and understand me when I say that I love you, and I mean it."
His gaze softened as he leaned in and kissed you softer this time, the admission tugging at his heartstrings. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he continued unlacing his pants, understanding that you were sincere in the words you spoke.
When he finally freed himself, you couldn’t help but glance down -- his cock was thick and flushed, the tip glistening as it reached nearly his bettybutton. Your right hand left his hair as you reached for him instinctively, wrapping your fingers around his length, reveling in the way his hips jerked at your touch.
Garrick growled at the feeling, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“Fuck, don’t... I won’t last,” he gritted out, his breath hot against your skin.
You tightened your grip anyway, giggling mischeviously as you stroked him slowly, savoring the way his muscles trembled under your hands.
“Then don’t,” You murmured, nipping at his earlobe. Garrick cursed, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he yanked you beneath him, a satisfied grin landing on his lips at your small yelp.
He didn’t bother with teasing, he just lined himself up and pushed in with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burned, delicious and perfect, and you arched up off the bed with a cry, your nails scoring down his back. Garrick paused above you, his breath restrained as his forehead pressed to yours.
“You're okay?” he rasped, his voice rough. You nodded, leaning up to kiss him once.
“I'm more than okay,” You gasped, your thighs tightening around his hips, urging him deeper. Garrick sucked in a breath, his hands sliding under your back to lift you closer as he began to move; slow at first, savoring the way you clenched around him with every thrust. His lips found yours again, swallowing your moans as his pace quickened, each snap of his hips sending sparks up your spine.
The bed creaked beneath you, the sound muffled by the rain that had started up again outside, drumming against the window like a heartbeat. Garrick’s breath was hot against your skin, his voice ragged as he murmured your name between kisses, each syllable a prayer.
"Feels... so good," he praised, pressing kisses wherever he could -- your cheeks, nose, jawline. His eyes gazed down at you, his cock jumping at your blissed-out expression. "You're my perfect fit, Y/N."
You arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you; just heat and sweat and the desperate press of skin on skin.
When your climax built again, coiling tight in your belly, Garrick seemed to sense it this time. His hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb circling your clit again in rough, perfect strokes.
"F-fuck, Garrick, I'm... I won't last much longer-"
He grinned, nipping at your bottom lip.
"Then don't," he teased, and your cunt fluttered around him. His cocky tune couldn't conceal his own mounting climax either, as his thrusts began to falter.
You cried out, your back bowing off the bed as pleasure ripped through you, white-hot and blinding once more. Garrick followed quickly after with a low groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, his forehead pressed to your shoulder as he shuddered through his release.
For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sounds the rain and your ragged breathing. Then Garrick shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, your bodies still tangled together. The room stayed quiet as you breathed, your racing hearts still working to regian their usual cadence.
His fingers traced idle patterns down your spine, his lips brushing your forehead.
“Say it again?” He whispered, his voice rough with exhaustion and something softer, more vulnerable.
You laughed breathlessly against his collarbone, the sound muffled by the warmth of his skin.
"I love you, Garrick Tavis." You promised, tracing the dip between his ribs with your fingertips. "I always have, and I always will."
The words felt lighter now, like they belonged here, tangled in the sheets with him. Garrick swallowed thickly, his arms tightening around you as if he could pull you closer still.
"And I love you, Y/N. No person, no event, no thing will ever change that."
