Not Your Weight To Carry | Liam Mairi
Liam | Fourth Wing | Liam Week 2025
Summary: Liam has always been calm, cool, and collected no matter what, but when you become the target instead of him, no one ever stood a chance.
Note: Liam Week Day 1 - honor / Day 2 - Protective - @empyreanevents
Pairing: Liam Mairi x reader
Warnings: harassment, misogyny(by unnamed character), bullying, violence, drugging, loss of consciousness, Liam on a rampage
Word Count: 1.6k
Read on Wattpad | Read on A03
You’d asked him the same question more times than you could count.
“Why do you let them talk to you like that?”
Every time someone muttered traitor under their breath, or spat the word rebel like it was poison. Every time they shoved past him in the mess hall or made a quiet, cruel joke during drills—like he wasn’t good enough to be here, like he hadn’t earned every damn scar on his hands.
And every time, Liam just shrugged with that infuriating calm. “Because I know who I am,” he’d say. “And I know what you think of me. Doesn’t matter what the rest of them believe.”
You hated how much sense that made. Hated more how often it worked.
When you tried to speak up—when your blood boiled hotter than his ever did—he’d always step between you and the fire. Pull you close. Tuck you just under his chin.
“Easy, Sunshine,” he’d murmur, voice soft against the shell of your ear. “Letting them get to you means they win.”
It made you feel safe. Steady. Like nothing they said could touch you as long as he was there.
But then—it all flips.
“He only picked you because you're easy to control, huh, sweetheart?” one of the cadets in your squad mutters as he brushes past you in the sparring gym.
You freeze. You were just taping your wrists, half-focused on your stance—until that voice, and those words, slither under your skin.
You straighten, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”
He’s already pacing a slow circle, like this is just another round. “I’m just saying,” he adds with a shrug, “you’re the weakest in our squad—but I’m sure you’ve got other useful skills. Right?”
Your heart pounds. Your face burns. But not from shame. From rage. “The fuck did you just say to me?”
He turns back, grinning like this is funny. Like you’re the joke. “Relax. Just making an observation. He’s got a type, doesn’t he? Soft. Obedient. Easy to—”
You don’t see Liam until he’s beside you. “Finish that sentence,” his voice cuts through the gym like lightning—sharp, electrified, and cold. So cold it silences the space instantly.
The cadet stiffens. His smirk fades.
Liam’s jaw is locked, arms tense like he’s holding himself back from launching across the floor. But his voice? His voice is steel.
“Go on,” Liam repeats, stepping forward. “Finish it. I dare you.”
No one breathes.
The cadet falters. “Just joking,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean—”
“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Liam says, low but deadly. “Ever.”
Then he turns to you. He doesn’t touch you right away—just looks. Like he’s checking to see if you’re okay, if you want him near.
You nod, but your hands are still shaking. “I got this,” you say quietly.
Liam nods back. “I know you do.” His voice softens. “But I’m done letting them think you’re fair game.”
Because now? You’re the one they’re aiming at. And Liam—calm, honorable, untouchable Liam—isn’t brushing any of it off.
The air inside the sparring arena is taut with anticipation—too quiet, too still. All eyes are on you and Ren, who is triple your size and known for breaking noses, shattering egos, and walking away without a scratch.
But you know you can handle him and you do for the first three minutes.
Your strikes land clean. Your footwork outpaces him. He scowls as you dodge another brutal kick and drive your elbow into his side. The crowd is murmuring now—surprised, maybe even impressed.
Then, one step lands too heavy. The next stumbles. Your limbs go hot, then numb. Your fingers twitch strangely as your blade dips mid-swing. It’s like your body’s disconnected—fog rolling over your nerves.
Then Ren’s fist slams into your ribs.
You gasp—but it’s slow. Like your lungs are filling with something thicker than air. Another hit. Your vision tilts. You're too sluggish to block the blow, and the blade cuts across your upper arm—deep.
You stagger back, blinking. The crowd blurs at the edges.
What’s happening?
You try to raise your blade again, but it slips from your fingers and hits the mat with a sharp clang. The world wobbles. Your knees hit next.
Ren hesitates—just for a second—like he’s realizing something’s off. But Emettario hasn’t called it, so he moves in again.
And this time, you can’t even flinch. The final hit crashes into your jaw. Your head snaps to the side and everything goes black.
Across the arena, Liam finishes his challenge with a clean takedown. He’s already turning to find you, expecting that crooked smile you always wear after a good fight.
But you’re not smiling. You’re not moving.
He sees your body first—twisted awkwardly on the mat. Then he sees Ren, standing over you. No remorse.
He sees red.
Liam’s already moving before his mind catches up. Shoving past those circled around your mat, ignoring the shouts of his name.
He hits Ren like a storm.
Fist to gut. Elbow to jaw. Ren doesn’t even get a guard up before he’s on the ground, groaning in pain as Liam drives a knee into his side.
“What did you do to her?!” Liam roars, voice shredded. “What the fuck did you do?!”
It takes Xaden, Bodhi, and Garrick to drag him off. Emettario is shouting over the noise, someone shoves Ren out of the ring as he stumbles to his feet.
Liam doesn’t care. He breaks free from his brother’s hold on him and drops to your side, hand hovering just above your face—afraid to touch, afraid he’s too late.
“Sunshine,” he breathes. “Hey—look at me. Please.”
Your face is pale. Too pale. Blood trickles from your nose. A shaking healer slides beside him, already working—but Liam doesn’t move.
He just stares. At your limp fingers. Your bruised jaw. The way your head lolled so easily to the side when they checked your pulse.
And it hits him. This wasn’t just a fight. Something was wrong.
His bloodied fists curl on the mat.
And for the first time since arriving at Basgiath—Liam Mairi is ready to burn the whole quadrant down.
You hadn't stirred in hours.
The healers said the bleeding stopped. That you were stable. But your skin is still too pale, your breathing too thin. They don’t know what was used on you—only that it was something slipped before the match. Maybe in your water or lunch.
Something subtle. Deliberate. Meant to break you without anyone noticing until it was too late.
Liam hadn't left the infirmary since they carried you in. Not until now.
Because someone did this to you and he’s going to find out who.
He stalks through Basgiath like a man possessed.
He tracks every cadet who made a comment towards you. Corners them. Demands names. He checks bottles, gear, and bags.
He doesn’t care about rules anymore. Not after seeing the way your body laid on that floor.
Not after he heard the way the healers whispered about permanent damage—intentional, invasive, and premeditated.
He had just pinned one of the cadets in your squad when a sharp voice stopped him.
“Liam.”
He turns—sharp, still seething–to see Xaden standing a few paces away, arms folded, jaw tight.
“You need to stop.”
“I’m not stopping until I find out who did this to her,” Liam snaps, turning back to the cadet in his arms.
“I get it,” Xaden says, pulling Liam away, letting the cadet get away. “I do. But dragging cadets out by their collars isn’t going to help her. And it sure as hell isn’t going to help you.”
Liam’s breathing hard. “She could’ve died.” Liam’s voice cracks, shoulders sagging as he finally just feels everything.
“I know.”
“She didn’t even get the chance to fight. Someone made sure of it before she stepped on that mat.”
“I know,” Xaden says again, softer this time. He takes a step closer. “But if she were awake right now—if she saw you like this—you know what she’d say.”
For a moment, all that rage just... folds in on itself. Exhaustion takes its place. The kind born of heartbreak, not battle.
“Is she...is she awake?”
Xaden nods, a faint smile breaking through. “She’s asking for you.”
Liam doesn’t run. He walks. But inside? He’s sprinting.
And as he slips into the infirmary, breath caught in his throat, he sees you—awake. Bruised and dazed, but awake. His whole body relaxes.
You blink up at him, lips parting in a tired smile.
And he crosses the room in three long strides, falls to his knees at your bedside, and takes your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, like a prayer.
Your voice is hoarse, barely audible. “You look like hell.”
He huffs a broken laugh, pressing your hand to his lips. “You scared the shit out of me.”
You close your eyes briefly. “I was so scared, Liam. I didn’t understand what was happening. My body... it felt like it wasn’t mine anymore.”
He tightens his grip on your hand. “I thought—” His voice breaks, then steadies again. “I thought I lost you.”
Your lashes flutter open. “You didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.” he says fiercely. “And I’m never gonna let anyone take you from me. Not now. Not ever.”
You nudge his shoulder weakly. “Letting them get to you means letting them win... remember?”
He chokes on a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“Yeah,” he says. “I remember.”
But in his head, he promises himself:
They’re still going to pay. Later, but still pay.
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