#celestialdrabbles

Garrick Tavis x reader

Warnings: Nothing really just a little bit of jealously and angst

SS: I’m so sorry i fell off with writing, I finally finished with this piece that was in my drafts for months

The first time you realized you were in love with Garrick Tavis, he didn’t even notice you.

You were younger then—still trailing after your brother like a shadow, still trying to prove you belonged with the group instead of being Xaden Riorson’s little sister. Garrick had laughed at something Xaden said, head tipped back, sunlight catching the sharp line of his jaw, and you’d felt it—sharp and sudden, like a blade slipping between your ribs.

Years later, nothing had changed.

Except everything had.

You weren’t a kid anymore. You had crossed the parapet. You bonded a dragon. You were a rider. You were strong. Capable. Deadly, even.

And still… Garrick didn’t see you.

—

You spot them across the courtyard.

Garrick and Imogen.

Again.

Your chest tightens before you can stop it, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeve as you pretend to scan the training schedules posted along the stone wall. But your eyes keep drifting back—traitorous things.

Imogen leans casually against a pillar, arms crossed, that knowing smirk on her lips. Garrick stands close—too close—head dipped slightly like he’s saying something quieter, something meant just for her.

She laughs.

Your stomach drops.

Gods, of course she laughs.

Imogen is everything you’re not—confident, sharp-tongued, effortlessly magnetic. She doesn’t second-guess every word. She doesn’t stumble over her feelings or hide behind sarcasm and distance.

And Garrick…

Garrick looks comfortable with her.

Your throat tightens as you look away quickly, heat prickling behind your eyes.

“Don’t,” you mutter under your breath. “You’re not doing this again.”

But you are.

You always do.

—

You avoid him for the rest of the day.

Which isn’t hard—Basgiath is chaos, and you make sure to stay buried in it. Training. Drills. Anything to keep your mind from wandering back to the image of Garrick leaning in toward Imogen, that soft almost-smile he never seems to give anyone else.

By evening, your exhaustion feels earned.

But it doesn’t quiet the ache.

—

You’re halfway down a corridor near the riders’ quadrant when you hear your name.

“Hey—wait.”

Your steps falter.

You know that voice.

Of course you do.

You turn slowly, already bracing yourself.

Garrick jogs up behind you, slightly out of breath, like he’d had to chase you down. His dark hair is a little disheveled, his expression… tense?

“Been looking for you,” he says.

Your heart does something stupid.

You cross your arms, forcing your face into something neutral. “Why?”

He blinks at that, like it’s not the reaction he expected. “I—” He hesitates. “I just… haven’t seen you all day.”

You shrug, looking past him. “Busy.”

There’s a pause.

It stretches too long.

“…Right,” he says finally, quieter.

Something twists in your chest, but you ignore it.

You’re not doing this. Not tonight.

“Shouldn’t you be with Imogen?” you ask, the words slipping out sharper than you intended.

Silence.

You immediately regret it—but pride keeps you from taking it back.

Garrick frowns. “What?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve seen you two. You don’t have to pretend.”

His confusion deepens. “Pretend—what are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on,” you snap, frustration finally cracking through. “You’re always with her. Talking. Laughing. You look at her like—” You cut yourself off, jaw tightening. “It’s obvious.”

He stares at you.

Actually stares.

And then—completely unexpectedly—he runs a hand down his face and exhales something that almost sounds like a laugh.

“…You think I like Imogen?”

You freeze.

“Well, you clearly—”

“I don’t.”

The words land hard. Immediate. Certain.

You blink. “What?”

“I don’t like Imogen,” he repeats, softer now, but no less firm.

Your brain struggles to catch up. “But you’re always—”

“Talking to her,” he finishes. “Yeah. Because she’s been helping me.”

“Helping you with what?”

He hesitates.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Garrick Tavis looks… nervous.

It throws you off more than anything else.

“With… this,” he says finally, gesturing vaguely between the two of you.

Your heart stutters.

“I don’t understand.”

Another breath. Slower this time.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you something,” he admits. “Without completely ruining whatever this is between us. Or making things weird with Xaden. Or—” he huffs a quiet laugh “—making a complete idiot out of myself.”

You stare at him.

Your pulse is loud in your ears now.

“…Tell me what?”

His gaze meets yours fully then, and whatever you see there makes your breath catch.

“I like you.”

The world goes very, very still.

“You—” Your voice falters. “No, you don’t.”

His brows knit together. “I do.”

“For how long?” you challenge, because this has to be a mistake. A misunderstanding. Something.

He exhales slowly. “Longer than I should have let it go without saying anything.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you whisper. “You barely even look at me half the time.”

“That’s because every time I do, I forget how to act like a normal person,” he shoots back, a little exasperated. “You think I enjoy that?”

You blink, completely thrown.

“I thought you hated me for a while,” he adds, quieter now. “You kept avoiding me. Shutting me out.”

A hollow laugh escapes you. “I was avoiding you because I thought you were in love with someone else.”

“…Gods,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Imogen is going to love how badly I screwed this up.”

Despite everything, a weak smile tugs at your lips.

It fades quickly.

“You really… don’t like her?” you ask again, softer this time.

He steps closer.

Not too close—but enough that your breath catches.

“No,” he says. “I like you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes something in your chest crack open.

Years of quiet longing. Of watching from the sidelines. Of convincing yourself you weren’t enough.

“…Why didn’t you just tell me?” you whisper.

His expression softens.

“Because you’re Xaden Riorson’s sister,” he says simply. “And one of the strongest riders here. And I didn’t want to be another person who complicated your life.”

Your throat tightens.

“You don’t,” you say. “You never did.”

There’s a moment, a fragile, uncertain pause where everything hangs in the balance.

Then, softly: “I’ve liked you for years, Garrick.”

His breath catches.

“Yeah?” he asks, almost disbelieving.

You nod.

And that’s all it takes. The tension between you shifts—something unspoken finally settling into place.

Not perfect. Not simple. But real.

And for the first time, when Garrick looks at you—

Everyone Noticed Except Him

warnings: none!

ss: i’m so sorry this was supposed to be out last thursday but i got so sick and didn’t have it in me to finish it.

Garrick Tavis prided himself on being observant.

Garrick Tavis x Reader

Warnings: Nothing crazy, reader is chronically ill but I didn’t go into too much depth on a diagnosis

SS: Thank you so much for requesting this!! As a chronically ill girly and made my heart warm to write this! Forever wishing for a man to treat me with this much care ahhh. Also it wont let me respond to the request so im so sorry

Basgiath never cared that your body betrayed you.

The stone steps were still unforgiving, the early mornings still bit with cold, and the Rider’s Quadrant still demanded everything you had—even on the days when everything was already gone.

You learned quickly how to hide it.

The tremor in your hands before mount, the way your vision blurred at the edges during drills, the bone-deep ache that no amount of sleep ever touched. You learned how to grit your teeth, straighten your spine, and tell yourself just one more hour until it became a mantra etched into your ribs.

Garrick noticed anyway.

He always did.

It was small things at first. The way his eyes lingered when you swayed slightly after dismounting. How he wordlessly shifted closer during formation, just enough that if you fell, you’d fall into him instead of the ground. The way he started walking on your bad side without ever mentioning it.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he murmured one night, falling into step beside you as you crossed the courtyard. His voice was gentle, but his jaw was tight.

“I’m a rider,” you said automatically. “That’s kind of the point.”

He huffed out a quiet breath. “You’re allowed to be a person too.”

You stopped walking.

The ache in your joints had been screaming all day, your head pounding like a drum, and suddenly the weight of pretending felt heavier than your flight gear. “Basgiath doesn’t allow that,” you said softly.

Garrick turned to face you fully then, blue eyes dark in the torchlight. “I do.”

Something in his expression—steady, certain—made your chest ache worse than the illness ever could.

The bad days didn’t announce themselves. They never did. One morning you woke up already exhausted, limbs heavy, magic sluggish beneath your skin. By midday, you were shaking, breath shallow, vision tunneling as you forced yourself through combat drills.

You didn’t hear Garrick shout your name until the ground rushed up to meet you.

When you came to, you were in the infirmary, sunlight slanting through the windows. Pain pulsed dully behind your eyes, but it was the weight on your hand that anchored you.

Garrick sat beside the bed, fingers curled tightly around yours like he was afraid you might disappear.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said quietly, voice rough.

You swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head immediately. “Don’t.” His grip tightened—warm, solid. “You don’t owe anyone apologies for surviving.”

Tears pricked your eyes despite your best efforts. “I hate this,” you whispered. “I hate that I’m weak.”

“You’re not weak,” he said, fierce now. “You’re fighting a war inside your own body and still showing up every damn day. That’s not weakness—that’s terrifying strength.”

You turned your head slightly, blinking hard. “What if one day I can’t?”

Garrick leaned forward, forehead resting against yours. “Then I’ll be there. If you stumble, I catch you. If you fall, I carry you. If Basgiath tries to break you—” His voice softened. “—it’ll have to go through me first.”

The illness didn’t disappear. Basgiath didn’t grow kinder.

But Garrick became your constant.

He learned the signs—the way your shoulders stiffened before the pain spiked, how you went quiet when the exhaustion hit hard. He brought you water without asking, shielded you from extra drills when he could, and reminded you—over and over—that rest wasn’t failure.

Some nights, when the ache kept you awake, he’d sit beside you on the barracks steps, shoulder pressed to yours, saying nothing at all. Just existing. Just staying.

𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙉𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙃𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙨 (NSWF/MDNI 18+)

Xaden Riorson x Reader x Ridoc Gamyln

Warnings: threesome, Xaden being dom, PINV, oral female receiving and I probably missed a few

Word count:1.6k

an: HAPPY SMUTMAS DAY 6! Xaden x reader x Ridoc was requested at least 9 times so enjoy! Also I’m a firm believer that Ridoc is a switch, and Xaden is daddy dom lol

Basgiath’s great hall looked almost unrecognizable under Midwinter lights. Evergreen arches, red velvet bows, candles floating overhead—like someone tried very hard to make a place full of killers “festive.”

You had planned on drinking quietly in a corner, but then Ridoc spotted you.

“Look at you,” he drawled, leaning in with a grin that could melt a glacier. “All pretty and wrapped up like a present someone should unwrap.”

You laughed, warmth curling low in your stomach. “Someone, huh? Who?”

“Me?” Ridoc offered shamelessly. “Unless you’ve already got someone else in mind.”

Your eyes flickered across the room—landing on Xaden standing in the shadows, midnight eyes locked onto you like you were a threat or a sin. Probably both.

He didn’t look away.

Ridoc followed your gaze and huffed. “Ah. The broody one. Bet he’s fun at Christmas.”

“Maybe,” you lied, heat rising to your cheeks. Xaden wasn’t just “fun.” He was… addictive. Terrifying. Irresistible. And maddeningly silent about whatever the two of you were.

So when Ridoc leaned in, breath warm at your ear, fingers brushing your waist, you didn’t move away.

“If he’s not giving you what you want,” Ridoc murmured, “I’ll happily step in.”

You didn’t realize how close Xaden had gotten until his voice rumbled directly behind you.

“She’s not stepping anywhere.”

You froze. Ridoc froze. The music kept playing, oblivious.

Xaden slipped a hand around your waist, not gently, pulling you back against his chest. His voice was a quiet, lethal growl meant for both of you.

“You really think she needs you to step in, Gamyln?”

Ridoc swallowed once. “Well… she seemed interested.”

“Is that right?” Xaden asked, angling your chin up with his fingers. “You interested?”

Your pulse hammered. “Maybe.”

His eyes darkened. “Then we’re leaving. Both of you.”

Ridoc blinked. “Both—?”

“You heard me.”

The command was so sharp Ridoc didn’t dare argue.

And Saints help you, the spark of anticipation that shot through you nearly buckled your knees.

⸻

Behind the Closed Door

Xaden had you against the wall of an empty strategy room before the door even fully shut.

“Flirting with Ridoc?” he murmured, mouth brushing your throat. “Trying to make a point?”

You gasped when his hands dragged your hips forward. “Maybe I just wanted attention.”

“You’ve had my attention,” he growled.

Ridoc hovered awkwardly near the door until Xaden flicked his gaze to him.

“Come here.”

Ridoc obeyed instantly.

Xaden’s hand slid down your thigh, lifting it, pressing you tighter against him. “Since you want to see how she’s handled—watch closely.”

Ridoc’s breath hitched. “Holy—”

Xaden’s voice dropped into something darker. “You wanted to show her a good time. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

You dragged Ridoc closer by his shirt. His eyes flicked between the two of you—wide, hungry, unsure but wanting.

“Touch her,” Xaden ordered.

Ridoc’s hands landed on your waist, warm and hesitant. “Like this?”

Xaden clicked his tongue. “Pathetic.”

Then he guided Ridoc’s hand lower, showing him exactly how to hold you, exactly how to make you arch.

Ridoc exhaled sharply. “Okay—yeah. I can do that.”

“You’ll do exactly what I tell you,” Xaden corrected. “Or you’ll stop touching her at all.”

Ridoc nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

You didn’t know which reaction was hotter—Ridoc’s obedience or Xaden’s satisfaction.

Xaden’s mouth crashed onto yours, claiming, devouring. Ridoc’s hands followed his lead, touching you where Xaden moved them, learning your reactions secondhand.

Xaden broke the kiss, voice rough. “She’s mine. And you get to enjoy her because I’m generous.”

Ridoc groaned. “Not complaining.”

Xaden’s fingers wrapped around your jaw, making you meet his eyes. “You wanted attention?”

A slow, wicked smile curved his mouth.

“You’re about to get far more than you can handle.”

The rest of the night blurred into heat, command, tangled limbs, and the kind of pleasure that left you shaking between the two of them—Xaden always in control, always deciding, always claiming.

Xaden didn’t give Ridoc or you a chance to think. One second you were against the wall, the next he was guiding—no, placing—you onto the large map table, pushing garlands aside like they offended him.

“On your back,” he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, heat pooling between your legs.

Ridoc hovered again until Xaden grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him toward you.

“Get between her thighs,” Xaden said. “You wanted a taste, didn’t you?”

Ridoc’s breath caught. “Fuck—yes.”

He settled between your knees, his hands sliding up your thighs, spreading them wider for him. His mouth lowered—slow, testing—and then his tongue brushed your inner thigh.

You jerked.

Xaden’s hand wrapped around your throat from behind, steadying your arch, controlling you with a single palm. “She likes pressure. Not teasing.”

Ridoc lifted his head, licking his lips. “Noted.”

He dropped his mouth to your center, tongue flattening and licking in a hot, steady drag. You moaned into Xaden’s hand, your hips rising without permission.

Xaden smirked. “Good. Now suck on her exactly like—”

Your moan cut him off as Ridoc did exactly that—messy, eager, his hands gripping your hips to hold you still as he worked you with his mouth.

“Shit,” Ridoc breathed between licks. “She tastes—fuck, she’s perfect.”

Xaden leaned down, lips at your ear. “He thinks he’s doing something,” he murmured. “Wait until I touch you.”

His hand slid down your stomach, fingers dipping lower—until Ridoc actually pulled back, panting, mouth shiny.

“Sir,” Ridoc said breathlessly, “you weren’t kidding. She’s already—”

“I know what she is,” Xaden cut in. “Move.”

Ridoc did, instantly.

Xaden’s fingers slipped between your folds and he found your clit in one calculated stroke, rubbing slow circles that made every muscle in your body clench.

You grabbed the edge of the table, moaning loud, and Ridoc groaned at the sound.

“Fuck, she’s gorgeous,” Ridoc said, rubbing himself through his pants. “Can I—?”

Xaden looked at him with a cold, dark warning.

“You don’t get your cock inside her,” he said. “Not until she’s wrung out on mine.”

Ridoc swallowed. “Yes. Okay. Got it.”

Xaden didn’t remove his hand from your throat when he kissed you—deep and controlling—while his fingers worked you exactly right, pushing you toward your first orgasm with infuriating precision.

Ridoc watched like he was starving for it.

“Touch her everywhere except where I am,” Xaden commanded.

Ridoc moved instantly, hands sliding over your stomach, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples just enough to make you gasp into Xaden’s mouth.

Your climax hit fast and hard, your body arching up between both men, a broken cry tearing from your throat.

Ridoc cursed under his breath. “Holy shit—again. Make her do that again.”

“Oh, I will,” Xaden promised, pulling his fingers out and sliding his hand up your body. “Strip. Both of you.”

Clothes hit the floor in seconds.

Xaden’s cock was already hard, thick, and Ridoc stared before whispering, “No wonder everyone’s scared of you.”

“You should be,” Xaden replied calmly, stepping between your legs.

You reached for him, need pounding through you, but he caught both your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand.

“Not yet,” he said softly. “Ridoc?”

Ridoc snapped to attention. “Yeah?”

“Get behind her. Hold her open for me.”

Your breath caught.

Ridoc moved behind you, lifting your hips, spreading you wide. His hands were shaking a little—from arousal, not fear.

“Fuck,” he murmured, looking down at you. “You’re so wet I can see it dripping. Saints—”

Xaden positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against you slowly, deliberately.

You whimpered. “Xaden…”

He smirked. “Use your words.”

“Please.”

“That’s my girl.”

He pushed into you in one firm, deep stroke.

Your cry echoed off the walls. Ridoc groaned behind you at the sight.

“Shit—she takes you so deep,” Ridoc breathed. “I can feel her tighten around you.”

Xaden dragged out slowly, then slammed back in. Your head fell back against Ridoc’s shoulder, your body caught between both of them.

“Hold her steady,” Xaden ordered.

Ridoc gripped your hips, helping brace you as Xaden fucked you—deep, commanding strokes that had your vision blurring.

“Good girl,” Xaden growled. “Taking me so well.”

Ridoc whimpered softly at the praise, rutting against your thigh because he couldn’t help it.

Xaden noticed.

“You want relief?” he asked Ridoc.

“Yes,” Ridoc admitted, voice rough. “Fuck—I want—”

“Then you’ll do it against her,” Xaden said. “And you’ll keep holding her open while I finish.”

Ridoc moaned like he’d been touched. He pressed himself between your legs, rubbing against your clit as Xaden thrust into you from below.

The pressure—both of them at once—sent you spiraling.

You sobbed out their names, body shaking, pleasure ripping through you hard enough that Ridoc groaned like he felt it himself.

“You close?” Xaden asked darkly, hips slamming into you.

You nodded desperately.

Xaden lowered his mouth to your neck and bit—hard.

You shattered.

Ridoc came with a strangled gasp against your stomach, his entire body shaking.

And Xaden—Xaden followed with a deep, guttural groan, burying himself inside you as his release spilled warm and intense.

For a moment, the only sound was your collective breathing.

Ridoc collapsed to the side, laughing breathlessly. “I’m… holy shit… I’m never going to recover.”

Xaden pulled out slowly, watching you with an unreadable expression before brushing a thumb over your cheek.

“Next time,” he murmured, “you don’t flirt with other men to get my attention.”

You smiled weakly. “I think I got a lot more than attention.”

Ridoc snorted. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Xaden’s smirk was pure wickedness.

Aaric Graycastle x reader

What You Never Told Me

ss: im hoping to get back in the swing of writing and who better to get it back then my favourite rider! ALSO why have i been spelling graycastle wrong and nobody called me out by it??

You didn’t mean to find out like this.

It was supposed to be another brutal afternoon of drills, Garrick barking orders, the squad half-dead on their feet. You were wiping sweat from your brow when Ridoc laughed too loudly, clapping Aaric on the shoulder.

“Careful, Prince Cam. Wouldn’t want you breaking a nail.”

The world tilted.

Silence followed. Heavy. Expectant.

Your gaze snapped to Aaric. He went still in a way you’d only ever seen before battle, jaw tightening, eyes hard. Around you, the squad shifted, awkward and guilty and very, very aware.

Prince.

Cam.

The room roared back to life all at once, but you couldn’t hear it anymore. You couldn’t hear anything past the pounding in your ears.

You left without a word.

—

He found you that night.

Of course he did.

Your door creaked open quietly, like he was afraid you’d shatter if he breathed too loud. You didn’t turn around. You sat on the edge of your bed, arms crossed tight over your chest, staring at the wall like it had personally betrayed you too.

“So,” you said flatly. “How long were you planning on letting me be the idiot?”

“Don’t,” Aaric said, voice rough. “Please don’t do that.”

You laughed, sharp and humorless. “Do what? React to finding out the man I’ve been sleeping with, bleeding beside, trusting with my life is actually a prince?”

He flinched.

“That everyone else knew,” you added, finally turning to face him. Your eyes burned. “Everyone except me.”

“I never wanted you to find out like that,” he said immediately. He stepped closer, then stopped, like he didn’t know if he was still allowed. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” you snapped. “After I fell harder? After I couldn’t walk away?”

His mouth opened. Closed.

That silence hurt more than anything else.

“You let me believe I knew you,” you whispered. “You let me think what we have—whatever this is—was honest.”

“It is,” he said, desperation breaking through his controlled exterior. “Gods, it is. With you, it’s the only thing that’s ever felt real.”

You stood, shaking. “Real doesn’t come with secrets like that, Aaric.”

“Cam,” he corrected softly, then swallowed. “Cam when it matters.”

Your chest ached. “You didn’t think it mattered to me?”

He crossed the room then, unable to stay away anymore. “I didn’t tell you because I was terrified it would change the way you look at me.”

Tears stung your eyes, and you hated that he could still do this to you. “You took that choice from me.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely. “And I hate myself for it.”

He dropped to his knees in front of you.

Aaric Greycastle—Prince Cam—kneeling.

“I’ve spent my whole life being something people project onto,” he said, voice breaking. “A title. A future. A crown I never asked for. You were the first person who looked at me like I was just… me.”

Your breath hitched despite yourself.

“I didn’t want to lose that,” he continued. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You looked down at him, anger and longing warring in your chest. “So you lied.”

“I withheld,” he said quietly. “And I know that doesn’t make it better.”

His hands hovered near your knees, not touching. “But everything else was real. Every laugh. Every night we spent tangled together. Every time I chose you in a fight. I’m in love with you.”

The words hit like a blade between your ribs.

Spiked Eggnog ( NSWF/MDNI) 18 +

Bodhi Durran x Reader

Word count: 1.1k

AN: smutmas day 2!! I know they don’t typically celebrate holidays in fourth wing buttttt i love the holidays

Xaden Riorson x OC! Ophelia

Warning: Angst, feelings of neglect, past trauma coming up and the reader just being a sweet baby that doesn’t deserve pain

SS: I am currently going through a horrible break up so take this angst sad lil number as its all my brain can come up with, i tried to make it a lil fluffy at the end but nobody come a me, I will cry :(

Also i plan on turning this into a series cause i do love violet and Xaden, i just crave for Xaden to be loved without having a bond or a deal influencing it

Ophelia hears it on accident.

She isn’t meant to be lingering near the sparring mat, sweat still cooling on her skin, when a group of cadets passes too close—voices careless, loud in the way people get when they think no one important is listening.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” one of them says. “Once Sorrengail and Tairn bond grows stronger, Riorson won’t stick with her.”

Another laughs. “Please. She was always temporary. No one competes with a bond like that.”

Temporary.

The word hits harder than any blade ever has.

Ophelia doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. She just stands there while the sound of their footsteps fades, the world narrowing until all she can hear is the echo of that one word pounding against her ribs.

Because the worst part is that she knows how bonds work. She knows destiny doesn’t ask permission. And she knows how easily something good can be taken away when something stronger comes along.

She walks back to the barracks on instinct alone, posture perfect, expression neutral. No one notices the exact moment she starts to disappear.

⸻

That night, she lies awake staring at the ceiling, Xaden’s absence heavier than his presence ever is.

She thinks of the way his shadows always find her first.

The way his voice drops when he says her name.

The way he chose her when nothing—no prophecy, no dragon—forced his hand.

And still, fear coils tight in her chest.

Violet didn’t choose Tairn either.

And destiny has never cared about what Ophelia wants.

She presses her fist to her mouth to smother the sound that tries to escape.

If it’s inevitable, she thinks, then I should be ready.

So she makes herself small.

Not weak—never weak—but quieter. Careful.

She stops sitting with the Marked Ones. Stops lingering near Xaden during meals. When his hand brushes hers, she steps away before he can close the distance. When he looks at her, searching, she looks past him instead.

Every smile from him feels like something borrowed. Every moment like stolen time she’ll have to return.

The guilt is worse than the fear.

Because Xaden hasn’t done anything wrong.

And yet every time she looks at him, all she can think is: you’re already halfway gone.

⸻

By the second day, the exhaustion sets in.

Not physical—emotional. Bone-deep.

It takes effort to keep the walls up, to train like nothing is wrong while her chest aches with something close to grief. Isolation sinks its teeth in when the barracks quiet at night, and the thoughts spiral freely:

What if he already feels it?

What if I was just comfort until something stronger came along?

What if I was never meant to last?

That last thought hurts the most.

Because it feels familiar.

⸻

Xaden notices too late.

At first, he thinks she needs space. He gives it—because he respects her, because he trusts her. But by the third day, it gnaws at him. Ophelia doesn’t look at him the same way. There’s something guarded in her eyes, something resigned, like she’s already mourning something that hasn’t happened yet.

That night, he stops her outside the barracks.

“Ophelia,” he says quietly. “What’s wrong?”

She almost doesn’t turn around.

Almost.

When she does, the concern on his face fractures something inside her.

“I heard them,” she says, voice distant even to herself. “Talking about Violet. About Tairn. About how you’ll leave once the bond settles.”

She laughs once, hollow. “I figured they were probably right.”

Xaden goes still.

“So I thought I’d make it easier,” she continues, because stopping now would mean looking at him. “If I didn’t need you, it wouldn’t hurt when it happened.”

She finally meets his eyes.

There’s devastation there.

“You think I’d discard you?” he asks quietly.

She shrugs, small and defeated. “I think bonds don’t ask for permission. And I think people like me don’t usually win against them.”

That’s when he pulls her in—firm, grounding, arms wrapping around her like she might vanish if he doesn’t hold her tightly enough.

“You don’t get to decide my feelings for me,” he murmurs. “And you don’t get to erase yourself because other people are cruel.”

Her chest caves in.

“I was so tired,” she admits. “Of waiting to be replaced.”

His shadows curl around them, instinctive, protective.

“You weren’t waiting to be replaced,” he says. “You were waiting for me to notice you were hurting. And I should have sooner.”

She breaks then—quietly, completely—grief spilling out as he holds her together with steady hands and softer words.

“I only have eyes for you,” he repeats, until the words start to sink in. “No bond changes that. No dragon decides who I love.”

⸻

Later, they sit near the parapet, the wind sharp against their skin. Ophelia’s knees are pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around herself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Xaden says gently. “But this… it wasn’t just about Violet.”

Ophelia exhales slowly.

“I learned early,” she says, staring out into the dark, “that people don’t stay.”

Her mother died when she was young—no heroics, no meaning. Just gone. Everyone praised her strength for surviving it. No one asked if she wanted to be strong.

Her father remarried. And then learned how to forget her—not cruelly, just gradually. Like she took up less space each year until she was easy to overlook.

“So I learned,” Ophelia says softly. “How to be quiet. Useful. Easy to leave.”

She finally looks at him.

“And then there was you. You chose me without obligation. And that terrified me.”

Because if he chose her freely, he could leave her freely too.

“When I heard them talking,” she whispers, “it felt familiar. Like proof that I’d been foolish to believe I could keep something good.”

Xaden kneels in front of her, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You were never easy to forget,” he says. “You don’t disappear because destiny gets loud. And you don’t have to make yourself smaller to deserve staying.”

He cups her face, reverent.

“I know what it’s like to expect loss,” he admits. “But I don’t love you the way the world loved you.”

His forehead rests against hers.

“I stay,” he says. “Even when it’s hard. Even when bonds complicate things. Even when fear tells you to run.”

For the first time, Ophelia doesn’t brace for the moment it will end.

She lets herself be held.

Winter Solstice Gift (NSWF/MDNI 18+)

Eris Vanserra x Reader x Azriel

Warnings: thresesome, oral female receiving, oral male receiving…

word count 1.3k

AN: Happy Smutmas Day 5!!! Eris and Az sharing the reader. I tried to give context , but I got Carried away lol

Winter Solstice in the Autumn Court was always decadent, but this year… this year felt charged. Heat simmered beneath every breath, every brush of skin, every look Eris gave you across the glittering celebrations.

You’d been together long enough to know he had a plan—Eris was too still, too thoughtful, too perfectly composed. And the way he’d watched you earlier, the way his eyes kept flicking to the shadows lingering in the corners…

He was hiding something.

Something wicked.

By the time he finally guided you back to his private chambers—his hand warm on the small of your back, his breath brushing your ear—you were already trembling with anticipation.

The door clicked shut.

“Happy Solstice, darling,” Eris purred, stepping behind you, his hands sliding down your arms with possessive warmth. “I thought long and hard about what to give you.”

You opened your mouth to make some teasing remark—

But a shadow curled around your ankle.

Then another.

Your breath caught.

From the far corner of the room, a deep, velvet voice said:

“Seems she’s already enjoying her present.”

You turned sharply.

Azriel stepped out of the shadows like a dark, sinful dream. Leathers hugging his body, siphons gleaming, wings low and predatory. His shadows danced around him, whispering hunger.

Your knees nearly buckled.

Eris smirked, watching your reaction with smug satisfaction. “You said you wanted something… memorable.” He cupped your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. “I decided to share.”

Azriel’s eyes dragged down your body, slow and heated. “Only because he asked very nicely.”

“Liar,” Eris countered, lips brushing your temple. “You’ve been eyeing her for months.”

Azriel didn’t deny it.

He looked at you like you were a feast.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” Eris murmured, his fingers working the ties of your dress. “Do you want him?”

Your breath fractured.

“Yes.”

Azriel was on you before the word finished leaving your lips.

He kissed you with restrained violence—like he’d wanted you for ages but refused to take more than you offered. His hands were the opposite of his kiss: firm, controlled, guiding your hips to his.

Eris’s laugh was low and wicked behind you. “Shadowsinger, you’re going to break her before I even get a turn.”

Azriel growled against your mouth. “You can have her when I’m done tasting.”

You whimpered.

Eris tugged your hair, forcing your head back against his chest. “Look at you,” he groaned, sliding a hand between your thighs, finding you already wet. “Taking both of us so sweetly.”

Azriel dropped to his knees.

Shadows curled around your legs, holding you open as his mouth descended between your thighs—hot, devastating, relentless.

Your moan was embarrassingly loud.

Eris chuckled darkly.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let him hear how good he makes you feel”

Azriel’s tongue flicked hard, possessive, claiming. His hands kneaded your ass, lifting you to his mouth as if he couldn’t get deep enough.

“Fuck—Az—” you gasped.

He groaned into you like the sound alone aroused him.

Eris’s mouth found your neck, biting lightly as he whispered, “He’s been imagining this. The taste of you… the way you’d sound with his mouth on your cunt.” His fingers slid inside you beside Azriel’s tongue. “And now he gets to share you with me.”

Your body shook.

Azriel pulled back just enough to rasp, “She’s already close.”

Eris hummed. “Then don’t let her finish.”

Azriel rose slowly, licking your taste from his lips with obscene satisfaction.

You could barely breathe.

Eris turned you around and kissed you deeply, tasting every gasp Azriel had dragged from you. When he pulled away, his pupils were blown, his voice rasping:

“On the bed. Both of you.”

Azriel obeyed without hesitation.

You followed, though your legs trembled.

Eris paced in front of the bed like a predator assessing a prize.

“Eris,” you breathed, reaching for him.

He shook his head, smirking.

“No, darling. Tonight, you break for him first.”

Azriel pulled you into his lap, your back to his chest, his cock hot and heavy against you. His hands slid over your thighs, strong enough to leave bruises.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said softly.

“Don’t you dare,” Eris snapped.

You moaned, head falling back against Azriel’s shoulder. He lined himself up and thrust into you slowly—agonizingly slow—until you were full of him, stretched, trembling.

Eris watched hungrily.

“How does she feel?” he asked Azriel.

Azriel groaned, gripping your hips. “Like she was made for me.”

“Good.” Eris climbed onto the bed, kneeling in front of you. “Because I want her mouth.”

Azriel thrust up hard, forcing a cry from your throat—Eris caught it with a kiss. Then he fisted your hair and guided you to him.

“Open,” he commanded.

You did.

Eris slid into your mouth just as Azriel began to move beneath you—deep, rough strokes that made your entire body arch.

You were helpless between them.

Eris’s voice was ragged. “Fuck—Azriel, look at her. Gods.”

Azriel’s breath was hot against your ear. “Take him. I want to feel you choke on him.”

His shadows wrapped around your wrists, holding you open for both males.

You were wrecked—pleasure overwhelming, bodies trapping you in heat and muscle and need.

Eris thrust into your mouth harder. “Such a good girl. Taking us both like this—fuck—Eris’s present is even better than I imagined.”

Azriel’s pace snapped into something brutal.

You cried out around Eris.

Azriel groaned, fingers digging into your hips.

“Come for us. Now.”

You shattered.

Azriel held you through it, thrusting you through the wave. Eris pulled out of your mouth and came across your chest with a sharp, guttural sound.

The three of you collapsed into a tangle of heat and shadows and Autumn fire.

Eris stroked your cheek gently, utterly smug.