#liamweek2025

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.

The only person safe from your wrath so far is Liam, but that’s only because he hasn’t given you the chance to take it out on him. He’s been quieter today. Watchful.

He doesn’t interfere when you pace around like a caged animal during your squad study session. He doesn’t comment when you huff and curse under your breath when you keep dropping your pen. Just raises an eyebrow and gives you that look. Like he’s just processing and storing it away in some mental file he keeps on you.

When it’s finally time to head back to his room, he slides a hand against your lower back and guides you there without a word.

The silence is almost suspicious.

You kick off your boots as soon as the door shuts, already reaching for your bag. “I’m gonna redo my flashcard set—maybe rewriting will help my brain—” When you drop your bag onto his desk and go to reach inside, Liam takes it away.

“What in Dunne’s name are you doing?” you snap, spinning around.

He just hums nonchalantly and tosses your bag on the floor. “You’re done for tonight.”

Your hands ball into fists at your sides. “No, I’m not. I haven’t even—Liam, seriously—”

“Up,” he says, ignoring your protest entirely and patting the edge of the desk behind you. “C’mon, on the desk.”

You blink. “What—are you kidding—”

His hands are at your waist before you can hurl a real complaint his way, and he’s lifting you with that effortless strength of his and settling you on top of the desk like you weigh nothing.

You sputter, flustered. “Liam.”

He leans in, eyes dark with something molten and murmurs, “Shh.” And then he kisses you.

It’s a hungry, claiming kind of kiss, slow but purposeful, his mouth fitting over yours like it was made for it. Your breath catches. Your fingers go slack where they’re gripping the desk. And you barely notice him undoing the button of your pants until his hands tug gently at your hips.

“Lift,” he says against your lips, voice low.

You pull back just enough to blink at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you relax.” He smiles and kisses your nose. “My girl’s been wound so tight lately.”

The way he says it—my girl—makes something flutter in your chest. But still, you shoot him a skeptical look, even as you lift your hips to let him tug your pants down.

“This isn’t going to help me study,” you grumble, breath already starting to shorten.

“You’ve done enough studying.”

He kneels just enough to ease your pants down past your ankles and toss them somewhere behind him. You don’t get a good look. You can’t, because he’s already coming back in close, his large hands bracketing your thighs, spreading you just enough.

His fingers find your clit.

You jolt. “Liam—”

But he pulls your mouth back to his in another kiss that’s deeper, filthier, heat pulsing in your core like a second heartbeat.

“I know how to take care of my girl,” he murmurs, words lost against your lips as he rubs slow, teasing circles over the thin fabric of your underwear.

Your breath hitches. Every nerve feels raw. You’re overstimulated from stress and he’s switching it, rewiring it. Turning every frayed edge of your anxiety into a place where pleasure could bloom instead. You barely register when he slides the fabric to the side. Not until his fingers touch skin.

You gasp into his mouth.

“That’s it,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek as his fingers start to move again. “Just feel me, baby. You don’t have to think. Not right now.”

You moan softly, digging your nails into his shoulders.

Liam kisses you again as his fingers press more firmly, coaxing your body into tension of an entirely different kind. And then, without warning, he slides one thick finger inside.

“Liam,” you gasp.

“I’ve got you.” Another kiss. A second finger. “Let me make you feel good.”

It builds fast, your head falling back as your thighs tremble, your whole body tensing as his fingers curl just right and you come with a cry you can’t hold back. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps kissing you, holding you up, murmuring little praises in your ear as he rubs your clit again, drawing tight circles with the perfect pressure until you’re shivering, hips twitching until you come again.

“Please,” you whisper, breathless. You aren’t sure what you’re asking for. You can’t conjure a single, cohesive thought. You’re already boneless and flushed. He just shifts you a little so you’re putting all your weight on him, laying your head on his shoulder.

“One more, sweet girl.”

His fingers work again, gentle but steady, and you feel it building even faster this time. You’re gasping his name, moaning helplessly into his shoulder, clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing anchoring you to this world. And when the third climax crashes through you, it’s nearly too much. You sob his name and shudder through it, trembling as he kisses your temple.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, kissing you again, softer now. “You’re okay.”

Liam kisses you one last time, then pulls back just enough to reach for a soft cloth and gently clean you up. He picks you up in his arms like you weigh nothing again and carries you to his bed.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble, half-asleep already.

“I’m a wonderful boyfriend,” he counters, pulling the blanket up around you as he slides in beside you. “You needed that. You’ve been grinding your teeth in your sleep all week.”

You blink. “…I have?”

He hums. “Yeah. You’ve been running yourself ragged, stressing yourself out even when you’re asleep.” His arm wraps around you, tucking your head beneath his chin. His heartbeat is slow and steady beneath your ear. For the first time in what feels like days, your body isn’t buzzing with anxious energy.

You feel…calm.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes already fluttering shut.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Dating a marked one is not easy.

The relationship itself was the best thing you have ever asked for. Liam Mairi is the definition of perfect—always treating you like a princess, keeping you safe, and always showering you in endless love. 

The part that made it difficult? The way other cadets began to view you simply because you were dating a marked one. In all fairness, Liam warned you before you two got together and even before you two decided to be public. You remember the conversation like it was yesterday.

“Are you…sure?” Liam hesitantly asked, diverting his ice-blue eyes. They landed on his relic-clad hand, a certain tension settling within him.

“About what?” You questioned, letting out a laugh in the process. You couldn’t kick that habit, one that always made an appearance when you’re nervous. And gods, Liam Mairi always made you nervous.

“Being with me,” he specifies, giving you a look.

“Of course I’m sure, why wouldn’t I be?” You tilt your head, a weak attempt to get the blonde to look at you.

He looks up at you, eyes widened in shock. “I’m a child of the rebellion,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And we both crossed the parapet,” you deadpan, showing that his statement holds no weight. At least, not to you.

He releases a loud breath, grabbing your hands with his large ones, “you need to know, that being with me means that people will see you differently.”

You chuckle, “what does that mean?”

“It means, there is a high chance people will not want to be around you because of me,” Liam’s blue eyes bore into your own, holding so much certainty. 

“People like to be around you,” you point out, “Ridoc, Sawyer, Violet, me.”

He chuckles, the sound dry with humor. “Just because the squad likes me doesn’t mean everyone else feels that way.” You go to open your mouth to retort, but Liam quickly shushes you by flashing his palm in front of you. “I’m used to people viewing me differently because of my mother. People think I’m dangerous, untrustworthy, and not worthy in general. I live with it on a daily basis. But can you live with it? Anyone who’s associated with me experiences the backlash.”

You furrow your brows, “if people see me differently because I’m with you, they’re stupid.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up, “that’s true. Look at Quinn, so many cadets were quick to judge when she became Imogen’s best friend. But that didn’t stop her.”

You squeeze Liam’s hands, “let me make this clear for you. I don’t care how people view me for being with you. At the end of the day, I found the love of my life and they haven’t. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers, leaning forward to place a loving kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you two,” you smile, your eyes crinkling in the process.

You never really thought you’d come face to face with it. It was easy avoiding the judgmental stares and the whispers. At the end of the day, those cadets weren’t even in your squad or your section. But this? This is worst.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the second-year cadet leans on the stone wall where you lingered, waiting for your boyfriend to walk you to your next class.

“Don’t call me that,” you keep your voice firm and steady, taking a tentative step back to gain back the space you so desperately seek.

The cadet steps closer, the familiar feeling of being uncomfortable spreading through your veins and into your heart. “I have a proposition for you. You let me take you out into the village tonight.”

You divert your eyes, “first-years aren’t permitted into the village.”

He laughs, the sound as ugly as his personality, “sneaking out exists, sweetheart.”

“No,” you speak steadily, “I’ll pass.”

“I can assure you, sweetheart, I can fuck you better than that marked one,” he goes to grasp your chin, to pull your eyes to you. Before he can even touch you, a large hand to wrapping around his wrist and pushing him into the wall. 

Your eyes snap in front of you, met with Liam’s large back. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was upset. His ice-blue eyes bore into the cadet’s eyes, making his point very clear without needing to speak a word.

“Touch her. See what fucking happens,” Liam spits out, narrowing his eyes at the older cadet. He was thankful he wasn’t in the same squad as himself, so he’s free to hurt him if he truly desires. He does desire, but he doesn’t want to upset you. Had he touched you—

“It was just a joke, calm down,” the cadet anxiously chuckles, clearly lying. 

“Jokes are supposed to be funny. Nobody’s laughing, not even Gamlyn,” Liam raises his brows. On any other day, he wouldn’t refer to his friend by last name, but given how his blood is boiling with anger, he doesn’t find it within him to care.

The cadet scowls at him, “don’t forget who’s older. Know your fucking place.”

Liam doesn’t realize what he’s doing until it’s done. It seems his body has a mind of it’s own, instantly swinging at the cadet and knocking him into the wall from the force of the punch. He doesn’t go any further than that, the wall had done more damage than his fist. 

Liam squats, getting eye level with the cadet, “if you even look in my girl’s direction, I’ll be digging your gravestone. Learn your fucking place, got it?”

The cadet nods, clenching his jaw in the process. Liam lets out a pleased hum, rising back to his full height and grabbing onto your arm, pulling you away from the crowd that had accumulated. He brings you into an abandoned hallway, finally letting go and stopping.

“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling comfortable already. As long as you were with Liam, you were perfectly fine.

“Anything for you,” Liam answers, his words instantly melting your heart. 

A quick downcast glance makes you notice his bloodied knuckles on his right hand. You were glad his relic-clad hand hadn’t gotten bruised up—that hand was your favorite. Still, you frown at the broken skin and blood forming from the fight.

You extend your hand, “let’s go clean up your hand.”

His dimple forms, smiling at you, “whatever you say, my love.”

He takes your hand, allowing you to lead him to your room, knowing you have your first-aid kit ready to go. It had made your pack slightly more heavy than necessary when crossing the parapet, but you refused to chicken out and see the healers for stupid injuries that you could easily clean and wrap yourself. He relaxes once you close the door, sitting in his usual spot at the end of your bed. 

You make quick work of getting the first-aid kit out of your armoire, setting it on the bed next to your boyfriend. You open the kit, digging through the different supplies until you find your half-used roll of bandages and an antiseptic packet. Ripping open the packet, the smell of antiseptic fills your nostrils, though it’s relaxing in a way. Your hand gently rests under Liam’s guiding it towards you. 

“This will sting,” you warn, not giving him time to respond before you’re wiping his knuckles, cleaning off the blood and the wound itself, not wanting it to get infected.

“Fuck,” Liam breathes out, wincing from the sting. He doesn’t allow his hand to move, knowing how meticulous you are when it comes to this type of thing. He swears you should’ve been a healer. Maybe in another life.

“Sorry,” you whisper, making quick work of cleaning up his hand. 

You throw the bloodied wipe into the trashcan behind you, now grabbing the roll of bandages. The light-brown fabric wraps around his knuckles once, twice, three times—for good measure—before you secure it in place. 

“Tada!” A smile coats your lips, presenting his bandaged hand like a trophy. Like something you were proud of.

Arms encircle your waist, pulling you towards Liam’s warm body. “Thank you, baby,” he brushes against your lips, teasing you. He connects your lips with his, sending all his love for you. You smile into the kiss, preparing to pull away, but Liam knew exactly what you were going to do. He places a firm hand behind your neck, keeping you there as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It isn’t until his lips make you dizzy and feverish that he pulls away, watching as your swollen lips pout for more. He chuckles, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, deeming that the end for now. 

Liam would never regret protecting you. The moment you agreed to dealing with how people would begin to view you, he vowed to himself that he’d do whatever it takes to protect you from those people. He couldn’t help the fierce protectiveness turning his brain into fight mode when he saw how uncomfortable you looked. All he could think in that moment was “who dared to make her feel that way?”

He didn’t care that he would get a lecture from Xaden later. 

He didn’t care that people would whisper about it. 

He didn’t care that he, a first-year, beat up a second-year. 

All he cared about was that you were safe and sound, in his arms. 

Just like how it’s meant to be.