A very short, but fun oneshot <3 Enjoy! | cw: none! | wc: < 400

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You sat beside Rhiannon, a half drunk raspberry drink in your hand as you laughed and threw your head back. 

“It’s true!” Ridoc exclaimed, his own grin plastered on his face. 

“Okay, Ridoc, whatever you say.” Violet turned to you and took a sip from her own drink, “Your turn, Y/N!”

You groaned, but still looked around the circle you were situated in. Most of your friends were there, except for Xaden, who had left the small gathering earlier as he deemed some other activity more important than a drinking game.

“Hmm,” You thought as your eyes glanced over all your friends’ faces. “Garrick.”

Garrick’s head snapped up in attention and quickly caught your gaze, “Oh gods, save me.” He mumbled and everyone laughed. 

“Well, what’s it gonna be? Truth or dare?” You smiled wickedly and took a slow sip of your bittersweet liquor, holding eye contact with Garrick’s irritated face.

“Dare.” Garrick’s voice was raspy from the alcohol and he stared straight back at you, annoyed that his conversation with Imogen had been interrupted.

You thought for a moment longer before grinning and only Garrick noticed the slight glance at Imogen. “I dare you to kiss whoever you think is the most beautiful in the room.”

Garrick didn’t give even the slightest hint of surprise, but when you once again held his stare and took another slow sip of your drink, he knew that you knew that you had made him hesitate. Ever so slightly.

And Garrick did not hesitate when it came to a challenge. 

He was going to wipe that stupid smirk right off your face.

So he pushed off from where he had been leaning against the wall and stalked across the room.

His friends ceased the quiet conversations as he slid his fingers into your hair, holding the back of your neck and all you could do was stare up at him as he bent down and lay his lips gently on your own. 

You went still for just a moment before melting as you involuntarily kissed him back. 

Gods, his lips were so soft.

Garrick leaned back and the cocky grin that had been upon your face seconds ago was nowhere to be seen as you looked up at him in a bit of a daze.

Your cheeks were flushed, lips redder than before as you breathed heavily, and then it was Garrick who was smirking as he made his way back to his spot against the wall and continued his conversation with Imogen as if nothing had happened. 

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| A/N: First ever writing post, kinda nervous... Was inspired by something I wrote months ago. If you don't like, don't tell me because I will cry :)

| cw: angst, insults, sparring? | wc: 1300

You’re one of the marked-ones & grew up in Liam and Xaden’s foster home - Garrick doesn’t know this. [Also, I have this headcanon that while in their foster homes, Garrick and Xaden would send each other letters]

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Fuck, today was shit. You thought as you opened the large doors that opened to the gym. 

Yes, it was. Your dragon’s voice echoed through your head and you cursed, having forgotten to put your shields back up again when you landed back at the college from your supply run. While you built up your shields once again, you wrapped your hands and took off your flight jacket. Even though you were still in flight leathers, you needed to get your frustrations from the night out and you silently thanked the gods that it was late at night and no one was in the gym.

You moved silently to the back of the gym, quietly stretching. 

Then you shoved your focus onto the punch bag in front of you and began a routine of punches and kicks that you could do in your sleep thanks to it having been drilled into you by Xaden since you were young. 

The punches were brutal, the kicks harsh, the tears even more so as they stung your flushed cheeks. 

The events of the last hour played over and over in your head. So vividly you could taste them on your tongue and you spat. They tasted vile. 

Ignore them. They don’t know who you really are. Your dragon’s earlier words rang out in your head, bouncing off the memories clouding your thoughts. 

But the other words clanged through your mind, trailing your dragon’s words like a dark cloud. 

Liar. Weak. Coward. 

You will die before you ever set foot on a battlefield.

You’ll never leave the Quadrant as anything more than a traitor.

You kept swinging, using your body as an outlet.

Swing, punch, kick, repeat. Over and over again. 

Until the bag broke and hit the floor with a loud thud, echoing throughout the grand expanse of the room.

“Damn, Y/N.” Drawled a voice from behind you.

“Fuck off, Tavis.” You didn’t even spare the man a glance as you walked to the small rack of extra punching bags and grabbed one. You began strapping the new one in your hands to the now empty hook hanging from the ceiling. 

Garrick just rolled his eyes and continued to stare at you as you started the routine all over again. 

“Who pissed you off this evening?” Garrick maneuvered around the punching bag, carefully avoiding the swings and hits, even as you ignored his question. He leant against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with rapt fascination. You were on the smaller side, but each kick, each punch, each hook, was careful and precise, using your body to your advantage. You shucked off your shirt and threw it to the side, revealing your slim figure and Garrick drew a breath. You continued on with the routine, so thoroughly strict in your movements, and he was transfixed. The way your body moved, the accuracy and impact of your strikes, it almost looked familiar. Shit. 

Your focus snapped in half as you glanced at Garrick’s lingering stare and found him gaping. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but he beat you to it, “Why the fuck do you fight exactly like Xaden?” Garrick’s question hung in the air, the tension suddenly so thick. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice didn’t hint at any emotion as you steadied your breathing and resumed the routine, the punching bag taking brutal hits while you reigned in your nerves. 

“Like hell you don’t.” Garrick replied, pushing off the wall, but before he could even think about taking another step towards you, he was slammed into said wall. Your forearm was pressed so hard against his throat, pinning him to the wall, that he struggled to bring air into his lungs. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about so you just shut your mouth.” You snapped, teeth bared near the base of Garrick’s throat as your height meant you didn’t even reach his chin. 

You had not taken after Xaden in his regard of utter control over his emotions so you stepped back and tried to contain the feelings now flooding your system, all the while Garrick gasped for air.

“How didn’t I know?” Garrick said, in between gulps of oxygen. His eyes were wide as the true realisation hit him. He had been lied to. 

You blinked and then started to rack your brain for anything to say. Something, you should at least say something, but all the words you tried to say died in your throat as you realised it wasn’t just you who had hurt him.

“I’m sorry.” 

Garrick’s head snapped up at the two words. 

“He told me not to tell anyone. I didn’t realise he wouldn’t even tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Garrick’s patience was running thin and he took a step towards you.

“He’s my brother.” Well, that’s certainly something. 

“What!?” Garrick’s voice reverberated through the room, shock and something akin to anger written upon his tan face.

“Shit, I meant he’s my foster-brother. So is Liam.” You didn’t know what the hell you were doing, Xaden was going to murder you— especially if there was a reason he hadn’t told Garrick — nonetheless the truth forced its way out of your throat and into the tense air between yourself and Garrick. “They trained me when we were fostered together. That’s why I fight like him.”

“We spoke. All those years. Through letters. Not once did he ever mention you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Only after those words were muttered for a second time did you meet Garrick’s dark eyes with your own and as you lifted your face, he beheld the dried tear streaks down your flushed cheeks mixed with the slick sweat from the constant sparring with the punching bag. As if you only just realised what was smeared upon your face, you took your wrapped hand and wiped the stains away, trying to play it off as wiping away the sweat stuck to your skin.

His swimming thoughts, unanswered questions, feelings of betrayal and hurt, immediately vanished as he wondered who the fuck had made you cry.

“What happened tonight?” 

You looked back up at him while slowly unwrapping your hands, the restrained anger in his voice catching your attention.

“Nothing of importance.” You replied, not wanting to get into it with him tonight. 

But Garrick noticed the slight glance towards the relic snaking up your right arm, the dark swirls curved across your collarbone, tapering off at the base of your throat.

Garrick swiftly connected the dots, having gone through many similar situations and softly said, “Shit, Y/N, whatever they said, you know that they were wrong.” 

You were in his face before he could blink and you growled , “I do know that.” 

“Just making sure.” He replied, and then suddenly he was very aware of how close you were standing. “Aren’t you a little close for your usual liking?” 

The smirk was undeniable on his face and you blinked, slightly losing your nerve. 

You stepped back quickly and his smirk grew as he stated, “I wasn’t complaining.” 

“You’ve been smoking, Garrick.” You couldn’t even smell a hint of churam on his breath, but you said anyway, “Go get your head screwed on straight.” You made to turn away, but he caught you by the wrist. 

“You know damn well I haven’t smoked tonight.” 

His eyes locked on yours and he tugged you a bit closer. You twisted out of his grip. 

You bent down, picked your shirt, jacket and shoes off of the floor, and said, words clipped, “I’ll see you in Battle Brief, Garrick.”

He could only stare at your back as you walked away.

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