el.

Like many things between the two of you, it became routine.

One kiss, and then the second—it happened just the next night. Just as quiet, just as soft, just as gentle.

You hadn’t expected it, not really. You'd wished for it, sure, but you fully believed it to be a one-time-thing—

It wasn't.

Because that next night, he'd invited you in again. Another cup of tea, more idle chatter, something normal—

And then he walked you to the door.

Again.

He stood a moment long, and then you knew, and when his lips brushed yours in another sweet, sweet kiss, you could feel your heart soaring.

Again.

That night, there were still no words exchanged. Just a small, shy, mutual smile, and then the door closing softly behind you.

And after that, it became a rhythm. A routine. He would find you in quiet hallways with an unspoken glance; you would fall into step beside him without hesitation. Sometimes your hands brushed as you walked—accidental at first, then not so accidental. A ghost of a touch. A curl of fingers, before either of you would still remember to pull away.

And some nights, you'd wait by the door, unsure if you'll be invited in again But every time, the door still opened before you could knock.

Some nights, he would still be dressed in formal attire, a little disheveled, a little distracted, a little tired. Other nights, he was comfortable to be in less—a simple linen shirt, maybe even sleep clothes. His sleeves were always rolled to the forearm; gaze was always more relaxed.

Still, always handsome.

And you never really quite talked about the kisses. About the affection, the comfort, the—whatever this was.

They just happened. Folded into the end of each evening, like clockwork—like punctuation.

A kiss by the door. A hand brushing your wrist. A touch on the small of your back as you passed him a folded report.

It took 21 days to form a habit, but sometimes you'd think that this even took less—that was how natural it was. You could breathe, and you would breathe him in. Enough so for you to dream lighter, now. You'd to sleep with the tingle of his lips; wake up with the memory of it.

Naturally, of course, the court remained unaware. In whatever had pulled you close like this, you were still able to keep a straight face around the others. The guards still spoke of it as nothing, and if anyone noticed the way your gazes lingered longer than they should, then they didn't seem to dare touch on the matter in the first place.

It was enough, at least. For you. For him, hopefully.

And then night after night, as the castle settled into quiet and the corridors dimmed to a warm glow, you returned to him.

Always to him.

And you wished, deep in your heart, that it would always last forever.

&—

Of course it didn't.

A bond built in secret—how long, truly, could that last?

You kept your head down when you first heard it.

The palace walls were thin—decidedly so. You'd never cared for it, not before, but now it meant something. Words seeped through the cracks; like vines on a wall, winding, and winding, and—

Choking.

Two noblemen lingered in the corridor. Their voices were low, but not low enough. You could make out, still, what they were saying.

“A match with the House would secure the borderlands for a generation.”

“Well, I believe he’ll fall in line. He has no choice, if it's for the Kingdom.”

“But they say he’s taken to spending time with his knight, that woman. I'd heard she was his personal guard."

"Goodness! Then what would that look like, come delegation day?”

It stung.

You felt the bile build up in your chest, in your throat—

You could throw up.

You almost did.

And you turned, left—your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your limbs tense as you walked. You couldn't bear to hear any more.

It had been weeks.

One, or two—but more than enough for you to live in that pretty little illusion, and now it was time to stop it.

Xavier hadn't told you.

Just last night, you'd shared another soft little kiss—that one was longer than most, you almost stayed.

Almost.

Almost.

But he hadn't told you.

And how long had there been talks of this? How long had he been betrothed to a noble girl? How long had he known? Could he kiss you, still, despite all of this being said? Could he be with you, nightly, despite the arrangements being made for his hand?

When you entered your room, you went straight for your bed. Sat in it in silence, hung your head down in disdain.

Tears pricked at your eyes. Even in its absence, your armor weighed heavy. Right on your heart.

It was the weight of what you were.

You didn't go to him, that night. Not this, not the next, not the nights even after. And each evening that you'd steeled yourself not to knock on his door, a part of you ached like you'd gone too long holding your breath.

Because you'd never even spoken of what you were.

Never defined those soft, goodnight kisses, the brushing of fingers when no one looked, the stolen moments of laughter, of shared glances—things that warmed you, comforted you, made you feel… safe.

For you, it had been enough.

Just spending time with him like that, it had been enough.

Until it wasn't.

And still, you couldn't quite pretend that you hadn't seen it coming.

Xavier moved differently, now. His shoulders were tense in court, his eyes flicking towards you from across the room more often, as though checking to see if you'd still be there. You noticed it. It was hurting him as much as you, you could see it. You knew him well enough. Still, despite the secrets, you knew him well enough.

But this distance was necessary.

If 15 centimeters had shortened into 5, had dissolved into nothingness—

It had grown, since even longer.

15 centimeters to 20, to 30. To one foot, then two—a meter, then more.

The space between you had grown, even when physically, you were only just a few paces apart at all.

And it just had to be that way.

It had to be that way.

So why were you crying?

Why, then, where you turning down this corridor—were you heading to his chambers—

Why, then, was it so difficult to leave?

It was the fourth night, like this. Habitual movements. Heart thrumming with an ache that pulsed at your throat.

You were there before you could think; in front of the door, closed, that you were so familiar with.

Your hand lifted—

You didn't knock.

"This is stupid," you murmured, a pained whisper beneath your breath.

And then—

"…Is that what you think?"

Your heart stopped.

You didn't need to turn to see who had spoken, but—

You did, anyway.

Slowly, guiltily. You turned, let your eyes fall onto his figure, immediately falling into those blue, blue eyes…

Immediately finding that they weren't, now, as bright as you had known them to be.

"I… I wasn't…"

You tried to speak, but your words fell short. You'd forgotten how, almost. 21 days to form a habit, and it had been even less for it to break.

He stepped forward. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

"I didn't mean to…"

"But you’ve barely looked at me.”

Because I can't.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced away, let out a bitter exhale.

“Because… Because if I do, then I’ll forget what I’m supposed to be. A-and I can't do that."

A knight shouldn't…

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as his brow knit, as something flickered in his eyes like a candlelight caught in the wind.

You knew that look.

Pain.

“So, what are you supposed to be?” he muttered.

Like he didn't know, or— like he couldn't admit it.

You hung your head, then. Refused to answer.

Because what were we, then?

"They said something, didn't they."

His tone was softer this time when he tried again, but it was not a question, not this time.

It was a statement.

Yet, still you couldn't raise your head.

“You think I care what the court says? About what they expect of me?”

"That's not it, I just…"

You shut your eyes tightly.

Well, you had to speak, didn't you?

"I think," you whispered then, slowly, "that you were born with a crown on your head, and I… was born to guard it. And it makes all the difference, Your Highness. Because roles like that… really just don't overlap."

When you say things out loud, it feels a little more real.

Unfortunately for you, that was exactly the case with even this. And maybe, then, it was why things had to fall apart so quickly.

You'd never spoken what you had out loud.

Xavier stepped closer.

Tentative.

The smell of him, then—clean sheets, warm parchment, something grounding—it hit you like a memory.

“You’ve kissed me every night for a week,” he murmured. “You’ve sat beside me in silence, you’ve laughed at my terrible impressions of the court’s musicians, you’ve been more than just duty—more than any of it, long before either of us dared say it.”

You held your breath.

“And now you look at me like you’re afraid to hope.”

"…Because, Your Highness. I am."

In that moment, your voice broke.

“Because this—whatever we are, I— i-it won’t survive a noble’s daughter, with silk hems and land attached to her name, and… and peace."

You still couldn't look at him. You closed your eyes, again, tried not to think about throwing up, tried not to think about how tense you were.

“I'm just a knight, Your Highness, and I serve you. You’ll have to marry. You’ll be expected to bed someone else, kiss someone else, share everything with someone else and pretend like I was nothing but a childish indulgence—”

"Is that… Is that what you think I see you as?"

You shook your head, but you couldn't trust your words to be of any use.

Your throat closed. Your vision blurred; a stray tear fell away.

You could feel yourself trembling.

And then he reached for you, slowly. His hand brushed against your glove, not taking, but—offering.

Hoping.

Without another word, another beat, you felt him lift up your chin, felt him lean in—

He didn't kiss you, not quite. But he pressed your foreheads together, searched your gaze, pleaded you, if only through actions alone.

"I want to choose you," he said quietly. Barely a whisper, barely a breath.

And somehow, you knew that he did.

But wanting something did not always mean that you could.

Now, at least, you knew that.

"But you can't," you whispered.

And you pulled away, took a step back, and bowed.

"Goodnight, my prince."

&—

Another week.

The corridors of the castle always sounded different at night.

Quieter, yes. But emptier, too. Like something had been there, and left, and taken all the warmth with it.

By now, you'd been avoiding his hall entirely. Formed a new habit—walked the longer path to your quarters, kept your head bowed more respectfully during meetings, left before he could catch your eye.

It simply had to be this way.

And, sure— you missed him.

You missed him in ways you didn't have the language for, in ways you wished you could described if only losing a piece of your soul was easy to describe. Because it wasn't just the shared looks, wasn't just the touches, the kisses goodnight—

You missed his voice. His smile. When they weren't meant for anyone else; when he said your name when no one was listening. These things—all of them—that soon, you knew, would belong to someone else.

That he would belong to someone else.

That he would marry someone else, and— and what could a knight do?

What could you do?

You'd heard it now through whispers, then through the official talks. A name had been floated; a political match that made sense.

And you told yourself that it was always going to end like this. That your role in his life was temporary. Just a secret, soft, guarded secret he'd kept while you both waited for the inevitable… soft around the edges, to be kept and folded away without too much pain.

But it did hurt.

Gods, it hurt.

Everytime you laid to sleep, you pressed your fingers to your lips like an idiot, and wondered if he remembered the last kiss like you did.

If he regretted it.

If he thought that things had stepped too far.

And then one evening, you lingered longer in the armory under the guise of inventory.

The space was dim, your hands were idle. You sat in the corner—you had run the inventory, but that was over now. And in this quiet space, your thoughts were louder than they should have been.

Because fuck it all—it hurt, and you missed him.

You wondered—should you have fought for him?

Should you have dared, even?

So little you could do in your position; so much that you could dream.

You groaned, head in your hands as your knees drew to your chest, and you barely even noticed that the door had opened.

A quiet pad of footsteps.

You raised your head, half-expecting a squire or a steward, but—

It was him.

Xavier.

You swallowed thickly, eyes frozen—

Then, quietly:

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you."

You could see his shoulders slump in relief a little, as if the mere sight of you had calmed him, as if he'd waited—desperately—for another moment to share with you. While you could do nothing. You watched, stayed still when he moved to sit beside you, a few paces away, respecting the boundary that he knew you'd put up, letting his words hang in the air a little.

"You… stopped coming to say goodnight," he added after a while. Not looking at you, but looking straight ahead.

As if he could scare you with another glance.

"…I, um. Didn't want to be a burden."

"You aren't, though."

You swallowed. You could feel your heart thudding painfully against your ribs. "…Well, they… They said you were meeting her. Next week, right? The… the noblewoman. Your betrothed."

Out of the corner of your eye, his expression flickered.

"Mn, they've arranged a meeting. But she isn't my betrothed. None of this means that I've agreed to anything."

"But you will."

Silence.

You turned.

"You… will, won't you?"

And then your eyes met, again you held your breath, and he gave you a slow, strained smile.

No.

"Your Highness, please, I don't want you to—"

"Do you know?"

He whispered, but it was enough to cut you off.

Your mouth clamped shut.

"Do you know how many times I've looked at the throne room, full of all these people… and only wanted to find your face?"

Your breath caught.

"I never wanted to stop what we had," he mumbled. "I thought you just needed space, so I gave it to you, I didn't mean…"

"But that's not the point, Your Highness. You're to marry, I can't just—"

"I thought you regretted it."

You exhaled slowly. "…Never."

Never.

And this time he drew closer; reached for you, as if so desperate, now, not to have you leave his side again.

How could you ever have it in you to pull back?

"Please," he whispered, "I— I haven't been sleeping."

His voice felt raw; you heard it strain like the way he was trying to keep it together in front of you.

"You… You're my knight, and you've protected me all this time,but you don't have to protect me from heartbreak. Not like this. I don't want it like this. I need you to believe that I can choose it, even if it hurts, and that I'll…"

You closed your eyes. In that moment, listening, you resigned—allowed yourself a moment of selfishness, allowed yourself to lean in, bury your face into his chest.

You heard it, the way his breath hitched.

Slowly his arms wrapped around your figure, questioning, unsure, but so… hopeful.

"I never thought I could belong in your world," you murmured. Your voice was muffled by his clothing. "I still don't know if I do. You're meant to belong to someone else, and I—"

"I don't want someone else."

"…I don't want you to want someone else, either."

He leaned down to rest his chin on top of the crown of your head then, and then there was silence.

Neither of you moved, neither of you said another word.

Right now, you thought you could enjoy it—just another quiet moment for the two of you, another illusion that everything was fine.

&—

The castle had never been louder.

“Did you hear?” said one.

“He turned her down," said another.

“It's a royal scandal!” "What will the court think?!" "Does this mean something for our Kingdom?!"

Word spread fast, as usual.

You'd borne the brunt of it before, but now you were a spectator—curious, at that.

It was today; earlier. Xavier had journeyed to meet up with his betrothed, and you'd purposely kept away from him, but he'd returned with nothing but silence.

You hadn't seen him.

He hadn't sat through his duties, hadn't offered a word to anyone… Not the King, nor you, nor—anyone. Just ridden straight through the gates and disappeared into his chambers without even an escort.

And you had heard all of this in fragments. Snatches of gossip, pieces and bits, a part of the vine that crawled, and crawled, and crawled…

Even your captain had to look up from his reports to ask, "Did you know anything about this?"

You didn't.

You knew nothing.

You didn't know why he’d done it, or what it meant, but—but you had hope that you did. The kind of hope that had you freezing; foggy. Something lodged in your throat, something unspeakable and trembling, and—

You could tell yourself to leave it alone.

You could.

You could.

But you didn't.

And in all manners predictable, by nightfall, you'd found yourself standing right in front of his door again.

It had been so long.

Your fist hovered, uncertain, still—

He'd said no, to a future. A future set out for him, a future that would've made sense, a crown-sanctioned bride that should have been—

He said no to the wishes of his Kingdom.

It was a risk, one unimaginable, even for you.

And you needed to know why .

So you knocked, once.

The door opened almost instantly, as though he’d been waiting, and he looked…

Tired.

Rumpled.

He had no cloak, no gloves, and his shirt remained half-unbuttoned at the collar, like he hadn't even bothered changing since he'd gotten back hours ago. So when your eyes met, for a moment neither of you moved.

Then, quietly, he stepped aside.

“You heard,” he said.

You entered, keeping your gaze on the ground. “The whole castle's heard.”

"… Of course."

He exhaled. A small, tired laugh escaped his lips. And still you wouldn't look at him, but you grasped at his sleeve, and tugged.

"Why?" you whispered.

“Because I couldn’t lie anymore.”

You drew in a breath.

“I thought I could do it,” he muttered. You could hear a dry smile in the way that he spoke. “I thought I could be what they needed, marry who they wanted… But I sat across from her, and all I could think was—she isn’t you.”

He took a slow step towards you; broke that distance in an instant. 15 centimeters? No more.

And every word, every breath, they would still you in your own movements, render you frozen to the spot, but he—

This time, he wouldn't let you.

“I tried to forget. To be noble. To be dutiful.” Another step. “But I’ve been in love with you for so long, and now I know that I wouldn’t know how to stop. I don't know."

You looked up, this time. Slowly, as he drew you in. A hand at your waist, a touch you didn't refuse—a gaze you couldn't look away from.

And, god, you were weak.

"…I like it, when you name things," you whispered back finally. A line that was familiar; memories drawn to that balcony, late at night, but a line you would repeat for yourself to hear. "It makes them feel more real. It makes you feel more real. Not like… Like a star, up in the sky, far too high that I can't dream to reach."

Like, you... have always been too far from me. But, I...

It began with trembling lips.

His hands rose to cup your jaw, and yours fisted gently into the fabric of his shirt—clinging, like you didn’t trust the moment to stay if you let go.

"It is real," Xavier breathed. "It's very, very real. This moment, and us."

And he kissed you.

Your lips met with the soft, inevitable gravity of two people who had always been drifting toward each other; like he had waited for years; like you had only a single remaining language in your heart that existed in the shape of him.

So when his hands began to roam—slow, careful, unhurried—you didn't stop him. You basked in it. The finality of it. It sent a heat heat skimming beneath your skin, and immediately your body responded before you could think, pressing into him as he guided you backwards.

And your name.

God, your name.

You'd never heard it sound so sweet, so loving, not like the way he whispered it between your lips. Every kiss, every movement—your name fell still, like a sigh; a quiet chant, and it made you weak.

The backs of your legs hit his bed, and you let yourself fall.

Into him, and the mattress—into everything and anything that this moment was building up to.

And he kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you—barely spent a second away from you, even as he unfastened your tunic with slow fingers, each button undone like an unspoken confession.

Only when it was off did he pause, sitting back.

You watched his eyes. Saw the awe in them.

Devotion.

Reverence.

"So beautiful," he whispered.

And as you flushed at his response to you, he kissed your jaw, your shoulder, the hollow of your collarbone. Soft, fluttering kisses, down your body, almost enough to have you weeping from the way he did it—like every part of you was worth loving. You'd barely even choked back a sob when he pulled away to undress. Clearly every bit as eager as wanting as you.

And so you froze a moment, drank him in—every golden line of his chest, the way candlelight haloed over the silvery strands of his hair.

You watched, still, as he came down over you. He placed both forearms on either side of your head, and a small smile played at your lips;

He said it again.

"You're so beautiful," he sighed. "Like… an angel."

You didn't know if you wanted to hit him or burrow in embarrassment, but even as your face reddened, that lovesick look on his face rendered you silent.

And this time, he took his time.

He trailed your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—feeling, this time, with the tips of his fingers, as if carefully wanting to leave on you a mark of his own touch.

He moved lower.

His gaze followed where his hands went, dipping down your sides, sliding over to brush beneath your breast. When he stroked over to your belly, you held you breath; when he held your hip and nudged your waistband down, you arched in permission.

And despite how the situation was—despite the way he'd leave you completely bare, despite the inevitable, then that this was leading to—you found that his touches were devoid of any ulterior motive.

His eyes, when he raised them back to yours, were so loving. As if, he wanted to say—even this, now, feels like coming home.

And maybe it was.

Maybe it was, in the way he seeked to explore every little inch of you. The way he traced your skin, meant to memorize every curve. The way every touch, now, built warmth right into you, slow, and steady, and tender, until he knew that you ached for him—possibly, then, in ways you'd never dared to explore before this.

So when he kissed you next, it was gentle.

Intentional, but gentle.

You could feel years of unspoken yearning behind the way his mouth moved against yours, the way he cupped your cheek and dipped the tip of his tongue into your parted lips.

Immediately, naturally—your legs parted, raising to cradle his hips.

Against your bare sex you could feel the friction of his bulge, and you tugged at his hair.

Off, you seemed to plead.

He only looked at you with a smile.

There was a sparkle in his eyes—love, still, and this time a little hint of teasing.

He nuzzled your cheek. "Do you need something?" he murmured.

He'd play the oblivious, innocent rabbit, even now.

"…Xavier," you whispered.

You closed your eyes, brought your lips close to his ear.

"Xavier."

And you had never said his name before. Not without titles, or formal address—

Never just his name.

You heard his breath hitch; felt his grip tighten around your arm.

"You…" He sounded like he was struggling to breathe. You could have sworn you felt him grow, against you.

And perhaps you felt daring, perhaps this was that unabashed, bolder side of you again—

You raised your hips and ground yourself against him, and you nearly trembled at the sound of his moan.

"Xavier," you repeated again, barely even a breath. "Please…"

There was a moment of parting, a moment where he stared, still, before he chuckled and complied. Slowly, articles of clothing bared him to you in turn, and you keened at the way he pressed himself against you once more. Firmer, this time. More sure.

"My angel…" he whispered, running a hand down your cheek before he kissed the place that he'd touched. "You're still here."

"I'll always be here. I don't want… to leave you ever again, Xavier, I…"

"Shhh. You're okay. I have you."

You gasped then, as you felt it.

The head of his cock rubbed deliciously at your entrance—not quite entering, but teasing, so, so, teasing.

Another roll of his hips drew a whimper from you this time, and his eyes glinted with mischief.

"You're enjoying this…" you whined.

He smiled. "Immensely."

And then he raised your hips, slot himself right at your hole, wrapped your legs at his waist—

"Breathe, angel."

The stretch was exquisite.

You felt yourself arching into him, trembling as he took you whole. Inch by inch he slid inside you, rubbing your hips in circles, bringing a hand up to his lips for him to kiss.

You were startled, almost. You could feel every vein, every ridge—every perfection as he filled you, and, all be damned—you wanted him. So, so, incredibly bad.

His hand moved, then, to stroke your side, a gentle, soothing motion as you pulsed and wrapped around him. He leaned in to kiss your temple, your cheek, your lips—as though trying to anchor you there with him.

"Are you okay?" he murmured against your skin. "Still with me?"

You could only nod, your voice too thick with emotion to answer.

His forehead rested against you, fingers threading with yours beside your head.

“You’re shaking,” he nuzzled you.

"I…"

Am I?

You marveled. You hadn't noticed, but you supposed that you were.

"I-I'm just—" You swallowed. “I'm really happy. I didn’t think I’d ever get this… you… us…"

He chuckled, kissed your cheek. "But it feels good, right?"

"Mhm. Real good."

"Can I move?"

You paused, then wrapped your arms around his neck— "Please."

And he did.

He fell against you, braced slightly on his arms, yet when his weight settled—it was grounding.

It was real.

So real, even if you felt you could float, because you felt him.

In, and out. In, and out.

He moved slowly, giving you time, watching your face with every shift of his hips. Every glide sent shivers through you. Every grind of his hips sent a heat sparking your skin.

"Xavier…" you whispered again; moaned. "Oh, god… y-you're so good…"

"Mh? Do you like it?"

He kissed you again, and you breathed him in.

And then you didn't realize you were crying, not until he pulled his lips away, brushed a thumb across your cheek.

"Am I hurting you? Is it too much?" He stilled, a moment, cupped your cheeks to get you to look at him. "You're crying…"

"No, I…"

You sniffled, a little, had to bite your lip a moment before you could continue.

You pulled him close, lifted your hips for him once more.

"D-don't stop, please," you breathed. "I'm just… so… in love with you…"

His eyes, already so tender, seemed to drown in your words, to overflow at the same time with a sense of love that only you could understand in turn.

His hips snapped—jerked, a little, as if spurred to action by the heat of the moment. Deeper, this time, so wonderfully deep. It drew a single, broken gasp from you—half sob, half moan, and he knew.

He did it again.

"…Like that?" he whispered.

Again.

You gripped his shoulders, drew your nails down to his back. "Yes. Yes, please, just like that, Xavier."

And then you had found your rhythm.

Steady, deep, and perfect.

His hands framed your face, kissed your cheeks where the tears had fallen… so much tenderness, and reverence, and devotion, and you believed—

This was how it was supposed to be.

This was how it was meant to be.

And your hands roamed his back, down to his hips, pulling him deeper. "More, please, my prince…"

"Mnnh, but you can't… s-say my title, like I'm not—"

"Xavier."

You moaned his name to placate him, but snuck in a cheeky smile.

"Xavier, my prince, my liege, my—"

You could have squealed at the way he kissed you then.

In a rush to shut you up, perhaps, his kiss had lost much of the gentleness with which he'd been treating you. Deeper, rougher, messier—his tongue found yours, and he wasn't breathing you in, he was drinking you in.

Dizzy.

When he pulled away, you forgot how to breathe, and still his hips continued to move at his rhythm.

"I dare you," he spoke through gritted teeth, panting, "to say that again." A challenge. "Do you wish so badly to be reminded of our differences when I'm inside you?"

And though his words made you flush, you only shook your head.

"It feels… ah… I-it feels more real when I s-say it out loud—" You gasped, trying to take the pleasure he was giving you. "Th-that despite everything— Even if you're the prince, and I'm the knight, we're — oh, god— w-we're both still here… In this moment… Together..."

He gripped your hips, rocked into you in a way that made you breathless.

"…You're right," he murmured. "That isn't going to change what we feel. Not anymore."

The pleasure built further, then. Gradually. Quiet moans became harder to keep in check, especially not when you could feel him pulse the way he did.

"I-I'm…" you choked out, trying to hold back a cry. "C-close… Xavier…"

"Mhm. I am, too. L-let's… cum together…"

He held your hands, gripped them tightly as he stilled.

He throbbed; you felt it. And a warm, sticky sensation filled you, enough for you to tremble, enough for you to still—frozen, captured—

He kissed you, again. Whispered your name onto your lips, a soft gasp, a prayer.

And even afterwards, he didn't dare leave you.

He gathered you into his arms, not minding the mess, not minding the way you'd tangled together in the passion you'd shared just then.

And he kissed you over, and over, and over again—

"Xavier, I love you," you sniffled.

"And I love you, my angel. For you… have always been mine."

And in the quiet that followed, as you drifted into sleep… You felt that you finally believed it.

&—

You woke slowly, the sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains in soft strips of gold. Yet, the warmth that cocooned you wasn’t just the sun—

It was him.

Still, always, him.

Xavier, half-asleep, lay with one arm lazily draped across your waist, his breath steady against the back of your neck.

For a moment you simply lay there, smiling quietly to yourself. The memories of last night came back in waves—his touch, his voice, the way he’d held you like you was everything...

You'd cleaned, before you slept, but you still felt every little sensation so vividly. Even now your body still hummed from it, a quiet, satisfied ache in all the right places. And you thought, foolishly, that you really might just lie here forever, suspended in the hush of a private morning.

Until you felt the press of his lips at your shoulder.

Soft.

Then, again—lower, this time.

You blinked sleepily, shifting under the sheets. “You're awake?” you murmured, a smile at the edge of your lips.

He hummed. "I wouldn't be, but you're distracting."

You huffed a laugh, turning your head slightly to peer at him over your shoulder. “I’m not even doing anything…”

“You exist.” His mouth trailed down the curve of your spine, slow, purposeful. “It’s more than enough.”

And before you could react, really, you felt the last shape of his smile against your back before he moved even lower, slipping under the covers.

“Xavier…” you warned gently, though your voice had little conviction. A thrill had already started curling in your belly—anticipation, excitement. “You’re insatiable.”

“But I’ve shown restraint for years,” he murmured from somewhere near your hips. “I’m just making up for lost time. Besides…"

You squeaked as you felt him lick right above your mound, sending tingles all over your body.

"I didn't taste you last night. Don't I get a taste test of my beloved queen?"

Beloved queen.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Another kiss; inside your thigh, nuzzling into you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"X-Xavier—!"

His tongue was soft at first, teasing. Coaxing you awake in ways that had nothing to do with the sunlight. Your body arched of its own accord, slow and easy, thighs parting to grant him better access— You felt his hands hold you steady, and then he began to devour you with that same kind of reverence that made you feel drunk on him all over again.

You reached down blindly, fingers threading through his hair. “You really don’t have to—ah—Xavier—!"

“But I want to,” he said between kisses, between licks, with his breath still hot against you. “You taste really good, I wish I'd done this sooner.”

A moan spilled from your lips as his own closed right around your clit. It turned into a laugh, almost—you trembled, it was a little high pitched. “You—! Y-you're ridiculous,” you huffed, but still affection pooling in your chest as much as the heat searing between your legs.

This time, he didn't reply, not quite.

Just a groan—either from your words or the way you bucked slightly against his mouth, you couldn't really tell.

But oh, did it feel fucking good .

You felt him part your folds, add in a teasing lick at your entrance. He'd dip the tip of his tongue inside before gliding it achingly close to your clit—a few repetitions of the movement before it swirled over your bud, flicked it to the side.

"Oh, god—!"

Spurred on by your sounds, he only continued. Moaned against your skin, mixed in shamelessly with the lewd, slick sounds of your arousal. When his tongue slipped in, you cried—bucked, writhed, almost. Your fingers dug into his hair, and before you knew it, you were grinding into him, finding your rhythm.

"Xavier!" you whined. "Oh, god… oh, god, fffu—hnng—"

Your legs seized.

You felt him press you open, pushed onto the mattress, never daring to allow you any escape—

"C, c-cummin—ngh—!"

Your orgasm rushed to the surface as your back arched, curling into him with no more control over your movements.

But, greedily, he continued. Lapped you up, flicked at your clit. Enough so that by now you'd kicked at the covers, whined and tugged him up.

"Xavier… Xavier!" you huffed, panted.

When he stopped, finally, you sank weakly into the pillows, already drawing up one of them to cover your flushed face.

Not that he'd let you, of course.

He rose up to meet you with a smug, warm grin, crawling up to pull the pillow away and press a kiss to your cheek.

“Good morning,” he hummed.

Cheeky.

So, incredibly cheeky.

Donning a pout and feigning upset, you tilted your head to look at him, “Good morning, you menace.”

He only chuckled again and pulled you against his chest. “You like it, though.”

"You're lucky I do."

Your body was still warm, skin humming with the afterglow as you gave in and draped your arm across him. He was cozy, still. Despite the way you felt like you were already spent, you wouldn't turn away more cuddles from him. And in turn, he brushed his fingers up and down your bare back, slow and absent, as though touching you had become second nature.

You sighed contentedly.

"You know… most people start their mornings with tea."

"Mmm." A squeeze on your arm. "But this is better."

"You're going to spoil me."

"Good, I want to."

You felt him stir, then, and your breath caught—he ground against your thigh, just enough to earn you that delicious, delicious little groan.

"Your Highness…" you huffed.

"Mn, I know… But you're just so…"

Another grind, and you felt him tremble.

And it was so, so hard to resist, even for you.

"Please?" he murmured, nuzzling your neck.

"…Again? But you just…"

"I need you…"

And he rolled you gently onto your back, settled over you with a practiced ease.

A beat.

You looked at each other.

And now, like this, his eyes were so pleading, that you eventually broke out into a barely-contained smile of your own.

You were so weak.

He made you utterly, completely weak.

"Fine," you rolled your eyes, "last one, and then we get ready."

And it was so natural.

There was no urgency this time, only a warm familiarity as he slid into you. Still you felt the stretch, and still you felt yourself drawn in to take him all. And then you kissed, and gasped softly against his mouth, hands rising up to cradle the back of his neck.

“My prince,” you whispered, breath hitching as he began to move, “you’re impossible.”

He gave another peck to your lips, grinned as your hips lifted to meet his rhythm. This time it wasn't so deep, or hungry, or too much, it was just—

Right.

So right.

And kisses turned to giggles, and somewhere between slow thrusts and quiet moans, a conversation bubbled like the most natural thing in the world.

“I… still have meetings later,” he murmured against your neck. “Dull things. Reports, schedules. Nobles who love the sound of their own voices.”

Laughing softly, you arched into him again with a little hum. “And so I told you we mustn't take too long."

"But I want to spend the morning with you."

"You can't spend the whole morning…"

"Mn…" His hips moved with a slow roll then that made your eyes flutter, grinding against your sweet spot so perfect. “Still, it would be better if you were there.”

You grinned.

“As your knight or as your lover?” you teased, though something in your voice was soft. Wondering.

He looked at you then, his rhythm pausing just long enough for the weight of his gaze to settle. He brushed a strand of hair from your damp forehead.

“Both.”

You pulled him back into you, clung to him as you nuzzled into your neck.

"Ah, hearing you say that… feels almost as good as this…"

"This?"

He nudged your head, nipped at your cheek. You could feel him grin—another particularly angled thrust had the head of his cock kissing at your g-spot, and you shuddered.

"Mhm… just like that."

And he chuckled, timing every movement of his hips to hit that spot just right, just the way you liked it; only one time before and he'd already memorized every spot that made you cave so much.

He voiced it out. Poked his tongue out to make kitten licks at your neck, absolutely cherished the way that you groaned for him. "I already know what you like, angel. You like it here…"

His hand moved down, brushed against your nipple.

"And, here…"

With a grin, he dipped his head to nip at your collarbone.

"And, here…"

His hand moved lower down still, slid between your tangled limbs, and pressed against your clit.

You gasped, eyes wide, and he dared to grind against you, rubbing against your clit so perfectly that you nearly weeped again.

"X-Xavier!" you whimpered. "Y-you're so unfair, that's— ngh—"

Again he moved up your body to nuzzle your cheek affectionately, but his hand stayed at your nub and moved in slow, steady circles to match his hips.

“Today,” he said, breath warm and steady, “I’m going to tell them. The court. The council. Everyone.”

Your eyes widened, lips parted in pleasured puffs.

“I’m going to tell them I want to marry my knight,” he continued, fondly. “That I will.”

And you felt as if your heart could burst.

The world, around you, seemed to sway. Not from the motion of your bodies, even—but from this, this rush of emotion, the disbelief that settled into an overwhelming sense of love.

You didn't think you could love him any more than you did.

But he was very good at proving that notion wrong.

"You… you mean it?" you breathed.

"Mhm."

"You… I… I-I'm going to be your… queen?"

"Mhm."

He leaned in to kiss you again—that same gentle, soft kiss, followed by little fluttering ones all over your face until he reached the corners of your eyes.

Despite yourself, a little giggle fell from your lips, one that easily turned into a squeal as he flipped you over.

Now, with your face into the pillows, you felt his breath tickling your neck, as he gave you more kisses—down your back, along your spine, before he entered again.

Deeper this time. Much deeper than he had before.

"Oh, my god—Xavier, fuck— I—!"

He chuckled, raked his fingers through your hair. "Language," he murmured, "you're not being very classy today."

"Uh, it's your fault that I—!"

You barely got your words out before he slammed back into you, a motion causing your body to rock forward with a gasp. His weight pushed into you, laying like a weighted blanket, allowing you to feel just how deep he could take you.

"It's okay," he breathed, hot against the shell of your ear. "You're being such a good girl for me, my queen."

You could barely process his words, already dizzying at all these delicious sensations.

"You'll be the death of me, my liege."

When he moved again, it didn't take long for the both of you to reach your high. Similarly, still, to just the night before—his hips stilled, moans muffled into the nape of your neck, filling you wholly and completely and perfectly.

He'd turned you over then, pulling out slow, cradling your head in his hands.

"…I mean it," he whispered. "I want to marry you."

"…You're proposing to me after sex?" you laughed softly.

"Well… then do you accept?"

"Of course I do, Xavier."

He smiled. "I'm going to make you my queen. Just you wait."

"If… they don't accept?"

"We can always elope. You'd still be my queen."

You laughed again.

How odd it was, you found, that even in this situation you could still find humor, and comfort. But you supposed that was what it was like—when things felt right, when things felt settled enough.

In your heart, you knew that everything was going to be alright.

The promise lingered, settled in the quiet that followed. Here, in this room, you had everything you needed—you lay with tangled limbs, your hearts so open and tethered, and a world of hope waiting on the other side of the door, but you had each other.

That was the most important part.

You had each other.

﹙ 𐙚 : shotaro ﹚ .ᐟ

the smile on his face is nothing compared to the thoughts running through his mind , looking down at his phone , a text from you telling him to check his pocket , stuffing his hand in pocket only to realize your lacy panties in his coat pocket. “really baby?” you nodded , he bit his lip. “so cute baby , when did you take them off?” he asked. “before we left the house.” he was hard as a rock now. “should we leave now?” he asked , it wasn't really a question , more like a request. stepping out of the both , he walked behind you , so if you made the wrong move you wouldn't flash the restaurant. “just because im smiling doesn't mean I'm happy baby girl.” he whispered in your ear.

“i'm gonna ruin your pretty pussy when we get home.”

﹙ 𐙚 : eunseok ﹚ .ᐟ

notices it as you step out the car , you skirt so fucking tiny he can see your ass. “fucking hell.” he gets out the car behind you , pulling your skirt down , kissing your temple an old couple passing by you , smiling at how cute you two were. “fucking slut why aren't you wearing underwear.” he whispered in your ear. “you're trying to piss me off right now and im trying to do something nice for you.” he said , you smirked , making him scoff. “keep laughing now.” he said.

“i wanna see you laugh when im stuffing my cock inside of you later and you're begging to let you cum.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sungchan ﹚ .ᐟ

sungchan is a little slow with it; he doesn't even notice that before your date, when you gave him a supposed innocent hug, that you stuffed your panties inside his back pocket. it's just a matter of waiting , and waiting , until he reaches into back pocket to grab his wallet at the end of the date , he feels the fabric in his hand , he pulls it out only to stuff it back in looking at you with wide eyes. “baby?” he leans in. “are you not wearing…” he looks under the table , where your legs are spread open , your bare cunt on display for him. “oh fuck.” he's quickly paying that bill , not even caring about to go boxes or dessert , he's got something sweeter eat right between your legs.

“fuck get in the back seat , i’m not not waiting to wait to take your sweet cunt.”

﹙ 𐙚 : wonbin ﹚ .ᐟ

thinks you're joking when you lean over the table , whispering to him you don't have any panties on; certainly you wouldn't actually dare to not wear panties out in public — his thoughts proven wrong when he looks under the table and your legs are spread open for him to see , your cute pussy already dripping for him , so you know what he does … pays for the bill , grabbing your hand. “come on.” you two don't even make it to the car , before he's pulling you into an alleyway. “bin , let's wait until we get home , this is too open.” he's not listening , thinking with his cock only.

“no baby , you weren't thinking about the public when you were showing me your pussy.”

﹙ 𐙚 : seunghan﹚ .ᐟ

he was just being a good boyfriend; you dropped your fork , he was just going under the table to fetch it for you; only to see your legs spread open — the only thing you hear is his head hitting the table , you let out a giggle , his head resurfacing , smiling as he calmly places the fork on the table. “princess , you being naughty hm? not wearing any panties?” as much as he wants to jump across the table and ravish you , he's so calm; luckily the dinner is finished and he can pay the bills and you two can leave. “what about dessert hannie?”

“we can get it to go baby , i need to feel you around me now.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sohee ﹚ .ᐟ

both of you are on the same freak scale; you knew he'd try and tease you in public , so you wanted to get back at him , you could feel his hand creeping up your skirt , but you had a surprise waiting for him , so you didn't stop him , feeling his hand on your mound , his eyebrows furrowing. “are you?” he ran his finger up your slit. “you're not wearing any panties.” he gasped. “you wouldn't know if your hand wasn't up my skirt you little perv.” he pinched your clit with made you bite down on your fist to conceal a moan. “i bet you you're hard right now.” and you would be correct his cock was begging to be freed. “fuck let's go.” you decided to tease him a little more. “but i want dessert.” you pout.

“fine get your desert , i'm just gonna go under the table and eat mines , i bet she's real sweet for me.”

﹙ 𐙚 : anton﹚ .ᐟ

didn't understand why you would text him; you were right across from him , he answers it anyway , immediately wishing he didn't. “you-you're joking right?” he said looking up at you, his face red. “you're just gonna have to look.” you shrugged , sitting his phone down , lifting up the table cloth , looking under. “son of a bitch.” he whispered to himself. “why don't you have panties on?” his cock hard in his slacks. “baby fuck , i'm so hard right now, we got to leave right now.” you've your boyfriend so eager to leave somewhere so fast. “what about dessert?”

“i will literally order you something as soon as im done fucking you i don't care , we need to leave.”