tags : long fic, porn with plot, prince!xavier x knight!reader, separate from the lightseeker era we know and more of a different royal au, slight angst, hurt/comfort, slowburn ish, mutual yearning, slight miscommunication (well it's xavier…), still has soft fluffy moments though, use of "my prince" "my liege" "your highness" from reader, kisses, first time, oral (f. receiving), heavy petting, vaginal sex, overall soft sex and very vanilla moments, slight use of pet names "angel" and "my queen" towards the end from xavier.
IMPORTANT - this is part 2 because apparently tumblr has a 1000-block limit that won't let me post the entire fic in one whole post...... so please see this link for part 1, or the full fic on AO3 !!
wc : 19.8k total / part 1 - 12.3k / part 2 - 7.5k
an : a tumblr continuation; this is still for @xavmc-week days 1 (knight x royalty), 2 (firsts), and 3 (moon/stars)! note that this is not really a standalone, and does work better with the context from part 1 <3
taglist to be reblogged : SIGN UP HERE
ko-fi jar / commissions
With a single word and a gentle touch, you turned a moment into forever.
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.
tags : long fic, porn with plot (but the smut only happens in part 2), prince!xavier x knight!reader, separate from the lightseeker era we know and more of a different royal au, slight angst, hurt/comfort, slowburn ish, mutual yearning, slight miscommunication (well it's xavier…), still has soft fluffy moments though, use of "my prince" "my liege" "your highness" from reader. smut tags to be identified for part 2!
IMPORTANT - this is part 1 because apparently tumblr has a 1000-block limit that won't let me post the entire fic in one whole post...... so please see this link for part 2, or the full fic on AO3 !!
wc : 19.8k total / part 1 - 12.3k / part 2 - 7.5k
an : something probably possessed me, and also this was written while the lovebrush chronicles theme was on repeat lmfao <3 somewhat late but! for @xavmc-week days 1 (knight x royalty), 2 (firsts), and 3 (moon/stars), another royalty fic from yours truly! now IF you're here for the smut... then that's in part 2, but it does work better with the context of part 1 <3
taglist to be reblogged : SIGN UP HERE ; but also special tags for @xaviersknight (WHO INSPIRED THIS ICB YOU IVY) + @star-in-deepspace + @ourlittleuluru for the moral support 💖
ko-fi jar / commissions
With a single word and a gentle touch, you turned a moment into forever.
"Again."
Xavier's tone was even. Even as he stepped back into position, there was nothing different in the way that he looked at you—head tilted slightly in a challenge, an air of anticipation of your next move.
Yet, behind those steely eyes showed a brief spark of amusement.
Xavier had always been the better one with the sword, but it was never a factor to prevent you from being coached by him. In your belief, part of a knight's duty was to learn—You could never be at your best possible ability if you refused to, and you could never be able to protect His Highness when it counted the most. No matter to you that the very subject of your guard was the very one you were trying to best—
It still counted.
And he had always been, thankfully, quite easy to learn from.
Now, in this moment, a gentle spring breeze brushed through your features, and you raised your practice blade with a steady grip.
Again.
Feet apart, shoulders squared.
Eyes focused.
"You're going to bruise," you mumbled. Not for haughtiness to break through in your tone, but enough to give yourself an adequate boost of confidence—you were, after all, his chosen attending knight.
"You say that like it's a deterrent."
Smooth words fell from his lips even at the moment of your advance. Wooden swords met in a sharp clash, a resounding clunk from the impact. Even in his response he acted swiftly—precise movements, not simply like a trained knight, but like someone who had studied and even mastered the art of war with diligence. You could mumble to yourself about how learning under the same master could yield vastly divergent results, and the proof of it would be manifested in the both of you. But at the same time, it was something you knew well. For Xavier, this had begun long before you had taken up your own armor.
Strategic, calculating, intentional. Not a single movement was wasted. Of it all, you thought, it was a quiet elegance well befitting of the crown prince.
However, you'd also like to think that he taught you well.
And there it was.
A sharp twist and a pull earned you your opening, easily allowing to you disarm. The wooden sword in his hold clattered thickly onto the ground, but before he could move to retrieve it, you quickly stepped on its hilt.
Xavier looked up from where he'd dropped to one knee.
His lips quirked; not a smile, nor a threat, but a rather amused notion of acknowledgment. "Is this how you treat your prince?"
Hands on your hips and an air of well-earned victory, you grinned. "Only when he insists on getting himself killed in the yard. May I remind you that this was your doing, Your Highness."
"Well, I could order you to be gentler."
"You wouldn't."
"I could."
"…Hm. And so we can say that I'd pretend to obey."
With a soft chuckle and a shake of his head he stood, the spring breeze ruffling through his hair. Your eyes caught in it—you could marvel at how soft he would always keep his hair no matter how grueling the training, and it seemed in that moment that the way the sun filtered through it made him glow even brighter today.
Even despite the defeat.
"Prince Xavier," you raised an eyebrow, "you wouldn't intend to tell me you'd orchestrated my win, did you?"
"I could never do that."
"But… you go easy on me far too much. You mustn't spoil a knight like this."
"And are there to be consequences?"
That same smile curved slightly at his lips again, and he dusted off his pants. You, in turn, stood still in your place. Even as he moved closer, took a step towards you in a manner completely unnecessary, you hadn't the heart to rebuke him for it.
He was teasing.
"…I wouldn't dream of it, my liege," you mumbled.
And he smiled.
"I'm not going easy on you. The reason for you to stand by my side so often that you do is your own abilities."
A strand of your hair had become loose from your ponytail, and he reached a gloved hand out to brush it behind your ear.
Your breath caught in your throat.
"But you're very loyal," he added softly. "You always have been."
The pause between you both indicated well how much you wished you could say otherwise—and you wished you could. Your loyalties had always been with him, and him alone. Your reasons for staying were him, and him alone.
But you couldn't say things like that, and it was expected anyway that you wouldn't.
Instead when you spoke, it was with the same reverence in your voice as all the other knights. You took a step back before you forgot all that was necessary in your stature, and played the role that laid your loyalties bare for the palace as a whole.
"I serve the crown."
Automatic, like protocol.
Your head bowed, immediately dropping to the knee before him. Moments ago this position had been reversed in lieu of your duel, and you could only seek to erase such a scandalous image from your head. It should only be this way—Right hand tucked behind, left in a fist, crossed steadily over your heart.
A sign of the oath.
For it were the knights who yielded to the royals, and never the other way around.
"Your Highness, you know very well that my life lives only for yours."
And you remembered the first time you had recited it.
Years ago still, on the day of the accolade. You had been officially dubbed a member of the Order—The Lightseekers, as they were so reverently called; an elite force trained to serve the royal household to the death. You remembered the rush of adrenaline as you raised your hand to give your life as an offering:
Here do I swear, by mouth and hand, fealty and service to the Crown and Kingdom of Philos.
Even now, despite your closer relationship to the prince himself, you could never bring yourself to abandon such an oath.
Yet, Xavier tapped you gently your shoulder.
Two simple words:
"At ease."
He bent once more to retrieve his blade as you rose, respectfully dusting it off despite it only being a simple practice weapon. Handing it to you, you realized as you looked at him that his eyes held a strange sort of softness to it—and it was this expression that you had never learned to read. Even after years spent together, it was still one that had never failed to elude you.
"How strange," Xavier mumbled. Quiet, exceedingly so—almost enough for his words to evade you completely. "So do I. But… I find that I care more about the knight holding the sword."
And you could call yourself an accomplished knight.
Despite everything, what he'd said about your abilities rang true—you hadn't been recommended this position, you'd climbed to it yourself. You were acknowledged in the Order as someone who had what it took to protect him; acknowledged in the palace, even, for your very skill with the blade you held.
But of all the shields and all the armor you'd bested in the past, there was one that you could never.
Because Xavier had been like this for as long as you'd remembered.
Quiet.
Dutiful.
How long had it been since he'd freely let himself feel, you wondered?
It had been far too long since then. The first time you saw him cry, he was eleven. A small figure cloaked in midnight velvet—
Standing far too still for a child at his mother's funeral.
You weren't a knight then, not yet. Just a simple commoner, too young and unimportant to be noticed. The entire Kingdom had been invited in service of the Queen, and you were lined up with many others; eyes front, knelt before her coffin.
The royal family had been in mourning.
Yet, Prince Xavier hadn't made a sound.
Quiet.
Dutiful.
Even then he'd carried himself with such an air of elegance; even then he'd resigned himself to display any more vulnerability than was necessary. People came and went, knelt before the Queen and left just as you did. And behind him, you knew—courtiers, maids, assistants—they would whisper; marvel, even.
Because Prince Xavier stood simply beside the coffin, chin lifted.
And he watched.
And he waited.
Perhaps, longer than the others.
Even the King had left, and the halls had closed.
You remembered that day clearly—because the moment he stepped outside of the chapel, his head was down. That crown of silvery hair, a striking feature of all members of the royal family of Philos, stuck wetly to the skin of his forehead. No longer neatly combed. No longer properly styled. And that perfectly-tailored suit had soaked through as he stood.
All preparation of his attendants could be viewed as all for naught, and the clouds surely showed no mercy.
Eleven-year-old Prince Xavier stood, limbs hanging limp at his sides, not even flinching at the slightest rumble of the thunder… His fingers curled slightly, but that was the only remaining hint of movement left, as if he'd long since stopped trying to be.
His gaze remained downcast.
For you, just a little girl in rags for robes, this was a moment unseeming of you to intrude on. You'd understood this to be a private moment for the prince, surely—and even thinking back, you were never quite sure what had compelled you to act. Only that a member of the royal family couldn't possibly be left out of the rain.
So thinking, perhaps, outside of your best interest, little feet padded the steps between you and the prince. You were far more used to the rain than he, you figured. You were far more accustomed to the soil beneath your feet. And with a little bit of a tiptoe, you raised your feebly constructed bamboo umbrella over his head.
"You'll get sick out in the rain, Sir Prince," you'd smiled. As if your umbrella could withstand the rain for long; as if it were truly enough to shield him like a better constructed one would.
But no matter, you'd thought, for the King would find him soon enough.
And blue eyes met yours, and then the rainfall was all you could hear. Words weren't exchanged any further. You only smiled brightly, offered a curtsy with as much elegance as you were able. With the umbrella transferred into his hand, you'd done what you had approached him to do.
Of all the shields and all the armor you'd bested since you'd decided to enlist… there was one that you could never.
You hadn't seen Xavier cry since that day.
That shield—it was standing right in front of you. And you knew that your vow had been made much sooner than the day of the accolade.
Long before he remembered you, you had already chosen him.
Instinctively your grip around the two practice swords in your hand tightened, and you lowered your head so as not to meet his gaze.
I care more about the knight holding the sword.
"My liege… You really mustn't say things like that."
&—
That night, you found him exactly where you thought he'd be.
On the floor of the upper library, ten paces to the right.
This was a location you had marked on your mental map with a star; one of Xavier's most frequently visited night spot.
They called it the high eastern balcony. During the day, it was often filled with various staff and members of the palace itself, yet it tended to be unattended in the evenings. The library you walked past had closed hours earlier in the night; there was little to no reason for anyone to remain here.
Xavier liked the quiet.
You knew him well enough by now to know that.
And so you rounded the corner, the stone ledge of the balcony curved like a crescent moon over the sleeping gardens below. In this blanket of stars and the hush of silver light, it was true that the hour was later than either of you would truly care to admit.
Xavier didn't turn.
He had a hand braced on the balustrade, head tilted towards the sky. His coat was folded beside him—neat, to be tucked away. His hair, on the other hand, was slightly tousled, as though he'd run a hand through it already one too many times. Yet the silence wasn't one to keep you away—it was only one you took as an invitation.
Your footsteps slowed.
"So you were here," you murmured softly.
Walking from the archway to stand beside him, you leaned against the balustrade. The breeze stirred; you gently nudged his coat towards him.
He glanced at you, but he didn't take it.
“I didn’t expect you to come."
15 centimeters apart.
You shifted, aware of how close you'd gotten, and he didn't stop you.
You shrugged; “You’re not hard for me to find. But you should be asleep, Your Highness."
"So should you.”
“I’m not the one with a council breathing down my neck by sunrise.”
“I'm not the one with training drills in the morning.”
Another pause.
This time, the both of you looked at each other, and a soft laugh spilled from your lips. Your shoulders relaxed, your eyes softened. You regarded his figure, then—properly. Took in his form, the outline of the moonlight bringing a different glow to his attire than you'd seen from the sun just this afternoon.
The only reason Xavier so often came to this balcony was to watch the stars…
Because the stars were there to offer him comfort.
"…You've been restless lately," you whispered. You let your words be carried through the wind.
"So you've noticed."
“I’m trained to notice.”
He smiled.
The first time that night, he turned to face you, and his head tilted down—something of another quiet challenge, like he often did with you. Cheeky, still. Boyish, a little. Your heart skipped whenever you thought that you could bring out this more easygoing nature, of the Crown Prince of Philos.
“And if I asked what you thought was keeping me up?” he raised an eyebrow.
"Then… I’d say you were thinking too much about what everyone else wants from you. Or, of you. Things like that."
Just like the little girl who'd run up to offer him her umbrella, you spoke with a conviction, now, that you didn't know you could still have.
A little pretentious for a mere knight to say, you thought grimly.
But instead of chastising you, Xavier only chuckled.
"…Sorry. I mean it's only that, far too often… I always wonder what you think about. If you tense at all the duties that you have, and all the expectations you've been trained to meet from the moment you were born…" Your expression turned feeble as you added, "Prince Xavier often looks like he feels a little trapped. Sometimes, that's what I think."
"Do you think everyone notices?"
"Only if they care enough to, I guess."
"So… you care enough to."
"I… suppose."
Again the breeze passed, ruffling through your clothing.
"Then. Do you also want something from me? Like the others?"
He met your gaze. Held it. It was a silent command for you not to dare turn away in this instant.
"…Of course not, my liege. If I were to wish for something, then it… would be only for more of your own freedom."
You received yet another smile, then.
Yet in that moment, you didn't know, yourself, how true your words were. Whether that was all that you wanted, or whether a part of you still yearned for that something more that you always insisted on keeping at bay. Could you had deluded yourself into thinking it was nothing? Could you had deluded yourself into believing you had no selfish desires of him?
It was an opening for you to speak of it, but you didn't.
You couldn't.
You couldn't, not even to bring yourself to confront them in your head.
Because that was unbecoming of a knight.
Xavier didn't press you on it. Whether he believed you or he didn't, you couldn't tell, but still this time it was his turn to look away. There was a hum as he leaned into his palm, and far below, a lone guard crossed the courtyard. His boots echoed—faint and distant.
"Do you ever think about leaving?" he murmured. “This.” He nodded out into the gardens. It was a subtle gesture to indicate what he'd recognized to be your own cage. “The castle. The role. The duty. I'm not the only one trapped here."
And you should have expected it.
Often, Xavier would say things like this. The burden of your duty this, the burden of your guard that.
You hesitated—
"No." You could never leave; you were here for him. You wouldn't unless he did. "It was my choice to come here. So then, it's my choice to stay."
With a small shake of his head, he looked away again. "Well, I wonder, sometimes, what I’d be without all this.”
“…Your own duties?"
"Mn."
"I think… then you’d still be you.”
“And, you? Who would you be?”
"…Someone less useful. Probably. Because to me, you're…"
You caught yourself.
Perhaps, if you knew Xavier a certain amount, then it was to be expected that he knew you equally as much. Because he knew exactly what to say to you. If you'd continued… then he'd understand exactly why it was that you'd refused to leave.
You absolutely couldn't be loose-lipped on such a selfish thing.
Your sentence sat unfinished.
But still he didn't push, and that little smile edging at his lips—still at your unwillingness to breach the subject—was his only acknowledgment.
Instead of responding directly, his gaze shifted from the gardens and back up to the sky; you watched as it did. Watched the way his gaze seemed to relax at such a simple motion, the way the galaxy seemed to reflect in the blue of his eyes that you'd come to adore so much. The wonder that filled his expression was always different when he watched the stars. You wondered if the same thing happened whenever you looked at him.
"Do you know their names?" he said quietly.
He didn't take his eyes off the sky, and you shook your head. "Not really. I… I know the Scales, I think, and the… Wolf, was it? The one they say guards kings?"
He scoffed lightly, "That sounds fitting for you."
"Yeah? I always liked that one, but I can never point it out."
Xavier glanced at you then, and then gently reached out to hold you at your wrist. The leather of his gloves was softer than you remembered—but you didn't remember the last time he'd touched you. Not like this.
Your eyes followed, tried not to focus on the warmth of him being so familiar with you—
"Lupus is very faint," he said quietly, "the wolf. It has many stars, so it gets difficult to point it out. But… it's a clear night tonight. So there it is. I think wolves are often associated with protection, and maybe that's why it has a reputation like that."
Slowly he drew your hand up with his, pointing out little stars that formed the vague outline of a wolf.
You could see it only if you squinted.
"…I wouldn't be able to see it unless you draw it out for me," you huffed, and in response to that, he only chuckled before he pulled away.
His touch lingered even then.
Your gaze drew down to his hands.
"Do you… have constellations that you like, Your Highness?"
For a moment he didn't speak.
From the stars and down to you, he too, lingered—you could feel it, the stare; the way he seemed to be searching for an answer that he could only possibly get through you.
"I… used to like the ones I couldn't name."
You blinked, looked up at him.
It wasn't the answer you were expecting, and he knew that.
There was that smile again.
"They didn't owe anyone anything," he said softly. "So I used to think it must be nice, to be nameless."
But I like your name.
You couldn't bring yourself to say it.
Instead you stepped a little closer.
15 centimeters became 5—
Your shoulders brushed. Then stayed.
"I like the ones I can name," you murmured. "Things feel a little more real when you name them. A little more within reach, and not so high up in the sky like that."
A smile peeked at your lips.
"…Right, Prince Xavier?"
This, here—this one was real, too.
&—
You hadn't seen it coming.
The patrol was supposed to be routine—a simple escort through the northern woods after a diplomatic visit, a simple ride past those trees that you had already been familiar with for long. Nighttime made it unnerving, but you'd done this job one too many times. You had never once come across any issues.
…Not until that moment.
The trees had been too still. The birds had been too quiet. And then came the arrows, the flash of blades from under cloaks, the glint of then moonlight on steel—real, real swords this time, no longer practice ones.
Your body moved before your thoughts could form.
A hiss of air; the sound of metal slicing wind… It was this moment you knew what it meant to be a serving knight, and perhaps it was the cold fear of your prince getting injured that had you moving then without hesitation.
You lunged; shoved him hard to the side.
A blade meant for him, fallen only instead to you—
Here do I swear, by mouth and hand, fealty and service to the Crown and Kingdom of Philos.
You hardly remembered what had happened afterwards. Only that you'd been met with darkness far too soon; much sooner than you'd liked to admit.
&—
When you came to, the room you were laying in was dim.
Your vision took a while to focus. This wasn't the silvery light of the moon; it was candles. Lanterns. Two of them, and then the fire in the hearth. Rain tapped softly against the windowpanes, echoing the hush that had fallen since the healers left… You felt faint traces of them, the healers—and undeniably, the pain in your shoulder had lessened.
You blinked and sat up from the bed.
Your bed.
This was your room.
You'd made it back safely.
Nevermind that you were bare from the waist up save for the cloth binding wrapped around you; you felt the way your hair clung damply to your face and neck. Sensation began to creep back into you, and you were very much awake.
Awake enough to notice the figure clad in white, not too far away from you, back still turned.
Awake enough to scowl at him.
"You’re supposed to be at council,” you frowned. A quick glance out the window told you that a day had passed. Several, perhaps. The sun was setting anew; you didn't know, anymore, how long you'd been out.
Xavier, on the other hand, stood by the fireplace, a brand new suit and cloak to sport—
He shouldn't be here.
Yet he turned, anyway, and gave you a cold look.
"They can wait."
You watched as he made his way towards you, sharp steps of his boots on the concrete.
The firelight caught in his hair.
"…You're being dramatic," you mumbled. "I've had the healers, right? And you're not even the one who got hurt..."
"That's not what it felt like."
You watched as he dropped down to a crouch beside the basin, jaw tight, hands red to the wrists.
The silence was sharp.
Uncomfortable.
Xavier was a man of few words, but this was something else. The way that he spoke to you now made you shiver—no longer that kind, gentler prince you knew him to be with you…
Now, he was upset.
You watched him draw in a breath, and then he glanced at you.
“You were reckless,” he muttered.
You didn't answer.
You probably were.
He looked up sharply then as if to emphasize his point, “You could've been killed.”
"No, you could've been killed."
"That’s not the point.”
“Yes, it is!”
You frowned deeper this time, sat up straighter. Dared to meet his gaze. Challenged him.
So unbecoming of a knight, yet you did it anyway.
“That’s exactly the point," you leveled; "I stepped in because that is my duty. Because that way you wouldn't get hurt. And you didn’t—thank God you didn't.”
The tension stayed.
Xavier turned away, rinsed the cloth again, wrung it out with more force than necessary. Water splashed on the stone.
"I had guards,” he huffed, "other guards. You didn’t have to—”
“I did, because you were in danger! I made a choice that I had to, Your Highness, and I'm still your attending knight for a reason."
Again for a moment of pause, he pressed the cloth to your arm. But the silence stung more than the pressure; more than the pain that shot up through your wound.
You didn't wince.
Your jaw tightened, but you didn't wince.
And when he spoke again, his voice was softer—cold, still; upset, still, but… softer.
He kept his focus on your arm.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he mumbled. “Throwing yourself in front of every blade meant for me.”
"You know that as long as they swing, then I'll have to."
"It's not right."
"It's my duty. It doesn't have to be right."
He gave a low sound, almost like a laugh, but bitter. “Then do you always have to be like this? Fearless? Foolish?”
"Faithful.”
That made him fall silent.
The both of you were close, now, just enough to feel his breath as he leaned in to inspect your injury. His hand, gloved still on one side, was warm against your skin. This was the second time you could recall that he'd touched you so tenderly.
It was enough, too, to make you pause. Normally you were so good at maintaining the distance, but this was difficult. His skin was searing to the touch; you felt almost guilty for it.
But you felt it, the tremor. Slight, but still there.
"…You were shaking," you said quietly. "I… I remember. Afterwards. For a moment, I thought I…"
"I didn't like it."
You looked at him, and he gave you one short glance before looking back away.
"I… didn't like seeing you bleed."
You bit your lip.
Again, you recalled what he'd said—I care more about the knight holding the sword. And then something raw opened in your chest, but you swallowed it down.
No.
Now wasn't the time.
And so you waited, in silence, as Xavier finished dressing the bandage with slow, careful precision. His fingers lingered—tender, still, but just shy of affectionate.
You really must be delusional.
The silence that stayed was heavier than any blade you'd taken.
&—
Days passed.
Now you walked through the halls, another morning to start anew. The sun broke clean, and golden... It streaked through the tall palace windows, bathed the stone floors with light. At the same time, there were voices that echoed distantly. Servants, guards… You heard someone in the courtyard call for a stable boy. All just normal occurrences in a day, and you flexed your shoulders as you walked.
You'd healed since then. The gash on your shoulder had long since gone from that evening.
Everything should be normal.
But… some things didn't quite go back to the way they used to.
Polite nods, a shared glance across a room.
You were still around Xavier—you should be; it was required of you. But you hadn't seen him much, not properly. You'd caught him watching you get back into your training, but he hadn't approached; always stayed in his place to look at you from afar.
Polite nods, a shared glance across a room.
Xavier had distanced himself.
You had to think back to your last encounter, those last words. He'd treated you once, that day, and hadn't returned— you knew that he was upset. He never quite told you why, other than clearly expressing displeasure for your impulsiveness that had gotten you injured, but you figured that you could guess. Xavier wasn't good with emotions. You could only surmise based on what you knew that he didn't want to risk seeing you bleed like that by getting closer to you.
And it was to be expected, wasn't it? It shouldn't have bothered you; every knight was the same. In service of the crown, only you had ever gotten so close to the Crown Prince himself.
You should have been just fine without it—
Like everyone else was.
Still his absence left a gaping hole, and though you willed yourself to get used to it, to go about your daily routine as you did without him, it was something else to get used to.
Your footsteps continued down the hall, and you missed him.
And it was such a pretentious thought for a knight.
Yet—
There he was.
You'd rounded the corner.
There walked Xavier, looking decidedly less princely in a simple linen shirt and a travel cloak less fitting of royalty. He hadn't noticed you yet; he had his gaze settled onto the gloves he was still tucking into his belt.
There he was.
It had been a while since you'd had time alone, and you— froze. Could only stand there, like an idiot, and then he was the one approaching.
"You look well," he stopped in front of you. A once-over, and he nodded, one simple regard of acknowledgment. Like he had been doing.
"…Better now, my liege. I've taken up training for the past week, and have since made a full recovery."
"That's nice to see. No more pains?"
"None, Your Highness." Your head lowered. Your throat felt dry when you continued, but you did, still, anyway. "I'm to be at your service once more, if you'll have me. You know… where to find me, if you have something to ask of."
And as if by instinct, as if expecting this to be yet another moment to simply pass you by, you stepped aside.
He didn't move, not this time.
Instead you stood like that, eyes locked onto the ground, noted the dust on his boots—and these ones you realized looked a lot more worn out than his usual.
Then, with something like hesitation,
“I was on my way down to the town.”
You looked up. "I… see."
“They’ve reopened the northern market street. I wanted to… walk it. It seems there's to be many new shops reopened.”
You nodded.
A longer silence.
Then he added, almost too casually, almost too obvious in his attempts at shoving the tension in the air right away— “You could come with me. If you like.”
It had been days since you'd heard him say something similar. Anything similar.
You couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips.
"Is… is that a command, Your Highness?”
“It’s an invitation,” he tilted his head slightly. “One you’re free to refuse. But… I'd rather you don't...”
So you did smile, this time. With enough time to look away to hide it, you did smile. Still you weren't sure just how willingly you could take his words, but—this might truly have been the first time he'd addressed you so directly since that night.
You were weak.
Pathetic, almost.
You'd grasp at straws of his affection like your life depended on it.
And when he spoke again, his voice was softer—a little less distant. "You… said that you liked it, when things were named. As for me, I… could use your judgment—" If his voice could nudge, this would be akin to it. "…And your company."
When you looked back at him, you noticed it.
There was a flicker of something boyish in him just then. Dare you say it—hopefully boyish. Not the crown prince, not the diplomatic heir, but a young man with the anticipation of spending a day out in town with…
You.
With you.
You gave a quiet smile, “Then I’ll come.”
Fully, then, his expression softened into something warm, and you watched as his shoulders relaxed.
Was he nervous?
“Good," he nodded, "I’ll have horses prepared for us both.”
You realized, then, that the conviction of that little girl—the one who gave him the umbrella, the one so bold as to assume of his struggles… She still existed. She always had. And now, you grasped at the loose fabric of his cloak.
"Prince Xavier."
He looked over his shoulder.
"I… didn't say I'd come just because you asked.”
He held your gaze for a long second, and then with the barest tilt of his head, he said—
"I know."
You could have sworn you'd seen a smile on his face before he left.
&—
The town was alive with spring.
Bright pennants fluttered above cobbled streets, the scent of blooming flowers mingled with roasted chestnuts and freshly-baked bread. Market stalls stretched out in neat rows. Each one seemed to be bursting with color—baskets of fruit, rows of dyed fabrics, arrays of trinkets, and even displays of spice jars… It had been a while since you'd ventured out into town, and you couldn't recall it being quite so colorful. A lute played in the distance, a melody jovial enough for a town square dance. Just a little down the block you could see the townsfolk gathering over to dance, and even the mere sight of it made you smile.
It was so easy here, to forget about it. The duties, the formalities.
You even nudged the man beside you to point him in the direction of the ongoing dance, and you were pleased to see that the smile Xavier was wearing wasn't quite the forced, polite grin he often wore in front of the court.
And Xavier wore his most inconspicuous cloak.
He called it that, anyway.
It wasn't very inconspicuous.
Even browsing through the markets while many were occupied with the dance still drew glances here and there, and you shrank, a little, into your cloak.
"You’re drawing more attention than I am,” you said dryly.
"Oh. Is it the boots? They do shine a bit…”
Oblivious.
"No, you've even dusted them. I'd say it’s more the way you look like… uh, someone who’s never had to haggle in his life.”
Almost as if to prove your point, you watched with a sigh as he stopped at a stall. Honeyed pastries, you noted—not that you knew Xavier to have a particularly sweet tooth, but you let him be anyway.
He held up a coin. "How much for two?"
The vendor, a stout man with a crooked smile, squinted. “For you? Five copper.”
“That seems high…"
You crossed your arms, and at your lack of response, Xavier turned to you disapprovingly. "You’re supposed to back me up.”
Another grin made its way to your face, and an eyebrow raised. "Should I? But this is the real world, my liege.”
Xavier hadn't the heart to argue then.
He handed over the necessary coins, then gave one of the pastries to you with a little frown on his face.
The thought made its way to your head before you could stop it:
Cute.
"You're enjoying this," he mumbled.
“Immensely.”
And wandering through the square proved easy enough.
Every now and then the tune would change, a couple more musicians would join in the fun, and the music would become a little livelier. You and Xavier, on the other hand, took an easy pace—sampling food whenever you could, and pausing to admire the local handiwork on display. So many things were adorable. Though your own room was quite plain and you thought you had little need for trinkets and displays, a smile would show whenever you stopped by one that had caught your attention.
The next time it happened, you'd run your fingers over a bundle of blue-and-yellow blossoms, a striking difference out of the other ceramic paper weights. And Xavier caught your wrist.
"You want one?" he asked quietly.
"I… I don't need one—"
"I didn't ask if you needed them."
Xavier was a man of a few words, but oftentimes it was his actions that shone through the most.
You couldn't answer him.
He bought the paper weight and handed it to you with a little air of triumph—"They're forget-me-nots," he smiled. "If we can find the real flowers one day, then I'd like to give them to you."
You didn't think about how his voice was so gentle; you didn't think about the implications of receiving flowers from the Crown Prince.
Instead, ignoring the skip of your heartbeat, you stared forward.
At the end of the street, the corner rounded into a bookstore that you knew had already been marked on Xavier's itinerary.
You glanced up;
Noontime.
You'd spent the entire morning here, and likely would a couple more hours at this one final stop. Briefly in your head you wondered how Xavier had gotten out of his royal duties for the day, but you didn't question it aloud, you just followed him in.
With a soft jingle, the bell above the doorway signaled your entrance. Immediately the music from town square seemed to drown itself out.
It was quiet here. Serene, almost. And even if you hadn't yet been here before, the scent of ink and parchment washed over you, old and familiar. Naturally Xavier had been drawn towards the back shelves, but you stood a while by the entrance in awe at the vast collection—It was almost as big as the royal libraries.
Separated from Xavier, you were left to browse in silence. Your hand trailed over the spines of various travelogues and maps; various novels, encyclopedias, memoirs…
And then a few few minutes passed by like that before you heard it.
“You have good taste,” came a kind, gentle voice.
It was somewhere off to the distance—you weren't far behind from where Xavier had headed off to, and it seemed to be coming from there.
You heard the flip of a page, then, and a quiet laugh—
"I try," came Xavier's voice next. Cordial, polite, and just friendly enough to engage.
But this was not his princely voice. You knew it well, but perhaps you'd gotten too far in your head to believe he'd only use such a tone with you alone.
The girl laughed, and you quietly approached the section. “You picked one of my favorites! I always hoped someone would notice it. It's been a while since anyone had."
"Really? Then I'm honored."
You saw her, then. Peeked through the shelves to catch a glimpse. A young woman with neatly braided hair stood across from him, sorting a stack of volumes just nearby. She was charming, in a sense—you could see it, from where you were. A little soft-spoken, despite the excitement in her voice, and decidedly friendly. Looking at her like this reminded you of sunlit flower patches, even—of the spring breeze, just outside where you'd come from.
Perhaps, she's…
“I’d… offer you a list of recommendations?” she peeked at him, “but I imagine you already know what you like…"
Xavier shook his head. "Still, I’d be curious to hear.”
It was a scene you couldn't bring yourself to watch.
With a quiet exhale, you put down the book you'd been holding, approached them to give a bow in the woman's direction and a tap on Xavier's shoulder—
"I'll be outside if you need me."
You couldn't even bring yourself to look at her.
Already a knot had formed in your stomach, and you wondered just how selfish you were being.
Best to just remove myself from here.
You didn't listen for Xavier's response before you turned and left.
Outside, the late afternoon air was different; sweeter. You'd spend more time inside than you thought, as now the music had died down, and the stalls were picking up. The street was still warm from the day; children were scattered playing a ways off and kicking a ball through the patches of grass. Lively, in its own way, but a lot… different. As if whatever festival had taken place in the morning had since simmered down into a gentler sun-soaked gathering.
It was calming.
The fresh air was nice—if the bookshop felt like its own little world, then this felt more… grounding.
Off in the distance you could see the outline of the palace you'd come from, and again you would recall what you really were. What you were allowed. What you should.
How pretentious for a mere knight.
You'd gotten so caught up in the day's events that you were right back where you'd started. You were a knight; his knight, sure, but a knight nonetheless. Special treatment be damned.
You traced the paper weight you'd kept in your cloak, and thought—maybe it wasn't even special treatment; the Prince was free to be comfortable with whomever he chose. The Prince was free to speak with whomever he chose.
So, the Prince was free to be friendly with whomever he chose.
It shouldn't even matter to you.
Yet you smiled bitterly, kicked absentmindedly at the concrete. You had to remind yourself—you weren't special; you couldn't be. You were just a knight, after all.
That was all there was to it.
The door creaked open behind you a minute later.
“You vanished."
Xavier's voice.
Again came that tongue of yours without thinking, a sentence you'd dared to utter before recoiling with a wince—
“Didn’t want to interrupt your literary courtship.”
A breeze passed.
One glance at him showed he hadn't gotten a stack of books like you'd expected, but instead carried a single novel.
It wasn't the one they'd been talking about when you left.
"You… think that's what it was?"
He spoke slowly, as if unsure—
You, on the other hand, turned away and spoke too quickly.
“No,” you coughed, “of course not.”
“…Hm.”
He didn’t say anything else.
He just walked beside you again as you made your way toward the stables, steps aligned still, but—
Quieter, now.
And though nothing had changed between you outwardly, you couldn’t quite ignore that same pinch in your chest; so uncomfortable. The sharp awareness of how easily someone else might belong in that quiet, private moment with him—how simple it could be.
Too simple.
As you mounted your horses, you stayed a respectable pace behind him. By now, the sun was dipping low, and it was the close of the day. Neither of you spoke for several paces.
Instead you busied yourself with the streets that faded into fields, the lush green mixing with the tangerine reflections of the sunset. The horses were comfortable; trotting along at your leisurely pace and completely unaware of the awkwardness that had settled between you.
It was Xavier who broke the silence first.
"You know, she only spoke to me because I picked her favorite book.”
You let out a soft laugh. "I didn't say anything."
“You didn’t have to.”
There was no edge in his voice—just quiet observation, a statement offered like a coin left on the table. Dare you say that it was gentle, as if clearly offering to soothe.
How embarrassing.
You closed your eyes, allowed yourself to feel the wind through your hair as you rode past the fields. And then you let out a slow breath.
"It wasn't jealousy."
It was.
"Wasn't it?"
He turned back to face you ever so slightly, and you could have sworn you heard him scoff.
He didn't believe you.
You didn't believe yourself, either.
"Why… Why would I be jealous?" you muttered.
“I don’t know,” he hummed, as if that wasn’t the point, “but it lingered.”
It… lingered?
Something about it twisted in your head—and though you wished, so desperately wished you didn't think it, you wondered, just then, if that moment of jealousy had sparked in him a little.
Did it bother him?
Was this his way of apologizing for it?
You could have scoffed at yourself just for thinking it.
Selfish. Unbecoming. Absolutely out of the protocol.
The horses had trot a little while further, and the castle became clearer in your view.
Then he added, softly; "You don't have to explain it."
And leave it to Xavier to know what to say to you.
You couldn't explain it even if you were asked to, but somehow, that was soothing enough. That was reassuring enough. Such a simple sentence, just a few words—in a way, it placated the restlessness that had settled in your heart. You wondered if that was a good thing or not.
He's too kind, you thought. He's too…
You were grateful, in that moment, that he was still that few paces in front of you.
He couldn't see the small, giddy smile on your lips, the faint blush at the tips of your ears.
He's really, really, truly… the Prince of Philos.
The rest of the ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Perhaps… you'd become too used, to leaving things unsaid.
When your feet touched the cobble of the palace grounds, he spoke again. First, as always; as an invitation for you to follow. "Thank you for coming with me today.”
“…I didn’t mind.”
“I know. But I'm glad you came anyway."
He offered a gentle pat on the top of your head, a light, fleeting touch, before he left.
Your own words stayed on the tip of your tongue.
I was happy to be with you, too.
&—
It became frequent. Sort of a ritual, by now.
Escapes beyond the palace walls; little excursions, here and there. Whenever the both of you could get a moment, you'd simply take the chance. By now, it was a wonder to you that not a single soul had questioned it. The guards stationed at the gate would let you through without thinking; your fellow knights would wave you off when you'd excuse yourself on behalf of the Prince's orders.
Or, so he'd say—
Xavier would find reasons to ride out, and you would be summoned to accompany him, though it was never quite called an order.
Always an invitation.
One you were free to refuse, at any given moment, but you—
You never did.
You never could.
Still, selfishly, longingly, you would grasp at the straws of his affection. At another chance, another moment, to still be with him.
This time, now, it was a simple ride out into the forests.
Nobody questioned the prince's whims. Therefore, nobody questioned you, either.
And so you took the forest trail at an easy pace, your horses side by side beneath the arching trees. It was still spring—the breeze was cool. Flowers littered the path at given moments, and the rustling of the leaves overhead seemed to soothe.
You could recall when all things, had been like this.
And Xavier voiced your thoughts with a hum.
"I missed this,” he spoke, shifting in his saddle as he ducked a low branch. “When it was just sparring, riding, running drills without purpose...”
“No politics,” you laughed.
“No courtiers.”
“Just… bruises.”
He smiled, “Simpler times.”
The forest welcomed you as you rode in further, the canopy above thick with green and filtering sunlight into dapples across the path. As silence settled between you, the birds chirped softly overhead. The horses' hooves thudded rhythmically over soft earth. In this brief moment of respite, you noticed the way your leisurely pace blended seamlessly with the breeze, and Xavier's cloak fluttered lightly.
"You remember though, don't you?" he glanced to you before going on ahead as the path narrowed slightly. "How we used to train here before."
“Vividly. Because you kept distracting me.”
“Me?”
You could hardly believe that he was being incredulous.
"Yes, you! Every time I had a chance at winning, you’d charm a bird into landing on your shoulder!”
“That bird chose me,” he waved a hand dismissively, “I can't control the woodland creatures."
“But you also had a rabbit interrupt us. And once, a deer.”
“That was a noble stag. I remember… he had kind eyes. I thought he deserved a moment of my time.”
“You offered him your apple and called it a diplomatic exchange."
“He accepted, didn't he?"
“And I looked like I was going to win that round, until you called for a break!"
Xavier’s laugh echoed softly through the trees. “You were only grateful for the interruption. You could never beat me with a blade.”
Why, you—!
"Ugh, you just had longer arms!" you cried indignantly. "And better balance! And the annoying habit of being infuriatingly graceful!"
Yet even though you wished to throw a rock at him, the light bickering made you smile. Truly, simpler times. Back then, it was easier for both of you to be close—that even in all your loyalty, you'd felt the presence of a boy, and the friendship of one.
You wondered when exactly that had changed.
"Let's stop here and rest."
Your horses eased to a halt as the trail opened into a small clearing.
This was a clearing you knew well from the earlier days—our enlistment as a knight-in-training; your trainings with the others and especially even Xavier himself. It hadn't taken long for you to rise to a position that had his personal swordsmaster take you in as an additional apprentice, but those days still laid fondly in the forefront of your mind. Now, here, again after so, so long, you let your gaze sweep around. These things were still here. The underbrush was dotted with the same low shrubs that used to snag at your boots during drills, and the worn stumps still sat in a half-circle where your instructor had once set up little sparring exercises.
Just as you remembered.
Xavier dismounted and looked around with you while wearing a small, thoughtful smile, “I used to think this place was the whole world,” he said, running a hand over the mossy bark of a tree. “Before councils and court politics and formal wear.”
“Pff. You hated formal wear back then.”
“I still do.”
Following in his movements, you slipped off your horse and stretched.
Again the quiet, soothing sounds of the forest rang through the clearing.
“…Remember? You also used to say this place was better than any hall in the palace.” The way you said it carried a quiet laugh.
"But don't you?"
"No, no, I do! I mean, even… now, I think. It's just more peaceful here. Something about the quiet… geez, you must be rubbing off on me."
It was Xavier who liked the quiet, right?
With a playful roll of your eyes, you who chose a spot under a tree, leaning back against its trunk to stretch your legs. "Ugh, but I really did try to beat you, you know,” you huffed at him.
“I know.” He looked down, and his smile turned soft. He sat cross-legged across you, fished an apple from his satchel and tossed it over. “You always fought like you had something to prove, even when you didn’t need to. How old were we then?”
“Well it was because I used to get so frustrated when you beat me!" You shook your head, caught the apple and polished it with your sleeve. “I trained so hard, you know? And you made it look effortless!”
“Only because I started much earlier, and you were a new knight-in-training. But…"
Xavier stopped, then.
In the pause, he looked at you—really looked at you, this time, you felt. And when he smiled, you thought you'd never seen him look at you so fondly before. "You were formidable," he added, sincerely. "Even back then. And even now."
His words flowed so easy. Like sunlight, filtering through the leaves.
And the two of you leaned back in silence, staring up at the sky, enjoying the breeze and the quiet moment that you had for your own.
If only… things could always be like this.
Xavier made a thoughtful sound, then.
The both of you saw it—clouds began to gather, and though the droplets had yet to fall, you knew the blue of the sky would slowly drown out into gray.
"…Rain," he murmured.
You huffed in disappointment and moved to sit up.
Xavier was quick to mount his horse. "We’re not far from that old shed," he nodded ahead, "the one near the upper ridge. If it starts to pour, we’ll shelter there."
You could make it, you thought.
And when the rain came down—soft at first, then heavy, soaking them through in minutes—you'd kicked your horses into a light canter, water flicking off hooves and cloaks, until the familiar silhouette of the weathered wooden shed came into view.
Inside, you tied the horses to the sheltered posts and ducked in, breathless and dripping.
He shook the water from his hair. “I guess… we made it in time. Somewhat.”
You wrung out your cloak, glancing around the space.
Outside now the rain fell in a steady hush, cloaking the forest in silver dew. But here, it smelled of cedar and damp earth. The wooden beams creaked softly overhead. It hadn’t changed—rough beams, a dusty cot, and a cracked window that, thankfully despite the spring pour, seemed not to bother them.
A memory stirred.
Not too far from here, the chapel…
Wryly you took off your gloves and leaned them on the windowsill, watching droplets streak down the glass. “So this place is still standing, huh? That’s something.”
He gave a quiet laugh, stepping closer to peer outside.
You watched him, a moment. A memory stirred—if, for you it was something, then you could only imagine how it might be like for him.
"Are you… okay? Being here again?" you tested the waters with a gentle tone.
Reliving the worst moments of your life tends to be difficult. If he perhaps needed a distraction...
Yet contrary to your expectations, he didn't look back at you, only shrugged, slightly. His tone was even when he spoke. "It's not far from the training clearing, I don't mind. I guess it's only that it's been a while."
You weren't sure if you were thinking the same thing. So instead of trying to push it further, you moved to sit down on the edge of the cot.
The rain continued to patter rhythmically on the old roof of the shelter.
As usual, still, it was Xavier who spoke first to fill that silence.
"The chapel's nearby."
It was then that he turned towards you, and he leaned against the window with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. There was a faint smile on his face. One that didn't quite meet his eyes. "That day… My mother's funeral was held, and it was raining, too."
You looked at him, stayed silent.
"Your hometown. It's not too far in this direction either, isn't it? A small village over to the west."
"…Mn."
"And you joined the knights when you were fifteen." Xavier glanced out again. "When we met, you were already more loyal than the other knights-in-training."
You watched as a faint smile became visible on his lips.
He nodded his head in the direction of the corner behind you—
And when you turned, your breath caught in your throat.
"You'll get sick out in the rain, Sir Prince."
You could hear that tiny voice; the younger you.
Without waiting for him to speak, you stood up; walked towards the umbrella leaning by the wall, picked it up as if it were so fragile it could break at just a single touch.
"You… remember?" you whispered.
There was no way that he could. You continued to stare at it, eyes slightly wide, a frown of confusion on your face—disbelief, in its purest form. You couldn't recall exactly how many years it had been, but though it had meant something to you, you didn't know if could mean something to him.
Yet your back remained turned to him, but you could see him smiling.
"I've never forgotten."
Gently you ran your hand over the now-torn cloth binding the bamboo together. Such a flimsy umbrella. You'd given this to a prince.
"The first time we met," you mumbled, "it wasn't at the hall, when I'd applied, it was…"
"Out in the rain."
He finished for you.
"…Yeah."
This time, you turned. You raised the hand that held the umbrella. "Why did you keep this?"
Disbelief still continued to lace in your voice, but it was a fond one. One that almost made you laugh, one that almost made you utterly at a loss of what to say or really do.
The Crown Prince was full of surprises.
"I mean, you— didn't even know me. How could—?"
Xavier laughed, quietly, and shook his head.
"You took my hand, and you were kind. And then you were the only one who didn't approach me like I might shatter. I always hoped I'd see you again."
And when you looked at him then—truly looked, your eyes settling fondly onto his—you caught sight of it.
In his eyes laid something steady, warm, and unguarded.
"So a moment you think was small can be everything to someone else," you murmured.
Your gaze flitted momentarily to the umbrella as you set it back down, and then you took slow, tentative steps towards him.
“I think,” Xavier laughed softly, “you’ve been by my side longer than either of us realized.”
And my oath began long before I'd taken the blade.
Now, between the both of you, settled a silence.
It wasn't awkward.
It wasn't tension-filled.
It was full of unspoken things, of shared space, of a history now revealed in the low light and the scent of wet earth—
But it wasn't awkward.
Somehow, having the truth out in the open felt as if the two of you had taken a step closer.
Once again, 15 centimeters became 5.
In that moment, Xavier shifted first, stepping away from the window. He shrugged off his outer cloak and crossed the space toward you, holding it out—
“You're soaked."
You stared for a moment.
"You're also—?"
Yet your hands reached for the cloth as if you were physically unable to disobey, and you weighed it carefully. It was— warm. You'd forgotten his was more well-tailored, obviously better off than your own. Only its outer had been wet in the rain, and inside, the wool was still warm from his own heat.
You'd gotten the brunt of the rainfall, but he hadn't.
"I don't have a bamboo umbrella to give," he said lightly, "but this should be enough."
The tone to his voice told you that he was joking, and you couldn't help but scoff. "Won't you be cold?"
"You're the one who's wet. So I'd rather that you don't."
So you folded the cloak over your shoulders and sat back on the edge of the cot, the old wood creaking gently beneath.
You watched—Xavier moved and crouched near the fireplace, then. You couldn't quite tell why he was busying himself; the ash had long gone cold, but he still bothered to sort through what remained of the kindling pile.
When he stood again, he held something small and folded—an old piece of cloth, thin and soft with age.
He offered it to you wordlessly.
Something akin to a cat, when it had caught a prey it was proud of.
The imagery almost made you smirk.
"…Uh?"
"Your gloves," he smiled patiently. "I could at least dry them a little. It's better than nothing."
That smile really does look like a proud kitten's...
You coughed, looked away. Tried to compose yourself.
What were you doing?
"Your Highness, with all due respect, you shouldn't—"
"No, I'll do what I'm able."
Silence.
You looked back at him, both aghast and a little bit amused, and then you sighed.
An owner never refuses a cat's gifts if she wants to make it feel loved, anyway... Right?
Slowly you peeled the gloves off, one by one. Undeniably, your fingers were cold—again you were reminded that you'd gotten way too much of the rain soaked through your clothes, and you were suddenly grateful for Xavier's offered help. It was as if he knew that when he took them from you, carefully, like they were something delicate, and he knelt by the cot’s frame. Pressing the damp leather gently in the cloth, you watched his hands. Steady, careful, far more patient than you ever could be.
He looked up.
Your eyes met again.
And this time, he shifted beside you, enough at least for your shoulders to touch once more. As if that warmth, from just earlier, was one he would rather not be without.
You breathed in slowly. The moment felt… still. Peaceful, even.
You could, just…
You rest your shoulder right against his.
He'd subtly drawn you closer with an arm around your waist, half to shift you into something comfortable, half to just—
Press his lips into your hair.
It was so light, so subtle.
Barely there.
Yet your heart stopped, a moment.
When you looked up at him, there was one expression you had never quite seen before. One you didn't know how to react to, but one you knew felt more real, and more vulnerable, than all the others.
"May I?"
He didn't ask it out loud, but you could hear it.
And you didn't move—he did.
Leaned in.
Slow, steady movements—like he was still thinking about it, like he was still unsure, but like he still—wanted to.
Your breath caught again. He hadn't leaned in all the way, just enough that your heart stilled a second time, and your fingers curled slightly in the folds of the cloak.
It would be easy. So easy.
If he just moved, a little closer, a little more—
A pause.
He didn't.
Instead of kissing you, Xavier rested his forehead against yours, looked at you in that same gentle, quiet manner that he often did.
A pause in time.
You could feel how close he was; how just a little movement could brush your lips against his.
And then he pulled back with a quiet breath and spoke; “We should get back.”
…Ah.
You gulped down the bile that had formed in your throat, and out of the corner of your eyes you could see the rain beginning to still.
You looked away.
Nodded, once.
"…Yeah. We should."
And the thread had been pulled tighter.
&—
That evening, you weren't quite expecting to see him still awake.
The corridor was quiet, lined with golden light from the torches on the wall, and you'd just passed his door on your way to the stairwell when it opened with a soft creak.
Xavier noticed, called out to you gently. “Are you done for today?”
You stopped in your tracks.
Nightly patrols were so normal, you'd have forgotten that otherwise, you didn't really have the need to pass by here.
Yet when you turned to look back at him, he'd made his way to the doorway, opened it a little wider.
It was rare for you to see him like this. A shirt over trousers, already untucked, sleeves half-rolled, a slight tousle to his hair to give it a look quite unlike the neatly-combed style he wore in the mornings.
This was little less like the prince you knew—even less than the one you'd seen, that day you went out into town together, and even less than the one you do see on your excursions.
Now, that air of elegance about him gave way to a sort of boyish charm, one less looked after, one less coerced into the face that stood in the court.
So rare.
You felt your heart skip a beat the longer you looked at him, and you could have sworn your cheeks had heated up even a little bit.
Xavier had always been handsome, but this was quite something else.
A smile played at his lips as you shyly looked down, and answered, "Yes, my liege, everything's settled now for the evening.”
He didn’t move right away. Just leaned a little against the doorframe, gaze still thoughtfully resting upon you— Then he stepped back and opened the door even wider.
“Do you… want to come in?”
You stopped. Looked at him, blinked rapidly as if you believed you'd heard wrong—
Well, you did believe that, sort of. Xavier had never invited you inside before.
Little peeks here and there, of course, and conversations in the doorway, delivered letters and reports as necessary— but— only his maidservants were ever the ones allowed inside.
That was a privilege even he had never granted to you. Nor, you assumed, any other royal, to any other knight.
This was out of the protocol.
You wondered, then, if a panicked look had come across your face without your notice, because he let out a laugh next—
"Don't worry, you're not breaking any rules. I just think… maybe, we can have some tea together."
Your throat felt dry.
Not in a bad way, but rather, uncertain. And giddy, almost.
Yet when had you really refused him?
You wondered if you were only making excuses for yourself, but he had invited you. And he was right, of course, you weren't breaking any rules, so you could just—
You nodded.
Slowly you stepped in, took a look around a little more properly.
It was much bigger than yours, of course. Much neater, much more well-kept, despite all the fancy beddings and fancy furniture and fancy—well, everything, really. Off to the side, the hearth was low and steady, casting the walls in quiet amber. It all gave off a certain kind of warmth—a certain comfort—despite the way you noticed papers spread across his desk, an unrolled map on the edge of it with markings you weren't well-versed enough to understand.
Cozy.
The first thought in your head.
"I… didn't expect you to be up so late, Your Highness," you scratched your cheek sheepishly. "I hope I'm not interrupting…"
But he waved your concerns away quite casually. "No, I was only pretending to be productive. I've been more of… reading. But I told myself I’d stop after I finished this page, and that was… three pages ago.”
At the sound of his chuckle, you too laughed, and then you found the courage to approach a little deeper into the room. You moved towards a seat near the fireplace, took note of the little pot of tea he'd placed to the side.
You didn't pour yourself one just yet, but it made you smile.
There were two teacups there.
Maybe you were delusional enough to think he'd actually prepared it like this.
"That, uh, sounds familiar," you smiled a little. "I told myself I’d rest after the watch changed—final patrol of the evening and all, you know? But that was before I found the kitchen boy asleep in the armory. With a basket of warm bread.”
He glanced up again, eyebrows raised slightly in amusement. “Did you tell him off?”
"No, he… looked half-frozen. I gave him the cloak off the rack, and told him to disappear before someone less forgiving found him.”
"Kind, though the kitchen may be missing that bread.”
You quirked another smile; shrugged. “I’d be more concerned about the missing cloak, actually. It was even embroidered...”
“Then I suppose that’s a mystery for the morning.”
Another shared laugh.
Yet silence fell again as it was he who reached for the tea. Taking a seat next to you, he poured two—one for him, and one for you, and gently handed it over. The fire was warm enough, you'd thought, but the cup in your hands filled you with such homeliness that you couldn't say anything quite in protest.
Instead, you gave him a grateful smile.
"W- well, I… heard something strange earlier,” you started quietly, swirling the tea in the cup. “The steward was fretting about someone rearranging the seating plan for tomorrow's meeting, or something. Is it so much of an important one, I wonder?"
Xavier made a face. “It seems the case. I walked past the hall and heard someone debating the proximity of the soup course, to a single baron’s allergy. I decided to leave.”
Your smile turned to yet another grin; it was just like Xavier to want to avoid such things.
"Wise, though," you mused. A sip of your tea before you let it rest again. "I suppose they'd have dragged you in for a pointless conversation if you'd stayed."
He laughed, soft and muffled behind his own tea cup, and gave you a slight nudge.
"How are your patrols? I believe it's a new rotation starting tomorrow."
"Yeah, the new roster got posted just after supper earlier." You leaned back a little, let out something like a sigh. Just remembering the discussion it had sparked just earlier made you wrinkle your nose. “One of the guards thinks someone’s out to sabotage him. He’s on the northern courtyard again.”
"Is the northern courtyard so bad?"
"No, just… quite large, and further away. It does get a little boring…"
“Maybe he just draws the short straw.”
You couldn't help the grin that formed on your face. "You know, I did tell him that," you chuckled. “He didn’t like it.”
In that moment, your eyes met briefly across the firelight. It wasn’t a moment charged with anything obvious, but there was comfort in it.
Familiarity.
The quiet that settled was filling, but not deafening, and you both stared quietly into the room as you sipped your tea.
It was only after a moment that he looked down at his desk again, then closed the book with a quiet snap.
“It’s late,” he said. “You should rest.”
The inevitable.
You'd forgotten for a moment that you were in the prince's quarters, and the mere thought of it—the realization of it—caused you to rush up almost abruptly.
"Oh! O-of course, Your Highness, I should let you rest!" You sat down the teacup, brushed your hands on your tunic, "I— I'll get going, thank you. The tea was… lovely."
Yet even as you made brisk steps towards the door, he followed you still. You'd barely even made to push it open, when his fingers caught yours briefly—
“Wait.”
Your heart thrummed in your chest, almost terrified to turn around.
The way he'd said it was so… soft.
Pleading, almost.
Vulnerable.
It had been so long… since you'd ever heard him so vulnerable. You weren't sure if you were even allowed to see.
Yet—
"…Look at me?" he murmured.
And it wasn't an order, it never really was, with him, but… you could never refuse.
Your head turned, slightly, just enough to catch his gaze. Just enough to melt.
"Yes?" you whispered.
And he didn't answer with words.
Instead he leaned forward, slowly, carefully… and pressed a tiny kiss to your lips.
Soft, gentle.
Unspoken, as though it had always belonged there.
Your mind fogged.
You didn’t lean in, didn’t pull away—just stayed there, breathing in the stillness of it, allowing yourself to burn this sensation into your mind.
He's kissing me, you thought.
Prince Xavier is….
You were dizzy when he drew back, yet he didn’t look surprised by what he’d done. He only smiled.
That soft, adorable, gentle little smile.
He let go of your hand.
“Goodnight,” he said quietly.
You felt had barely the consciousness to reply.
"G- goodnight, my prince."
And you turned, left, and the door closed quietly behind you.
The corridor felt longer than usual when you walked away.
The warmth of the firelight still danced behind your eyelids; your fingers brushed absentmindedly over the walls, as though trying to hold on to the moment a little longer.
Your first kiss.
Your first kiss… with the Crown Prince of Philos.
You had to place a hand over your heart; it was racing much too quickly. You couldn’t even quite remember how your feet had carried you out of the hall, the only thing you could was the quiet hum of his voice. The way his lips had felt, how easily the kiss had unfolded—so natural, as if it were always meant to happen.
This was insane.
The candlelight flickered softly in the hallway, casting long, quiet shadows along the stone walls as you continued to walk. With how late it was, your footsteps echoed. Rhythm unsteady, slower than usual—as if your feet were floating above the ground. Given that your mind, too, was drifting somewhere far above the confines of the castle, it made complete sense—
You were in fact somewhere soft. Somewhere warm.
Somewhere with him.
You were still grinning to yourself, and it felt ridiculous by now. Your heart was still pounding, because you had always kept your composure around him, every step measured, every glance controlled, but—
Professionalism? Where would that fall?
Now everything felt lighter, like the rules you'd built around you were suddenly so... unnecessary.
And once you reached your room, you faltered. Shut the door behind you, leaned against it, buried your face in your hands with a barely-contained squeal.
Your fingers unconsciously reached up to touch your lips, and you knew.
Xavier - Love and Deepspace - Racer AU - Day 4 - XavMc Week 2025
Pairing: female reader x Xavier
Word count: 804
Warnings: none
A/N: a racer AU for Xavier and MC week 2025! No nsfw content, but be aware my blog is 18+.
It’s another sunny day, and you are ready for another day at work. As a sports journalist, you need to make sure to find a good spot today to interview at least one driver from each team and upload the interviews later on in your company’s channel.
Despite the turmoil of finding the drivers, as several journalists are trying to interview them all at the same time, you manage to talk to all the ones you want.
Now heading to the journalist VIP area to watch the race, you see a guy wearing a gorgeous white and blue race suit sitting on a bench. His name is Xavier, and he is also a driver. He seems focused while repairing something on his team’s car.
Then, you just have a last-minute idea: what if you interview this guy as well? Maybe you can even get a work bonus if you add extra content for the channel.
“Excuse me, sir, do you mind answering a few questions about the race for our channel? I’m a journalist and I’ll be covering this event today.”
“An interview? Hmm. If it’s quick, I guess it’s fine.”
Excited, you waste no time and ask him some questions. His answers are always straight to the point, and you manage to finish the interview in just a few minutes.
After uploading all the interviews online, you move to the VIP area. As the race hadn't started yet, you decided to check the driver’s profile on your phone. The last dude you interviewed is not as popular as the other ones, but his results are pretty solid. He has a good position in the standings, but somehow, you don’t seem to find much content about him online.
Two hours later, the race comes to an end, and Xavier wins for the first time this season. He is now leading the championship.
---
The following day after Xavier's victory, you are at the office talking to your bosses. They were praising your job, saying that your timing couldn’t be better. Not only were the interview videos a success, but Xavier’s popularity skyrocketed in the last 24 hours.
However, a few minutes later, the secretary let you know that a good-looking man was waiting for you at the building's entrance. Much to your surprise, when you get there, you see Xavier himself waiting for you.
He came to your place to question you about what he considered a ‘disaster’.
Now, you see yourself confused and cornered by a hot guy who hates his popularity and wants you to solve the ‘problem’.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“What? I can’t do anything about it. No way I’m deleting the video.”
“Hmm-”
“Then-”
Xavier grabs you by the wrist and takes you to his car.
“You can go on a date with me then.”
“What??!!!”, you scream incredulously.
“You owe me compensation after that interview.”
“I didn’t force you! Besides, you also won the race, so that’s on you!”
“Hmm. You’re very argumentative, aren’t you?”
“Well, obviously! I don’t know you?!”
“You could know me now if you get in the car?”
“What? Are you serious, Xavier?”
“Listen, I’m sorry you don’t like the attention you are getting right now, but I’m pretty sure you’ll be just fine. I need to get back to work.”
You try to go back to the building, but Xavier does not get out of the way, preventing you from leaving his side.
After several failed attempts, you see that he is not letting you go. You then decide to negotiate with him one last time.
“You’re not giving up, are you?”
“No.”
“Fine, then. A date, and you let me go. But I wanna know where you're taking me. And if you do anything funny, I’ll call the cops on you!”
*chuckles* “Okay.”
Xavier invites you to eat some ice cream, which you promptly accept. Everything seems solved for now, but while you are heading to the ice cream parlor, you are unaware that during all that back and forth, some people recorded that whole exchange, and there are pictures and videos of you two all over the internet. It doesn’t take much for his best friend, Jeremiah, to send him a message:
“Xavier, I can’t believe you went to her workplace just like that! She is gonna think you are a weirdo! And you could have just told her the truth, you know? That you actually knew who she was because you like her work a lot, and you wanted to invite her after the race to get to know each other. And that you also think she is pretty... But well, I hope you have fun. Oh, and please invite her to visit our garage next race! I want to meet her too. She is so cool!”
In which, after a long mission, you decide to comfort Xavier by washing his hair.
Little did you know, it would lead to other consequences..
“You..wanna help wash my hair?”
Xavier stares at your adorable figure, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He has just returned from a classified mission and is in the process of unbuttoning his shirt when you walk in with the proposal. He isn’t averse to the idea. Rather he’d welcome any form of skin contact if it’s you but the fact that this is the first time you’ve suggested doing something like this makes him slightly suspicious.
He tilts his head and frowns. “Am I being pranked?”
You giggle as you head to the cabinet and pull out your bottle of shampoo. “Xavier, you look like a bunny who rolled around in the mud. I simply wanna help clean up.”
“Well then, you can wash my hair but, ” He scratches his cheek and smiles, a playful threat in his eyes, “..know that this bunny will bite if you try anything funny.”
You shake your head and gesture with your hand for him to come over to the bathtub. The smile never leaves his face as he deftly undoes the last few buttons on his shirt and discards it, followed by the black turtleneck to reveal the muscular build of his torso. The sight still makes you shy like a schoolgirl so you avert your eyes and dip a finger in the tub to assess the temperature of the water instead.
“Okay just..”
When you crane your head back, you find him clad in nothing but his boxers. Your eyes involuntarily travel south and the apparent bulge shouldn’t surprise you, considering the fact that you have already seen the real thing in action, but it does. A heated blush blooms upon your face as he makes his way to you and settles into the tub, completely oblivious to the effect he has on you.
While he adjusts himself in the tub, he’s quiet but not uncomfortable. Rather, his eyes seem to be twinkling like a cat that got the cream. And his body is positively glowing like a radiant star. “I’m ready.”
It’s impossible to believe he suspected you of pranking him just a moment ago when he looks like the happiest bunny right now. You take up the hand shower’s cord and gently pour water on his hair.
“Close your eyes, lean back, and relax.”
He obliges.
You let your fingers run through the strands to evenly wet his hair, and he hums in approval. The sight makes you smile, and you proceed to squeeze out a generous amount of the shampoo in your palm. Then slowly, you massage the liquid into his hair and scalp, earning another sound of approval, this one deeper.
“Glad you’re enjoying this.”
“I am.” His reply is a breathy whisper, barely audible because of your proximity. And his cheeks are flushed a pretty hue of pink. Who knew he’d be enjoying something so simple so much?
You continue on, massaging his scalp for another minute before taking up the shower cord again. “Eyes closed, okay?”
He doesn’t respond but his eyes are closed regardless so you spray his hair with water, and begin rinsing off the shampoo. Your fingers card through his wet, silvery locks to make sure the lather isn’t left anywhere.
After you are done, you stand up to grab a towel but before you can take a step, his wet hand comes up to grasp your wrist. “Wait! You’re done already?”
His eyes are open now, big and blue and disappointed.
“Um..yeah..” You shrug. “It’s done.”
“But I just..”
He tugs at your wrist and due to the wet, soapy floor, you end up slipping, your face smacking right on his half-submerged torso.
“Ugh..Xavier you!”
Clumsily, you try to sit up, and in the process, your hand glides down, accidentally landing on something firm. Immediately you retract your hand and stare at him, face flushed beyond words.
“Is that..are you..?”
He passes a hand through his hair, the other leaving your wrist to instead wrap around your waist, and properly draw you on top of him in the tub. His eyes are heavily lidded and voice hoarse as he asks, “What if I am?”
You are too stunned for words. The article you read online only talked about this being an act of intimacy and domesticity between couples. And it’s not that you aren’t flattered but you had no idea this could turn sexual.
You punch his chest lightly. “I was only trying to help you relax!”
“And you’re doing so well.” His thumb easily unfurls your fist and he guides your palm back under the suds to rest over the outline of his obvious length confined within the boxers.
“Now..” He runs the back of his other hand over your cheek and smirks. “..finish what you started.”
hope you liked this ficlet ♡
i don’t think i have much time to write full-length fics but i atleast wanna write short moments of intimacy for each prompt, and participate!
My MC would be one of those knights disguised as a maid so she has the element of surprise, I definitely did NOT miss the knight part OK 💀💀 also Maid Day!
This is as good as my rendering is gonna get for this week of drawings guys and i am probably gonna skip a day or two bc i am lazy BUSY</3
"My Prince," you called out to Xavier as you approached him in the garden path.
"Yes, my love?" Xavier said, turning his head as he heard your sweet voice.
You hastily covered his mouth and whispered, "We are not alone!"
"And you pressing a hand on my lips is fine?" he murmured against your palm.
You felt the vibrations of his chuckle before retracting your hand.
Putting a hand on your waist, he smiled.
"Five paces away, your Highness...," you warned him.
"Relax, it's only the gardeners. By now, I'm sure our routine strolls have made our..." His eyes flicked to them, then back at you with a smile, before finishing, "status clear."
Xavier's gaze dropped at the forget-me-nots at your feet, the scent pulling him back to when he first met you.
Prince Xavier had been only six when his parents brought him to the front gardens of the castle to wait for the Grandis Knight returning from his exploits.
The Grandis Knight walked towards them and bowed in greeting. "Your Majesties, I have arrived to deliver what I promised."
Deliver? Promise?
Prince Xavier had no clue what to expect—until a small head popped out from behind the knight's cloak.
His parents asked, "So, you found a lost child on your travels?"
"Yes. She was with no family and she put up quite a fight when we tried to rescue her," the knight chuckled.
"Hence, it was well apparent that she would be a suitable candidate as the Prince's knight," the low, deep voice explained.
With clenched fists and eyes shut tight, you stepped out and exclaimed in a small but firm voice, "I will protect you!"
Prince Xavier blinked in surprise, it was the first time anyone had offered protection instead of service.
The Highnesses chuckled, "Quite an enthusiasm. Proceed."
"As you wish, Your Majesty," the knight bowed before the King and Queen.
Prince Xavier was still staring at you the whole time. You tilted your head as you spoke, "Pwince? Is this a staring game?"
You leaned in close to him and he stepped back, his collar glowed red. Prince Xavier rubbed his neck in embarrassment and ran towards his parents.
A hand pat your back, "Keep in mind that a knight stands five paces away from Your Highnesses."
You nodded, taking this responsibilty seriously.
The next time you met, you made sure to be paces away. You placed your foot against the side of Prince's boots and counted five paces from there.
With your tiny feet, five paces seemed too close for Prince Xavier. So, he stepped back.
The Grandis Knight handed you both wooden swords almost as long as your small bodies.
Years passed and the promise of protection remained.
"How could you lose track of the Prince?! You've been His Highness's knight for ten years, haven't you?"
"I will find him, Sir," you bowed and hurried to search for the Prince.
His chambers, the library, the dining hall—these were his favourite spots but he was nowhere to be found.
You ran around like a madman, looking through every corner of each and every room. Panting with your hands on your knees to catch your breath, you were determined to find him as soon as possible. You were his knight after all.
Just when all else failed, you saw a faint sillhoutte of a figure burying their face in his knees as his back is leaning against the side of the castle walls.
"Prince Xavier?" You called out cautiously, your hand still on the sword.
Then, you noticed the red ring of light around his neck. It is Prince Xavier!
He sniffled and looked up at you. You wanted to speak but was interrupted by shouting. You turned your head to the commotion.
"Find Prince Xavier at all costs! We must not let him out of the castle from now on," the guards commanded.
Your head flicked back to the Prince to see his solemn eyes and before you knew it, you had grabbed his hand and ran as fast as you could.
The Prince followed behind, feeling your firm grip on his hand. For once in his life, he felt something unfamiliar—warmth and protection.
You stopped at a garden, catching your breath. "Are you alright, Your Highness?"
You found Xavier staring at your entwined hands. Realizing that you had broken the no-touching rule, you apologized profusely.
You loosened your grip only to feel his hand tighten around yours, as if his life depended on it.
"Stay," Xavier said softly, taking in his surroundings. All he saw was a field of five-petaled blue flowers with a star-like center.
He crouched on one knee to inspect one and noticed how its colour gives him a brief sense of respite—a calmness he never knew he would find. He sat down on the grass, gently caressing the petals.
As you saw him appreciating the flowers, you spoke up, "Forget-me-nots. That's their name—my favorite flower. It gives me peace when I look upon it at trying times."
Then, you noticed the red ring on his neck had disappeared. You sighed in relief. It seemed like the Prince have finally felt better.
You squatted beside him and carefully asked, "Your Grace, if I may ask... what happened at the castle?"
"I felt suffocated," his voice soft and sad, "I'm always told what to do and how to do it. I feel caged in my own castle."
"Have you... talked to Your Highnesses about this?"
"Yes, but they paid no heed," his head still down.
"Perhaps, one day when you are King... you'll finally have a say?"
Solemnly, the Prince said, "But that day is still for long."
"These flowers... From a bud, they have to wait two moons excruciatingly before they bloom into their truest form. They withstand rain and thunderstorms and yet it helps them grow," you smiled softly as you explained.
Prince Xavier looked at you, his gaze softened unlike you've seen before.
Was he finally fine?
Ever since returning from that brief escape, you noticed the Prince's steps were lighter, and his tongue looser.
Training had been tough, learning new moves especially.
Struggling, your sword nearly slipped from your hands until a hand from behind gripped yours, steadying the weapon.
"May I?" a soothing voice asked.
"Oh, Your Highness, you need not—" you began but he gently guided your arm through the correct motions.
You could feel his body almost touching yours, though he kept a respectful distance.
"Remember this motion and keep at it. Soon, it will feel effortless," the Prince said with warmth.
"It is only effortless if I have long limbs like Your Highness," you teased.
"It is your height that helps you dodge," he said with a slight smirk that you just managed to catch.
"Dodge this then!" You swung your sword at him playfully and he dodged the blade with ease.
"That's not very nice," the royal muttered, beginning to pout.
"What you said about my height wasn't very nice either," you rebutted.
Catching each other's gaze, the both of you burst into laughter and continued sparring.
The gardener's shears dropped with a loud clang that snapped you both to the present.
"Now, can we drop the whole five paces thing? Your feet are longer now and I can't bear not being close to you, my betrothed," the Prince pleaded.
"Is that a command from Your Highness?" you teased.
"No," he said with a shake of his head. "More of an... affectionate request."
"Five paces... that is until our wedding," you crossed your arms playfully.
"Four paces," Xavier bargained, nodding his head slightly.
"Three," you rebutted.
"Two."
"One."
Then without warning, he pulled you close against him. "Zero."
You giggled into his shoulder and felt his quiet laughter vibrate against your chest.
Pulling back slightly to look into your bethrothed's blue eyes to tease, "You rebel."
"I've learnt from the best," he smiled and continued, "Besides, many maids have had an inkling about our hushed betrothal. We were going to reveal it to the world soon, were we not?"
"I... suppose. I'll only accept it because you're my Pr—," you said but was interrupted by his voice.
"Xavier, just Xavier," he corrected you with a loving gaze and a caress of your shoulder blades.
"Right, my Xavier," you smiled, in awe of how far you both had come.
"It was boring at first. Then, my master took in another apprentice. I found training more fun after that." - Xavier, Plushie Go Go
This quote was what inspired me to write this! I've been having this idea for so long but didn't have the motivation to write it until now because of XavierMC week! Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading 🤗
P.S. Did you realize what I did with the divider? I had a lil fun with it hehe
