#Spring training has begun

[cutie-chimera]

Too tired to tummy today... maybe just give me a kiss goodnight? 🥹

[iamnotyetoliverstarksgirlfriend]

Day #193

I am not yet Oliver Starks girlfriend.

[celestemona]

⋆˙⟡ — FOUR TIMES MUALANI SUSPECTED SOMETHING WAS GOING ON (AND ONE TIME SHE WAS RIGHT)

pairing: kinich x reader

cw: no pronouns mentioned. ajaw is in a vacation. slight but not slight pda. mualani overreacting but she is a sweet. best friends trio. pyro vision reader mentioned. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Mualani knew Kinich and you were friends—close best friends, just like you two were with her—but lately, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. 

It started with little things, almost too subtle to be noticeable but somehow it didn’t escape from her perception. Things like how Kinich, ever the quiet guy, had begun lingering a little too long when he talked to you, or how you’d run all your way to the Scions of the Canopy's village just to welcome him back after a mission. 

At first, she didn’t pay too much attention thinking you guys were just being more affectionative and caring to each other. However, as time passed by, it has been shown to be more than a mutual friendly appreciation and certainly beyond a mere coincidence. 

I.

The first time Mualani noticed something different was in an early morning by the coast, watching the waves curl and crash. She often started her day stretching at the shore and riding the first waves of dawn. But this time, as she rounded a cliff, she spotted Kinich and you sitting on a rock overlooking the sea. The two of you were close enough that your arms brushed every time the wind picked up.

Kinich’s usual stern expression was softer than usual. Mualani squinted at you suspiciously. Were you... holding hands?

She jogged closer, but just as she got near enough to say something, Kinich quickly stood up, putting a considerable distance between you and himself. “You're up early,” he said, his voice in its usual calm.

You smiled warmly. “Hey girl! How are the waves? We were just discussing about it.”

Mualani tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “You were? Really?”

You let out a light and confusing laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course.”

She didn’t quite buy it, but you didn’t give her any reason to push further. “Well, the waves are good today! You guys joining?”

Kinich only gave her a polite headshaking, while you nodded smiling. Maybe she was imagining things.

II.

Except she wasn’t. 

A few days later, you were hanging out by Tequemecan Valley' canyons with Kinich standing quietly while you and Mualani chatted. However, every time she glanced toward him, Kinich seemed to be watching you a little too intently. It wasn’t the usual hunter’s focus; it was softer, caring, almost like... adoring.

The girl squinted, pretending to be interested in some flowers nearby while keeping an eye on you two. You didn’t seem to notice anything, or if did, you didn’t mind. You just kept talking, your laughter filling the air.

When Mualani caught Kinich staring again, she couldn’t help but ask, “Kinich, you okay? You’ve been zoning out all day.”

He blinked, his neutral mask slipping back into place. “I’m fine.”

“He’s just tired from all the training,” you teased, winking at him.

Mualani raised an eyebrow, astonished by the scene before her eyes. Something was definitely going on.

III.

The third time came on a day when Mualani was guiding a group of Sumeru’s travelers near the springs when she spotted you and Kinich again, standing by the water. As she approached, she saw Kinich leaning down to whisper something to you, his lips close to your ear. You giggled softly in response.

Wait a minute... Kinich never whispers to anyone. Much less in such an intimate way and even less to make someone laugh. Mualani's instincts flared up immediately. What was he saying? And why did you look so happy about it?

She cleared her throat loudly as she walked up. “Hey. What are you two whispering about?”

Kinich straightened up quickly, crossing his arms. “Nothing important.”

You smiled at her, but there was a glimmer in your eyes that made the girl even more suspicious. “Just a silly joke,” you said lightly.

A joke, huh? Mualani filed it away in her mind. This time she was very determined to figure out what was going on between you two.

IV.

It was late afternoon, and Mualani had just finished surfing when she saw you two by the waterside. Kinich and you stood close, so close as it has strangely been, and for a brief moment, she could have sworn Kinich was about to lean in and kiss you.

She froze, watching from a distance as you smiled up at him, your palm softly pushing his chest away. Were you two really about to kiss? It couldn’t be just her angle view. Could it be?

But just as quickly as it happened, Kinich stepped back, his usual stoic demeanor falling back into place. You turned and waved at her, your smile as bright as ever.

“Lani. Hey! How was the surf?” you called out.

Mualani, still in shock, shook her head. “Uh... good. Really good.”

She stared at you both for a moment longer, convinced she’d almost witnessed something, but there was no proof. Again.

V.

In the several days that followed, Mualani continued to witness that strangeness that kept repeating itself every time you thought she wasn’t around, creating a certain tension between her and you and Kinich—although she doubted that you had noticed any difference, treating her as you always did from the beginning.

Even if it relieved her to know that nothing had changed in your friendship, the surfer couldn't help but feel upset too. Was it that bad if she found out? Didn't you trust her the same way she trusted you? She wanted to be able to release all of her thoughts and ask you if maybe there was something in your bond that was bothering you. But she didn't. And so, things remained the same.

That was a quiet evening, and the moon hung low over the mountains. Mualani had been taking a stroll, enjoying the peaceful night, when she stumbled upon you.

This time, though, there was no mistaking it—Kinich and you stood together under some trees, locked in a slow, deep kiss.

The girl’s cheeks burned as red as the pyro vision you hold so dear closely, eyes widely opening and heart skipping a beat. She gasped, louder than she intended, and both of you quickly turned toward her. You blinked twice before smiling stiffly, even daring to look a bit embarrassed, while Kinich gave her a calm look, his hands still resting on your waist.

“You two!” She exclaimed shaking her head, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier! I mean, I knew something was up, but really?”

You bit your lip while Kinich just blinked at her, slightly starting to look more guilty as well.

“We didn’t mean to keep it from you for long,” you said as you stepped out of Kinich’s arms and reached for her hand. “We were just... taking our time.”

Mualani arched an eyebrow. “Taking your time? You two were being so weird and annoying with all those suspicious interactions for weeks now! I’m supposed to be your best friend!”

Kinich rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “We wanted to keep it quiet,” he said, his voice low. “At first, anyway.”

Mualani softened, her fake scold melting away into genuine affection. “Still, I would’ve loved to know sooner,” she said, her tone gentler now. “You know me better than anyone else. You know I would never judge you,” she sighed as she watches the sorrow on your face. “Nevertheless, I’m really happy for you both. Really am.”

You beamed and even Kinich’s usual stoic expression seemed to relax slightly.

Mualani continued, her voice full of warmth. “I’ve always known you two had something special. And now that I know for sure, you better believe I’m fully on board with this!” She shot Kinich a playful look. “Just make sure you treat (Y/N) right, okay?”

Kinich nodded, his eyes softening as he glanced at you. “I will.”

You squeezed Mualani’s hand, your eyes sparkling with gratitude and pure happiness. “Thank you, Lani. Your support means a lot to us.”

Mualani grinned, pulling you both into a tight hug. “Just don’t keep secrets from me again, alright? I’m always here for you two.”

You all laughed but shared a quick but sweet bond moment, the atmosphere light and easy. And somehow, Mualani couldn’t help but feel like everything had fallen into place just the way it was meant to.

“But just for your information. If the day comes of you get engaged and don’t tell me immediately, I’ll crash the proposal myself, make a huge scene, and tell everyone how long I’ve had to put up with your not so secret glances and not so subtle hand-holding. Trust me, it won’t be pretty!”

[tobeholyistobeempty]

Can you write something about Price noticing how you haven’t been treated right? Like maybe you had a few ex boyfriends who just broke you and made you feel like you weren’t ever enough. 🥺 (may or may not be a self insert.) Love your writing btw!!

first of all anon i’m so sorry you went through that baby. you’re so loved and worth more than any man could offer🤍

———-

john price can’t believe the way some men have treated you.

you tell him like it’s nothing. one night you’re just rambling on in casual conversation, vocalizing shrugged off scars you’ve had for so long you’d begun to forget they’re even there. in some ways he knows he can relate to that. but you’ve had three ex’s. only three — young, all of them. cocky, lazy with their love and even lazier with their kindness. type of boys who think women are built just to serve them, something to wear out rather than protect and hold onto.

and it’s the small things that seem to bother you most, which perplexes john even further. it’s like you’ve almost dismissed the nights they didn’t come home, the nights they left you on read and wondering. he doesn’t quite get how the things that make your eyes glassy are the goddamn easiest ones.

things like not bringing you soup when you were sick. not checking the locks when you were anxious. not saying thank you after you worked all day just to come home and cook for them all night.

never a compliment, never a praise. spineless.

and price just listens. he’s always listening. taking this all in with understanding behind his eyes, the kind that settles in men who’ve seen too much of the world. yet for all he’s witnessed, this shakes him. in a different way.

the easy cruelty of men too soft to goto war, but hard enough to grind a woman down just to make themselves feel bigger.

you’re younger then him by a good ten years. he notices it sometimes in your slang, the way you dress, how fast your fingers move over the keyboard on your phone. but it doesn’t translate in your eyes. your eyes carry the weight of all you’ve survived.

it’s astounding that someone your age, so young and free and beautiful, has been put through so much. you laugh easy but flinch faster. you don’t ask for help because you don’t expect any — that’s what gets him the most.

he’s not old-fashioned, not entirely. he’s no prince. no knight in shining armour. but he’s lived through gun fire and war zones and body bags and too many fucking funerals — and what war has taught him, more than any training camp or mission accomplished, is this:

you hold onto what you love. you fight for it.

so he starts small. notices when you’re tired before you say it. hands you tea without asking, because he’s noted you like atleast three a day. chamomile before bed. he listens when you speak. checks the locks at night. kisses your shoulder in the morning as the two of you make breakfast. this is an equal partnership. price won’t let you do anything alone if he can help it.

he builds you a garden. takes care of your car. he calls you love and means it. never stops saying thank you. he tells you you’re brilliant, fucking hell — you’re beautiful, and makes sure you stop saying sorry for things that were never your fault in the first place.

and he watches, with time, as you start to believe him. as that truth begins to take root. reblossoms in spring to be nurtured through winter.

he’ll never let a day pass without you knowing how much you’re worth. and not to the boys who took you for granted, but to a man who’d lay down his life to see you smile.

because you’re everything to him. you’re the catharsis he’s been fighting his whole life for. he’ll make sure you feel it.

[thekinslayed]

And Now You're Here

summary | When the pains of his loss rendered him weak, there was only one thing that could soothe Aemond's pain

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | slightly ooc aemond, stubborn aem + stubborn wife, hurt/comfort, mentions of injury and pain, fluff

wordcount | 1k

note | not sure what this is if i'm being honest but i needed something comforting after this week <3

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Aemond Targaryen was sharply perceptive. With the loss of half his sight, his other senses became acute in their efforts to compensate. He could sense the faintest smells wafting in the room, felt the lightest whisper of a touch on his skin, and heard the quietest clinks, taps, and thumps in the walls of his home. On better days, such abilities would benefit him and his evolution into a sharpened soldier, but today, it irked him.

Five years had come and gone since that cursed night at Driftmark, but the repercussions of what those bastards did to him remained in the pains that coursed through his left socket every so often. It would start as an itch in the scarred cavern, one that would run down the length of his scar, and it would take much of him not to pick at the slashed skin. Then, the throbbing would start, a pulsating drum deep in his temple that would irritate him quickly until the pain would spread, and the swordsman prince would be reduced to an unmoving, suffering stone in his chambers.

With his head leaned onto the back of the settee, Aemond merely sat with his eye closed, taking deep breaths in a futile effort to calm himself. He could feel his hair gently sway with the cool late spring breeze that filtered through the room, a small kindness to aid him in his predicament. The light behind his lid flickered and dimmed with the slow passing of time, a dance of shadows for a boy wounded. At some point in his suffering, he’d begun to make peace with it, had settled his temper into a submission to a pain that would soon pass. That was until the grand old oak doors opened, sending a rush of wind through the vast chambers and disrupting his peace. Aemond clenched his fists yet remained unmoving, too weary to jump to his feet and brandish his dagger at his intruder. 

“I thought I made myself clear I was not to be disturbed,” the prince seethed, the venom in his tone a weapon sharp enough. The throbbing in his temple quickened, now a relentless hammering from the meat of his face down to his skull.

“Even by me?”

The voice was honey-sweet, a cooling balm to blanket his dragonfire into smothered smoke. He opened his good eye and craned his neck to look at where you stood with hands clasped at your front and a knowing smile of warmth on those cherry lips. Aemond never smiled even on his good days, but the sight of you was enough to tempt a lift in the corner of his lips. 

“Does it hurt?” you asked in concern, to which your husband merely responded with a grunt.

“I’m fine.”

You tutted his name in scolding, getting straight to work by swiftly grabbing the salve he’d kept for times like these, but the pain had him stuck to his seat before he could even attempt to find the jar. He closed his eye once more as his wife scurried about in a whirlwind of skirts, grabbing this and that before plopping by his side with a sigh. “Do you want to take it out, or shall I?” you asked, referring to the glinting sapphire eye on his blind side. Aemond remained unmoving, unwilling, and stubborn.

“I told you I am alright. The pain has started to pass,” he lied, yet betrayed by the evident clenching in his jaw.

“Aemond,” he heard you sigh, equally as stubborn to provide him care. The skin on his left forearm tickled to life with your soft caress, gently squeezing in your urging. “I passed Ser Criston and the halls and wondered how he was back so soon when your training would go past well beyond this hour, and then he told me,” you explained softly. 

His breath ran deep as he exhaled through his nose, resolve starting to chip from the warmth on his left side. “I do not need mothering,” he grumbled, finally moving to remove the heavy stone from his socket in reluctant yielding. You merely hummed, wiping off the carved jewel with a clean cloth and setting it aside. 

“That is true, but I am not your mother. I am your wife, my prince, and it is my duty to see my husband well cared for, is it not?” you pointed out, pleased with such a wise thought uttered from your pretty lips. He could chuckle at the satisfied look on your face with his acquiescence, subtly turning his head to see you better. Your hands did diligent work to clean the scarred flesh, not a single trace of disgust swimming in your eyes, and it made his chest feel lighter. The cloth was damp and cool against his face when you pressed, a welcome relief from his torment. 

The salve came next— a balmy mixture of mint, sage, and some sweet-smelling herbs procured by Orwyle. It didn’t do much in truth, for his lingering pains were but a mystery to even the wisest maester’s expertise, but the cooling poultice was enough to distract him. It helped that your touch was a balm soothing in itself, always so gentle despite his ragged edges. Aemond merely watched in silence while you focused, his brow unfurling from the loosened tension that bound them tight. 

“You should’ve called the maester if you were in such pain, my darling,” you frowned. In a comical switch, the one-eyed prince’s lips lifted in an amused smile, lifting his thumb to smooth over the crease between your eyebrows. 

“I have no need for him,” Aemond replied. “You’re here.”

His words seemed to please you, pout reversing back into the smile he loved with all of his angry heart. Your kiss on his lips he loved the most, ever so powerful in healing whatever rot had festered deep within his soul. No maester could ever cure him the way you did. To be so blind with the loss of his eye left Aemond cold, half of his world untouched by the blazing sun and left to succumb to darkness, and now you are here, settled into his side with a touch so loving, and he felt it. It was warm when you were here, utterly bright, and Aemond was whole.

[indecisivemuch]

hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>

Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).

Word count: 4.4k (whoops)

You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore. 

The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off. 

However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).

“Luke!”

The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own. 

You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.

“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.

Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be. 

In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near. 

Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.

Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him. 

No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.

You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.” 

Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”

“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand. 

For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.

Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.

The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.

“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”

Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:

“You…”

Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—

“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.” 

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words. 

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.

Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.

“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.

“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.

“Shut up.”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…

While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word. 

Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer” idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you. 

Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters. 

Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years. 

Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand. 

Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.

But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.

Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. 

However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.

Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention. 

Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts. 

Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you. 

“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you. 

Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him. 

“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”

“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.

“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.

There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying. 

Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.

You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to. 

Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.  

Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:

“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”

Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.

Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on. 

Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.

“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.

Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.

“You could be the one that I love, 

I could be the one that you dream of,

Message in a bottle is all I can do, 

Standing here hoping it gets to you.”

Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.

Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago. 

Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.

You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.

You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—

Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before. 

Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.

You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility. 

If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.

Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you. 

“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ‘h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.

The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.

“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”

“No—”

“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?” 

“I was going to.”

“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”

“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew. 

“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.” 

Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.

It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly. 

Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.

They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.

“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.

“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.

You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.

You know now to trust your gut feelings more.

“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.

“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner. 

“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”

Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two. 

Without hesitation, he kissed you.

Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.

Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.

A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints. 

Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that. 

You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment. 

“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.

“Mhm.”

“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”

“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.

“I’m not against that.” 

As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.

Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.

-------------------------

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[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | 18+ only

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 💖

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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.

Oh, you were so, so, fucked.

:: CONTINUED IN PART 2.

© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[ranticore]

bugs big ones from Thera! the transcript for the top image is under the cut below.

There is a big lie in this which is that the caterpillar pictured in the top image is in fact Nettlerove who is a beetle of the species Cryptostenus oculatus. But he is a brood parasite of these caterpillars, and appears almost identical to one prior to pupation. They emerge as imagos earlier than the true butterflies around them, and then eat their defenceless colonymates. Life's rough for insects. i really wanted to draw baby (and young adult) Nettlerove sooo much so that's why it's him.

The Tithe tree is one of the reasons our bugs are so big. These trees are gigantic and their leaves are incredibly nutrient rich, and their huge hollow trunks are perfect for building colonies in. The social behaviour of these caterpillars is based off of Eriogaster lanestris, a moth which has eusocial silk-tent-spinning caterpillars :) Their true 'child' stage (instars 1 and 2) lasts a single spring and summer, while the subsequent instar stages last several years each. At pupation the individual can be up to 14 years old. The kids are basically left in their tent entirely unsupervised, and in fact it's an intentional strategy to have them on a lower branch than the main colony; any terrestrial predator looking for food will hopefully eat the kids first and leave the main colony alone (Life's ROUGH for insects!!).

Because the caterpillars are considered adults post instar 3, the winged form is not called "the adult" it's just the imago.

[Transcript: Neonymphalid Caterpillars

The life cycle of the eusocial caterpillars from the Theran butterfly family Neonymphalidae. At hatching they are roughly 13cm long, and at their largest they grow to be approx. 2m long.

They are considered to be adults at instar stage III. At this stage they enter the mature colony and begin to train into their life-long 'careers'. At instar stage IV they are close to pupating, and will make the trek out to their proving grounds for the final growth spurt as caterpillars. The quest is a difficult overland trek, often the first time any individual has touched the ground, and at its end is a forest that they must set ablaze to liberate the nutrient-rich fruit they need to eat. Eggs are deposited on a lower branch of the Tithe tree beneath the adult colony

Instar stage I: They hatch among peers and immediately form a juvenile colony on their host Tithe branch, a group of up to 100. Together they encase the branch and its leaves in a silken tent. At this stage they do not speak, they only eat.

Instar stage II: They begin to grow their distinguishing bristles but remain in their juvenile colony

Instar stage III: Not all caterpillars will reach this stage, as autumn draws in and the leaves become less numerous. Caterpillars who reach stage III will leave their silk tent and travel up the main trunk of the Tithe tree, entering the large, permanent structure of the adult colony. They now have a pair of more specialised binocular eyes.

Instar IV: They have begun to develop some of their adult facial features, including more complex eyes. This individual is a scribe, using a thorn to write on a wax slate in a frame.

Prior to their journey to the burning forest, a final molt occurs which increases the number of bristles. This will protect them from aerial attacks during the rough journey.

The pupa is laid out in a specialist chamber within the main colony once the caterpillars return home. They hatch when temperatures reach a summer range again.]

[atlasthegreatest]

A Different Kind of Warm / Kazuha Nakamura x Gender Neutral! Reader

Kazuha has never thought much about love. Having spent most of her life focused on ballet, emotions like love always felt distant—something she understood in theory but never personally experienced. However, lately, she’s begun to notice something strange whenever she’s around her group member— Y/n Kwon.

Warnings: None. 6th member of Le Sserafim! Reader.

Word count: 2436

Kazuha had never thought much about love.

She had spent most of her life in ballet studios, surrounded by mirrors and the sound of pointe shoes gliding across the floor. Love had always been something distant, something she had seen in movies or heard about from her friends but never experienced herself.

And yet, lately, whenever she was around Y/n, something felt… different.

It started with small things—like how she always seemed to look for them first whenever the group gathered, or how she’d catch herself smiling for no reason whenever they spoke. She liked being around all the members, of course, but with Y/n, there was something else.

Something she didn’t quite understand.

—-———————-

One afternoon, the six of them had a rare day off and decided to go to a small café near the dorm. It was a cozy place, tucked away in a quiet alley, with warm lights and the scent of freshly baked pastries filling the air.

Kazuha sat across from Y/n, stirring her iced tea absentmindedly as she listened to the others talk. Or at least, she tried to listen.

Y/n was next to Chaewon, laughing softly at something she said, and for some reason, Kazuha’s chest felt a little tight.

She frowned. That was strange.

“Zuha?” Y/n’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She blinked, realizing they were looking at her. “You okay?”

“I—” She hesitated, unsure of what to say. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Y/n tilted their head, studying her with that gentle expression that always made her stomach feel light. “Don’t overthink too much,” they teased lightly, nudging her foot under the table. “You do that a lot.”

Kazuha felt her face grow warm.

Did she? She hadn’t realized.

Before she could reply, the conversation shifted, and Y/n turned their attention back to Chaewon. Kazuha let out a small breath, pressing her straw against the ice in her drink.

She needed to figure out what this feeling was.

That night, back at the dorm, Kazuha found herself lying awake, staring at the ceiling.

Her bed was warm, but she felt restless. Every time she closed her eyes, memories of the day replayed in her mind—the way Y/n had laughed, the way their eyes softened when they looked at her, the way their foot had brushed against hers under the table.

She turned over, hugging her pillow.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought about romance before. She had just never felt it.

But now…

A realization crept in slowly, like the first bloom of spring.

Maybe, just maybe—this was what love felt like.

And that thought was both terrifying and exciting at the same time.

————————-

Kazuha had always been good at controlling her emotions. Years of ballet training had taught her discipline, composure, and grace—how to keep a steady expression even when her muscles ached, how to push through exhaustion without showing weakness.

But this? This was something else entirely.

She wasn’t used to the way her heart stuttered whenever Y/n looked at her, or how a simple touch—a brush of their hand against hers, a playful nudge—could send warmth rushing up her spine. It was overwhelming, unfamiliar, and completely out of her control.

And yet, she didn’t hate it.

The next morning, the six members of Le Sserafim had dance practice, and Kazuha did her best to focus. She really did.

But every time she caught Y/n’s reflection in the mirror, her rhythm faltered just a little. It was ridiculous. She had spent years perfecting her technique, yet now, one glance from them was enough to throw her off balance.

“Zuha, you okay?” Yunjin asked, raising an eyebrow as she stretched next to her. “You seem distracted.”

Kazuha quickly shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Y/n, who had been taking a sip of water nearby, turned to her with a small smile. “If you need a break, don’t push yourself too hard.”

There it was again—that warmth, that strange tightness in her chest.

Kazuha forced herself to nod, but the truth was, she wasn’t tired at all. She just needed to stop feeling so much.

———————-

That evening, after a long practice, Kazuha found herself sitting next to Y/n on the dorm’s couch. The other members were in their rooms, leaving just the two of them in the dimly lit living room, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioner.

Y/n was scrolling through their phone, absentmindedly leaning back against the cushions, while Kazuha sat stiffly beside them, her hands clasped together in her lap.

She wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure what.

Instead, Y/n spoke first. “You seemed a little off today.”

Kazuha hesitated. “Did I?”

Y/n turned to her, resting their chin on their palm as they studied her. “Yeah. You’ve been spacing out a lot lately.” A teasing smile tugged at their lips. “Are you falling in love or something?”

Her heart stopped.

For a moment, she could only stare at them, her mind blank.

Y/n had said it so casually, without knowing how those words sent her world spinning. Was she falling in love?

The thought had crossed her mind before, but hearing it spoken out loud—especially by Y/n—made it feel more real, more undeniable.

Kazuha swallowed, looking away. “I don’t know.”

Y/n blinked. “Wait… are you serious?”

The ballerina could feel their eyes on her, searching for an answer, but she kept staring at her hands. “I’ve never—” She exhaled softly. “I don’t know what love feels like.”

There was a pause, then a chuckle. “You’re really cute, you know that?”

Kazuha felt her face heat up instantly.

Before she could respond, Y/n reached out, gently poking her cheek. “Don’t stress too much about it,” they said lightly. “You’ll figure it out when the time is right.”

And just like that, they went back to scrolling on their phone, as if they hadn’t just left Kazuha questioning everything she thought she knew.

The ballerina sat there in silence, feeling her heart race in a way it never had before.

Maybe she was falling in love.

And maybe—just maybe—it was with Y/n.

————————

Kazuha wasn’t sure when things started to change.

It wasn’t anything obvious—there were no grand confessions, no heart-fluttering movie-like moments. But something about the way Y/n treated her had become… different.

And she wasn’t sure if it was real or if she was just imagining it.

It started with the small things.

Like how Y/n always made sure to sit next to her whenever they could, whether it was during car rides, team meetings, or even casual late-night gatherings in the dorm.

Or how they started bringing her favorite snacks, passing them to her without a word—just a knowing glance like they had memorized every little thing she liked.

Or how, during practice, Y/n would always be the one to adjust her mic, their fingers grazing the back of her neck in a way that sent shivers down her spine.

It was subtle, but Kazuha noticed.

And the worst part? She didn’t know what it meant.

————————

One evening, after a long day of schedules, Y/n and Kazuha were the last ones in the practice room.

The other members had already left, but Y/n had stayed behind to practice a little longer, and Kazuha—despite her exhaustion—hadn’t wanted to leave them alone.

Now, they sat side by side on the floor, backs resting against the mirror as they both caught their breath. The only light in the room came from the soft glow of the ceiling panels, casting long shadows against the walls.

Y/n glanced at her, a small smile playing at their lips. “Tired?”

Kazuha nodded, exhaling softly. “A little.”

Without a word, Y/n reached out and gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Kazuha froze.

It was such a simple gesture, but the way their fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary—like they were committing the feeling to memory—made her heart stutter in her chest.

The ballerina turned to Y/n, but they were already looking away, stretching their arms as if nothing had happened.

Kazuha swallowed. Was that on purpose?

She wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Later that night, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, she replayed the moment over and over again in her mind.

She wasn’t imagining it, was she?

The way Y/n looked at her—the way they touched her, even in the smallest ways—it wasn’t the same as before.

Y/n was treating her differently.

And that terrified her.

Because if they really were showing feelings for her…

Then she had no choice but to admit that she had feelings for them, too.

———————-

Kazuha wasn’t sure how long she could keep pretending that nothing was happening.

The way Y/n had been acting lately—subtle but unmistakable—was starting to unravel her carefully maintained composure. And the worst part? No one else seemed to notice.

Only her.

Or maybe… only she was affected by it.

It happened again the next day.

The group had gathered in the company lounge for a short break between schedules, sprawled across the couches as they waited for their next meeting. The air was filled with quiet chatter, the sound of snack wrappers crinkling and fingers scrolling through phones.

Kazuha had just sat down with a drink when Y/n wordlessly handed her a small packet of dried mangoes—her favorite.

She blinked, looking up at them in surprise. “Oh… thank you.”

Y/n shrugged. “I saw them at the store earlier and figured you’d like them.”

That was it. No teasing, no playful remarks—just a simple, thoughtful gesture.

But the way their fingers brushed against hers as she took the packet made her breath hitch.

The ballerina forced herself to look away, hoping no one else had noticed the way her grip on the plastic tightened just slightly.

No one did.

Except them.

Kazuha could feel Y/n’s gaze lingering on her for a moment before they turned back to their phone, acting as if nothing had happened.

But something had happened.

And it was happening more and more.

————————

Later that evening, Kazuha found herself standing in the dorm’s kitchen, mindlessly stirring a cup of tea as she tried to calm the racing thoughts in her head.

She needed to stop overthinking this.

Maybe they were just being nice. Maybe she was reading too much into things.

Or maybe… maybe they knew what they were doing.

“Zuha.”

The ballerina nearly dropped her spoon.

Y/n stood in the doorway, arms crossed, an amused glint in their eyes. “You okay? You’ve been spacing out a lot lately.”

She swallowed. “I—yeah. Just tired.”

Y/n hummed, stepping closer until they were leaning against the counter beside her. “You sure?”

Y/n’s voice was softer now, quieter.

Kazuha gripped her cup a little tighter.

This close, she could pick up on the little details she had been trying so hard to ignore—the way Y/n’s voice always seemed a little warmer when they spoke to her, the way their shoulder brushed against hers even though there was enough space between them, the way their eyes held something she couldn’t quite name.

She wasn’t imagining this.

But she didn’t know how to respond.

So she did what she always did when she was overwhelmed—she stayed silent.

Y/n, let the moment between them for a few seconds before exhaling softly, a small, knowing smile tugging at their lips.

“Alright,” they murmured, pushing off the counter. “Let me know when you figure it out.”

And with that, Y/n walked away, leaving Kazuha gripping her cup like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Her heart was pounding.

She knew what they meant.

Y/n was waiting for her.

And for the first time in her life… she wanted to stop running from what she was feeling.

Bonus Chapter:

Kazuha had always prided herself on her ability to stay calm.

On stage, in interviews, even during the most exhausting practices—she had learned to keep her emotions in check. It was part of who she was.

But with Y/n, she was starting to realize that some things couldn’t be controlled.

It was a quiet evening in the dorm, and for once, there were no schedules, no deadlines—just a rare moment of peace. The other members were in their rooms, leaving only Y/n and Kazuha in the living room.

Y/n sat on the floor in front of the couch, scrolling through their phone, while Kazuha stretched beside them, her legs folded neatly beneath her.

It was comfortable. Easy.

But then, without looking up from their phone, Y/n reached over and absentmindedly grabbed her hand.

Kazuha froze.

Y/n didn’t lace their fingers with hers or make any obvious move—they just held it, their thumb lightly tracing small, slow circles against her skin. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like they had done it a hundred times before.

Like they weren’t even thinking about it.

But she was.

The ballerina was thinking about it so much that her heartbeat felt deafening in her ears.

Y/n didn’t say anything. They didn’t tease her or acknowledge it in any way. Y/n just kept scrolling through their phone, fingers still loosely wrapped around hers, as if holding her hand was second nature to them.

And that was the moment it clicked.

This wasn’t new for them.

Y/n had been showing her their feelings in all the little things—the quiet gestures, the subtle touches, the way they always seemed to be there, waiting for her to catch up.

And Kazuha… Kazuha had been too slow to understand.

The ballerina swallowed, staring at their intertwined hands. She should have pulled away. She should have said something.

But instead, for the first time, she let herself feel it.

The warmth. The quiet certainty. The realization that maybe, just maybe, love wasn’t something that came with a grand declaration—it was something that had been growing between them all along.

She squeezed their hand.

Y/n didn’t react right away, but the ballerina felt the way their fingers tensed slightly before they finally looked up at her.

And this time, Kazuha didn’t look away.

She held their gaze, her heart racing but her grip steady, a silent answer in the way she didn’t let go.

Y/n’s lips parted slightly as if they wanted to say something, but then they just smiled—soft, knowing, patient.

Like they had been waiting for this moment all along.

And Kazuha, for the first time in her life, wasn’t afraid of what came next.

[avastrasposts]

Memories made, memories lost

Plot: Before Pero Tovar and his friend William Garin set out in search of black powder, he found himself doing something he never thought he would - falling in love. But what waits for him as he returns from his adventure after all this time?

Mercenary!Pero x female reader

Warnings: Angst and grief, loss of virginity (it's all consensual and it's not the main trope of the fic), explicit smut. No use of y/n, the reader is pretty much a blank slate.

Word count: 7.9k

This is written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Wiriting Challenge where I requested a trope for Pero Tovar and got Amnesia A big thank you to @i-own-loki for the lovely banner! What would I do without my Canva Pro friends!?

Marriage was not something that was ever on the cards for Pero Tovar. 

He left his hometown while he was still a young boy, and after that he never stayed long enough in one place to put down roots. Let alone find a woman who would want to throw her lot in with a mostly penniless mercenary soldier who relied on powerful lords always finding a new enemy to fight. Who would want a scarred battle dog with a permanent scowl and dangerous look to his appearance? And even if someone did, how could he care for a wife? A family? He moved from town to town, from country to country, seldom returning to the same place twice unless the pay was very good. 

But then, one autumn in southern England, when the fighting season was over and the mud was too thick for both men and horses to march in, something changed. He was no longer young but in his fighting prime, hardened, and hard, by years of fighting other men’s wars. He had no other plans than to spend the winter in this small English town with his friend William Garin, wait for spring and the call to arms for another war or rebellion or crusade. He was going to fill his belly, hone his weapons, train the younger men and spend his evenings with a whore or two, and that was it. 

Marriage was not on the cards. 

But fate wanted a different path for him. And you quite literally fell into his arms as you tumbled from your horse on the outskirts of the small town. 

“Curse that nag!” you yelled crossly, struggling to free yourself from his strong grip, “let go, I can stand on my own legs!” You pushed at his chest as the dark haired man let go of your waist, stepping back with a chuckle. 

“And what fine legs they are,” he said, his grin wide.  

You sneered at his comment, “Too fine for you either way.” 

You glared at him as you brushed your dress, “I should thank you, I guess. You saved me from a much greater fall, that stupid mare is spooked by the smallest twig and throws me twice a week at least.” 

With a sigh you looked at your horse who’d decided that the twig wasn’t an immediate threat and had begun to graze the last of the summer grass just a little while down the country lane. 

“If that’s the case, you best go and claim your horse before she decides one of farmer Ned’s cows has fangs and means to eat her,” Pero chuckled. He liked your spirit, and the way your eyes blazed as you glanced at him. 

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” you said with a shake of your head, “I best be off, thank you again, sir.”

Tovar gave a small nod and crooked smile at your retreating back. 

Later that evening, as he’d eaten and gone back to the room he shared with William, he wondered why the chance meeting on the country lane wouldn’t leave his head. He felt as if he might’ve been bewitched, one moment walking down the country lane on his way out to the smithy for a repair of his armour, the next he had a woman in his arms as her bay horse bolted down the road. You’d smelled of apples, a rich, sweet scent clinging to your hair as it brushed over his face when you both landed in the dust. The soft yield of your flesh under the rough linen dress, it was as if he’d put his hands on the softest down pillow, he’d wanted to grab hold of it and not let go. 

As you rushed away from him, scolding your skittish horse, he’d watched the way your hips swayed with each step, bright hair bouncing with frustration. You gripped the horse’s bridle and pulled it around, even at a distance he could see the way your nose crinkled in annoyance as you berated the poor animal. When your anger trickled out as quickly as it flared up, your face softened and you gently stroked the animal’s nose, giving its neck a pat before swinging yourself up into the saddle again. You caught him staring and gave him a quick smile, before turning again and nudging the horse into a slow trot. 

He’d made his way to the smithy and then back to the rooms he and William had rented for the winter. And when he laid down on his bed, the vision of you filled his head, soft curves, sweet smile, quick temper and a sharp tongue. He would very much like to see you again, be that close to you again.   

The next day was a Sunday and he joined William at the church for mass with the rest of the village. He let the familiar Latin incantations wash over him, the rituals the same here as in his hometown as it was in every other town he’d ever visited, irrespective of the country or the ruler. The power radiated from Rome and although the churches looked different, the rituals were the same and it brought a strange, albeit dull, comfort to him. 

When mass was over the congregation filtered out of the church, slow in leaving, catching up with neighbours and sharing gossip. Pero tried to scan the crowd surreptitiously but William caught his wandering eye. 

“Who are you looking for? The mysterious horse woman?” he asked, looking around at the villagers and the mercenaries who were wintering here just as they were. Pero had told him of the encounter, not being able to hide how you’d remained on his mind as he returned to the rooms. 

“I don’t remember seeing her here before,” Pero replied, trying to appear unphased, uncaring, as he continued to scan the open space in front of the church, but without success. When he couldn’t see her, he followed William back to their lodgings. The Lord’s day should be spent in rest and was not wise to anger the local priest. 

But Pero found himself too restless to sit still, fiddling with a troublesome chainmail. He left William to it and ventured outside instead, vying to find a secluded spot in the woods to get some practice in without being scolded by someone spotting him working on a Sunday. 

The autumn forest was golden, the air crisp and clear as the sky stretched endlessly blue above the trees as Pero wandered further in than he meant to. It felt good to be away from people, from the crowded town and the small rooms he shares with William. 

The clank of metal on wood reached his ears and he furrowed his brows, no one would be out here felling trees on a Sunday unless there was some strange business. He moved silently through the underbrush towards the sound, and came upon a clearing, drawing breath at the sight in front of him. You had stripped down to just your slip and a pair of men’s breeches, your arms bare and glistening with sweat as you raised the heavy sword and parried an imagined attack, and hit the thick beech trunk. The sword lodged in the wood and with a grunt you pulled it free, backing up a few steps and repeating the exercise. 

Pero watched you for a few minutes, your technique was good, someone has clearly taught you the basics, but the sword was too heavy for you. 

“You have some skills with that sword, señorita,” he called, just as you dropped your arm, letting the sword hang by your side as you took a deep breath. 

His voice made you jump and swing around, the sword quickly raised. 

“Do not worry, I mean you no harm,” he said, walking towards you with both his arms raised, “We’ve met before, with your troublesome mare.” 

“I remember,” you answered, the tone of your voice betraying your wariness as his sudden appearance, “What are you doing here?” 

“The same as you, señorita, I think,” he replied, “seeking a place away from unwelcome eyes to hone my skill on a Sunday.” 

Unclipping his cloak and satchel and placing them on a log near the edge of the clearing, he then turned and nodded at the sword in your hand. 

“You have some skill, but the sword is too heavy for you.” 

“What do you care?” you snapped at him, the sword still lifted as he approached. 

“I train the younger soldiers, when a sword is too heavy for the user, the technique suffers. And I hate to see a bad swordsman. Or woman.” 

With a fluid movement he pulled both of his swords from his back, the left one spinning in his hand, the handle held out towards you. 

“Let me show you, borrow my sword, it’s more lightweight.”

You regarded him with suspicion, not lowering your own sword. 

“Why do you want to help me?” 

“Why do I want to help a woman become a better fighter?” he countered, still holding out the sword to you, “Because those without swords can still die upon them. I learned that a long time ago. So better the women know how to fight too.” 

You regarded him with caution, the dark haired, dark eyed man with a strange accent and a menacing scar across his eye. But something in his face, the way he looked at you with a cocked eyebrow, encouraging you to take the sword he was still holding out to you, made your trepidation waver. Slowly you sheathed your own sword, and grabbed the handle of his. He gave you a crooked smile and a quick nod. 

“Good. Now show me what you can do.” 

With a quick movement he brought up his own sword and attacked, and you just about parried in time, the two swords ringing out through the empty forest as they met. 

Marriage was not something that was ever on the cards for him. But sometimes fate wills it differently. 

And before that Sunday afternoon in the forest, you’d never considered marrying someone either. At least not for any other reason than your father telling you that a man was needed to run the farm when he was gone. But the dark haired Spaniard with the scowling face, menacing and imposing, he was the one who made you see that marrying didn’t mean settling for one of the local boys. 

His dark eyes glittered with mischief as he taunted your sword skills, easily smacking your arm with the flat side of his blade as you failed to anticipate his next move in the early days of your training. But it was the way he smiled with pride when you managed to disarm him and put your blade to his neck, that smile made your heart melt. He was proud of you for a skill any other man you knew would shame you for, even attempt to lock you up for. It was like taking a deep breath of air for the first time, the way he treated you like an equal in a way no ever had before. 

It was mesmerising how a hardened soldier with such a menacing scowl could transform into the most handsome man you’d ever seen. It stunned you, and locked you in place, the first time you stood toe to toe with him, his back against a thick oak, your sword resting against his neck. Surprise flashed across his face first, then he smiled, his eyes shifting from the hard concentration of battle to soft warmth as his lips pulled up in a proud grin. 

“I knew there was a warrior in you,” he said, holding his sword arm up in defeat as you pulled the blade away from his neck, “with my training, you’ll beat almost any man.” 

“Almost any man?” you replied, your eyebrows lifting as you moved your hand and rested the blade against his neck again. 

Pero chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked down on you, glancing down his sharp nose as you made him tilt his head back again. 

“Any man, guerrera,” he smiled and again the pride in his voice made warmth and elation shoot through your body. 

Sweat was dripping from his forehead, you could feel the heat of him against you, the rise and fall of his chest, your own short breaths against him as an errant drop slipped over his lips and his tongue came out to catch it. Your eyes drifted to the pink tip as he licked his bottom lip, watching it disappear into his mouth again. When you looked up, his smile was gone, replaced by something more hungry, his eyes darker as they seemed to study your face. There was no need for you to be so close to him still, the fight over. But as he brought his hand up and carefully pushed your sword away from his neck, you only let your hand drop, not stepping back. You felt rooted to the spot with his eyes on you, the warmth of his body like a magnet to your own. 

“Señorita…” he almost growled, a half whisper from the back of his throat, as he slowly leaned closer, his eyes moving to your lips before his gaze fell on you again. Dark and warm, it was like being pulled in by the last of the dying embers of a fire. Pero glowed and burned hot under your palm as you put your hands on his neck and pulled him to you, your sword falling to the floor of the forest with a soft clatter. 

He wouldn’t let you go, and you clung to him just as eagerly, the dry leaves rustling as you pulled him down, he rolled you over, caging you in under his strong arms.

“Señorita…” he growled again, it was all he could press out before your lips found his, soft, pliant and sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted, addictive in the way they felt against his mouth, his jaw, his cheeks as you found new places to kiss him, your fingers winding through his hair, keeping him locked in place against your lips, taking as much as you wanted from him and he never once stopped you. 

He was lost. So utterly lost. And he’d never felt more at home. 

You plucked last year’s leaves from your hair and cloak all the way home that day. Pero followed you to the edge of the forest as always. But this time you pulled him behind a tree and made him press his hard body against you, pinning you against the trunk. The way he groaned into your kisses made your body heat up, your need for him growing with every slow roll of his hips, hands roaming to feel as much of him as you could, his hands kneading your hips and caressing your curves.

If your lips were swollen and your hair dishevelled, your father said nothing of it when you came home. When Pero came by one Sunday after church and asked permission to marry his daughter, he wasn’t surprised. 

There had been no war or rebellion to pull Pero away from you that year. William left, serviced under a local lord, but Pero stayed and put what little money he had left into buying the small farm next to your father’s. When the time came, the two could be merged and provide a good life for the two of you and any children that followed. When the small cottage was his by law, only then did he go to your father, who said yes without hesitation to the large Spaniard. 

“As if I could deny you the man you’ve clearly set your eyes on, even if he wasn’t a great, big hulking warrior,” your father had said later that same night after Pero had left, “With him in your house, I know you’ll be safer than with me. And if you truly love him too, well then I have no objections.” 

“I really do love him, with all his scowls and menacing looks, he is a very good man underneath it all, father.” 

There had been strange looks from the villagers, but that had hardly mattered. You’d always gone your own way, and marrying a dark haired outsider with a thick accent seemed to be something that the gossiping wives had expected of you. Either way, when you exchanged your vows outside the church on the intended day, you were surrounded by smiling faces, the old priest beaming down at you as you entered the church with Pero by your side to be blessed by by God.  

The feast lasted most of the day but by the late afternoon, you both left your father’s farm and was escorted by the priest, William and a few other villagers, to your new home, the cottage that Pero had worked so hard to turn into a home for you both. His first home since he left the place he was born, and now the place where he intended to live out the rest of his life as a happy man. When the marital bed had been blessed too, Pero closed the door to the cottage and you were alone as husband and wife for the first time. 

“Come here, husband,” you smiled at him as he turned back from the door. You didn’t need to beckon him, nothing would keep him away from you tonight, but you liked the sound of his new title - husband.

“Mi esposa,” he grinned as he crowded you against the sturdy oak bed he’d built with the aid of the local carpenter, “my wife, finally.” 

His eyes went soft, his mischievous grin replaced by a tender look as he cupped your face with his warm palms, “Never in my life did I think I’d call someone ‘my wife’, I never thought this was the way my life would be, and then I found you,” he ran his thumbs over your cheeks, leaning his forehead against yours as your breaths mingled, ”Te amo, mi amor,” he whispered. 

“I love you too, Pero,” you whispered back, your fingers finding his soft curls as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Gently he pushed you backwards, making you lay down on the bed, your bed, as he moved to cage you in under his arms and wide shoulders. Many training sessions in the forest had ended this way, time slipping away as you kissed each other breathless, but it had never gone further. You’d feel the thick weight of him pressed against your thighs, felt how he sometimes rolled his hips to seek a brief relief, but he'd always pull back.

“Amor, I won’t take you on the forest floor,” he’d muttered when you asked him to stop caring so much about your virtue, “I want you in a bed, our bed, when I’m your husband and you’re my wife.”

Now here you were, in your bed, and you called him husband as he slowly removed all your layers, caressing every sliver of skin that was revealed to him. He pressed kisses to your soft breasts, moaning as he felt them pebble under his touch, his strong nose trailed across the downy hairs of your belly, and when you giggled at the way his beard tickled, he nipped at the warm skin of your thighs. The thick slide of his tongue through your heated centre made you arch your back and gasp, your fingers scrambling for purchase in his hair. You could hear him chuckle against you, the tip of his nose circling the epicentre of your pleasure, he seemed to know this part of your body better than yourself and he soon had you moaning his name as you fought to catch your breath. 

When he had you drenched and dripping, he rested his head on your soft thigh and tapped your leg. 

“Amor, look at me,” he invited. Through half closed lids, clouded with pleasure, you watched him slide a finger through your liquid, coating it before he slowly pushed in. It slipped in easily, and when he curled it, caressing your insides, your eyes fell closed of their own volition. Suddenly you wanted more, more of his fingers, more of him and you whined, your hips rolling over his finger. 

“Please, Pero…” you whimpered, your voice hoarse and pleading. 

“What do you want, esposa,” he asked as he moved his finger gently back and forth, making you gasp again. 

“More…I think…more…” you mumbled and Pero smiled. Seeing you fall apart for him, slowly showing you how good he could make you feel, how he intended to spend every long winter evening, it filled him with a happiness he’d never felt before. It was like a hot burning fire inside his chest and it would keep him warm when he had to leave, he knew these memories would be the ones he returned to on long cold nights alone. 

“More?” he asked, “I can give you more, amor.” 

The smile in his voice made you look up at him as he moved to lie at your side, putting his arm under your shoulders and finding your lips with his own. As his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he gently pushed a second finger into your heat. He felt you arch up against him, whimpering into his mouth, your fingers digging into his arms as he slid his own in and out, setting your body on fire with every slow drag. 

He moved so slowly, it was like your body was turning into molten metal, heat flowed through you, all coming from where Pero’s fingers sunk into you. Your hips rolled of their own accord, your core clenching hard around him and a tension was building up inside you. But just as you felt as if you were about to snap, like a thread pulled too tight, Pero slipped his fingers from you and caressed your side, his hand leaving a sticky trail on your skin.

“Amor,” he mumbled, moving over your body so that he once again was caging you in, his warm, dark eyes glowing as he looked down at you, “Amor, I’m going to enter you now, tell me to stop if it hurts, you are so tight.”

You nodded and made room for him between your legs, you knew this might hurt, you’d heard the wives talk and the gossip. But no one had ever mentioned it feeling this good to be with a man, this aching need to be filled up by him. It had you panting with impatience, your core clenching around the emptiness left behind by his fingers. 

Pero kept his eyes locked on you as he coated himself with your silky liquid and lined himself up. Your brows furrowed as he pushed the thick head inside, and he dropped his forehead to yours, taking a deep breath. 

“Does it hurt?” he whispered, slowly rocking himself back and forth, just the tip moving inside you, and you shook your head. 

“No, it was just a little tight, I want more,” you replied, spreading your legs wider for him. He reached down and hooked your leg over his hip. 

“Squeeze me, pull me in if you want more,” he said, gritting his teeth as he felt your contract around him, fighting the urge to push in harder, “you feel so good, amor, so good to me.” 

Your legs wrapped around his waist and Pero rocked slowly, pushing in deeper with each short thrust. His face was pinched with concentration, his mouth half open as he licked his lips. With your arms wrapped around his neck, his forehead against yours, each breath you took was his and your world shrunk down to only Pero. Only his warm body above yours, his hips heavy between your legs, driving himself into you and creating ripples of pleasure through every fibre of your being with each thrust deep inside. Your eyes wanted to close but you forced them to stay open, to see your husband as he looked at you, his eyes hazy with lust, dark and burning, every movement making him groan as your body pulled him in. The tight string started to pull taught inside you again, your body moving against Pero’s, making him pick up his pace. 

“Amor, can you feel that?” he mumbled, his forehead still resting against yours, “can you feel your body getting ready to fall?” 

You nodded, it felt like a lightning storm ready to break, just over the horizon. Tightening your grip around his waist, you pulled him in and he understood, driving himself deeper, a little bit harder into your tight core. 

“Pero…” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he grunted in response, his hand grabbing your leg and finding a new angle. 

“Amor, let me feel you come around me, give me this…” he panted, “the first time…I want it-”

Before he’d even finished you cried out under him, gripping him tight, your body trembling as the string snapped and lighting coursed through you, Pero’s thick cock driving hard into you, pushing your pleasure higher as he gasped and grunted. With a cry he broke, a loud groan, and he spilled himself inside, your legs like a vice around his waist as he rocked himself deeper. 

He was heavy on top of you, the warm sweat of his torso gliding against your own chest as you buried your face against his neck and took long, deep breaths. 

“Pero…my love…” you whispered softly into his ear, his wet kiss against your own neck was his exhausted response as he slowly came down from his high. Your arms were still wrapped tight around him, as were your legs, locking him in place. Not that he wanted to leave, he would stay here, in this bed, between your legs, until moss grew on him like an old boulder that no farmer could move. 

He was home. 

Endless miles stretched out behind them, thousands if they cared to count them. Pero did not. All he could see was the white cliffs in front of the ship, like a beacon, a sign that their long journey was finally coming to an end. 

They returned, not as poor as they’d set out, but not as rich as they thought they’d be, but the only thing that mattered to Pero was that he was returning. He’d fought with his friend, felt betrayed by him, even abandoned him in the end, so strong was his need to return home. It had almost cost him his life, caught by the very army he was trying to escape as he left William behind, brought back and then thrown in chains. He thought he’d die there, locked up in a dungeon, never seeing you again. 

It burned in his chest as the chains gnawed at his wrists, to never see you again, to leave you behind in this world without a word. He could see your face as he closed his eyes, conjured it up in his mind and remembered the tears clinging to your lashes as he pulled back one final time and turned for his horse. Riches or not, he was a damn fool for leaving you, he should’ve been content with what he had. 

In the end it was only by the grace of God, or maybe by William’s good heart, that he’d been freed by the very friend he’d betrayed and allowed to leave and make the long journey home. 

Now he stood on solid ground again, readying his horse for the final stretch home. 

Home. 

A word he’d never thought he’d be able to say and for it to mean something worth fighting for. A woman he loved. A house where he could keep her warm and protected. A place to raise a family. 

Home. He was going home. He knew he never should’ve left. 

The last ride was easy and he drove his horse fast, the afternoon barely past its prime as he saw the cottage at the end of the path, tucked in among the heavy oak trees. It looked well kept, but the door was shut tight and no animals roamed around the yard. 

“Mi amor!” he called, spurring his horse on for the last few yards, “Mi amor!” he called again as he swung himself from the saddle. 

But the door was shut tight and wouldn’t budge and a lap around the small house showed him that it was indeed as empty as it looked. He mounted his horse again, not yet uneasy, and set a fast pace down the lane, towards your father’s farm a mile through the forest. 

Here there was life at least, chickens in the yard, a dog pulling on its leash and the door open. Again he swung himself from the saddle, throwing the reins around the gate post and striding forward. 

“Stay back!”

Your sword was raised. Your sword? No, his sword, the one he’d left with you. Held up by you now, threatening him to not take another step forward. 

“Mi amor, it’s me, Pero,” he smiled, spreading his arms wide and taking long strides to you, wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and feel your soft body melt against his after so many months. 

“Stay back!” you snarled, taking a step back and settling into the fighting stance he’d taught you and Pero floundered, stopping in his tracks. 

“Amor…Have I changed that much? Don’t you know your husband?” 

“I don’t have a husband,” you replied, your sword still raised, “Now, leave before I set the dogs on you!”

Pero felt a cold dread rise in his chest, confusion clouding his mind, he didn’t understand why you didn’t know him and he dropped his arms, his face a pained mask. 

“Mi amor, it’s me, I left a year ago on a foolish mission, you were my wife when I left and I have fought so hard all this time to get back to you and…” he trailed off as your eyes showed no recognition, no flash of relief. Just a hard stare at him. 

“Tovar!” 

A voice called out, an elderly man coming around the corner of the cottage, his white hair in tufts around his ears and neck and his face concerned. 

“Tovar, it’s good to see you safe after all this time, my boy!” 

The man forced a pained smile at Pero before he reached you. 

“Daughter, lower your sword, he is a friend, he just hadn’t been past here in some time,” the old man put his hand on your arm and gently made you lower the sword, “Go inside and make sure the stew is not burning, I will speak with Tovar and join you shortly.” 

Pero looked on in confusion as you sheathed the sword, smiled at your father and turned back into the cottage. 

“John, tell me what’s going on, why does my wife not know me?” 

“Come with me,” he replied and gestured towards the edge of the farm yard, the low stone wall serving as a seat as he sank down. Pero remained standing, glancing back at the cottage. Part of him wanted to storm into the cottage and grab you, shake you and make you see him, see him, your husband. But John’s hand landed on his arm and pulled his attention back to the old man. 

“It began not long after you and William left, her memories have been slowly going and neither the priest nor the physician know why or what caused it.” 

“What do you mean, her memories are going? She doesn’t know me?” Pero gripped the handle of his sword, not a threat, just a comfort, to hold on to something familiar as he rubbed his thumb over the pommel, “I am her husband, she loves me, how can she forget me?” 

“I don’t know, Pero,” John sighed, rubbing his weathered hand over his face as he shook his head, “she just doesn’t. And it’s not just you, she seems to forget most new things from one day to the next, a new neighbour, the cow giving birth to a new calf, selling a few of the chickens, she just forgets,” he looked over at the cottage where a thin tendril of smoke rose slowly from the short chimney, “She remembers her childhood, her brother and mother dying, after that it all becomes hazy.”

John looked up at Pero again and Pero could see the toll the past year had taken on his father-in-law as pain flashed across his face, his usually bright eyes sunken and dark. 

“I’m sorry, son, she doesn’t even remember meeting you, nothing of your life together, and not you leaving.” 

It hits him like a dagger to the chest, piercing in its pain and wrenching his chest open; he left, she begged him not to, but he left and this is his punishment. Her mind is protecting her from the pain he caused. With a groan he turns around, sinking down on the wall, his head buried in his hands, it feels as if his throat is closing up, a sob tearing its way up, like broken glass cutting him open. 

“I left her,” he groaned, choking around his words, “She begged me not to go, that last night before I left, and I thought I had to and left her anyway. I broke her heart and this is my punishment, her mind has removed me from her so she doesn’t have to live with my betrayal.” 

“Son…” John said, his voice choking too, but he put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, “We do not know the will of the Lord, you did what you thought was best.” 

The hand on Pero’s shoulder burned like fire, guilt over taking him and he stumbled to his feet, shaking off the other man’s grip with a shrug. 

“I’ll leave, it’s for the best,” he replied, striding towards his horse without looking back, his jaw tight around his words, “Take care of her for me.” 

“Tovar, wait,” John called after him and hurried to his feet. He grabbed the reins of the horse just as Pero swung himself into the saddle, “She loves you, still. I know she does, she just needs to remember you.” 

“Remember how I broke her heart and left her? What kind of a husband was I? No,” Pero shook his head and gathered the reins, making John let go of them, “Let her have a good life without me.” 

The door of the cottage creaked as he spoke the last words, making him look up towards it. You were standing in the opening, an empty water bucket in your hand, your eyes on him. 

“Are you really my husband?” you asked, glancing over at your father, but finding Pero’s eyes again. Pero felt his throat close up again as he saw the way you looked at him, a complete stranger, not a trace of recognition. 

He just nodded in response, not trusting his voice. 

“He is, my dear,” John replied in his stead,  “Do you remember me telling you about him when your mind first started to go?” 

You shook your head at that, your eyes still on Pero. 

“I’m leaving,” he said, a deep furrow in his brow as he ruefully shook his head, “I caused you both enough hurt.” He nudged his horse to turn around, walking it through the gate and out onto the road, avoiding John’s look of pity.  

“Wait!” 

The call came just as he was about to spur his horse on, away from your empty stare. 

“Wait,” you called, hurrying after him, stopping as he halted his horse and turned in the saddle. You came up to stand by its neck, looking up at him, “Stay at least the night, I…I know I lost so many memories, but...if you’re my husband then you should stay, maybe something will come back.” 

“No,” he shook his head, looking away from you and down the road, “I caused too much harm, I don’t want you to have to relive the pain I caused you.” 

“Please, my life has been cut in half, I can’t remember it, but I know something big is missing. I will gladly take the pain again if I can have the rest of my life back,” you put your hand on his horse’s neck, tilting your face up to him as you waited for his reply, “Please.” 

He couldn’t resist looking down at you and he felt his resolve weaken as your eyes met his. Such a familiar face, the one he loved so deeply. The colour of your eyes was seared into his mind, the small imperfections on your cheeks that he’d mapped with his lips so many nights, the shape of your perfect nose that he’d traced with his calloused fingers when you complained that it was all wrong. So many long, cold nights, picturing this face in his mind’s eye as he tried to do what he thought was right, the desperate moments when he thought he wasn’t coming back to you at all. Facing monsters from nightmares in overwhelming numbers, even as he fought for his life, this face was floating before him. You were the one he was fighting so hard to get home to. 

Now you were looking back at him, pleading with him, and he knew he had no choice. The last time he denied your request, he’d almost lost his life and you’d lost your memories of him. He would stay. The pain he would feel at seeing you look at him like a stranger would be a small price to pay compared to the pain he’d put you through with his greed and stubbornness. 

He gave you a nod, a short movement of his head as you held his gaze. He searched in vain for a glimmer of recognition, a flash of the woman you were before he left, but there was nothing. Just a small, uncertain smile as you dropped your hand from his horse’s neck and took a few steps back. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, glancing back at your father, “my father will be glad to have you with us too, he’s probably tried to make me remember you so many times.” 

Pero slid off the back of his horse and took hold of the reins as he turned to you. His rough fingernails dug into the palm of his hand as he clenched his fist, the familiar scent of your skin washing over him as he got closer. He could feel every bone in his body aching to reach out and pull you into his arm, bury his nose in the soft skin of your neck and breathe you in, feel your hands on him again. He could feel himself torn in two; the urge to bolt when you took a step back from him, the need to stay near and never leave again. 

“Amor…” he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from you as you took another step back, the pain and emotion plain on his face. 

“I’m…I’m sorry…” you whispered, “I don’t know what that means…” 

For a few moments you looked at him as he refused to meet your eyes again, his gaze wavering as his hand closed around the reins of his horse. His knuckles were pulled taught, the tension in his still form clear, and you took another step back. 

“Please, put your horse away and I’ll heat up water for you to wash. Father said you’ve travelled far, you must be weary. There's good stew cooking too,” you raised your hand and gently put it on the neck of his horse, “Come, please.” 

He followed you into the house once he’d put the horse away, your father leaving to bring the small herd of cows in for the evening. Water was heating over the fire and you mixed it with the cooler water from the barrel as Pero stepped over the threshold with his heavy saddle bags by his side. 

“You live with your father now,” he said, a statement rather than a question, but you nodded, wiping your hands and turning to the stew pot. 

“Yes, well, I don’t remember living anywhere else but he tells me the cottage down the road is where I lived before…” you trailed off, putting your hand to your temple as your brow furrowed, screwing up your eyes as if trying to search for a memory. Pero shifted by the door and you turned to him with a surprised look on your face. 

“I-I guess…that’s where we lived?” you asked and a look of anguish flashed across his face. 

“Yes….yes, we lived there,” he replied, still holding his heavy bags, looking like he was almost on the verge of leaving again. “We moved there on our wedding day and I… Do you ever visit it now?” 

You shook your head but hesitated, “Never…but maybe I have been back, but I forget from one day to the next, I know it’s there but if I see it now, it’s like I see it for the first time.” 

Pero dropped his bags on the floor and rubbed his hand over his face, his shoulders slumped as if under a tremendous weight. 

“Amor…” he said to the floor before looking up at you again, “I don’t know if I can do this. We lived there, you and me, they were the happiest days of my wretched life, and now it’s all been taken from us. You look at me like a stranger and I can’t stand it.” 

You didn’t know what to say, the man in front of you was a stranger, nothing in his voice or face was familiar. The only reason you asked him to stay was your father telling you he was your husband, and that feeling in your chest of something missing, that empty space in your mind, a big piece of your life’s memories missing. 

“I’m sorry…” you said again, but he shook his head. 

“Don’t. It’s my fault, I did this to you. And I’m staying until you tell me to leave.” 

“I might not remember you in the morning,” you said, “I often forget meeting new people.” 

New people

It cut through him like the sharpest blade. He’s ‘new people’ to you now, not your husband, or even a friend. Just a stranger in your house. 

He nodded at the large bowl that you’d filled with water, “I’ll get cleaned up now, do you want me to go outside?” 

The cottage was familiar, he’d spent much time here before the wedding, and not much had changed in the year he’d been gone. It had only two rooms, and he presumed you were sleeping in the bed nook against the back wall, your father in the other room. The small cottage didn’t hold much space for privacy. 

You shook your head and turned back to the fire, “I’ll keep my back turned, I need to watch the stew.” 

He stared at you for a beat, the achingly familiar shape of your shoulders, your hips and the way you cocked one out to the side as you leaned forward over the large pot. How many times hadn’t he come up behind you, run his hands over your soft shapes, pushed your hair to the side and pressed kisses to your neck as you giggled at the way his beard tickled your skin. Now you stood with your back to him to not see as he pulled off his clothes, something you’d done to him almost every night. Unlaced his shirt, pulled it from his breeches and caressed his skin with your soft hands. 

The dirty shirt dropped to the floor with a soft sound and you heard him wring the washcloth as you added the last of the herbs to the stew. You couldn’t help yourself, you glanced over your shoulder and stole a look at him. He was a stranger, but supposedly your husband, and either way, he was handsome. Under that layer of grime and sweat, he was a striking man, unlike any you’d ever seen. Or, at least, unlike anyone your mind would let you remember. So you glanced back at him and was struck almost dumb by the sight. Broad shoulders, a muscular back tapering into narrow hips where his breeches hung low as he rubbed the washcloth over his abdomen. 

The back of his neck was tanned golden, his back lighter and marred by a long scar that shone bright in the dim light. It looked like a painful injury, old and long since healed over, and you wondered if he’d ever told you what had happened to him. Had you run your fingers over as he told you the story? You realised you must’ve spent countless nights next to this man in your marital bed, his hands on you, your hands on him. This man, this stranger in your father’s house, would know you better than anyone else, every inch of your body and your most intimate secrets. 

As if he could sense your eyes on him, he glanced back over his shoulder and met your eyes, and he seemed to hold his breath for a moment. Then he turned fully to face you, the washcloth forgotten in his hand. 

“Amor…” he whispered and you bit back a sudden sob. His eyes were so hopeful, you wanted nothing more than to remember him, to have all the memories of him flood back into your mind as he dropped the washcloth and took two quick steps across the floor. 

“I don’t remember,” you sobbed as his arms wrapped around you, “I don’t remember anything about you.” 

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t let you go. Instead he let you sob against his chest, holding you close as he rested his chin on your head. His heart was beating wildly, thrumming so hard you could hear it as you pressed your cheek against him, and even though he was a stranger, his arms felt safe around you, the scent of his skin comforting and soothing. 

With a small movement he rubbed your back, slowly up and down, “It will come back, amor, it will. And if it doesn’t, I will make you fall in love with me again and tell you about all the memories we have.” 

You nodded against his chest, your sobs subsiding, but you didn’t pull away from him, and he didn’t let his arms drop. He held you just as tight, reluctant to give up the feeling of having you in his arms again after all he endured to get back to you. 

“Although…I’m still not sure how I made a woman like you fall in love with a reckless mercenary like me, how will I manage that again?” he said, a small smile to his voice and you looked up at him. He’d lifted his chin from your head and was looking at you with a sad smile, tears clinging to his dark lashes. 

“Promise me you’ll try,” you said, your voice low and broken. 

“Every day for the rest of my life, amor,” he whispered, “I will make you fall in love with me again and then we can make all those memories one more time.” 

A/N - I hope you enjoyed this bitter sweet little story! Bonus points to anyone who caught the LotR reference :)

Tagging some of my fellow Pero lovers:

@nerdieforpedro @din-cognito @harriedandharassed @morallyinept @inept-the-magnificent

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @lady-bess @angiewatson @cozylittlepigeon @604to647

@survivingandenduring @for-a-longlongtime @gnpwdrnsnshine @wintersquirrel @grogusmum

[luniarix]

*⁀➷ 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜

sypnosis: basically in which toji and you are having sex for the first time after a 3 year long distance relationship <3

NOTE: WHY DID I TAKE HALF A YEAR TO FINISH THIS BRU. feeling like cory rn LMAAOOO— no but frfr school has been in the way and some personal problems have made it hard to write but im getting back on track i promise. i tried to make this longer than i originally wanted! more fics are otw i defff have plenty of ideas while i've been gone.

CW: fem!reader, virgin!reader, chubby reader!!, possessive!toji, domestic!toji, shy!y/n, whipped!toji, whipped!reader, age gap, established relationship, mentions of sexting, dry humping, unprotected!sex(wrap it before u tap it), mating press, marking, scratching, slight hair pulling, dirty talk, handjob if u squint, fingering, cunnilingus, after care, toji bein an absolute sweetheart cause i’m a sucker for affection, vv domestic moments bc im a romantic at heart, pet names such as; baby, sweetheart, mama(s), etc

majority of people say that long distance relationships were bound to fall apart one day.

not yours and toji’s tho!! of course not, even with all the stigma surrounding online relationships and with the added on fact that it’s “taboo” for toji to be years older than you, didn’t mean you two wouldn’t work out. duhh, you guys are safe from all that.

and so here you were, sat nervously on his couch in his house waiting for him to finish coming back from the convenience store. you guys had decided on your first ever actual date to be a more domestic one— so a movie night with snacks was the go to move. the click of the front door opening has you springing up and walking over to toji who has multiple bags with all kinds of treats.

“give me some. let me help you, kay?”

you mutter, taking a few bags from him before he could protest and setting them down onto the kitchen table. you go into the cabinets to pull out a few big bowls, and start pouring the food into them. all while you were doing this, toji unexpectedly comes up behind you and wraps his strong arms around your waist.

“have i told you how pretty you look baby?”

he presses a few kisses to your neck as he rubs circles on your soft hips, and you turn away from him to hide the way you’re becoming flustered.

“you’ve only been saying it since you’ve picked me up at the airport.”

toji spins you around to face him, and you begin biting your lip at the way he’s eyeing you down. good lord he was so sexy. but looking at him for too long would put you into cardiac arrest with how his green eyes pierced through your own. damn, since when did it get so hot in here?

“i’ll keep on saying it sweetheart, cause i like the way you squirm underneath my gaze.”

you swallow and give a shy giggle in return. you were so glad that toji was your first ever real long term relationship, because him being your first everything? the idea always had you squealing like a middle school girl. but your train of thought had dissipated when toji begun to gently squeeze your ass.

“toji… i- i needa set the bowls down onto the living room table.”

oh wow, now you’re stuttering? you felt a bit embarrassed considering how assertive you were between your texts and calls. yet here you were, getting shy at every gesture he made. obviously during your relationship you two had always been lovey dovey, but you never actually believed that toji himself was clingy. you aren’t complaining tho!! you adored that he was like this with you.

“that can wait, just let me kiss for a bit.”

and who were you to say no to his request? with the way he was holding onto your waist as he pulled you into a sweet kiss was when you knew this was worth waiting for. the soft sounds of your lips parting and connecting once more had your head spinning— your knees becoming weaker from every caress he gave.

“you taste so good mama.”

the signature nickname he gave you since the start of your relationship slips out, and you moan in satisfaction. you grip onto his black wife beater shirt, then smooth your hands up to grab onto his shoulders, jabbing your nails into his skin from how jittery you were getting. he softly bit your bottom lip, and that made you part your lips enough for him to slip his tongue in.

your vision grows hazy and your eyes close shut before pulling away in a gasping manner. toji gazes at you in desire as you begin to act like that didn’t phase you— when in fact you were trying your best not to start jumping around and doing jumping jacks. good god, you really did win the lottery with him. you push your hair back from your face and grab the bowls before walking right past him and setting them down on the living room table.

toji follows right behind you, pulling you back into him as he sits down on the couch. you squeal as you fall right into his lap, chest right against his. you flutter your lashes at him as he licks his lips and leisurely glides his hand down from your neck all the way down to your ass once again. it made your body twitch in delight, and you grind against his crotch in response to his tease.

“oh? ‘you finally gonna stop bein’ shy with me mama?”

toji rubs his hand up towards your waist and pinches your hip dip. you have your own hands massaging his shoulders as you begin to mutter in embarrassment,

“you keep trying to provoke me, asshole.”

toji gives you a sly grin before you impulsively decide to pull him in by the straps of his wife beater shirt, kissing him once again. you gasp desperately and he soon had his tongue dancing with yours. you nibble on his bottom lip and pull back just a little to tease him, which has his eyes widening in shock. your confidence boosts at that reaction and you begin to go down to his jaw, peppering soft kisses towards his neck and that’s when you begin to suck.

you give wet kisses to his adams apple and switch from sucking on his skin to kissing over the markings that began to fold. you do the same all over his neck and you then trail down to his collar bones. you moan in surprise when you could start to feel toji’s boner pressing against you through his sweats. wearing biker shorts wasn’t helping either because you could clearly feel the imprint.

you whine and grind against him, trying to create more friction as your arousal begins to stain your panties and possibly through your shorts. toji groans and grips onto your hips, both of you moving in a messy rhythm. your thighs began to tremble as your clit became more and more sensitive with each reaching second. soon enough you’d orgasm, all while being clothed.

this idea makes toji stop grinding against you, gripping onto your hips to stop you. you’re dazed out expression contorts into a frustrated one as you pout. why wasn’t he letting you orgasm? you knew toji was the type of man to put your pleasure over his own and yet he was stopping you from reaching your high.

toji only chuckles and brushes a thumb over your soft lips, nudging his finger in a bit to coat a bit of saliva on it. meanwhile, he’s rubbing your hips and thighs.

“i know you’re frustrated baby, but it’s our first time together, and you deserve to orgasm in a much better way than just dry humping.”

your lashes flutter against your skin as you melt against his touch. gosh, he was always thinking about you first and you loved it so much. you were so entranced that you could only nod in response, a dreamy expression on your face. after all, this was the first out of many that you guys could get intimate with each other face to face. toji smiles lazily, admiring how beautiful his baby looked. he’s then quick to take off your shirt and helps you slip off your shorts, only leaving you in your undergarments.

he squeezes at your pudge, loving how soft you were— grinning at how you twitched and tried to hold in your giggles. he loved every part of your body, and he was going to make sure to cherish all of you. you deserved to be loved right. toji leans forward to rest his head against your tits, reaching his hands behind your back to smoothly unhook your bra. you gasp in surprise as the straps begin to slip off your shoulders.

he pulls back to have your bra fall off, pretty tits now being exposed to him. toji sucks in a sharp breath as he internally groans at how big your tits were, bringing his hands up to cup them. you softly moan and your already perked nipples hardened even more. he fans his breath against one, and gently pulls on the other. your soft sighs is what brings him to hurriedly put his lips around your nipple, licking and kissing the bud.

you sharply inhale and squeeze his shoulders. you felt like a mess, because you couldn’t think straight and the only thing your mind could focus on was the way toji’s boner was right against you and neither of you were fully naked yet. you just wanted him to fuck you so good— to make up for all the years you two missed out on each other’s bodies.

toji kisses the nipple he was teasing his fingers with, and then begins to suck on it as he then swirls his tongue around your areola. you bite your lip and shutter in satisfaction, as you feel him begin to toy with your other nipple. toji makes sure to leave marks all over your chest before actually gently laying you on the couch, and taking his own shirt off. you’ve seen it all the time through pictures and videos when he would be sending you gym videos, or when you would facetime when he would be at the gym or when it was late at night, but it still came as a surprise to you on how well sculpted he was.

“ya like what ya see baby?”

he’s grinning at you, and you realize that you’ve been staring at him for too long. you roll your eyes and smile back at him. there wasn’t any point in denying at how in awe you were with how sexy your man was.

“i do. you look so handsome.”

toji’s eyes become hooded, pools of emerald green darkening at your compliment. he licks his lips before pulling at your panties, ripping them in the process of quickly having them be thrown somewhere on the floor. wow, he must’ve really liked that comment.

you prop your elbows up against the couch and watch with wide-blown eyes as he pulls down his sweats and boxers, also discarding the clothing somewhere on the floor. his cock was— big and oh so girthy. you were definitely turning into puddy by the next morning.

you gasp when he pushes your legs apart and he’s sloppily pumping himself as his gaze latches onto yours, and blood rushes to your face from how self-aware you were. he was jacking himself off to you right in front of you. and dirty enough, you liked it. you liked having him look so desperate right above you, as he gets himself prepared to fuck you.

god, was that whole length seriously going to go inside you? toji would always speak about how big he was in a cocky tone and when you saw it on camera for the first time, you knew not to doubt him. but seeing it in actuality made it sink in on just how big he really was.

your breaths get heavier the more his pre dripped onto your lower abdomen, and as he was beginning to groan more. you were quick to put a hand around the top of his length, teasing his tip. toji’s body jolts for a second before he’s quick to relax once again and his pace becomes faster.

you draw circles around his tip, making sure to gently squeeze him every few seconds. you could tell how bad toji wanted to cum with the way he started to buck his hips and the lewd squelching noises got sloppier.

“fuck, i can’t take this any longer.”

toji abruptly pulls away from you, backing up to then grab your thigh and slide his hands up to your knees, lifting your legs off the couch to have you be folded against him, legs now hooked over his shoulders. your eyes widen when his nose is pressing against your pubic area, and he’s looking up at you with devilish eyes.

“been waiting to do this for a while..”

he murmurs, licking his lips feverishly. he’s quick to press his mouth right against your cunt, giving leisure licks to your clit. you cry out in surprise, thighs quickly beginning to tremble. you try to silence your moans by biting your lip and having a hand cover your mouth. but toji looks up at you and furrows his brows.

he pulls you closer and pushes your hips upward, your ass slightly lifting off the couch cushion as he gropes your asscheeks. he’s eating you faster, tongue swirling against your clit and then feverishly leaving sloppy kisses— and repeat. your eyes roll back as your body jolts in utter pleasure.

you try to push his head back from how flustered you were— but instead, your fingers tangle themselves into his hair as you pull on it, tears prickling at the brims of your eyelids. you mewl pathetically, trying to move your hips in a rhythmic pace against his tongue. you could feel the knot in your stomach beginning to form.

“oh god! toji! m’gonna— gonna cum!”

you shriek, thighs closing around his head as your body shakes in such a way that has toji holding onto your hips to steady you a bit. you try to hide your moans with your hands again but he’s quick to grab your wrist with his free hand and pin it down to the bed.

when he feels like you’re wet enough, he slowly inserts one thick finger into your twitching hole. your pupils dilate and your mouth turns into an “o” as you desperately gasp for air. his relentless pace becomes too much to bare when he’s inserting another finger, and you squeal with pleasure. your own fingers couldn’t compare to how good his own were stretching you, working you to a release.

his mouth goes back down again, gently sucking on your clit, as his fingers roughly fucked you. your eyes are practically crossing and toji could almost see stars swirling in your pupils as you succumbed to the immense feeling that was beginning to build up. you were whispering his name, chanting it over and over again like a prayer and it made him want to reach down to his cock and pump himself to your moans.

“oh! oh, tojiii! please! please let me—”

a sly grin forms on his swollen lips, and he curls his fingers at that spot that has you almost screaming, back arching off the couch as you grip onto his hair for dear life, pulling on it as your body quivers in delight. he was so good at this you feared that you’d end up closing your thighs around his head without thinking and suffocate him on accident.

and when he gently takes your clit in between his lips and sucks all while hitting that sweet spot inside, you come undone. toji could barely hear the "m'cumming!" you squealed out before you're creaming against his face, juices flowing down to his chin as he laps up your overstimulated cunt, moaning in satisfaction at how addicting your taste was.

"god you taste so fuckin' good, sweetheart."

you whine in response, hardly registering what he said over the loud drumming of your heartbeat, a dazed expression painting your face which made toji chuckle. but he didn't want you to get tired just yet. and so, he's quick to swipe his tongue over his lips, fingers taking the dripping cum on his chin into his mouth all while looking directly into your eyes. he's then towering over you once more, green eyes shining once more through the illuminated moonlight peaking through the curtains of his home, streaks of dark raven hair being outlined by said light.

"I love you, to'."

the words slip out so easily, so naturally, that it almost surprised you. but it didn't, not as much as the faint sharp inhale you heard from the man above you. it wasn't that you guys hadn't really used the words between you two, but more so it felt more real, more raw, now that you could actually say it to each other face to face. not that it hadn't already meant a lot during the time that you were long-distance but cmon, who couldn't say that this was so much better?

he lines himself up against your folds, bending down to kiss you on the lips. he didn't say anything. but he didn't need to, not with the way he brought his free hand up to intertwine with yours, giving an affectionate squeeze. and certainly not with the way he had begun peppering kisses all over your face, from your forehead down to your chin. rather than saying it back, he's showing you. showing you that this? this was going to be you two from now on.

"you ready, baby?"

after seeing his dick for the first time? since forever.

but you only smile against his lips, nodding in response. he nuzzles your noses together, tip slowly pushing into you. you moan, back slightly arching off the couch once again. toji then gently puts your legs over his shoulders anew as he finally wedges the tip inside, stopping every now and then so you can begin to stretch out and accommodate his girth and length without much struggle.

"oh fuck, you're so fuckin' tight."

toji moans as he bucks against you slightly, pushing another inch further in. you throw your head back against the soft cushions behind your head and gasp. he was so big, you already felt so full. he inches in slowly, and you could feel yourself loosening up more and more. your thighs are visibly trembling, and you could feel every trace of his vein that trails down his entire length. at one point, you felt like you could feel him in your stomach. toji finally goes in to the hilt, and your mind went blank.

it felt like forever for him to fully stuff himself into your pussy but when he had, you could feel his tip kiss your cervix and your body was tingling all over, tears forming at the brims of your eyelids as a reaction of pleasure. your bodies were finally connected and you were thrilled, so much so that you began squeezing around him—tighter.

"shit baby, you're sucking me in."

toji whispers huskily, thick black bangs of hair stuck onto his forehead from sweat as his beefy arms are caging your head. you moan in response, wrapping your arms around his neck and fingernails pressing on his back, scratching him. he grunts, lifting up to position himself to squat on top of you. oh my god, toji had put you in mating press.

his hips move back and slam back into you and you force down a scream when you feel him go so deep. your tits circle as you shake in desperation, and your cunt spasms at the feeling of the way his cock twitches. toji laughs, voice so deep and raspy that it made you wetter than you already were. he was amused at your reaction.

but you were getting impatient. finally getting used to his size meant that he didn’t have to hold back, and you didn’t want him to. you wanted him to have you not feeling your legs by tomorrow morning, and screaming until the entire neighborhood knew his name.

“please to’… want you to fuck me hard.”

being so close to him meant that you could not only see his reactions, but feel them too. so when he shudders from your words, it has you whining. his hips slowly begin to move, and your hands squeeze his shoulders in utter delight as you repeatedly gasp with each soft thrust.

and when he grabs your disheveled hair to tilt your head back, aligns his lip right against your ear? it has you quivering around his cock as he whispers to you,

"y’want me to fuck ya until you’re cumming all over my cock hm? want me to fuck ya ‘till you’re seeing nothin but stars?”

your toes curl as you tighten around him, the delicious feeling has him sighing in ecstasy. you then nod frantically, raking your nails against his biceps. you couldn’t even give him any other response besides a pitiful whimper. toji chuckles darkly, before fixing his positioning on top of you.

he pulls out just enough so only the tip and an inch or so are wedged in, and then snaps his hips back into you with full force as you jolt while screaming out his name. and then he starts fucking into you, almost at a feral pace. you grip onto his shoulders like your life depended on it, jaw slacked and the most erotic moans spewing out of your glossed lips.

“oh- oh my god! toji! please! ffucckk!”

you never knew you could moan so loudly, and god was it embarrassing. not in the shameful way, but more so… the fact that you couldn’t ever imagine yourself moaning like this until toji made it possible. your thought process is shortly cut off when toji begins to groan— and, was that a whine that you just heard?

you feel his hand trail down to your twitching clit, and your lips form an “o” shape as he begins to ever so softly pinch it. you wail as you frantically claw at his back, bright red scratch marks appearing that were sure to last for a while. toji grunts, he wouldn’t admit it just yet but the pain from your nails mixed with the sheer pleasure your pussy was bringing him was making his balls swell much faster than he expected.

and the way your tight gummy walls were sucking his fat cock in— it was like you were begging to be filled up with his thick cum. but maybe that was just him speaking for himself. the idea of cumming in you was enticing; one that consumes his sexual desires. but not just yet. toji looks down to see a white ring begin to form at the base of his dick, and he licks his lips as he glances back up at you.

you looked so pretty, fucked out on his cock like this. your tits were jiggling in rhythm with his animalistic thrusts, and your nipples were rubbing against his chest. and he was even more enamored with the sound his balls slapping against your ass were making. fuck, he was bound to cum soon. but you looked like you were on the brink of shattering more so than he was.

that specific feeling of your stomach clenching and your body tensing up has you knowing that you were going to reach your release any minute. and so when toji begins to messily rub his fingers against your clit to overstimulate you all while he’s rutting into you with one goal in mind— you break.

your thighs are quaking against his body, as your cunt gushes out milky white cum, coating toji’s cock and his inner thighs. you whine when toji pulls out and releases on your stomach and tits, feeling empty without him inside anymore. with your eyes rolled back, lights swirling behind your eyelids as you were trying to form coherent thoughts, with you trying to control your ragged breathing; you almost didn’t register toji’s “you okay mamas?”.

you look at him through half-lidded eyes, and exhale out a velvet “mhm”, a lazy smile spreading across your lips to reassure him even more. he laughs softly and then slowly pulls back from you to have your legs lay on his sides, as he begins to slowly and gently massage from your thighs down to your ankles. you moan with relief as you hadn’t even taken notice to the slight pain within some parts of your legs that toji was rubbing on.

“you did so well baby.”

he mumbles, bringing one leg up to kiss from your calf to your ankle, then the other. you practically melt from his touches— he was so good at making you feel loved in all kinds of ways and it made you go crazy.

“thank you for this amazing first time experience, to’.”

you reach for his free hand, pulling him down so you can give him sweet kisses on his lips and cheeks. he kisses you back, squeezing your hand affectionately. you both pull away and you slowly sit up, leaning against him for support.

“only the best for you, sweetheart. i’ll be right back with a wash cloth for ya, ‘kay?”

you nod and watch as he gets up and goes back into the bathroom across the room to get a wash cloth, and he comes back in a few seconds. you sigh at the feeling of the warmth of the water on the cloth, and toji cleans the sticky mess he left before going down to in between your thighs to clean, then the couch. he jogs back into the bathroom to leave the cloth and wash his hands, and maybe his dick, and comes back to you once more.

he sits next to you and brings an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder with his hand. he then tosses a blanket that was laying on the side over you two— and you realized how bad you’ve always wanted this. gosh, you couldn’t wait for more moments like this.

and then you look in front of you, and you remember what you two were actually meant to be doing.

“baby, what about the movie we were supposed to be watching?”

toji’s eyes widen, almost like that never crossed his mind, and you can’t help but giggle at how fast he grabs the remote to put on Netflix and swipe through movies you two could watch.

“we still can mama, jus’ don’t fall asleep on me.”

“you’ve already tired me out, so no promises.”

you grin at the way he playfully rolls his eyes and gives you a cheeky laugh. so when he pulls you in to peck your forehead, and for just the sake of being closer?

you know that this is where you were meant to be.

P.S: wow!! this was so much fun from start to finish. writers block is a real pain in the ass but more is to come, at a less-half year disappearance-rate LMAO. def going to write more abt this trope, i loved it sm.

feel free to leave ideas in my inbox or a comment ♡ if i made any grammar mistakes that i missed, lmk！and thank u so much for reading (●´ω｀●)

[valdomarx]

Roy’s first month of managing Richmond, he still wakes up at 4 a.m. every morning. 

There’s no reason for it; work doesn’t start until 8 and he doesn't need to do extra training sessions with Jamie any more. But his body can’t break the habit, so he lies in bed and stares at the ceiling.

4 a.m. is when night is over but morning has not quite begun, when the world is quiet and distant and there is room for thoughts which would otherwise be unthought and feelings which would otherwise be unfelt.

-

4 a.m. is Jamie flinging open his front door with a big grin and a stupid head torch, saying, “Morning coach!” and bounding off with such enthusiasm that Roy has to scramble to keep up with him.

-

4 a.m. is the team finally calling it a night after celebrating a tough win, Isaac and Colin with an exhausted Sam between them, Jan Maas giggling, and Dani coming tearing out of the club yelling “Back to the hoteeeeeeeeeel!” and everyone running joyfully after him. Everyone except Jamie, who is leaning against the wall of the club and watching Roy with a hint of a smile.

“Fucking what?” Roy growls.

“You’re doing good. At this manager thing, I mean. The boys like it when you come celebrate with us.”

-

4 a.m. is sunrise over Richmond Park, the trees swaying in the breeze, deer leaping away in the distance, a blanket of silence muffling London’s ever-present hum of traffic. It is Jamie’s contentment as he runs, the way he springs forward to meet every step, with the rays of the rising sun painting streaks of red and gold through his hair.

-

4 a.m. is the time the team bus breaks down and strands them in a field in the middle of nowhere, and most of the lads are asleep in their seats but Roy finds Jamie sitting a little distance away on a grassy bank, looking up at the sky.

“Proper good view of the stars here, innit?”

Roy cranes his neck to take in the view of bright white points splashed across the darkness. He hums and lowers himself to sit next to Jamie.

“That one’s Rigel.” Jamie points. “And over there, that’s Betelgeuse. About to go supernova and everything. It’s gonna explode and take out everything around it, but after that, it’ll leave behind a cloud of dust n shit which’ll make new stars. Mental, right?”

Roy glances at him sideways. “How d’you know all this shit?”

Jamie shrugs one shoulder. “Me mum used to take me to the observatory as a kid. Said it was good for my cultural development. But I think I just liked the view.”

Jamie is staring up at the stars, but Roy is looking at Jamie’s face, soft, open, and full of wonder.

-

4 a.m. is a stupid time to be doing this. Roy stands in front of Jamie’s door and hesitates before knocking. Who the fuck shows up out of the blue at someone’s house at this hour? But he’d woken up early again and the world had seemed grating, like something important was missing, and almost against his will his feet had carried him here.

He knocks and, much quicker than he expects, the hallway light flicks on and footsteps thump down the stairs. Jamie opens the door fully dressed and wide awake, and beams.

“Morning coach! You want a cup of coffee?”

Roy blinks. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here at this ridiculous time?”

Jamie's forehead wrinkles. "I'm sure you've got a good reason."

“I couldn’t sleep. Can’t sleep, I mean. I still wake up at 4 a.m. every morning."

Jamie nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

"I -" Roy squirms, hating feeling so visible. "I miss this."

Jamie looks up at him, surprised. 

"I miss you."

Jamie blushes, then fidgets with his sleeves. "You see me every day."

"It's not the same though. I miss starting my day with you."

"Oh." Jamie's cheeks are blotched with pink. "We could go for a run together? Do some training?'

It's tempting. Roy could say yes, and they could jog around the park, and it could be like it was before. A little piece of familiarity in a season of changes. 

But that's not what Roy is here for.

"I don't want to train," he says, and Jamie's face falls.

He steps closer, right up to the doorway, a mere few inches between them. He reaches out, stopping himself just before his hand lands on Jamie's chest. 

He looks up, meets Jamie's eye, makes sure he knows what Roy is offering. His hand meets Jamie's chest, solid and warm. "I want something else."

"Oh." Jamie scarcely moves, has to remind himself to breathe by the looks of it, and then one of those soft, beautiful 4 a.m. smiles spreads across his face and he steps back to open the door. "Then I guess you'd better come in."

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Ed Victor

On Sunday, Mohamed Sabry Soliman allegedly hurled two lit Molotov cocktails at a group of peaceful protesters in Boulder, Colorado, who gather each Sunday to demand the release of the 58 hostages still held by Hamas in Gaza. As Soliman, a 45-year-old Egyptian national, threw his homemade bombs at the group, consisting of families and the elderly, he shouted “Free Palestine,” “End Zionists,” and “How many children have you killed?”

Fifteen people were injured in what authorities quickly called a “terror attack.” One of the victims was an 88-year-old Holocaust survivor.

Soliman later said that he had “no regrets” over the attack and that he “wanted them all to die.” He had allegedly been planning the attack for over a year. He tried to purchase a gun but was denied because of his status as an illegal migrant, according to authorities.

Ed Victor, 57, who recently retired from a tech career, was there that day—like every Sunday—and he was extremely lucky to have walked away without any injuries. As you’ll read below, though, witnessing the terror attack up close was an experience that “unquestionably changed” him forever.

I heard a glass break. Then the first thing I felt was the heat. It came out of nowhere. Then I looked to my left, and the older woman near me was on fire.

She crumpled to the ground, the flames following her. This all happened in no more than two to three seconds.

The next few minutes—it couldn’t have been more than one or two—felt like an eternity. My world completely narrowed, rendering me oblivious to my surroundings, to the shirtless man not more than 15 feet away who was yelling “Free Palestine” at us and who had another firebomb in his hand. It never dawned on me that I might be in danger, too, until later that day when I watched a video of the scene that showed me with my back turned to the man, completely unaware of his presence. “Run away!” I told myself through the screen, watching the video. But in the moment, I didn’t. I couldn’t.

My Boy Scouts training from nearly four decades ago kicked in. I saw a fire, and I knew the only way to get out of it was to smother it. There was no water around, from what I could see, but I could also smell the subtle hint of gasoline. Water would never work to put this kind of fire out, I knew. I looked for something, anything I could find. A few Israeli or American flags strewn on the ground—no, they were too thin. So I grabbed the banner, the one we marched behind every Sunday, which read “LET THEM GO NOW.” I was concerned that it could be made of a synthetic material—“What if it lights on fire? We could create a fireball,” I feared. But there was no time, and nothing else in sight I could possibly use, so two others and I laid the banner on top of the agonized woman, trying to put out the flames all over her body.

Once the flames went out, one of my friends who had medical training began tending to the older woman and her wounds. By this point her clothes were tattered, and I noticed burns across her body.

My attention then turned to her husband, an older man standing beside her when the fire erupted. His leg was badly burned, and he watched as his wife lay on the ground in utter pain. He screamed. I can’t remember what he said, but he was distraught beyond distraught.

When the first responders finally arrived, I watched him get loaded into an ambulance. Eventually, I learned he was taken by helicopter to a local hospital.

Last Sunday had begun like any other. It was an overcast spring day. I woke up, put on a shirt, shorts, and a pair of Tevas, and drove from my home in a nearby suburb to Boulder’s Pearl Street Mall to join in the Run for Their Lives walk. I had been to the gathering every Sunday since September 2024, since a visit I took to Israel made me realize how important it was to keep the hostages’ names alive, to show that there were people fighting for them. To me, this rally never had anything to do with Israel. It was always about the hostages still in Gaza.

What bystanders normally notice about our walk is that we are completely quiet. People often hold pictures of hostages, some who have died, and some who are still being held by Hamas in Gaza—now for over 600 days. It wasn’t uncommon for a few bystanders to offer up nods of support or for others to shout “Free Palestine” at us as we walked. We were always instructed not to respond or react to it, so I learned to ignore these things. I never felt unsafe. I never imagined I would feel unsafe walking in downtown Boulder.

The attack occurred just as we gathered in front of the Boulder courthouse to read out the names of the hostages, both those who have been murdered by Hamas and those still held in captivity, and just before we were to sing together the Israeli national anthem, Hatikvah, which literally translates in English to “The Hope.”

I can’t remember much from the time I felt that sensation of heat to the moment that I found myself going from ambulance to ambulance, trying to gather the names of the injured and find out which hospitals they were being taken to so that I could communicate that information to our friends and their families. By the time I finally looked up and took in my surroundings, I could see police putting up caution tape around the area where I had just been standing minutes before. Police were speaking to witnesses.

The man who allegedly threw the firebomb had already been arrested and taken away. As for me, I’ve put up my own internal caution tape. I may never feel comfortable going back to that spot again, though I plan to try and rejoin the march this coming Sunday, one week after the attack. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back to that exact space and feel normal. This has unquestionably changed me.

If anyone asks me about how I’m doing, I say I’m okay. But if I dig a little deeper, I’m sad, angry, and outraged. Upon reflection, I have come to realize that “Free Palestine” can mean something for those who want a Palestinian state, but it has also become a rallying cry for killing the Jews. It was the rallying cry for the two people gunned down in Washington, D.C., just two weeks ago. It was the rallying cry in Boulder. That is not okay, and I don’t know what to do about it.

[andreas-river]

I would like to request a Nikto x Reader :)

Nikto overheard a conversation you were having with the other operators on base about how beautiful the nearby flowers are blooming in spring. He has begun a daily ritual of hiking up the hill to find the prettiest and gathering them for you. Secretly leaving little bouquets in places you would find.

ʻʻLingering scentʼʼ

Pairing: Nikto x Fem!Reader

TW: none, mostly fluff.

-

He never meant to eavesdrop on you.

That’s what he repeated to himself every time, watching the space ahead of him but with his ears focused on the tone of your voice, hearing the smile that you had. He never felt it before, nor did he know that you could feel a smile in someone’s voice.

There were small details, the way you pointed at the flowers outside on the way to the base, his eyes travelling all the way around to see the camp at the side of the road.

And to be honest with himself, he never noticed them, until now.

He couldn’t ever be a gentleman, there was no way that he saw himself give a bouquet of flowers to someone. The thought almost made him feel sick from the bottom of his stomach.

That same night, Nikto walked out of the base, a flashlight in his left hand as his boots left imprints on the cold ground. The snow was long gone, the days were becoming longer and longer, feeling like a fish out of water as the temperatures became warmer.

When he dropped down and pointing the light at them, gloved fingers brushing at the stem as he picked it from the ground, he realized that he never observed a flower in his entire life. The petals looked so bright under the artificial light, the center a bright yellow, reminding him of the time he saw you wear a yellow shirt.

He never expected to see you with that color on you, attracting more than a few pair of eyes, yet you walked straight like you weren’t a complete walking headlight.

He collected others from the ground, without even counting them as he held them in his other hand, walking back while trying to figure out a plan to give them to you. That’s when the thought hit him like a train: he was planning to give you a bouquet of flowers.

—

The following day, he stayed more than usual at shooting wooden targets with his rifle, his fingers tingling as if pure electricity was flowing in his veins, trying to keep himself at bay. He still remembers how he found himself searching for anything that could’ve kept the flowers together, finding only a rubber band inside one of his drawers.

He didn’t know what was driving him to such actions, he just felt like it was the right thing to do after hearing what you said.

At one point, he was forced by his teammates to get out from the training area, almost pushing him all the way. He sat with them as they were eating their lunch, his box still closed—he would eat it only in the privacy of his own room.

Still distracted by the flow of his own thoughts, he didn’t acknowledge your presence until you walked by, surprised to see you alone. He listened as you asked for a plastic cup—a bit weird, bottles were most used, until he watched you pouring water inside it as you gently placed flowers inside. Those flowers.

Until you turned in his direction, finally going back to reality and seeing his teammates waving at you, inviting you to sit with them.

He didn’t realize he was staring at you until your eyes watched him back, yet your smile never faltered for a moment, sitting in front of him and placing the flowers on the table.

“And where did those come from?”

He watched you blush at the question, murmuring that you didn’t know, and telling how you found the little bouquet of flowers tied at the handle of your door that same morning.

He held back a groan as Rodion tried to understand who could have been the gentleman behind that gesture, your face becoming redder by the second as his teammate tried to think of any person.

You let out a nervous laugh, distractedly fixing the flowers inside the cup.

His heart skipped a beat when you shifted your gaze on him, even if it was only for a moment.

—

It happened again, and again, your room perfumed from all those flowers that somehow ended up in spots where you always went. Always held by a rubber band, always tucked in a corner—yet you knew exactly what the corner would be.

You were dying of curiosity since that morning you first found them, soon being aware that someone was doing that on purpose, but not leaving any trace behind.

But you knew better than that.

The way he stared at you—someone even said that he was a creep, but there was more than meets the eye. The more you watched him, the more you started to understand that his eyes gave out more about him, or the way his legs shifted when he was sitting, or how he crossed his arms in his chest or if he left them at his sides.

It was a difficult book to read, too many difficult words to understand and concepts hard to grasp at first glance.

But you wanted to know more, to know him more and the reason behind those flowers.

Slowly sticking your head out of your room and closing the door behind you, you stealthily walked out, going straight to your favorite spot in the little yard of the base. You could feel your heart beating loudly in your chest, almost afraid that someone could hear it, even if it was impossible.

At night everything was easier for you. It happened occasionally in the past that you would meet him, the insomnia having the best of you both, ending up talking—you would always do most of the talk, he would just sit and listen at everything, from the gossips that went around the base to personal matters that heaved on you, feeling almost childish to trust him so blindly.

Apart from seeing him in the field, you knew nothing about him, except all the thing other said about him. All the rumors that went around the base, the way everyone dared to talk behind his back but shutting their mouth the moment his shadow appeared closer to them. They were afraid of him, that was obvious.

But that didn’t stop you at all, reasons why you sat under that tree in the middle of the night, waiting for him to appear.

Little did you know that he was observing you from afar, trying to walk his way around but knowing well why you picked that spot—you already knew. And like in that moment, you already managed to put yourself in his way, always stopping him in his tracks at every inopportune—and opportune moment.

The dirt under his boots made enough noise to attract your attention, watching you turn around, your eyes light up the moment you saw him. No one ever watched him that way.

“You should sleep at this hour.”

Your smile widened after his words. “I can say the same about you.”

He didn’t answer your statement, the flowers in his pocket burning like fire, their perfume making his head spin. He noticed the way you breathed in, surely noticing the sweet scent lingering around him. Not saying a word, you just shifted, making space for him on the bench, patting the cold material with your hand and inviting him to sit.

After a moment, he obliges.

For some time, he just imitates what you do, watching the sky above, clouds and stars blending in one big painting, letting all thoughts slip away from his mind, somehow less clouded than ever.

You let the wind do the talk this time, your smile never faltering for a moment, not even when he finally gets up from the bench, the first lights of dawn filling the sky in bright stripes. He cannot help but feel the shadow of a smile forming behind his mask as your lips murmur a ‘thank you’, voice too low to understand—but you both surely didn’t need the voice to understand each other.

You follow him soon after, this time leaving the scent from the chamomile flowers lingering for a bit longer on that bench, their petals flying away with the wind of that new morning.

[dinnersyummy]

Omfg no one writes for usopp . Do you think you could right me some fluff w some jokes in there I wanna chuckle - Tyy ookie

Usopp x Reader - drunken confessions

a/n: not proofread, formatting is off sorry, around 1k words, fluff up ohmygod I didn’t even realize I misspelt his name this entire time

The crew had anchored at a small spring island after weeks at sea—this was a well-deserved break for all of you. Everyone had been pretty exhausted from battles that never seemed to stop. You, Nami, and Robin had decided today was the perfect day for a girls night out. You clasped on a simple necklace and took one final look in the mirror, you smooth out your dress removing any wrinkles.

Nami’s voice interrupted your train of thought.

“[Name]! Hurry up, Robin and I are waiting!” You quickly shuffled to put on your shoes as you make your way out to the deck. The sun had begun to set, leaving behind a trail of embers and crimson. The rest of the crew had already dispersed throughout the town doing their own thing. Nami, Robin, and you decided to eat out at a restaurant.

You guys made your way over to the bar sitting down on a couple of stools. You got your food and eventually started ordering more drinks than you could handle.

“Ya’ know [Name]..” Nami starts, “Do you like anyone on our crew?” She remarks with a teasing smile. You glance over at Robin who also seems to take a keen interest in your conversation.

Caught off guard you immediately scramble out “What? Huh? Why do you ask?”

Shit, could you not be anymore obvious? Robin looks over at you with a knowing smile. “Hm, a little eager to say no don’t you think?” Nami laughs. “I’ve noticed a few ogling eyes recently..” She hiccups. Yikes, this could go really well or go absolutely downhill from here. Should you egg her on with her drunken ramblings? Most times her ramblings are pretty interesting but sometimes she sounds like a man gone mad. A large part of you says yes, you’re quite curious as to who could possibly be looking your way.

“So, who’s the lucky guy?” Robin asks amusingly.

Nami’s eyes light up, “Well..I’ve noticed that Ussop’s been catching more and more glances at ya’ when he thinks ya’ ain’t looking” she says.

Seriously? Was she joking? She is drunk so how reliable of a source is she? You can’t but slightly get excited. Your heart flutters at the thought of Ussop possibly feeling the same way as you! Over the last few years you’ve spent sailing with the Straw Hats, you’ve come to develop feelings for a certain sniper.

“Are you being serious?” You quickly respond your voice laced with excitement and hope.

“I’ve come to notice that too.” Robin adds coolly taking another sip of her drink.

“Soooo, [Name] who do you like?” Nami asks. It takes you a minute to formulate a response, you felt your face burning up at the thought of Ussop, good lord the effect he has on you is insane. Once again you’re being obvious, you already had one foot in your grave but now both your damn feet are in there and you keep on digging.

“Uhmm…” you trailed off thinking for a moment. Hey! what’s the worst that’s gonna happen if you just confess right here right now? Now the alcohol starts answering for you. “Ussop..” You mumbled.

“Hmm? What’d ya’ sayy?” Nami asks with a shit-eating grin knowing she heard you loud and clear. Robin lets out a hearty chuckle. Oh. She’s really gonna make you confess again. You know what? You’ll be even more louder and passionate.

“I, [Name, Last Name] am head over heels for Ussop” You declare with a loud slam of your cup. A bunch of people stare at you but who cares. Nami looks slightly shocked at your sudden wave of confidence.

“Damn [Name], didn’t know you had it you.” Robin replies as she nudges you lovingly.

“So are you gonna make your move?” Nami asks pryingly. You absentmindedly trace the rim of your glass as she continues pestering you.

“Maybe, I’m just not know when or if he really does like me back.” You sigh, shoulders slumping.

“You can’t be serious! Have you just seen how lovesick he looks when you come around?” Nami eagerly replies. “The poor dude is beet red when you slightly look his way!” She boasts.

“Nami does have a point,” Robin adds swirling around her drink. “There’s no way he doesn’t like you. You’ll have to make the first move though.” And with that the conversation eventually moved onto other topics you can’t remember. For the rest of the night you thought about your feelings even deeper, you think about the fleeting glances and how he always seems to be there at the right moment and time.

Before you knew all three of you were tipsy and the night came to a close. The three of you headed back for the Sunny. Robin and Nami already made their way to the girls room but you told them you were gonna stay out on the deck for a tad bit longer. The salty night air was refreshing, it was a grounding force. You were lost in your thoughts until a sound of footsteps scared you. You immediately jump at the sound of creaking floor boards, you turn back to see no other than Ussop.

“Oh hey [Name]! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you” Ussop spat out, scratching the back of his neck. He walked up to join you near the railing nearly tripping on thin air getting there. The moonlight was illuminating all his features just right, lord did he looking stunning right now. This might just be your chance.

“It’s alright” you reassured him waving a hand in the air. You scooted even closer to the point where your arms were touching, you looked over at Ussop who seemed as if he was about to explode any minute now. It was cute, how even the slighting touch could have him blushing profusely. You run a finger up his arm.

“I’ve been thinking..” you started, “about us. I wanna be more. I don’t think there’s anymore running nor denying brave warrior of the sea.” You purred. You looked over at him, a sweet smile plastered across your face. Ussop let out what could only be described as a squeak.

“WHAT? ME? NO!” He yelped. “WAIT, NO BUT YES, NO, AHEM YES?” Ussop nervously kept on rambling. You turn towards him, you cupped his face and leaned in for a kiss to shut him up. At first he was taken aback, but he immediately returned the kiss back. He awkwardly fiddled around with his hands till they eventually landed on your waist pulling you in. It was an awkward kiss but you wouldn’t ask for anything else. It was standard Ussop fashion that’s what it made it amazing. You pulled back.

“S-So..erm..what now..are we like..dating?” Ussop asked coughing into his arm.

“Mmm, if that’s what you want” You asked teasingly.

“Yes..I’ve been wanting to do for a while now, it was way better than anything I could ever think of.” Ussop said shyly. He was looking everywhere but you. “So..you new around here?” he said clearly flushed.

“Ussop, we just kissed.” You laughed. He was even redder now. You brought him in for an embrace and the rest was history.

[scribbles97]

The Nightmare Come True - Part 5 and The End

Thanks @loopstagirl for the original idea of this whole fic that spiralled far further than I think either of us expected. Scott's POV 1 | Part 1 | Scott's POV 2 | Part 2 | Scott's POV 3 | Part 3 | Scott's POV 4 | Part 4

Christmas had come and gone as loudly as it always did in their house. 

The best gift for Gordon was the day his oldest brother had turned up at a training session alongside Jeff, the kid hadn’t stopped talking about it for a week. Jeff had been confident Scott would soon be making his way into the pool himself, especially if his request for an olympic sized pool on their newly purchased island was anything to go by. 

John and Virgil had both returned home for the holidays full of stories and with open invites for their big brother to visit them at their respective colleges come the following semester. Scott had been keen, immediately opening his calendar and circling dates between appointments and other plans. 

Even Jen had paid a brief visit, greeting the younger brothers as old friends proving just how much Scott had spoken of them all to his squad at one point or another. 

By spring Jeff had noticed just how Scott had begun to fill out again, his time in the gym paying off and rebuilding the muscle that had been lost. He was starting to relax, to enjoy life as he once had and found the confidence he had always worn like a comfortable jacket. Gradually, he was becoming a version of the son Jeff recognised. 

March was spent in the air, racking up supervised flight hours after passing the required psych exams. It had taken time for him to be comfortable in the pilot's seat again, but Scott had said himself that being in the air was as natural to him as being in the water was for Gordon. All he had needed was a supportive shoulder, one that Jeff was willing to offer. 

By his birthday, Scott’s full pilot’s license had been reinstated, giving cause for a celebration alone without the news of John’s new Space Rated status. They had called Virgil on hologram, celebrating from their separate corners of the country louder than they had done over the festive period.

It had been late in the night when Jeff had found Scott out on the porch, a letter discarded but evidently not forgotten in his lap.

“I was going to tell you earlier, but the surprise party kind of distracted me.” Scott had smiled as Jeff had joined him on the step and poured them each a measure of whiskey.

“Cambridge offered me a spot to study English Lit, it’s all online so I’d only need to go over twice a semester so I’d still be able to--” He paused to glance over his shoulder, making sure no younger brothers were lingering in the kitchen.

Jeff had chuckled, glad that Scott was doing something for himself, something that didn’t immediately lead to any plans that had seemingly always been in place.  

“You don’t have to, you know?” He had pointed out, “If you want to take some time for yourself before joining the Project…”

Scott had shook his head, grinning as he sipped his drink, “I want to get in the air again, Dad, and that rocket? I’m not letting you have all the fun.”

Both had laughed at the implication, wordlessly reaching their glasses towards one another in a silent salute to everything they had overcome in that year alone. 

Things still weren’t perfect, Alan and Gordon were far from happy about moving to a boarding school away from their family. Scott still had a way to go before he was back at his full strength and fitness, but with the encouragement from Val and Lee, he was well on his way to outperforming them all. 

“This is what I need.” Scott had nodded, “Despite everything, I’m glad we’ve ended up here Dad.” 

Jeff had slung an arm over his shoulders and pulled him close, “Me too kid, me too.” 

Of course, it hadn’t lasted. 

A short eighteen months later, Jeff had been shot into the farthest reaches of their solar system. He had been sure that he would never see his family, his boys, again. It hadn’t mattered what he had tried with the engines, there had been no way for him to get home. He had tried, time and again to find a way to get through to them but it had eventually become apparent that all he could do was try to stay alive.

He had taken to sketching and writing when he wasn’t trying to keep himself alive, focussing on thoughts of each of his boys. How Scott was at least back doing something he loved, that John had made it to space as he had always wanted to, that Virgil was close to graduating with Honors on his engineering degree, that Gordon would have made it to the Olympics, and Alan at least had four older brothers to look out for him. It had been the thought and memory of them that had kept him going, the irony not lost on him that it had been the same things that had kept Scott going through his imprisonment. 

There had been little else to occupy him over those long years. 

He had never given up hope, not even as the planetoid had begun to separate beneath his feet, he had known they would come. 

Right at the last possible second, he had spotted Scott. 

Just like that, their roles were reversed. 

Scott had stepped up in the time Jeff had been gone, and the more he had seen of the man his eldest had become, the more his heart had hurt. 

He had dropped out of his Literature degree almost immediately after Jeff had gone, had taken up the role of commander in International rescue, and the role of Father to younger brothers that weren’t ready to be orphans. Once again, thanks to Jeff, Scott had lost sight of the man he wanted to be for himself.

Once again, Jeff had vowed to set that right.

There had been months of recovery, hospital appointments and physiotherapy, most of it familiar from the year before he had taken the unexpected trip. Scott had resolutely been at his side through all of it. 

“Alan asked how you did it…” Scott had started one night, sat out by the pool waiting for Virgil and Gordon to return home from a rescue.

Jeff hadn’t needed further clarification as he had trailed off. He’d had therapy that morning, had spent the day pulling his boys closer after talking about what the isolation had done to him. Of course, they had all picked up on it.

“I imagine much the same way as you did during the war,” Jeff admitted softly, “Thinking of your family, remembering all the good times.”

Before he had left, talking about the war had been coming easier for Scott. It hadn’t taken long for Jeff to realize that Scott had clammed up once he had no longer had his father to talk to about such times.

Scott snorted, looking out to the horizon, “Admittedly, it’s a good method.”

Jeff smiled sadly across to him, “It got us both a long way.” 

It had gotten them both back home, back to their family, to somewhere where they could find their feet again and work towards the version of themselves they wanted to be.

The man sat next to him was physically recovered from his time as a prisoner, but had never found a solid enough footing to find himself amongst all the chaos life had thrown at them.

“You didn’t end up where you were aiming, I’m sorry for that.” Jeff sighed after a moment, reaching out to Scott’s shoulder, “Because of all of this, I think you lost yourself again Scott.”

“I--” For a moment it seemed like he was ready to argue, before his shoulders had fallen and he had nodded in admission, “I became who I needed to be.”

They had shared a look, one that spoke of burdens that had fallen back on tired shoulders that had barely gotten free before being weighed back down again.

“You deserved to live life for yourself Scott.” 

Scott ran a hand through his hair, “I know that now.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” Jeff continued, “but I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you see that, Son, I’m sorry that life has been so cruel and unfair.”

Scott’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, “I’m glad you don’t blame yourself.” 

Jeff would never admit to him that it was a concept he still sometimes struggled with, but something he was working on regardless. His son didn’t need any more burdens. 

“So,” He started, looking across with raised eyebrows, “Alan’s headed to college in the Fall, how about you take another look at that Literature degree?”

Scott’s laugh was full bodied against Jeff, “Yeah, I suppose that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Laughing with his son, Jeff nodded to himself. 

They were going to be just fine.