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When You Kiss Me

Summary:

A collection of kisses.

Notes:

I saw this post weeks ago and got inspired to write wee drabbles for these two. This will be my dumping ground for those stories. 🤍

Chapter 1: …to distract

Chapter Text

“Found it!” Phoebus announces suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet of the forest. He crouches by a gnarled tree, plucking the arrow from the roots. Holding it up triumphantly, his grin is dazzling, brighter than the sunlight streaming through the canopy—in that moment, he seems to truly be living up to his name, she thinks. “Still in one piece. A miracle.”

Esmeralda steps closer, reaching for it. “Great. Now hand it over.”

He pulls it back, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on,” she says, exasperated but smiling. “You’re seriously holding my arrow hostage?”

“Only until you admit you need practice,” he says, twirling the arrow playfully between his fingers.

She crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow. “You really want to play this game?”

His grin turns roguish, leaning in slightly. “I always win this game.”

Her eyes narrow, and then, without warning, she surges forward. He steps back instinctively, laughing as she grabs at the arrow. She’s quick, but he’s quicker, and he keeps it just out of her reach.

“Phoebus!” she protests, half-laughing, half-scolding. “Give it—”

Her words are cut off as she suddenly leaps up, her lips brushing against his cheek. The warmth of her lips lingers, a soft, tender touch that throws him off balance. His grip on the arrow slackens, and she snatches it away with a triumphant grin.

“Got it!” she declares, stepping back and twirling the arrow between her fingers in a perfect imitation of him.

Phoebus blinks, his hand still raised as if holding the arrow, and he lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You cheated.”

“Did not,” she counters, tucking the arrow behind her back. “It’s called strategy. You should know that, soldier.”

But her teasing falters when she notices the way he’s looking at her—his grin softening, gaze searching. And then, like always, she meets him halfway. His hands find her face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks, and she exhales shakily, loving the way he silently asks permission before closing the space between them.

The arrow slips from her fingers, forgotten at their feet.