the chosen king’s fulfilled prophecy welcomes in the light—and an aching heart.
cw : MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, major end-game spoilers, gender-neutral!reader, crownsguard / kingsglaive!reader, loneliness, angst, minimal comfort, unrequited feelings, grief, reader had battle scars, choking, reader has questionable / unhealthy coping mechanisms, reader’s background is implied but left up to interpretation, description of a panic attack.
the chosen king’s fulfilled prophecy welcomes in the light—and an aching heart.
cw : MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, major end-game spoilers, gender-neutral!reader, crownsguard / kingsglaive!reader, loneliness, angst, minimal comfort, unrequited feelings, grief, reader has battle scars, choking, questionable / unhealthy coping mechanisms, reader’s background is implied but left up to interpretation, description of a panic attack.
wc : 4.3k
Your happiness had always been fleeting when it came to him.
Memories playing behind your eyes became commonplace in your newfound routine that they melded into an unlikely and oftentimes unwelcome companion. They followed and nipped at your heels frequently, constantly, that they might as well have been your missing shadow. To some extent, perhaps they were. You didn’t remember them being so tormenting, however, with reminders of his easy smiles when you were given the opportunity to rest or the flashes of his figure walking in your peripheral. Even on your own, it was impossible to travel someplace his boots hadn’t touched when they tracked all the way to the ruins of an archipelago. It was almost embarrassing how many times you fought off the habit of switching into the proper stance for a link strike, only for a daemon to fall and leaving you to be the only one present.
Removing any and all emotional impulsivity, especially on the battlefield, to maintain a clear head and a single-minded focus on the safety and reign of your prince was a demand given by the Crownsguard. Namely on the battlefield. You, however, wore your scars and now-faded daemon-born wounds with pride, contrary to the exasperation that dripped off the mental image of your instructor. But now, past the age where the light shone bright, things were vastly different that you weren’t allowed to be lenient. You knew that biting back the cause of the blur in your vision and the ache in your chest would only develop into a bad habit. You went through with it, anyways, knowing fully well you couldn’t convince yourself to break it. Or maybe you weren’t ready to, not just yet, and each passing night was another you spent reinforcing it.
It was a coincidence that you were on your way back to Hammerhead when your phone buzzed. You considered, if only momentarily, outright ignoring it, but the hypotheticals swarming your imagination decided otherwise. You shifted your weapon, heavy and sticky with pungent gore, into your opposite hand to smuggle the device from your pocket and answer it with a measly greeting. Maybe it was the creeping exhaustion getting the best of you, but you allowed yourself to hope. To be a little reckless. The knowledge you’d have another mission kept your feet from dragging before; Talcott’s news had you sprinting like your life depended on it. All consideration flew out the window, stealth long foregone. Looking back, you refused to believe it was some sort of angle from the divine, not when they’ve done nothing to earn your good graces.
After ten years of indulging in it, you liked to think that you had a good grasp on that bad habit of yours. And yet each memory associated with Takka’s Pit Shop hit you so violently that you nearly stumbled through the doorway and fell flat on your face as unceremoniously as one could imagine. Almost. You were better than that. Your heels dug into the concrete and you steeled your expression before the tears could bubble, steeled your heart and shoved it a little further into that little box you couldn’t stop it from peeking out of. Taking one impossibly heavy step after the other, you waded your way through the swamp of memories as if they weren’t dragging you deeper and deeper into your own self-inflicted agony. It proved to be a sudden reminder of why you tended to avoid the restaurant.
Past the countless crates of dwindling supplies and parts and the tables covered in potions and weapons, it was almost exactly how you remembered it. The grills and stoves were covered in fine layers of dust, yet reeked of grease and meat that simultaneously burned your nose and prodded at your hunger. Only one of the many booths were occupied by actual people, but indistinct chatter and the clatter of dishes wandered through one ear and out the other. The outline of Takka’s figure hovered behind the counter, offering the menu and new hunts to your group between requests for ingredients. The familiarity of a forgotten routine hit you like a back-strike from a daemon and you suddenly became ten years younger, unburdened by the responsibility stained deep within the material of your uniform, of your title as a Kingsglaive.
Shared glances were your only welcome and returned greeting as you dropped into the seat beside the Shield, accepted by the mix of confident anticipation hovering around you all and the suffocating silence. Reminiscing on how much time had passed sounded like an actual nightmare so you didn’t bother, but your body soaked in the feelings that came with it like a sponge. You could reach out and reassure yourself that the four of you were still here, after all this time. Gladio’s comfortably and most likely instinctively arm curled over the seat behind your neck, but the space next to you was terribly, uncharacteristically empty. You could still feel the phantom of his leg hooked over yours so casually as dark hair poorly hid his burning ears, or how he leaned against you like a pillow while he picked his vegetables off of his dish and plopped them onto yours.
You half-expected someone to speak up, for Prompto to say something positive in an attempt to lighten the heavy mood, though it never came. You could see his jaw, framed by facial hair, working towards verbalizing whatever was churning back and forth in his head that never came. Ignis’ fingers drummed over the table in a slow rhythm that could have been mistaken for boredom or giving himself something to do, but it was an action you knew exposed everything his expression did not. Gladiolus, meanwhile, tossed less than subtle glances out the window and over your head every few seconds, frowning when the subject of his attention was nowhere in sight. It was when the front gates squealed, loud and sharp, that everyone sat straighter and rose to their feet in an instantaneous reaction.
He maneuvered so smoothly around Talcott’s truck with long strides and even steps that he might as well have been gliding, strands of black bouncing with each movement. He eventually stopped and stood tall before the four of you, taking everyone in with a breathtaking fondness. Prompto beamed and tugged on your sleeve with poorly restrained enthusiasm while Ignis spoke on everyone’s behalf on your other side. Countless words fumbled along your tongue, but none of them became coherent enough to meet your lips as your heart fluttered in your chest. The advisor’s, however, were a million years away and only grew farther as the world shrunk in on itself. Your friends faded into faint presences and the dangers stalking in the darkness went with them until the only ones remaining were you and him.
The reunion between you and your prince had always been a figment of your dreams; other times of your nightmares when the fear of being too weak to witness his return crept up your spine and soaked deep into your bones. You refused to let the hope of it all slip through your fingers, however, no matter how steadily or how much time passed because you knew he would come. It was destined, but the part of you that kept scuttling back after being kicked to the curb pleaded to whatever Astral would listen that even a sliver of his motivations would be to return to you. For so long you prepared the words, the actions, of what you would when you could reach out and touch him, but now they had become so distant. Not because you lacked the confidence or had forgotten them—they were so meaningless to someone so untouchable.
The man before you wasn’t a stranger nor was he your prince, but you knew it was him deep down all the same. He was dressed for the part, you would give him that, with dirt and ash staining the same clothing you last saw him in, down to the slash in his coat from the monster Ravus had become. You expected him to remained as young as he was back then, you realized in that moment, but he wasn’t. He was so much older, so much wiser, than the prince you were helpless in pulling out of the Crystal. His hair was much longer and brushed almost entirely out of his face and fluffy in its own flattened way, and his eyes still sparkled like stars in the night sky, yet held a strange sadness and longing beneath enlightened wisdom. Yet that smile and the soft rumbling of his voice was so familiar that it hit you without a shred of doubt.
The man before you was your Noctis, yet all of the delight bubbling within you was gnawed and spat on by an inexplicable, gut-churning dread.
Your king took the lead and you all fell into step behind him, beside him, in a routine you believed had become long forgotten, as if no time at all had passed. It was almost too easy when your steps, once heavy and losing their sense of direction, regained that airiness and purpose until you didn’t care where you were led. If he was there, you knew everything would be alright. You would be alright. The words tumbled so effortlessly from your tongue and your very soul quivered when a laugh rumbled from deep within his chest, a smile cast your way over his shoulder that was so genuine and utterly handsome. Though the solemness of his questions was distinctly palpable, the answers seemed to replace it with something considerably more hopeful and resolute that spread among those within Hammerhead.
You hated how you could remember that single night out of the hundreds as if it was burned into your memory; engraved and carved into your skin until it left gnarly scars you could never hide beneath clothing or smiles. The relief and joy settled into worry and then dissipated into dread and heartbreak so quick it was a wonder if you ever felt that way to begin with. The clatter of silverware had fallen into silence as Noctis spoke—or rather, tried to. The campfire illuminated his face in a gentle orange light that you considered picture perfect in that moment, each word stumbled over like a fawn using its legs for the first time. His gaze refused to linger on any of his Kingsglaive for more than a few seconds and hesitance tinged every part of him. It wasn’t born by the responsibility forced upon him, but it was certainly the catalyst to revealing it for everyone to hear.
The savory aftertaste of the meal so tenderly crafted lost its flavor within seconds as silence permeated the night sky until the crackling of the fire filled it in. Your respect for Ignis and your self-restraint were the only reasons you didn’t let his belongings clatter to the ground. Your king continued to speak between commentary from your friends, voice soft and resolute, yet finished with another stab to your heart that was barely being held together with duct tape and glue. Everyone was so...so accepting. Hurt, you could see it too well, but they were all so strong. Why? Why did they have to be that way? Why did you have to be the odd one out again? Why wasn’t anyone saying anything to stop him? Why weren’t you? You weren’t sure who nudged you or when the attention shifted onto you, but you swore to follow him and would always be there. That much was the truth; your trembling smile was not.
It isn’t healthy to be strong forever. Let yourself be “weak.” Someone told you that once upon a time, but who? Nyx? Cor? Cid? Aranea? Perhaps someone from back home, before you were considered an outsider? You didn’t remember and it didn’t matter. Not when that advice felt so insignificant and worthless. Everybody was visibly crestfallen, yet twice as adamant and determined. Inspired, even. Everyone but you. Why were you the only one struggling? Why couldn’t you be as strong and composed as them? You didn’t want to struggle. You couldn’t. The daemons within the Crown City would kill you and you were sure you would have because your mind happened to slip elsewhere if it wasn’t for the potions on hand. Maybe the Chancellor would toy with you and your insecurities like some kind of puppet if you weren’t careful.
When you sat down in the underground shelter, the anguish you had kept locked up for so long, had slipped out and made itself known. The panic was quick, pumping through your veins like adrenaline, and you shot forward. Your fingers curled around and pierced into soft skin and the small part of yourself that somehow remained stared back with eyes too bright and emotions too vivid. Then you squeezed until your joints hurt and your muscles rippled. The little you, the lost and hurting yet helpful part that bore your face of ten years prior, choked and gasped for air as their eyes fluttered and rolled back. They desperately scratched at your wrists and writhed while their mouth moved, but only puffs of hair that sounded suspiciously like a name came out. You pushed them down with your remaining strength, slammed the top, and nailed it shut.
As you stood at the crossroads of the beginning to the end, you hated the man before you. The acceptance radiating off of him burned far greater than Ifrit’s flames as he gazed upon the four of you within the minimal light the Citadel welcomed. What few interactions you had with His Majesty had become yet another haze in your memory, but Noctis had never looked more identical to his late father. He stood tall in an outfit he would have once squirmed in and complained about until his voice ran hoarse, and you couldn’t see, let alone sense, any of the uncertainty the Noctis of ten years ago wore on his sleeve. You refused to believe that his eyes—damn him and that fondness, knowing he’s walking into his own coffin— lingered on you longer than it had on the others; you refused to give yourself that sort of hope.
As he ascended the stairs and the rain rolled down his back, everything in your body demanded you to stop him; to run after him; to abandon the oath you swore yourself to in favor of a much more selfish, personal one. But how could you? Why would you? Everyone, yourself included, dreamed of the day that you could be able to bask in the warm such an attain a victory that once felt so distant. That would defeat the purpose of standing beside him all this time and aiding him in reclaiming the Citadel, after all. The single person capable of driving the Starscourge from Eos was finally at the precipice of doing exactly that, and you would stop that? For what, feelings that he was never aware of? Feelings he could may have become enlightened about to be aware of, but went unspoken and undeveloped? You’d damn the world in an endless darkness and misery for that?
Yes, a small part of you whispered. The other: No. He wasn’t even yours and now he never would be because you were too cowardly to say something. Once upon a time the only concern among more day-to-day tasks was that he was your wayward prince and you were trying to create a place for yourself in a city that spat on your very existence. You were never sure where to start when it came to delving into something deeper with him, but it never mattered. You were his friend and he was yours, your light, and that was enough, but you wanted more. You still wanted more. Then his engagement to Lady Lunafreya was announced, an arrangement of peace, and it all tumbled downhill. The Oracle deserved better than to be caught up in your tangle of feelings and the conflict it would create if you vocalized them. So you didn’t.
A low, gravelly moan reverberated through the air behind you while elongated talons scraped against the concrete covered in splatters of a materializing violet liquid. Alongside your brothers in arms, you turned your back to the staircase and gave attention to the daemons that crept from the darkness of which they were born from at your feet. Your fingers curled around your weapon a little tighter than absolutely necessary as your battle-instincts jumped into action. Soon enough, you couldn’t even hear his footsteps. Whether it was from the pelting rain or the steadily growing distance, you didn’t know. You didn’t check. An obnoxious and utterly distracting heat pooled at your eyes and seeped down your cheek, but you furiously blinked them away. You took aim, bent your knees, steeled your weeping heart, and attacked.
The light that blessed the world again was meaningless, or maybe that was just you.
You fought hard for a chance to see this day. You fought hard for a chance of survival against the odds that seemed ever stacked against you. You fought for a fruitless ideal that manipulated itself until it warped into a painful truth, and yet your so-called victory hardly felt like one at all. It was undeniably better than failure, but just barely. Thousands of people were dead, the survivors traumatized and left to pick up the pieces, the gods nowhere to be found, and the world was but a remnant of what it once was. The light was terrifyingly warm as it crashed over you in waves and while it beat the cold shadows and warded off the reminders of what once lived with, it was tormenting all the same. It caressed your marred skin like white magic and the bitter part of you wondered if this was some half-assed attempt at an apology from the Astrals.
Insomnia had seen better days and it would only be with time that it would regain its lost glory, even if you didn’t spearhead the recovery and rebuilding process. Ignis had too much faith in you and your leadership qualities, or maybe he was just trying to direct your focus elsewhere. The entire city was in shambles, with so much debris and torn clothing scattered about haphazardly that it would take an extensive amount of time and work until the streets alone were relatively safe for public use. The looming buildings you recalled once marveling and gaping at were carved in half, shops you loved destroyed, and monuments but a memory and facet for historians to drool over, but it still claimed the sleek magnificence only the Crown City possessed. Not even the distance between it and the haven you were staying at could change that.
You knew you were only twisting the knife until the wound became self-inflicted and infected, but you couldn’t look away no matter how hard you tried. Insomnia seemed to have a newfound respect for you, horribly enough. A whisper of a thousand voices at once beckoned you to return to the space you carved for yourself there, but your boots simply dug into the dirt. Perhaps there was a place for you there, if only by your friends’ sides, but without him would it still be home? You weren’t ready to face your friends, not just yet. Just a little more time you stopped keeping track of. You long lost count of how long it had been since you stepped in the throne room and left as a group of four, but your hand became accustomed to having your weapon at your side rather than some otherworldly arsenal. You weren’t sure how to feel about that yet.
Was it wrong for you to wish that he was still sleeping in that Crystal? There was no changing the inevitable, but delaying it wouldn’t do any harm, would it? You would still be able to dream in beautiful ignorance and motivate yourself to get up with a purpose. Maybe then you’d be able to face your friends and be able to look them in the eye without the stab of poison and shame pumping in your veins. No, Noctis wouldn’t have wanted that and you were sure he would have been disappointed if he heard you now. He gave himself up to give the world a chance and free it from the beasts that inhabited the darkness and reigned over this twisted fate. Maybe in the grand scheme of things, your hurt was just a small price to pay for it. Who knows, he could be happily married to Lady Lunafreya in the heavens or whatever afterlife awaited them.
With a severe lack of elegance, you dropped onto your rear and tossed your legs over the cliffside to dangle over the waves that crashed several feet beneath. The scenery, once quite gorgeous and perfect for Prompto’s numerous gallery of photographs, blurred into a million hues of blues and greens and greys until they meshed into the most hideous combination of colors imaginable. You lowered your head as your lips quivered and your chest ached as if it was crumbling in on itself. You sucked in a breath between your teeth as your throat burned and constricted until it hurt to let out even the most meager of exhales. You furiously wiped at your eyes and the wetness that stuck to your lashes, but it had little effect when the rough leather dragged across the raw skin and only seemed to make things progressively worse.
And then the world shrinks. You’re alone. Your home is gone. Your friends are gone. Your prince is gone. Your king is gone. Your family is gone. You’re weak. You’re desperate. You’re hurting. It hurts. Everything hurts. It’s all you can feel. All you can sense. Noct, where are you? Prompto? Gladio? Iggy? Help. Please help. You’re bent over. Your hands are shaking. You can’t stop. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. You can’t-
Soft fur and a smooth cloth rested beneath your palm and a fuzzy snout nosed your hand, as if guiding you through the motion you hadn’t realized you had been repeating in the first place. Something smoother than leather but rougher than a concerningly dry leaf glided across your cheek again and again until lines of slobber remained. A weight sat heavy in your lap while dull nails dug into your thighs, all without the pain or discomfort that would have (and should have) come with it. A dark grey that wasn’t quite black engulfed your vision and two tall ears flicked when your uneven breath brushed over them. The world, albeit slowly, gradually, almost unwillingly, expanded around you until the haven and the clear sky with dancing clouds returned. Everything still hurt, but it was a distant feeling when amber eyes stared back.
Amber eyes watched you with such poignant and overwhelming empathy that it ripped another round of tears out of you without so much as your permission. The emotion in his eyes was far too human for comfort, too understanding and relating, but you couldn’t help but lean into it, lean into him. A curled tail slowly wagged behind him and thumped against your knee, inadvertently or not directing your attention to the rhythm it created. His patience was nothing short of divine and he didn’t so much as draw away as you sobbed and clung onto his fur and waited for the world to piece itself back together around you. He whined and nudged your jaw when your attention drifted or the panic set in with a violent and insistent return, simply watching with the most kind eyes you had ever come to know.
You liked to think that Umbra’s presence and constant appearance in your life was meant to be a comfort. He was, there was no doubt about that, but you also wondered if he was meant to be some sort of gift from a god who just so happened to take pity on you. You were a simple human with no fancy title or bloodline, yet the Messenger chose to walk beside you, care for you as though the roles weren’t reserved. You fed him, accompanied him, kept him from walking into a trap meant for game, and though you knew none of that was really necessary, he indulged you. He rode in the sidecar you attached to your bike, laid with you beneath the stars, assured you were fine and okay and safe when you eyed the shadows moving in your peripheral, and became an unsuspecting rock in times like now.
Sometimes you forgot that the Messenger had lost not only Pryna, but a best friend and beloved companion of his own in the late king. You had heard little from Noctis about him, how he and Pryna had been around since his childhood and time in Altissia. He, too, had lost friends and possibly many more that spanned even more before you were even born. Your home was decimated, your king resting alongside his ancestors and his wife, and your idea of normal was on the brink of being nonexistent and barely coming back together to form into something that bordered on sad and pointless. It may have been if it wasn’t for Umbra. You curled your arms around him and let your tears pour. You curled your arms around him and as he rested his head on your shoulder, something dripped onto your shoulder in return.
he should be dead, but if he has to spend another unfortunate minute alive he wants it to be spent with you.
♡ — themes : gender-neutral!reader, phantom thief!reader, angst, hurt / comfort, physical affection, reader is referred to with “you”, minor one-sided feelings (joker) if you squint, minimal dialogue, essentially a reunion fic bc i love this crazy bastard.
♡ — content / trigger warning : spoilers for shido’s palace + third semester + akechi’s background, mentions of blood / death / wounds.
♡ — word count : 3k
The cruelty started with his mother.
He was young, but he wasn’t stupid. He was a mere child, but he was far from naive and innocent to the ugly truth of the world around him. He knew that the way mothers and fathers gazed at their sons and daughters differed from the way his own mother would gaze at him. Goro could count on his own two hands alone how many times she looked him in the eye, a single hand for how often that lasted for more than a couple seconds that felt like significantly less than that. In her own way, however, a distant and saddened and haunted way, she cared about him. She dressed him and fed him and asked him if he had a good day at school over dinner at the rickety table held together by duct tape. She combed her fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead with trembling lips while her eyes became glassy, as if confronted by the horrible reminder that the literal personification of her suffering stood before her.
The obvious lingered in the air between them like smoke, but went unspoken like it wasn’t there to begin with. He wasn’t deaf to the slander and expletives hurled at them that only gave reason to another round of sobbing when she thought he was asleep. She still smiled at him afterwards, as if he didn’t notice the exhaustion hanging to the underside of her eyes or the expensive cologne clinging to her exposed skin. It wasn’t until he reached for her hand in search of comfort and was met with empty space that he realized just how blind he had been. She shielded him from countless cruel names and jabs because she placed what should have been his burden upon herself. His soft body wasn’t prepared for the punctures that the people’s cruelty inflicted upon him and still wasn’t, even when he was left battered and bruised and pleading for a warm hand, but received cold shoulders instead. A lonely child doesn’t know how to mend the wound that loss and grief leaves behind, after all.
He could still recall the poison-riddled sneers. Whether he was in earshot or not, it didn’t matter to the beasts masquerading as people, calling his mother weak and laughing as if they had no hand in the reason she gave up. She despaired until she couldn’t handle the heavy weight of torment and the pressure that came with enduring hardships any longer. She gave up not because of a lack of strength, but because of injustice and the savagery of the corrupted masses. For the pedestal human hearts are placed upon, they are no less easy to manipulate once you grasped what they treasured at their cores. A figure in the shape of him lingered in hers and that should have been enough—he desperately wanted it to be enough—but the unabashed hostilities opened each wound he tried to ease and heal with his tiny palms until he was powerless to do anything more. Hers would have given out eventually, but that didn’t ease the ache in his.
Goro spit in the face of fate, destiny, whatever bullshit name attributed to some scapegoat to shift the blame onto when things turned sour. How could anyone believe in something so knowingly cruel? How could they be content putting their lives in the hands of mere coincidences or a so-called deity that couldn’t care less about what became of mortal men, and then be alright with whatever miserable fate befell upon them? All because of destiny? All his mother did was meet a rotten shell of a man, and then what? She was fated to live in a constant cycle of torment and suffering and promptly die because a higher power said so? That was a load of shit if he ever heard it and he refused to live a life under someone else’s jurisdiction. It was because of his hard work, his perseverance, his accomplishments, his everything that he ended up where he was and he refused to allow anyone to claim that as their own.
Most importantly: Goro Akechi refused to live because someone else said so.
In the face of his impending demise, Goro was...somewhat, somehow, satisfied going out this way. Death certainly wasn’t ideal by any means—hell, he could say the same for the entire predicament he found himself in—but he was backed into a corner with no escape method. Unable to watch Shido be knocked off of his obnoxiously tall pedestal was honestly disappointing, but if anyone could take that piece of shit down at all, regardless of if he was there or not, it was the Phantom Thieves. They made it through the most impossible scenarios tossed at their feet and weaseled their way out with a just as impossible plan; this would be no different. To think that would be his dying wish. He didn’t think he’d have one at all. Knowing Shido would finally end up where he belonged, dead or alive, by his hand or someone else’s, brought him a twisted sense of closure. You would always be cared for while he was gone, and that would be enough.
When he closed his eyes and he allowed his thoughts to drift, Goro could still see the betrayal that lined your eyes, moistened by the hurt and confusion and worry he knows fully well that he’s deserving of. He told himself, readied himself, for that very look because he knew it was coming. It was inevitable and he knew that, but it was like a shot to the empty chasm where his heart should be to really see it and be the one it was directed towards and it hurt like hell. It was agony and Goro didn’t know how to soothe or turn his cheek from it, but he had no choice but to face you head-on. In the moment where nothing but laughter ran his throat hoarse and an addicting sort of adrenaline that totally disregarded any rational thought pumped through his veins, he decided he hated that fucking look. Quit looking at him like that! Goddamn you! He didn’t want your sympathy; your pity; your love; nothing! But he’s always been quite the liar, hasn’t he?
His last memory was him staring down the crumpled, fading corpses of the Shadows and his doppelganger while more of the distorted creatures formed in their place. Vaguely, he could still recall the cool metal against his back and the warmth between his fingers as he clutched his side. Seeing the physical representation of who he was in the eyes of that bastard neither shook or surprised him, but he could still taste the bubbling disgust. Its eyes were so empty and soulless while it declared how happy it would be to serve and lay down its life for someone who never cared for anyone but himself. Joker spoke through the wall and he somehow felt close to the nobody, but the irony was bitter considering the circumstances. Someone screamed his name from the other side of the door, voice echoing across the walls while his body rattled as a fist or weapon slammed against the divide over and over. He didn’t live long enough to hear the rest.
Goro Akechi died in Masayoshi Shido’s Palace and yet was miraculously resurrected in the busy streets of Shibuya. He might have been impressed if it didn’t piss him off.
“One last thing,” Goro said, turning his back to the prosecutor. “How are they?”
Clarification is irrelevant when the tone of his voice dropped into something softer and uncomfortably vulnerable of its own accord. It’s obnoxious, really. Ren stood a bit straighter, a bit taller, squared his shoulders, and didn’t respond. The response, or lack thereof, is enough for him to get the picture. He didn’t have the right to know the answer, nor did he deserve it after the damage he inflicted, but his fingers still twitched to try and piece things back together. It would undoubtedly be messy and his hands would surely bleed and mix with what stained them already, but he was still willing to try. The look Ren gave him said enough, however: he didn’t have that option, not right now. He immediately felt like a fool for asking. In any other situation, he may have been proud of himself for the emotion that seeped through the Phantom Thieves’ leader’s mask of cool composure. Instead there was only disappointed numbness.
“Is something wrong?” Sae asked after a long period of silence and tension. He knew that some part of her, past the loyalty to the law and younger sister, she did care for the Phantom Thieves.
“Ah, nothing of concern,” he lied, voice pleasant and full of its usual false charm, but it didn’t quite reach his expression.
Though his words were directed towards the woman, his attention never shifted away from an openly conflicted Ren. He pinned him down with his glare alone and clung to the minute hope that he would get the answer at the very last second. Or a minute. Or even two if he remained patient. Pale lips didn’t so much as move from its frown and any visible surprise and relief from the detective’s initial appearance became a mere memory of moments prior. All things considered it was fairly understandable. He turned to Sae and it was clear that she didn’t believe a single word spoken, not after that, but he didn’t care or dignify her with a response, especially the one she was looking for. If he didn’t get what he wanted, neither would she. Goro turned his back to the both of them and began walking away in false stride.
“We should be going.”
Goro didn’t know why he was here. He had his suspicions of how and why he had been so rudely resurrected if his conversations with Ren were anything to go by, but the reason why he’s here in Shibuya and standing in the middle of the sidewalk like some idiot alluded him. There was nothing special about this place and nothing that stood out, and yet his feet refused to move despite his attempts at willing himself forward. He had nowhere to be, but no reason to stop either. Curious, or another one of the doctor’s cheap tricks. It was hard to say. Faceless passerby navigated around him and he couldn’t be bothered in giving them the time of day when they didn’t so much as blink in his direction anymore. It was the usual order of society, but he despised the unwelcome familiarity that crept to the forefront of his mind from where he buried it deep within his memories. The title of second-coming of the prince detective, all of his hard work, meant nothing in a world where he only lived for someone else.
The cool air nipped at his face and a cloud of air expelled from between his lips. Instinctively, he curled his hand a little tighter at his side, but when he glanced downwards at his glove he merely grasped at the empty air with nothing but the lens of what used to be filtered over his vision. To have you suddenly missing from his side was jarring, to say the least. Reflection wasn’t his ideal pastime, but it was all he had when his loss drowned him. Loss of what he once had, loss of direction, loss of company, loss of purpose. He didn’t regret what he did and there was no shame in his admittance, but a twinge of regret sparked for not doing more to keep you out of the confrontation. His waking moments wouldn’t be consumed so mercilessly if he had a little more time, was a little better. Maybe that’s why you chose to stand by Joker and not him, because that nobody living in an attic was somehow always better than him.
Goro shook those thoughts away before they could fester into something worse than his (not at all jealous) scowl and grounded himself back into the distorted reality around him, only to find his back seared from a burning gaze drilled into him from behind. He first glanced over his snowflake-covered shoulder and then turned his whole body, and was given little time to linger on the realization of how fluidly he was suddenly able to move when your eyes stared back from across the people-ridden street. It was something out of a fantasy, the crowds parting and disappearing as if the world belonged to you and him, and you and him alone. It could, a voice that sounded suspiciously like that damned doctor’s whispered in his ear. If that’s what would make you both happy. Tempting, calculating, sickeningly genuine. Goro swat that thought away without thinking twice.
Even when you sought warmth in the winter clothing bundled comfortably around you, you were just as captivating as he remembered, twice as breathtaking, and Goro wouldn’t have looked away even if he was capable of doing so. Your eyes, a gorgeous hue of color that he could wander and get lost in, widened in recognition and a sudden swarm of emotions that summoned tears. Were you crying for him or another reason? He would be selfish and hope it was the former, but then why would that be? He had your love—whether he still did was up in the air—and that was enough. Despite how much he craved it, craved you, craved more, he knew it was undeserved. How could you love someone who left scarlet stains across your face and body when he held you? The love in your eyes when his true self slipped past his princely persona was wholly authentic in the past, but would that remain when there wasn’t a front for him to fall back on?
His feet carried him forward and yours did the same with far more urgency and less self-deprecation between maneuvering around the mindless passerby, as if he was a fleeting memory you were desperately trying to hold onto. He tended his arms and dug his heels into the concrete before he could fall backwards when your body collided with his. Your arms wrapped around him and with his chest pressed against yours, he could distinctly feel the erratic drum of your heart. His, meanwhile, bled between your fingers from where he ripped it out and gave it to you for safe-keeping. In your kind and loving palms it swelled, it warmed, it beat, it mended itself together. Goro couldn’t recall the last time it did that or how, despite each and every crack and bruise and puncture, it still yearned and lived. For all that he did, you still held onto it and nurtured it. He still couldn’t put a name to the fluttering in his stomach after all this time.
Your grip on the back of his coat tightened incrementally, body and breath trembling between trying to muster all of the strength you had. Goro couldn’t even bring himself to hold you close like he had before and could only watch as his palms hovered over you, as if he’d somehow do further damage from touch alone. How pathetic he had become within your absence. He couldn’t tell how long you stayed like that for, but it certainly long enough, if you asked him. He couldn’t complain too much when you raised your head from where it rested against him for your teary-eyed gaze to meet his. A chill ran down his spine at the feeling of your wandering hands cradling his cheeks, fingers caressing the flushed skin beneath his eyes and outlining the contour of his face. One hand raised to cover yours as he melted into your touch and leaned into one palm without so much as breaking eye contact. All of the tension in his body faded far out of sight and out of mind.
“My Goro,” you whispered for him and him alone. “Is it really you? This isn’t a dream, right?”
It’s a little late to be asking that, what little of his mind that wasn’t drunk on you realized, but all he’s able to get out is a nod and a breathless, “Yeah, it’s me.”
It was hard to tell whether it’s because of the sound of his voice or the confirmation that summons them forward, but one tear after the other slipped down your cheeks and left glittering stains in their wake. With trained carefulness he used for nobody else, he brushed both away with the back of his fingers one after the other. Some part of him patiently awaited for the knee-jerk reaction to his touch, but it never came. Instead you sunk further into him and his free hand rose to rest against your hip where it belonged before he could so much as give himself the command. Then his lips are on yours and that’s an order he happily followed through with the moment it crossed his mind. It was too harsh, too ravenous, impatient, pathetically desperate, and Goro knew that, but he did nothing to ease it. His mouth moved against yours and he would have drew away at the initial stillness had you not returned the gesture tenfold.
His lips slipped away from yours for a breath of air at the very last second when his lungs screamed for oxygen and he only needed a second more before he went in for another, and another, and another. Eventually, he could feel the corner of your lips rise and laughter bubble between each depraved, downright desperate kiss. Goro nearly forgot how much he loved the sound of it, how much he missed it. His gloves curled tight into your clothing with only the whispered reminder of how careful he needed to be at the back of his mind, but it did nothing to stop him from holding you close against him. Your arms snaked around his shoulders and he blamed the chill for the shiver that tore through him until the pads of your fingers, cold yet somehow sparking warmth throughout his body, rested against the back of his neck. Your forehead pressed against his and he was only slightly aware of the gentle tugging at the strands of hair caught beneath his scarf, but he didn’t dare tear his eyes from yours.
“I missed you,” he admitted with a vulnerability that burned his lungs. “So, so much.”
hi! i just wanted to thank you again for that lelouch piece you did, i loved it so much my heart was beating so loud while i read it Jbdjfnfjdjfb thank you so much!! yesterday apart from christmas it was also my birthday so it was the perfect birthmas gift aaaaaaa <3 i hope you had a great christmas ^_^
AHHH YOU’RE TOO SWEET IM GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT!! my christmas went very nicely, thank you for asking!!
GASP NO WAY!! HAPPY late BIRTHDAY THAT’S SO EXCITING!! i hope you had the loveliest birthmas ever with lelouch!! ik he’d spoil you rotten <3
2B PFP 2B PFP 2B PFP SO CUTE!! YOURS IS SO PRETTY TOO OMG
thank you so much, you're so kind!! a very common theme (pun unintentional hehe) is that my themes typically revolve around the color blue. it's kind of a problem lol
— A GIFT FOR @allovertheplace-writing HAS ARRIVED !
彡 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐔 𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀
彡 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈
彡 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃, 𝐖𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐄
the tips of his fingers, wrapped around theirs and refusing to let go, are rosy from the winter chill. though, ren can’t say he wishes he brought a pair of gloves because then he’d miss the raw touch that warms him from the inside out. he isn’t sure if the flush of his cheeks is still from his embarrassment of being so unbalanced, but he doesn’t linger on that for too long when there’s a thought of greater importance.
if he lets go, he knows he’s going to fall.
there’s nothing wrong with admitting to one’s weaknesses—that’s one thing that ren amamiya wholeheartedly believes. he just so happened to be inexperienced in ice-skating, and pretty poor at it at the moment. sure, he may fall. he may stumble and slip and wave his arms when they turn a little wider than he expects, but he wasn’t going to risk pulling them down with him. if they got hurt because of him, ren wasn’t sure that he could forgive himself for that.
for that reason, he remains as still as he can and pushes himself off when he starts to slow down and pull on their arm. whether they realize he’s practically letting them guide them across the ice, he isn’t sure. what he is sure of is that they glide so elegantly around the arena lined by walls and railings, maneuvering past couples and single visitors that are just blurred faces to him.
for that reason, he remains as still as he can and pushes himself off when he starts to slow down and pull on their arm. whether they realize he’s practically letting them guide them across the ice, he isn’t sure. what he is sure of is that they glide so elegantly around the arena lined by walls and railings, maneuvering past couples and single visitors that are just blurred faces to him.
“you’re doing great, ren,” they assure from beside him. they smile at him, a small but authentic one that has his own lips twitching upwards to mirror it.
he raises the hand that isn’t attached to theirs and rubs the back of his neck, sheepish but flattered and a little flustered because they really did notice and now he’s a little embarrassed. their lighthearted laughter is like jingle bells in his ears, overpowering the background noise of chatter and scratching of blades altogether as if they’re the only ones here. it’s just like leblanc’s coffee and curry: he couldn’t get enough of it.
everything goes by so fast that it takes lelouch a necessary second to comprehend what happened. one second he’s quietly reminiscing on childhood memories with suzaku, the next he’s in the center of the overly decorated student council room. milly’s hands are against his back in one moment and gone the next, leaving behind echoes of mischievous snickering. suspicious doesn’t even begin to describe what he’s feeling beneath an innocent and confused glance.
he minutely and silently scolds himself. how could he allow himself to drop his guard so low because of some festivities and memories so far they’re nearly out of reach? regardless, it isn’t a thought that he permits to linger on for long. when lelouch turns forward, monique stands less than arms length in front of him and rivalz scurrying away in the background. confusion swirls within heterochromatic eyes and he’s sure that he was hardly any different.
that confusion transforms itself into palpable surprise when they gaze upwards and their lips, a feature of theirs that his eyes always find himself drawn to, part slightly. lelouch does the same and in the air is a small plant suspended in the air by a thin, near transparent string taped to the ceiling. it’s so small that he almost doesn’t see the shine of the plastic red berries or the leaves made of felt. it easily hangs over their heads, but it’s twice as easy to reach up and grab it without trouble.
a mistletoe? lelouch identifies. he cocks his head to the side and dark strands of hair falls in front of his face, but he makes no attempt at returning it to place. then it sets in, quick and sudden, and his heart leaps in his chest. oh.
“well then,” lelouch eventually says, chuckling a bit in an attempt to mask how flustered he suddenly is. expectedly, they most likely see through that. “if you’d like to go somewhere private, i’m sure they’d understand.”
monique shakes their head, long and dark hair he could (and has) easily tangle between his fingers swaying with the movement. their answer isn’t a surprise, but he figures he’d offer, in any case. lelouch isn’t someone to simply succumb to unexpected occurrences, but his usual means of maintaining composure hardly does a thing to soothe his erratic heart because this, something that seems more of something out of a fantasy, is actually happening.
monique’s arms wrap around him and pull him close, and he returns the gesture out of pure instinct alone. slender fingers curl into the frills and silky cloth of their dress that is strikingly and purposefully identical to his own outfit in color and elegance. that alone fills him with a sense of pride that swells within his chest, only intensified by the engagement ring upon their finger is cool against his cheek. then his lips are on theirs, moving so perfectly he’s certain that they were made for one another.
biggs, without a doubt, challenges you to friendly competitions and accepts any you challenge him to. no matter who wins and loses, he’s a good sport about it, but he isn’t going to go easy, even if it is you. there is a twinge (read: plenty) of guilt if he wins, but he tells himself there’s always next time
you’re in for your fair share of cheesy pickup lines and jokes that have the most vocal members of avalanche groaning, there’s no getting around that. they’re always lighthearted and silly, but that seems to be his goal by the smirk creeping its way onto his lips.
biggs has no clue how to apply makeup and doesn’t have extensive knowledge of it, but he’s real into watching your routine. he can’t even name or explain what most of your cosmetics are for! it may take a lot convincing, but he can’t say “no” for long if you want to put some on him.
biggs is a super supportive person through thick and thin. whether it be emotional or physical, he’s there for you. he actively tries to help boost your confidence and thinks that you have so much talent that will take the world by storm. he can’t get enough of your dancing based off of his cheering.
although he hasn’t admitted to it yet, biggs plays your favorite songs through seventh heaven’s jukebox. that way when you walk through the front doors, it’s playing for you as a welcome surprise. must be a coincidence, he claims but his smile that shows all of his teeth is far too knowing.
edelgard is utterly embarrassed when you see the portrait she’s created in your likeliness while the two of you are painting together one day. her cheeks are as vibrant as her gown, but she tries to remain as composed as possible while she asks for your opinion.
with you, edelgard is sure she’s found someone like her—her other half. someone she can comfortably confide in without needing to prepare herself to face ridicule or judgement, and someone who refuses to bow to conformity and being shackled by fódlan’s century-old chains.
she’s always been so busy with war efforts and plans that she’s hardly had the time to really take in her surroundings. when conflict has finally ceased, edelgard gazes upon the gorgeous scenery with her hand laced with yours without the weight of the world on her shoulders.
if there’s anything that can disarm the emperor, even if just a smidge, it’s your puns. she tries to keep herself composed, fist raised to her lips, but they’re very obviously twitching and an air of amusement practically radiates off of her while lavender eyes twinkle.
zero two loves to go on nature walks with you! sure, the scenery is pretty and all, but she’s seen it all before in other plantations that it’s grown kind of dull. and yet, she enjoys tagging along because she knows your eyes will light up and she’s content so long as she can see your gorgeous smile.
there aren’t many opportunities that the two of you can go swimming, but zero two makes sure that you have the time of your life when you do. from playful splashes of cool water that splatters against your skin to collecting the cool rocks by your feet in the sand that she later pours into a jar.
zero two thinks your art is incredible and is your greatest supporter! she’s never been particularly artistic herself, but she’d join you if asked. she’d be touched if you decided to gift her with one of your creations, and she’ll proudly hang it up on her wall in the attic for all to see.
for all of her life, she’s defended herself and brushed off the horrible words spat at her. zero two’s heart flutters, soars high like the jian, when you defend her because she can practically taste the authenticity of your words. you being there and by her side means more than words can explain.
zero two, without a doubt, enables your chaotic behavior and happily joins you in whatever you have up your sleeves. all of her mischief is ultimately harmless, but it makes her giggle uncontrollably seeing squad thirteen erupt into utter chaos.
ren is someone who will patiently wait until you’re willing and comfortable enough to reveal your true self to him. he can’t deny that he was surprised to see hotheadedness behind your initial shyness and isn’t sure what he was expecting, but he embraces it all the same.
ren could listen to you talk about anything and everything for hours. whether he’s knowledgeable about the topic or not, he tries to continue the conversation not out of a sense of politeness, but because he knows about your interest in the subject.
ren’s understanding of marine biology is very limited, but he tries to learn what he can whenever he’s not not focused on phantom thief business. marine life is something you’re interested in, of course he’s going to look into it. can you tell he’s trying to impress you? is it working?
if he can swipe some tickets, ren would definitely bring you on a date to the aquarium. he glances to you from the corner of his eye to watch your expression, grinning to himself when your face lights up. if there’s anything you want from the gift shop, consider it yours.
ren could talk about literature with you all day if he had the time and chance to. he suggests his favorites and gives you recommendations if you want them. you’d be surprised by the collection he’s collected from jinbocho and if you wanna borrow one, you’re welcome to.
ren invites you upstairs in his room to play video games with him if you have the time to join him. he has some retro games if you’re interested in giving them a try and a couple of controllers, but he’s totally fine with you bringing your own.
ren picks slices of strawberry cake and apple pie for you unprompted, especially if you’re feeling a bit unlike yourself or under the weather. of course he knows that they’re your favorites, no matter how obvious it is or if it’s by an offhanded mention.
DAY THREE OF THE NORTHERN STAR — FELIX HUGO FRALDARIUS
✗ — summary : maybe cuddling in front of the fireplace isn’t so bad, but only because it’s you.
✗ — themes : sfw, fluff, gender-neutral reader, post-azure moon, intentional use of lowercase, reader isn’t byleth (but can be!), established relationship.
✗ — wc : 804
✗ — notes : felix is so grumpy he makes me giggle
REBLOGS ARE WELCOME AND APPRECIATED !
for the record, this wasn’t his fault. it’s coincidence, nothing more, so do not tell anyone about this.
it was innocent, at first. after their long journey from the boar’s birthday gathering in fhirdiad, all felix wanted to do was sit in front of the great hall’s fireplace to ward off faerghus’ particularly aggressive chill. he was itching to get a round of training in, but his body felt too heavy to do anything more than draw his sword from his side. he knew he’d pay for it if he tried to push himself in his current state and resigned to spending the remained of the night resting. it just so happened that his partner joined him moments after him, visible exhaustion lining their eyes as it likely did his. they reclined into the plush sofa and leaned against one another until their shoulders touched while moonlight poured through the massive glass panes along the walls and over their feet. then it was their fingers dancing over to his and knitting them together, all the while refusing to meet his glances in favor of gazing into the crackling blaze.
he could only be comfortable in one spot for so long and for that reason, and that reason alone, felix let his head drop to the side. it was hardly calculated that he just so happened to nestle his cheek against the side of his partner’s head and they leaned towards him in return. or even when he pulled their hand into his lap and adjusted his grip until their palm pressed against his scarred and calloused one because there was no way in hell he was going to let them slip through his fingers after everything they had gone through. the fire granted them a welcome heat that tickled and brushed what little bare skin he dared to expose until it became greater around his cheeks and down his throat until he thought he was about to sweat. it’s because they’re so close, he tries to reason, but the sound of their laughter, melodic and downright hypnotizing that he might as well go insane, instantly dismisses his excuse.
felix, if he had to tell the truth, wasn’t completely sure how he ended up like this, in such a compromising position that disregarded any and every single emotional wall he’s constructed over the past several years. it dug and grated its heel into his boundaries without directly crossing them, forcing a shiver down his spine. a whisper in the voice of his partner echoed assurances that he’s safe without so much as opening their stupid (lovely) mouth. it’s coincidence, he insists, that his arms are wrapped around his partner to keep them close and his fingers, rosy and slender and tired, are curled into their pajamas because there’s no way in hell he’s letting them slip away after years of silently fearing he’d lose one more person he cared for. their legs become tangled in a mess of limbs across the seat faster than he can process it, their head resting upon his shoulder and nosing his throat until he can’t look them in the eye.
goddess, he was going soft. he wanted to call this vulnerability, call himself, pathetic, because there was no way that he, duke felix hugo fraldarius, could be so madly in love with someone. yet here he was and the insult felt too untrue to be believed. he’d never live it down if anyone heard about this, let alone saw him very obviously cuddling with his partner where anyone and everyone could step in if they so chose to. it was unlikely that anyone would given how high the moon rose, but there was ways that slim, unfortunate chance. he could already hear sylvain and his obnoxious, headache-inducing teasing all the way in gautier. frankly, it’s so unlike felix and exactly like his childhood friend that he really doubted that anyone would take him seriously, but it being out there at all hovered over him like a threat. none of the servants would say a word of it to felix himself, but their whispers always found their way back to him.
sure, he bitched and moaned about being so openly affectionate. sure, he huffed and puffed whenever someone said or did something he found utterly idiotic. but at the end of the day, felix couldn’t say that he didn’t like or treasure moments like this. he’d rather bury his head in the snow than admit that aloud to anyone that wasn’t his partner—even then, he didn’t think he’d be able to look at them for any longer than a few seconds without becoming horribly red—but that was beside the point. distantly, he can feel his cheeks cooling as his eyes slip shut, drawing him further into the land of dreams in the comfort and company of his one and only.
was there a word to describe how cruel of a man he was?
dimitri alexandre blaiddyd was a king before a scholar, he would have lightheartedly jested, but it felt inappropriate somehow. the bitterness was distant yet palpable on his tongue and coursed throughout his bones. perhaps it was the weight of his stained crown, or even the burning regrets that clung onto him and dug their nails into his scars etched with wretched memories. how worthy was he to be allowed to partake in such a lovely occasion when his people continued to suffer? it was selfish and naive to claim that he was the sole cause of it when they have for centuries, but dimitri could not deny the large he role he played in recent years. whether it be by his hand or the carnage of war, the semantics mattered not. their well-being was his responsibility and the guilt of the harm he inflicted upon his home and people piled, growing ever heavier as what was but a fraction of a continent gradually became whole.
whether it was by the command of the hands of fate or divine intervention, he knew not, but he was granted the opportunity to celebrate another year of life he never asked for and one he was still learning to cherish. being able to spend some time away from political and kingdom affairs was refreshing after being hunched over his desk for so long, but they, like most things, lingered in the back of his mind. he was vaguely aware of the people lining the walls in blurs of color beneath the golden light of the chandeliers and for a moment he’s back in garreg mach all over again. their presences alone brings a welcome reminder that they gathered to fhirdiad from across the continent just for him (albeit by his beloved’s request, of which he only recently found out about it) ignited an abrupt yet welcome warmth in his chest, and he can’t help but wonder how he can be deserving of such a kindness.
dimitri still couldn’t wrap his head around how he could possibly be touched so gently, held as though he were glass or the finest treasure within fódlan. it was such an unconscious action on his beloved’s part, pouring love through every graze of their fingertips and brush of their lips and warm gaze that he could drown within it and be content with that. he, as he held them close and was careful not to step on their toes, had to remain mindful of his hold before he accidentally hurt them: the person most precious to him. the monstrous strength gifted to him through his crest would be put towards the protection of his people, that’s what he believed and intended to live by. and yet whenever he glanced over his shoulder, he could still see the trail of battered and lifeless bodies of the innocent and guilty alike scattered in his wake, all slain by his very hand and the weapon passed down to him in a cruel disregard of his own strength and heart.
his beloved knew what he was capable of, knew of his past indiscriminate cruelty to those around him that he cared for, and they still decided to stand by him as he worked to make up for it. they still considered him to be their dimitri, able to see the good in him despite everything that he had done and flash a smile that leaves him utterly smitten. how they permit him to touch them is so beyond him it’s nearly dumbfounding. realistically, he is aware of the stains and scars across their lovely hands from the war and years before, and he knows that they’re not fragile but he can’t help but worry. but the scarlet across his own hands that seeps through his gloves and pools in his palms until it trickles between his fingers never fades and never ends no matter how long he allowed it to pour for. oh, he he felt terrible for dirtying their outfit, but they and those around seem none the wiser to it so dimitri kept his mouth shut.
abruptly, laughter echoed in his ear that he could only describe as mocking and disbelieving, if not familiar. dimitri couldn’t stop himself in time before his head is quirked over his shoulder as subtly as possible to lend his ear. “do you truly think the professor loves you?” the voice of his step-sister sneered. she hovered directly behind him and he doesn’t even need to look to see the gaping wound in her abdomen. “they’re only committed to you to keep you on a tight leash. you’re a fool if you think otherwise, dimitri. so long as you remain a beast, being loved is an impossibility for-”
“mitya?”
the nickname is fresh, new, and he only picked up on it because of how close they were and how loud it was compared to el’s seething accusations. his attention swiveled to his spouse and before he can dignify them with a response, one foot stumbled over the other and they’re suddenly out of position on the dance floor and taken out of the pattern the two of them have been repeating for...well, he wasn’t sure. his legs are beginning to grow tired, if that answered anything. he’s lucky there’s enough space between him and everyone else that he couldn’t bump into anyone, but this is just his luck. he was even doing so well! if he had known they were throwing him a celebration, he would have taken some lessons, but alas. they looked so earnest, as well, and an excited twinkle in their eye. they extended their hand to him and in their palm laid his bloody paw, but they only smiled and guided him onto the floor.
he corrected his posture and squared his shoulders, his partner mirroring him and it was only then that he realized that he had inadvertently dragged them with him. his worry melted away and he stopped his quick sweep of their body for any injuries at their lighthearted laughter and the way it prodded at the underside of their eyes. his cheeks warmed all the way to his ears and down to his chest and dimitri, if the loose strands of hair untied by his ponytail aren’t covering his face, is sure that he must look ridiculous and silently declared that he’s utterly embarrassed. a large and cold hand clutched his shoulder and he immediately paused, knowing who it is without needing to even look but it filled him with dread all the same. dimitri is vaguely aware of the fact he’s being dragged off to the side and doesn’t pull away, lambert following in step and burning a hole into a back of his head.
“i’ve taught you better than this, dimitri,” lambert scolded, disappointment thick in his tone. “a king does not humiliate himself in front of his court.”
“dimitri,” his beloved started, an air of seriousness taking on their tone, concern dripping off of them in waves. they brushed a few strands of his hair away from his face an tuck it behind his ear. “are you alright? do you need some air?”
“i’ll be alright, beloved. do not worry yourself over me,” dimitri hummed and gave them his best smile.
the savior king took a breath and, with all of the carefulness he could possibly will to life in him, held his beloved’s face in his hands and closed his eyes. he had to bend down a bit and crane his neck, but he hardly minded and it came to him so effortlessly that it might as well have been instinct. his thumbs brushed along the skin beneath their eyes, as if memorizing the shape. el’s gaze burned holes into his cloak, but he payed her no mind.
"never forget that i love you more than anything in this world, my beloved.”
a featherlight touch pressed against his palm and he realized that, after a few seconds, it was a kiss. "i love you more.”
and suddenly, everything was okay. everything is quiet and he is home.
hello and welcome to NORTHERN STAR! this is my very first mini event and a little challenge for myself. for the five days leading up to christmas day, i’ll be posting a fic in the order below. this page will act as the event masterlist and be updated regularly.
i hope you enjoy and happy holidays!
𝐃𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐈 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐘𝐃
sfw + comfort fluff / angst + gn!reader | you extend your hand to him, and in your palm lies his bloodied paw.
𝐋𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐕𝐈 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐀
sfw + fluff + gn!reader | it’s truly one of the most hideous things he’s worn, but it’s worth it to see your smile.
𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒
sfw + fluff + gn!reader | maybe cuddling in front of the fireplace isn’t so bad, but only because it’s you.
𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎
sfw + fluff / suggestive + fem!reader | there isn’t much he considers a challenge, but he can’t say no, either. it’s on, sweetheart.
𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐎 𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐈
sfw + fluff / slight angst + gn!reader | he’s never cared about celebrating the holidays before, so what changed?
𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 : 𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍
GIFTS (MATCHUPS) HAVE FINALLY ARRIVED
2022 lumiinated. do not edit, translate, or repost my work on any platform.
you must be following me to participate! new and current followers are welcome <3
please only choose one (1) of the three (3) options. mutuals can choose the special bundle if they so desire.
entries will be accepted until december 15th. all gifts will be queued to be delivered on december 25th.
please only select one fandom!
writing for : akame ga kill, black butler, breath of the wild, code geass, darling in the franxx, final fantasy vii / xv, fe3h, k/da, kill la kill, mystic messenger, nier replicant / automata, persona 5 / royal, soul eater, yu-gi-oh! (dm + gx only).
all original asks will not be published for the sake of your privacy! they’re for my eyes only.
never be apologetic for long entries! i’d vastly prefer one with lots of info bc it’s much easier to work with!
entries can be platonic, familial, or romantic but you must specify what you’d like!
please stay off of anon so i can tag you, or provide a blog i can tag (be sure to check your settings!) or pick an emoji to identify yourself.
emoji anons taken: 🍰
𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐏𝐒
these are your typical matchups — you supply information about yourself you’re comfortable with sharing and i pair you with a character from a designated fandom!
you’ll receive a small aesthetic moodboard with your match.
please send in : fandom, your personality, likes, dislikes, hobbies, what you find attractive in a person, gender preference for your matchup, and if there are any characters you don’t want to be matched with.
please do not send : enneagram, myers-briggs type, wizard house, a picture of yourself, birthday / astral sign. i don’t know what to do with that!
pls specify if you’re an adult / minor if your blog doesn’t say so already so i can assign you the proper character.
please remember that all matchups are based off of personal opinion and what you’re willing to share with me! they may not be 100% accurate and are done for fun.
𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐒
— send me a bit of information about your selfship + a word prompt and you’ll receive headcanons centered around the two of you during the winter season!
— please send : info about your self insert (how they know your f/o, etc.), your chosen f/o, tropes (enemies to lovers, coffee shop au, etc.), and anything else you think i should know!
— word prompts are, but not limited to : mistletoe | fireplace | hot cocoa | celebration | warmth | snowman | baking | presents | ice skating | holiday songs | sledding | ugly sweaters
— these will primarily be sfw, but i can try to include suggestive content at your request! 18+ only, age must be visible.
𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘
— similarly to matchups, send me a bit about you and i’ll match you with someone you may not usually selfship with!!
— please provide the same information as a regular matchup.
— please specify if there are characters you don’t wish to be matched with.
𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄
— mutuals only (sorry!)
— you’ll receive a MERRY MATCHUP, SELFSHIP SNOW ANGEL, and a MIDNIGHT MYSTERY + my love and support /p
— pls provide the necessary info described above <3
— if one doesn’t strike your fancy, you’re welcome to mention that you’d like it excluded!
