Noctis Lucis Caelum x M!Reader
content: MALE!reader. You (y/n) are said to be older and taller than Noctis. Childhood best friends suddenly made to marry. But of course, no romance this was strictly political.
note: Noticed there are literally no Noctis fanfics on here, but I had to make it MLM because I'm simply self-indulgent like that. Sorry to all the girls out there, but I'm sure you can enjoy it the same lol.
Noctis and y/n had been best friends since they were childrenâtwo princes from rival kingdoms who were never supposed to get along, and yet somehow always found each other anyway. What started as stolen conversations and shared mischief grew into something quieter and heavier over the years, until neither of them could quite name what their bond had become.
At first, the strained relationship between their kingdoms made their meetings dangerous. Later, it made them political. And still, they kept meeting.
Now they were adults. Y/n was a couple of years olderâtaller, too, broader in the shoulders, built as he had grown into every expectation a kingdom had ever placed on him. Noctis had caught up in presence if not in stature, but even now, standing beside him, he felt the difference like a quiet pressure in the air.
The announcement had come first: Noctis was to marry Lady Luna. A perfect union, carefully arranged, widely accepted. Duty, as always, dressed up as destiny.
Noctis had played his part well. He always did.
Luna was perfect. Kind, composed, exactly what a future queen should be.
And yet the thought of it had sat wrong in his chest from the moment he heard it. Not because he disliked herâhe didnât. He simply⊠didnât want it. Didnât want that. Didnât want a life carefully arranged around someone who wasnâtâ
He stopped that thought before it could form fully.
The new arrangement came suddenly, behind closed doors between kings and advisors. A different alliance. Stronger. Cleaner. A binding that would tie the kingdoms together more permanently than any fragile romance ever could.
The condition was explicit in the contract: this was not love, not romance, not companionship as stories pretended. It was political infrastructure. A living treaty. A symbol. No kisses. No public tenderness. No ambiguity that could weaken the message.
A union of crowns, not hearts.
Noctis had read the words more than once, as if repetition might make them feel less strange.
Both of them were men. That part had caused noise in the court, of course, but the objections had been quieted quickly. Power had a way of silencing hesitation.
And stillâthis was the solution they chose. Not because it was easy, but because it was undeniable.
When the day came, the ceremony felt less like a wedding and more like a coronation dressed in tradition.
Noctis was dressed like the centre of the world.
Pure white layered in fine fabric, stitched with pale blue that caught the light when he moved. Jewels rested along his collar and sleeves like frozen stars. A heavy cape trailed behind him, brushing the floor with every step as if the kingdom itself refused to let him move too freely. Even the crown felt heavier than usual, pressing down like expectation made physical.
He had expected something simpler.
He had expected them both to look like this was mutual.
Instead, everything was deliberate.
White for sacrifice. White for duty. White for the heir who would become king and could not be anything else.
The blue threaded through it all was unmistakableâLucian blue, royal blue, the colour of Insomniaâs magic and its legacy. But it was also the colour of the alliance being forged, the colour of another kingdom now woven into his future whether he wanted it or not.
He was not just a prince today. He was a statement.
When he finally saw y/n, the contrast made the message even sharper.
Black. Simple, restrained, impeccably tailored. No excess, no decoration that could compete, no attempt to match the spectacle Noctis had been forced into. It was not lack of careâit was intention.
Y/n had chosen not to stand beside the crown in appearance, only in position.
And as always, he was older. Taller. Calm in a way Noctis had never managed to fully replicate. Even now, even here, he carried himself like someone who had decided long ago that emotion was something to be controlled, not displayed.
Noctis told himself he noticed these things only because they were practical.
Only because they mattered politically.
Not because they made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
The ceremony ended as ceremonies always didâwords spoken, vows exchanged without room for interpretation, signatures laid down like sealing wax over fate.
And then came the throne.
It was not a gesture of comfort. It was placement. Clear, deliberate, and visible to every noble watching. The Lucian line remained sovereign. Nothing had been transferred, nothing diluted.
But behind himâstanding just close enough that it could not be mistaken for distanceâwas y/n.
A protectorâs position in older military traditions. A consortâs position in newer political ones. And in this case, a compromise between both kingdoms that meant exactly what it needed to mean: support without replacement. Presence without displacement.
Even as older and, in many ways, more experienced, y/n did not challenge it. That, too, was part of the message.
Loyalty. Acceptance. Control.
Noctis stared forward as the court celebrated their union, feeling the weight of every gaze, every expectation, every carefully hidden calculation behind polite smiles.
A marriage of convenience, the contract had called it.
Romance strictly prohibited.
He told himself that was fine.
He told himself it was easier this way.
And yet, behind him, y/n was close enough that Noctis could feel his presence without turning around.
That awareness lingered longer than it should have.
When the last of the formalities dissolved into celebration, it took nearly two days for the world to stop performing.
The palace was loud, full of music and laughter and nobles pretending this was joy instead of strategy. Noctis stood through it all like he was carved from something softer than stone but forced to act like it wasnât.
Night settled over Insomnia, deep and heavy, swallowing the noise whole.
Tradition dictated they be escorted to the royal chambers together.
The room they were led into was enormousâfit for a king who was now expected to share his space with a political consequence. The bed alone looked almost small against the vast walls, draped in fabric and gold trim that served no purpose except to remind them of their roles.
Privacy, but only in the technical sense.
The moment the door closed, Noctis exhaled sharply and immediately began tugging at the layers of his suit.
âThis thing is ridiculous,â he muttered, frustration breaking through for the first time all day as fabric resisted him at every turn.
He heard y/n remove his crown and set it down with quiet precision. Noctis followed suit a moment later, placing his beside it like a matching symbol of everything they had just endured.
Then something changed in the air.
Noctis stumbled half a step before turning, blinkingâjust in time for another push.
âOhâreally?â he started, but the sentence didnât get far before y/nâs fist tapped against his shoulder in something far too familiar to be called proper conduct.
It escalated quickly after that.
A light punch. A sharper shove. Noctis retaliating out of instinct more than thought, years of shared history snapping back into place like nothing had ever changed. A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
âSeriously? After that ceremony, you still have energy for this?â
A tackle sent them both off balance, and suddenly the stiffness of the day felt far away enough to ignore. Arguments followedâstupid ones, meaningless ones. Who looked more miserable. Who stood straighter. Who held the worse expression when the vows were spoken.
Neither of them really cared.
Eventually the argument dissolved into something simpler: the bed.
Which side belonged to who.
Which, in practice, meant nothing at all.
They ended up both throwing themselves onto it at once, half-dressed in ceremonial ruin, shoving each other like they were still children sneaking through palace halls instead of kings-in-name only.
Noctis laughed again, breathless this time, the sound slipping out easier than anything he had said all day in front of the court.
For a moment, it almost felt normal.
One knee on either side of his hips, hands planted near his head as if he had pinned him without fully meaning to. Close enough that the rest of the room disappeared behind him.
Noctis froze for half a second, breath catching before he could stop it.
ââŠYouâre really taking this seriously now, huh,â he managed, quieter than he intended.
His composureâcarefully rebuilt over years, over duty, over denialâdid not fully break.
