#request animakupo

[animakupo]

Unwavering (Ignis x Reader)

for the anony who requested iggy angst!!! with the following prompts:

#2: “Not you again”

#3: “Why do you hate me?”

#34: “I don’t deserve to be loved”

actually nonnie just said i could choose from either of the three but lol i am a Greedy Bitch™ who wants Validation from online strangers so i integrated all of the prompts (((they all worked out for the piece anyway hehehe)))

i worked on this nonstop bc idk i wanna make y’all happy with requests!! ironic bc this has some angst but uh.... i’m a sucker for happy endings so don’t worry everyone is happy in the end yay!!!!!!

(((thank you also to everyone who has sent love for The Way to a Man’s Heart like wow??? i thought it was shitty but a lot of y’all seemed to like it so thank u very much for being such darling angels mwah))))

here’s a more developed piece because i wanted to explore some character growth for iggy and his devotion to the throne whoop

word count: 5.8k+, unrequited feelings bc i LIVE FOR THIS SHIT, angst maybe, spoilers for ffxv

Ignis Scientia was a man known for many things. To those who frequented the Citadel, he was known as the young retainer of Prince Noctis. To some of the staff serving the royal family, Ignis was known for having a magic touch when it came to the kitchen. To his peers, the young man was regarded as hardworking, refined, and immaculately patient.

He had to be, if he was dealing with the stubborn prince, after all.

But, if there was one thing Ignis Scientia wasn’t known for, it was for losing his composed front in public. You, however, were an exception.

As a relative of Prince Noctis, you were a frequent — though not necessarily unwelcome — presence at the Citadel. Every summer, without fail, you would pay a visit to your “Uncle Reggie” — who would always welcome you with “the best hug in all of Eos” — and play with your cousin Noctis.

Though not much for socializing, Noctis — for the most part, at least — often looked forward to your visits, if only because you could get him out of his tutoring sessions and other princely obligations. “I have to go entertain the princess,” he would say whenever you arrived. “Duty calls.”

Having Noctis avoid his lectures was a headache enough for Ignis on any normal day, but with you in the picture? It was nothing short of a nightmare for the young Scientia.

You were hard-headed (more so than Noct, which was a feat in itself), obnoxiously loud, and awfully careless in a palace such as the Citadel. Noctis would argue that you “lit up the place” with your endless supply of energy, but if Ignis were to be frank, he thought you were a bit too much for him.

Though you had no bearing on the throne, you were still royalty under the Lucis Caelum line. Thus, as a member of House Scientia, Ignis was bound to you regardless of how often you got on his nerves.

Which was pretty often, and you weren’t even at the Citadel for the entirety of the year.

“Hi, Iggy!” you chirped at him during one of your summer stay-ins at the Citadel. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Not you again,” Ignis muttered under his breath. Time and time again, he couldn’t fathom what it was about you that grated on his nerves. Was it the lack of control in the volume of your voice whenever you called at him? Was it how reckless you ran around the Citadel, thus posing as a threat to the many valuables that decorated the palace? Or was it simply because Ignis had merely accepted Noctis as his sole responsibility, and so the added weight of you in the picture only placed more pressure over his delicate shoulders?

Whatever it was, Ignis had to remind himself to retain his cool composure, lest you throw a tantrum and cause an even bigger ruckus at the Citadel.

“What was that?”

Ignis cleared his throat. “Nothing.” Adjusting his glasses, he regarded you coolly with a nod. “How may I help you, Princess?”

You beamed, thoroughly basking in the royal retainer’s attention. “Sleepy Boy’s taking his royal nap, and I’m bored! Wanna play with me?”

“I’m sorry, Princess, but I’ll have to decline,” Ignis replied. “I have other things I must attend to.”

“But-“

“You can wait for Prince Noctis in the gardens, if you’d like. I hear the lavenders are blooming this time of the year.”

“Ig-“

“I’ll see you at supper. Good day.”

With his back turned to you, Ignis had failed to notice the tears welling up in your eyes that day.

*

Despite the fact that Ignis was only a year older than you, his poise and elegance made you feel like you were always lightyears behind him. It was due to this that you looked up to him a lot — a confession you had confided in Noctis many times during your yearly visits.

“How does Iggy do it, Noct?” you had asked after the festivities for your 10th birthday had wrapped up. You had opted to celebrate the day with your favorite people (“Sleepy Boy and Iggy! Oh, and you too, Uncle Reggie!”), and in the aftermath of the festivities, you and the prince were sprawled on his bed, too worn out to even bother getting changed into sleepwear.

Glancing at you from his handheld gaming device, Noctis asked, “Do what?”

“Do everything!” you cried, flopping down next to your best friend. “He’s only one year ahead of me, but he seems so much more…”

“Ancient?”

“No!” You whacked Noctis on the head, earning you a snort from the prince. “More mature! Iggy is so mature! I wanna be like him someday.”

“I dunno (Name), being Iggy doesn’t seem like a lot of fun.”

You frowned, brows furrowing at Noctis’ comment. “Why not?”

“He’s always doing stuff that the adults do. All the boring things.”

“Isn’t he allowed to hang out with us and take a break?”

“He is,” Noctis insisted. “But he’s always acted more like mom to me than anything. I’ve never really seen him slack off. Not even once.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

*

The next year, you made it a point to visit Noctis much earlier than your usual scheduled arrival in the summer. You had wanted to surprise Ignis on his birthday, and that was exactly what you did when you showed up at the Citadel several months earlier than expected.

“Hi, Iggy!” You wrapped your arms around him in greeting, ignoring how stiff he was at your embrace. “Happy birthday!”

“What are you doing here?” was all that came out of his mouth, but you were more focused on commemorating his birthday than dwelling on his lackluster response.

“I’m here to celebrate your birthday!” you replied happily, shoving a small box into his hands. “Sorry it’s only store-bought, but all the other cakes I tried to bake kinda… deflated, heh.”

Ignis offered a short bow. “I appreciate the sentiment, Princess, but I have a meeting to attend to.” He handed the box back into your grasp almost apologetically. “You can share that with Noct. I’m sure he will enjoy it immensely.” Turning on his heels, he nodded at you before offering a few more words. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

And with that, he left you there, standing dumbfounded with a box of cake in your hands and a hurt heart in your chest.

*

When it was time for you to enter high school, you became a permanent fixture at the Citadel. At this age, Ignis had already grown accustomed to your rambunctious personality, though that wasn’t to say he particularly sought out your company on his own accord. He liked to think that he simply tolerated your presence.

You always wished he liked you more, though, especially with your growing feelings for him.

“No fair, Noct!” you whined. “Now that I get to stay here at the Citadel, you’re gonna go and leave me to find a place of your own?”

The prince rolled his eyes at your antics. “I’ve been stuck here all my life, (Name). Don’t you think it’s about time that I at least get some time away from home?” You pouted at him, which only caused Noctis to chuckle. “Don’t dwell on it too much. We still have a year together before I’m off to high school anyway.”

You sighed dramatically. “At least I’ll have Iggy all to myself while you’re gone.”

“Well,” he drawled, “not exactly.”

Your groan sounded more exaggerated than the norm. “He’s gonna trail after you even when you’re away?” you complained, crossing your arms in frustration. “How am I going to get to use my womanly charms on him now?”

Noctis blanched. “Hey, it’s not like I asked him to dote on me. And since when have you been a woman?”

“Since puberty, you dweeb!” You made a motion to smack him on the head, but after years of training, the prince’s reflexes were much quicker now. You made no comment on his fast movements, but you were definitely impressed — and a little proud — by how much Noctis had grown over the years.

“Really?” As proud as you were of Noctis, you had to admit that the smirk on his face was still a little annoying. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Loser.”

“Brat.”

“Says the Sleepy Boy who gets cranky whenever he misses his nap.”

“I’ll have you know that we all need sleep to function properly.”

“Not in excess like you do, Sleepy Boy.”

And thus commenced a wrestling match between you and Noctis, your bitterness over his impending absence — and the lack of Ignis’ company, no less — long forgotten at the back of your mind.

*

High school was not what you thought it would be.

As a member of the royal family — never mind the fact that you weren’t even interested in inheriting the throne, nor were you even technically eligible to take over after King Regis, especially with Noctis having been groomed as the heir since his youth — many of your schoolmates flocked to you without any regard for your personal space.

Ignis had presumed you would have thrived in the spotlight, as revelling in people’s attention was something he had seen you enjoy during your many summers at the Citadel. It thus came as a surprise when, on what he was told was your first day in high school, you came knocking at his apartment door, looking rattled and frightened.

“Hi, Iggy,” you greeted shakily, your eyes lacking the usual mirth Ignis had always seen you carry. It was rather unnerving, having you suddenly show up at his doorstep looking all sullen and downcast. “Sorry for coming here unannounced. I didn’t know where to go, a-and…”

Your voice began to crack. Ignis was alarmed by the sudden manifestation of tears in your eyes; in all his years of watching over both you and Noctis, he had never been privy to your teardrops, so this was a sight that clenched at his heart rather unexpectedly.

“Please, come in.” He ushered you into his home, gingerly leading you to sit on the nearby sofa. “Tea?” he offered quietly, being careful not to aggravate your already bleak mood.

You shook your head. “No thanks. Can… can you just… stay here for a bit? With me?”

With the way you were looking at him so pleadingly — desperately — Ignis knew he wouldn’t be able to decline your request even if he wanted to.

What Ignis found rather odd, however, was that he didn’t want to deny you of your wish.

It had been a good while since the Royal Adviser last saw you. While he still wasn’t particularly fond of you, per se, his patience at least grew the older he became, and with it came a more formidable tolerance for your presence. He had a duty to the Lucis Caelum line — and in effect, to you — and he would stick to this commitment to the end of the line.

Today, though… today was decidedly different. For the very first time, he was seeing you not as a member of the royal family, but simply as you were: a young, vulnerable girl seeking comfort in his familiarity.

The two of you stayed there for the remainder of the evening. Not talking. Not touching. But you were together, and that was all you needed.

*

Ignis later found out from Noctis that your… episode on your first day of high school revealed your intolerance for crowds, especially with the likes of fanatic, hormonal teenagers — who wanted nothing but to rub elbows with royalty — swarming you left and right.

You had kept to yourself for the remainder of your high school life, but ever since that unforeseen visit to Ignis’, you noticed a drop in students harassing you on campus.

You liked to think that a certain Royal Adviser had something to do with the shift in treatment from your schoolmates.

Ignis never said anything about it. He deemed it unnecessary that you be aware of his involvement with campus officials and the warning words he had uttered regarding your safety and well-being.

You were his responsibility, after all.

*

A few days before Noctis was set to leave for Altissia, you decided to throw a party in celebration of not just his engagement, but your new assignment in Accordo as well. The small get-together — which consisted of you, Noctis, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto — was mostly for your own enjoyment. You were being sent off to Altissia ahead of Noctis’ departure, so it would be a while before you would get to see your favorite people again.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just wait a while and come with us, (Name),” Prompto commented with a pout. “We’re all going the same direction anyway.”

You shrugged. “As they say: duty calls.” Taking a swig of your drink, you gestured for Gladio to pour more wine into your glass. “Besides, we’ll see each other soon enough. Don’t worry about it.”

“I think you should slow down on the drinks, (Name).” Noctis attempted to swipe your wine glass from your grasp, but just like the prince, your own reflexes had also improved over time. “Don’t want you hungover on the trip to Accordo tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fiiine,” you sang, leaning onto Gladio for support. “Live a little, Noct-Noct!”

“Prince Charmless is right,” Gladio said as he attempted to steady your swaying form. “Drink too much and you might fall asleep waiting for your boat.”

You scoffed. “If anyone’s falling asleep, it’ll be Sleepy Boy over here.” You poked Noctis on the nose, causing him to scrunch up his face almost reflexively. “You better not fall asleep before your wedding, Noct. Can’t keep sweet ol’ Luna waiting too long. She’ll be expecting a proper prince waiting for her at the altar!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“We don’t have enough time for that,” Ignis deadpanned, causing the rest of your party to erupt in laughter.

As the night dwindled, your group fell into a comfortable silence. Noctis was already dozing off, while Gladio and Prompto were in their little corner, with the former teaching the blond a few “tricks” up his sleeve on how to “charm the women.”

That left you with Ignis.

“Hey, Iggy,” you called softly. “Could I talk to you for a minute? In private?”

Ignis was in the middle of taking Noctis’ glass from him — as his charge was bound to lose his grip on the drink, what with him going in and out of slumber — when you asked for him. “Certainly,” he said, and the two of you wandered off a little ways away from your friends.

“Can you believe it?” Your words broke the quiet between you and Ignis, the moon and stars serving as your spotlight. “Who would have thought that our Noct would go and get himself hitched? And to the Oracle, at that! I never even dreamed that he would be the first of us to get engaged, let alone start his way towards married life.”

“Indeed.” Ignis adjusted his glasses, a habit of his you had grown fond of over the years. “Granted, the engagement was brought on by the treaty, but regardless, it’s certainly enough reason to celebrate.”

You nodded in agreement. “Definitely.”

“So what was it you wanted to discuss, Princess?”

You felt yourself grow warm even beyond the effects of the alcohol in your system. Under Ignis’ intense stare, you couldn’t help but fidget a bit. The Royal Adviser had grown all the more refined in the past couple of years, making him even more attractive than he already was to begin with.

Not only did he now tower over you with his height, his jawline became more chiseled, giving him a sharper and much more striking face. You also took notice of how much his shoulders had broadened, providing him with a much more masculine build.

Simply put, Ignis Scientia was a work of art. That’s all there really was to it.

“I…” You gulped nervously. “There was something I wanted to tell you before I left.”

“Yes?”

It was now or never. “I… I love you, Ignis. I’m in love with you.”

You shut your eyes almost immediately, too scared of what Ignis’ reaction would be. Had you kept your eyes open, you would have registered the shock on his face. There were tellings of tenderness around his eyes at your confession, but you remained blissfully unaware as you waited with bated breath for his response.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity too long, Ignis spoke. “This is…”

“… yes…?”

“This is highly improper.”

Your stomach fell at his words, eyes opening in shock. “What… what do you mean?” Already, you could feel the tears threatening to make their appearance, but you willed yourself not to let them escape. Not yet. Not until he explained himself.

“What I mean is that you must dismiss this nonsense at once, Princess.”

“Nonsense?” you croaked, hurt by how savagely Ignis was taking this. “How is this nonsense? I love you, Ignis!”

The sharp glare Ignis had sent you that day would be burned into your mind forever. “No, you don’t. You’re not mature enough to know what you’re talking about, (Name).”

“And you are?” Though your tone was scathing, the stray tears that managed to leak from your eyes betrayed you. “I know you’re smarter than me, Ignis, but I’m not that far behind you in age.”

“What you manage to keep up in age speaks nothing of your wisdom, Princess.” He looked away from you, the deep frown seemingly aging him beyond his years. “You’re not in love with me. You’re drunk.”

“Stop calling me that!” you snapped, rubbing at your eyes furiously. What was going on with Ignis? Your gentle, sweet, patient Iggy? “Don’t tell me what I feel, Ignis! I’m sober enough to know what it is that I feel for you, and it’s love! I love you! Why can’t you accept that?”

“Why can’t you accept rejection when you see it, Princess?”

You fell silent at his remark. The tears were flowing freely now, and you did nothing to conceal them any longer. Defeatedly, with your voice barely over a whisper, you uttered, “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t-“

“You do,” you asserted tearfully. “You’ve never liked me. Even when we were kids, you’ve always hated me, Iggy.”

“Princess…”

“But me?” You laughed mockingly, the chuckles being drowned by your overpowering sorrow. “I’ve always loved you.”

That was the last Ignis saw of you, for the next time you met, his eyes could comprehend nothing but darkness.

His only regret was having your heartbroken face — from pain that he had been the source of — as his final memory of your time together before everything fell apart.

*

Several things revolved around Ignis’ mind as he processed the loss of his eyesight. What use was he now if he couldn’t even see his prince? Would he ever be able to cope? How was Noctis handling the passing of Lunafreya?

No matter what he thought of, though, you continued to remain at the fore of his mind.

He wondered where you were now. After that night, you had left for Accordo very early in the morning. Ignis had failed to see you off, as did the rest of his companions, Noctis included. It was as if you had made it a point to avoid all of them on the day of your departure.

He couldn’t blame you if you were avoiding him specifically, especially after how badly he had handled your confession.

The silver lining in your prompt expedition to Accordo was the fact that you were safe from the fall of Insomnia. Ignis at least had that to tide his worries over for the time being, though it did nothing to ease the gaping hole in his heart at his actions from your final conversation.

He had attempted to contact you countless times during the duration of his travel to Altissia with Noctis and the rest of their party. In spite of his efforts, you were adamant in rejecting his calls, though this was of no surprise to Ignis. Noctis, Prompto, and even Gladio had tried calling you as well — and they were especially consistent after they caught wind of Niflheim’s betrayal — but they were always redirected to either the dial tone or your voice mail.

You were simply unreachable.

“I pray that you are safe, Princess,” Ignis whispered softly into the air as he wobbled off the edge of his bed. He reached out for his walking stick, feeling the frustration of everything that had occurred become incredibly overwhelming. “There is so much I have left unsaid.”

*

“I told him not to fall asleep before his wedding.” Though your message was said in jest, your watery voice was telling enough of the grief you felt. “But did he listen? Of course he didn’t. That stupid Sleepy Boy.”

“Yeah.” Prompto chuckled sadly, wiping a tear from his eye. “That’s Noct for ya.”

“He’ll be back soon,” Gladio said, though the waver in his confidence was painfully obvious. “Or I’ll bring him here myself.”

You sniffed and turned towards the one who had remained silent during your tearful reunion. “And what about you, Iggy? I swear to the Astrals above, you really spoil Noct too much. Now look where it got you!”

Ignis frowned, expecting a comment or two on his eyesight. Or rather, his lack thereof. You were sure to offer pity for his handicap. In fact, he even expected you to mock him as a means of retaliating over the hurt he had lashed out on you that fateful night. It wasn’t even that long ago when you went your separate ways, and yet, it felt almost as if decades had come and gone since then.

He would have accepted any form of punishment from you, really, so long as it would mean he could obtain your forgiveness once and for all.

But, it seemed some things never did change, including the way you had never failed to render Ignis speechless and catch him off guard. What you said next made his cheeks burn — a sensation he never thought he would ever be able to feel anymore, particularly at this point in time when everything seemed bleak and hopeless.

“Look at what you’ve done to yourself.” Your voice was so sweet and so gentle, it made Ignis want to cry. The delicate graze of your fingers over his damaged face made him shiver in delight. “Not to worry. Scars or no, you’re still a work of art to me, Iggy!” Lowering your voice enough for just the two of you to hear, you murmured, “I’ll always love you no matter what.”

Everyone thought Ignis broke down into a heaping mess in your arms as his way of grieving for Noctis, but what no one knew was that he was crying over the love you still held for him even after all this time.

*

With the lack of communication between the two of you since your disappearance, Ignis had barely held onto any hope of possibly finding you again.

And yet, here you were, safe and sound with the rest of civilization at Lestallum. Not only did you look well — rather, you sounded well to Ignis’ ears, at the very least — you had even welcomed him into your loving embrace.

He knew he was entirely undeserving of your kindness and affection, especially with the memory of how he treated you still haunting him, but he allowed himself this momentary reprieve of selfishness. Just this once, Ignis gave himself this small window of putting his own needs before anyone else’s.

He needed you, and here you were, ready and waiting to catch him at any given moment.

“Shh, Iggy, you’re okay,” you cooed into his ears that night. At that very moment, Ignis knew he could go on — blind or otherwise — so long as he had you to lead him through the darkness.

Had you always sounded this angelic, or was his improved hearing warping his memory of your voice?

Or, could it be that he was hearing you not through brand new ears due to his lack of vision, but through the new development of his endearment towards his princess?

“You’re safe, Iggy, you’re safe,” you repeated like a mantra as you soothed his distress with your presence alone. You combed your fingers through his tresses as he held onto you desperately, not ready to face reality just yet. “We’re here. You’re not alone, Iggy. We’re here. We can do this.”

Ignis knew that you, too, were crying as well. He caught the soft whimpers that were scattered between your warm assurances. Even then, he couldn’t bring himself to be strong enough for the two of you for the time being.

Here, in your arms, he was safe, and he wasn’t ready to let go of the safety you provided just yet.

*

None of you addressed Ignis’ breakdown that night. It was a breakthrough for sure, but if Ignis chose not to bring it up, then neither were any of you going to forcefully pick at the wound he had opted to bury.

With both Noctis and Lunafreya absent, darkness surged into the everyday. Ignis, ironically, was one of the first to adjust into this nightmare of a world. He had lost his vision a little before the darkness took over, after all, so the lack of daylight didn’t make much of a difference to him.

What did make a difference was your constant companionship.

Ignis had yet to formally discuss that dreadful night before your trip to Accordo. He owed you more than an apology at this point, and yet, he kept mum, faltering at each opportunity whenever you greeted him with that sunny disposition of yours.

“How do you do it, Princess?” Ignis had asked one day, nearly a year into this life of darkness.

“Do what, Iggy?”

“How have you kept your light so brilliant all this time?” He readjusted his grip on his walking stick as he felt you settle yourself next to him. “Not even Prompto has managed to remain this bright, and he has always been the most cheerful out of all of us.”

You slipped your hand into one of his gloved ones, giving it a squeeze before explaining, “Well, I gotta be the light for you, Iggy. It’s the least I can do while all of you are out there fighting to protect us.”

“But why me?”

“Why not you?”

“I don’t deserve your compassion, Princess.”

“Of course you do! What you don’t deserve is getting your eyesight taken from you, but you’ve always been the selfless one, so I guess I’ll let that slide.” You released his hand in order to caress his face. “You best believe Noct’s gonna get a whipping from me when I see him! He owes you big time.”

“He owes me nothing. I live in his servitude.”

“Well, I guess that’s always been the case, but still-“

“However, I do owe you an apology.”

“Huh?” Your light touches on his face halted. “An apology for what?”

“An apology for how I treated you that night before you left for Accordo,” Ignis explained, a hint of regret lining his words. “I handled the situation inappropriately, and I hurt you in the process.” He blindly reached out for your hands, and you met him halfway, offering your grasp in his shaky one. “For that, I beg for your forgiveness.”

“Iggy, it’s okay. I… I got over it a long time ago. I shouldn’t have sprung something so big on you before I left anyway.”

“Regardless, I am deeply remorseful for how I treated you that night, (Name). You did not deserve to have your feelings regarded so poorly, least of all by someone such as myself.”

Much like that night, silence enveloped the two of you for a few agonizing moments. Ignis sat there, waiting patiently for what you had to say. Eventually, you let out a sigh, leaning a little into his side.

“Can I ask you something then, Iggy?”

“Go ahead, Princess.”

“You… did you ever really…” You were struggling to find the right words. Ignis gave you the push you needed by wrapping his arm around you. “I always felt like you hated me, Iggy. Did you?”

His answer was instantaneous. “Never.”

“Then how come you were always so… how come you always gave me the cold shoulder?” You traced patterns into his thigh as you said this, and Ignis struggled to focus on your words more than the tantalizing feel of your touch. “I mean, I always knew your duty was to Noct, and I was never jealous about that or anything, but…” Another sigh. “Why is it that you were never really friendly with me? And why… why were you so adamant about shutting me down when I confessed to you that night?”

There it was. The hurdle Ignis had to face if he wanted to garner your forgiveness.

“Truth be told, Princess, I was young and naive, and I simply did not know how to handle two Nocts at once.”

“Hey! I object!” you exclaimed. It wasn’t long before your protests fell into a brief wave of giggles. “Yeah, we were a handful together, weren’t we?”

“I wasn’t always as wise as you thought me to be.”

“Still, you were pretty mature for your age. I always admired you for that.”

Ignis felt himself blush at your praise. “As for that night…” He took a deep breath before turning to you. With his lack of vision, Ignis tried to keep his gaze trained towards what he surmised were your eyes. “I… I was afraid, to be frank.”

“Afraid?”

“The very idea of having a member of the royal family hold a great deal of intimate fondness for me in such a manner was terrifying. I did not consider it to be appropriate for me to pursue any inklings of romance with you, especially with my obligations to Noct.”

It took you a few moments to process what he said. “I see.”

“Unfortunately, I was much too brash in my dismissal of your feelings. I was blinded by fear to even consider a possibility with you. You may think me mature, but at the time, I was anything but. I was frightened by the prospect of having to entertain my already conflicting feelings for you.”

Ignis’ voice began to falter, but he continued nevertheless. “Since then, I have lived in regret over my actions. If I had opted to voice my thoughts better, then perhaps we could have…” He shakily reached out for your face, surprised to feel wetness seeping into his gloves. “I am truly sorry. Please, please don’t cry, Princess.”

“S-sorry.” You hastily wiped away your tears, only for Ignis to beat you to it. Instead, you clung onto his hands, which cupped your face in a tender hold. “Sorry, hah. I guess I’m still an emotional mess, huh?”

“There is no need for apologies, Princess. You are sublime just the way you are.”

“Ignis, I…” Your grip tightened around his hands. “I still love you. I love you, Ignis. I love you.” You couldn’t help but cry now, the sound of your wails tearing into Ignis’ heart. “I-I’m-I’m sorry, you don’t have to reciprocate or anything. I just… I just wanted you to know that I never stopped. I never stopped loving you, Ignis.”

How? How had you remained so unwavering in your devotion to him even after he had hurt you so? He didn’t deserve you.

The look of sadness on Ignis’ face made your chest tighten painfully. “I don’t deserve to be loved. Not by you. Never by you.”

“Ignis, no-“

“You deserve everything, Princess,” he said brokenly. “I can’t give you anything. Not anymore.”

“Ignis,” you interjected, “I know you’re blind, but don’t you see? You are my everything. You always have been.”

Ever so gently, you pressed your lips to his, finally breaking through the last of the walls around his heart. To your utmost joy, Ignis gave in and matched your passion.

Propriety be damned, he at least deserved this one thing, didn’t he? His entire life had been dedicated to Noctis and the royal family. For once — just this once — he could let his guard down, could he not? Did he not deserve his own piece of joy as well?

Surely he was allowed to find a happily ever after with you, right?

Fervently, Ignis melted into your kiss, expressing all the dormant feelings he had suppressed over the years.

With his lips merely a whisper away, you murmured, “Will you say it, Ignis? Do you love me?”

“Always. Forever.” His lips sought yours in a frantic dance. “I love you.”

*

Noctis wanted to say he was surprised when he found you and Ignis, many years later, sporting matching bands on your left ring fingers. However, he knew such a union had been a long time coming, even before he was absorbed into the crystal.

“About time, Specs,” the prince — now king — said. He turned to you, gaze turning just a touch softer. “Your womanly charms worked, eh?”

“At least I made it down the aisle,” you quipped, though your damp eyes were evident even in the darkness. “You just dozed off, like I knew you would. You always were one to oversleep, Sleepy Boy.”

“Hey, I’m back now, aren’t I?”

“Better late than never, I suppose,” Ignis remarked with a small smile. “Good to have you back, Noct.”

“Good to be back. Did the princess behave while I was gone, Iggy?”

Your laugh was watery. “Are you forgetting that I’m older than you?”

“It’s only by a year, (Name).”

“That still means she has 365 days over you, buddy,” Prompto teased. “You’ve been gone so long that she’s eons ahead of you now.”

“You’re making it sound like (Name)’s an old granny,” Gladio said, giving Prompto a light punch on the shoulder.

“I will be in no time!” you joked. “Having Noct as family really ages you prematurely.”

“Tell me about it,” Ignis added, joining in on the banter.

“How’d you do it, Iggy?” Prompto asked, the air surrounding Hammerhead feeling lighthearted for once thanks to the return of Noctis. “How’d you survive looking after these two all this time and lived to tell the tale?”

Ignis’ gaze turned much warmer as he glanced in your direction. “Unwavering perseverance is a must in this job, Prompto. I’m only fortunate enough to have learned from the best.”

He might not have seen it, but Ignis could feel just how brilliant your smile was at that moment.

A smile that was reserved just for him. All for him.

[mandakatt]

CONGRATS ON 600 BBY!!!! Desperate/passionate kiss with Prompto?? Fem pronouns :^)

His eyes were wide with shock as they looked at the smoke rising from the city. Mouth hanging open a moment he snapped it shut when he heard Noct’s phone ring, and Cor confirming every fear he had building in that pit of his stomach. He’d lost her, and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

Gripping his shirt in his hand he slowly looked over at the others, wondering where they were to go from here…if he should break down and cry now, or if he was going to do so later. Probably later, he couldn’t look weak in front of the guys, not now, not ever.

Once they had gotten to Lestallum to meet the Marshal, he greeted the older man with a gentle nod of his head before he looked down at the ground. Missing the slightly crooked smile from Cor. 

“She’s waiting for you…” 

“What?” Prompto’s head snapped up, going wide eyed at those words. She was alive?! He looked to the others who, despite their sadness, seemed happy, gently encouraging him to go. And he wasted not a moment longer, rushing off to the city’s center square where the refugees were gathered. 

The air was thick with dread but he held onto hope, believing with every fiber of his being that Cor didn’t lie to him, that he wasn’t dreaming, till he saw her and he felt his heart stop…till her eyes met his and it started to beat again. Tears stung his eyes and he called out to her, seeing her turn to him and smile. She was bruised, but alive, and that was all it took to get him to rush forward. 

She met him halfway, his hands moving to cup her neck and bring her to him for desperate kiss, his normal shy demeanor gone as he had to taste her, feel her, know with his body that she was here, that she was real…and that this was no dream.

[hanalwayssolo]

Coming Up Roses

A/N: First commissioned piece for my lovely pal, @blindedstarlight! Partly inspired by 500 Days of Summer sans the angst, consider this awkward fluff just in time for, well, pre-Valentines. Or something to that effect lol

Also tagging some pals! @valkyrieofardyn @gowithme @emmydots @bleucommelhiver @hanatsuki89 @raspberryandechinacea @noboomoon @animakupo

Link on AO3

Day 70

Today is Tuesday, and your tight-fitting shirt is the colour of a sinful red. Like a bright danger sign breaching his field of view, Cor immediately notices you even out of the corner of his eye as soon as you enter the Citadel training room. You do not meet his eyes, but the sight of you drags him out of focus.

And to think that Cor never, ever loses his focus.

So he misses a step. Fumbles in a split second. His reflexes fail him that Clarus’s fist lands on his face, the swing of the wooden sword sending him flying across the room.

A loud, resounding thud echoes as Cor crashes gracelessly on the hardwood floor. A sharp pain seizes his whole body, and he is aching all over. His head is pounding as if he had also been hit with a lead pipe. A shrill ringing in his ears is deafening that he does not hear the hurrying footsteps, the worried whispers, the swift gathering of familiar faces hovering over his head.

“Shit,” he hisses sharply under his breath, squeezes his eyes shut. What a way to make a fool of myself in front of—

“Are you okay?”

Your voice startles him out of his wits. And when he opens his eyes, yours is the first face he sees.

In a jolt, Cor hauls himself up to sit. Your concern should not have surprised him, but it did. After all, you’re one of the resident medics, and even if you are strictly assigned to the Kingsglaive, looking after the whole Lucian force is your duty.

And of all the medics that had to see him in his shameful hour, it just had to be you.

“Uh, I’m fine. Better than fine,” Cor says, which is an obviously poor lie on his part. He rubs the back of his neck, his head mildly throbbing. Behind you, he can see Clarus eyeing him with a wicked smile on his face.

“Wait—“ you kneel beside him, carefully taking his face into your hands— “you really sure? No head pain, or anything?”

Cor nods. He only hopes that you cannot feel the swell of heat that rises in his cheeks. “Yes, very sure.”

“Well, Cor is a man of steel,” Clarus chimes in, arms folded over his chest. “Someone of his calibre should have his ego checked from time to time. And I wouldn’t have taken him down from his pedestal today, if it weren’t for you, the Achilles’ heel—“

“Clarus.” Cor’s menacing glare is as sharp as his sword, it might have sliced Clarus in half. But Clarus, or course, remains unfazed.

Meanwhile, you raise a confused eyebrow to the both of them. “Uh, am I missing something here?”

“Oh, nothing much—don’t mind us,” Clarus says, beaming a grin. “And don’t worry, I’ll see to it that Cor is as fit as a fiddle.”

“If you both say so,” you say as you hold out your hand and help Cor back on his feet. You give him a smile, and Cor watches you walk away to return to your Kingsglaive friends on the other side of the training hall.

Cor exhales a heavy sigh. “I’m going to kill you for that, Clarus.”

“Back to your threatening habits, I see,” Clarus teases. He rests his arm on Cor’s shoulder. “You know, you could just tell her.”

“Not your business.”

“Wait until Reggie hears about this, then it will be our business.”

“Fuck you,” sneers Cor, shrugging Clarus’s arm off of him.

“Me? Shouldn’t it be fuck her—”

“I’ll tell Joy about this.”

Clarus laughs. “My wife would only be pleased, that I can assure you.” He claps a hand on Cor’s shoulder and says, “Now, don’t you want a rematch to avenge your lovesick clumsiness?”

“This time I will really beat your ass,” Cor says, all smug. A large part of him is still reeling from the warmth of your hand in his, and how awfully perfect you look in that sultry shade of red...

Maybe it really is about time I tell her, he quietly ruminates as he picks up his sword, ready to swing for another round.

  Day 45

For the record—his own internal record, that is—Cor is never the type to have a crush. He is also never the type to have a crush on someone to the point of unconsciously knowing all their favourite things, let alone looking forward to what colour of shirt they would be wearing. That may have been Clarus’s thing back in his bachelor days, or some other guy who tends to obsess, but definitely not him. He swears this fact upon his life and his honour.

But ever since he got to know you a little bit better, with all the times you have been spending with him on and off council meetings, he may have that oath completely compromised.

Case in point: he remembers random things about you. You may have briefly shared your interests in a passing exchange or on one of those long conversations you two have had when you were forced to work late in the Citadel, but best believe Cor has it all memorized: from your favourite ice cream flavour to music genres to flowers, down to your usual order at Kenny Crow’s.

Then there comes the matter of your shirts. It is never his intention to look forward to what you’ll be wearing, but at this rate, he knows how you’re much more likely to wear cooler colours on training days with the Glaive; darker ones on days when you are balancing your shift in the infirmary. He has seen you wear every shade of blue and green, but not red. Anything but red. He’ll probably lose his shit once he finally sees you in his favourite colour; he’s already certain that no one will rock red the same way you would.

But today is one of those days that you are wearing neither shade of blue and green. Because as you enter his office, he almost spills his coffee when he sees you in white. And not just any white shirt—a white summer dress, to be precise.

“So here are the physical exam results of the new recruits you requested,” you say by way of greeting. “Monica’s been called by Clarus for an urgent meeting, so she asked me to turn this over to you.”

Right. It was Monica who’s supposed to deliver these results, not you in this godsend of a dress. His dreary office—the oaken shelves, the soulless furnishing—is somehow brightened by your presence. And it’s not even helping how well-lit his office is, streaming in morning sunshine to favour this sight of you. For a brief moment, he struggles to tear his eyes away—until he finally notices that in your arms are a handful of folders, and that you’re gingerly eyeing for a spot to unload all of it.

“I, uh, shit —sorry, here—” In a sudden rush of panic, he sets down his coffee cup, and hastily clears some of the books and binders strewn all over. “You may leave it there. Thanks for your help.”

You neatly place the files over the newly vacated space on his desk. “You’re welcome—“

“Uh, you look really pretty today.” The words stumble out of Cor without warning, as if his tongue had lost its brakes. Fuck. He fidgets at the edge of his seat, stammering to backpedal, “I mean, not just today —sorry, you look pretty everyday, but, you know—“

“No, it’s okay, Cor. Um, well—“ you purse your lips, struggling to stifle the hearty giggle, and is that a blush Cor is seeing on your face? “Thank you. I’m taking the half day off to meet someone, hence—“ you gesture awkwardly up and down your body— “the dress.”

“Oh.” The oh slips out of Cor in a disappointed exhale. His voice evidently drops along with his heart. “Right. I see—“

“But it’s not a date, though,” you say quickly, defensively. “Not that I needed to clarify that bit, but um, yeah.”

“Okay.” Cor nods and laughs sheepishly—but mostly out of a bizarre relief, thank the gods— as he reaches for the back of his neck. “You must be in a hurry—I’m sorry for keeping you.”

You smile. “Don’t mention it. See you around.”

As Cor watches you walk out of his office, all he could bother to think about is how badly he wants you to stay. Stay for a little while, just one more second and I wouldn’t ask for more.

  Day 3

When Cor visits the infirmary to retrieve a couple of meds for his headache one dull Thursday morning, the new face that greets him stops him halfway through the door.

“How may I help you?” you ask amiably, a pleasing smile on your face. He briefly scans the room; there is no one else present except for you, the infirmary surprisingly vacant and ascetic: empty beds, clinical equipment properly arranged, the medical cabinets maintained in orderly perfection. Even your desk is sanctified with cleanliness. Not a single sheet of paper astray from your outgoing tray.

“I need some Advil,” Cor says, slumping heavily at the seat across from you as if he is carrying the entire world on his shoulder. “Headache.”

“Oh, alright.” Your smile is suddenly eclipsed by a rather concerned look. You slide him a pen and a sheet of paper tucked in a clipboard. “Please sign your name here and I’ll be right back in a jiffy.” As he quickly fills up the form, his head still in the verge of splitting into pieces, you hastily retreat behind the white curtains, and you emerge a couple of minutes later with a packet of capsules.

Cor returns the clipboard back to you. “So, sir…” You trail off, scanning the sheet, and Cor sees your eyes widen. “Oh. So you’re the Cor Leonis.”

“That I am.” Cor tries to give you a small smile, only that it appears to be more of a weak wince.

You scribble something on the paper. “Have you eaten something in the last couple of hours?”

“No, not yet.”

Your lips quirk sideways. You look at Cor as if you are about to pass some judgment; he could sense how you are studying his face with the way your eyes are fixed on him with a more intensified concern. Then, you say, “I don’t mean to prolong your agony, but will you promise me that if I give this to you—“ you wave the packet in your hand— “you’ll first grab a proper meal before you take this?”

“I, uh—“ Cor scratches his cheek, eyeing you curiously— “sure, yes.”

You raise a skeptical brow. “On your honour as a soldier?”

Cor laughs. “Of course.”

You give him one last look of hesitation before you finally hand him the medication. “Heed my advice, marshal.” Another bright smile crosses your face. For a brief second, Cor forgets to breathe.

New Girl is what his peers in the Crownsguard call you. Our Lady is what he often hears from the Kingsglaive. He never understood why the Kingsglaive seemed to be overprotective with their newly hired medic, but he finally understands all their territorial bullshit.

On his way back to his office, he does heed your advice, but he no longer finds the need to take the pill.

  Day 4

No one from your newfound friends in the Kingsglaive warned you about Cor the Immortal. Specifically, no one warned you how infuriatingly handsome he is in person.

You’ve only heard of his name either on the many broadcasts on the radio or television, or came across his impressive exploits in the pages of The Insomnian Gazette. Not a single portrait of him, nor even a single footage of an interview, was ever made public. He never graced the spotlight of his fame; he seemed to hide behind the shadows of all the other great men before him. You can only guess that he’s probably camera shy. Or that he chose to eliminate anyone who ever dared take his photo.

So you were left to speculate what the Cor Leonis actually looked like. In your head, you imagined a fearsome man with cruel eyes who had no idea how to smile, or laugh.

But as soon as you saw his name on the form—in quite a neat handwriting, no less—the face sitting across from you is far from the image you had in mind. In fact, he is quite the opposite.

He has such kind eyes, a striking shade of blue. His handsome face has gracefully wizened, and is set to a perpetual frown. And whatever confidence that possessed you to hold a conversation with him, you gladly thank the gods. Because when he laughs the moment you question his honour—a fucking bold move in exchange for that packet of Advil—you can promise that his laughter could light up an entire city. You can also promise that his smile knocked the wind out of your lungs.

  Day 46

“Monica set you up—” Crowe says before taking another swig from her bottle of beer— “and that’s ‘cause I asked her to.”

“You son of a bitch,” you say loudly, trying to compete with the rest of the boisterous chatter of the other Glaives sitting on the other side of Yamachang’s joint. The decadent reek of the grilled garula kebabs wafts the air. It is sweltering hot.

“So how did it go?” Nyx sidles up to the vacant seat next to you, bottle of beer in hand. “Did you blow him away seeing you in that outfit?”

“I don’t know, actually. I think I made it awkward. I even explained that it’s not for a date, but I didn’t tell him it’s ‘cause I’m meeting my parents, and…” You heave an exasperated sigh. “And I don’t think he even likes me that way—”

“Y’know, my good friend—” Nyx loops one arm around your shoulder— “you and Cor are smart in your respective fields, but gods forbid, you two are also the dumbest people I’ve met when it comes to the matters of the heart.”

Your face wrinkles into a confused frown. “What does that even mean?”

Both Nyx and Crowe shake their heads. “May the gods save us all,” Crowe says before she downs the rest of her drink.

  Day 70

“I still don’t understand why you’re not telling him,” Monica says as she eases behind her desk in the infirmary, busily multitasking stacking her Crownsguard records and offering you her kind advice.

“It’s not that easy, okay.” You take a fist of almonds from your drawer and begin eating them aggressively. “Besides—” you say in between chews— “he’s just so…”

“So?”

“So handsome.”

“Gods, forgive the man for being blessed by an aesthetically beautiful face.” Monica laughs. She types in something on her keyboard before she swivels to look at you. “But really, what do you have to lose?”

“Well, my pride, for one.” You step away from your desk and sit in front of Monica. “And he’s been a good friend to me. And I don’t want to compromise that just because I like him, and I do like him a lot. I probably like Cor more than I like life itself.”

Monica says nothing. Instead, a teasing smile creeps up on her face. She has fallen way too quiet, and you immediately notice how she is casting a furtive glance on the door behind you...

Shit. You hesitate to turn around. Your heart is pounding loudly against your chest. “Please don’t tell me he’s standing right by the doorway.”

Monica shrugs, rising out of her desk. “I think I’ll let the two of you sort this out.”

As you turn to watch Monica leave, you see Cor leaning against the doorframe.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He walks over to you, unable to hide the smile on his face. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“Right.” You bite your lip. You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. “So how much have you heard then—”

The burning question is extinguished at the tip of your tongue when he takes your face in his hands, his lips crushing yours. In this kiss, he makes it clear that he has heard every word you’ve said. That the feeling is very much the same. That he also likes you more than he likes life itself.

He thumbs the sides of your cheeks, pressing another kiss on your forehead. “I think you should know that I really like you in red.”

You laugh. “I better buy more red shirts, then.”

“And I hope you don’t mind if I keep you this time around.”

The smile on your face aches. “I would like that very much.”

[animakupo]

omg pls write a NiffPrince!Prompto Drabble 😭 nsfw if u wanna bless us thirsty promthots 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

IM YELLING i keep asking for someone to write a NifPrince!Prom thing yet it turns around and comes to me instead……………………………………..maybe one day but probably not nsfw bc in all my years of being in fanfiction, i have not once attempted anything remotely smutty

perhaps now is the time? DUNDUNDUN IDK

[animakupo]

i'm in italy seeing all these pretty boys and they're just giving me headcanons for future prompto fics giVe mE STRENgTh

[animakupo]

a writing update

i’m writing a ravus piece for the first time

a ravUS PIECE

[cackles into the fire] this is gonna be interesting

[hanalwayssolo]

In The Line of Duty

A/N: Timely for Iggy’s name day! So. Slightly departing from the usual structure in which I write my stories, so this may seem a bit... weird? Fragmented? So I kind of not recommend reading this via Tumblr mobile bc that app murders the formatting lmao

Tagging them pals! @blindedstarlight @valkyrieofardyn @bleucommelhiver @gowithme @noboomoon @emmydots @lazarustrashpit @raspberryandechinacea @hanatsuki89 @mp938368 @boo-dangy @animakupo

(Links in AO3) Alternate Universes in Which You and I Belong Together: Noctis | Gladio | Prompto | Ignis | Nyx | Cor | Ravus | Ardyn

Ignis breezes through the freeway, his Aston Martin almost flying through the rainy night. He is never one to drive like a madman, but this is a desperate time that certainly calls for this very desperate measure. He spares a glance at the rearview mirror. A shabby white Mitsubishi and a gaudy yellow Volvo still remain in close pursuit. Looks like the flock of paparazzi back from Maagho’s really is a persistent lot. In the passenger seat, you sit in an unsettling silence.

Fuck these bastards, he mutters under his breath.

Speed limits be damned. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Ignis revs the engine and zips past the steady traffic.

“Let’s get you back to your flat, alright?” he offers kindly.

You say nothing.

Suddenly, Ignis finds himself missing your chatty, teasing antics. That silly smile of yours. By this time, you should have been pleading him to let you go someplace else—anywhere but your place—while annoying him to death with your usual smartass quips. You never do.

Months before, Ignis had been perfectly convinced you were the most insufferable human he has ever come across. Funny how he now thinks otherwise. Even funnier that he now cares. Because it’s not his business to care. His job was never to look nor to listen.

But at this point, you have made him break every single rule in his book.

The first thing Ignis notices when he meets you is your eyes.

Something about your strong and striking gaze makes him wonder why someone like him is even employed at your service. One look from you, he is pretty certain you are completely capable on your own in terms of sending anyone who dares cross your path—may it be troublesome paparazzi, or overzealous fans and haters alike—to run with their tails between their legs. Your composure and confidence says just as much. Seems to him that you’re the type of person who does not need anyone’s protection, let alone a bodyguard.

Which is a sentiment you made very clear that morning in the luxurious luster of Hotel St. Regis’s lobby.

“I’m afraid Aranea here has wasted your time—” you tell Ignis as you set your cup of coffee back on the table, sharply turning your attention to the silver-haired woman who is sitting across from you— “but like I said, I can take care of myself just fine—”

“Really?” Aranea scoffs, casting you a challenging glare. “And by taking care of yourself, do you mean going around punching paparazzi square in the face and breaking their camera as you please?”

You shrug. “Well, that fella fucking deserved it—”

“Whether they deserved it or not isn’t the fucking point, you idiot. Do you have any idea how Cor had to shell out his own money to keep that incident from going out to the press?” Aranea sighs in resignation. “Look, this is more than just taking care of yourself. This is about—”

“—my career, my image, and my reputation, blah blah blah. Yes, you don’t need to do all of Cor’s spiel—I get it.”

Aranea raises an eyebrow. “Do you really? ‘Cause if you really did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation and Ignis wouldn’t be the fourth replacement in the span of six fucking months.”

You fall silent. Though Ignis is compelled to say something, he knows very well not to provide his thoughts, unsolicited or otherwise. That’s never in his job description. He had been trained to keep his mouth shut, and he is going to do just that. Besides, what would he know? Such is the world of glitz and glamour that is show business, and Ignis has never been tasked with handling celebrity clientele before. If anything, among his peers, it was either Gladio or Nyx who gets paired with the high profile A-listers. Clarus’s directive for him came as a strange surprise, the initial briefing of his task even stranger. All throughout his fifteen years of service in the Lucian Security Bureau, people frequently assigned to Ignis were government big shots, business moguls, and upper echelons of society who have been targets of terror and violence.

However, in your case… Ignis could see that you fit in neither the former nor the latter. At least for now, that’s what he thinks.

You spread your elbows over the table, eyeing Aranea with a wicked smile all over your face. “You know what would be better, Ari?”

“Don’t call me that—”

“You could pass as both my handler and bodyguard, don’t you think?

Aranea looks at Ignis, then back at you. “Does that come with a raise?”

You lean back against your seat. “Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” Aranea exhales a derisive laugh. “Then I suppose we leave Ignis to do that job for all our sakes. Anyway, we better get going—” from her satchel, she pulls out a sleek-looking tablet— “you have to be ready for your four p.m. table read and a seven p.m. interview Dino of Meteor Publishing.” To Ignis, she says, “I assume you’ve already been briefed by your superior about all your responsibilities?”

Ignis sits up straighter and nods. “Yes.”

“Good. It’s pretty simple actually, but the past bodyguards can’t seem to do it.” Aranea smiles, clapping Ignis by the shoulder as she narrows her eyes on you. “Just don’t let this moron out of your sight, and we’ll all be fine.”

The first thing you notice about Ignis is his eyes.

Never mind the scar that cruised the left side of his face, that tiny slash over his right eyebrow, or even the one on the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even need to look at you directly for you to marvel at how fiercely green his eyes are, like the colour of a bright summer’s day. However, back in the lobby with Aranea, there is no warmth in his silences nor in his clinical concentration; there is only a crippling coldness. One look at him and you could already surmise that he’s had his fair share of danger in his profession. Though he is lean and lithe unlike your past bodyguards who all seem to be built out of heavier materials, you cannot shake the feeling that Ignis might have killed a man with his bare hands.

Still, you don’t really need someone like Ignis. You never needed someone like him. A bodyguard should have been the least of your concerns. Besides, you have enough people monitoring your every move that getting a fucking bodyguard is as insane as it’s going to get. Cor often reminds you that this is all for your safety, and that as your manager, he only wants to keep you safe. Aranea chastises you that you’re overreacting, and that you’re still free as a bird. Except you’re as free as any bird locked in a cage that they might as well just lock you up in prison.

And in the first few hours that Ignis has started following you around, the fact that he hardly spares you a moment for a decent conversation—except for his courteously clipped responses like “Let me know if you need anything else,” or “I’ll be right outside your door”—prison seems like a more amiable place to be.

By his second week, Ignis finally understands how unpredictable you can be.

Okay, maybe he does not understand it quite fully. He has to admit, though: he admires the elaborate effort you put into your juvenile pranks. It comes in the strangest of ways and in the oddest of days: from your attempts to lock him up inside your trailer, down to that crafty disguise to sneak out of the film set, all of which he had seen you fail miserably time and again. Out of all your many crimes, petty they may be, hopping in the backseat of someone else’s car to escape him from an after party still takes the cake. He had to forcefully “borrow” a stranger’s motorcycle just to chase you down, which he managed to do in less than an hour. Not an impressive feat for someone his calibre, but at least he got you home in one piece—and without Cor or Aranea even knowing.

What fuels your sheer determination to drive him off his wits, Ignis does not know. The only thing he knows for sure is that you’re one bloody piece of work.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya, Specs,” Gladio reminds Ignis one sordid afternoon back in the Lucian Security Bureau HQ. In the saintly cleanliness that is his cubicle, he finds Gladio lounging on his seat together with Nyx, as if they had been expecting his unlikely visit. The air-conditioned hustle remains the same, the glass panels and all the white walls still as stark bright as Ignis remembers it to be. He really has been away for far too long that he finds himself missing that familiar scent of ink and paper, and even the faces of these two troublemakers.

“So how’s your new post treatin’ you?” Nyx breezily asks. His tone is not of concern, but a knowing amusement that Ignis can easily recognize. “The look on your face says you’re either in need of a stiff drink or to get laid.”

“Or could be both,” Gladio adds.

Actively ignoring the smug looks on his friends’ faces, Ignis does not answer them, but instead, he asks: “Aren’t the both of you supposed to be somewhere else?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” Gladio snaps back. He picks up Ignis’s tin of mints on his table and pops one on his mouth.

Nyx loops an arm around Ignis. “Y’know, celebrities can be a pain, so if you’re here to request Clarus for a reassignment, we promise not to judge.”

Ignis looks at Nyx for a brief moment. A reassignment. How come he never thought of that? Sure, you can be annoying and a menace to his daily routine, but Ignis suddenly finds it strange that he has never considered the prospect of requesting for a change in client. Maybe he has his brand of patience to thank for, or his unworldly forbearance in the years that he has spent in this profession.

But then—as if by seeing Nyx and Gladio after such a long time of being away—he realizes that maybe, you’re not that bad. Even in your reckless and determined attempts of making his life a living hell, you also make an effort to make conversation. Not that it’s anything special. He has been wired to being strictly on someone’s beck and call that most of his past clients do not even bother to look at him in the eye. Most of them see him as a weapon, a blade to be wielded against their enemies. Small wonder Ignis himself often forgets that he is a living and breathing person. He can barely remember having a life outside this job. He can barely remember the last time someone apart from Gladio and Nyx asking him anything about his hobbies or other interests or even about his family.

But you do. You try. Even on the first few days when Ignis didn’t know how to respond. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to. He fears that you might have interpreted that as indifference, and he regrets to have responded to you as such. He thought you would have given up by now, seeing how he had acted so callously, but you have the persistence of a honey badger that you use on him to get him to talk, or to even to smile a little.

Nyx looks at Ignis, this time with a genuine hint of concern. Ignis has not realized that he had been quiet for some time.

But he has realized that you have grown so much on him, which is such an disturbing thought to entertain.

“I think a reassignment is highly unnecessary,” Ignis says finally—almost to himself and not to Nyx and Gladio—as he takes his leave. 

By his second week, you finally understand how Ignis can be so predictable.

There’s the matter of his morning routine. He follows it too religiously that you start to notice the little things. He wakes up as early as six a.m.—on the dot, not even a minute late—to work out at the back of your trailer. Three sets of push ups, squats, crunches, all in that order. Seven-thirty a.m., he wraps up, takes a shower, grabs a nice cup of coffee with some of the film crew. He likes his coffee strong and black, no sugar. How you know all of this like the same way you know all of your lines is beyond you.

But maybe he’s not too predictable. Not entirely.

You still have not seen him smile, despite the significant progress in the conversation department. And by significant, you mean that his answers have finally upgraded from one-word responses to lengthy sentences. Considering all the stupid shit you pulled on him, it’s almost a wonder that he even indulges you from time to time by answering any of your random questions.

Though in the process, you have learned a handful of tidbits about his life. For one, you find out that he happens to be an excellent cook. Once, he has shared with you how he wanted to build a restaurant of his own, and that it is only a matter of time before he could pursue that dream. Hearing him confide something that personal throws you off guard, but somehow, you feel quite relieved. You also learn that he has never seen any of your films, nor is he even aware of your awards and accolades—which, frankly, is the most gratifying thing you have ever heard in your life. You have also learned that he has not forgiven you for making him chase you all throughout the city. Which is fair. If that had happened with any of your previous bodyguards, they would not even bother sparing you another word even if you are the last person on this planet, and they would most certainly quit their job the next day.

But Ignis is different. A good kind of different.

Nevertheless, what you now find unfair is that you have never seen him smile. Unfair because he has seen yours a countless times at this point—fake ones on set included. He even gets a bonus because he has also seen you laugh at the most ridiculous things. Ignis, however, seems to be programmed with a limited range of emotions. You have not seen his face look anything but blank or bored, too surly or too serious.

It is only when you suddenly fall sick in the middle of filming that you find a new expression on his face.

Right after the director screams “Cut!” you wobble outside the set, past the cameramen, past the make up artists, past Aranea who’s probably busy handling your next schedule. When Ignis hurries by your side, you could barely focus your eyes. Your mouth tastes like acid. The world is spinning out of control.

Ignis presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up. I’m calling a doctor—”

“No, don’t.” You weakly wave a hand. “I’ll be fine by morning. Don’t tell Aranea. I just need to sleep, that’s all.”

Ignis walks you back to your trailer, looping your arm around his neck, and his around your waist. Your cheek momentarily rests against his chest, and you can feel his warm breath fanning over your head. You try your best not to retch on his shirt. Perhaps it’s the fever talking, but all you could think about is how this shirt looks perfect on him and you do not want to ruin it with your vomit.

Which is why out of your delirious haze, you say out of the blue: “Have I ever told you that you look so good in black?”

Ignis tilts his head. He hesitates for a moment, and then says, “I’m afraid not.”

“Well, now you know. I like your black dress shirt. You look so dapper in it.” And there goes your filter straight out the window.

“Thank you. It’s… nothing special.” He sounds unsure. Or is that embarrassment? Either way, you’re too sick to even look at his face to see his reaction.

Ignis guides you straight to your bed. You toss yourself so gracelessly against the mattress, and you gather the sheets to bundle up for warmth. A wave of nausea threatens to lurch out of your mouth. As far as you’re concerned, the inside of your trailer should not be this freezing cold.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” Ignis says, and as he prepares to drift to the kitchen, you grab for his hand.

“Please stay for a minute. Tell me a story.” You sound like a five-year-old.

He sits on the edge of the bed. “What kind of story?” His voice is gentler than usual. It is jarring, to say the least.

You pull yourself up, your arm brushing against his. “Like, is it possible that you’re a gremlin? ‘Cause how come it’s so hard to—” you thumb the corners of his mouth to make him smile— “see you do this?”

You can feel his face tremble a little in your touch. He looks at you strangely. You know he’s about to say something, but you are ill-prepared to what happens next.

Ignis starts to laugh.

You can’t believe this is what you have been missing for the last couple of days. What you have been missing your entire life. You have only known him for two weeks, but now, it’s like looking at a completely different person. He’s all lit up, his laughter radiating like the sun, bright and warm and blinding. His eyes disappear behind his smile lines, and his mouth curves to exhibit his perfect teeth and that illegally gorgeous smile. Your heart is pounding and you are certain that this is not your fever doing the talking anymore.

“I can assure you, I’m not a gremlin,” he says, wiping his eye with his hand.

“Good to know,” you say, sinking back to your pillows. “But I swear—I will make you laugh like that again when I get better,” you say confidently. And as you drift to deep sleep, the sound of his laughter is the last thing you hear.

The third month arrives and Ignis sees you a little differently.

Different in a way that your smile is now a bullet to his heart. Your laughter, a drug. Your kiss, a secret he would forever keep. Not only have you grown on him, but you have made a home inside his body. His mind, your temple. You have seduced his empty heart, and now it is beating only for you.

But if there’s anything Ignis knows by now, it’s that good things always come to an end. They always do. And he knows better. He knows you aren’t for him, and he isn’t for you.

The third month sweeps you off your feet as Aranea enters your trailer with a new man in tow. At first, you think he is one of the new actors with the way he carries himself with an air of confidence, but you immediately recognize the logo on his jacket.

The first thing that leaves your mouth is: “Where’s Ignis?”

Aranea’s mouth twists. She hesitates, then says, “Ignis quit. Told me he found a new job. Nyx here would be his replacement.”

Your heart plummets. The expression on your face might have been so fucking obvious because Aranea casts you a worried glance, and so does this Nyx. He looks slightly uncomfortable with the way you skate your narrowed eyes at him, as if he has no right to be in your breathing space. As if he has no right at all to ever replace Ignis.

“I can see that you’re upset with this change,” Nyx begins to say, quickly regaining his charming composure, “but by 'quit,' it means he has left to pursue a different career path. Doesn’t mean he left you—I mean, for another client, that is.”

A simmering silence. Aranea and Nyx are watching you with growing alarm. You don’t know why, but something in you breaks.

You force yourself to smile, but it’s not very convincing. Some actor you are. And in the most modulated voice you could muster, you say, “Good for him then.” To Nyx, you say, “Do send him my regards when you see him around.”

As soon as Ignis pulls over your apartment building, you climb out of his car, weaving past another throng of paparazzi. Someone yells “Congrats on another blockbuster! Is this your new boyfriend?” and a couple of other things that only grates your ears. Ignis is quick to follow, and he shields you with his body as he leads you inside the lobby. Probably his force of habit, but it only unearths a memory of a good time that has already hollowed you out.

When the two of you reach the front door of your apartment, he finally breaks the silence. “I’m assuming you have Nyx trapped in some dark alley?”

“No, not really,” you say flatly. “He actually let me go on my own. Cooler than my previous bodyguard, if you ask me.”

“How convenient.”

“So, sous chef to the illustrious Weskham Armaugh, huh.”

“Indeed.”

“Now, care to explain to me why you really left without even saying a word? Especially to me?” There is a tremor that breaks your voice, and his smile slowly creases to a frown. “Is that it? Was that your grand plan? Make me fall in love with you and then just go up and leave—”

“I beg your pardon?” Ignis looks mystified, as if you have said something completely ludicrous. He stares at you for a long, scalding moment. “What did you just say?”

You scoff. “Are you kidding me right now? I said…”

The realization dawns on you in a slow unravel. Before you can even formulate an explanation, Ignis steals your breath away with a kiss. You have done this before in the confines of your trailer, but this time is different. This time, the feeling is no longer secret.

“You have absolutely no idea how I’ve wanted to do that this time around,” he says with a smile. And when he tells you I love you, he does not mean I love you regardless of or I love you despite, but rather I love you just because I do.

[hanalwayssolo]

Beyond the Opulence

A/N: While I’m briefly taking a breather from Laws of Motion, I saw it fit to go back to some self-indulgent reader-inserts, so here we are. This new series of one-shots features FFXV men (older!bros in particular) in varying AUs. First up is Noctis.

Tagging some pals! @raspberryandechinacea @noboomoon @emmydots @gowithme @valkyrieofardyn @blindedstarlight @lazarustrashpit @bleucommelhiver @hanatsuki89 @animakupo (lmk if y’all want to get tagged on the succeeding ones!)

(Links in AO3) Alternate Universes in Which You and I Belong Together: Noctis | Gladio | Prompto | Ignis | Nyx | Cor | Ravus | Ardyn

The draft of your resignation letter on your computer screen is staring right at you with serious judgment, and you immediately think how Noctis is going to take this.

You have thoroughly considered Weskham Armaugh’s promising job offer in Altissia Works. Higher pay, better benefits. The title of VP for Communications definitely has a nice ring to it. But you know that quitting your current job is the last thing you ever want to do. As executive assistant to the CEO, dealing with the hustle that came along with your responsibilities is what you enjoy best: procurement requests, internal communications, meeting arrangements, public affairs, game launches and conventions, and pretty much overseeing Noctis’s day-to-day schedule have all become a steady ritual that you can probably do even in your sleep. You are severely fond with your work, so much so that you do not mind how taxing it could get on most months; the benefits and compensation that comes with your job even helps you in more ways to sustain a decent living. Besides, it’s not like you are not getting any support; if Ignis had not come along and taken the wheel behind all financial and strategic side of things, you would have easily lost your mind to stress. His sharp wit equates to his even sharper mind, and with all the years of working together, both you and Noctis have acknowledged that neither of you will survive without Ignis’s thoughtful counsel. In fact, Noctis claims he couldn’t find a better tandem to work with; for someone who is occasionally quiet and reclusive, he is pretty outspoken to always let you know one certain truth: that he wouldn’t survive a day without you and Ignis at all if he wanted to keep a robust video game company running at its finest.

So you didn’t mind the overtime hours. You didn’t mind the workload.

But as much as you love working for Noctis, you really don’t love the idea that you are recklessly falling in love with him.

Years of being around him, and you cannot really recall how this feeling unraveled itself. Was it because he is always checking up on you whenever you are spending too many late nights in the office? Was it whenever he brings you your favourite takeout food when you scarcely move from your seat even on lunch breaks? Or was it that time when he showed up in the middle of a Tinder date gone wrong after you texted him a simple ‘fuck this guy is a nutjob send help’? He always has your back, as you always have his. But how long have you felt this aching weakness for him? You know Noctis is always kind, if not a little too generous for his own good. He always goes out of his way to help others, treats everyone as equals. No hierarchy or class ever prevented him from reaching out to people. Even with someone like you, who had to claw your way out of the slums into this better life you have designed for yourself.

This, you thought, is what makes Noctis such a perfect guy: he is caring and selfless, even if he has a strange affinity with cats, or if he gets way too enthusiastic about fishing and video games. Sure, some people may think that the only notable things that qualify Noctis in the hall of perfection is because of how he is a handsome and dashing bachelor in his thirties who owns one of the most successful startup companies in all of Eos—a bold and impressive feat, considering he is already heir to a billion gil Lucian conglomerate. But he is more than his family name, more than his net worth, more than his pretty face.

And yet, perfect guy Noctis may be, he certainly is not perfect for you. He may still be in the market, but he is most surely way out of your league.

You minimize the word document and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment. The looming tower of files on your desk is already giving you a head-splitting migraine. The shrill sound of the printer right beside your cubicle is only making it worse. Not to mention, the group of game devs and quality analysts loudly debating their ideas in the conference room right across from your workstation. Interns are milling busily through the halls—some on skateboard, some on rollerblades. The background noise is starting to become insufferable. Even your favourite pop album blasting on repeat from your earphones is not helping. You return to your draft, and begin editing a couple of sentences:

After careful consideration, it is with deepest regret that I should inform you of my decision to leave the company. This is because...

You are tempted to end the sentence with a more blatant truth that says I am in love with you and could no longer stand being around you than saying that you are to pursue a better career opportunity. Which is downright nuts. Absolutely batshit crazy. It is true that you are never one to mix work with pleasure, and you are not that shallow to leave something behind for a petty reason...

But this rotten one-sided feeling with Noctis is a torment you cannot stand any longer.

Why do I always fall for the ones I could never have?

You are so close to murdering anyone who dares to step within the close perimeter of your workstation when a knock against your desk startles your fiercely undivided attention away from your screen.

“You seem like you’re about to massacre the whole floor. You good?”

You look up to see Noctis standing in front of you—extremely dapper clad in a white dress shirt and jeans—studying you with extreme concern. With much speed and dexterity and without even looking at your monitor, you quickly replace the word document on your computer and pull up the presentation deck with a subtle alt tab on the keyboard. The slide on display is that of the organizational chart that shows a couple of the functional units paired with the names of its respective leads. Cor Leonis, Risk and Control. Prompto Argentum, Creatives. Cindy Aurum, Product Engineering. Nyx Ulric, Game Development. You smile at him and say, “Yup, all good. Just reviewing my slides for the town hall later.”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow, rubs a hand over his stubble-crusted jaw. A playful smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. “But you already know our monthly demographics like the back of your hand.”

“That’s Iggy, not me.”

“You keep selling yourself short,” he says, a little bit sternly. Then, he glances at his watch and all of a sudden, he narrows his eyes at you. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

“Why, thank you very much for asking, sir, but I already have,” you lie with an awfully pleasant smile.

As expected, Noctis is not buying it. The scowl on his face clearly says so. “Don’t make me ask Pelna to terminate your access.”

You laugh. “Wow, you’re going to ask our best programmer to go on this extreme measure just to get me out to lunch? I couldn’t even imagine how your Cybersecurity Director is going to take that breach of protocol.”

“I think Gladio’s gonna let that one pass.”

"HR, then?"

"Nah, Monica and Holly would probably support this."

“Oh really? How so?”

“Yes, ‘cause they know I’ll do everything for you to go out with me.” Noctis pauses, and you stare at him.

“I’m sorry, what—“

“I mean, for lunch—“ Noctis reaches for the back of his neck, and he swiftly backpedals in a flustered stutter— “like go out with me for lunch is what I mean—uh, you know. ‘Cause we know you rarely go out to lunch. Or even outside, for breaks. And ‘cause pulling the plug of your workstation clearly isn’t going to work with you.”

“Oh. Right.” You nod and you can feel the pinprick of needles on your chest. Either from the way he seemed to vehemently deny his way out of his misspoken invitation or the fact that you almost thought he felt the same way about you, you cannot tell at this point. Maybe it’s both.

The silence that follows is close to unbearable.

Noctis awkwardly starts, “So, you mind if—“

“Hey there, you two.” Nyx suddenly saunters in front of your desk, all swagger in his black leather jacket, and you almost thank the gods out loud for his casual intervention. He greets Noctis with a clap on the shoulder, and he looks at the both of you with a cheeky lopsided grin. “Am I interrupting—“

“No,” you and Noctis both say all at once, and way too defensively.

“Okay, cool.” Nyx flashes one of his devilish smirks, all the while still warily eyeing both you and Noctis. “Anyway—“ Nyx turns to you, sliding one hand through his hair and pushing the other on the pocket of his jeans— “you wanna grab some lunch at Yamachang’s, chief? I owe you big time for sending me the stats I needed on the mobile app I’m working with Crowe and Libertus. I’m a Lannister and I always pay my debts—“

“Yeah, sure,” you immediately tell Nyx as you briskly rise from your seat. You don’t know what made you agree with Nyx’s invitation so easily, that when you glance at Noctis, he is looking at you with an expression that you cannot seem to figure out.

“Glad someone’s finally successful in getting you out of your cubicle for a change,” Noctis says with an odd smile. “I’ll see you both in the town hall, alright?”

As Noctis walks away and starts to mingle with the game devs in the conference room, you see Nyx is watching you curiously.

“What?” You try not to sound annoyed, but the question spills snappily out of your mouth.

Nyx clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “You two are really something, huh.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means…” Nyx sighs, leaning against your desk. “Never mind. C’mon, let’s get going.”

Nyx offers you his hand and you take it. He whisks you out of your desk, and you laugh at his weird display of chivalry. As the two of you make your way out of the office, you pass the conference room and your eyes land on Noctis. His eyes meet yours, and he gives you a small smile. Nyx’s hand on yours suddenly feel terribly out of place. The thought of your resignation begins to settle heavily at the pit of your stomach. The job offer in Altissia has never been so appealing.

The town hall concluded without a hitch. By end of the day, you are pretty much exhausted, but relieved all the same. Everyone left early for the long weekend, and you are glad to have the whole floor all by yourself.

Well, almost.

Noctis is still in his office, his door wide open. You double-check his calendar to see if he has anything lined up on his schedule. He’s free for the rest of the night, and you take a deep breath.

This is it. You have already made up your mind, following your better judgment. It’s now or never, you think to yourself as you march your way to his office, letter in hand.

You knock at the door. “Hey,” you say, and Noctis looks up at you. A wide smile brightens his face.

“Hi, come in,” he says, gesturing to the couch in front of him. He eyes you nervously. “Have I missed any urgent meeting? Or anything that needs my approval?”

“No. Actually, you’re already free from this time onwards. Checked your calendar before I came here.” You couldn’t help but laugh. Of course, most of the time you have ever entered Noctis’s office is to remind him whenever he’s running late for a meeting or to follow him up on matters that require his immediate attention.

But this time around, it pains you that you’re here in front him for an entirely different reason.

“Oh, by the way—great job earlier, as usual,” Noctis says rather proudly. “Not that I’m surprised.”

“Um, thanks.” You wince another smile. His genuine kindness is a rock in your mouth that is slowly grating you with guilt.

“So…” Noctis trails off, his fingers drumming against his desk, and he is still looking at you with searching eyes. “I hope you’re not planning on staying here in the office for a few more hours.”

“Nope.” You shake your head. Your insides are twisted into knots when you say, “Actually, I’m already planning on leaving.”

You slide the letter on his desk. He unfolds it, and you watch how his smiling face shifts into something else. At first, he is surprised, then the second, he is completely crushed.

Noctis lets out a shuddery sigh. “I don’t understand—“

“I don’t need you to,” you swiftly say. “I got an offer. In Altissia. I’m sorry if this had been so sudden. Not to worry, I have all of my tasks and responsibilities properly documented for transition—“

“No, I don’t care about any of that,” he says, his voice deeply strained. “I just want to know why.” He pushes himself off his desk, circling over to you. “You said you love working here.”

“Yes, I do.” You cannot bear looking at him. Tears are starting to well under your eyes. “But I…”

“But what?” Noctis is now standing so close to you, his eyes casting you a searching look. “Tell me, please.” He moves in another inch. You could already smell his perfume, and you swear if he moves any closer you are going to shatter.

“Noct, it’s just...“ you say, and his name almost breaks along with the sound of your voice. “I don’t think I can work here if I—“

A solid knock on the door traps the remaining words in your mouth. You wipe your eyes before you turn to see Ignis standing by the doorway. He looks at you, then at Noctis. If he had caught on any of the conversation, Ignis is doing an excellent job not showing it on his face.

“My apologies,” Ignis says. His tone is urgent. “Aranea from the Niflheim Studios’ Business Division just called. Says it’s about Ardyn’s offer for a collaboration. Should I ask her to call back—“

“It should be okay, Iggy,” you tell him, waving a hand. “I was just about to go.” To Noctis, you say, “I think you should probably take that. You know how your uncle can get so utterly relentless.”

Before Ignis or Noctis could breathe another word, you hastily take your leave. Ignis gingerly closes the door behind you, and his discussion with Noctis is reduced into hushed whispers. You walk back to your workstation, and as quietly and quickly as you could, you take the opportunity to pack all your personal effects while no one is around. You have so many memories here in Lucis Labs that as you stuff each frame and trinket into the cardboard box, there‘s no use holding back your tears. The annual trips with the whole team, the late night dinners with the game devs, the caffeinated days of tireless convention weeks…

It’s slowly dawning on you that not only you are leaving Noctis behind, you are also leaving a ragtag bunch of geniuses you have come to consider as family.

Unsteadily, you carry your belongings, weaving your way past the dimly lit hallways, past the glass boards and collaboration spaces, past the array of black-and-white cubicles, and onto the lifts. Downstairs at the Citadel’s lobby, your footsteps echo against the mosaic floors that one of the guards turn to look at your direction. It happens to be Dave, whom you already consider a pal after all the help he has extended to you on occasions you have missed bringing your ID to work. He takes a glimpse on the box you have wrapped around your arms. He cast you a stunned look.

“How? Why?” Dave asks in disbelief. His graying hair and beard looks just as lonely as this evening.

“Found a new job,” you say with a small smile. You hope he doesn’t notice how your eyes are still wet with tears. Kindly enough, he says nothing. He only offers you a polite nod and a sad smile as he ushers you out of the turnstile.

Just when you’re only a few steps away from leaving the premises, you hear your name echo all over the vastness of the almost empty foyer from a very familiar voice.

You turn and you see Noctis running after you.

“Wait,” he says, and he’s panting like he’s taken all twelve flight of stairs in a hurry just to get to you. Or has he?

“Noct, please. If you’re here—“

“I’m not here to stop you from taking the offer,” Noctis cuts you off. He exhales loudly, catches another lungful of air, before he goes on, “If you think it’s best for your career, then I’ll support you. No matter what. I’ve always believed that you’re off to do great things, and I’m sorry if how I acted earlier made you think otherwise. I just… it’s hard for me to accept that I’m about to lose the best assistant one could ever ask for.”

“Please don’t say that. You still have Ignis.”

“But Ignis is not you. And he knows that, too.” Noctis steps closer to you, smiling. He takes the box off your hands and sets it on the floor. “So, now that you’re effectively no longer working for me, I guess I have to do one more thing.”

“What thing—”

Noctis does not let you finish the sentence when he crushes his lips with yours. He kisses you fiercely, in a way that loudly proclaims I’ve been feeling the same way about you, and I just don’t know how to show it.

Despite wanting to believe that this is all happening, your disbelief pulls you away from Noctis. Breathlessly, you say, “Wait, I just want to be clear—you… you like me?”

Noctis laughs. “Goodness. I don’t just like you—I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. It’s just—” he bites his lip, reaches for the back of his head the same way he always does whenever he is at a loss for words, but he shakes his head and pushes through— ”it’s, uh, well… I know how you don’t like being involved with romantic affairs at work. I know how you keep your private life completely separate from your job, and I respect that. I didn’t want to complicate things for you, so I kept my distance, in a way. So… by the time I realized how strongly I feel about you, and after learning from the people in the office that it’s obvious that our feelings are mutual, let’s just say it felt like I am fucked.” He pauses, and the blush on his handsome face is in full bloom. Then, as if by some realization, the pleasant expression on his face wilts into a mild panic. “Shit, am I wrong? You don’t feel the same way, too, do you—“

“No, no!” You say quickly, catching him by his arms. “I… That’s not it. I do feel the same way, Noct. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t realize that it was so obvious for people to know. I never heard about it from anyone.”

“That’s because everyone is terrified of you.” Noctis smiles, and he playfully pinches your chin.

You frown. “You make me sound like I’m Cor.”

“Hey, don’t worry—he’s of a different calibre.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “So you’re not terrified of me? Is that it?”

“Well, I will always be terrified of you,” Noctis says teasingly. “Because it's one of the many reasons why I love you.”

This time, you yank him by the collar of shirt and pull him for another kiss. There exists a fraction of a moment in that kiss where time is in a standstill; your mind freezes, your heart stops beating, and there is only that rush of electricity racing down your spine. And then, all at once, the knots in your stomach have untangled. Your hands finally move on its own accord, and so does your lips.

He presses his forehead against yours. In a breathy whisper, he says, “I’m yours. I want to be yours. Will you be mine?”

“Yes,” you say, and you cannot help the smile tugging on the corners of your mouth. “I’m all yours.”

[animakupo]

#13 from the prompt list with ignis please? 😍

i’m presuming this is from the new prompt list! u got it nonnie!!!!

[animakupo]

Do you accept requests right now? If so, Can I please request a fluffy with a side of angst story where Noctis finds hard to confess to a Dense!Fem Reader who unknowingly friendzones him?

Yes, requests are open! :) Cute idea!!! Relatable because I’m pretty dense with those kinda things myself LOL

I’ll get right on it! (……as soon as I finish this Prom thing I’m writing) ((((((((or maybe I’ll write your request in the middle of this Prom piece))))))))) ((((((((((((((((((who knows)))))))))))))))))))

[hanalwayssolo]

Of Prophets and How They Save The World

A/N: First of the three-part thing I wrote feat. a pre-game Ardyn, which I’ve had since December. This all started thanks to this fanart I came across c/o @clave-razon, then I set this story idea aside for awhile, but then I saw another brilliant fanart, this time a WIP from @hanatsuki89 and I’m like, I gotta get my shit together haaaah anyway

Link in AO3 | Tagging some fellas per usual: @eternallydaydreaming2015 @lazarustrashpit @bleucommelhiver @louisvuittontrashbags @hypaalicious @mooshinspace @animakupo @noboomoon 

Ardyn rarely counts the days he is away from the Crown City, but today, he is starting to feel the weight of the time that has passed.

Perhaps the unusually blazing climate is to blame. Ardyn is no stranger to the tropical regions in Lucis, but this year has been hotter than the Infernian’s fickle flame. The season has transformed the roads of Cleigne into a parched wasteland, the soil cracked and bone-dry in the searing heat. In his growing discomfort, Ardyn rolls the sleeves of his loose white dress shirt that now sloppily clings to his frame thanks to his own sweat, and he ties his red-violet hair into a messy bun. Nero, his ever faithful chocobo companion, can even sense his unease that the majestic black bird descends to a slow trot down the dusty road.

Behind Ardyn, Gilgamesh steers his own ride—an equally majestic golden chocobo named Weiss—and sidles up to him.

“My lord, the next town should already be nearby. I apologize if the route we have taken has caused you any inconvenience.” Gilgamesh politely offers, bowing his head. Despite his daunting appearance, Gilgamesh’s display of his gentle courtesies and utmost propriety directly contrasts his massive height, broad shoulders, and striking amber eyes; even his long silver hair parted like braided curtains on both sides of his face does little to help encourage a less menacing look.

Ardyn faces Gilgamesh with a cheeky smile. “My dear friend, there’s no need for you to apologize on behalf of the machinations of nature. It is what it is.”

“But are you exhausted, my lord?”

Ardyn hesitates, but he lies, “No, I’m perfectly fine, Gilgamesh. I appreciate your concern—“

Nero lets out a loud kweh! that Ardyn pulls into a halt. Gilgamesh finds it difficult not to laugh.

“It seems that the bird only knows how to tell the truth,” Gilgamesh says, amused. “We’ve been on a long journey, after all.”

Four months, three weeks, two days...

Ardyn sighs and offers no response, and he fails to notice that Gilgamesh is keenly watching him. The weight of four months, three weeks, and two days begin to manifest in Ardyn’s face; his eyes reflect a heavy weariness, his lips tighten to an exhaustion he refuses to acknowledge.

It is true that Ardyn embarked on this noble expedition for a genuinely good cause; for months, he dedicated his time traveling from one bustling town to another, visiting houses of people afflicted by the unknown malady rampantly spreading all throughout Eos, and blessing them with his gift of healing. He treats them all with profound care, and not once did Ardyn fail to welcome the wounded and weary at his feet, the sick and dying, the lost and uncared for.

His stubborn younger brother insisted that Ardyn did not need to bear the burden of their powers alone; but with his stubbornness directly proportional to his own, Ardyn still pursued this rigorous journey, despite knowing that the eleven-year-old Somnus is right. His brother might still be a child, but Ardyn found him too wise and brazen for his age. He loves him for it, and fiercely so.

Let me protect you, brother. Let this burden be my cross to carry.

And if he could only allow himself one moment, or a fraction of an hour, or a breath of a second, Ardyn would admit how much he misses his brother. Or just simply how tired he truly is, how he condemns the frailty of his own flesh, how he wants to strip away his body’s limitations, to rid himself of his own weakness when people around him are suffering and dying and—

“My lord?” Gilgamesh finally cleaves the silence with the sudden sharpness of his voice. He is still looking at Ardyn, confused and concerned. “We shouldn’t be much farther now. Are you—”

“You worry too much, my friend,” Ardyn chews and swallows all of his inhibitions into a flashy smile. He pats Gilgamesh on the back before he pulls in Nero's reins, galloping away, leaving his trusted steward’s worries to wither at the corner of his mouth.

Your trembling hands are calloused as the day your lover left without a word.

Not that it matters now, anyway. What matters now is that your hands quiver and shake that you lose your grip around the porcelain bowl, slipping away from your fingertips, and gracelessly meeting the concrete floor with a wild crash. Your bandaged forearms are burning without fire, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you shuffle around your little hut in a frenzy, searching for that vial of remedy you had personally concocted to relieve the pain, if only temporarily.

But you cannot seem to find it. So instead, you whisper a sincere prayer to the Six to grant you a swift death.

You have been enduring this scourge—or blight or daemon’s curse or whatever name the villagers of Lestallum have decided to coin this monstrous disease—since the day your lover discovered the patches of ghastly gray erupting from your skin. The same day they probably decided should be the last day to be around you because, well, what’s the point in staying with a person about to die, anyway?

Again, it doesn’t matter now. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that the pain either subsides or kills you in a moment’s time.

But the sound of a hundred footsteps and excited voices jolt you out of your silent suffering.

You drag your feet and you press an ear against your front door. You cannot bring yourself to open it and let the people see your current state, so you only listen. “The Healer is in town!” You hear someone announce amongst the collective chatter, and your heart stops.

Lestallum may be a small canyon town, but with the occasional mercenaries and peddlers passing through, it is no surprise that the news about this Healer have been circulating around to both travelers and townsfolk alike. Even someone like you who live far off the main thoroughfare and all the way on the outskirts of the town have heard about this Healer. Revered and respected by many, people claim that the man works miracles. They say that with just his touch, the blind could finally see, the cripple could walk, the deaf could hear.

The ones with the scourge are reported to be cured, too.

Gods be good, if this is hope...

You are, in every way, a skeptic right to the bone. But today, you decide to take your chances and gamble on otherworldly wonders and miracles and whatever this Healer has to offer.

So you snatch your cloak and you bolt out of your door, still throbbing in the agonizing pain. Past through the barren fields, past the baked pastures, and past dry stone huts and wooden houses and withered trees, you run across the sweltering road. From afar, you can see the crowd gathering like a wake of vultures over a carcass, all squawking in morbid anticipation. You try to squeeze your way in, only to fail miserably.

“If I may so humbly request everyone to please settle down,” a booming voice suddenly commands, and like some sort of sorcery, the townspeople fall into hushed whispers. You tiptoe to get a better look behind the menacing voice, but you are only able to glimpse, even for a mere second, a gigantic armored man with beautiful silver hair and frighteningly piercing eyes.

Is he… the Healer?

Another voice speaks up, and it is not the silver-haired man.

“We thank you all for such a warm welcome,” the voice starts, and whatever the person says next gets drowned by people hollering and cheering. Piqued with intense curiosity, you back away from the crowd and you find yourself climbing on top of the roof of a nearby house. Not your finest moment, you admit, but desperate times call for very desperate measures.

At this distance, you spot the Healer’s face among the throng of spectators.

You are somehow surprised to find that the man possesses a young face: comely and handsome, with the exception of his striking velvety hair. The armored man stands on guard beside him, hovering menacingly, as if ready to shred anyone who dares to pose a threat. And yet, despite his efforts, the Healer seems to pay him no mind as he welcomes a sick man infected with the scourge with open arms.

And with all honesty, you did not exactly prepare yourself to witness something so… strangely ordinary.

Perhaps you should not have expected the Healer to perform some sort of spectacle or riveting spell out of his so-called miracles. There is no bolt of thunder nor a single spark of flame, nor did the earth part beneath his feet.

And yet, there’s something so gripping in this strange ordinariness. One by one, he attends to the needs of anyone who comes to him, and he beckons for them to come closer with such patience and gentleness, treating them with a benevolent kindness, like he owns a well of affection inside of him that never runs out. He carries children with utmost care, holds the sick with unfailing compassion, touches the foreheads of men and women who seek his blessing, and he does all of these things—these strangely, brutally ordinary things—over and over, repeatedly as if in a perpetual loop, all with a solemn smile on his beautiful face. And the people walk away crying out of joy and gratitude, having been freed and cured of their afflictions with the simplest of his touch.

It is a bizarre sight to behold, watching these people from all walks of life celebrate and rejoice that it made you lose track of time. Like being engulfed in a trance that makes everything feel so possible, or infinite. Little by little, you mindlessly watch as more people come forward and walk away, until the waves of people begin to ebb, happily retreating to their homes, and the Healer and his steward start to march away, about to leave town…

Gods be damned, I am a fucking idiot!

“Wait!” You yell as the pair already depart riding their chocobos. In your panic, you hastily climb down from the roof that you scrape your knee—an additional pain to your many other pains, which by now you have no time to pay any attention to—and you break into a desperate run.

“Wait, please—“ you yell again in between heaving breaths, but they cannot seem to hear you. They are already halfway outside the town, and you are still running to catch up...

Until you see that they stutter into a halt.

Unlike your broken porcelain bowl, the Healer staggers to his side, slowly slipping away from the saddle of his black chocobo, his body gracelessly meeting the ground with a quiet thud.

For what it’s worth, Ardyn is pretty certain he has not returned yet to the Crown City, but he finds himself in his room. He knows it’s his room when he immediately recognizes the desk drowning in multitudes of books and scrolls, the dusty shelves behind it, and the unmade bed at the corner where his brother is now sitting.

“Why do you always push yourself too hard, brother?” Somnus asks, his voice low and lonely. He raises his head and looks at Ardyn, his dark blue eyes curious and searching.

But Ardyn only responds to his brother’s question with a faint smile. He approaches the boy and wraps him in a tight embrace.

“I’m fine,” Ardyn finally says, pulling away and ruffling his brother’s well-kept raven-black hair.

Somnus protests with a groan, “No, you’re not fine. You’re sick.” He stares at Ardyn and in a whisper, he tells him, “Please come home.”

“But I am home, Somnus—“

“Please don’t go, brother.”

In a blink of an eye, Somnus’ gentle face changes to something grotesque—eyes bleeding black, his skin paler, mouth foaming with blood.

Terror washes over Ardyn and he seizes Somnus’ face. But with his touch, the image of his brother only blurs before him. And he tries to scream but his voice would not come out, and the silence only grows around him until he is completely devoured by darkness.

Ardyn wakes up thrashing in a cold sweat with the fullest intent of killing you.

Well, at least that’s what it feels like when he has his hand wrapped around your neck, wringing the life out of you. But Ardyn does not mean you any harm, and you know it; for the past few days, you have been watching him restlessly drift between consciousness and his nightmares, and right now, you just happen to be within the perimeter of his worst nightmare yet.

And it’s a good thing that Gilgamesh is quick on his feet. He hurriedly steps in between the both of you and he pulls Ardyn back.

“My lord, let go—“

“Where am I?!” Ardyn demands in a hysterical fit. “And Somnus, is he—“

“Your… brother is... not here,” you cough out, and you struggle to explain as you try to pry Ardyn’s hands off your neck, “And… you’re… in my house…”

Ardyn turns to you, and in an instant, he calms down and he returns to his senses. He drops his hands, and the realization of what he has just done finally dawns on him that his face reddens in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Ardyn falters, and he looks at Gilgamesh. And then at you. After a painful second, he sheepishly asks, “How long have I been... asleep?”

You and Gilgamesh trade a knowing look.

Gilgamesh clears his throat and answers, “It’s been five days, my lord. Our host has generously taken their time to take care of you.”

Gilgamesh begins to explain what happened. A flash of urgency crosses Ardyn’s pale face. Like drawing strength from an empty pit, he weakly smiles at you and croaks, “Thank you… for your hospitality. But I believe we must go—”

Before Gilgamesh could even protest at Ardyn's ridiculous suggestion, you beat him to it. “Are you mad?” You return Ardyn’s smile with a frown. “You’re still burning with fever. Look at you.”

Ardyn sighs, “But you have done so much for me—us—that I can’t bother you any much longer—”

“With all due respect,” you curtly interrupt, “refusing to receive help when you are in dire need of one is not an act of selflessness but an act of foolishness. I understand you are in a hurry, but wouldn’t it be best that you rest for the long journey ahead?”

Ardyn does not answer. Gilgamesh is stunned by your audacity, and he only nods in agreement.

Before the silence could stretch any longer, Ardyn politely asks, “May I know your name?”

This time, it is you who do not answer. Ardyn steps closer to you, and you notice him eyeing your bandage-covered forearms. You turn away, and you can feel his amber eyes burning a hole at your back. After a while, you say, “I’m afraid my name is of little importance.”

“How come?”

“Because I’m just a nobody,” you respond, albeit a little too tartly. You face him and offer him an empty smile before you take your leave.

[animakupo]

First of all, Congrats on getting 100 loves on your Beefcake vs Shortcake. Whoo~! Second of all, can I request a FLUFFY Gladio x Tsundere!Fem!Reader? The reader is Cor's daughter, 4 years younger than Gladio and a good friend of Iris who tries to make them together. The reader flats out deny that she has any feelings for Gladio and Gladio denies it as well despite the fact that he finds the reader cute especially with their reactions. Thank you~ By the way the level of tsundere isn't at physical

Thank you anony!!!!

As for your request… omf I’m already imagining how it’ll work out HAHAHA will get on it when I can!

(Also, what does it mean when someone says ‘physical’ tsundere? I mean I only know tsundere as an attitude/character trope but I feel like I saw some smut floating around revolving a tsundere Noct or some other but I have no idea what a tsundere in the physical sense actually entails… does it refer to being the dom or something……?)

[animakupo]

Question for the Kupo! Are your requests open??? I see them asks with the requests sooooo if they're open, can I request a Ravus fic??? Bcuz I also saw that little Ravus post THE BOI DESERVED BETTER AND I AM NEVER GETTING OVER IT. I have a weakness for silver-haired game/animu guys ;o; Something with an angst to fluff (my other weakness

omg i’m getting more requests what a time to be alive :(( But yeah, requests remain open until further notice!!

I was actually thinking about Ravus being my next subject after writing my current request/WIP, so this was very timely! THIS IS THE FLANGST NATION SO U GOT IT BUD

[animakupo]

i wanted to send one from that prompt list!!! an angsty one cos i love suffering and dying 😭 either 2, 5 or 34 (i can't pick one so i'll leave that to u if that's ok hehe) with ignis 💓 please and thank u angel ✨🌹

HI NONNIE HERE IT IS: https://animakupo.tumblr.com/post/173445122697/unwavering-ignis-x-reader

I HOPE YOU LIKE IT TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK :DDDDDD