#𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝑜𝓃𝑒! (inbox)

[perfectionist-prince]

— an adoring kiss because the other is rambling.

Another Kiss || an adoring kiss because the other is rambling

“No, because, you see, in the original ballet, the prince’s name was Siegfried, but in the Barbie movie, it was changed to Daniel—that was a much easier name for children to pronounce, you see. As such, you can understand my connection to the film—but I digress.”

At least ten minutes had passed in the conversation without any true back-and-forth. Eir listened with a bemused expression, content to let Siegbert talk on and on, even if she cared little for the topic.

“Many claim that the best of the original four films is the Princess and the Pauper, but that simply isn’t true. Swan Lake is the greatest reproduction of the four original stories, both because of how true it sticks to the original, but with the added benefit of its dance sequences—I believe Princess and the Pauper falls flat in that regard.

“It gets so much acclaim because of the mere fact that it is the first musical by Barbie, but I truly do not think the soundtrack is anything special. Nothing can elicit more intense, raw emotions than the music Tchaikovsky commmf—!!”

Words fall short when lips are muffled by another’s. Eyes widen and freckled cheeks flush; Eir smiles against him, a shameless and entirely-delighted light to her face. They part, and for a moment Siegbert is frozen, his rant entirely forgotten.

“I... suppose... you agree?” he asks, meek.

( Princess only snickers in response. )

[perfectionist-prince]

“Hey. I heard it was your special day.”

Dagr flashes him a sunny smile, a small box tucked securely in her palm. Slowly, the pieces of her queenship are falling into place. There are a couple things left to attend to, and she’s hoping to knock out two birds with one stone here. Honestly, the whole thing had been spurred on by a whim. Sure, Siegster’s cute — for a guy, at least — and he comes from some important family or whatever, Dagr really can’t remember. They’re friends, she thinks, and the offer she’s about to give him is really something he can’t turn down. Dagr tries to calm her nerves. He won’t turn her down, not if he’s smart… and he’s definitely a bit smarter than she is.

“Hehe, happy birthday ~ ☆, little man!” Dagr pulls Siegbert into a headlock and ruffles his hair before releasing her grasp on him. She extends her hand, proudly showing off the box clasped in her hand. “Look, I got you a gift! Ain’t I great?”

She flips it open, revealing a band of silver that sparkles iridescently in the sunlight, embossed with a hefty ruby. You know, to match his eyes.

“Heh, look, I know it’s your special day and this is probably pretty sudden but… you know what this means, yeah? Will you? Will you marry me?”

Reds and oranges began to cast over the sky, the barest hint of purples and blues following soon after. The day was winding down; it had been pleasant and, by all means, quite normal for the event. No spontaneous outbursts, no unexpected scuffles among friends. Unlike many birthdays throughout his childhood, this one would be remembered fondly. 

And then someone breaks the silence. 

Carmine gaze flickers upwards—upwards. It was a feeling he would never get used to, having to tilt his head back to look Dagr in the eye. It was something she seemed to revel in. Eyes trace from her smile to her hands, where a small box lays in plain sight. Had she gotten him a gift? 

It was… sweet. Siegbert was under the impression that Dagr cared little for him and only saw him as just another man to toy with. Still, to find that she had gone out of her way to wish him a happy birthday, to even procure a present…

Train of thought is broken by a less-violent-than-normal noogie. Prince scowls, a little cry of hey! as he attempts to dip out of Jotun arms, but there is no escape once held captive. It is only when Dagr releases him of her own volition that he can raise his hands to fix his hair, now thoroughly mussed, and put on his best glare in her direction—though, truthfully, he doesn’t mean it in the slightest. 

“Gah— Dagr, must you always…?” but the phrase falls to the air, prince giving up before the whine can truly leave his lips. With a sigh, he begins again. 

“You didn’t have to get me a gift. Your words are enough, and… oh.” The box flips open, and while he expects something gaudy, he is instead met with a piece of jewelry that was, by all means, his style. Not too ostentatious, even by Siegbert’s standards; clearly, this was a ring meant to be worn to any occasion but was still sure to attract ooos and aaas. 

“What a beautiful ring! This is… for… me?” But for the third time in a matter of minutes, his words end in a question, incredulous and bewildered. 

It wasn’t just a ring. 

“Marry you?” A beat. “Marry you?” 

He prays that she’s joking. Her excited nod tells him that she isn’t.

“Dagr, I— You— Dagr— Absolutely not!” The way he stomps his foot down to emphasize his point is by all means childish but does well to convey his feelings. It was unlike Siegbert to let out such an outburst of emotion, but nothing could hold back the disbelief he felt now. 

“Marry you?! You’re a card! I barely know you! What want have you with me at your side? Truly, this must be some sort of practical joke! There is no other explanation, not when a woman that cannot even discern a man’s last name asks for his hand in marriage! 

“How I wish you would not insult me like this, Dagr,” he finally says, fingertips digging into his temples in aggravated circles. “Marry you—hah! And such a fine ring, too. It’s a shame. This is a shame. Take your ring and leave my sight, please.”

A pause. 

“... but, thank you. For the birthday wishes. Goodnight, Dagr.”

(But even he can admit how fine an addition to his collection that ring would make.)

[perfectionist-prince]

a kiss to prove a point !!

Another Kiss || a kiss to prove a point

She was, by all meanings of the word, infuriating.

If there was anyone on this earth that could push Siegbert’s buttons, it was Ophelia. She knew him better than anyone—except, perhaps, Soleil, but that wasn’t important now. She knew how to make him angry, how to make him sad. How to make him want to do nothing more than wrangle her to the ground and praise her at the very same time.

And here she was. Doing just that.

“I am not—” he starts, but her bemused look makes his words fall away. “You cannot compare me to—!” And there it was again, the slight cock in her stance, the upwards lift of her chin. She was toying him and he was letting it happen.

“I am no fairy tale prince, Ophelia!”

All she does is tilt her head. “... aren’t you?”

The noise that escapes him is not human. (He is red. There is no denying it. The blush spreads all the way to his ears.)

And so, to prove that he wasn’t, he must do something entirely un-prince-like. Something that would never happen in some children’s tale—not like this, at least.

Strong hands fly to her shoulders, easily keeping the heroine in place as prince steps forward. He stoops down (at this point, to a familiar height) and practically slams his lips to hers, perhaps harder than necessary. Or entirely hard enough. Not a fairy tale.

“There. See? I am not—” he begins again, but the grin that decorates his friend’s lips shuts him up entirely. 

“Ophelia!”

[perfectionist-prince]

When words don't suffice--or he can't quite articulate the full depth of his emotional state--the Dark Prince of Nohr resorts to gifts.

They are apologies. They are tokens of appreciation, of pride in one's accomplishments, of comfort in times of need.

Birthday gifts are another matter entirely. Leo crafts them with extra care. They are meant to capture so many things all at once--love (familial, platonic, or romantic, as the case may be.) A knowledge of the receiver's likes, their passions. Pride in their growth over the course of another year.

"Siegbert," Leo greets, finding his nephew just beyond the training hall. "Happy birthday, nephew."

He holds out a small box, neatly wrapped in brown paper.

(Inside is a guide to the flora and fauna of Fodlan. Leo knows Siegbert's love of taking hikes; the book showcases the different elements of nature featured on the different popular hiking trails around the monastery.)

Where father failed, uncle stepped up. 

Leo finds his nephew just after midday; thus far, Siegbert’s birthday had been quiet with a few gifts thrown his way but none quite making a large fuss about it. Prince preferred it that way—although he enjoyed receiving presents, he wasn’t too fond of being under the spotlight unless it were for a real accomplishment. Living another year wasn’t as special as winning a tournament or perfecting a new skill. 

It was something that Leo understood well about his nephew. So, when dark prince seeks out his target, small box in hand, Siegbert holds no anxieties about what might lay inside. He accepts the gift with a smile. 

“Thank you, uncle. Now, what have we here?” 

Carefully does he pull apart the wrapping paper and open the box, revealing the book inside. Eyes widen slightly at first, but his expression turns to a fond one as he flips through the pages. 

“... I see… I suppose you wouldn’t join me for a hike, later, would you, Uncle Leo? A chance to discover what lies within these pages a little more in-depth, as it were.”

[perfectionist-prince]

" my prince, " ophelia says with a smile, stepping in front of siegbert and taking his hand in hers. the lack of gloves on her hands are unusual, to her mainly, but she's confident in herself enough to ignore the scars that press against siegbert's hand. a quick widespread of her gaze before spruce eyes land back onto siegbert's figure; a stare that is held strong and unwavering as she presses a kiss against his knuckles. " has the night entertained you as much as i hope it has? "

as his date, she should be quite pained at the thought of not having been by his side throughout the beginning of the ball but everything has a reason, yes? surely with every thought, there is a catalyst of reason behind it. ( there is for her. always. )

" if i may ask, " of course, it is something she would seek from her partner. " would you like to step onto the dancefloor and perform an act of our grace? " surprisingly, the fit of laughter that clings to her after is immediate. ophelia giggles, moving siegbert's hand to cup her cheek as she recovers from the slip of character.

" sorry, i was attempting a manner of speech that i witnessed a lady do near the refreshment table. she was quite the proper one! speaking of the sky and its tears or something alike!! " ophelia even demonstrates a bow she had saw the lady do before giggling once again. " though, i was not giving a jest at the offer of a dance. we have yet to show the crowd our magnificent radiance! "

when she moves, ophelia takes siegbert's hand from her face and holds it, pulling him toward the center of the ballroom. the orchestra has stopped; an issue of tuning, maybe, but ophelia uses it as more time to get ready. she stops suddenly though and turns to siegbert still holding his hand.

heroine holds her hand close to her face with a smile, " firstly, a kiss for your date, yes? "

“My princess,” the response is immediate and instinctive, like there was no other way in the world he could reply. A fond smile blooms across his lips at butterfly kisses; Siegbert returns the favor, drawing Ophelia’s hands upwards and peppering soft touches of his lips to her perfect marred skin. “With you by my side, I could hope for no better way to enjoy myself.” 

They entered together, but were quickly parted thereafter; Siegbert didn’t mind. They both had other people to attend to, other dances to share. He knew without question that she would find him by the night’s end, and here she was. ( Besides, no one would be able to separate them considering their clearly matching ensembles. It was undeniable with whom they belonged. )

Smile quirks into a grin, one eyebrow shooting up the more that crimson heroine speaks. “I was going to ask who you were and what had become of my Ophelia, but it appears I have my answer. Yes,” he laughs, learning eagerly into her touch, “I would love a dance, little moon. The crowd will know our names and that of Nohr’s superior taste in choreography.” 

They stride towards the center of the ballroom. Students nearest part ways to give space; it was, perhaps, one of the upsides to having such a tall stature. Or perhaps it was simply the power the duo radiated, walking hand-in-hand, donned in all black and lace, the very picture of the sun and the moon against blackened skies. 

A moment spent to squeeze the other’s hand, fingers entwined. When he smiles, it’s like the sun—all because of her.

“I believe that is only natural,” he says, voice soft and adoring and all-things enamored. 

His free hand raises to trace along her jawline, pads of his fingers warm against her skin. Perhaps it tickles—he sees how she giggles—but he only stops to cup her cheek, tilting her head just enough to properly meet his gaze. 

( It’s sweet, he will think later, how she lifts herself further onto the tips of her toes in order to meet his height as he leans down. )

Lips brush to hers, the quickest of touches; they part quickly, but gazes locking, the only thing that could be done is to connect once more. A little more forceful, a little more insistent. Siegbert kisses Ophelia like they weren’t surrounded by hundreds of other students in the midst of a social event, and she returns it like they stood alone in an empty ballroom. 

They part, and with eyes half-lidded, he leans in to whisper. 

“Let’s blow them all away.”

[perfectionist-prince]

All things considered, Siegbert is quite easy to spot.

Corrin pushes her way towards him, smiling. They aren't terribly close, but that means nothing for the way that she cherishes him. He's her nephew, after all.

"Siegbert! Hi!" And then she's pulling him into a hug with the kind of force that you really can only expect of your aunt--arms folded around his middle, squeezing him. "You look wonderful."

“Aunt Corrin!” 

An air of surprise laces his tone as he reaches out for the dragon. Her voice startled him—her presence startled him as, truth be told, he had not recognized her. It, of course, was not the first time that he observed her in a more regal scenario—they had attended balls and other such events since the war’s end, including her own wedding—but in his head, she would always be the excitable princess running barefoot around camp. 

A glance downwards reveals that some things never change. 

“Hello, Aunt Corrin,” he chuckles, voice only somewhat strained. She was stronger than he looked, but he’d learned to not be surprised by it anymore. His arms come to drape over her shoulders, hugging her back loosely, as he was unable to lean down with her squeezing him so tight. “Thank you. You look beautiful, as well. I had not even realized it was you.” 

Upon their parting, prince bows at the waist and extends his hand forward in offering. “Come. I would be quite offended if we did not share at least one dance, Aunt. Let us show just how it’s done back home.”

[perfectionist-prince]

If the Ethereal Ball is a time for being braver and friendlier than one usually is, Katarina thinks the least she can do is be the first to approach her newfound... friendly acquaintances from beyond the borders of Archanea, for once. Idly turning her signet over between her fingers, she approaches one of the very few of them.

K. A somewhat ungainly letter stands alone in the center of her ring without a surname for company, and for a moment, she thinks to back away and find some cozy, empty corner of the room to hide away in. The thought comes too late; the bend of her knee happens in the same beat that she catches Siegbert's eye, and, offering him a faint, timorous smile, she made her way over instead.

"Prince Siegbert. Would you... want to trade stamps...?"

Carmine catches onto wayward and wandering; Katarina appears as though about to flee, but it seemed that his presence made her think otherwise. She approaches, timid and unsure, but Siegbert knows well that his friend would only come near were she truly comfortable. He’s glad she is.

“Katarina,” he greets with a fond smile, “I believe I’ve told you that there are no need for titles between us, hm?” 

Truth be told, he had made little use of his signet ring that night. The previous year had been focused on exchanging signatures; this year, he was more concerned with simply enjoying the night with his friends, despite the fact that the event was meant to garner new connections. With a slight shake of his head, he reaches out to stamp Katarina’s card—noting with a chuckle that he takes the first spot. 

“I suppose you’re to give your stamp, but I seem to have misplaced my card. Will my hand suffice?” he asks, holding it out. For the sake of the event, it surely would not. For the sake of the memory, it would. 

“I’m in love with your outfit, tonight, by the by—you look absolutely handsome. Would you care to dance with me, Katarina? Or, if you’re not up to it, how about a leisurely visit outside for a moment, where it’s quieter?”

[perfectionist-prince]

"Siegbert, Ophelia! Hello my darlings," Elincia approaches the pair and curtsies politely to them both. Both of her friends look splendid tonight but she hasn't been able to take her eyes of Siegbert in that lace shirt of his. Hasn't been blind to his own gaze on her, too. "You look simply refulgent tonight Ophelia. I hope you're having fun."

There's a devilish smirk on her face as her eyes meet Siegbert's, blazing carmine and captivating. She's planted a couple of kisses on the cheeks of her friends in these photo booths, and feels emboldened by the nights festivities.

"I hope you don't mind if I borrow Prince Siegbert for a moment. I promise to return him in one piece." With that, she's in the booth and with a tug, Siegbert follows her. Her grin softens a touch - she really does admire him for all that he is. That includes being fiendishly attractive, though.

Before the artifex has time to click, she's already leaned in. Her lips meet his, tentative at first but a spark in her is ignited. A hunger. She wants more - longs to drown herself in the warmth that emanates from his chest. The cologne he wears, how taught and supple his skin feels against her palms. Her lips part, the kiss about to deepen. The gears and joints of the machine click and the pair separate.

This is one impromptu kiss she does not apologise for, gazing up at him with hooded eyes. The beat of her heart pounds in her ears and all she can do is laugh, as if she is drunk on his very essence.

Attending the ball with a date implied that he should only have eyes for his partner, and while Ophelia looked radiant, there was simply one other that he could not keep his eyes off of. More than once did Siegbert lock eyes with Elincia from across the room; more than once did they stare for more than just a few moments before something else drew their attention away, entirely against their will. 

It wasn’t his fault she was so beautiful. And it wasn’t his that she thought just the same of him. 

Head tilts slightly at the queen’s request. He casts an apologetic glance towards Ophelia before happily trailing after Elincia, his hand sliding down into hers without a second thought. 

Their path is obvious. Although he can feel Ophelia’s eyes watching him as he steps into the booth, it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. Especially not when soft hands guide his cheeks down, and with a laugh do their lips meet. It was not an unfamiliar feeling by this point; she, of course, was one very special person to him, and one who deserves anything she wanted. If that happened to be his kiss, so be it. He would give all. 

Her lips part; as do his. One hand tracing down her cheek, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear; down her jaw to her exposed neck, collarbone. Ghosts of affection across her skin, but they hadn’t the time to express it properly. 

Lips chase her as they part, not at all eager to break from her just yet. Giddy laughter is infectious and the prince responds in turn, a soft chuckle rumbling deep in his chest, one that quickly blooms into delighted laughter. 

“I believe another set of photos is in order,” he hums, catching her chin in his hand and tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. “Do you not agree?”

[perfectionist-prince]

If Katarina were forced to choose which one she preferred, then she by and far liked it better when she was the one watching her stars depart, rather than being the one to leave them behind. However, if one were to simply ask if she liked it, then her answer would be 'no, not much at all.'

So she would call herself blessed in roundabout ways, if she were someone who believed in blessings. However, seeing as she was not, she supposed she would say she was... lonely. She was lonely, and the monastery was already near to devoid of its friendly faces, save for--

"Siegbert," she greets when he opens his door, pulling her arm close to her side. She very nearly looks guilty for the simple act of visiting him; perhaps because that is exactly the case. "Um... Do you-- a-are you..."

She looks down at the ground, then back up. Worries her bottom lip before she finds the will to speak. "...It's quiet," Katarina says at last; the downward lilt of her voice says the rest. "Do you want, um... Do you want to go somewhere...?"

The hardest part was watching his friends leave and not knowing whether or not they would return. Surely, it was a usual mission: there should not be much danger involved, and everyone should return safe and sound. That was the promise. But that was always the promise. And after last time...

Things were different, now. When the church called for aid, his feet did not immediately step forward to offer it. For the first time, Siegbert stood back—and for purely selfish reasons. He did not want to leave. He did not want to help. He wanted to stay back and attend classes as usual, and continue with his life as a normal teenager. He did not want to act as a pawn on the church's chessboard, seeking out answers that might not even exist.

It was quiet, to be selfish.

But he was not alone.

"Katarina." Her face was a welcome respite from the depths of a coiled mind. Siegbert found little rest in this selfishness he had exacted; but perhaps it would do him well to be just a little bit more conceited and take this opportunity that fate has granted him. Their friends were gone, away on a mission, and here they were, alone. Together.

"Indeed it is," his chest rumbles with a quiet chuckle. "The quiet is unnerving, but it is better with you here." He holds his hand out to her, palm facing upward, in offering. "Let us chase this silence away, together."

The quiet town finds their pleasant company, with few around to provide probing stares. Every time he manages a smile out of her, the fondness in his heart burns brighter. Sitting across from her during their shared meal; glancing down at her as they walked side-by-side; sitting together at the edge of a pong, observing the fish swimming in ever-constant ebb and flow; though they still knew little of one another, Katarina was a treasure.

The setting sun casts a golden hue across her skin, dazzling in her eyes as they finally make their way back to the monastery.

"I would apologize for stealing your entire day," he begins, "but I must admit that I am not sorry at all. Today has been wonderful, Katarina. Let us do this more often."

It is only after seeing her back to her dorm that he realizes it's colder without her by his side. (Tomorrow is another day.)

[perfectionist-prince]

❰❰ DANCE ❱❱ "Princeeeey~ Just one dance, okay?"

An Extremely Self-Indulgent Meme || ❰❰ DANCE ❱❱ sender invites receiver to slow dance

“Come now, Patty, you don’t have to beg me for a dance.”

One hand finds its place on the young woman’s waist, while the other takes hers in its calloused grip, holding it delicately but confidently. Siegbert offers a grand smile, a twinkling in his eye that only ever appeared as he danced, one foot after the other, like clockwork in his heart.

“I know I’m a bit of a stereotypical royal in this regard, but I adore dancing,” he explains, leading her into an easy swaying waltz. “It was the one thing I didn’t particularly have to study for, since I picked it up by playing with my caretakers and my friends as a young lad. Now, in the peaceful times after the war, balls and celebrations are plentiful, and so is my chance to show my skills.”

As he pulls her in a spin, Siegbert can’t keep the mirth out of his expression. “I’m at your beck and call whenever you wish to dance, Patty—I promise you that.”

[perfectionist-prince]

30. a kiss on the back of the hand.

Spots to Kiss || 30. a kiss on the back of the hand

Under normal circumstances, it was nothing more than a display of respect. A lord to kiss a lady’s glove; a scion to kiss their liege’s hand; mere obligation, nothing more. Certainly not an attempt to flirt, something with ulterior motive.

This was no display of respect.

Alfonse’s fingers entwine with Siegbert’s. An apparent commoner with an apparent prince. The shorter man raises their joined hands to his mouth and grazes his lips over freckled knuckles.

Siegbert swallows thickly, shivers running down his arms as a blush overtakes his features. Carmine locks with azure.

And the prince follows through, leaning in to steal the other’s lips before their hands can even drop back to their sides.

[perfectionist-prince]

a kiss on the space between collarbones.

Spots to Kiss || 23. a kiss on the space between collarbones

The very first time it came up, Siegbert nearly fainted when Mitama requested they sleep in the same bed for the night. To dare sleep under the same blanket, in the same bed, before marriage? Just tar and feather him now, for this was no prince, but a miscreant scoundrel.

Two days later, it was the only way he could find peace when succumbing to dreams.

Now, months after that first fateful night, Siegbert finds himself in a familiar position. It had taken some courage to allow himself to sleep in naught but a pair of trousers, but here he lays, a pink-haired maiden draped over his chest and his torso bare to the morning air.

He rubs his fingers up and down her back, pushing up her thin nightshirt to trace his nails against her skin. Pink head shifts and prince feels her soft kiss at the space between his collarbones; he smiles.

“Good morning, love,” he hums, a low rumble in his chest. “Did you sleep well?”

[perfectionist-prince]

❰❰ CHIN ❱❱ || A distinct clang, followed by the sound of a sword skidding across the uniformly packed earth of the training grounds, signals the duel's end. However much he may like to claim his swordsmanship as lacking compared to that of his peers, it is decisively Alfonse who stands victorious over Siegbert this day, weapon's hilt still snug within his grip where the Nohrian prince has been freshly divested of his own. Azure bore into carmine, unwavering in spite of the difference between their respective heights; blade's tip carefully tilts his friend's chin skyward. "Do you yield, Siegbert?"

An Extremely Self-Indulgent Meme || ❰❰ CHIN ❱❱ sender tilts the receiver’s chin with their weapon

Not many manage to take Siegbert by surprise. In his lifetime, across all those he has sparred, only a select few have made such a feat; even Alfonse has been unable to do so in the past. He was by no means a pushover with a blade, but in the prince’s thoughts, he considered himself the better contender on the battlefield.

But this time was different.

In the blink of an eye, Alfonse feints left, strikes the flat of his sword against Siegbert’s wrist, and knocks his weapon aside. Left weaponless, he holds his hands up in surrender, not one to drag out a fight he has clearly lost. On instinct, his eyes squeeze shut as he inhales slowly, breath hot and ragged, until cool metal has them snapping open again.

Carmine into azure.

Siegbert swallows thickly, unintentionally pressing the tip of Alfonse’s blade further against his skin until it draws the tiniest bead of blood. It bares the same tint as his cheeks, flushed from exertion—or something more.

Perhaps it had been a bad idea to train with real swords. A bead of sweat drips down his face and to the corner of his mouth. Prince licks his lips, salt coating his tongue, before his lips part once more with a shallow breath.

Alfonse’s wrist tilts ever so slightly, angling the blade just right until Siegbert could catch his own reflection in its sheen. His gaze flits between it and the other’s expression, regarding Alfonse’s clenched jaw, his shoulders raising and falling heavily with each panted breath, with a certain fondness.

His lips, parted slightly, his tongue wetting them once again. Admiration in carmine as he stares.

Slowly and without sudden movement, Nohrian prince raises his hand to push the blade away from his throat. His gauntlets protect his hands; dragons knew to attempt such an action with his bare skin would end in slick blood coating his palms.

“I yield,” he says finally, voice more gravelly than intended. It lowers the other’s guard just enough for Siegbert to snap his fingers around Alfonse’s wrist and squeeze until his blade clatters to the floor, as his own had earlier. One step, another, and then Alfonse is trapped against the wall with Siegbert’s arm at his throat.

He leans down, lips dragging across the other’s cheek, lingering against his skin, and trailing towards his ear.

“Do you?”

[perfectionist-prince]

❰❰ PIN ❱❱ :))

An Extremely Self-Indulgent Meme || ❰❰ PIN ❱❱ sender pins receiver during a fight/training

What started as a simple sparring match quickly turned into Siegbert desperately trying to avoid magical attacks, and then a full-blown fistfight. Sparring with Ophelia was always like that—unpredictable.

By some miracle, the short mage managed to knock the prince down to his knees and back him against a wall. She lowers herself as well, arm pressed against his throat to pin him in place, but not nearly enough to harm him.

Ophelia grins at Siegbert’s defeated expression. He sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough, Phe.”

But just as Ophelia begins to pull away, quick hands dart out and grab hold of her arms. Prince knocks her back and straddles her, pinning her wrists at either side of her head.

He leans close, breath hot against her ear.

“But I’m afraid I’ve won this battle.”

[perfectionist-prince]

❰❰ CHIN ❱❱ sender tilts the receiver’s chin with their weapon

An Extremely Self-Indulgent Meme || ❰❰ CHIN ❱❱ sender tilts the receiver’s chin with their weapon

It was unexpected, to say the least.

Siegbert proposed their sparring match. Initially, Mitama was against it, but a little bit of pleading had her picking up a training sword and standing in opposition to him; he followed suit, a grin painting his lips.

One that she would quickly wipe off of his face. Siegbert hadn’t realized that he made his beloved angry by coaxing her into a training session, but she was determined to make him pay for it. He underestimated her; even after all the time spent together in the war, he still thought she couldn’t do much damage with a blade, as her forte lied within magic.

And then she had him on the ground in a blink of an eye, his sword held in one hand, her own blade’s tip tucked under his chin. Carmine stares, wide-eyed, up into a starry sky.

“Do you yield, prince?” she asks, and Siegbert can’t work his mouth to reply.

A small amount of force lifts his chin higher. His breathing ragged, mouth dry, only one thought in his mind.

This is the most attractive thing he has ever seen.

The question hangs in the air a moment longer as one hand flies up to wrap around the victor’s wrist. Siegbert squeezes and twists, guiding Mitama to drop her weapon, before yanking her down on top of him, where he promptly presses his lips to hers in a more hungry manner than he has ever done prior.

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice muffled against her mouth, “Yes. I yield.”

[perfectionist-prince]

❣ –A hug after being separated

One week turns into two. Leo eyes his calendar in annoyance; those so-called 'diplomatic' missions for his father get longer and messier every time.

He slipped out of Castle Krakenburg early, to avoid being dragged into any other messes. There's a promise that's long overdue in the fulfilling.

Prince enters the Deeprealm with an uncharacteristic apprehension. Siegbert must be worried, hurt, that Leo had yet to visit. So he remains silent, no excuse falling from his lips as he pulls his young nephew in for a hug.

⨳ — TYPES OF HUGS; || ❣ –A hug after being separated

One day turned to two, and then four. To eight. Sixteen. Thirty-two. The scrawls in one of the front pages of his notebook started to run as tally after tally was added.

One hundred and twenty-eight days were quite a long time for a young boy to wait.

There was usually a sort of pomp and circumstance that came with any visit to the Deeprealms. For anyone to visit was a blessing, but Nohr’s crown prince? What an honor! But that kind of ceremony wasn’t extended towards the second prince of Nohr, for the sole reason that Prince Leo didn’t make such a big deal out of everything.

Siegbert was in the middle of practicing his penmanship. Even from the young age of six, the boy had to perfect his writing; it was improper to have an illegible hand. And so he writes and writes until his hand cramps, writes until the door opens and someone grabs his shoulder and the quill falls from his fingers—

Old books. Earth. Wind in the trees, cedar.

“Uncle,” the little prince whimpers, fingers curling in the back of the man’s shirt. He can’t help the tears that build; he had been alone for over four months and would probably face worse again in the future.

For now, at least, he could hide in his uncle’s arms and forget that he would be gone by dusk.