Chapter Text
“Noct, why are you in the news?”
Prompto doesn’t even look up at first when he says it. He’s sprawled halfway across the couch, one leg hooked over the armrest and the other dangling off the edge, phone balanced precariously in one hand while the other fishes blindly through a carton of fries that has long since gone lukewarm. The TV plays in the background—some action movie that’s been all explosions and zero substance for the past half hour—but neither of them is really watching it.
He only glances over when he hears the noise Noctis makes. Noctis throws his head back until it rests against the back of the couch, hair falling away from his face just enough for Prompto to catch it—the faintest hint of pink across his cheeks. It’s subtle, the kind of thing anyone else might miss, but Prompto’s spent years memorizing every micro-expression Noctis has. He sees it instantly.
Oh. Oh, this is good.
“Apparently,” Noctis mutters, “Insomnia Times put me in the number one spot for Lucis’ most eligible bachelor. I’m twenty.”
There’s a beat.
And then Prompto loses it. He bursts out laughing. His whole body folds in on itself as he tries not to choke, phone slipping dangerously in his grip while he clamps a hand over his mouth like that’ll somehow help.
It doesn’t. His phone screen is still on, showing the article that came out that morning, placing their prince as one of the hottest men in the country.
“Oh my—” he wheezes, cutting himself off as another wave hits. “No way. No—no way, dude—”
Noctis doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look at him. Just stays there, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling as if he ignores the situation hard enough, it might stop existing. It does not. Prompto’s shoulders shake as he tries—and fails—to rein himself in, sucking in a breath that immediately turns into another laugh.
“You’re—” he points vaguely in Noctis’ direction, like the accusation alone is enough. “You’re number one?”
“Stop laughing.”
Noctis looks embarrassed. Maybe Prompto should be more aware of it, but he doesn’t care. Who’s going to tease him if not his best friend?
“I can’t!”
“You can.”
“I physically cannot, this is—this is the funniest thing I’ve seen all week—” And he means it. Because holy astrals above, how did this happen?
Noctis sighs, still looking at the ceiling. Prompto can’t really read what the expression on his face means, but the truth of the matter is that he doesn’t care because both his face and his stomach hurt from the way he’s struggling to breathe through the giggles.
“This is the best thing ever,” Prompto says, wiping at his eyes. “Oh my god, they actually put you above like—actors and stuff? Celebrities? People who know how to properly function in public?”
Noctis finally tilts his head just enough to shoot him a look. It’s not even a proper glare—more like a tired, long-suffering squint—but it’s got enough weight behind it that most people would probably shut up. Prompto, unfortunately, is not most people. Noctis exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s counting down from ten in his head. It doesn’t seem to be working.
“You’re so annoying,” he mutters.
“And you’re the most eligible bachelor in Lucis,” Prompto shoots back immediately, lifting his head just enough to grin at him. “Congratulations, Your Highness. Truly a man of the people.”
“Shut up.”
Prompto snickers, finally managing to get himself somewhat under control. His breathing evens out after a moment, though the grin doesn’t leave his face as he glances back down at his phone.
The article is still open.
Big, bold headline right at the top, like it’s announcing something groundbreaking instead of—well, this. He scrolls back up just to look at it again, because honestly? It’s still kind of surreal.
Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum Tops List of Lucis’ Most Eligible Bachelors
“Wow,” Prompto says, voice dripping with mock awe. “They really went all out with this one.”
Noctis makes a noncommittal noise.
“There’s a whole ranking,” Prompto continues, scrolling. “Like, they’ve got a list and everything. You beat out that movie star guy—you know, the one with the hair? And the jaw?”
“That’s all of them.”
“You know the one I mean.”
“I don’t.”
Prompto waves a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. You absolutely wiped the floor with him. He’s probably crying somewhere right now.”
“Good for him.”
Prompto glances over at Noctis again, studying him for a second. He still looks vaguely uncomfortable, even if he’s trying to play it off. There’s a tension in his shoulders, a slight furrow in his brow that doesn’t quite go away. It’s subtle—but it’s there.
Prompto’s grin softens, just a little. “…You’re not actually bothered by it, are you?”
Noctis pauses, a brief, barely noticeable thing. Then he shrugs again, like it’s nothing. “It’s dumb.”
“Yeah,” Prompto agrees easily. “It is. But it’s also kind of funny.”
Noctis huffs.
Prompto tilts his head, watching him. “C’mon. You’ve gotta admit, it’s at least a little entertaining. You’re basically a heartthrob now.”
“I am not.”
“You literally have fans.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You absolutely do,” Prompto says, immediately scrolling again. “There are probably people out there making, like, fan clubs. And posters. And—oh my god, do you think there are people with shrines?”
Noctis turns his head just enough to stare at him, looking as scandalized as he can. Prompto is loving it because he’s never seen his best friend this embarrassed. Does he secretly want someone to worship him?
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m just saying, it’s a possibility—”
“Don’t.”
Prompto grins wider. “What if someone’s got, like, a body pillow—”
“No.”
“—with your face on it—”
“No.”
“—and they hug it every night—”
“No.”
Prompto breaks again, laughing as Noctis finally pushes himself upright, dragging a hand down his face, shaking his head.
“You’re the worst,” Noctis mutters.
“And yet—” Prompto says, pointing at his phone. Noctis grabs a fry from the carton and throws it at him before Prompto can say the rest of his sentence. It misses completely, landing somewhere on the floor.
Prompto gasps, offended. “Hey! That was perfectly good food!”
Noctis just leans back again, like the conversation is officially over on his end. Prompto, of course, is nowhere near done. He scrolls further down the article, humming under his breath as he skims through the text.
“I’m sorry, buddy. But this is just funny as hell. I never thought there would come a day when you’re on the very top of such a list,” Prompto shakes his head as he steals a glance at Noctis. His best friend is looking at him with that unreadable expression that Prompto’s grown used to in the past year, something mixed between resignation and confusion—or at least that’s how he’s chosen to interpret it.
“So what you’re saying is that you don’t find me attractive,” Noctis says, his face completely serious. Prompto raises an eyebrow at him, thrown off by the comment. They’ve never really discussed looks between them—the topic is more of a sore spot for Prompto, of course, but also Noctis never felt vain.
“Dude, what?”
But Noctis just starts laughing—although it sounds almost forced at times—and Prompto exhales a brief breath of relief. “I’m just messing with you, Prom, calm down.”
Prompto can’t deny that his best friend is a good-looking guy—he’s been there in high school, where all the fangirls crowded him before realizing that Noctis wouldn’t spare a glance in their direction—but he’s also seen him pick out the tiniest piece of parsley from his spaghetti, because he claimed it made his mouth feel weird.
He wonders whether Insomnia Times would still think the same if he saw him pout at the fact that dishes don’t do themselves, especially when Ignis isn’t present to play the mother figure.
Prompto shakes his head before looking at the article again. They placed him above all the movie and pop stars, which in and of itself isn’t that surprising, because who wouldn’t want a prince? And Noctis, as a public figure, has always been kind of shrouded in mystery.
Even in high school, Noctis has been mysterious to everyone but Prompto, mostly because he never cared about what others thought and stuck with him. The dark clothing he wears in public and the haircut that hides half his face only amplify the enigma of who Prince Noctis is.
And so, Prompto knows that Noctis is perceived by the public in a whole different light than what he knows of him. It never really bothered him, either. In a way, it feels special because it means that Prompto is someone Noctis trusts.
“You should like,” Prompto says, but has to stop himself midway, because he feels another laughing fit coming on. He tries his best to swallow it down, but the corners of his mouth curl up regardless. “Use this opportunity to find yourself a girlfriend.”
Noctis lifts his head up from the couch and twists his body so he’s now sitting sideways, one hand over the backrest of the couch to support his chin up. “A girlfriend? Who’s gonna take care of you then?”
Prompto snorts, “Why would I need to be taken care of?”
Yeah, he stays over Noct’s place a little too much because his house feels lonely with his parents away so much, and the gap year he’s taken between high school and university isn’t turning out to be the best idea because he, now, has too much time. Sure, he works, but other than that, the house gets cold and lonely.
Well, maybe Prompto should find a girlfriend, too. Then all four of them could go on a double date!
Noctis just shakes his head, but his eyes don’t leave Prompto for a little while. Does he have something on his face? Between his teeth?
“You good, buddy?” Prompto asks, looking down at his phone again. This seems to snap Noctis from whatever trance he’s in, nodding at him and looking back at the TV, and, for good measure, he grabs some food from Prompto’s plate, which he’s deposited on the living room table. Prompto—as uninterested as he is in the show they are watching—scrolls through the article again.
There’s a picture and a good one, too. Noctis caught mid-step, black coat swaying, sunlight hitting just enough of his face to make him look like something out of a movie instead of the guy currently stealing fries off Prompto’s plate without asking.
Something about the lighting of the photo makes Prompto want to figure out how it’s been edited, because the colors really bring out Noctis’ features.
“Hey,” Prompto says, nudging him with his elbow, “they used that photo from the charity thing. The one where you refused to smile for like an hour.”
“I wasn’t refusing,” Noctis mutters. “I just didn’t feel like it.” Staying up until three to play King’s Knight with his best friend before didn’t help his case either, probably. Noctis must have been tired as hell during that whole thing.
“Yeah, that’s called refusing,” Prompto laughs. Noctis huffs quietly but doesn’t argue further.
And so, Prompto keeps reading.
Known for his quiet demeanor and striking presence, the young prince has captured the attention of the nation…
Prompto snorts under his breath. Of course, Noctis has captured the attention of the country; he’s nice to look at! Although Noctis is far from quiet when he doesn’t want to be. Especially when Prompto beats his ass in any game.
…a figure of intrigue, rarely seen in casual settings…
“Oh, that’s rich,” he says. “Rarely seen in casual settings? You’re literally in sweatpants right now.”
Noctis glances down at himself like he forgot what he was wearing. “Are you still reading that, Prom? Jeez. Besides, these are comfortable.”
Prompto looks at his best friend from head to toe, lifting one eyebrow when he spots a dark stain of ketchup on the thigh. Noctis seems almost squeamish under his gaze, which is always a thing when Prompto appraises him so. He’s really not sure how Noctis can stay focused under five reflectors while giving a speech when he’s so bothered by one look alone. “They make you look like you gave up on life.”
“Good, because if you keep reading that shit, I might as well do that.”
Prompto grins, but something about the article keeps tugging at him, so he keeps scrolling. There’s a section ranking ‘desirable traits.’
Mysterious. Reserved. Powerful lineage. Unattainable.
Prompto just shakes his head as he wonders whether he should read more, because Noctis really seems uncomfortable about it. To honor his best friend's wishes, he decides against it, and as he goes to click out of the article, his thumb misses the close button by a tiny margin and accidentally presses a link that sends him Moogling Noctis’ name.
Noctis Lucis Caelum (Crown Prince of Lucis)
As if Prompto didn’t know who Noctis was. He gets distracted by reading the Moogle description of him, scrolling down and pursing his lips, nodding to himself as he skims the information he knows by heart. Like Noctis’ birthday, age, and education. He gets some more links about headlines that Noctis is featured in, and some more ‘you might want to see’ sidebars that feature names like the Oracle and King Regis.
All in all, nothing that he doesn’t know. He’s not even sure why he’s Moogling the guy when the said guy is sitting next to him, burping after he takes a sip of soda.
It happens in less than a fraction of a second. His eye catches something just below the last link of a news article from the Chocobo Post about Noctis’ appearance at the last solstice conference—he looked mad good, too—and he scrolls down to see it and figure out whether his brain read the words right.
Noctis Lucis Caelum/Reader - Works | Eos’ Own Library
“Eh?” Prompto narrows his eyes, but Noctis doesn’t pay him any attention; his eyes are set on the screen, too busy watching explosions and car chases on the TV. Is he actually interested in the movie? Prompto lost the plot and interest about thirty-five minutes ago.
And so, because Prompto’s a nosy bitch and Noctis isn’t paying attention to him, he clicks the link, expecting to see some funny content he can show his friend, so they can laugh about it. His heart, however, stops beating for a second there, when the page loads.
1 - 20 of 6,105 Works in Noctis Lucis Caelum/Reader | Eos’ Own Library
🠈 ← 1 2 3 4 5 6 7… 306 →
Crown of Midnight by ISniffTheprince1
Rating: Explicit
Noctis Lucis Caelum/Reader
Tags: Angst and Feels, Smut, Worship, Love, Love Confessions, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Noctis Lucis Caelum, Possessive Noctis Lucis Caelum, King Noctis Lucis Caelum
Summary:
When you are summoned to the Citadel under the cover of night, you expect politics—cold, distant, and fully untouchable. Instead, you find yourself alone with King Noctis, a man wrapped in shadows, mysterious to everyone but you. He does not speak much, but when he does, it is only for you. And when he looks at you, it feels like being chosen by something dangerous.
He should not want you. But kings were never meant to be merciful.
Language: Lucian. Words: 135,984. Chapters: 42/42. Comments: 2389 Kupos: 10.489 Hits: 98.034
Prompto squints at the screen. ‘Wrapped in shadows,’ they say, when Prompto knows Noctis literally trips over his own boots in the dark. Also a king? That’s a long way to go, hopefully. Regis is alive and well, and Prompto can’t imagine Noctis—well, this Noctis—to be king yet. Damn, did it ever occur to Prompto that he’s friends with the future king of their nation?
The thing is, however, that the description of the story sends shivers down his spine. It’s an uncomfortable feeling that he feels suddenly all too well across his entire chest—everything feels too tight, and his cheeks are suddenly all too hot.
And Prompto doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge or feeling.
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Prompto scrolls past this. It’s stupid. Noctis would never look at someone in that way. And Noctis isn’t dangerous! Probably could be, but he really isn’t—most days.
Shaking those thoughts away and ignoring the weird feeling that got ignited in his stomach, he scrolls ahead. Why is he even looking at these stories? They are just stories! And besides, do people actually write things about Noctis? He knows these exist about celebrities, but Prompto never imagined they’d be about the prince, too.
Silence, Your Highness by EatYoghurt99
Rating: Explicit
Noctis Lucis Caelum/Reader
Tags: Fluff and Smut, Possessive Noctis Lucis Caelum, Requited Unrequited Love, Male Reader, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Noctis Lucis Caelum, The Citadel - Freeform, Arranged Marriage
Summary:
Noctis Lucis Caelum is a man of few words—but his silence is never empty. It is heavy, commanding, filled with things left unsaid. You learn quickly that when he is quiet, it means he is thinking of you. Watching you. Wanting you.
And when he finally speaks your name, it feels like a claim.
Language: Lucian. Words: 13.592. Chapters: 2/8. Comments: 238 Kupos: 482 Hits: 3992
Prompto physically recoils. Yeah, Noctis can be quiet. He’s quiet because he forgets what he was about to say half the time. But if you get him to talk, he rarely stops.
Jeez. Alright. Enough internet for one day. Prompto puts his phone away, ignoring the strange feeling in his stomach that feels like nervousness and something more complex mixed together. Noctis seems to notice that Prompto’s done with his phone because he takes this opportunity to stretch all over the couch, collapsing directly into Prompto’s lap.
Noctis settles like he always does—like he belongs there, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to just drop his entire weight onto Prompto without asking. His head lands squarely on Prompto’s thighs, hair tickling through the fabric of his jeans, and for a second, Prompto freezes.
Not because this is new. It isn’t.
“Do you not have a pillow?” Prompto mumbles, raising an eyebrow at him. Noctis twists his head to look up where his head is positioned on Prompto’s thighs and smiles at him.
“It’s too far away,” he says, giving him a sheepish smile. Prompto briefly glances at the other side of the couch, where Noctis’ legs are perched on top of the said pillow. If he were to lie down the other way, his head would be resting on it. But then that would mean Prompto would get his stinky feet, so he supposes he got the better end of the bargain.
Shaking his head, Prompto allows Noctis to stay right where he is.
They’ve done this a hundred times before—after long days, during lazy afternoons, whenever Noct decides that personal space is more of a suggestion than an actual rule. Prompto’s gotten used to it, the same way he’s gotten used to a lot of things about Noctis that other people would probably find weird.
But something about it feels… different now. Or maybe it’s not that it feels different. Maybe it’s just that Prompto feels different. Not that he should.
Noctis is still looking up at him, one eyebrow raised in a challenge as if to say ‘throw me off if you dare’.
You learn quickly that when he is quiet, it means he is thinking of you. Watching you. Wanting you.
Alright. Prompto made a big mistake clicking on that stupid link, because that’s definitely not the look he’s getting from the prince right now, and it just feels oddly… insulting to Noctis to be thinking about such things.
“…You’re heavy,” he mutters instead, because that’s easier than thinking too hard about the words stuck in his head.
Noctis hums softly, completely unbothered as he turns back to look at the TV. “You’ll live.”
Yeah, that’s better, because now he doesn’t have to deal with Noctis’ eyes on him while strange words swirl in Prompto’s head—words that shouldn’t be there in the first place. Because this is Noctis, his best friend of five years, just a chill guy that watches horrible shows with him and lets Prompto beat his ass in King’s Knight whenever he has a bad day.
“Barely,” Prompto shoots back, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t push him off, doesn’t even try. Instead, he shifts slightly, adjusting so Noctis’ head rests a little more comfortably. It’s automatic, the way he does it, no thought needed to know what kind of position Noctis likes most.
Which is maybe why it takes him a second to realize what he just did. He frowns down at him.
Noctis has his eyes half-lidded, gaze drifting somewhere between the TV and nothing at all. He looks relaxed. More relaxed than he did earlier, anyway. The tension from before has eased out of his shoulders, his expression softer now that the conversation has moved away from articles and rankings and public perception.
Prompto watches him for a moment. Then another. “…You comfy?” he asks again, quieter this time, kind of wondering why he suddenly wants the prince’s attention on him. To prove Noctis is actually here, perhaps.
Noctis blinks, slow, like he’s dragging himself back into the present. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Prompto squints. “You’re weird today.”
He’s not. Perhaps Prompto’s projecting.
And when he looks at you, it feels like being chosen by something dangerous.
Prompto nearly physically winces at the words piercing through his mind—he stops at the last second so he doesn’t throw Noctis off his lap, where the prince is once again dozing off. How can he fall asleep so easily? Prompto is nothing if not envious.
Noctis lets out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh. “And you’re always weird.”
“Rude.”
Noctis doesn’t respond to that. Just shifts slightly, getting more comfortable, like he’s settling in for the long haul. Prompto huffs under his breath but lets it go. The TV continues playing in the background—another explosion, another dramatic car chase—but it all kind of blurs together. Prompto isn’t paying attention. He hasn’t been for a while.
His phone sits face down on the couch beside him. He stares at it, then looks away, then looks back again. There’s a weird… itch in the back of his mind. Something that won’t quite stop eating at him, no matter how much he tries to ignore it.
It’s stupid. It’s literally the dumbest thing ever. His fingers twitch. He shifts slightly, like he’s just getting comfortable, and casually flips his phone over.
Maybe if he satisfies his curiosity, this weird feeling will go away. Yeah, that’s what this is. He’s just curious about how people perceive his best friend. He has an inside view of what Noctis’ daily life is like, and Prompto wants to know what others think of him.
The screen lights up instantly. Noctis doesn’t react. Doesn’t even glance over, half asleep, sprawled across his lap like a cat.
Good.
Prompto hesitates for half a second, but he opens it and watches as the page loads back exactly where he left it.
Eos’ Own Library.
That same story is still sitting at the top of the screen. Crown of Midnight.
Prompto stares at it. He doesn’t know why—he already read the summary. He already knows it’s ridiculous and how over-the-top it feels. How unrealistic all of this is, even just from the fact that Noctis is nowhere near ready to take up the mantle of a king.
Plus, Noctis isn’t like that. He knows that. He knows that. Well, he’s never seen him in bed—obviously, why would he ever want to see his best friend naked—but he imagines Noctis probably blushes at the sight of an ankle.
And yet, his thumb hovers over the link. What are these tags? What is everything here even? Is this what the story contains? What does any of this mean?
“…What’re you doing?” Noctis mumbles, voice slightly muffled from where his face is pressed against Prompto’s thigh.
Prompto jolts, nearly dropping his phone. “Nothing!”
Noctis cracks one eye open, looking up at him, his face contorted into a disbelieving expression. Although he doesn’t seem interested enough to pry.
Prompto forces a grin. “Just—uh. Checking something.”
Noctis studies him for a second, then shrugs, closing his eye again. “Mm.”
And just like that, he’s back to not caring. Prompto exhales quietly.
Okay. Cool. Normal. Everything is normal.
It’s not like he’s trying to read a story about his best friend and how mysterious he is. Obviously not. He’s doing this so he can read a few paragraphs and get a good laugh out of it, and then show Noctis so they can both topple over from laughing.
He looks back at his phone. The summary is still there.
When he looks at you, it feels like being chosen by something dangerous.
Prompto’s stomach does something weird. He frowns. That’s so dramatic, he thinks. More than it ought to be, because he distinctly remembers Noctis being dared to use chopsticks with his non-dominant hand (courtesy of Gladio) and failing miserably as he helplessly watched noodles fall directly into his lap. And he can’t imagine that Noctis being dangerous.
Prompto swallows. His thumb moves before he can really think about it.
He clicks and watches as the page shifts—a wall of text now facing Prompto. He sighs, shrugs, and dives in, but not before looking at all the weird buttons at the top, pressing some of them. Oh well, it is what it is.
This is definitely something he’s going to be laughing about in just a few minutes.
The closing of the doors behind you seems a bit too final to be considered silent.
The Citadel after dark is not as it should have been; not the impressive structure of the day, full of life and activity, but quiet in its own peculiar way. Dark but not shadowy—every move of yours making a distinct noise, every light source casting long shadows around the dark floor.
It’s a moment of hesitation. A single breath.
“Stay.”
The word comes low but carries enough power to halt your feet immediately. You barely notice him coming closer. In one instance, you are alone. The next, he is already here, the magic faintly thumps with each step he takes.
Resting his back against one of the pillars, as if the darkness itself gave way for Noctis to stand there. Half-hidden by the surrounding darkness, his eyes—oh, those beautiful blue eyes lock onto you immediately.
You swallow. “Your Majesty,” you say softly, bowing slightly to him. You feel you should, regardless of how unsure the title sounds when escaping your lips. And yet, he does not address you with any other name.
He doesn’t move, either. Not right away, at least. There is a long, stretched-out moment where nothing happens at all.
But still, everything seems to be happening at once. Because King Noctis is staring at you, not in any usual sense—the politeness and detachment of the public have long been lost and left behind when the door shut on both of you.
He simply stares at you, as if he’s just observing the fact of your presence within the Citadel walls. No. This is not right. He shouldn’t be looking at you like this, not in any sense that matters.
His eyes hold, his gaze so intense that it has you squirming where you stand. You feel as if he were dismantling you bit by bit and rebuilding you into something new—so unsure which version of you he liked better.
“You came,” he tells you at last. It isn’t a question.
You nod despite yourself. “I have been called here.”
There is silence for a moment, and then there is movement. The sound of his footsteps on the ground is quiet and deliberate, heavy dress shoes as dark as the three am night swallowing the floor beneath them.
Only when you notice the shift in shadow do you realize how far he has advanced towards you. He stands in front of you. Near enough that you can feel the line of his brow. See the slight parting of his mouth, as if he were going to speak again.
Close enough that you have to tilt your head just slightly to meet his gaze.
“That wasn’t what I asked,” he murmurs.
Your breath catches. You don’t know why, and suddenly you feel your whole body shudder under the feeling of his breath fanning your flawless skin. It’s more than you can take; the feeling of something stirring in your stomach is like a bucket of ice water poured on top of your head.
What is even happening? Prompto wonders. Did he accidentally click the wrong chapter? Did he land in the middle of the story?
Checking the top of the page, he realizes, yes, while fiddling with the buttons on the top, he pressed the link to the sixteenth chapter. Well. Too late to start from the beginning now.
“I—” You hesitate. “Then… what were you asking?”
Another pause. He studies you again, quieter this time. Closer. If he took one more step, there would be no space left between you. The thought settles somewhere deep in your chest, warm and uneasy all at once. Because you shouldn’t want this, you shouldn’t want the untouchable king that stands before you. And the worst of all, he shouldn’t want you either.
“You came,” he repeats, softer now. “Even knowing it was me.”
There’s something in the way he says it. Something careful, like the answer matters more than it should.
“I didn’t think I had a choice,” you admit.
For a second, something flickers across his face. Not quite disappointment or amusement, but a sort of something in between.
“You always have a choice,” he says.
“Not with a king.”
The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Silence follows. You expect Noctis to correct you. To remind you of protocol, of distance, of the line you’ve just stepped dangerously close to crossing. He doesn’t; he only steps closer. This time, you feel it. The shift in the air. The narrowing of space. The way your back straightens instinctively, like your body knows something you don’t.
“Careful,” he murmurs, but there’s no real warning in it.
It sounds almost like a challenge.
Your pulse stutters. You should step back. You don’t.
Neither does he.
The silence stretches again, thicker now, filled with something you can’t quite name but feel all the same—low and simmering beneath the surface of your stomach, filling it with feelings you know but don’t want.
“You’re not afraid,” he says after a moment. It’s not a question. Again. Everything he says seems to be as if he’s sure of everything you are.
You let out a small breath, steadying yourself. “Should I be?”
That makes something shift––so subtle, but it’s completely undeniable. His gaze darkens, just slightly, something heavy flickering there, quick and gone, but not fast enough for you to miss it.
“Most people are,” he says.
“I’m not most people.”
You should be. But walking around the Citadel walls for years now has made you immune to it. Another step. You feel it this time, properly. The closeness. The heat of him. It’s not overwhelming. Not forceful, but it’s enough to make your thoughts blur at the edges.
“Clearly,” Noctis murmurs.
And then, his hand lifts, the knuckles barely caressing the tender skin of your cheek, the faint touch giving you time to stop him, if you wish to do so. But you don’t, because there has been nothing in this world worth the same price as a king who dares not to touch you fully.
The fingers hover, just barely there, enough to feel their presence near your jaw, like he’s mapping the space without crossing it. Your breath hitches anyway, because the absence of contact feels just as real as if he had already closed the distance.
“You don’t understand what you walked into,” Noctis says quietly.
Your throat feels dry. “Then explain it to me.”
For a moment, he just looks at you. Really looks, his dark blue eyes—
Prompto narrows his eyes, his face scrunched up. He looks down at Noctis, who seems to be watching the TV again instead of sleeping. He’s almost a hundred percent sure that his best friend has light blue eyes. Do these people even do research on important topics before writing such nonsense?
“Hey, Noct?”
The prince turns his head around to look at Prompto. Prompto puts his phone away and grabs Noctis by his jaw, leaning forward.
“Prom—Prompto,” Noctis almost cries, his voice stuttering as Prompto brushes his unruly hair from his forehead, staring directly into those wide, light blue eyes that look almost shocked by the touch. There’s a faint blush playing on Noctis’ cheeks that Prompto ignores.
“That’s what I thought.”
With that, he lets go of Noctis’ face and grabs his phone again, unlocking it to start up the story again, ignoring Noctis’ questioning light blue eyes on him. His friend slowly turns away towards the TV once more after a moment, exhaling a deep, shaky breath.
His fingers finally brush against your skin, so light and barely there, but it sends an electric feeling down your spine all the same.
“You were summoned,” he says, voice lower now. “Because I wanted you here.”
Your breath stutters. That is not how this is supposed to go. That is not how kings speak. Not how they look at you. Not like this.
“And now that I am?” you manage. His thumb shifts slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up to make sure you’re looking at him.
“Now,” he says softly, “you tell me if that was a mistake.”
Your pulse is loud in your ears. Too loud. Everything feels too close, too hot, too—“You’re asking me?” you whisper.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m giving you a choice.”
It doesn’t feel like one. Not with the way he’s looking at you, not with the way his hand hasn’t moved, not with the way the air between you feels like it might snap if either of you breathes too hard.
You should say yes. You should step back. You should leave.
“…No,” you say.
The word barely makes it past your lips, but he hears it. Something in his expression shifts again—subtle, but real. And you realize that you’re in much more trouble than you first realized.
“Good,” Noctis murmurs.
And this time, when his hand moves, it’s not hesitant anymore. He grasps your cheek, his grip firm yet gentle all the same, his breath fanning your skin as he leans down. There’s arousal stirring in your stomach, and you know how this night is going to end with the way he wraps his arm around you possessively.
You realize that you don’t even mind. Not when he holds you so tenderly, like nobody has ever done before, not when he presses his lips against yours—
Prompto yelps, knocking Noctis’ head off his lap as he throws the phone across the room.