luciii…. 😳😳 can u do noctis x fem reader fanfic
౨ৎ 𓈒 whatever, I’ll be right by your side . .
𓌔𓌔 𝐍octis . 𝐥ucis . 𝓒aelum !!
cw info𓈒⠀ formal ✷ !fempov — ⋆ noctis lucis caelum ⋆ !same age reader ⋆ smut ⋆ 5674 words ⋆ long fic ⋆ prince x princess ⋆ Ball ⋆ pounding ⋆ nsfw ⋆ ffxv ⋆ third person pov ⋆ chocobro's as wing men ⋆ reader has brothers ⋆ no use of y/n ⋆ non established ⋆ prn &. plot ? .ᐟ (＞。☆)
୨୧ song lyrics ╭╯ Donk — Beyoncé !
disclaimer & an𓈒 gulps.. took me a week to finish this sowwy ari...!!! i did my best ok no hitting me.. ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀) english isn’t my native language, there are probably spelling mistakes or sentences that don't make sense weep.. .ᐟ
The Citadel’s grand ballroom shimmered like a living constellation. Crystal chandeliers floated overhead, their light refracting through the ancient Lucian magic embedded in every facet, casting shifting patterns of blue and gold across marble floors and silk gowns. King Regis had summoned every allied court to Insomnia for one purpose—to remind the world that Lucis still stood, even as Niflheim’s shadow lengthened.
The princess of Valora arrived with her three brothers like a small, formidable fleet. Prince Aldric the eldest, broad as a shield wall walked at her right, hand never far from the hilt of the greatsword strapped across his back. Prince Ronan as the middle, sharp tongued and sharper eyed flanked your left, already scanning faces for threats disguised as compliments. Prince Caelan your youngest brother, still growing into his height trailed half a step behind, scowling at anyone who looked too long.
“Smile, little sister,” Ronan murmured, voice low enough that only they heard. “You look like you’re planning a coup.”
“I am planning how to survive small talk,” she answered, lips curving politely for the sake of appearances.
Across the room, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum leaned against a pillar, arms folded, expression somewhere between boredom and mild dread. Gladiolus Amicitia loomed beside him like a friendly mountain. Ignis Scientia adjusted his glasses with the precision of a man calculating escape routes. Prompto Argentum bounced on his toes, camera already raised.
“Noct, you gotta ATLEAST pretend you’re having fun,” Prompto pleaded.
“I am pretending,” Noctis muttered.
Then the music swelled into a waltz, and the crowd parted just enough for their eyes to meet.
She had been dancing with a minor lord from blahblahblah... she didn't even remember. polite, forgettable when she glanced toward the edge of the floor and saw him. Dark hair, tired eyes, the kind of stillness that made the rest of the room feel loud. He straightened, almost startled, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to notice him watching.
The lord released her hand to accept a drink. She slipped away before he could reclaim it, heading for the open balcony doors and the cool night air. Noctis followed without thinking. The balcony overlooked the glowing heart of Insomnia, the Crystal’s light painting the towers in soft silver. She rested her hands on the stone railing, breathing in the scent of night-blooming jasmine.
“Escaping too?” he asked from the doorway.
She turned. “Your Highness.”
“Noctis,” he corrected, stepping closer. “Just Noctis, if that’s okay.”
She smiled, small and real. “Then you may call me whatever you like, as long as it isn’t ‘Your Highness’ for the next ten minutes.”
They talked halting at first, then easier. About the stars (she told him Valora’s night sky was so clear you could see the Milky Road like a river of diamonds). About fishing (he lit up when she mentioned the crystal clear rivers of her homeland where the fish fought like warriors). He laughed when she admitted she’d once fallen into one of those rivers trying to land a kingfish twice her size.
The music inside changed again. He offered his hand.
Inside, the floor cleared around them without either noticing. His hand settled at her waist; hers rested lightly on his shoulder. They moved like they’d practiced for years, though neither had expected this. The sapphire of her gown brushed his black jacket; the silver constellations on her bodice caught the light every time he turned her.
your brothers watched from the sidelines.
Aldric’s jaw tightened. “He’s holding her too close.”
Ronan smirked. “He’s holding her exactly the right amount for a waltz, big brother. Relax before you snap a tooth.”
Caelan cracked his knuckles. “If he steps on her dress, I’m throwing him off the balcony.”
Meanwhile, the Chocobros had noticed too.
Prompto’s camera clicked rapidly. “Dude. Noct is smiling. Actual smiling. We have to document this.”
Ignis’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “The princess of Valora. A kingdom rich in arcane crystals and coastal defenses. Politically… advantageous.”
Gladio folded his arms, grinning. “Or he just likes her. Look at his face. That’s not politics, Iggy.”
the dance ended. They stood close for a heartbeat longer than necessary, foreheads nearly touching, before the world rushed back in.
as the waltz ended in a slow, reluctant hush.
The final note lingered in the air like a held breath. Their steps stilled, but neither moved to step apart. Noctis’s hand remained warm at the small of her back; hers stayed curled lightly against his chest, feeling the steady, slightly too-fast rhythm of his heart beneath the crisp black fabric. The ballroom lights caught in the silver threads of her gown and turned them into tiny stars that seemed to pulse with every shared inhale.
For one suspended heartbeat, the rest of the world diplomats, courtiers, her brothers, his friends faded to distant noise.
For one suspended heartbeat, the rest of the world diplomats, courtiers, her brothers, his friends faded to distant noise.
A soft orchestral flourish announced the transition to the next set. Couples began to reform on the floor. A servant appeared at the edge of their little bubble with a polite bow, holding a silver tray bearing two crystal flutes of sparkling wine.
Noctis released her waist first, but only just. His fingers slid down her arm as he stepped back, reluctant to let the contact break entirely.
She felt the loss of his warmth like a door closing against winter wind.
“I—” he started, then stopped, as though every rehearsed royal phrase suddenly tasted wrong. “I don’t want this to be the last time we speak tonight.”
She smiled small, private, the same one she’d given him on the balcony earlier. “It won’t be.”
But before either of them could say more, Aldric’s deep voice cut through the murmur of the crowd.
He stood only a few paces away, arms folded, expression carefully neutral. Ronan lounged beside him, smirking like he’d already memorized every word Noctis had whispered during the dance. Caelan hovered behind them, eyes narrowed, one hand resting on the pommel of his dagger as though the mere act of standing too close to the Lucian prince was a personal offense.
She sighed soft, resigned and let her hand fall from Noctis’s chest.
“Duty calls,” she murmured.
Noctis’s jaw tightened, but he nodded once. “I’ll find you again.”
She gave him one last look long enough to sear the memory of his face into her mind then turned. Her brothers closed ranks around her like a living shield wall as they escorted her toward the far side of the ballroom, where Valora’s ambassador was waiting with a small knot of courtiers eager to discuss trade concessions and border wards.
The sapphire of her gown disappeared into the sea of color and light, but he could still see the way her head tilted when Ronan murmured something teasing in her ear, the way her shoulders relaxed just a fraction when Aldric laid a protective hand at her back. Even from across the room he could tell when she laughed quiet, barely audible, but real.
He didn’t realize he was still staring until Gladio’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
“Easy, princess,” Gladio rumbled, amusement thick in his voice. “You’re gonna burn a hole through the back of her head.”
Noctis blinked, shook himself. “Shut up.”
Prompto was already beside him, camera in hand, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Dude. That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen in real life. You two were basically glowing.”
Ignis adjusted his glasses. “A statistically improbable level of chemistry for a first dance, I’ll grant you.”
Noctis shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re all the worst.”
The next morning found him in the training courtyard behind the Citadel.
Sunlight poured down through the high glass ceiling, turning the polished stone floor into a shallow pool of gold. Noctis stood in the center of the sparring circle, wooden practice sword loose in his grip, shirt already clinging to his back with sweat.
Gladio circled him slowly, shield raised, waiting for the next move.
Noctis lunged too slow, too distracted.
Gladio blocked without effort and countered with a sweeping strike that Noctis barely warped out of.
“Again,” Gladio said, resetting his stance. “Focus.”
Noctis reset too, but his eyes weren’t on Gladio.
They were on nothing at all.
He kept seeing sapphire silk. The way it had moved against his legs when they turned. The heat of her palm against his. The soft exhale she’d let out when he pulled her a fraction closer than the waltz strictly required. The way her lips had curved when she’d said his name not “Your Highness,” just Noctis like it was a secret she was happy to keep.
He swung again. Sloppy. Gladio knocked the sword clean out of his hand and sent it skittering across the stone.
“Seriously?” Gladio lowered the shield, eyebrows raised. “You’re daydreaming in the middle of a fight. That’s a good way to lose a head.”
Noctis dragged a hand through damp hair. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re mooning.”
“You’re mooning so hard I can practically see little hearts floating over your head.”
From the sidelines, Prompto cackled. He was sitting cross-legged on one of the stone benches, scrolling through last night’s photos on his camera. “He’s got it bad. Look at this! one look at his face when she smiled at him. I’ve never seen Noct look at anything like that. Not even Cup Noodles.”
Ignis, standing nearby with arms folded, didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “If I may observe, the princess of Valora appears to have made quite the impression.”
Noctis shot him a glare. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side,” Ignis said mildly. “Which is why I’m pointing out that you’ve been staring into the middle distance for the past forty minutes instead of training. If Niflheim attacks tomorrow, you’ll be too busy remembering how her gown caught the light to block a blade.”
Noctis exhaled through his nose. “I get it.”
“Do you?” Gladio asked, voice softer now. “Because if you actually want a shot at seeing her again, you can’t afford to be this distracted. Not with everything that’s coming.”
Noctis looked down at the practice sword lying a few feet away. Then up at the high windows, where the sky was a hard, endless blue.
It was stupid. They’d spoken for what? An hour total? Maybe less. One dance. One conversation on a balcony. And yet the absence of her felt like someone had carved out a piece of him and walked away with it.
He missed the way she’d teased him about his fishing stories. Missed the quiet strength in her eyes when she spoke about Valora’s crystal groves. Missed the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t just the Crown Prince like he was allowed to be nervous, allowed to be human.
He bent, picked up the sword, rolled his shoulders.
This time when Gladio came at him, he actually parried.
But even as steel met steel, his mind was still half a world away back on that balcony, back in that dance, back in the moment when she’d looked at him like maybe, just maybe, the rest of their lives could start right then.
He didn’t know when he’d see her again.
Because some things some people were worth warping across entire kingdoms to find.
And she was already one of them.
meanwhile the carriage ride back to the Valoran embassy in Insomnia was silent for approximately thirty seven seconds.
Then Ronan opened his mouth.
“So,” he drawled, stretching the word like taffy, “that was… a dance. A very long dance. With the Crown Prince of Lucis. The one who looks like he’s allergic to eye contact with anyone who isn’t a fish.”
She kept her gaze fixed on the city lights sliding past the window, lips pressed together to hide the smile threatening to break free. “It was a waltz, Ronan. Standard duration. You’ve seen them before.”
Aldric, seated opposite, crossed his arms so hard the leather of his jacket creaked. “He held you like you were made of glass. And then like you were made of something he wanted to keep.”
Caelan, crammed in the corner because he insisted on sitting next to her “in case of assassins,” snorted. “I counted. His hand was on her waist for the entire song. That’s claiming territory.”
She finally turned, eyebrow arched. “You counted?”
“Someone had to,” Caelan muttered. “You were too busy staring into his soul or whatever.”
The carriage rolled to a gentle stop outside the embassy gates. She gathered her skirts still shimmering faintly with residual Lucian crystal-lightand stepped out first, brothers piling out after her like overtrained guard dogs.
Inside, the private suite was all deep velvet and polished wood, the kind of luxury that made politics feel slightly less exhausting. She kicked off her heels with a sigh of pure relief, letting them clatter against the marble.
Her brothers did not take the hint to disperse.
Aldric planted himself in the doorway like a barricade. Ronan flopped dramatically onto the chaise, one leg dangling. Caelan paced like a caged coeurl.
She sighed again, longer this time. “Out with it.”
Ronan sat up, grinning wickedly. “We’re just wondering when the wedding invitations are going out. Or should we skip straight to the nursery preparations?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
Aldric’s voice dropped to the dangerous calm he used when negotiating treaties. “You danced with him once. One dance. And now you’re glowing. Glowing is step one. Step two is—”
“—pregnancy announcements,” Caelan finished helpfully. “We’ve seen how fast these things happen in stories. One look, one dance, boom royal heir on the way.”
She stared at them, incredulous. “I am not pregnant. We spoke for maybe twenty minutes total, including the part where he told me about his worst fishing fail and I laughed so hard I nearly snorted champagne.”
Ronan clutched his chest. “The horror. Snorting is basically consummation in some kingdoms.”
“Stop,” she said, but a laugh escaped anyway.
Aldric was not laughing. “You’re too young for this.”
“Exactly,” Caelan said, nodding sagely. “A child.”
“You’re nineteen!” she shot back.
“And I’m mature enough to know when my sister is being swept off her feet by a sleepy-eyed prince who probably owns twelve identical black jackets.”
She threw a cushion at him. He caught it without looking.
Ronan leaned forward, elbows on knees, suddenly serious beneath the teasing. “Look. We’re not saying he’s bad. He’s… weirdly honest. For a royal. That’s rare. But you’re our only sister. If he so much as makes you cry—”
“—we’ll politely ask him to step outside,” Aldric finished, cracking his knuckles.
“—and then we’ll bury him under the biggest crystal tree in Valora,” Caelan added cheerfully.
She rubbed her temples. “You three are impossible.”
“Protective,” Ronan corrected. “There’s a difference.”
She crossed to the balcony doors, pushing them open. Cool night air washed over her, carrying the faint hum of Insomnia’s ever-present magic. She leaned on the railing, staring out at the distant Citadel where somewhere in there Prince Noctis was probably lying awake too.
Her fingers traced the embroidery on her sleeve, the tiny silver stars she’d chosen because they reminded her of the way his eyes had caught the chandelier light when he’d smiled at her really smiled, not the polite half-curve he gave everyone else.
She wasn’t glowing. Not really.
The way he’d said her title like it was a question he already knew the answer to. The way his thumb had brushed the back of her hand when they parted, accidental and deliberate at once. The quiet promise in his voice when he’d sworn he’d find her again.
it was always quiet after midnight.
Most of the staff had long since retired. The corridors glowed faintly with embedded crystal light, soft enough that shadows still clung to corners and alcoves. Noctis had slipped out of his chambers barefoot, black sleep-shirt untucked, hair still damp from the shower he’d taken mostly to try and rinse the day out of his head.
He ended up in one of the upper solars the small, glass-walled room nobody really used except for stargazing or avoiding advisors. Tonight the sky was clear, the Milky Road a pale river of light above the city. He didn’t bother turning on any lamps. Just dropped onto the wide cushioned bench that ran along the curved window and leaned back against the cool glass.
His mind didn’t stay on the stars for long.
It slid inevitably, traitorously back to her.
The way she’d looked when they first locked eyes across the ballroom. Not just beautiful (though she was, gods, she was.), but unguarded. Like she’d seen him really seen him and hadn’t immediately looked away or started calculating what political advantage could be squeezed out of the moment. Just… curiosity. A flicker of amusement. A spark.
He closed his eyes and let the memory play in full color.
Her hand in his. Small, steady. Calluses on her fingertips he’d noticed them the second their palms met, the faint roughness of someone who actually held a weapon regularly, not just posed with one for portraits. That detail alone had done something dangerous to his pulse.
The way her gown had brushed his thighs every time they turned. The fabric was cool at first, then warmer where it pressed against him, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine and something sweeter underneath—her skin, maybe, or the oil she used on her hair. He could still feel the exact pressure of her fingers on his shoulder, light but sure, like she was anchoring herself to him as much as he was to her.
His hand had settled there like it belonged. The dip of it under his palm, the subtle flex of muscle when she moved with him. He’d kept his grip polite mostly. But there’d been that one turn where he’d pulled her a fraction closer than necessary, just enough that the front of her thigh brushed the outside of his. Just enough that he felt the heat of her through layers of silk and wool and royal restraint.
He exhaled hard through his nose.
His body remembered before his brain could catch up.
the slow drag of her breath when he’d murmured something stupid about the constellations on her bodice matching the ones above Valora. The way her lips had parted just barely when he’d said her name low enough that only she could hear it. the heat that had curled low in his gut when she’d answered, voice soft and teasing, “Careful, Noctis. You’re staring.”
In the dark of the solar, alone, he let himself imagine what he hadn’t dared to in the ballroom.
What it would feel like to slide both hands down to her hips and pull her flush against him not in a dance, but somewhere private. What sound she might make if he pressed his mouth to the side of her throat, right where her pulse had fluttered under pale skin and silver embroidery. Whether she’d gasp, or laugh that quiet laugh of hers, or fist her hands in his hair and tug until he kissed her properly deep, slow, no diplomacy, no audience, just them and the taste of want.
His hand flexed against his thigh.
He shifted, suddenly aware of how tight his sleep pants had become.
He muttered a curse under his breath and dragged both hands down his face.
Twenty minutes of conversation and a handful of stolen glances.
And his body was already staging a full mutiny.
He thought of her brothers those three looming, overprotective shadows and almost laughed. If they could see him right now, Aldric would probably unsheathe that monster of a greatsword on principle. Ronan would make a joke so filthy it’d set the drapes on fire. Caelan would just glare until Noctis spontaneously combusted from guilt.
Couldn’t stop picturing her hair coming loose from its elegant arrangement, dark waves spilling over his hands. Couldn’t stop imagining the way her breath would hitch if he slid a palm up the long line of her spine, under the open back of that gown, skin warm and smooth and his. Couldn’t stop thinking about her thighs parting for him, about the soft, needy sound she might make when he finally—
He groaned, low and frustrated, and tipped his head back against the glass.
The cold helped. A little.
He forced his eyes open, stared up at the stars until the ache dulled to something manageable. Something he could survive until morning.
But even then, the thought of her didn’t leave.
It settled deeper less frantic heat, more steady burn.
He wanted to see her again.
Not just to kiss her (though he did, badly). Not just to touch her (though the want was clawing at him). He wanted to hear her laugh at his terrible jokes again. Wanted to watch her eyes light up when she talked about her home. Wanted to stand next to her on some quiet balcony somewhere and feel like the world wasn’t quite so heavy for once.
And for the first time in a long time, the wanting didn’t feel like a weakness.
He pushed off the bench, bare feet silent on the cool floor, and headed back toward his rooms.
Tomorrow he’d train harder. He’d listen to Ignis’s lectures. He’d let Gladio hit him until he stopped daydreaming mid-swing.
But tonight he let himself keep her.
In every slow, aching inch of him that already knew exactly how she’d feel under his hands, against his mouth, wrapped around him.
He didn’t know when he’d see her again.
He wouldn’t waste a single second pretending he didn’t want her this badly.
And something told him something in the way she’d looked back at him when they parted, eyes bright and unflinching that she might just want him the same damn way. 𓈒
The second meeting came sooner than either of them expected.
It was a month after the ball. 30 days of diplomatic luncheons, border briefings, and carefully worded letters that said everything except what they actually meant.
Noctis had been restless. Training sessions ended with him warping too aggressively, leaving scorch marks on the courtyard stone. Meetings with Ignis were endured in near-silence. Even Prompto’s attempts to drag him out for photos had been met with a flat “later.”
Then the invitation arrived.
A small cream envelope, sealed with Valora’s silver crest. Hand-delivered by a courier who looked far too pleased with himself.
Formal discussions regarding arcane crystal exchange protocols. Private terrace, Citadel gardens. Sunset. Attendance limited to principals only.
No aides. No brothers. No Chocobros.
Noctis read the line about “principals only” three times before he allowed himself to breathe.
The terrace was tucked high above the city, half-hidden behind climbing moonflowers and ancient crystal-vines that glowed faintly as dusk settled. A low table had been set with wine, fruit, and nothing that required silverware or protocol. Two cushioned benches faced each other across the table, but Noctis didn’t sit.
He paced instead two steps, turn, two steps—until he heard the soft rustle of silk on stone.
She stepped through the archway wearing something simpler than the ballgown deep indigo, sleeveless, the skirt slit high enough to move freely. Her hair was down, No tiara. No guards.
And the way she smiled when she saw him small, knowing, a little nervous nearly undid him on the spot.
They didn’t bother with formalities.
They talked really talked for maybe twenty minutes. Trade routes. Crystal resonance frequencies. The way Niflheim’s magitek was starting to interfere with natural arcane flows along the western coast. Safe topics. Necessary topics.
The conversation drifted.
She asked about the first time he’d warped on purpose. He told her about the night he’d nearly impaled himself on a training dummy. She laughed head tipped back, throat exposed and Noctis felt the sound settle somewhere behind his ribs.
He set his empty glass down.
Moved to her side of the table.
She didn’t pull away when he sat beside her close enough that their thighs brushed.
“You keep looking at me like that,” she murmured.
“Like you’re trying to decide whether to apologize first or just kiss me.”
He exhaled a rough laugh. “I’ve been trying to decide that since the waltz.”
Her eyes flicked to his mouth. “And?”
He didn’t answer with words.
He leaned in slow enough she could stop him, fast enough she knew he wouldn’t.
Their lips met softly at first. Testing. A brush. A question.
She answered by sliding her hand into his hair and pulling him closer.
The kiss turned hungry in seconds.
Teeth. Tongues. The soft, desperate sound she made when he nipped her lower lip. His hands found her waist same place they’d rested during the dance and this time there was no audience, no etiquette. Just heat and want and the way she arched into his touch like she’d been waiting for it just as long.
She broke away first, breathing hard. “Not here.”
He froze, eyes dark. “Tell me where.”
She stood, took his hand, and led him through a side door he hadn’t even noticed one that opened into a narrow, private corridor used only by the royal family and trusted staff.
They barely made it inside before he had her against the wall.
Her back hit stone. His mouth found her throat. She gasped fingers tightening in his hair when he sucked a mark just below her pulse.
“Room,” she managed. “My guest suite. East wing. No one will look for us there.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “You sure?”
She kissed him again hard, claiming. “I’ve been sure since you said my name like it meant something.”
They moved fast after that. feeling like two teenagers while quietly walking down the halls
The corridors were mercifully empty. She led he followed hand locked around hers, pulse hammering. Every time they passed a torch sconce he pressed her briefly against the wall just to kiss her again, just to hear that little hitch in her breath.
The guest suite door closed behind them with a soft click.
She turned to face him in the center of the room moonlight spilling through tall windows, turning her skin silver.
He crossed the space in three strides.
This time when he kissed her it was slower. Deeper. Hands roaming down her sides, over her hips, gathering the fabric of her dress until he could feel warm skin beneath. She tugged at his jacket he shrugged it off without breaking the kiss. Her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt open with surprising speed.
Clothes fell in a careless trail from door to bed.
When they reached the mattress he lifted her effortless, reverent and laid her down among the pillows.
She pulled him over her immediately, legs wrapping around his hips, drawing him flush.
He braced himself on his forearms so he could look at her really look.
Her hair fanned across the white sheets like spilled ink. Lips swollen. Eyes glassy with want. Chest rising and falling fast.
“You’re beautiful,” he said raw, honest, no filter.
She smiled, soft and wicked, and slid her hand down his stomach, lower, until her fingers closed around him.
He groaned head dropping to her shoulder.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispered, stroking once, slow and deliberate.
That was the last coherent thing either of them said for a while.
He kissed his way down her body collarbone, breasts, stomach learning every place that made her gasp, every place that made her fingers tighten in his hair. When he settled between her thighs and put his mouth on her she arched off the bed with a broken moan.
He rose from between her thighs, lips glistening, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Her taste was still on his tongue sweet, salty, addictive and the sight of her wrecked already had him throbbing painfully against the sheets.
She was breathing in shallow pants, one hand fisted in the pillow beside her head, the other reaching for him. Her legs were still trembling, inner thighs slick from his mouth and her own release. The moonlight painted silver streaks across her stomach, her breasts, the dark peaks of her nipples still tight and flushed from earlier attention.
Noctis crawled back up her body, slow, deliberate, letting her feel every inch of him sliding against her skin. When he settled between her spread thighs again, the thick length of his cock dragged along her soaked folds hot, heavy, teasing without entering.
She whimpered, hips lifting instinctively.
“f-fuck..,” he breathed against her mouth appreciatively, voice gravel-rough. “You’re dripping.”
She hooked her ankles behind his back, pulling him closer. “Then do something about it.”
He kissed her deep, filthy, letting her taste herself on his tongue. She moaned into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders.
He reached down between them, wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, and dragged the swollen head through her folds once, twice coating himself in her wetness until he was slick and shining. Every pass over her clit made her jolt, thighs clenching around his hips.
“Tell me you want it,” he rasped, forehead pressed to hers.
Her eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide. “I want you inside me. Now. All of you.”
He notched himself at her entrance slow at first, just the head pushing past the tight ring of muscle. She gasped, head tipping back, lips parting on a silent cry. He paused there, letting her adjust, letting her feel how thick he was stretching her open.
Then he sank in another inch.
Until he was buried to the hilt, hips flush against hers, balls pressed tight to her ass.
They both groaned low, broken sounds that tangled together in the quiet room.
She was impossibly tight, hot, fluttering around him like she was trying to pull him even deeper. He could feel every ripple of her inner walls, every little aftershock from her earlier orgasm.
“Gods,” he gritted out, voice shaking if about to cry cus that pussy so good. “You feel..f-fuck so mngh..fucking good..”
She answered by rolling her hips, grinding her clit against his pubic bone. The friction made him see stars.
He pulled out almost all the way slow, deliberate watching the way her folds clung to him, slick and swollen, before thrusting back in hard.
She cried out, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks.
He set a rhythm then deep, punishing strokes that had the headboard knocking softly against the wall. Each thrust punched a moan out of her. Her breasts bounced with every snap of his hips he ducked his head to catch one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard while he fucked into her.
Her hands were everywhere gripping his hair, clawing his shoulders, sliding down to grab his ass and urge him deeper.
“ah..agg.ah-Harder..,” she gasped. “Noctis..—harder—”
He hooked one of her knees over his elbow, spreading her wider, changing the angle so he could grind against that spot inside her that made her eyes roll back. His free hand slipped between them, thumb finding her clit rubbing tight, fast circles while he pounded into her.
She shattered again almost immediately.
Her whole body locked up back arching off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream. Her cunt clamped down on him like a vice, pulsing, milking him. Wet heat gushed around his cock, soaking his thighs, the sheets.
He fucked her through it relentless drawing out every tremor, every broken whimper, until she was shaking and overstimulated and clawing at him to slow down.
He couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Gonna..fuck—gonna come,” he warned, hips stuttering.
“Inside,” she gasped, voice hoarse. “Please.. do it inside me—”
He buried himself as deep as he could go, hips locked flush against her ass, and came with a low, guttural groan. Pulse after pulse of heat flooded her, spilling deep, filling her until it leaked out around his cock and dripped down her thighs.
They stayed like that panting, trembling his chest pressed to her back, arms wrapped around her waist, cock still twitching inside her.
After long moments he softened enough to slip out. A thick trickle of cum followed white and glistening against her swollen folds.
He collapsed beside her, pulling her into his chest. She curled against him immediately, legs tangling with his, face tucked under his jaw.
They were both a mess sweat-slick, sticky, wrecked.
Neither moved to clean up.
She pressed a lazy kiss to his throat. “You’re staying.”
“Not going anywhere,” he murmured, voice still rough. His hand slid down to cup her ass possessively. “Not tonight. Maybe not ever.”
She smiled against his skin sleepy, sated, happy.
He kissed her forehead, then her mouth slow, tender, tasting salt and sex and something that felt dangerously close to forever.
Inside, two royals finally stopped pretending they could keep their hands or anything else off each other.
