#ayato reader insert

＃ TIGHNARI !! ♡

Curious Prince Tighnari who sends you love letters tied round the neck of stout pigeons; their beaks tip-tapping ever so gently against the sunlit window you sit beneath, a novel page tucked between your fingers. It’s been little more than a few days since you last saw him in the castle garden, your skin awash in comforting moonlight, but he writes to you nonetheless in delicate, melancholic cursive. He tells you of the longing you leave deep within his chest; —of the many times his mind has drifted far away to a place you reside alongside him as he flips through books in the castle library.

You imagine he sat down to pen this in the early hours of the morning light, rolling it gently, tying it ever so gracefully with a bright red ribbon that sealed his deepest desires inside. He tells you of the nights he’s spent tossing and turning atop his silken sheets, restless and fitful as he yearns for your sobering warmth. To have you in my arms, he writes, is the sweetest dream of all. And it’s one that he can’t often have, —one that goes by much too fast when it comes around under a blue moon.

Ah, —but those nights are none too average. The flowers in his personally-maintained garden seem to glimmer in the moonlight and sway like graceful dancers in the breeze. He holds you close amongst the flora, under a sky dusted with glittering stars; ones he swears shimmer just for you. The fur of his ears, a tall, proud symbol of his nobility, tickles your cheek when you rest your chin on the crown of his head. Sometimes, you find yourself wondering if you deserve a lover with such a lavish lifestyle; —if all the discontent you fear from both sides of the tracks have valid points laced within their venom.

Your lover soothes your worries down like a cat licking at the staticy fur of its kitten. His angelic touch alights your skin as he whispers words of love and devotion into your ear until the fire inside you has been stoked to heights once thought impossible for your demeanor. 

Tighnari slips a de-thorned, ruby red rose just beneath the scarlet ribbon, sending it off to find you.

I vow to you, my darling blossom, that we will meet again before the final petal of this rose has fallen from the stem.

＃ DILUC !! ♡

Pensive Prince Diluc who knows too much and is none too thrilled about stepping into the position of King in less than a year’s time. He was once the prize of his family, the gem of his nation, —a young man everyone thought would make the perfect ruler one day. However, now that the day is fast approaching, it seems like Diluc is in a constant battle with his thoughts and often daydreams about waking up a different person; someone simpler and much less renowned.

When he lies next to you like this, Diluc feels perfectly ordinary. He’s not the soon-to-be King, nor the preppy young Prince of his glory days; —he’s simply yours. And you don’t ask of him things he cannot provide. Your lips feel like sundrops sent from heaven against his neck, peppering along the column of his throat until you capture his mouth in an ardent kiss. He hums ever so softly, a sound that resonates like royal instruments from the back of his throat.

“Y/n,” he breathes when you slowly pull away, your forehead coming down to rest against his own.

Somehow, you know the next words falling from his tongue will be apologies for things you’ve seldom concerned yourself with. His propensity for shouldering the blame of generations that came long before him is much too great a burden to bear, even for a young man of his valiant strength. Thus, you’ve vowed (in silence, of course) to shoulder that burden with him, if only from the shadows.

You’re quite used to darkness, after all. . . It’s here that he meets with you under the humble moon, stealing kisses from your supple lips. 

“Don’t,” you say softly, in a voice just above a whisper, “—there’s nothing to say sorry for.”

Ah, but you’re so wrong. He knows he should apologize for the very state of affairs as they are, as he sneaks you around like you’re some sort of criminal who swept in from a nearby kingdom to swipe his heart away. He knows he should apologize for all the times he’s passed you by without a second glance, as if you were little more than a stranger when you’d woken up in his bed the very same morning.

Diluc swallows his apology, instead whispering to you something much more profound, something akin to miraculous for such a simple lifetime.

“I love you.” 

＃ AYATO !! ♡

Dutiful Prince Ayato who falls for you so deeply between lessons and hours-long studying sessions; seeking refuge in your embrace when his eyes go bleary from the stress. The weight of the kingdom rests heavy on his shoulders, but he braves the storm with a confident smile because he knows no other way. But when his head rests in your lap like this, you like to imagine that behind his sealed eyelids, he’s found some semblance of peace away from all the pressure.

He looks so ethereal, even when signs of exhaustion plague his handsome face. 

Your hand matches the curve of his cheek, his brilliant irises coming into view as his eyes peel open to stare up at you lazily. This is the first time in far too long that he’s felt so blissful and calm, as if sinking into you is all it takes to even him out and shelter him away from all the crushing responsibilities of royalty.

Here, with you, there are no expectations that he fears he can’t live up to. There’s nothing to plan for days in advance, careful thinking plaguing every little detail lest he make even the slightest of mistakes. Instead, there’s warmth and freedom, a chance to spread his wings and fly through the late evening sky.

“Love,” he says to you, voice dripping with milk and honey, “I’ll have to walk you to your quarters soon.”

You hum in acknowledgement having known the time for such was fast approaching, yet you make no move to hurry him along. Your fingers card through his hair, prodding softly at his sensitive scalp. It dawns on Ayato then that he much prefers the gentle brush of your fingertips to the frigid graze of any crown.

“You don’t have to come along,” you tell him. “It’s not like I’ll be getting lost.”

He appreciates the joke you make less so because it’s funny and more so because it makes you smile.

Ayato comes anyway, striding through the empty halls. They stretch on for what seems like miles in his lethargic state, suppressing yawns as his heels click against the glossy hardwood. Just inside your room, one of the small spaces offered to the help of the castle, the young prince matches the curve of your cheek to the plane of his hand. He brushes his lips past your own, diluting the urge to pull you in and kiss you with enough passion that it just might sync his heartbeat to your own. 

You’d do anything to have him stay the night, but the risk is much too great. It’s better if he returns to his room, —if he keeps his distance for now. You bite your tongue as he bids you goodnight, the taste of him lingering all the same.