#byulsa

The low hum of the train as it whirred it's way down the winding tracks had begun to eat away at Noctis; battered   &&   bruised from their prior scuffles, throat hoarse / raw from shouting   &&  the exhaustion seeping in slowly... With all of it combined, the buzzing    &&   faint sway was nauseating, leaving a thick feeling of sickness in it’s wake; he was barely holding it together.

With nowhere else to turn   &&   no energy left ( IT EATS AWAY AT HIM, PIECE BY PIECE )  he had sequestered himself unto the small room provided to the five of them,  a bed apiece, hunched over with his elbows on his knees   &&    head in his hands. He’s faintly aware of her presence when the door slides open and the bed springs opposite him creak just a little too harshly, but he takes his time in looking up, makes a slow show of it / swiping his hands down his face, forcing on a smile.

He rolls to his side, closing any distance between them. Arms reach out and limbs tangle together as perfect and incoherent as the constellations above their heads. Prompto holds the woman close against his chest and rests his head along her hip. Tilting his chin back, the sharp shooter squints and tries to make out the silly patterns of stars she’s rapid firing names for. It’s futile for all he sees is magic bleeding through the air and into the sky over them. 

He knows she’d laugh at him for saying it; but he’s sure his love for her alone hung those stars in the atmosphere.

@byulsa​:   tifa pats the seat next to her, motioning for zack to take a seat. "come over here, i'll check how your eye is doing ok? it's about time we change the bandage."

       ‘  is it that time already?  ’   they try their best to avoid looking in the mirror as much as he could,  using it only when he has to.  it’s. . .  grown into a bad habit.  no one has to know why there’s one strand of hair out of place or why there’s very faint dark circles forming under his eye.  ah well;  who cares about that?  they brush it off,  smiling wide as he sits next to her perked up and waiting.   ‘  it’s starting to hurt less.  it’s like i don’t notice it some days.  ’   which is good news,  fingers fidgeting with the rested medical supplies at their side.  even though several people like to make comments on his appearance,  apologizing and saying how terrible shinra is to do something like that.  he hates it,  always brushing it off.  rather not be reminded but it was meant to do something great.  he saved his friend and they continued to live;  so that was enough. . .  right?

@byulsa​: ❝ Keep everyone safe for me, okay..? ❞ u_u don't @ me / ☆ Sentence Starters ☆ Dying accepting? sure.

You deserve this, you know. Something he told himself as he stared out the window, watching the hills roll by as his guard closest friend terrorized him with a lecture that had rolled on for miles. A quiet sigh fell from pale lips, fogging the already clouded glass as thin fingers rose to hold the nobility of his chin proudly, the crook of a delicate elbow falling against the edge of the car door. Just how long would Tifa keep him captive here? Surely they were lost - it couldn’t have taken this long to get to their destination the first time. Then again, he wasn’t being chewed out the first time. 

❝ Tefes I wasn’t in any real danger Noc —— the Princess is harmless, really. ❞ He catches himself just in time as he nearly lets his new friend’s secret flow through the waterful of his lips and puddle on the seat beside him. Turning, he leans against Tifa’s shoulder - it was a rare bond he could not share with any other in his life. Lifting his phone, the prince snaps a quick photo of them both as though this was the perfect time and she wasn’t already livid with him. As much as he adored her, Prompt’s hardly regretted what he did. He always tried to be the model Prince and had always done as he was told. Sneaking out tonight was the most fun he’s had in longer than he can remember outside of the rare times he found himself alone with her.  

Jessie Rasberry & Tifa Lockhart ( @byulsa​ )

Send me ☾ for an aesthetic board of our muses relationship. | always accepting

When she is happy, she will dance with you in the kitchen until sunrise, and her mouth will find places you never even knew existed. She will laugh like the secrets of the world are hers for the taking and no words of yours will ever feel adequate. ❝ Tell me you love me, ❞  she begs. ❝ Tell me you want to stay here, with me, forever. ❞ 

 She will wrap her legs around your waist and pull you closer, close enough to forget the last love and the love before that.  ❝ Okay, ❞ you murmur. And it’ll be as much an agreement, as it is a plea for her to slow down. But when she is happy she is not slow. Her hands will find your hands, your hair, your neck, your chest. They will graze the skin until you feel nothing but blood coursing through you like the ocean waves.  ❝ Tell me you love me, ❞ she repeats.  

She will wrap her legs around your waist and pull you closer, close enough to forget the last girl and the girl before that.  ❝ Okay, ❞ you murmur. And it’ll be as much an agreement, as it is a plea for her to slow down. But when she is happy she is not slow. Her hands will find your hands, your hair, your neck, your chest. They will graze the skin until you feel nothing but blood coursing through you like the ocean waves.  ❝ Tell me you love me, ❞ she repeats.  

@byulsa​   :    🌸 Put a flower in my muse’s hair

nonverbal rp starters / accepting 

He wasn’t sure what sort of response he’d expected when he’d brought her flowers; cherry flowers wrapped in craft paper    /   the stems tied messily in string,    &&   though she needn’t know cut precise with the edge of his sword  (  because he wouldn’t be NOCTIS if he didn’t do something unnecessarily dangerous while trying to be, just, normal  )  offered to her with a SHEEPISH smile,  nervous, biting at the insides of his lips ‘til the skin went sensitive   /   raw.

BUT THEY WATCH HER take a bloom from the bunch: the shorter stem  (  cut a little too excitedly, one could think, a little too close to the flower; perhaps the first he’d tried to pluck from the fields  )  had it sticking out from the rest   &&   it’s colour was a darker pink,  its leaves all but severed,   &&   she held it to her nose, smile soft, making their heart flutter madly in their chest. It drummed it’s out-of-tune beat into his sternum, driving his gaze to flutter away. 

“Do you...”

Like them? But the latter half of his sentence dies on his tongue when she reaches up, tucking singed strands behind his ear   /   pinning them there with the stem, it’s petals pressed into his temples,   &&   the reaction is almost immediate; a flush of pink   (  not unlike the flower  )   shoots it’s way up their neck, crawling up their cheeks, their ears   /   mouth open to stutter wildly as his feet take a step back    —   how did she always turn these things around on him?!