#fate ayaka

Ayaka had discovered, over the course of traveling with Richard, that being the Master of a heroic spirit came with a great many surprises.

Some were large, terrifying, and life-threatening - like the fact that the Holy Grail War seemed determined to chew up every ordinary rule of reality and spit it back out in pieces. Some were smaller, stranger, and somehow even more difficult to process. For example, Richard the Lionheart was terrible at sitting still while being treated.

“Please hold still,” Ayaka said for what had to be the fifth time. “I assure you Ayaka, I am holding quite still.” “You are not.” Richard stood in the center of the motel room, one arm lifted so Ayaka could finish wrapping the bandage around his torso- or, at least, that was the idea.

In practice, he kept shifting just enough to make her job harder - turning to check on the window, glancing toward the door, or smiling down at her at the exact moment she was trying to pull the bandage smooth.

He had already apologized twice for bleeding on the sheet she’d sacrificed to tear into strips. He had also tried three times to insist that his wounds were “nothing worth troubling one’s gentle hands over”. Ayaka had ignored that every single time.

“They looked deeper ten minutes ago,” she muttered, concentrating on the cloth, “and stop talking like you’re in a medieval play.” Richard placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “You wound me, Master. This is my normal speech.” “Yes, I know,” she said dryly. That only made him beam more brightly. It was ridiculous, really. He was ridiculous.

Even slightly injured, with his shirt off and faint scrapes crossing his side and ribs, he looked far too composed. Too heroic. Too polished. Like the concept of “gallant knight” had been dragged out of a storybook and dropped into a cheap modern room. Ayaka looped the bandage around him again, stepping closer to reach.

The blonde inhaled sharply when the cloth brushed over a bruised patch on his side. “Sorry,” she said at once, gentling her touch. “No, no, you needn’t apologize.” His voice softened. “I am grateful.” That made her hesitate for just a second. There were moments with Richard like that - small, sincere, and disarming enough to make it difficult to stay annoyed at him.

Then her fingers slipped. It was barely anything, just the pads of two fingers skimming the side of his ribs as she adjusted the bandage. Richard jerked. Not much, just enough that the movement was unmistakable. Ayaka blinked. Richard blinked back. The silence lasted one heartbeat too long. “…Did I hurt you?” Ayaka asked, looking at him with a worried gaze.

“No.” “You moved.” “A reflex, perhaps.” Ayaka narrowed her eyes. Richard smiled with suspicious innocence. That, more than anything, made her suspicious. Very slowly, she reached out again - this time not for the bandage, but for the exact spot her fingers had brushed earlier. Richard seemed to realize what was about to happen half a second too late.

“Ayaka, wait-” She poked his side and Richard made a sound that did not belong to a fearless king. It was short, startled, and embarrassingly close to a laugh. The sudden, unfamiliar sound from his lips made Ayaka froze. Then her eyes widened and, despite herself, a grin tugged at her mouth.

“No way,” she whispered more to herself. Richard straightened immediately, summoning every scrap of noble composure he possessed. “I do not know what conclusion you have leapt to, but I assure you- hnGh!” Ayaka poked him again. This time his shoulders twitched, and a restrained, helpless huff of laughter slipped out. She stared up at him.

Richard looked away with the doomed dignity of a man who knew the battle had already been lost. “…You’re ticklish,” Ayaka said, sounding stunned. Richard cleared his throat. “I would prefer the term ‘overly responsive to unexpected touch’.”

“That means ticklish.” “It means,” Richard said, doing his best to look princely while the tips of his ears turned pink, “that I remain a man of acute reflexes.” So, he has a side like this as well. Ayaka laughed.

It wasn’t loud, but it was genuine and Richard found, to his dismay, that this was somehow more dangerous than the discovery itself. Her expression brightened in a way he did not often see, the shadows of worry easing from her face. “Saber,” she said, almost delighted, “you’re actually trying to talk your way out of being ticklish.”

“I am not trying to talk my way out of anything.” Ayaka’s smile turned mischievous and she wiggled her fingers against his side. Richard broke - not entirely. He was still too knightly and self-aware to dissolve at once, but laughter spilled from him in a bright, startled burst as he recoiled, one hand dropping instinctively to catch her wrist. “AHayaka! Pfft- noHOhoho!”

“You are!” “A knight may possess weaknesses and yet remain a knight,” he said, managing to keep his tone lofty despite the laugh caught in it. Ayaka raised a brow. “So you admit it?” Richard hesitated. Ayaka used that pause to squeeze lightly at his side. “WaHah!” He jolted again, laughter slipping freer this time.

“ThaHAht is a teHehrribly u-uHunderhanded t-t-taHactic.” “You say that like I’m fighting fair.” “My Master,” Richard said with pained nobility, “has become a tyrant.” Ayaka was laughing now, and that warmth in the room made something in Richard’s chest loosen.

For all the strangeness surrounding their circumstances, for all the danger shadowing them, this moment felt almost peaceful. Then Ayaka, emboldened by success, pressed both hands to his sides and scribbled her fingers lightly over his ribs. “AHhAhahah s-stoHohop! Ayaka ihiHit really tiHickles!” Richard laughed outright.

It was rich and bright and entirely too open, the kind of laughter that made his eyes crease at the corners even while he clearly tried to hold onto some remnant of elegance. He stepped back, but only one step; whether out of restraint or because he did not truly wish to escape, Ayaka couldn’t tell.

“You truly mean to press this advantage?” he asked, smiling despite his blush. “You’re always teasing me,” she pointed out, “consider this balance.” “Balance?” the other echoed, as if the word itself had offended his sense of honorable combat. Ayaka advanced another half-step and poked at his other side. He sucked in a breath and laughed again, twisting at the waist.

“Oh, wow,” she murmured, “both sides.” “Ayaka.” “And here too?” She dared a quick little scribble higher up, just under his arm. “MHmhm~” Richard startled so hard he nearly lost his footing. A sharper laugh escaped him, and one hand flew down to block hers at last. “That,” he informed her with heroic gravity, “is entirely unchivalrous.” Ayaka almost doubled over.

“You’re saying ‘unchivalrous’ while laughing!” “A knight,” Richard said, gently but firmly trying to guide her hands away from his ribs, “is permitted to preserve his honor.” “Your honor is fine.” “My composure, then.” “That might be gone,” she chuckled.

He gave her a look of exaggerated betrayal, then laughed again when she darted in with another poke. The sound was softer this time, less startled and more helplessly amused, and Ayaka found herself grinning far too much for someone who, an hour earlier, had been worried sick over his injuries.

There was something oddly endearing about it - Richard trying so hard to remain regal while every accidental brush of her fingers made him twitch and laugh. He kept straightening his shoulders, lifting his chin, speaking in that polished, princely cadence of his… only for his voice to crack the moment she found the right spot again.

“Do noHot misunderstand,” he said, drawing himself up, “thihis changes n-noHothing about my ability to protect- aHA!” Ayaka had slipped free of his hand and squeezed his side again. “…your dignity?” she supplied. “My dignity is intact,” he said at once, pouting a bit. She poked him and he laughed. Adorable. “It’s hanging on by a thread,” she corrected.

Richard exhaled, half-laughing, half-sighing. “I had hoped to maintain at least a little chivalrous.” Ayaka’s expression softened at that. She lowered her hands, the teasing easing into something gentler. “You still have plenty,” she said. The blonde blinked at that. She looked faintly embarrassed now, as if she had not meant to sound so sincere.

“I mean… one ticklish spot doesn’t erase the whole knight thing.” “Only one?” Richard asked, unable to resist. Ayaka’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get cocky.” He smiled - warm, crooked, a little breathless from laughing. “Too late.” She rolled her eyes, but the fondness was plain.

For a moment they simply stood there: The bandage half-tied, Richard flushed and slightly rumpled, Ayaka still close enough that he could feel the warmth of her hands lingering against his skin. Then Richard coughed softly and glanced aside. “If I may ask one boon of my Master…” Ayaka tilted her head. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck with uncharacteristic awkwardness. The blush had not entirely left his face. “Would you keep this discovery between us?” That caught her off guard. “You’re serious?” “If word were to spread that I could be rendered ridiculous by a few well-placed fingers…” he sighed with theatrical despair, “I fear my legend would never recover.”

Ayaka let out a quiet chuckle. When she looked at him, though, there was nothing mocking in it, only warmth. “You’re still cool and strong,” she said, “even if you’re ticklish~” Richard put a hand to his chest again. “I choose to focus on the first two.” “I’ll keep it secret,” she promised. Relieve flickered over his face.