Fictif Last Legacy: x reader oneshots

Rime can't help his interest in you

I'll have to stop flailing about Rime at some point before the next update!! :'> I just really loved this whole 'Rime as a potential antagonist' twist, I didn't see it coming whatsoever and I need to know more!!

tw: Rime gets a bit up-close with mc in this, not too much, but a little bit

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You shut your bedroom door, sensing something is deeply wrong even before you see Rime waiting for you. He's sitting in one of your armchairs, his posture comfortable but a familiar blithe sparkle in his eyes. Anticipation.

You instinctively raise your hands in the way you've seen Felix do when he's spellcasting, readying yourself for a fight. But no magic jumps to your fingertips in the way it has before when you're in danger, and Rime quirks an eyebrow, as if with some effort he's holding back an expression far more scathing.

"Not much of a damage dealer, mmh?" Rime asks pleasantly, the curves of his smile loose, uneasily benign. "Don't worry, neither am I."

He rises to his feet, the lamplight stretching his height into an inky shadow across the floor. He's tall, you realise, his deer-like antlers casting an unforgiving silhouette above his courteous expression. He has the sort of face that's not easy to look away from, a manner that brings up your guard. He walks toward you slowly, his hands gently raised in apology, as if to indicate he regrets startling you.

"I don't think you know me well enough to say," you murmur calmly. You've been in this world long enough not to panic when things go awry, to look for opportunities even in the dead ends. Maybe that's Felix's influence. Even as you plan your next move, you can't help thinking the necromancer would be proud.

"No," Rime agrees, his eyebrows tipping into vague remorse. "My own fault, I suppose, for having spoiled the chance to know you further. Beyond repair, so they say."

Rime's attention wanders to your hands, still raised in the air, though your initial shock is no longer wracked through your frame. Rime raises his own palm and softly presses it against yours, he gently splays his hand so his fingers line up with your own. His fingers are long and slender, you're taken aback by the realness of his touch. Rime isn't somehow composed of smoke and daggers, his palm is cool, terse in places, as if weapons have shaped his skin as much as any magic.

"Such small hands," Rime says wonderingly, as if he's been entirely distracted from his purpose for being here, fixated on the contact between you. In truth, his fingers are only marginally longer than yours, not absurdly so. He slowly pulls his hand back, then rests his palm on his chest as if giving you the beginning of a heartfelt apology, realising his intrusion may have made you uncomfortable.

"Forgive me," Rime offers. He looks rueful, but there's something simmering to needful too, so much more he hasn't yet grasped. "Please pardon my..." he hesitates, "natural curiosity about you."

The words are spoken meticulously, as if to prevent himself from saying more than he intends. His hand is shaking a little as he returns it to his side, and you think for a moment he looks cruel.

"Forgive me," Rime says again, forcing another conciliatory smile as he nods toward the door. He hasn't used any magic to seal the exit, your door remains unlocked and you can hear the distant sounds of people awake in the tower. But as Rime takes a step back from you into the light, what you notice suddenly has you frozen to the spot.

Rime's shirt, made from a translucent mesh, reveals a lurid scar that seems to splash from the centre of his chest, rippling outward toward his arms as if he were hit by lightning. It curves around the planes of his chest, twisting in darkened whorls that you could almost mistake for natural markings on his skin. You stand taking it in, the understanding of where that scar might've come from suddenly draining your sense of composure. Rime died five years ago...

You try to remain impassive.

"...am I flattering myself, by imagining you're curious about me too?" Rime asks softly, though his voice has a sting to it now, that none of his well-mannered airs seem able to restrain. He waits, his expression ever more contemptuous as you can't bring yourself to ask.

You drag your gaze away, suddenly gripped by the terrible feeling that the longer you remain with Rime, the stronger his foothold back in this world.

"Do you know why our order was called the Starsworn?" Rime offers after a moment, the strawberry-red of his eyes cool and coaxing. He nods his head toward your open window, the curtains fluttering eerily against the black of the night sky. You find yourself staring at the pinpoint, shimmering stars, a twine of constellations you haven't yet learned.

"So bright against the dark," Rime whispers, his smile nearly angelic as he meets your gaze. "The light that cuts through the shadows."

The shadows. You've heard that phrase before. Out of all the knights, Felix speaks the least of their last battle, but you're sure Sage and Anisa have both mentioned a Lord of Shadows, some long defeated enemy who claimed the last of the Starsworn.

"Is that who you're serving now? A shadow?" you mutter, a quiet harshness getting away from you too. "Because after what you've done to Felix, you sure can't call yourself a knight."

Rime's expression twitches at the mention of Felix, as if you shouldn't dare be protective of him, as if you know nothing of what you speak.

"Serving?" Rime shakes his head, then shrugs, as if you're only just beginning to guess.

You can feel Rime's stare follow you even after you shut the door, the cool of your hand where he touched you and the stars you don't understand still burning bright in the sky.