#final fantasy 16 fluff

[pinkkittysaw]

MY STAR

paring: clive rosfield x f!reader

summary: in a fit of restlessness one night, you come to clive’s aid

word count: 2k

content: (18+ only please!) established relationship, sex is mentioned but not in detail, a smidgen of angst, selfship coded heh heh heh um (//∇//)

a/n: was toying around with the idea of singing clive to sleep but couldn’t figure out a concept for it. the concept is so intimate and romantic to meeee :) THERE’S NO DENYING THE LOVER GIRL ALLEGATIONS!!!! i listened to this song from the soundtrack and- clive and i make sweet sexy love to this every night ummmm anyway, the song is what the title is based on ^_^ be careful looking it up on youtube though cause there are in game spoilers. the song made me bawl and continues to do so. square enix we have some words to exchange!!!!

dividers by @/saradika

It's a calm evening, a slight breeze passes through your bedroom. The stars shine brightly outside, while remnants of burning embers flicker inside the fireplace.

You and Clive are in bed, sweaty, and spent after an intense love-making session. He’s on his side, facing away from you, while you're on your back, sprawled out as far as you can next to his huge form.

The moonlight peaks through the gaps in the wall, reflecting off the love bites left on the peaks of your breasts, and if the sheet that was covering your waist was pulled any lower, a matching set of marks would be found on your inner thighs. A familiar ache lingers between them, but the feeling is a welcomed one. 

Clive isn't faring any better. A set of scratch marks line the hard muscle of his back, followed by divot marks from your nails on his shoulders and a few haphazard love bites of his own, scattered throughout his chest where you often displayed your affections.

You’re resting in a peaceful slumber before being roused awake by your lover tossing and turning in bed. He huffs, unable to find a comfortable position, settling to face you once more, admiring the peaceful expression on your face.

Though you don’t open your eyes, your voice cuts through the open air. "Can’t sleep?"

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the frown forming on his features when he speaks. "I didn’t mean to wake you," he states, bringing a hand out to caress the skin below your rib.

"It’s alright," you reassure him, turning to your side so you'd both be facing each other. Your eyes are open now, and even though you can't quite make out his expression amongst the darkness, you reach out to him anyway. "Want me to sing to you?"

The first time Clive heard you sing was in the infirmary. He'd been confined there on Tarja's authority after returning with a severe injury from one of his outings.

You had developed a close friendship at that point. After being sent on numerous assignments together, you had grown a fondness for each other, though the lines of your relationship grew blurrier each day.

It was late in the evening when you returned, the moon taking its rightful place amidst the stars. You had scurried over to the infirmary, practically begging Tarja on your hands and knees to let you see Clive after having not been able to visit during the day. She took one look at your pitiful state, and with a heavy sigh, she caved, giving you permission on the premise that you wouldn't disturb the other patients. You nodded enthusiastically in agreement before turning and opening the door to the infirmary.

A few bearers were scattered amongst the rows of beds, with Clive all the way on the other side of the room, closest to the window. You skittered across the room to his bed, taking care not to disturb the others. Kneeling by his side, you make note of his condition. He'd been heavily sedated due to the severity of his injury, fading in and out of consciousness. You couldn't tell when he was awake and when he wasn't.

Taking hold of his hand, you press his knuckles to your lips. "Please be alright," you whisper, clasping his hand in between your own. Bringing your interwoven hands to your forehead, you recite a silent prayer in hopes of his recovery. You were able to maintain some semblance of faith; he was stronger than any other man you knew after all, but seeing him here, like this, in such a fragile state, you wavered. Calling upon the gods to keep him safe from harm, to let you hear his voice once more, and for him to live another day.

You lay his hand back down on the bed once you've finished before recounting your day. "Sorry, I'm so late today," you whisper, "I was sent out early this morning for resource hunting. It was laborious and boring as always."

"I wish you were there. You always make even the blandest of assignments more tolerable," you smile down at him, both your silhouettes bathed in moonlight. "Torgal kept me company, though, so I wasn't too lonely."

The exhaustion from the day's work catches up with you, a yawn escaping you in the midst of your tale. "I guess I should get some rest then."

"I'll visit you again in the morning."

You get up to leave when Clive becomes restless in his sleep, discomfort etching itself across his face. His hand twitches around yours, tightening his grasp. You're quick to kneel beside him once more. "Shhhhh, it's alright," you murmur, "I'm right here."

Against your better judgment, you climb into bed with him, both of your bodies smushed together on the small mattress. Making sure to keep your voice low, you sang him a lullaby from your childhood, one that your mother would use to ward off bad dreams in the night. When the song ends, you decide to stay by his side and watch over him.

It's early the next day when Tarja finds you and Clive curled up together. She smirks to herself, shaking her head in amusement before starting her morning rounds.

The first time you sing him to sleep occurs shortly after you first start seeing each other.

He was fidgeting, panting, and shivering in his sleep, tossing and turning, trying to escape the terror of his dreams. You were beside him in bed, his movements disrupting your sleep. You peer over at him, checking on the commotion. Seeing his state, you reach out and caress his shoulder, shaking him slightly. It takes a while, but he finally awakens with a sharp inhale, as if he's been starved of air. He sits up wide-eyed, taking in his surroundings, sweat covering his brow as he heaves for oxygen. You reach up from your position on the bed to stroke his back delicately, the muscles continuing to rise and fall under your ministrations.

"Are you alright?" you mumble against the pillows.

He gives a short nod in response: "It was just a bad dream, nothing you need concern yourself with."

You let out a simple "hm" before opening your arms up for him to crawl into. "Come," you beckon. Despite his earlier reluctance, he does little to resist your request, all hesitance melting from his body as he falls into the comfort of your loving embrace. His head comes to rest on your shoulder, and strands of inky black hair tickle your face. Your hand strokes up and down on his shoulder while cocooned in the silence of night.

He's already dozing off when you begin singing. Your voice soft and raspy due to the sleep that's still present. He's cradled in the sea of your warm, dulcet tones, similar to the night spent in the infirmary many moons ago. 

The two of you had fallen into a little routine. Though less frequent since the two of you got together, Clive had been plagued with nightmares, sometimes so terrifying that he'd go nights without sleeping. He'd do anything to forget that dreadful night—anything to forget the look on his brother's face as he was torn apart by the dark eikon right in front of his very eyes.

His eyes flit over your form in the present, the scattered beams of moonlight illuminating your features. He feels a pang of guilt whenever he needs your comfort to sleep. The more he takes in your love, the more selfish he feels for doing so, as if allowing himself to indulge himself in the warmth you provide is somehow a sin. He cups the side of your face as his thumb strokes your cheek. "You don't have to, love."

"That wasn't what I asked, was it?" You tease, poking the tip of his nose before attempting to pull him closer. "Come, lay against me." Though he hesitates for a moment, he ultimately relents, unable to deny himself of you.

He rests his head on your breast, placing a few miscellaneous kisses on the lightly bruised skin, his hand caressing the soft flesh of your hip.

"I have a new song for you tonight,"

"Oh really?"

"Mhm, I kept this one close to my heart, but since you're so special to me, I've decided to share it with you as well."

"I'm honored," he mumbles, closing his eyes to fully rest against you.

Most of the songs you knew were ones you learned from other bearers during your time in the hideaway, save for the lullaby your mother sang to you as a young girl, but there was another song, one that always brought so much emotion out of you whenever you sang it. It was one from your home village, and you were blessed to have heard its enchanting lyrics performed by your mother before everything turned to ruin. Your home overrun by blight.

Starlight, say goodnight

Star bright, where have you fallen?

Starlight, say goodnight

Star bright, I hear you calling

Fire, a fire that filled the night

Fire that warmed-

You take his hand in yours and turn it so that his palm faces upward; Ifrit's flame set ablaze from his flesh. It's small while flickering in the breeze, illuminating you both with its warm glow. The flame is not too dissimilar to the one he's managed to set in your heart.

-and brightened my life

The flame is extinguished as you slide your hand up his forearm and into his palm, interlocking your fingers. The lingering warmth from his skin seeps into yours.

My guiding light, On high, my hearth, my beacon, and my hope

Clive flushes at this point, realizing that he's the subject of this song. He's the flame, the guiding light, the beacon of hope, and for once, the fire that's consumed him, made a home in his body, is associated with something good—with love and tenderness instead of destruction.

He lifts himself to press a tender kiss on your lips. "I love you," he whispers from above "I love you too." You meet each other's eyes, lovesick expressions on both your faces. He cups the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss. One that's more passionate than the last, pouring in all the love he has for you.

On a different night, at a different time, perhaps he'd try to argue that you were more fitting of terms like hope and guiding light, saying that you had done more for him than he'd ever be able to repay you for. Instead, he indulges himself in the softness of your lips, the gentleness of your caress, and the warmth of your skin.

He rests against you once more, fully laying himself on top of you. His back faces the ceiling as he wraps you in his embrace, protecting you as a true shield should. His cheek rests on your sternum while his eyes flutter closed.

The song picks up again after he gets comfortable, his steady breaths cascading across your skin while your hand strokes his back.

A sky of scattered tears

A thousand years apart

Should they fade, I will not be afraid of the dark

For your flame still burns inside me, deep within my heart

Showing me a new tomorrow. Never too far

And when I cannot bear the pain,

I'll look up to the sky and pray-

Tears well up in your waterline, the lyrics ultimately getting to you. You recall the night in the infirmary, holding Clive's hand, fearing for his life, praying for his safety, his health, and for the gods not to steal him away from you too soon.

Your eyes skim down to his face, noticing that he's fast asleep against you. He's relaxed and peaceful, and you're thankful, as selfish as it may be, not wanting to explain why you've suddenly become so weepy.

You whisper the final lyrics in a wobbly voice, allowing the tears to stream down your face without fear. Admiring his sleeping expression, the love you have for him swallows you whole, consuming you, knowing that he's the one who’ll hold your heart for all time.

- That though our night is over, you shall always remain

Forever my treasure

My star

[drabblesandimagines]

Prescription

Clive Rosfield x fem reader Fluffy fluff, bit of injury

“Nearly there,” Clive murmurs as you take another painful step towards the infirmary. You think the words are more for his benefit that this ordeal is nearly over. Ever the chivalrous gentleman, he’d offered to carry you multiple times, but you’d refused his offer and, being Clive, he was hardly going to go against a lady’s wishes.

You know he’s probably confused as to why you’d refuse his assistance. You’ve bested men twice your size in battle, so it can’t be that you’re worried you’ll appear weak, that if Otto, Gav or the other Cursebreakers catch sight of you being carried back to the Hideaway in his arms they’ll mollycoddle you for weeks. It’s perhaps more embarrassing than that – it’s the thought of being held in his muscular arms, against his chest that already sets your heart pounding, a flush to your cheeks… And if that’s the sort of effect the thought had on your body, you dread to think what actually being in his arms will result in.

Besides, your injuries weren’t that bad… once Clive had compressed them with bandages from his pouch and you hadn’t even been that far from the docks when it had occurred. You could make it to the boat and then up to the infirmary at the Hideaway without any need to be cradled in your crush’s arms.

Clive had compromised on you leaning against him, your arm around his waist, your fingers gripped into the laces down the side, and his arm hooked around your upper back, taking the majority of the weight off your injured leg and side. You’re just hoping if he can feel your heart pounding, he’ll think it’s the adrenaline from the fight and injury wearing off.

They were injuries you’d taken defending him, to his horror. As the two of you had walked back down the slope towards the small dock where Obolus was waiting in his skiff, a lone Black Shield had lunged out of the undergrowth, his sword straight at Clive’s neck. As you drew your blade from your side, you’d elbowed Clive back, him stumbling down the slope as yours and the assailant’s blade clashed but the momentum he had built sent you spinning, and he’d got a good slice in your hip. Stopping your momentum, you’d managed to get him in his shoulder, pushing him down onto his knees before he got another swipe at your calf and then your blade swiped across his throat. It was all over in a matter of seconds, Clive’s sword only just drawn as he stumbled back up the hill.

Torgal whines, sensing your discomfort. He’d been waiting at the dock as the boat had pulled in, Obolus commenting that he hoped your blood hadn’t stained the timber.

“Oh, Torgal, don’t you start.” You pout down at the wolf.

“What happened?” Jill’s panicked voice comes from the level above, hurrying down the flight of stairs to meet you at the infirmary door.

“It’s not-“

“It is not nothing.” Clive growls, though you know it’s in frustration at himself. “She sustained it defending me.” Jill gives you an exasperated look before pushing the door open, holding it wide for the two of you enter. Tarja is leant over a desk, swiveling her head round at the noise of company.

Her eyes narrow as she sees the blood-stained bandages around your leg and side, before she sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

“Honestly, Clive, you made her walk?”

“I did no such thing. She refused to let me carry her.”

“Well, I’m overruling that refusal.” Tarja comments, pointing to a bed. Clive doesn’t hesitate then – Tarja always got her way - swiftly hooking his arm under your knees, though mindful not to touch your wound, and sweeps you up, resulting in your half-gasped protest. He strides over to the bed in what feels like two steps – your heart hammering - and places you down gently.

“See, wouldn’t that have been much easier?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You say lightly, as he hovers over you perhaps a moment too long. He forces a smile – one you’ve seen when he’s pretending to be care-free.

“Right, Clive – out.” Tarja orders, gathering a tray of medical supplies to bring over to the bed.

“Right. Erm… Take care. Send word if you need anything, or…”

“Out.” Tarja reiterates.

He raises his hand in acknowledgement and strides out – his shoulders sagging as he does.

Tarja makes quick work of removing the soiled bandages, mumbling under her breath – curses at your stubbornness, you suspect, but you leave her to her work and stay still like a good patient.

“Jill, I think these trousers and shirt are done for. Can you see if Hortense has anything spare?”

“Of course.” Jill smiles. “I’ll be back shortly.”

You hear the door shut and continue to stare up at the ceiling, breathing in and out as Tarja moves on to cleaning your wounds with a rather stinging concoction.

“Good news, you’ll live.” She leans back from your bedside and turns to the tray, retrieving some items.

“That sounds like there’s bad news…”

“Well…” Tarja holds aloft the needle and thread. “The bad news is you’ll need stitches.”

“Ah.”

“Deep breath and we’ll get started.”

It shouldn’t, you know it shouldn’t, but the needle piercing into your flesh hurts more than the sword that caused the injury did and you tense.

“Deep breath. First one’s the worst.”

Except it wasn’t, not for you. After a few more reminders to breathe, the healer lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re too tense,” Tarja chides, leaning back. “You need to relax, otherwise the stitches will be too taut and it’ll split the second you take a step.”

“Sorry, Tarja, it’s not exactly a relaxing activity.”

“Do you want me to call for Clive to hold your hand?” The door opens. “Oh, maybe he could unbutton his shirt as a distraction…”

“Who, Clive?” Jill’s voice teases.

“Stop it, it’s not like that.”

“Mm-hm.” The two women are synchronized and you can feel your face burning. Besides, if anything, Clive with an unbuttoned shirt would make you more tense…

“Hortense says she thinks she can salvage your clothes, but she had a spare dress she reckons will fit you until then.” Jill appears above you, holding up a plain blue dress. It’ll do, certainly. You doubt you’ll be out on any assignments the rest of the week.

“Thank you.”

Tarja places the needle down on the tray and gets to her feet, heading over to the apothecary drawers and rummaging through one. She returns with a small vial.

“Right, drink.”

“What is it?”

“It’ll make you relax, that’s all. Non-drowsy.”

You pop the cork off – the thing smells foul – but you know you’re in trouble with Tarja enough now so you do as you’re told, downing it in one.

A minute or so later, you feel your muscles unconsciously relax, releasing a lot of tension in places you weren’t aware you had it. Tarja murmurs her approval and sets to work stitching up your wounds in no time, before applying a salve and new bandages and helping you out of your blood-stained clothes and into your borrowed dress with no protest. Not for want of trying but her look enough when you’d opened your mouth as she told you to put your arms up was enough.

“Stay.” The red-head orders and gets to her feet, taking the tray with her to be sanitized.

“How do you feel?” Jill asks, as kind as ever. She’s by your bedside, folding up your ruined clothes. You can sense she’s itching to get them to Hortense.

“Fine. It’s not a big deal.” You shrug lightly – your tone a little lighter than you’d wanted it to be. “Can’t I go now?”

“No, you need to wait for that relaxant to wear off. You stand up and your legs will collapse under you like a flan.” Tarja calls over. “Stay in bed.” The door opens. “Well, well, well,” Gav’s voice. “I should’ve known you were in here… given the welcome I got from our beloved leader.”

“What welcome?”

“Gav, this isn’t the tavern – this is the infirmary.” The healer chides.

“But it’s not safe at the Tub and Crown.” Gav approaches your bed, placing his hands on his hips. “Clive’s hunting down a sparring partner and it’s not going to be me with that attitude. He’s got the same look in his eyes the last time you got hurt and he splintered all the training swords.”

“Well, the lady here wouldn’t let him carry her.” Jill reveals. “I’ll take these clothes to Hortense.” She heads towards the door, clutching the cloth to her chest.

“Oh, you’ll have wounded his pride with that!” Gav chuckles. “What with his court manners, ever the chivalrous gent. Why wouldn’t you indulge the poor man – I thought he’d caught your fancy, no?”

“Gav, no, that’s not… Shush.” You protest, though the colour in your cheeks betrays you once more.

“You should let him out of his bloody misery – we all know he’s not going to be the first, so you’ve got to be the brave one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tarja joins Gav at your bedside, placing her hands on her hips once more. “Please. The whole Hideaway knows by now. Even Otto asked me what the hold-up was.”

“The Hideaway is wrong.” You bite your lip and the next sentence comes out in a tumble of words before you can even really think about it. “Besides… if I confessed I’d just embarrass myself – he’s Clive Rosfield.”

“And?”

“And I’m me, Gav.” “Yes, you – a former Branded Bearer turned Cursebreaker, defender of the previous Hideaway, scourge of the Black Shields…” Gav lists off your achievements, sounding incredulous with every word that comes out of his mouth.

“Exactly.” You nod. “Me.”

“Not seeing your point. Don’t tell me you’re scared of sharing your feelings but you’ll go stare down a Morbol easy as anything on a morning.”

“You know, I think she is,” Tarja teases.

“Maybe you could send it in a missive, if you’re too scared of face-to-face. Leave it on his desk, like.”

“Or get Gaute to put it in the reports – he’s always checking those.”

“Yeah, or stick it on the bulletin board…!”

“Okay, fine!” Tarja and Gav pause in their banter and stare at you, smiles still plastered on their faces. “How about I walk up to him at the Cursebreakers' intelligence briefing and tell him that my heart pounds wherever he glances in my direction? What about I stand up on a table at the Tub and Crown and tell him about how it feels like lightning is shooting through my veins for days after any touch we share? How about I meet him in the training pit and tell him I would gladly stand in front of an enemy blade every single day if it meant that he was safe and unharmed.” Your voice is getting louder, your emotions bubbling to the surface, your tongue so relaxed it has a mind of its own. You slide over in the bed, hanging your legs off the side. You can tell Tarja wants to interrupt but you’re on too much of a roll.

“How about I walk into Clive Rosfield’s chambers and announce that I’m in love with him, that I have been for years? That when I lay in bed my thoughts are consumed with him and that low-cut shirt, those broad shoulders and how much I wish he’d take me in his arms and…”

“I did offer - multiple times - and you declined.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of Clive’s voice from the door and you freeze. No, no, no.

“I think that’s my cue.” Gav chuckles, slapping his thighs and getting to his feet, Tarja following. Maybe you could faint? That would make Tarja stay…

The healer pauses, placing a hand on Clive’s shoulder. “Be kind, Clive. I gave her a relaxant for the stitches. I think it relaxed her tongue perhaps a little more than she’d like.”

“Noted.” Why does he sound so amused? She whispers something in his ear and you hear her and Gav’s footsteps leave the infirmary.

You can’t move, can’t look up – horrified of what is about to happen.

His footsteps sound painfully slow until you see his boots by the side of the bed and he crouches down in front of you, trying to catch your gaze. His gloved fingers grasp your chin, gently, tilting your head up to meet his eyes when you refuse.

“Shouldn’t you be lying down? I believe Tarja hasn’t discharged you yet.”

He lets go, a soft smile on his face, as you swallow and shuffle back, carefully, lifting your legs back on the bed and resting your back against the pillow.

There’s a moment of silence before you find your voice. “Clive, what you heard…”

“Is that why you wouldn’t allow me to carry you earlier?”

“Kind of. I just… It would’ve been…” You’re completely tongue-tied. How can you get yourself out of this hole? Why is he smiling?!

“I cannot tell you how long my thoughts have been consumed with ones such as you in my arms… my darling.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Though I must clarify not because you are injured, but I’m upset you’d deny me of the pleasure all the same. I do, however, wish it hadn’t taken you getting injured and a concoction of Tarja’s to hear you boldly return my feelings.” You’re still too stunned to speak.

“May I request a kiss of my beloved?”

A realization hits you. “I died, didn’t I?”

“Let me reassure you this is very real.” He leans forward, placing his palm on your cheek and a chaste kiss on your lips. There’s a delicious smirk on his face as he leans back.

“No, I’m… I’m not sure I felt that, you should reassure me again.”

Clive chuckles, taking your hand and rubbing his fingers over your knuckles.

“I’m afraid your physician only permitted me the one kiss in your recovery, but once you’re discharged…”

By the Mothers.

--

I love him. Asks are open for requests - FF16 characters hit me up x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[noctylisse]

Back To You, I Will

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ A promise he whispers to his lady, the night before he departs.

Clive Rosfield x Fem Reader [Set before the Night of Flames. Takes place the night before Clive sets off to Stillwind.]

You feel the cold rush of the wind on your skin as you lay in bed. Moonlight shines across the room, tiny specks of dust floating in its wake like little fairies.

Rosalith is silent now, save for the occasional gentle sound of wagon wheels moving across the pavements.

The curtains of your bedroom window dance softly with the wind’s command. It is peaceful. And slowly, your eyes close as sleep washes over you.

Not long after you drift asleep, a loud crash sounds from outside and jolts you awake.

“Fucking bearer! Quiet down!” a slavemaster’s gravelly voice could be heard from outside, followed by the immediate defense of his slave in a trembly voice. “I-it wasn’t me! I w-was just..!” 

“I don’t give a shit! Just be fucking quiet you damned thing! And clean up your mess!” The slavemaster shuts his doors, leaving the slave to clean up whatever mess was there.

You sigh. It’s unfortunate how these bearers are branded and treated as such. A recent memory sparks in your mind. One of Clive Rosfield, the Archduke’s son, helping and smiling at a bearer who had dropped fruit from a carton. He treated the man with respect as he should be, despite the beliefs of the non-branded common folk. 

“Ever so kind, he is.” You whisper, smiling at the memory and facing the wall. “How lucky I must be to have his eyes on me…”

Quite forbidden, your love is. The difference in status would ruin Clive's reputation all the way through. But it didn’t matter to him, it never did. He has never failed to reassure you no matter what doubt you had. 

Consumed by the thoughts you had of your lover, you fail to hear the creak of your windows as they begin to be pried open fully. The curtains begin to speed up their dance as the wind gets stronger.

A leg wearing a fine leather boot swings down, finding its footing on the window stool. Its pair does the same, and the very one who occupies your mind swoops down in his entirety. He’s crouching now, both arms keeping him steady. 

“I should’ve been more careful..” He sighs as he looks downwards, to his left. The poor bearer was forced to clean the mess he had made, accidentally tripping on and breaking off a huge tile of the slavemaster’s roof as he was quickly trying to get to you.

He silently promises to give the man a gift of apologies (disguised as a spontaneous gift) before he departs in the morrow.

Your eyes narrow. That smooth voice. So familiar, so gentle. You turn around to face him. 

“Clive!” You smile. It always felt nice to say his name. All the more to have him right there in front of you. He smiles back, and you sit up, swinging your legs off the bed and opening your arms to him. He rushes into your embrace and presses a kiss on your head. 

“I wanted to see you before I depart to Stillwind tomorrow.” He says softly, letting go of you before kneeling down on the floor to embrace you again, his arms wrapped around your waist and his head on your shoulder. He presses a kiss on your shoulder while you play with his hair. 

“But you’ll be seeing me tomorrow before you go.” You start. “I’ll be there to see you off.”

“But that’s different.” He lifts his head up to look at you. “Everybody would be seeing me off. I won’t be able to embrace you like this. To be with you like this.”

He looks away to press the back of your hand to his lips, before looking back at you again.  “I only ever wish to be with you freely, my love.” 

You smile sadly. “I do as well and you know that.” You caress his cheek. “But given your position..” 

You sigh, placing a hand on his left cheek. He is a bearer, unbranded. You wish he would stay that way.

He frowns. “It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t.” He stands, gently pulling you up with him. “I promise you, my love. I will find a way.”

He begins to smile softly, deep ocean blue eyes twinkling as the both of you are bathed in moonlight. Ever so hopeful he is, you can’t help but share the same hope. For the future, for both of you. You smile.

He leans down, his forehead against yours, his smile and yours never wavering. “It is my duty to be the Shield of Rosaria…” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Just as much as it is my duty to be yours. To  love you, come what may, my love.” He presses his lips against yours. Soft and gentle, the way he kisses you. So full of love. 

You pull away from one another briefly before you cup his face in your hands and give him a short but sweet kiss in return.

Your eyes look away from him for a moment, focusing on the moon. A silent agreement is made between you and the heavenly body. To keep him safe, for his safe return.

Looking back at him, you smile softly, arms around his neck. “I trust your mission to be successful, my love. I just know the soldiers will sing your praises. As they should be.” He kisses your cheek as a silent ‘thank you’.  

“Be safe, Clive.” You whisper as he leads you both toward the window. 

“I promise I will.”

"Come back in one piece, you must."

He lifts your hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss against the back of it. “Back to you, I will, my lady.” 

And with that, he kisses your lips once more before he leaves. 

[lenatgold]

After Darkness, I Hope for Light.

AN: I am new here, I just finished final fantasy 16 and I have to get all these ideas and feelings out and my AO3 invitation hasn’t been sent out yet so you all get it first <3 I probably haven’t written anything in 8 or 9 years so please forgive! ^-^

"I heard you overdid it again" You leaned against the door frame of the physicas ward as streams of light let in from some slates in the wood. Joshua slowly looked over at you with a wry smile.

You weren't certain why you decided to come to see him. Waiting around for Clive to return from the many duties he was being pulled to and from left for large chunks of downtime through some of the weeks. You had started to grow used to Joshua's visits to the tower. Momentary respites where you both talked about everything and nothing. Always edging closer to topics that would eventually turn cold. His healing touch wasn't limited to just his physical abilities from his Eikon. His words also seem to softly touch old scars and wounds that hadn't completely healed.

"My Lady, it is good to see you" Joshua began to make a move to sit up in his bed but Jote began to place a hand on him to coax him to lay back down. "I am fine, Jote. Thank you"

Jote clenched her jaw and gave a look to you a mixture of annoyance and pleading. With a together look that Joshua should not be disturbed. You just shrugged at her and stepped through the doorway.

"I missed our talks, so I thought I might bring them to you this time. Considering the circumstances." You took several steps closer to him as you spoke.

"I would like nothing more, Jote, do you mind bringing the Lady a seat" She moved deftly as he spoke "Was there something in particular you wished to discuss about?"

You gave Jote a nod as she pulled a chair in the corner up next to the bed. Taking a seat, you looked him over. He looked very pale. He held a rag in his hand, stained brown from old blood. He did such a fine job most times not showing much weakness. It was on full display now. You felt a tug inside you that wasn't wholly unfamiliar. You wanted to protect him but knew you couldn't. Not from this, or many other things in the world.

"No, not really" You answered nonchalantly, you noticed the basin of water on the bedside table with fresh rags. "I was wondering if there was anything that might be on the great phoenixes mind."

Joshua looked downward as if digging into his very soul for a subject he desired to discuss. You knew he had many questions about your past. You answered them whenever he had the courage enough to ask. However, you never knew how deep demons were buried and he knew all too well how quickly they would burn you in their fires.

He was pulled away from his thinking however when he felt a tug at his hand. You had risen and taken the rag out of his hand. You set it aside and replaced it with a fresh one. Turning back, you dipped another in the cool water. You sat back on the edge of your seat and leaned in.

He had been in bed for several days and while Tarja was an excellent physica she was being overrun with patients. Jote spent every spare moment with Joshua but still had her own missions to run and you, if you were honest with yourself, had been too much of a coward to see Joshua for the first few days he was back.

He caught your eye as you leaned forward with the damp rag.

"My Lady, I am fine… You don't have to…" You wiped his brow as he spoke, and he stopped suddenly as soon as the coolness seeped into his skin. Days of restless sleep, sweat, fever, and recovery had built up a layer that he didn't know was there until it was being wiped away.

You wiped his forehead following the natural curve of his temple, his cheek, his jawline, then his neck. He began to feel a mixture of both relief and heat as you did the same on the other side of his face. You seemed to pay attention to every curve. His eyes followed your own trying to see, trying to read, trying to know the thoughts going on behind them.

You never looked at him. Your heart did give a flutter once when you glanced back at him, and his eyes were locked on yours. What were you doing? Why were you doing this? You wanted to pay him kindness. The same kindness he showed everyone, that he often showed you but the way you had to force yourself to take each breath. That was not an intended part of the plan.

Joshuas hand reached for yours as you dragged the rag down the other side of his neck. He continued to look at you until your eyes met his.

You didn't want to meet his gaze however, your heart and mind feared what might happen if you did. If he chipped another fragment of your wall away. He had already weakened it more than you had cared to.

You looked at his hand holding onto yours. The back of it had dried blood, you focused on it until you felt his other hand tip your chin upwards to look at him. His eyes saw into your very soul, and for the first time, you felt incredibly weak in front of the frailty of him.

"Is there something you would like to discuss, …My Lady" He spoke barely in a whisper, as if the very words spoken might bring about the end times spoken about in song.

You took his hand in yours and wiped the blood off the back of it with the rag breaking eye contact with him. You spent a few moments longer than was needed examining his hand and placing it gently back onto his lap.

"No, my Lord, Only that I wish for you a speedy recovery" You don't know why you did it, you had succeeded in breaking whatever enchantment had taken over the two of you in that moment. You shouldn't give him hope, not in this. Yet something inside you moved against your very will. Something stronger than will. The connection you both had with one another took over.

You placed your hand gently against his cheek rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone. His eyes closed against them as he leaned into your hand. You could feel his heart aching for the words that were not said.

"Rest well, Dear Prince" You finally said as his fingertips lightly touched the back of your hand. "I will see you on the morrow"

You got up slowly feeling the warmth of his cheek linger on your hand.

"You will come again, tomorrow that is?" You turned as you heard him speak. Surprised to see his cheerful smile.

"I am a woman of my word" You spoke smiling back.

"I will be waiting"

[dragonsoulage]

✨Rules✨ & What I write ✍🏻

💜~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~💜~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~💜

I am like really shit in doing this stuff, but I have the feeling as a blog you kinda need to do it? Like to make it over all more accurate and idk feeling like a blog ?🤣💀 It’s not like I ever had a blog where I had structure, just like my life ✌🏻 But we will try to make some rules and some clarification for what I write in general ✨

•———•———•——✨——•———•———•——•

✨Rules✨

// When it should happen that you place a request, please be aware that I won’t do any OCs, the reader always will be (Y/N) although I try to avoid writing it like this. The character is always just described vaguely so anyone can imagine themselves how they like it ✨

// I am always writing about a fem!reader not that I dislike a gn!reader or anything but writing fem!reader is simply this what I am used to since I identify myself as female. It makes things easier for me and I am doing fan fiction for fun 💜

//when you send me a request it will maybe take some time even when I don’t have any other requests to do. I think we all know the feeling when we need to ✨feel✨ the scenario to actually write it. When I won’t do a scenario you send me I will tell you. It doesn’t mean that your scenario you requested is bad or anything but maybe I don’t feel good enough to write it or simply don’t know how

//sending me ideas is always welcome, especially for smau ✨ or any wishes you might have when I should add a character into another smau etc. I am happy to make it happen when I can 💜

//when you simply don’t like my content that’s fine with me but pls don’t write comments like: who does this and that? Makes no sense to me…blah, blah, blah. Then just scroll further and that’s it. Of course when you have a suggestion what would have made it a little better for you or what I could’ve add this is totally fine, as long as it is respectful. ✨

//pls don’t hint at my damn writing mistakes like grammar and spelling. I really, really try to avoid them as good as I can. But English is not my first language. I use different spelling and grammar tools but I guess some things are still not correct since I don’t pay for a full version for these tools. Like b*tch I pay for 4 streaming services, I have my limits 💀🤣 and for my smau stuff, I take a look and mostly I discover them when I already uploaded I am really sorry for this 🥲

•~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~•

What I write ✍🏻

//I totally write fluff for you, so when you have an cute ideas I am so damn down for it 🤌🏻 fluffy fluff is balm to my soul 💗

//I am fine to write angst for you, especially for co plex characters that have a certain depth to them. And even when the char maybe is acting goofy I am still up to write something angsty. I enjoy making heartbreaking things. And I am just a girl I like listen to Sleep Token and be all melancholy and depressed ✌🏻

//I would write smut for you without blinking an eye 👀 I mean writing smut is kinda new to me. But I enjoy being a little smutty and I qm honest I am proud to have a straight face while reading smut in public 🤙🏻 when you have a request with something I won’t do, because I don’t feel comfortable I will tell you. But since I just don’t have enough experience to tell you exactly what I won’t write like any kinks or something, we need to find out but then I will add it here 😊

//I am ok with writing about darker themes, of course I will put trigger warnings in these posts. For example when domestic ab*se is mentioned or r*pe it’s always in a traumatic situation never to enjoy. Like for angsty stories. Just to make this clear. So I won’t write a smut with abusive content but I am ok with writing about these topics over all to make an angsty story.

//when I have anything more to add here I will do it ✨💜 I am simply new doing these serious blog stuff, idk even know what to write into that at all but well this here turned out. 💀✨

~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~

What I write for✌🏻

I watched a lot of stuff I guess but not everything lol 🤣💀 probably I forgot something but well I still can add things 👀🤣 when I watched something new 👀

Demon Slayer

Jujutsu Kaisen

Naruto

Attack on Titan

Death Note

Tokyo Revengers

Hellsing (sorry but Alucard is like my favorite vampire but when you want to request another char like Pip that it fine with me too)

The Apothecary Diaries

I probably watched more that I guess I could write for but, then there are anime I watched, like Overlord but don’t have the urge to write anything to it, these are not listed of course xD But just for your I for your Information I didn’t watch One Piece or Bleach. These are animes that are still on my list ✌🏻

Since I like some specific games and I can count some as JRPGs I would write for these games too. So when you want to place a request for this I am more than happy to oblige 💕✨ even when I mostly post about anime but sometimes even I feel the urge to write the cutest Cloud Strife fluff I can think about. Or when you are into indie horrorgames like Sally Face I would be so happy to write for you💜

Final Fantasy 15

Final Fantasy 16

Final Fantasy 7

Sally Face

So I think we have everything, this was completely improvised and I am writing this like 2 in the morning 💀 well thank you for your attention when you made it this far 🤣🤌🏻 here a cookie🍪 for you and for the special ones a bubble tea 🧋because I am obsessed with bubble tea 🌚✨

[xxladyballadxx]

Night Of The Storm

Cidolfus Telamon x f! reader

(Fluff Drabble)

The storm began to brew, heavy raindrops hitting the ground. A sound of thunder shot through the dark sky, breaking the misty clouds apart. Here you thought this would be a nice, lovely day to walk.

To prevent getting more drenched, Cid grabbed your hand and made his way through the pathway, getting a little cover from the tall branches on the tree. You and Cid dived into laughter while searching for a place to shelter.

Your lover spotted an empty cave, the two of you rushed in there and tried to shake the wetness off the clothes, drying yourselves as much as possible. Cid commanded you to stay inside while he went and picked up wood to make a campfire.

When the night fell deep with the rain and thunder continuing to clash, you fell asleep on Cid’s shoulder. He grinned, watching you sleeping in peace. He lifted up his hand towards your cheek, caressing.

“Rest well, sweetheart.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

(A/N) - Something sweet and short for all of you Cid lovers!😙✨(Lacks of Cidolfus fanfics kills me ;-;)

UNTIL NEXT TIME🖤

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[rosiewrecksit]

Second chapter is upppp!

I fought with some RSI on getting this done - I originally wanted it finished by July 30th, but my body said otherwise.

[schmooplesboop]

Perfect Gift

Pairing(s): Clive X Gav, Byron X Eugen, Joshua X ???

Ratings and warnings: Teen, bc there's implied sexy times

My brain has the Big Sad right now so I wrote some Christmas schmoop to cheer myself up. Hope y'all enjoy :)

---

Byron was all in a dither today. Truth be told, he’d been in a dither for the last two weeks, ever since he and Eugen decided to spend Yule together… and introduce their families to each other.

Eugen was bringing his sister and her children, all of whom Byron knew well. He’d been friends with Eudora for some time before she’d introduced him to Eugen all those years ago. They’d remained friends even after young Byron and Eugen had drifted apart, and Eudora and her children had spent many summers in Port Isolde over the years. Byron had invited his nephews, Gav, and Jill, none of whom Eugen knew.

Usually, his Yule parties were loud, noisy, and very crowded affairs with every available friend, colleague, and even some rivals invited. This year’s would be small and quiet, he and Eugen deciding that a more subdued party would be the best setting for everyone to get to know each other.

Byron fussed with the decorations on one of the many Yule trees dotted around the parlor for around the one hundredth time. Usually, these things didn’t bother him, but this was his first Yule with his own family in over two decades and his first Yule with Eugen ever. He wanted everything to be… not perfect, but wonderful, at least.

He probably would’ve driven himself, Rutherford, and the rest of his staff to drink ages ago if Joshua, Clive, Gav, and Torgal hadn’t arrived half a week early to help. Joshua and Torgal kept him distracted, his nephew with conversation, Torgal with demands for scratches behind the ears and rubs for his belly. And though Jill couldn’t attend the Yule celebrations, as she was spending her holiday with her brother and his husband, she also helped distract Byron in her own way. She’d sent a lovely letter and an even lovelier wine, which Byron finished off within a few days. At the manor, Clive assisted Rutherford in ironing out all the little details, and Gav was helping with the ongoing effort to decorate the estate.

And when Byron discovered that the boar he’d procured, the centerpiece of the feast, had spoiled, it’d also been Gav who’d vanished into the forest outside Port Isolde with Torgal in tow, returning nearly eight hours later, both of them splattered in blood and Gav dragging the largest boar Byron had ever seen on a sledge behind him. Even offered to butcher it if the kitchen staff proved too squeamish to do it.

“Hope you’re planning to hold onto that one,” he’d muttered to his nephew as they watched Gav pulling his sledge across the main yard, making Clive’s cheeks turn pink.

“For as long as he’ll have me, Uncle.” Clive muttered back as Gav waved at them enthusiastically, a grin on his bloody face.

Byron flitted from the Yule tree to the fireplace, arranging and rearranging and re-rearranging the festive statues of snow moogles on the mantle. Tomorrow evening. Twenty-four short hours before the Yule celebration, even less before Eugen and his family would arrive. He bustled out of the parlor to make sure the guest rooms were still in order.

❆ ❆ ❆

Despite the dusting of snow they were getting, the main marketplace in Port Isolde was packed with people. Joshua rubbed his cold, gloved hands together and shook the snow from his hair before pulling the hood of his cloak up. He followed along as Clive darted from stall to stall, reminding him very much of their dear uncle. His brother was frantically looking for a Yule gift for Gav.

He hadn’t forgotten, in fact Clive had already bought four different gifts for Gav before they even left for Port Isolde, stashing them all in Byron’s bedchamber after they’d arrived. Now it seemed he was going to buy four more, or perhaps the whole market.

“After everything we’ve survived, you’re going to fret yourself into an early grave, brother.” He teased lightly.

Clive shot him a dark look then hurried to another stall, scrutinizing their wares so intensely the poor vendor started to look concerned, as though Clive was going to wreck the stall or steal everything.

“It has to be perfect. It has to show him how I feel…”

Joshua gave his brother a smile that was both incredulous and amused, “Right, because Gav has no idea how you feel about him. You’ve only told him that you love him, gave him grandfather’s ring to wear, made eyes at him the entire time we were journeying to Port Isolde—”

Clive shot him another look and Joshua raised his hands in mock surrender, holding in laughter. He supposed he could understand why Clive was worked up. They all sorely needed this brief moment of respite, wanting it to go smoothly wasn’t unreasonable. Though he still thought his brother was placing too large a burden on himself. He could give Gav an apple for Yule and the man would love it simply because it was a gift from Clive.

And it isn’t as though the perfect gift even exis—oh. His eye fell on a rather handsome set of silver hairbrushes. Well. Never mind. Those would be perfect for—

“Phoenix’s flaming ass!” Clive exclaimed in frustration before turning a sheepish smile on him. “Sorry, that’s one of Gav’s more innovative curses. He must be rubbing off on me.”

Joshua picked up the hairbrushes, handing some gil over to the vendor. “Better my flaming ass than Ifrit’s bountiful bosom.”

Clive snorted out a laugh, all apprehension over finding a gift momentarily forgotten, “Gav did not say that.”

“Oh, he absolutely did. Granted, he was intoxicated at the time, but he did indeed say it.”

His brother sighed fondly, “I love that man.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Byron had seen Clive and Joshua coming down the lane from his bedroom window, returning from the marketplace no doubt, and went down to the kitchen to make some hot cocoa. It was snowing steadily now and his nephews were likely to be damp and cold.

He’d just finished arranging four wooden mugs of steaming hot cocoa and a plate of cookies on a tray when he heard Torgal barking a happy greeting to Clive and Joshua. He picked the tray up and walked down the hall, peeking into the entrance hall.

Both of his nephews were covered in a powdering of snow. Joshua was looking excited, carrying a set of silver hairbrushes tucked under his arm. Poor Clive looked wet and beleaguered. Byron smiled softly. He had a hunch what was bothering his oldest nephew and had just the solution.

“Welcome back, you two!” He called, holding up the tray as he entered the foyer. “Care to join me for a nosh?”

“We’d be delighted, uncle,” Joshua said brightly as he and Clive removed their cloaks and boots.

Byron held the tray out to Joshua, “Could you take this to the parlor please? Oh, and coax Gav out of the library while you’re passing by, he’s been decorating all afternoon. Clive, could you come with me for a moment? I need you for something.”

Clive nodded distractedly; Byron wouldn’t be surprised if his nephew hadn’t heard a single word he said.

Joshua went off with the tray of goodies and his mission to lure Gav away from his work. Torgal followed closely at Joshua’s heels, likely with his own mission to acquire some cookies. Byron led Clive upstairs to his bedchamber.

He gestured vaguely at the cushy chair in the corner of the room, “Have a seat, my boy. This won’t take long.”

Clive sat, still looking like a lost, sad puppy and Byron dug through his wardrobe, “Having trouble finding a suitable gift for Gav?” He asked as he rifled through his clothes.

That got Clive’s attention, head snapping up as Byron found what he’d been looking for and walked over to him with a bundle in his arms.

“Might I make a suggestion?” When Clive nodded, he placed a fine outdoor cloak, thick black leather and lined with dark silver fur, in his lap. This was one of the many gifts Clive had already bought for Gav and hid in his room upon arriving. It’d sparked this idea the moment he saw it, “I think you should give him this. And… this as well.”

He set a heavy, metal cloak pin on Clive’s knee. It’d been forged in the symbol of his, Byron’s, house. He’d given similar ones to Clive and Joshua nearly the moment after finding out that they still lived. The only difference was this pin was the first one he ever had forged when he had the money to do so. It’d been a little personal celebration… and a thumb of his nose to Father, he’d made his house’s symbol as flamboyant as possible. This particular pin was of great significance to him.

Clive must’ve had an inkling of this, because he looked up at him uncertainly. “Uncle, are you sure?”

He waved an airy hand, “Of course I am, my boy! Let him know he’s part of this family. That’s what you’ve really been fretting about since you got here, is it not?” Byron bounced on the balls of his feet, proud of himself. “I can be observant when I really put my mind to it, you know.”

Byron started a bit as Clive’s arms wrapped around his waist, hugging him tightly. “Thank-you, Uncle Byron. For everything.”

Byron laughed too, patting his nephew on the head. “It’s the least I could do.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Yule was here and the estate was nearly decorated from top to bottom, only a few last-minute touches were needed here and there. Gav was helping the house staff hang clusters of winterberry in nearly every important entranceway, standing on tiptoe atop a slightly rickety wooden stool, tongue pinched between his teeth. He knew how bizarre this would look to Port Isolde’s fancy folk, doing menial tasks, but the thought of just sitting back and letting people wait on him, and do all the work, turned his stomach. He would be as tightly wound as Byron.

Frankly, he only felt truly at ease when he was with Clive and when he'd been out in forest boar hunting. That’d brought back memories of his childhood Yules, waking before the sun was even a peek on the horizon and going hunting with his father for the Yule dinner he and his older brothers would help their mother cook later.

The winterberry, bunches of green frilly leaves and berries like large fat pearls, was tied into a little bouquet with a length of golden twine. He finally got the loop knotted at one end of the twine over the hook suspended overhead, hanging up the last winterberry. He was gazing up at it, making sure it didn’t look crooked, when he felt a familiar hand paw at the curve of his ass before squeezing firmly.

“Clive,” He scolded, failing spectacularly at keeping the smile off his lips and the laughter out of his voice, “That isn’t what you do under the winterberry.”

“Oh?” Clive’s innocent tone was belied by the sly smirk on his face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve celebrated Yule. My memory needs to be refreshed…”

Gav hummed out a quiet laugh, nimbly hopping down from the stool. “Well, first you get beneath it with someone…”

Clive’s hands settled on his hips, pulling him forward a bit so they were both squarely under the little hanging plant. “Done. And then what?”

He traced his fingers lightly over Clive’s jawline before cupping his face, “Then, you plant one on ‘em.”

Gav leaned in, kissing Clive soft and slow and thorough, with a flick of cheeky tongue to cap it off.

Clive’s hands squeezed his hips when he made to draw back, “Show me that last part again, Gav…”

There was a tiny, awkward cough and a high voice interrupted them, “U-um. Sorry, excuse me.” One of Byron’s housekeepers had come up on them as quiet as a mouse, cheeks pink and eyes darting everywhere except in their direction. “Lord Rosfield. Sir Gav. Lord Byron’s guests are coming down the lane. He wishes for you all to greet them in the main yard.”

Clive’s face had gone a brilliant shade of red, amusing Gav to no end. Here was the man who’d been so boldly grabbing his ass just a few minutes ago, blushing like a shy lad about to slip into his First Night bed.

“Thank-you,” he said to the housekeeper, as Clive seemed to have lost his tongue. “We’ll be along right quick.”

The housekeeper gave a nod and hurried off. Alone once more, Gav quickly covered Clive’s warm, flushed face with kisses.

“Memory chugging along yet?” He asked with a grin.

Plainly recovered from his embarrassment, Clive’s arms wrapped tight around his waist, “Getting there. Perhaps just once more…”

❆ ❆ ❆

His palms were sweating. Eugen and his family were still a ways away, but Byron surreptitiously wiped his hands on his trousers. Joshua, Clive, and Gav stood with him, all of them looking on with interest. Torgal was the only one who seemed bored with their approaching guests, having a nap curled up in the newly fallen snow.

Eugen and his nephew reached them first, mounted on massive brown-feathered chocobos. His sister and twin nieces were a little ways back, concealed inside a carriage being pulled by two more chocobos and steered by one of Eugen’s men. A handful of Eugen’s soldiers walked behind the carriage; the roads weren’t safe for travelers these days.

“Eugen!” Byron raised his arms then paused, not entirely sure how Eugen would want to be greeted. He was rather passionate when they were alone, but with their families looking on…

Thankfully, he didn’t have to decide what to do. Eugen approached him, hugged him, and kissed his cheek.

“Byron, you old bastard, I missed you.”

Byron laughed, that was the man he loved alright. “And I missed you, Eugen. I was buzzing like a frantic bee all over the manor this morning.” He gestured to the trio beside him, “Allow me to introduce you—”

It really wasn’t necessary for him to do this, most of Valisthea and certainly all of Rosaria knew these three by now, Clive and Joshua especially, but Byron wanted this evening to be a little slice of normalcy for them. They’d earned—no, they deserved it.

“—These are my nephews, Clive and Joshua Rosfield. And this is Clive’s companion, Gav.”

Clive promptly made sure they understood what sort of companion Byron was talking about by twining his fingers with Gav’s. Byron smiled a little.

Eugen shook each of their hands. “Eugen Havel. Enchanted to finally meet you, boys. Although I think I met you once when you were just a babe,” he said to Clive. “I doubt you remember that, though.”

“Not at all, sir,” Clive replied. “I’m delighted to meet you again all the same.”

Eugen chuckled then looked at Gav, “No second name?”

The lad’s cheeks went a little red, “Common born, sir. We don’t have those. ‘M just Gav from Snowbird Hollow.”

“Ah, the North.”

“Aye.”

Clive was frowning, giving Eugen the eye, like he wasn’t sure if Eugen was judging Gav or not. Byron didn’t blame him. Clive didn’t know Eugen. The man could be brusque but he was far from a snob, just endlessly curious.

The slightly sticky moment passed as the rest of Eugen’s party strolled in through the gate. Both Joshua and Clive tensed slightly when Eugen’s sister emerged from the carriage and Byron immediately understood why. She wore a Yule dress very like the ones their mother once favored and had her hair styled similarly as well.

But Byron knew this woman well and there was no one further from Anabella Rosfield than her. Plump, soft, and round where Anabella was all razor thin sharpness and bony angles. Dark where Anabella was fair. Kind where Anabella was cruel.

She didn’t wait for her brother to make introductions.

“Byron!” She thew her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that smelled of powdered sugar and vanilla. “It’s been so long, old friend! I’ve missed you so!” She cast a kind eye over the other three, Clive and Joshua both visibly relaxing. “I’m Eugen’s sister, Eudora. Charmed to meet you, gentlemen!”

“I’ve missed you too, Eudora!” Byron laughed as his nephews and Gav murmured their own polite greetings.

The woman released Byron and grabbed her son by the elbow, pulling him forward so vigorously the poor lad nearly tripped, “This is my son Kasir.”

Kasir was near Joshua’s age, if Byron remembered correctly, perhaps a year younger. Handsome and tall, he had his mother’s golden-brown skin, but his amber eyes were his father’s, Eudora’s first husband.

Kasir had his mother’s charming, roguish smile though, “Enchanted.”

“And these are my twin daughters, Chiara and Melia.”

She brought the sisters forward. The twins would be twenty-two now… again, if his memory wasn’t misleading him. Their father was Eudora’s second husband. Eudora insisted that they could be differentiated, but Byron hadn’t been able to yet. Their skin was a shade lighter than their mother’s, but they had her dark eyes and hair, though their curls were free of the silver strands starting to creep their way into Eudora’s. The twins wore perfectly matching traveler’s dresses and had perfectly matching hairstyles. Byron inwardly shrugged. He still couldn’t tell them apart.

“I call them Chaos and Menace.” Kasir said with his roguish grin, making his sisters squawk in protest.

Byron silently agreed, lips twitching as he suppressed a smile. No one had been safe from the twins and their pranks when they were children. When they’d stayed at the manor one long ago summer Byron finally had to scold them for driving poor Rutherford around the bend.

“Well, isn’t this one pretty,” Chiara murmured as Joshua kissed the back of her hand.

“This one isn’t so bad either,” Melia added, eyeing Clive up and down. Gav seemed amused rather than annoyed by this.

Eudora’s sigh was both loving and long-suffering, “Where are your manners, young ladies? We’re guests here. Behave like it.”

“Told you. Chaos and Menace,” Kasir laughed.

The twins gave perfectly matching long-suffering sighs of their own and curtsied.

“Pleased to meet you all.” They chimed out in unison.

“I hope I’m dressed appropriately,” Eudora said to Byron as she smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. “I got this from that shop you recommended. I bought Yule clothes for my children too, but they’ve refused to wear them until dinner.”

Yule wasn’t widely celebrated in Dhalmekia. Eugen had been to Yule parties thrown by associates and friends before, but this would be a first-time celebration for Eudora and her brood.

“You look resplendent as always, Eudora.”

“Oh, Byron, stop,” She cackled, playfully smacking him on the arm. “My brother is right there. What will he think of you flirting with me?”

“He’ll think that you two haven’t changed a lick in the last thirty years.” Eugen said dryly, making both Byron and Eudora cackle this time. “Shall we head inside?”

“Hold on a moment, dearest Uncle. I’ve been reading all about Yule on the journey here.” Chiara said, dark eyes glittering with a cheerful mischief Byron was all too familiar with. “Is it true that once the families come together the younger generation has a mock battle with snowballs?”

“That custom is usually reserved for young children.” Eugen replied. “But I’ve no issue with you partaking if our host doesn’t.”

“None at all!” Byron said jovially.

Chiara clapped her hands in glee, looking over at his nephews and Gav. “You three game?”

Kasir gave his sister a withering look, “Seriously?”

“Oh, big brother,” Melia sighed, bending down to scoop up some snow. “Where is your sense of wonder?”

“Ah hell, why not. I’m in.” Gav said with a shrug.

Joshua still looked uncertain, but Clive nodded, which surprised Byron not at all. If Gav was in, Clive was in.

“This is ridiculous,” Kasir muttered, still bending down to cup some snow in his gloved hands.

Byron didn’t see who threw the first snowball, but it hit Kasir square in the face. And just like that, the years melted away before Byron’s eyes. They were no longer a group of world-weary adults, but totally unrestrained youth.

Gav and the twins took off running, laughing wildly as they pelted each other with snowballs and tossed a few more Kasir’s way.

“Oh… it’s on,” Kasir spat out a mouthful of snow and chased after them, aiming a snowball at the back of Gav’s head.

Clive immediately charged off to defend his love, shaping a snowball the size of a pumpkin in his large hands. Torgal, awakened from his nap, charged into the fray too, yipping like a puppy and tail wagging madly. With a kind of resigned anxiety on his face, Joshua followed along to make sure no one died by snowball.

“Well,” Byron grinned, watching Clive dunk his massive snowball on Kasir’s head before he could hit Gav. “Shall we leave them to it and have a pre-dinner drink in the parlor?”

Eugen and Eudora did an inadvertent but spot-on impression of the twins, answering in unison, “Excellent idea.”

❆ ❆ ❆

“Don’t laugh,” Gav’s voice said from behind the changing screen.

Dinner would be served soon, and the Yule party would follow immediately after. Clive and Gav were in the guest room they shared, changing into what Gav called their “Lord Fancy Pants outfits.” Soon after they’d first arrived at the manor, they’d spent an uncomfortable afternoon allowing Byron’s tailor to measure them for their Yule clothes. Clive could tell that Gav hated the whole process, but the blonde had endured it for Byron’s sake.

“I would never.” The sincerity in his voice must’ve convinced Gav, because the blonde emerged from behind the screen, tugging uncomfortably at his clothes.

Clive suppressed the urge to let out a low, appreciative whistle. Byron’s seamster had done a splendid job, despite Gav squirming the whole time. Snug, dark trousers accentuated Gav’s long legs and his long-sleeved shirt had a plunging neckline that rivaled Clive’s own. But it was the velvet waistcoat that did it for him. The dark royal blue really brought out the green in Gav’s eye and the cut flattered his trim waist and other… assets.

He licked his lips, “You look…”

“Like Farmer Lord Gav from Snowbird Hollow?”

The way he said it hurt Clive’s heart. He moved close, one hand reaching out to cup Gav’s cheek. “Handsome. Breathtaking. And yes, like Farmer Lord Gav from Snowbird Hollow, because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

Gav’s mouth opened then closed, cheeks turning pink. He leaned into Clive’s hand, “M’sorry. Being silly, huh.”

“Not at all,” He drew Gav close, kissing him gently. He’d been born into this privileged existence and still felt out of place in it. He had a healthy appreciation for how much more overwhelming it’d be for someone born outside of it.

After they parted, Gav’s deft fingers swiftly closed the brass buttons on Clive’s own waistcoat, also velvet but a deep red instead of blue. “You’re lookin’ mighty fine yourself, Clive.”

They kissed again, this time with a little more heat. Clive was just starting to fancy skipping dinner and having Gav instead when the blonde pulled away, wringing a little whimper from Clive’s lips.

Gav laughed softly, thumb tracing over Clive’s lower lip, “Later, love. We’ll have all night.”

Clive sighed but nodded his head. Gav was right, of course. Damn it all.

“…Clive?” Gav was hesitant again.

“Mmn?”

“I know we’re supposed t’ wait until the party for gifts, but your gift is kind of… unwieldy. Byron gonna mind if I give it to you now?”

“Of course not, my boy!” Clive heard Byron’s jovial response so clearly in his mind it was like his uncle was standing in the room with them, “He won’t mind at all.”

Wondering what this unwieldy gift could be, Clive watched as Gav crossed the room and pulled what looked like something very long and very heavy wrapped in green fabric and tied with gold ribbon from the closet.

“Where—” Clive spluttered as Gav sauntered over, depositing his gift on the bed. It was so heavy it made the mattress bounce. “You didn’t bring that with us, did you…!?” It been hard enough keeping his considerably smaller gifts out of Gav’s sight the entire journey. Where had he been hiding this?

Gav was looking proud of himself, “When you told me Byron invited us to Port Isolde for Yule I had it sent here after it was finished. Told Byron it was coming and it arrived by chocobo cart a few days before we did.”

Clive groaned faintly, he wished he’d thought of that.

“Go on, then,” Gav chirped. “Open it.”

Clive undid the ribbon and unwrapped the fabric.

Father’s greatsword!? Was his first confused thought. But no, his father’s blade was long gone. He knew that. This greatsword was newly forged. It just looked exactly like—

“Had Joshua sketch it from memory,” Gav said softly. “Blackthorne forged it, of course.”

Clive swallowed hard. His chest suddenly tight. He ran his fingers reverently down the hilt and over the flat side of the shining blade.

“Gav, I—” His tongue felt heavy. An overwhelming wave of tenderness toward Gav rolled over him. Tears began to spill down his cheeks.

Vaguely through the barrage of his emotions, he heard Gav frantically apologizing and moved quickly to reassure him.

“No, Gav, don’t apologize…” He took Gav’s hands in his, kissing the backs, his knuckles, the long fingers, “I love it. Thank-you.”

Gav’s arms wrapped securely around him, but his expression was still uncertain, “You sure? If I overstepped—"

“I love it,” He repeated firmly, nuzzling into Gav’s neck, kissing it. “I love you,” He nipped at the skin beneath his lips.

“Love you too, but don’t you leave a mark on me right now, Clive Rosfield.” Gav chuckled weakly, still a little shaken by Clive’s reaction to his gift.

Thwarted again. Clive contented himself with pressing another kiss to Gav’s neck before releasing him. He propped his new blade against the wall in the corner of the room, admiring it briefly before taking Gav by the hand. It was time for dinner.

❆ ❆ ❆

There were only nine of them present, ten including Torgal fervently chewing on a bone in the corner, but dinner was still going to be a noisy affair. Joshua could scarcely hear his own thoughts. Eudora and Byron were the loudest by far, followed by the twins, who Joshua suspected were already a bit tipsy. The wine had been flowing freely. Clive was the quietest, murmuring to Gav, who was looking overwhelmed by the sheer amount of cutlery around his plate.

“Dinner is courtesy of Gav!” Byron announced as the staff began to file in carrying dishes and platters. “Saved the whole Yule feast, he did!”

Gav’s cheeks flushed bright red and he took a hasty gulp of wine. Joshua gave him a smile and his knee an encouraging pat. His brother, sitting on Gav’s other side, did the same.

The food flowed in faster than the wine. Heaps of garlic roasted potatoes, mashed parsnips, tossed gysahl greens, glazed carrots (contrary to popular belief, no longer Joshua’s mortal enemy), thick slices of freshly baked bread, dressed eggs, peas and onions swimming in butter, and of course the boar, roasted to crackling perfection.

Joshua’s mouth watered. Molly, the Hideaway’s cook, did a fine enough job when she put her mind to it, but it’d been a long time since he’d had anything that wasn’t some type of stew or soup. He piled his plate with a bit of everything and asked for a refill on his wine. Clive tossed a generous slice of boar meat to Torgal.

Gav accidentally used the wrong fork for the boar. Joshua and Clive used a randomly chosen fork in solidarity. Joshua chose the dessert fork, imagining the look on his mother’s face if she could see him now.

No. Joshua’s lips pressed firmly together. He was enjoying this evening. He wasn’t going to sour it with thoughts of her.

A foot nudged at Joshua’s under the table and he couldn’t decide if it was Kasir, Chiara, or Melia. All three were giving him the eye from across the table. If he’d been a betting man, he’d put his gil on one of the twins. They had already ambushed him beneath the winterberry hung over the entranceway to the dining hall, sandwiching him between them as they each pressed a kiss to one cheek. Chaos and Menace indeed.

❆ ❆ ❆

Dinner had been for family only, but Byron and Eugen had decided to invite a handful of people to the Yule party. Some of their oldest friends who could be trusted not to harass Clive and Joshua and a few musicians to play, as the twins at the very least would want to dance.

Byron lips twitched in a sympathetic smile as Chiara twirled Joshua around the parlor. His poor nephew was one of the youngest, eligible (at least, Byron thought so, though he did wonder who the hairbrushes were for…) lads there, thus he’d been called upon to dance with Chiara, her sister, and even Kasir time and again. Even some of Byron and Eugen’s friends had coaxed a dance out of him.

Clive remained as tightly coiled as was appropriate in public around Gav, his grim expression meant to scare off anyone who wanted to dance. He’d only consented to dance with Eudora earlier in the evening.

A hand slid into his and Byron looked over to see Eugen standing beside him, smiling as Joshua bowed politely to Chiara and excused himself to hide in a shadowy nook with a cup of wine for a moment.

“This has been wonderful,” he said.

Byron’s heart swelled. That was exactly what he’d been hoping for, “It has.”

“…Would you care to dance?” Eugen asked quietly, gruffly, looking for all the world like the embarrassed teenager who’d asked Byron to kiss him in the garden once many years ago.

“I’d love to, darling.”

Eugen’s hand found the small of his back and he put his own hand Eugen’s shoulder as they slowly glided about the room. Melia walked by them, her gaze firmly set upon Joshua, when Gav smoothly intercepted her, holding one hand out.

“A dance, m’lady?” He asked with a grin.

“I’d be delighted, sir!” She giggled, taking Gav’s hand.

Byron chuckled when he saw his nephew mouth “thank-you” with a grateful sigh.

❆ ❆ ❆

Clive sat on one of the lounge sofas watching Gav dance with Melia, his stomach twisting. It wasn’t jealousy, but nerves making him squirm. He’d retrieved his gift for Gav from under one of the Yule trees, anxiously twisting the ribbon tied about the package around and around his finger as he waited.

Gav had recruited Joshua and Blackthorne to forge his father’s greatsword for him. It seemed they were on the same page in regard to their relationship. So, his gift, wanting to show Gav he was part of their family, wasn’t too much, right?

He turned his gaze and his mind to his uncle instead, trying to distract himself. He smiled as he watched Byron and Eugen dance by the musicians. He hadn’t been sure about Eugen at first, but as the day went on he saw the man beneath the brisk surface. The man who loved Byron dearly. The man Byron had waited decades for.

Clive looked back at Gav, his nerves softening into adoration, relieved he hadn’t had to wait as long for Gav. He would’ve, if he had to, but glad he hadn’t needed to.

The musicians changed to something a little more upbeat. Byron and Eugen continued to dance, and a few of their friends and Eudora joined, but Melia and Gav parted, her curtsying and him giving her a deep bow.

“Had to give poor Joshua a breather. Looked like the lad was going t’ pass out.” Gav said as he rejoined Clive on the lounge, stealing a sip of Clive’s wine.

“Better you than me,” Clive chuckled.

“I thought you were my shield, brother.” Joshua teased as he stepped up behind the lounge.

“You’re not in danger, Joshua.”

“Easy for you to say,” His brother replied. Chiara was now eyeing him from across the parlor. “Your feet aren’t at risk of being danced right off, and you’ve Gav to protect you.”

“He protected you, too.”

“True. Thank-you, Gav.”

The blonde chuckled, “Ah, don’t mention it.”

It was then that Joshua noticed the gift his older brother was clutching in his hands, “Well, I’m going to refill my wine and hide in the library for a while. Wish me luck, gentlemen.”

“Luck,” Gav and Clive said in unison as Joshua walked off.

They sat in silence for a few moments, sharing sips from Clive’s wine, before he finally worked up the courage to set the gift in Gav’s lap.

“Happy Yule, Gav.”

“Aw, Clive,” Gav pulled the ribbon off and unfolded the fabric. He let out a quiet, appreciative whistle when he saw the cloak inside. “No more freezing my arse off on watch—” His eye fell upon the cloak pin and picked it up as though it was made of glass.

Clive held his breath. Waited. He knew Gav, clever and observant, would understand the significance of the pin. He would’ve seen the matching pins on his and Joshua’s cloaks before.

“…This revenge for me makin’ you cry earlier?” Gav asked softly.

Clive huffed an equally soft laugh, moving close to wrap his arm around the blonde’s waist. “No. It’s an offer, and a promise.”

Gav looked at him, his face unreadable. Clive’s heart skipped a beat.

Then he leaned in, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to his lips, making Clive all but melt with relief. “Thank-you, love,” He fastened the pin to his new cloak, smoothing the leather around it. “It’ll look good on me.”

“It will,” Clive agreed, heart soaring. He felt like he could float right off the lounge.

Gav smiled thoughtfully, “Y’know, when I first joined the Hideaway all I wanted was a family. Now I’ve got two. I’m spoiled, me.”

“But I’ll spoil you more than Otto will,” Byron stage whispered as he and Eugen danced by.

“Don’t be rude, dear. They’re having a moment.” Eugen lightly admonished.

“It was not rude—”

Clive and Gav chuckled together as Byron and Eugen danced away again, bickering in the loving way they did.

“And I’ll spoil you more than Otto or Byron will,” Clive murmured. “There’s three more gifts waiting for you…”

“Hells, Clive, you weren’t kidding.” Gav laughed.

No one was looking. Clive snuck in a quick line of kisses up the side of Gav’s neck, his gaze still on Byron and Eugen.

“I want that to be us.” The words just popped out and Clive blushed, realizing what he’d said, but he didn’t take it back. He meant it.

Gav looked at him, smirking slightly. “The bickering or the dancing?”

“Older… together.”

The blonde’s expression softened and he looked down at his gift, fingers tracing the design on the pin. “…I like the sound of that.”

Oh, if only they weren’t in a room full of his uncle’s guests. He wanted to kiss every last inch of Gav.

“Would you like to dance while we’re growing old together?” He asked. It’d have to do until he had Gav to himself.

Gav smiled and stood up, holding his hand out to him, “Love to.”

❆ ❆ ❆

The party was over. Byron and Eugen bundled their friends, all in various stages of inebriation, into their carriages to send them safely home. Clive had to help Kasir carry Chiara and Melia to bed, both sisters too drunk and exhausted to walk. Eudora, also a little tipsy, affectionately pinched Clive on the cheek as thanks before tottering off to bed herself. Byron and Eugen followed soon after. Gav lightly ruffled Joshua’s hair and planted a kiss on the top of Clive’s head before he also sleepily weaved away, leaving Clive and Joshua in the parlor.

The brothers sat together in a couple of wooden chairs facing toward the fireplace. The flames were low but provided enough light and heat that neither of them bothered to move to add more wood. Torgal lay on the rug in front of the hearth, gnawing on what was left of his bone.

Clive was tired, but not as tired as Joshua had to be. Hiding in the library had granted him a small reprieve, but it’d only been half an hour before the twins had found him again. He and Gav had taken a few turns diverting their attention with dances, but it seemed their appetite for Joshua was insatiable.

“I believe my toes have fallen off…” Joshua groaned, pulling one of his boots off so he could massage his foot. “I can’t remember the last time I danced…”

“I can’t remember the last time I celebrated Yule.”

Silence fell between them as they realized the answer together. Before the Night of Flames, of course. A night that simultaneously felt like it was yesterday and centuries ago.

Joshua pulled his other boot off, fingers working at his calf muscle. “How different things could have been if—" He cut himself off, sharply shaking his head, massaging his lower leg a little more aggressively than necessary.

Clive’s mouth twisted bitterly. He knew what Joshua was thinking, because he’d thought it himself a time or two that evening. If only their mother had been someone like Eudora, a woman they’d known for considerably less time, but already adored so much more.

“No,” His younger brother said, more to himself than Clive. “I promised I wouldn’t sour this night.”

“You haven’t—”

Joshua cut him off this time, “For you, dear brother.”

He stood from his chair and dragged a large wooden trunk over to Clive. It seemed Gav hadn’t been the only one with the foresight to send a cumbersome gift ahead of time. He’d have to remember that for next year…

Joshua sat down again with an exhausted sigh as Clive lifted the trunk’s lid to peer inside.

“I know many will consider it a sin, to cover up your chest, but I’ll sleep better knowing your heart is better protected.”

New armor lay within the trunk. Greaves and gauntlets made from dark metal. A chest piece with thick black leather cut in the shape of flames and layered over a metal bodice that glimmered red here and there. It would indeed cover his chest.

“You and Gav have been keeping Blackthorne busy, I see…” Clive murmured, lifting the chest piece out of the trunk, looking it over wonderingly.

“An unfortunate side effect of caring about you.” Joshua replied with a tired chuckle.

“Thank-you, Joshua.”

“You’re most welcome, brother.”

Joshua drained the last of his wine, head lolling back against the chair behind him. Clive didn’t think his brother even heard him get up as he retrieved a bundle from beneath the nearest Yule tree.

“This is from both Gav and I,” Clive set Joshua’s gift in his lap, startling him out of his half-asleep state.

Stifling a yawn, Joshua untied the ribbon and opened the package. Inside he found four thick stacks of bound, blank paper, three ink pots, and three chocobo-feather quills.

He brightened, picking up one of the quills and admiring the tiny, intricate carvings in the wooden shaft. “Gav made these! I’ve been wanting to ask him to make me one ever since I saw the quill he made for Harpocrates.”

Clive nodded, “Ambrosia donated the feathers. Voluntarily, mind you.”

“Thank-you, Clive. This is a fine gift. Thank Gav, too.”

“I will.”

Joshua yawned again and pulled his boots back on, taking a few tries to do it in his exhaustion. Gathering his gift in his arms, he stood from his chair.

“…I am going to bed. If I never see another musician again it will be too soon. Come along, Torgal.”

Clive chuckled, “Goodnight, Joshua.” He rubbed Torgal behind his ears, “Goodnight, boy.”

“Until tomorrow, Clive.”

Joshua left the parlor with Torgal trailing close behind and Clive stretched, his back creaking faintly, before standing up as well. He tucked his gift from Joshua safely beside a Yule tree and made sure the flames in the fireplace were out before heading down the hall to the guest room he shared with Gav.

Clive was mid-yawn when he entered, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him. All thoughts of sleep instantly fled from his mind. Gav was posed on the bed, stark naked, with a ribbon delicately wrapped and tied with a neat little bow around his—

“Surprise,” Gav looked very pleased with himself. “Got you more than one gift, too.”

Clive locked the door and beelined for the bed, shedding his clothes as fast as he could.

---

I'll let y'all decide who Joshua bought the hairbrushes for, and if they're platonic or romantic lol

[the-lady-frost]

"I never thought a smile could bring me so much joy."

After a lifetime of loss, the greatest weapon is forged in the hottest fire - love. For a handful of moments, they found it...and nothing could cast them asunder.

(on that forsaken beach, love grows. As even in the most barren of ground, life takes root.)

[stariikis]

tell my fortune

synopsis ; the story of how you manage to get an attractive waiter's number... in the most unexpected way possible.

pairing ; waiter!nishimura riki x customer!reader genre ; fluff, first encounters wc ; 1100 notes ; to indulge MYSELF, riki will be aged down in this fic. like 16 years old.

When your friend recommended a Chinese restaurant to visit, you were expecting the reason to be exceptional food. Pretty foolish of you, one reason being, you were in Korea – another being, when has Yoo Jungyeong ever suggested visiting somewhere, if not to ogle at attractive boys impossible to pull?

The first thing you notice as she holds open the door for you to step inside is the fact that it’s a pretty modern, fancy restaurant, not typical of a traditional Chinese food chain. What are you expecting though, in Korea of all places? Along the city streets, everything screams modern. 

The second thing you notice when a waiter that has her making heart eyes – gross – leads you to a seat, is how young the waitresses and waiters seem. Some seem shy of eighteen, while some look like plain teenagers coming to earn a little extra pocket money during the holidays. You don’t judge them though; you’d do that too if you had the luxury of time. 

Today’s an exception from having your nose stuck in piles of homework and assigned reading. After all, within the first week of the holidays you finished almost everything, so you’re free to take a break when you wish. Another reason being, you wanted to catch up with Jungyeong. 

But not like this, her eyes shining as she gazes dreamily at a guy whose uniform nametag states, ‘Sim Jaeyun’. 

“Will you stop staring?” You hide behind the menus to save yourself the embarrassment. “I think they’re noticing.” 

“Fine,” she huffs, but the glaze over her eyes doesn’t dissipate. “He’s really cute, though.” 

“Did you bring me here to have a good meal or to stare at delusion three thousand?” You snap, shoving her copy of the menu towards her. She finally rolls her eyes and flips open the menu. 

She points to a steamed fish dish, “This. This is good.” 

And after she recommends practically the whole menu to you, she looks at you expectantly, pressuring you into making a quick decision. You blink, because it all looks pretty appetising to you, and decide on the first fish dish she showed you. Anyway, you’re too indecisive. If you don’t pick now, you might stay the whole night. 

Since Jungyeong has returned to conjuring up fantasies of the waiter Sim Jaeyun across the room, you raise your hand and grab the attention of a young waiter, who seems the same age as you. He appears nervous as he approaches you with a notepad and pen. Is this his first time working here? 

“What can I get you?” He grins awkwardly, and you have to admit. He looks pretty cute trying to maintain professionalism though he looks like he’s crumbling internally. Smiling kindly, you guide him through your order as gently as you can. As you read out your order, he seems to relax progressively, nodding along. 

Just as he’s about to run off to convey your order to the cooks, he bows and thanks you sincerely. For some reason, your stomach flips in excitement at this, lingering tingles in your chest as he darts off. 

Nishimura Riki, read the nametag. He’s Japanese working at a Chinese restaurant in Korea. 

“So,” Jungyeong waggles her finger in front of your face teasingly. “He’s cute, huh?” She drawls, obviously trying to prove her point. 

You don’t buy it. “He is cute,” — you admit, and your friend raises her eyebrows — “but I’m not going to daydream about him the whole time I’m here. Unlike a certain someone…” You reach out to flick her arm amiably. 

Ironically, even though you say this, as Jungyeong starts to ramble about her life recently, your line of vision inevitably travels to the back of the restaurant, where Jaeyun and Riki are chatting. They seem to be quite close, as Jaeyun pats Riki’s back and laughs. Against your will, you’re interested in the way they interact with each other. Scratch that, you’re interested in the way Riki looks when he’s smiling. 

Out of the blue, the young waiter glances up and meets your gaze, just as Jungyeong starts to catch on that you’re not paying attention. 

“Dude, what a hypocrite,” she scoffs, but you ignore her. Riki quirks an eyebrow at you playfully, as if asking you why you’re casually staring at him. You don’t know why but your heart skips a beat. 

For the next five minutes, all you can focus on is the way your cheeks are overwhelmingly warm and probably look a fiery shade of red. 

Even when your food arrives, you feel sick to your stomach and can only bear to have a few bites before clocking out. Jungyeong looks at you, half worried and half with a tilt of the head that asks, is she going crazy? 

Eventually, you have to ask for a takeout container because your friend clearly can’t finish the whole dish by herself. 

You just think that you need to get out of there as soon as possible, so when Riki himself runs over, handing you both a fortune cookie wrapped in plastic, it comes as a shock. His fingers linger over the snack as he passes it to you, and you swear he’s gazing into the depths of your soul. 

Oooookay, this is uncomfortable. Does he want me to open it in front of his face or… is he being creepy? Or — this is where you panic — is he telling me he was also uncomfortable when I was staring at him? Should I apologise? Do I say something? What does he want from me?

Luckily for the overthinker emerging from you, he makes an unwrapping gesture and smiles silently, as if affectiona– okay, that’s too much.

You take the cracker out the wrapper, and snap it in half as quick as you can. Anything to get you out of this awkward situation. 

A glance over the table shows that Jungyeong has opened hers already, and nothing seems to be out of the blue. So what is Riki trying to get at? 

When you tug the slip of paper from the cracker, you don’t know if you go completely pale or grow even redder. 

A phone number in black pen ink has been written over the paper in an evidently rushed manner. 

You look up at the young waiter, who just shrugs and giggles at how clueless you look. How… did he… huh…? 

As you leave the restaurant in a hurry (mostly because Jungyeong is borderline screaming on your behalf), you swear you catch Jaeyun giving Riki a thumbs up in the corner of your eye.

more of my works >

guys i'm back after like a month of an unofficial hiatus. sorry to leave yall hanging like that! i'll get back to regular updates soon, i promise lawl. hope you didn't forget the plot of yitr...

BTW THX FOR 300

[drabblesandimagines]

Thank you for all the love for Prescription!

Really wanna write more Clive Rosfield x reader so do send me in requests if you have anything you'd like to see ❤️

[jjungkooksthighs]

Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (16)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: (fluff, angst, and smut) abo/werewolf,  fantasy

Rating: 18+/nsfw

Word Count: 14.3k (We really said it's been almost a year so we're going to write thirty plus pages)

Summary:

At the bathhouse, you discover your alpha is much worse is off than you originally anticipated. You tend to him, but some scars never fade.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE, MENTIONS OF BROKEN BONES, MENTIONS OF LOSS OF BODY PARTS, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, marking, manhandling

Author's Note:

It's been awhile since I updated. Honestly, the grown-up life is rough. That's all I really have to say to answer for the extended hiatus with this story and my other one. Mental health has been going up and down periodically and it really was so hard to write through it all. I spent about two weeks going back and forth with the chapter. I wondered if it would ever make it to a post several times because things kept getting deleted. I finally decided to just sit down and write and not stop. This is the final result. Thirty-one pages. I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry that this isn't the long-awaited mating chapter that I know you guys all really want to see, but it is important to me that the characters are nuanced and that their connection is not one built purely on the basis of desire. Sure, that is part of it, but there's much more to it. So much more depth and meaning when we build relationships with people. Especially romantic ones. Enjoy!

To read more, click here for the masterlist.

“O-over there, alpha,” you quietly suggest, “It would be easier for me to-“ you flounder in flusterment when the strong arm circled around your front curls possessively around you- “I-It would be easier for m-me to tend to you if you sat down on the bench.”

The male makes a deep, rumbling sound as he draws in another heavy breath of your intoxicating pheromones, “As you wish. But it will cost you for being so irresistible.”  

The sound goes straight to your cunt, and you have to bite into your cheek to keep from making the sound of need that your wolf begs you to release. You shift where you stand, hoping that the quaint press of your thighs together will somehow trap the slick from where it is secreted from your sex.

“What…what is the price I must pay for my transgression?” You ask, hoping that balms, ointments, and medicinal solutions splayed on the tray you hold in your hands don’t fall from how much your heart pounds in your chest.

It’s hard enough as it is not to look down, for he is completely, utterly, and mouth-wateringly naked. 

“Two things,” his uninjured arm tightens even more around your front, his hand bunching itself in your skirt as he groans at the fresh scent of desire that drifts from you. “The first is you will not leave my sight. I want you as near to me as you can be.” He noses at the side of your throat, your lashes fluttering in the warm sensation of his breath as he utters, “It was a second hell to leave you after that duel and be without you, but I wanted to respect the tradition–and your decision– had you chosen to prepare yourself for me.”

His words have affection swirling in your chest.

This male really was something special. Even after battling three other wolves and being severely injured on your behalf, he still put your needs before his own.

And really, how could you deny him his request when that was all that you wanted, deep down? To just be by his side. Forever his loyal, loving, doting mate.

“You needn’t ask me that, alpha, for it was already in my mind.” You faintly confess.

He likes that answer.

You know based on the way he presses his mouth to the oily gland along your throat. It is gentle and soft, and it is so different from what you’d seen on the glen not too long ago during his duel.

So much violence and so much pain he was capable of bringing, but with you, he would never harm a hair on your head.  So great was his love for you that he would protect you from that even if it meant taking those scars onto his body.

He’d given his oath to you that he would do exactly that, and gods, he had kept to it.

It is why you let him maneuver you forward away from the watery basin you’d found him in and toward the long ebony wood bench that almost stretches from one end of the chamber to the other. A tall pillar of white wax holds a flickering wick that is set in brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling on each side of the bench, and in front of its legs are caged candles guarded by glass that have high, bright flames.

“How agreeable you are being. If you can so easily agree to that, then the second of my terms is this.” He turns you both before the front of your knee can make contact with the wood, the arm he has encircled around your waist spinning you so that you face him.

His hand never leaves your side, his fingers remaining entrenched in the sea of your skirts. Somehow, none of the vials fall from the tray you clutch onto.

Golden irises that burn with more intensity than the fire beside him have you utterly struck by their luminousness as he demands, “You will promise me that if this,” he jerks his chin toward his mangled form, “is too much for you, you will tell me. I said before that I only wanted you to tend to me, and I meant it. But if you are uncomfortable, you must say so.”

Again, he was putting you first. Despite the fact that he was hurting, he was still choosing your comfort over his own.

Just how much more could your heart swell for this male?

You shake your head, finding your voice full of doubtlessness and confidence that surge into you as you say, “I want to do this, alpha. I spent years studying the art of medicine and herbal treatments so that I could one day use it to help others.” You rise on your tiptoes to osculate your lips against his. “I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t secretly wanted to learn it mostly for situations like this.”

He smirks against you, his mouth lingering near yours as he teasingly prods, “Situations like this? Are you saying that you thought about getting me shirtless and all alone so you could touch me under the guise of that excuse?”

Heat races to your cheeks and that confidence you’d had before vanishes with it. Soon, you’re blushing as you blurt, “No! I mean, yes! I mean….alpha!”

Years ago, you had never entertained the idea that this male before you would ever become yours. That you would ever be able to have a moment like this with him. He had been a constant thought in your mind from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him when you’d been but children, and as you both grew older, his presence in your mind and thoughts had only grown stronger.

But apart from your dreams and musings, he’d been so far for you to reach with all the duties and responsibilities that had been thrust on you from such a young age. So many other omegas had vied for his attentions, and with all of them clamoring for one look in their direction whenever he had returned to the compound from his exploits deep in the forest or in the forge where he had been stationed, you had never been able to get close enough with a constant herd of wolves –female and male alike– around him.

His rank had drawn many to him, each of them hoping that the next in line to be the ruler of the pack would select them to be part of his inner circle. Any selected by him would instantly rise in rank upon his ascendance to becoming Pack Alpha, and so naturally he had had to be guarded in his interactions and limited in his contact with others beyond his work in the forge as the pack’s only blacksmith beside his father.

Rumors had spread fast in his unannounced absences that he would take with his father for increasing increments of time the older he became, because when he returned to work at the forge, there were bags under his eyes that had become more mature, had become hardened with the calluses on his hands as he worked them day after day.

Sometimes he would return with a new wound on his body that he tried to hide under the various furs he draped over his body. You knew because of the chitter of the omegas that would inevitably gossip about in front of the fire in the omegean den on your way back to your chambers after a long night in the archives that you went to after you left the schoolhouse for the day.

Those were the nights that you found your paws bearing down on the grassy ground as you ran through the hills deep in the woodland in your journey toward your favorite creek that was tucked away behind a wall of vines, deep into the forest, that no one but you knew about.

Or so you had thought.

He’d been there, too. From a distance, of course. From the moment you stepped out of your chambers, he’d been able to smell you. The wind had a cunning way of carrying that to him no matter where he was, and he was helpless to the wolf in him he had been learning to control that bayed and bayed until he listened and tracked that captivating scent that made everything else in the world fade away.

You wonder, as he urges you between his legs that he opens for you in invitation to stand between, just how much he had to sacrifice to be sitting before you now.

Your alpha observes your expressions change from embarrassment to concentrated concern, and he tugs on the invisible cord tying you both together that is the bond you now share. You let him in without hesitation, your thoughts becoming known to him as he draws on the connection.

He can hear your thoughts, can feel your emotions, can see your memories if he taps into it. In the developing stage of the bond, you wish you knew how to show him all of your dreams of him, all of your memories of him, and all your thoughts that you’ve ever had of him.

There’s something that you want him to see, but gods, your voice just won’t work the way you want it to under the emotion that cracks and breaks it. So, you let him see a memory you’d kept buried deep in the trenches of your mind for many, many moons. One that no one but he would ever carry.

It had been a rainy, stormy night. So heavy was the rain that it pelted your skin even through the thick coat of your white fur as you’d torn through the earth with paws too eager to rush you away from the center of your stresses and away to the woodland where it all melted away with the streaks of color that passed by you in your inhuman speed as you ran, ran, and then ran some more.

Thunder had rumbled through the sky on this particular night so loud that even your eardrums rang after the deafening strikes of sound that cut through the sky as lightning flashed before your eyes from under the  canopy of trees.

The forest was vast, but that night, it had seemed all too small for you.

You hadn’t stopped until your lungs screamed for air, your haunches burning from how hard you’d pushed them, the bolt of white light in the sky similar to the color of the flame that had burned in the stone fireplace set in the middle of the wall on one end of your chambers while you’d carefully, attentively read the letter left to you on your windowsill.

Such a beautiful poem about a boy who had come to love the girl he admired from afar. And so meticulous had each letter been etched onto the parchment. You knew whoever had written it had taken much time to compose it with each swirl and curve of each syllable.

 You had left it on your bed while you had gone to find another book to hide yet another letter from your secret admirer with no name, but had not noticed the shadow that had swept under your door to reveal your father, who had taken one look at the letter on your duvet before anger had turned him cruel at the prospect of his perfect little girl being corrupted by some hormonal male.

He'd cast the parchment into the fire despite your ardent pleas not to, the tears falling quickly when he’d let that fury burn you with pokers of curses and chastisements for your lack of purity.

He had always been adamant that you were to study the ways of the pack and devote yourself to teach its art to the youth. Those letters, to him, were nothing but distractions.  Distractions that made you no better than the common whore in the fantasies they would ineluctably fill your head with.

Or so he had said.

That was why you had found yourself bounding through the forest that night with tears in your eyes not even the rain could wash away. But that night, fate had had other ideas.

You’d intended to go to the cave by the creek. You had never made it inside.

You’d stopped behind one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest floor before the soil turned to rock by the stream, the wide-mouthed cave beyond occupied by two figures.

Just by the smell of them, you knew they were of the same blood. One was older with their more muted, aged smell and one was younger.

You knew the scent of the younger one. That scent of blooming gardenia, pear and black vanilla. The same one that lingered on the letters left to you on your windowsill.

Each time the lightning pierced the black sky, their figures flashed. And each time, the two were locked in combat. Each held only a small iron dagger, their fighting leathers more than enough protection for them both lest either were struck by the other.

Unable to look away, you found yourself moving closer until you hid safely behind a thick, bountiful bush and could discern voices. Their voices. Only bits and pieces could be made out through the rainstorm, but it was enough.

“…too slow, son….can’t keep putting your arm up like that…too open and easy for me to…”

The next split of white light through the black sky illuminated them both, and the slightly shorter male with hair the color of ebony had a knife at his throat. It was held there by his father, who shook his head in disapproval as he gripped the younger male’s forearm in a vice-like hold.

“…cannot protect her if you cannot protect yourself. You are not ready.” The older male had decided. “Until you are, you will not see her. Even from afar.”

Another lightning bolt ruptures the clouds covering the moon, and a younger Jungkook had let his dogma guide his blade as he had voiced:

“Eventually I will be. And when I am, she’ll be mine. Not even her father will stand in my way.”

The next time the streak of lightning found its way through the atmosphere, the older male had been twisted around, his arm held behind his back while the younger alpha had pressed his blade to his father’s throat.

A self-satisfied grin with pointed canines protruding from under his upper lip had made your beating muscle in your chest stutter as he had released his father from the binding hold he’d had on him.

You could have sworn he looked right at you from behind the mess of leaves and brambles.

When the white fulmination cleaved through the clouds once more, your heart stopped when his father had quickly captured his son’s wrist to the hand that held the dagger by his neck only to bend forward and rotate forward, effectively flipping Jungkook onto his back. Jungkook, who had been unprepared for such a technique, had been brought to the craggy ground with a grunt, his other hand shooting out to grab for something, anything, to find purchase in as his knife fell from his fingers. Jungkook was fast, but his father had simply been faster.

The older male had easily used the momentum of move to step around and over Jungkook’s now prone form. Jungkook, who had been propped up on one elbow with a sharp looking rock held in his now bleeding hand from the blade of the dagger that had cut into his palm in the fall. It laid too far for him to reach, the essence of his defeat staining it.

White electricity strikes yet again, the deep rumble of thunder loud under the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Distracted. She occupies your mind even now. That…is dangerous, son.” The older male with gray streaking the black hairs stuck over his eyes had said. “Too dangerous for you to be allowed near her until….oncoming rut is over...”

That was the last thing you heard before there had been a flare of heat on your right, the rift of lightning arcing along the old oak’s stump beside you as the clouds clashed and loud sound pierced the earth.

You hadn’t even flinched. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the alpha on the ground who’s scent clung to the parchments that made you blush, smile, and kick your feet while you coveted them close to your chest as you wished to the gods that whatever force was keeping him from your side would release him.

The fascination that had turned every letter of his had tilled the very hard edge with which he spoke as he growled, “No. I cannot go through that again. You cannot make me.”

“Won’t I?” His father flipped the dagger in hand. “You’re on the ground right now because you cannot keep your mind off her. What is to stop you from venturing into her chambers tonight when you inevitably begin thinking of how good she smells? Of how pretty she looks when-“

Jungkook had pushed up on his hand, the other holding the rock slicing the air close to his father’s thigh. Each side of the older male’s mouth pulled downward, the metal of his dagger gleaming as sparks had flown upon impact of the pointed edge of the rock hitting the blade with such force.

“Don’t.” Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Do not dare to say the things I mutter in my sleep when you have me chained to the fucking trees.”

His father had shrugged. “Then become stronger for her. Until you can, you’ll stay here, deep in the woods. Far away from her.”

The cords in the younger alpha’s neck went rigid as he scowled. “I will find my way to her. One way or another.”

With that, he’d pulled his knees toward his chest before punting his father in the chest with his feet. Such energy he’d used to push himself back from the older male as he’d used the force of the action to drive his feet over his head in a backward roll, his bleeding hand reaching around the hilt of the curved dagger on the ground. When he’d gotten to his feet once more, he had bared his teeth with determination set into those expressive features of his.

His father had nodded in approval, “That’s the spirit, son. Never accept defeat. That’s how you win.”

The clash of metal had soon become drowned out by the outpour of rain, but not even the water could snuff out the iotas of light that came at each powerful strike of their blades against each other.

Hours must have passed, but you swore it felt like it had only been minutes as your eyes followed the younger male everywhere he went, his wild dark locks sticking to his forehead and sides of his face as he moved with purpose and confidence.

There was an art to his movements as he continuously, mercilessly brought down his blade on his father’s. Time and time again.

Whether he held a quill or a blade in his hand, he was filled with purpose. Purpose that was entirely carved by you.

It had taken his father being backed into the stream for you to realize that you were too close. And that the air had become too thick to push air through your lungs as the organs in your chest contracted too deeply?

Why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe?

Jungkook wades into the stream up to his calves, not willing to let up on his father despite the water urging him with its flow against him.

The closer he got, the more labored your breaths became.

You needed to shift. You needed to shed your heavy furs that had been drenched by the rain.

But to do that, you had to leave him.

So, you did. Quietly, you slipped into the night, careful not to make any sound lest you drew any attention to yourself. You hadn’t known you’d been holding your breath until you found your way back to your chambers, your footfalls light as your furs had begun to fall away from you. After you’d collected the rainwater you’d left in a barrel outside your window in several smaller bowls and emptied them into the cauldron hung over the metal hook above your fireplace to heat what would be your bathwater, your hands had sought the comfort of the thickest bound book that you kept on your bookshelf.

You had been too hasty to get to the dog-eared page you’d marked in the book, accidentally tearing the page before finding what you’d come to your book for. Inside it was tucked your favorite letter left to you on your windowsill. One that you found yourself rereading night after night.

It read:

The moon pales in comparison to the light that twinkles in your eyes,

The stars tremble in awe of your brilliance,

The night must blanket them and still, you offer more warmth,

Warmth that not even the sun can make as pleasant,

Warmth that the clouds could not even shade,

Warmth that no rain could fall with,

The flowers around us bloom, but none blossom with the beauty and grace of you,

The seedlings take root, but gods, none do so like the one you’ve planted in me,

The water they draw into themselves is life-giving, but yours is so much nourishing,

 Still I sit here, hoping that you will allow me to bask in your radiance,

Still I sit here, promising that I will grow stronger in body, soul, and mind to be at your side,

Still I sit here, thinking of you when I cannot see, hear, or touch you as I do in my dreams.

Wait for me, my beautiful flower who only becomes more alluring under each moon.

Wait for me, and I will be your loving attendant,  

Wait for me, and I will be yours.

You are forbidden to me now, but soon, you will not be. Soon, I will make you mine.

You will never have to look longingly at the wolves who hold and dote on each other while your only partner is the books you keep in your library. I will be everything you want me to be if that is what pleases you.

You will always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear that will listen, a hand that will caress you.

You will always have me.

You will never have to spend your nights crying into your pillow alone because of your father. I will be there to hold you close. I will be the fists that pummel him to the ground for daring to hurt you. Or anyone else that meddles your happiness.

All I can do for you now is watch over you from afar. Guard and protect you from the males I know you do not desire. From the females that have become venomous in jealousy of your unmatched intelligence, spirit, and beauty. From the threats that loom deep in the forest.

I hope you can forgive me for keeping my name and a face a secret from you. I suspect by now you have figured out who I am. And if you have, you will then understand why I commune with you this way.

The elders, nor your father, would allow it since you have not yet presented. Besides…it looks like I have some developments myself that I need to make. You have so consumed my mind and body that I can no longer make sense of certain things.

You are everywhere and yet, you elude me. It is the most tragic of ironies.

Until we meet again, my fair flower. I will see you long before you see me, but you can always find me in our dreams.

Always.

-Your Alpha

The air here had been clammy, too, so when you had let your thumb brush at the corner, the oils from it smudged the ink. Panic stole your breath and you not wanting to blemish the beautiful lettering,  you’d slipped the parchment under your pillow and gone to the window to open it in hopes of letting some crisp, fresh air in.

Even here, you could still hear the clang of metal from the forest under lightly falling raindrops. You had let your body move on its own when you’d leaned out from the ledge of your windowsill that was only a few feet from the ground, the baser part of you subconsciously trying to be near to him despite the space between you.

That muggy draft that had clung to your ribs still did not dispel as the cold drops trickled down your body, the tears of the sky slow in their consolation as they dribbled along your arm as you lifted it up and stuck it out of the window.

It still wasn’t enough.

You needed to be able to breathe. And thankfully, you knew just what to do from all the books you read.

Hot water could provide relief to respiratory issues.

Your eyes landed on the largest of the wooden bowls you’d used to collect water from the barrel of rainwater outside, each of your hands holding it as you’d dipped it into the cauldron over boiling water, careful not to let it burn your fingers as you brought it to the tub, the sloshing of it causing you to stare down at it to see your reflection.

Your mouth was ajar with partially sharpened teeth that had not fully shifted back yet, your face flushed with redness and your eyes… your dilated pupils, now the color of the sun where they were usually silver like the moon, glowed back at you.

You blinked rapidly, surprise lighting up your face as you gaped.

Your wolf had been scratching at your psyche to do something about the irremovable weight that felt like it was pushing against your organs.

Another bout of thunder rolled through the sky from outside the semi-circular opening in the wall along the far end of the small, square room. The accompanying flash of lightning brought with it the deadly gleam of daggers behind your eyes, the image of Jungkook’s blood staining it in your mind’s eye as the suffocating pressure in your chest worsened.    

You’d had to sit on the edge of the tub, unable to get air between your lips and before you could think, you raised the steaming bowl over your head and let it pour over you.

Its cascade down your flesh had immediately silenced your wolf, who preened at the hot sensation of the liquid all over your flesh. Everywhere the water touched, it washed away the uncomfortable weight that had smothered you so.

When you looked into the mirror across the room, the gold in your irises had been swept away with the last drop of water to leave only silver.

Your surprise had been doused until its remnants became distress as you looked up at the moon, your hands coming together before your bosom as you bowed your head in deference to ask, “Please, gods, do not let him suffer for me. Wherever he is, please, protect him from harm. Keep him safe.”

You’d gone to bed that night without bothering to dry off, the lightest of layers heavy on your skin as hushed prayers and pleas for his safety left your lips while you held the letter he’d left you against your thudding heart.

Words have a way of failing you when he’s around, but that? It was so much easier. So much better when you couldn’t find language sufficient to let him know what you wanted to say.

He seems to understand, because then he’s releasing your skirts and grabbing the wooden tray of salves, gauze, and other medicinal solutions with his uninjured hand and, lost in his eyes, you don’t even realize he’s put it beside him until his voice finds you through it all.

You need not worry for me, my love. I have everything I need right here. I may have had to grow up faster than everyone else around us, but I would do it all over again if it meant that you would be mine.

You only notice your hands are empty when you go to brush your forehead against his, your unoccupied hands lifting to cradle each side of his face as your eyes burn with the tears that threaten to fall.

“You are too good to me, alpha. I promise you that you will never have to be alone again. Not now, and not ever.” You pledge as you kneel between his legs, reaching for the thick roll of white translucent fabric with a loose, open weave. You take it between both hands, your mouth setting in a thin line as you rip it so that you have two moderately sized pieces while your alpha takes in the image of you on your knees before him.

“Nor do you, my love. I am officially yours now, just as you are entirely mine. No one can deny us from each other anymore.” He professes, lifting his unharmed arm so he can sweep your hair out of your face while you work.

It was no small thing to allow an omega to do this. The action was something of a rite that went back to the earliest of their ancestors. When an alpha was harmed in battle or in the hunt for prey, the omega that he let dress his wounds, by doing so, accepted the bond between them. To allow an omega to see an alpha at their most vulnerable…it was a very special, intimate moment.

And you knew of that. He knows because the thought surfaces in your mind the moment you daub the dry fabric against the top of each pectoral where four dark and furiously red lines curve diagonally downward and end on each side of his pelvis. Blood beads the incisions that Yoongi’s serrated claws had left, and the tears that had threatened to fall before fight against the entrapment of your eyelids as you try to blink them away.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, alpha?” You ask with the guilt weighing at your words as you uncork one of the small ovular vials containing a yellow liquid, the woody-sweet scent pungent in your nostrils as you use the oil left by crushed eucalyptus to clean your hands before you pour it onto the strips of fabric you’d just torn and after, you push the cork into the vial and set it down before you.

You let guilt drag each of your hands containing the gauze downward very lightly as you follow the large virgules of red. Where you normally would admire the strong, defined contours of his chest, now, the sight of it has woe whispering in your ear.

His skin is hot to the touch. As if fire burns under his flesh. So fuming and inflamed in the redness that surrounds the gaping, curling lacerations. Both sides of his sternum have been raked– no, ripped–through by sharp claws. Yoongi had cut into your mate’s skin eight blood red half-moons; four on either side of his chest that were turned away from each other, their ends incurving from the base of his neck all the way down his torso and even along his hip bones. Layers of crimson ooze and leak down his body like water, and the sight has something in your bosom tightening in on itself as your vision becomes cloudy.

Somewhere down between the middle of his pectorals, the cloths become too saturated and heavy with blood to soak up any more.

Perhaps the tangibility of his suffering is what finally has the tears falling down your cheeks, the burning in your eyes unavoidable no matter how many times you try to blink it away.

Despite that it feels as if fire sears him everywhere Yoongi’s claws had been, there is worse pain to be felt. Like the gut-wrenching punch that is delivered to his belly when he sees the first of your tears slide down your face.

With the hand he has on your chin, he tilts your chin up as he answers honestly, “Nothing harms me more than watching the light of my life weep for me.”

“I…I can’t help it, alpha.” You respond dolefully, your own stomach dropping to the bowels of your body at the high volume of blood he’s losing so quickly. He’d already turned the entire tub of water he’d been in red, and still he bled. If this kept on…

You don’t let that thought continue. You can’t. 

You drop the sopping cloths into an empty glass container you’d put next to the roll of gauze only to take the roll between your hands once again. This time, you do not stop unraveling it until you have much thicker stretches of cloth folded into squares. You do not forget to grab the vial of yellow fluid once more, the viscous oil slow to make its journey to the cloths. You lightly press them against the spots you had had the other ones placed against. The second you put them to his mutilated flesh, they slowly turn crimson. The more they are stained with his lifeblood, the more you are soused with leaden compunction.

It burns, yes, but your sadness smolders him more.

“You are blaming yourself for this.”

It is not a question. It’s a statement.

You draggle each of the gauzes down along the underside of his pectorals, letting them rest there as you watch them turn completely red with his blood.

Momentarily, you wonder if the silvers he’d put on you before would be able to numb the contrition that pulls your spirits away from you.

Your mate will not have any of that.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your chin as he coaxes, “Peer into my eyes, Y/N.”

Unquestioningly, you do. He’s more than earned your obedience. What you see in the depths of those orbs is unending and bottomless in the plunge to the part of him that he would never show anyone else. The part of him that he had kept buried and sunken in wait for the right creature to unearth it. So many masks he had had to wear when so many had ulterior motives and designs around him, but this creature before him? He would break them all to pieces so she could see him for what he really was.

Once, he had asked his father how he would really know if anyone wanted him for him and not his power or his rank. His father had simply laughed and told him: You won’t. All you can do is watch and wait to see someone’s true colors when they think no one else is watching.

This creature before him who cried in the face of his pain and suffering did so out of pure, genuine sorrow. He could feel it sinking your spirits, your very thoughts through the bond. He could see it deep in the valley of your eyes that are, even in the guilt that tries to make them cloudy, drizzling with love for him.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were true and that you were absolutely, unequivocally his. That is why he allows the walls of his reservedness to crumble as he confides:

“Hear my words, my love. This is a result of my own weakness. I teased you before about you wanting to do this. But know that you are only in this situation because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I needed to do.” He doesn’t let go of your chin. With his other hand, he places it between your breasts. The action has him sucking his lip between his teeth as excruciating pain shoots through his upper bicep where the flesh has been torn from limb. A river of red gushes from the open wound, but it matters little to him when pangs of your heart are slower even than his as if it, too, was sulking itself in blame. Despite the way his split blood vessels cry more tears of blood in the movement, he goes on with a grimace, “I know what you’re thinking, my sweet, beautiful girl. You are not to blame for this. Do not pity me. Do not feel guilty for me. If anything, I should be the one pitying you for having to tend to me for such serious injuries.” He leans forward, his lips meeting the flesh between your brows, “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you with only a scratch. But I meant every word of what I said when I made that oath to you that I would protect you with my body. My body can be mended. My soul, if it lost you, could not.”

The male before you shouldn’t even be able to move in his condition.

And yet, he does.

For you.

Your own emotions crack and fracture under the seriousness of his words and unhesitant ministrations. Each is packed with the mass of his candor and you can’t stop yourself from pouring your heart out to him.

“You ask me to simply accept this…this agony that you must be feeling, alpha, and I,” you cry out,” I cannot! I care too much for you to simply turn off my emotions. I cannot do it!”

You lift the strips of soddened fabric away from his chest through eyes full of tears, your sight descending to where you hold them in your now shaking hands as you place those, too, in the same glass bowl as the others. “You ask me not to blame myself, but your wounds…they are there because of me. And they are serious. Serious enough that if this keeps on, you-“ Your sniffle, shaking your head in unwillingness to finish the unbearable thought. You take the gauzy roll in your hands once more and unwind it, you have to rely on muscle memory because at this point, the constant slew of tears is too much for you to see through.

Your alpha’s eyes soften as you try to rub at your own, your tear-streaked cheeks sullied by the tracks the salty water had left,  the fresh blood that now covers your hands a stark contrast to the darker, dried blood he’d painted on you earlier during the Smearing.

Why did that make you look even more beautiful to him?

“I’m not asking you to simply turn a blind eye to your feelings, sweetheart. Such a task would be difficult for anyone with a heart to attain.” He brings his lips under one of your eyes, the tang of salt and iron left on his lips as he does. “What I ask is that you try not to blame yourself for my errors. It is my misjudgment that earned me more scars. These are not the first, and they likely will not be the last.” He turns his head so he can leave a soft, featherlight kiss under your other eye. “These scars shall be proof of the trial I had to face to earn you. And I would take hundreds of thousands more of these for you. If I had lost an arm or leg tonight, I would have been alright with it. Your smile and your happiness are worth that much to me.”

The sound of the white fabric shredding between your fingers is muffled under his voice. It’s as if your senses have been dulled to all but him. Even the firelight fails to crackle in your ears amidst the steady beat of his own heart while you tremblingly let the lip of the vial teem with the oil that smells of honey, mint, and citrus.

“My happiness should never come at the expense of pain or suffering, alpha,” you murmur mournfully as you eye the bawling gashes of scarlet.

You crimp the gauze into two thick squares once they have been wetted with the oil before holding them down over the underside of each of his pectorals. You wait until the part in contact with his frayed skin is steeped in scarlet before you flip each of them over and depress them along the arched curvatures going in opposite directions toward each side of his pelvis.

His lips tighten, wrinkles forming where none existed before when you tenderly wipe away at the jagged ends of each of the four lines on either hemisphere of his torso where Yoongi’s claw had pierced the deepest, not bothering to hide his expression from you now at his most vulnerable. There was nothing to hide now. No reason to keep his pain from you when he knew that doing so would just upset you more.

It pains you to see him like this. You wish there was a way for you to make it all disappear, but unfortunately, there were no medicinal or herbal remedies that had the power to do that.

“Such is our way, omega. It is my duty to protect you. I will never neglect that obligation if it ensures your safety." He hisses when you gingerly drag the gauze along the same path upward to collect the stray rivulets of crimson that had dripped from the top of his wounds.

The incinerating flare of flames feels like it is scorching him from the inside out under each slash and tear in his flesh left by Yoongi’s claws, and each time you attempt wiping away the bloody tears his body weeps, more of his life essence is there to replace it.

The oil offers a mild cooling sensation, but it is similar to throwing a block of frozen ice into a roaring bonfire.

You note the lack of stoppage of blood flow from those wounds, concern turning your lips down even more. What you had been reluctant to think about before was becoming all the more possible now. Even if you did keep trying to refuse it.

Worry soon lugs you asunder with the guilt that swims densely about you, and your brows furrow as you instruct, “Alpha, I need you to lie down now. You aren’t having any changes in the blood loss and I fear that something bad may happen if you lose too much more.”

He nods, but the action has a dot spotting his vision and no matter how many times he blinks, it remains. Soon, there are more. And as he holds your watery gaze, more tears trek down the contours of your cheeks.

Something in his chest twinges that has nothing to do with the wounds Yoongi had left.

“As you say, my love.” He brings one knee carefully up toward his chest, his foot resting on the edge of the wood as he asks “What will you have me to do with this arm of mine? It’s in bad shape.”

You grab the now near-empty vial of eucalyptus oil that you’d set on the ground between your knees and return it to its place on the tray, your mind easily supplying you with the answer to his question after having spent so many nights hunched over tomes about medicinal treatments and herbal remedies as you rise, one of your hands wrapping around his nape and the other laying itself over the palm he has pressed between your breasts. The arm that palm is connected to is the one that Yoongi had mangled such that you can see bone between the split mess of muscles bordering it.

You can only imagine how much agony he must be in. If you could take it into yourself, you would.

Not that he would let you, though.

His promise to you had been made not only out of love for you, but out of pride as an alpha. An alpha that could not protect their mate was not deserving or worthy of her. It was an alpha’s responsibility by right to be the source of security and protection for his omega.  An alpha who could not guarantee that for his omega had failed her.

Or so the tradition had held.

“You need to relax this arm and let me maneuver it so that it rests by your side. What I’m about to do will require a certain position,” you urge him down by the back of his neck, and while you know your measly strength could never compete against his, the fact that he allows you to move him so readily is an obvious display of trust. His back is laid atop the bench first, and you are delicate in the way you guide his head down until it, too, comes to a rest on the wood. “And it…it will hurt. I’m going to have to move your arm so we do not risk further injuring it. After that, I will need to clean it before applying pressure where the worst of the damage is.”

With conviction clearer than any concoction you could give him, he asserts, “Do what you have to do.  You know what needs to be done. You have trained and studied well. It goes without saying that you have my trust. All of it.” He adds.

Gods, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate.

“Let me be the voice of reassurance this time, alpha,” you express while you curl your fingers around the hand of his that is placed along your sternum. Your other cups the underside of his forearm and, scrupulously, you usher it to his side before slowly and surely straightening it. He grimaces, and to distract him, you assure, “I’ll do everything I can to fix you. I promise, alpha.”

You monitor the bone in his arm that shifts in the movement, the middle of his humerus exposed and clearly fractured. From the dark line running perpendicular to the bone along the end closest to his elbow, you know instantly that he’s suffered from a transverse fracture to the bone. Honestly, you had expected worse with the way Yoongi had thrashed his head with Jungkook’s poor arm trapped between his teeth. Those teeth had managed to pierce halfway through the vessels and muscles lining his upper arm, the punctures still gushing blood.

It should have been impossible for him to have moved it. And yet…

“How did you move this arm when your bone has been broken, alpha?” You ask, swallowing the emotion that wants to be let out as you assess him.

His brows scrunch together and he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The pain was inconsequential next to the sadness that pooled in those pretty eyes.”

You fight the burning at the edges of your vision as you silently take your skirt between your fingers, the soft material pliable under your fingers. You don’t say anything. All you can do is let your hands work as you find the slit cut into it and tear along the line.

“What are you doing, my love?”

It is a question not asked out of doubt, but genuine curiosity.

The sound of ripping fabric ceases as you pull a sizable amount of the organza away from you and turn it inside out before placing it onto the tray beside his head and grabbing for the rectangular glass canister next to the eucalyptus oil.   

I have to clean it. It’s infected already, and if I don’t get the bacteria out, your condition will worsen. Once I clean it, I will have to mobilize and brace it. A piece of my skirt should be the outer layer so as not to discomfort you.

You don’t trust your voice not to rupture, so you gently push the words to him through the bond as you grab the roll of cotton wool beside the gauze and unwind it before pressing it to your lips, closing your eyes, and silently begging for the mercy of the gods to take pity on him. To save him.

You knew what to do, but there was only so much that herbs and medicinal solutions could do.

You discard the thought like one of the blood-stained gauzes before you. You couldn’t afford to think like that. Especially not when you’d promised to put him at ease as he had always done for you.

When you bring the wool away from your mouth, you lift the lid from the container and the musky, earthy smell of the ginger poultice you’d prepared weeks ago joins the scent of muted iron in the air as you dip the wool into it several times to ensure its transfer onto the material.

The ginger will not hurt you, alpha. The pressure I will have to put on you will, however.  

“I meant what I said, omega. Do what you need to do. I can take it.” He confides, opening his mouth so he can bite onto it.

I know, alpha. I know. More than anyone.

You pick up the considerably long, thick strip of wool from where you’d left it in a heap atop of the open poultice, bending over him before straightening it out so that it ran the length of his upper arm. Thankfully, it was just wide and long enough to completely cover his arm.

With one hand holding one end and your other hand on the other, you bring it down over the split skin from just under his shoulder to just above his elbow.

Just as you’d told him, there is no burning sensation as the gelatinous, thick solution is applied and spread across his sheared muscles, blood vessels, and bone. The blood spurting from the ruptures in his flesh is quick to permeate into the cotton, but you’d expected as much.

The ginger and eucalyptus have antioxidants, antibacterial, antiseptic, and disinfecting properties good for fighting infections. That’s why I chose to have Namjoon collect them from my personal store that I made.

Have I ever told you how attractive I find your intelligence?

Yes, alpha. You have.

You smile through the tears as you untwist more cotton wool from its spool, careful to lay it flat over the existing layer you’d just put over him. It, too, becomes saturated with his life’s essence within seconds.

He needed something else. Something to help boost the efficacy of the poultice. And you knew just the thing.

You scan the tray, evaluating the vials and containers left on it as you note the last addition you had yet to make. There, in the middle, was the small wooden box no longer than your hand and no taller than your pinky. You flip open the latch, the powder inside a brilliant yellow with the hint of orange tang under your nose.

His irises follow your every movement as you peel the layers of cotton wool up and off of him, disposing of them both in the same bowl as the other discolored fabrics.

When you unravel the dressings this time and steep them in the poultice, your other grabs a considerably sized clump of the crushed turmeric powder and sprinkles it all over his slashed open arm.

Three handfuls of that later, you are satisfied with the way the powder has been packed over the gash and surround it with several strips of the material lathered in the ginger solution.   

The turmeric has curcumin in it, which can enhance granulation tissue formation and wound contraction. It also decreases inflammation and oxidation and can increase antioxidant capacity of the body, which means it helps fight compounds that could damage you.

The words are recited just as you had written them in one of your journals, and you busy yourself remembering that in lieu of your mind wandering to darker, scarier thoughts as his life’s essence clings to your hands while you rip apart more strips of cotton and run them all through the container of poultice.

Keep going, my love. Tell me more.

He feels the quiver of your hands as you lay each rectangular cloth down over his raw, chafed abrasions lining his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around your thigh to steady you as his temples begin to ache.

The ginger root that this poultice was made from speeds along the healing process for cuts and abrasions among the other qualities it possesses. You won’t have to worry about these dressings falling off.

Underneath each dressing you affix to his front, his very cells feel as if they are being engulfed in an inferno. One that only blazes hotter every second that passes.

The gingerols and shogaols are compounds in it that will work as a natural adhesive to the cotton and to your skin without sticking or gluing it to you.  

His second lack of response has you tilting your head in confusion.

You had said before that the poultice was not meant to feel like that, so whatever was happening, he was certain that you were not the cause. Perhaps it was just some strange side effect of blood loss? How odd that this sensation did not spread to his arm. He really should have studied more.

I’m fine, love. I think. My chest… it feels like I’m burning up from the inside. Have you any idea what that could be?

You’d read many books on herbology and medicine practices. None had ever described that as a symptom of blood loss.

With worry making your mouth go drier than cotton, you examine the way he blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eyes.

W-what else ails you, alpha?

More dots have begun to occupy his sight, and no matter how many times he tries to close and open his eyes, they will not dissipate.

I cannot see properly. It is like there are dark circles blotting parts of my vision.

˙

That was definitely a symptom of blood loss. But the burning sensations? That wasn’t characteristic of the lesions that had been cut into his skin. Nor was the ceaseless gush of scarlet from his chest injuries.

You recall the events that had brought you both here, identifying that it had only been Yoongi that had managed to harm your alpha. He’d been bitten on his arm and struck by claws on his chest. Two different points of contact with two different mediums.

You compare the two areas where he’d been mutilated, spotting the angered, puffed up flesh just that became more raised the closer it got to his now covered traumatisms on his torso. Like something was agitating it from the inside. His arm, however, mangled as it is, is not as badly puckered up around the gash despite the blood he’s losing. Which brings you to your next observation: His blood drips slowly and languidly from his chest wounds where it wells and spurts from his arm. With as deeply as Yoongi had pierced through him, he should have been losing more.

What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my love? Have you…have you discovered something?

There’s a slight pause between each of his unhurried words through your bond. As if it took effort to pull them forth.  

You push through the distress that wants to drag you down, forcing yourself to focus and do everything that you could to aid him as you turn your attention to his arm now that you had taken care of his chest wounds.

You needed to stop the river of red that streamed down his arm. Without removing the cloth you’d set over it, you use your teeth to shear the white open-weaved fabric from the now nearly depleted roll it had once been spun around.

I will have to apply pressure as I said before to make sure the medicines set on the punctures in your arm. It…it’s going to hurt, alpha. If you want, you can bite onto my skirts. I don’t mind.

The offer earns you a nod, and so you rise to stand by his side and a wad of your skirt in your hands, hoping that he doesn’t mention the way that they shake as you do.

Forgive me, alpha.

It’s all the warning he gets before you place the dressings over the first layer covering his arm and push into the afflicted area, mindful of where his bone has been broken and avoiding that as you squeeze. Unlike the ruptures along his chest, this area does not nearly scald you.

He curses, his teeth grating into the fabric of your skirt as you apologize over and over again, guilt leaving tangible evidence of itself on your face while you cry for him.

Anyone else would have flinched, but not your alpha. No, he simply screws his eyes shut as he hisses through the material between his lips.

I’m sorry, alpha. I’m so, so sorry. But you have to stay like this for five minutes. I have to try to make the bleeding stop.

The dots that had been impairing his vision increase and the ache in his temples he’d felt before turns into a fierce throbbing as the world begins to dim around him while the claw marks along his chest ripple forth with black blood.

You perceive the way his eyes begin to flutter closed, the arm he’s wrapped around your thigh beginning to loosen. A tremble overcomes his body in the way that it suddenly is as if it’s gone down many degrees, and at that, a lump of dread drops into your stomach.

Not wanting him to slip into unconsciousness, you squeal. “N-no! Stay with me, a-alpha!”

Your voice cleaves through the barren desert that has set upon your throat.

I’m sorry, my love…I’m trying, but…it’s cold, yet my body feels like it’s on fire.

There are longer standstills between his words now. Like each one has to be dug up from the recesses of his mind.

Why has it suddenly become a….a blizzard in here? Why does…does my head feel…feel like someone is…is pounding… into it?

The dread in your belly is joined by another chunked mass of fear as his responsiveness slows with the unseen ice that encases and numbs him. When his good arm falls limply to his side from where it had been encircled around your thigh, you snivel, shaking your head vigorously back and forth as you whisper through a cracked voice, “No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be.”

As his eyelids tiredly droop, that’s when the panic grips your organs and wrings them out.

You had to stay strong. And you could not panic.  Doing so would only stress him further.

But that thought is difficult to keep under the fleeting consciousness of your mate before you, who squeezes his eyes shut before opening them wide in effort to keep awake as you had instructed as he shivers.

You swallow around a brittle, sandy throat, wiping your hands on your bodice before your attention sifts around the room in search of something, anything, to help you. You start with the tray. The bowl of blood-soaked, soiled gauze and wrappings sits on its edge, the rolls of gauze and cotton wool in front of it. Next to them, the rectangular wooden box of turmeric powder remains beside the canister of ginger extract. Around them, the vial of eucalyptus lays on its side where the other glass containers of assorted colors and contents are placed. Three had been unused.

The first was a smaller brown bottle of oil secreted from crushed neem kernels you’d plucked from the seeds yourself. The second was a moderately sized canister of milk-colored paste you’d boiled and ground from coconuts. The last was a large flask of honey.

All would work to stop the bleeding. Five minutes had felt an eternity with his continually shallow breaths in your ear, his heart rate weakening under the lack of blood to push through his body. You hadn’t understood why your vocal cords felt so sore, but when you release him and the mewling coming from your mouth dies out, that answers the question.

You waste no time emptying the bottle of neem oil over each of his wounds as you sniffle, “Keep looking at me, alpha. Don’t go to sleep. I-I need you awake for me.”

Despite the gnawing pain in his temples and the ever increasing temperature that boils the parts of him under the skin of his thorax, he battles the darkness that wants to swallow him as he tries to stay in the light of your eyes that shine glassily down on him while you pour the honey, with unsteady hands, along each striation channeling his chest and arm before adding another lining of gauze over his crimson turned bandages.

“One more, alpha. One more, and then I can make a splint for your arm.” You don’t care anymore about the snot that runs down your nose with the tears trailing it as his skin begins to lose its color.

He nictates through bleary, dimmed orbs, and the sight twists your heartstrings.

You keep your hands busy, because you know the moment you stop is the moment he could slip through your fingers.

You cover both hands in the creamy mixture and with the first pass of your fingers against his sternum, you wrench your hand back in the overwhelming heat that scorches you like a blazing sun.

“You’re burning up, alpha.” The words are choked out. “It’s gotten worse.”

He says nothing. Doing so would cause it to sear him even more.

His pained expression is answer enough. And the discomfort of the sensation it had brought was nothing compared to what you knew he faced. For him, you would cross any sea of fire. For him, you would do this. No matter the cost.

So, you gently trail your fingers around the reddened, plowed planes of his chest to surround all sides of the new contours there in the substance.

You shake the canister over his arm so that thick dollops land over the flesh there so you can spread them around, too.

Once you’re certain no part of him is bereft of your attention, you straighten and scour the room for anything you could use as a splint. There alone atop the cabinet by the door, was a clipboard with paper. No doubt a visitor’s log.

It was the perfect length for his arm.

Before you leave his side, you check his vitals for any unseen changes. Still he attempts to combat the throes of sleep that wish to pull him asunder, but the most serious of his wounds have now been disinfected and dressed.

“Alpha,” you prod, “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to stabilize your arm.”

You wait for him to give a slow incline of his head, the action causing him to wince as explosive pain fires through his temples.

You turn, but the watchful glance you keep on him remains as you make your way across the room. You do not miss the way his fingers along his good arm twitch as if searching for you.

Your fingers close around the edge of the board of wood, your own chest splintering at the sight.

You return to him within seconds, but gods, it had felt like hours.

This time, you walk over to the side of him where his bad arm now rests, one of your hands wrapping around the underside of his arm to coax it only an inch upward. He lets you so you can slip the board underneath it as you observe him for any fluctuations in symptoms. His pupils are stagnant and idle, but they do not stray from you even as his breathing begins to slow and his heart beats become fainter and fainter.

Worry sets in your veins as you take the piece of your skirts that you’d torn earlier and tie it around the board of wood and the bandages you’d put there.

When you press your index and middle finger to the pulsating vein along his neck, it beats feebly.

He needed to replenish the blood he’d lost before it was too late. And you knew, right then, exactly what you needed to do to fix that.

However, no matter how much you flipped through the pages of the books you’d read in your mind, the answer to his inquiries and asymptomatic conditions he’d alerted you to did not match what you knew of blood loss. Whatever he had described was clearly something else. Something that Yoongi must have done since he’d been the only one to successfully injure your mate.

Yoongi, who had bitten him on the arm and his claws on Jungkook’s torso where, surprisingly, Jungkook had explained the worst of his pain to be. Where you yourself had felt it to be in the irate ire of the wounds there so hot to the touch.

It is with that identification that you scrap the books you’d read about common ailments in lieu of one you’d been hunched over for many weeks trying to memorize in its abundance of knowledge. One that had detailed poisons and toxins. There was one that matched what you had seen and heard from him. One that, if introduced into the body, was capable of corrosive necrosis in cells and had sensations and symptoms that matched what he’d described. One that was odorless, colorless, and impossible to cure.

It must have been dappled on Yoongi’s claws. He must have known about the deadly poison carried by a large fungus that even necromancers hesitated to harvest. It was capable of causing the entire bodily organs and tissues to break down and feel as if they were burning in their degradation when the toxins turned the cells against each other.

Jungkook’s eyes close, and horror clods your ribs and bowels of your body.

You had to keep him awake. For fear of losing his life, you had to keep him from sinking into the darkness.

Stay with me, my mate. My alpha. My love. Please, don’t leave me.

The words course like a ravine through the bond, the waters of your affections evident in the tracks they leave down your cheeks as you lift your leg up and over so you can sit astride him, desperation making you move before your mind can. The raindrops of your sadness fall over him like a fall downpour, and soon, his entire chest is wet with the salve of your handmade solutions and sadness.

The longer his eyes stay shut, the closer he dangles to that dangerous idea you’d kept rejecting and denying. That idea became more real by the moment.

You promised me, alpha. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!

Distress takes control as the rush of thoughts spill from you and you bring your hand to your teeth that you had subconsciously sharpened in the iron that now falls across your tongue.

I can’t do this without you, alpha. Life without you was life without meaning. Life without you was like having silver thrust on me every day from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep: gray, senseless and deadening.

Something warm trickles from the sides of your lips when all of your now edged, serrated upper teeth easily prick and slice through your palm and you suck a mouthful between your lips.  

The taughtened muscles around his eyes and mouth slacken, the movement of his irises behind his lids moving this way and that. As if he was still trying to search for you in the darkness. The gentle thud of his heart is all that you hear in your ears anymore. No other sounds matter.

You speak to him through it, hoping with everything in you that doing so will give him something to hold onto.

I love you, alpha. I love you more than anything in this world. So please, come back to me. Come back to me so I can express it to you, show it to you, and make more wonderful, beautiful, colorful memories with you.

You take his chin between the fingers of your other hand, lifting it before using your thumb to part his lips.

With the hand you’d just bitten, you hold it over his mouth only to turn your palm to the side before curling your digits in, your nails sinking into the fragile flesh to cut into it so that more streaks of crimson dribble down, the dark drops of your blood falling between his lips.

Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow it, but it’s not enough.

As you watch your blood spread across his tongue, you can’t help but notice how his skin has gone whiter than sleet, his usual golden glow drained with his life’s essence as he continues to shudder beneath you.

The faint presence of him dwindles in the bond like candlelight that the cold darkness schemes to snuff out, but still he is kindled in yours as you lean forward, your mouth seeking him.

Take my blood, alpha. Drink and replenish what you have lost. It is the only way.

The last sound of you is tucked in his mind just as your mouth slots itself over his, the mouthful of your blood that you had drawn forth from your hand soon emptied into his as he swallows it weakly. You mindfully set your bleeding hand between the middle of his sternum, the thick redness sobbing for him, too, as it spreads down his torso and seeps into the coverings draped across his chest.  

With the first swill of you down his throat, the throbbing in his temples begins to dull and the air around him starts to warm.

It’s as if your blood had passed life into him, for his tongue eventually sweeps at the excesses of your mouth for the remnants that percolate from the small scrapes your teeth had left in your cheeks. You let him lick it, and with each pass of his tongue over each one, the muscle beating under your hand on his chest beats steadier. Stronger. Louder.

He required more. Way more after all that he had lost. And you? You intended to give it to him.

When he’s lapped all of your quintessence up, you pull away only to bring the hand you’d bitten to his lips in offering.

With his eyes still closed, he can’t see it, but he can smell it.

The tang of iron is powerful enough to summon his mouth to it, his baser being taking over as he closes his mouth around your open palm.

His teeth pierce through you easily and when your blood bursts forth from the punctures and he sups it without hesitation.

The violent, searing pain stemming from the claw marks along his torso where your blood had permeated through his bandages starts to lessen amid the ache that is dispelled in his skull. The quavering of his body soon ceases in the absence of the chill he’d felt before.

He wraps his lips tighter around you, and when he extracts your essence this time, it is with more urgency.

You run your other hand through his dark, ebony hair, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he drinks from you.

“Take as much as you need, my love. You will require quite a few mouthfuls to, ah-“

You pause when he detaches from your hand, licking at the stray droplets of your blood before gripping your forearm to bring your wrist to his nose so he can inhale and run his lips longingly along it. His head falls back as he does, the pink muscle slipping between his lips to taste the remnants of you there, too.

“Want to…bite you…right here. Can I?” He asks hoarsely yet huskily.

You’re already answering before he’s even finished.  “I’m all yours, alpha.”

The implications of this are not lost on you. By puncturing your scent glands where they produce the oils and scent of you the most­–seconded only by your neck–his bite will forever leave his trace where he’d enter you. No other wolf would be able to take in your succulent smell without his lingering odor behind it.

From where you are seated on his lap, you swear you see his eyes roll back behind his lids.

When his canines elongate such that they protrude from his upper lip and he penetrates your flesh along the middle of your wrist, your blood eagerly teems into his mouth. Just like the first time he’d bitten you, there is no pain in the sharpness of those teeth. What was urgency before becomes hunger now as he feeds on you, his cheeks hollowing as he quaffs the life-giving nectar you have produced just for him.

You shudder as he draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful and all the worry you’d had before is sapped away as he does. 

Your flavor is so fucking saccharine on his tongue, and each time your essence washes down his throat, his body surges with vitality and energy.

He can’t get enough of it. It’s too good. You’re too good.

More he takes and more he swallows like a crazed male, and you allow it as your own lids lower while you ogle him as the released endorphins stored in the glands along your wrist flood you in pleasure as you mindlessly–instinctively– rut your hips into his.   

“Do I taste good, alpha?” You moan softly, your body growing limp as the fingers you’d twisted and twined around his locks loosen.

You taste sweeter than sweet.

His good arm shoots out so his fingers can splay around your hip to steady you as he indulges in the pulses and pangs of strength that return to him with each consuming swig of your lifeblood, your hips helped back and forth by the hand he has on one of them as your moans turn to whimpers.

You taste something like pineapple, grapes, strawberries, and everything good in this world.

When his eyes open, he looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess. Like you’re some kind of deity, and he is some servant beneath you.

He revels in the revelation that graces him as he takes in the sight of you atop him. 

Your crimson-stained lips have slightly fallen ajar to reveal still jagged, pointed canines,  remnants of red still flecking the sides of your mouth. Your silver irises have been glazed by desire, the daubing of crimson along your lids creating a deprived picture. 

The dried, dark paint of his own blood that he’d smeared all over you was still there, but the new addition of his scarlet handprint between your breasts and streaks the same color all along your skirt and bodice are all the more depicting of a debased creature. 

You straddle him, your gown ripped unevenly along one of your legs to reveal one bare calf and thigh. 

How he had fucking ruined you. 

His once pure, innocent goddess that must have been a fallen, divine being sent to him to save him. 

“J-Jungkook,” you whine when your vision begins to darken at the edges as his teeth bury themselves deeper into your flesh so he can cravingly command more of you down,  “I…I-“ 

The strong hand on waist pulls you down over his hardening member, your breath hitching when you remember he’s entirely naked beneath you. 

“Even goddesses have their limit. I can see it,” he groans around your wrist as he savors the way you sag forward, your thighs loosening from where you’d been squeezing him between them. “I can feel it.” 

He takes one more mouthful of your rich, piquant ichor, your front slumping forward until your head rests in the crook of his neck. 

With your jugular vein so close to his ears, the rhythm set by the tune of your heart beats far too slow. The sound snaps him out of his craze instantly as the hand on your waist clutches you tighter as if you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough. 

“Goddess? Do you mean…me?” You drawl out the words through the tingling sensation in your head.

Despite the loss of your blood, affection courses through you when he attentively dislodges his teeth from you and makes sure to catch the bright red drops that run forth from the two new dark blots along the underside of your smaller wrist. As he does, he affirms, “You saved me.”

The hand at your waist gives you another comforting squeeze before it journeys up along your side, your shoulder, and then down your arm until his digits close around your wrist so he can rub soothing circles into it. “I was so lost in the darkness, omega, but your voice…I followed it back to you.”

“Me?” It’s all you can say. The rush of endorphins fades with the extraction of his teeth, and your hips slow to still as his words sober you.

One side of his lips turn up at that. “Yes, my love. You.” He coaxes your wrist upwards so he can kiss you where his teeth and yours had been. “You,  the light of my life. The reason for my being, The purpose of my existence.” His head falls to the side as he shepherds your hand toward the palpitating muscle along his chest. “I once thought of you as my queen, but I see now that you’re so much more than that.” He places your hand right above his heart, and you’re so mesmerized by those beaming irises of gold that you don’t even realize what he’s done when those warm, calloused fingers brush along the side of your cheek until they rest in your hair and his palm holds the edge of your jaw to coax it upward as he brings his mouth near to yours. “Your voice is a song that even the muses envy. Your body is the drink of the gods that even they would fight wars for. Your mind and soul are so perfect and good that even demons would wish they could bottle them.”

His eyes twinkle with sincerity as he goes on, both fondness and affection for him taking turns to cleanse you of the desire you’d felt before so that something much deeper can fill your entire being.

“Shhh, alpha… you need to rest now. This can all wait until later.” Your words are throaty and full, for your heart has somehow found its way there, too. “You lost a lot of blood and-“

 He seals your mouth with his, and like wax under a newborn wick, you melt into it. He’s warm and gentle in the warmness that he emanates that no candle ever could. The quiet intimacy of it has your lids falling to a close, the air around you making way for you both as you share each other’s breath.

There was nothing quite like this. Nothing like the way that your fingers sought any part of him that they could as they both encircled his uninjured wrist, unwilling to let him go. Nothing like the way your body was perfectly molded against his, the kiss akin to a butterfly’s wing in its softness that could take your breath away. It was the water that quenched after a drought. It was the furs that gave such comfort on a winter’s night. It was the rain and a flame all at once.

And gods, he couldn’t bear even a second’s separation from her. Truly, he’d never been so blessed with the gift of life until now. Until you. Hell would surely have frozen over before he would relinquish this: your mesmerizing, mellow eyes; your pliant, pretty lips; your stuttered, stammered breaths whenever he looked at you; your smaller, tinier hands that loosed and tightened around his wrist as he held you.

But his damned lungs just had to get some air, and so he had been forced into breaking the kiss.

When his mouth parts from yours, he breathes heavily. “I do not need rest when I have you. Imaginings and visions leave little to be desired when their source is on top of me like this. And,” the other side of his lips lift up and you’re sure that thudding in your ears gets louder as he does, “It would be rather impolite not to pay my respects to you, my divine little deity. You were–are–magnificent.”

You try to hide your face in his neck, your cheeks heating up at his praise. He won’t have any of that, and so he urges it back up.

Looking into those eyes is like looking into two orbs spun by the sun. That warmth that emanates over your skin like warm rays makes everything else lackluster, and even his voice carries that vivid color of emotion as he voices, “Do not hide from the truth, my love.”

You make a sound of questioning, not understanding what he’s just said. It’s as if there’s a fuzzy blanket around your body and mind, your disoriented thoughts too sluggish to formulate for you to say much more.

He chuckles lightly, his chest moving up and down gentle enough to not jostle you.

“You do not know it, but I shall help you see.” He offers, nosing at your jawline as he does. “Allow me to show you what you did to me, my love. I think you’ll find the evidence of your miracles when you do.”

He releases you, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the absence of his touch. Soft lips are there to soothe you when his mouth brushes where his hand had been at the edge of your jaw. There he presses his lips as he tells you, “Look down, my love.”

You’d been expecting to see more blood spilling from the open wounds arcing down both sides of his chest, his bandages completely soaked through with his life’s essence.

You did not expect to see one of the lines of gauze you’d laid down over the lacerations lifted in the air by your alpha to reveal a deep gash completely closed, the angry red slash now only a faint line of pink.

As if it were nothing but an old war scar.

At first, you think you might be seeing things.

You blink owlishly at him, and he grins only to pull back another strip of fabric that you’d used to pack another wound.

It, too, is only a faded, paled remnant of what it had been minutes ago.

Your fingers lethargically draw down his torso where the flesh that had been raised and furious is now smooth and normal.

There is no pain that festers there with the poison that had been set upon him by Yoongi’s claw. Its dissipation had had nothing to do with your medicines. He knows that now. It had been you.

Your lids have begun to grow heavy as sleep begins to beckon, and all you can do through the drowsiness that has set as you rest one of your temples against his shoulder so you can still stare at him as you manage the only word you can summon in your dumbfounded state. “How?”

“My mother used to tell me stories about our ancestors. It was said that the first rulers of our kind, who were chosen by the gods, were given abilities no others possessed.” Your mate tosses the soiled dressings into the bowl before he reaches for his splinted arm wrapped in bandages. “Abilities that made the rest of our kind lower their heads in awe.” He unties the knot you’d made out of the ripped fragment of your gown you’d affixed the wooden board to, and while he does, he tells you, “She told me that the king and queen of our kind were fated by their souls. That the first omega’s songs of mourning had so moved the gods when he’d been killed trying to protect her that they gave her the power to heal him through her kiss.”

Slumber drags you away from him, his voice fading the more it tugs and tugs you as he goes on. “So powerful was she that the other wolves revered her as a goddess in her capacity to mend and restore not only the physical body, but the soul and mind as well. And her king? He was vested by the gods who took pity on him with strength, speed, size, and stamina that no other could match.”

Distantly, you think you see a glimpse of the linens you’d put around his arm being peeled back to uncover what you had thought had been a mangled mess of bone and flesh. But no longer. Now, just like his chest, there are only small grazes and punctures that have since been pulled together with slightly darker cicatrix marring him.

When your lids fall closed and sleep takes you from him, he uses that arm to secure you close as he attentively watches over you. In your ear, he confides, “Rest up now, beautiful deity. You shall need it for what is to come, my love.”

[nmhdreamscape]

late night thoughts pt. 1 ✧ l.jn (valentine's gift series)

pairing | friend!jeno x fem!reader

content | friends to lovers, fluff

word count | 569

request | jeno + 16

note | listened to can't get you by jaehyun on repeat while writing this

hanging out with jeno on valentine’s was… painful, to say the least. not because it was a bad time, not even in the slightest. jeno had made sure to fill your day with activities that would have fulfilled any girl’s valentine’s day fantasy. the pain stemmed from the fact he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart, as a friend. a friend who simply felt sorry that you were single and alone on valentine’s day. a friend who didn’t reciprocate your feelings even in the slightest. and that’s what stung the most.

after the day you had spent with him, jeno had walked you back to your apartment like the gentleman he was. he saw you safely inside before returning home himself. after watching his figure walk away from your view, you had a little cry at the situation you had found yourself in. you then proceeded to cheer yourself up with some ice cream and an episode of one of your comfort shows, before finally winding down to go to sleep.

however, your sleep was rudely interrupted by a familiar ringtone sounding through your silent room. you didn’t have to look at the screen to know who was calling, there was only one person you had set to pass by do not disturb. you rolled over with a groan, snatching your phone off the charge to answer the call.

“jeno? why are you calling? it's 3 in the morning?” you mumbled, brain still waking up from its sleep-riddled state. however, you were only met with silence on the other line. “jeno? hello?” still nothing. if you focused hard enough, you could hear his breathing on the other side of the line. you were starting to get fed up with his lack of response, you were getting ready to hang up when jeno finally spoke.

“i can’t stop thinking about you.” well, that sure as hell woke you up. you shot up in your bed, looking down at your phone in shock.

“what?” you gasped, now holding your phone closer to make sure you were hearing things correctly.

“i can’t… i can’t get you out of my mind.” jeno muttered, fumbling over his words. “spending today with you… i realised i just need to be honest with you, with how i feel about you.” he finished, taking a deep breath. it didn’t take much thought to figure out what he meant, heat quickly rising to your cheeks. a small smile formed on your lips at the thought that your feelings were reciprocated.

“lee jeno if you’re about to confess to me on a phone call, i will hang up.” you teased, now feeling a little lighter at the revelation of your friend’s feelings. you were once again greeted with a moment of silence, jeno seeming to think over what you had said before clarifying.

“because you don’t want me to confess?” he questioned, worry evident in his voice. you simply let out a small laugh in response.

“why don’t you come and confess in person and find out.” you replied, a smirk forming on your lips as you heard him immediately begin to jump out of bed. jeno mumbled a quick goodbye before hanging up. at that, you put your phone down and flopped back down onto your bed, the smile inerasable from your face. you hoped that he wouldn’t take too long to come over.

valentine's gift masterlist

[yukyuki]

A Drunk Inc(h)ident CL’16

summary- Charles and Y/n broke up, maybe without reason and they both can’t seem to move on, they are just one cute and inseparable couple 🌷

warnings- language, angst, slightly suggestive (not really), cute, fluff ☁️ this is LONG but it’s worth it! not revised sorry!

a/n- it felt inspired for this after Charles said he went to Vegas to party and I just think this is so cute and funny ❤️ enjoy!

“Come on Y/n! It can’t be that bad! You can hang out with me in the Williams garage!” Lily insisted hugging your arm.

“I don’t know Lily…you know…um I don’t really want to bump into Charles…” you say as he came to your mind. You haven’t moved on from that break up and seeing him again might not do any good to you.

Yours and Charles relationship broke as you both became more successful and the internet got involved along with incidents in his life that made him take the decision of breaking up with you.

That night your heart shattered to pieces, you loved him and understood him and were willing to help him fight with whatever problem he was facing. Yet you never really understood his reason for breaking your 5 year relationship.

Present day you have focused on yourself after 1 year since the breakup you have been busy with your career it didn’t allow you to think back to him, or even cry about it anymore. You were a mess the first few weeks but after Lily and Kika helped to pick you up and become the women you are today.

“You don’t have a reason to bump into him Y/n…I won’t leave your side I promise…I’ll defend you if he gets close” Kika said laughing as you swung the extra pit pass in-front of me making me sigh with a smile.

“Ok…fine I guess it would be really lucky of me if I did bump into him” you said sarcastically as you girls giggled and headed to the hotel so they could meet with their boyfriends, you went with Lily and Alex.

• • • •

Making it in the Williams garage with Lily, you sat at the back scrolling through your phone. The news was quickly spread.

Breaking News: “Y/n L/n arriving at the Las Vegas Grand Prix”

Some comments were negative which brought back memories and reasons for the split with Charles. Not letting it bother you, you slowly smiled at the cute and nice comments from those fans that loved you and Charles as a couple wishing you two would comeback.

After a few comments you look up seeing Lily arrive.

“Let me just tell you I do not enjoy third wheeling” you say playfully to Lily making her laugh.

“Oh don’t worry there’s maybe another guy around here…we can find one” she said playfully winking as you rolled your eyes.

“I need to use the restroom…I’ll be right back” you whispered to her getting up walking to the back. Walking down to the bathrooms you looked around taking in the cool air of Las Vegas, your thoughts were gone when two little girls approached your. The number 16 adorned their Ferrari caps.

“Oh hello…” you say softly as the giggled and shy asked for a picture you thought they were so cute and accepted the picture with them. You smiled and suddenly…

“Y/n please get back together with Charles!” one of the girls said as the other one agreed. You just followed along and smiled nodding.

“um well…we’ll see what happens okay?” you say keeping up with the little girls fantasies but older fans started to crowd around you hearing what you had said.

“are you here to get him back Y/n?” one fan asked as you stayed silent soon it was a full mob of questions and pictures without consent and a few mean comments yelled at you. Suddenly someone grabbed your wrist and feeling scared you try to pull away but it was Charles. He quickly pulled you to him covering your face from all the flashing and breaking through the crowd of people helping you to an emptier area.

That was going on the news in a few minutes. Finally in a quieter place you rushed in your bag taking out your inhaler. Anxiety had been building up on you more and more this days but nothing you couldn’t manage. You look up meeting those two eyes again, those eyes that you loved staring into and getting lost in them.

“Um…I got to go…thank you for…helping me” you say wanting to leave as quickly as possible but he moved his arm blocking your way as he slowly opened his mouth.

“wait…um I was wondering—“

“Charles!” a mechanic yelled making both of yours heads turn.

“Your race is starting you should go get ready” you said making a run for it into the bathroom, going into a stall you take a deep breath and try to process what had just happened. You didn’t want to feel like this crazy teenage girl but your heart was beating like crazy. After calming yourself down and fixing some of your makeup you return to Lily.

“Hey girl…woah you look like you saw some things” she said laughing handing me my headset.

“I…I did…starts with C”

“ends with S”

“most definitely”

“Oh god”

Telling the whole story to Lily had her giggling and fangirling over you two.

“Oh my god Lily be quiet…the race is starting we”ll talk about it later” you said putting your headset on watching as the race began. Charles was starting from 2nd and the start of the race had you so nervous.

Through half of the race within you, you were hoping that Charles could get the win but the power of Max’s Red Bull was making it difficult. You bit your lower lip gently, close to the end you cover your mouth worried when he had lost control of the car and was close to losing it all. You watch him get back but he was down to 3rd.

On the last lap he soon got his 2nd place back and finally crossed the finish line you smiled happily and wanted to run into his arms like old times but you soon realized that wasn’t going to happen anymore. Turning your head you see Lily already looking at you,

“W-what?” you asked nervously

“Congratulations on your man’s podium” she said giggling as you shushed her and noticed the cars of the top three parking as the drivers got out and ran to their teams. Your eyes then caught Charles, he looked so happy and you were too.

• • • •

You had left Lily and Kika to go party and explore Vegas with their boyfriends while you took a walk by the Forum Shops, looking at the pretty bags and dresses you were distracted when your phone started ringing.

Charles…

Why was he calling? I couldn’t really process what was going on or why would he be calling me at this time. As much as you tried to ignore the call your heart betrayed you and you swiped to accept the call.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Y/n? Thank god you answered we need you to come and grab Charles, he’s drunk and won’t stop talking about you…and no one can take him to his hotel at the moment…” You heard Carlos voice come from your phone as you widened your eyes.

“I…me? I…but why me? Call one of his—”

“Just this once Y/n…he could get in trouble for drinking too much” Carlos explained making you sighed.

“okay…where are you?” you asked starting to walk as he gave you the directions and hung up hurrying to that party.

After rushing through the casinos and finally arriving you saw Charles gambling as Carlos was next to him with Rebecca looking out for you.

When you got to him, you smiled at both of them and looked at Charles.

“Um…okay…is he staying in this hotel?” you asked grabbing his jacket.

“Yes, 37th floor, room 1586” Carlos said as you said goodbye to them and they wished you good luck, you approached Charles slowly grabbing his arm.

“Charles…stop we need to go…” you said pulling him away as he fought it.

“No! Just one more! I…Y/n?” he said quickly looking at you drinking another shot which you quickly took away.

You looked at him and started to walk him out soon he wrapped his arms around you resting his head on yours.

“Ah…Charles stop it you’re drunk…we need to get you to your room before anyone sees you like this” you say as he laughed and started rambling things that you didn’t quite understand, maybe french words.

Reaching the elevator, you walked Charles inside and pressed the button. Once the doors closed Charles placed more of his weight on you making you hug him from his waist, his eyes were half open but looked at you.

“Charles…”

“Shhh…god I was so dumb you know?” he said softly as his hand slowly touched your soft curls. You tried to not fall for his touch and turned your head away letting go off him as he fell on the floor making you gasps.

“Oh my god! Charles get up!” you say grabbing his hand but he only sat down with his eyes closed. As the elevator stopped the doors opened and revealed an elderly couple.

It was a miracle they didn’t seem to recognize the famous Charles Leclerc drunk on the floor with Y/n L/n trying to pick him up. He leaned on you and you struggled to get him out, apologizing to the elderly couple you walked out into the hallway and Charles moved away stumbling through the hallway.

“I can’t believe Y/n is taking me to my room…god…” he mumbled reaching to his door almost falling.

“Charles do you have your room key?” you say looking in his jacket but he got closer looking at you. You look up and his breath hit your lips.

“Charles…we—”

“Can you stay with me tonight?” he asked softly slowly cupping your cheek with his hand, it was cold.

“Um…I don’t know…please just tell me where your key is…” you say sighing “god I’m sorry for this” you whispered as you stick your hand into his pant pocket and took out his wallet looking through.

“got it…” you say opening the door helping him inside to his bed, letting him fall on it he pulled you down with him by your waist, squealing softly you look at him in shock his eyes were closed and your were panting for air.

“Fuck…you’re so heavy…” you say getting up pushing your hair back and started to fix his stuff before going to him taking his shoes off and grabbed a blanket putting it on him.

This was so bad, you shouldn’t be here with him. Tomorrow he won’t remember anything and this might’ve been a mistake, as you thought all this you found yourself seating on his bed watching him sleep. You gently move some of his hair off his face and gently brushed your thumb over his eyebrow admiring his features.

“why do you do this to me?” you whispered glancing at his soft pink lips shaking your head not wanting to fall into temptation. Yes you missed him but you wouldn’t kiss him just like that. Getting up, Charles grabbed your hand and you fell back to the bed, next to him facing him.

“my head hurts…” he whined softly looking at you with half open eyes and your hand slowly touched his cheek feeling his facial hair against your soft palm you felt him move closer.

“come back to me Y/n…I was so stupid…I…I miss you more everyday…”

his words reached to your heart and you didn’t know what to do. Your heart went crazy but you wanted to fight it and not fall so easily.

“I can get some soup tomorrow for your headache”

“Y/n listen…I can’t live without you…” he said meeting your eyes, as you kept changing the subject he pulled you close and shut you up with his lips on yours. You started to push on his chest and fight him, but his strength was much stronger than yours as he held your hands to the side he deepened the kiss, to which you gave in, returning the kiss and closing your eyes, he moved your arms around his neck and his hand slid down your arms to your waist, seeing him starting to reach for the hem of your shirt you stopped him.

“Charles…no…not yet…you’re drunk and…we don’t know if you actually…have consciousness for this” you say sitting up.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep…” you say getting him to lay down again, but you sat down on the couch trying to forget about what had just happened and what could have happened.

• • • •

Little did you know you didn’t leave the room last night. Charles woke up, rubbing his face gently he looked around the room trying to make out what happened. Until his eyes widened seeing your small frame on the couch in an uncomfortable position. Getting up quickly he picked you up slightly laying you down making sure to not wake you up he placed the blanket on your cold body.

“god Y/n…what are you doing here?” he whispered to himself groaning softly at his headache starting to kick in.

Your phone rung and he quickly grabbed it putting it on silent. But he couldn’t help and read the texts from last night and the most recent ones, even though he tried to not get into your private life.

Kika 🩷

3:07 am

- what do you mean he kissed you??

- he wanted to fuck??? OMG—

8:47 am

- did it happen??? 😏

- girl answer!!!

Lily 💙

9:00 am

- wake up Y/n!

- Alex told me what happened last night!

- Are you w Charles rn??? OMG 😏

- You better explain!!

Charles eyes were widened and he didn’t know what to do. He saw you move and quickly put back your phone.

“Charles…what? Oh my god” you mumble realizing you had fallen asleep. Apologizing you start getting up but he held you down.

“no no please…I…I’m so sorry I must have given you problems last night…I don’t remember much but…um” he said his mind drifting off to the text messages he had just read.

“no! I mean…um Carlos called me to come get you…so I…I guess I got myself in this…” you say massaging your neck from the uncomfortable position you had slept in.

“I have to go through um…I would get some warm chicken noodles soup for the headache and it’s nice for the cool weather” you say smiling at him trying to make this situation less awkward.

Reaching the door handle his voice said your name making you turn around.

“Y/n…”

————

❤️ There will be a part 2!!! ❤️

[tinietaehyun]

Forsaken : ̗̀・❥・ ੈ✩‧₊˚

[Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader] [Series] [Masterlist]

Pairing(s): Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader [Ft. other txt members]

Genres: Romance, fantasy, supernatural, royal!au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers.

Contains: Will be stated each chapter.

Summary: With your throne ripped away from your hands and on the run from your brother, you have no choice but to enter the Woods of Mors to escape the royal guards.

On the brink of exhaustion and hopelessness of having lost everything, you meet an arrogant sorcerer who seems to not respect your status whatsoever. Learning about his past, you realise, he’s exactly what you need to perhaps have a chance at winning back your throne and protecting your people from your tyrannical brother.

It’s all smooth sailing until you realise, you’ve caught feelings for the prideful sorcerer who despises royalty. Oh, it’ll be fine, right?

Note: Chapters will be varying length 4-5K words depending on chapter content. This will attempt to be an immersive experience! Rated PG-13.

————••————

Story Masterlist:

1. Chapter I: An Ode to Betrayal

2. Chapter II: A Plea to the Sorcerer

3. Chapter III: One’s Own Misgivings

4. Chapter IV: Bounties & Temptation

5. Chapter V: A Cry of Two Broken Hearts

6. Chapter VI: Keep Your Enemies Close

7. Chapter VII: Fluttering Feelings

8. Chapter VIII: A Door to the Past

9. Chapter IX: Trust Me, Sweetheart

10. Chapter X: Forlorn Reunion

11. Chapter XI: Home, Sweet Home

12. Chapter XII: An Ode to Romance

13. Chapter XIII: A Ballad of Two Lovers

14. Chapter XIV: Confessions & Treachery

15. Chapter XV: To Die is to Lose

16. Chapter XVI: [Finale] The End is a New Beginning

> I will be opening a taglist for this series! If you wish to be added to the taglist, please comment below. First come first serve basis!

Taglist: [closed]

@royallyjjk @wolfytae-exe @rencarnationofangel @sirenla @matcha-binz @beomies-world @michinri @parkweylyn @kvshzj @hanniehaeeeeeee1004 @elara828 @wonioml @onima-chan @moonekth @glossykai @jjunielvrs @beargyuuzz @cathyun @hanstarrs @m3chigo @vanicogh @baekberrie @nap-of-a-starr @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @sunpov

Coloured/pattern dividers are from @cafekitsune (amazing work!)

© Please do not plagiarise my works, or upload translated versions elsewhere. Remain respectful and considerate of readers and myself on this page. Thank you.

[holylulusworld]

Fulfillment - Flufftober 19

Summary: Dean finally lives the life he deserves and dreamed of.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Side pairing: Sam Winchester x Eileen Leahy

Warnings: pregnancy, fluff, overprotective Dean, implied smut, cuddling & snuggling, Dean is a horny dog, a hint of dirty talk and dirty fantasy

Rating: Teen

Idea by: @elle14-blog1

Trope: Pregnancy

@warmandfluffybingocards: Square 16: Breakfast in bed   

@anyfandomgoesbingo: Square 7: Decorating the nursery

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

Your last battle was the day Dean told you he loves you. He didn’t want to waste another moment without having you in his arms.

Chuck, or God if you want to call that jackass so, fell without glory.

Jack went to heaven, and Castiel accompanied him to make sure no one tried to abuse the young man’s powers ever again.

Since that day, you have been living a normal life.

While everyone else dreams of a more exciting life, you are happy to have a normal and boring life.

While you turned your back on the hunter’s life, you turned the bunker into a warm and cozy home. (We don’t talk about the room where Dean stored all the weapons.)

Only because you stopped hunting doesn’t mean Dean doesn’t act like an overprotective bodyguard when it comes to you. You’re his wife, the future mother of his children, and the reason to keep on going for him.

“Sweetheart,” Dean pokes his head inside the kitchen. “No…no!” He tuts. “I told you; I’m going to make breakfast.” Your husband watches you run one hand over your grown belly while stuffing a pickle into your mouth.

“I’m having cravings,” you chew audibly while your husband makes a fuss. He doesn’t want you to leave your bedroom or the bed. If it was up to Dean, he’d wrap you in a dozen blankets and never let you leave the bed again. “And no one is going to attack us here.”

“You don’t know that” your husband argues. He steps inside the kitchen and wraps his arms around you, making you groan. “I need to keep you safe and happy.”

“Last night you made me very happy.”

Dean snickers as he remembers the way you were writhing on his cock.

“I remember you were a begging mess, Y/N. Loud and naughty. Just the way I like you.”

“Dean, we can’t make out in the kitchen again. Sammy will kill us,” you whine as your husband kisses down your neck. “I mean it, baby. We can’t get caught again.”

“But getting caught is half the fun,” Dean laughs in your neck, making you giggle. “Alright. If you are a good girl and go to our bedroom to lie down, I’ll make you the best breakfast you ever ate. I promise it’s not my dick.”

“You’re lucky I love you, Mr. Winchester. You’re a very naughty man,” you chuckle as he whispers dirty nothings in your ear. “If you don’t want to end up getting caught by your brother and Eileen, we better go back to our bedroom.”

“Sex before breakfast. I knew you were the one…” He hums in your neck. “But after you’ll eat all the delicious things I’ll cook for you…”

“A red rose, and food, huh,” Sam watches his brother carry a tray filled with breakfast and a single red rose out of the kitchen. “Did you leave some food for us?”

“Sure, Sammy,” Dean grins. “My wife needs the food. I wore her out.”

Sam shakes his head. Sometimes his brother has no shame…or like ever. “Luckily she’s already pregnant or you’d get her pregnant.”

“Who says I won’t get her pregnant again?” Dean chuckles. “We are having twins. Next time, I’ll fill her with triplets.”

“What do you say? Will she like it?” Dean shows his brother and Eileen the U-shaped pregnancy pillow he got for you. He has it draped over his shoulder to show it to Sam. “It’s good for the babies and her, right?”

Eileen smirks as her brother-in-law excitedly tells them about all the things he bought for you and the babies.

“It’s nice of you to get the pillow,” she finally says. Dean looks adorable with all the stuffies tugged under his arm. “What do you want to do with the rest?” She questions.

“While Y/N is having a nap, I’m going to decorate the nursery. We are almost done, but she’s a little under the weather this week. I’ll finish it and show her everything when she feels better.”

“Do you need help?” Sam offers willingly. “We are going finish the nursery faster if we work together.”

“Are you sure, Sammy?”

Sam flashes his brother a smile. “Well, I’m counting on your help when we are having triplets…”

“I love the pillow,” Dean states as you and your husband lie on the bed, the pregnancy pillow wrapped around your bodies. “They were right. It’s perfect for snuggling and cuddling.”

You grin as Dean moves impossibly closer to hide his face in your neck. “I heard you finished the nursery.”

“Sammy and Eileen helped. If there’s something you do not like, blame Sammy.”

“I know that I’ll love it,” you mumble sleepily. “Just like I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart, and the little beans,” he whispers in your ear while moving one hand to your belly. “I’ll always protect you and our babies. Always.”

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