#ff16 x reader

⎯ Clive Rosfield

CLIVE tends to be a bit awkward. It doesn’t matter how long you two have been together, if you point out that he’s so much as a centimeter close, he flusters. Part of it is stubbornness, that he doesn’t deserve such tenderness when his work isn’t nearly halfway done. He deprives himself of your touch simply because why would he deserve it? Those kinds of gentle acts and lingering touches are wasted on a man like him. The other part is because he’s… Clive. Thirty Three and he still blushes like a boy, even if you hold hands, or so much as look at him in a slightly flirtatious manner. Despite all this, however, there is one thing he allows himself. On the very rare occasion that he allows himself to rest, he quite enjoys laying on your chest. It’s the steady beat of your heart and the rise and fall of your chest that truly lulls him to sleep. He finds himself lost without it.

While his reasoning is quite adorable, when you start thinking about how… well endowed he is, yours isn’t quite as pure. Who can blame you though? An outlaw in your hands, body sculpted and refined over the years. You ought to give that rack attention or else all is for naught. So, of course you hatch your plan. You’d hate to catch Clive in one of his most vulnerable moments, what if he never let you get close again? You lay in wait, passing the time by pacing around his room. He had sent a Stolas earlier, with good tidings. He would be back soon, and that he would at least have one day of off time to spare. Such wonderful news, it practically made you skip around the room as you waited.

And when he finally opens the doors to his chamber, shucking off his sheath and blade from his shoulder, you’re all too eager to pounce. He barely has time to process the fact that you’re in the room before you practically jump at him, face landing in his chest. You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze, letting out a sigh of contentment to finally have your head between these two majestic peaks. You stay like that for a minute or more, head in the clouds. Clive is horrifyingly still. When you finally look up at him to acknowledge him, a mix of horror, confusion, embarrassment, and levity flashes across his face. He doesn’t know if you meant to do that (oh, you full well did), or if it was a horrifying mistake. One that you took great enjoyment in. Slowly, he gives in, with your cheek pressed against his chest. He finally wrapped his arms around you with a sigh, muttering an ‘I missed you too, my love.’

⎯ Cidolfus Telamon

Oh, your sweet and charming CID. Gentle, yet rough in all the right ways, unabashed with how much he loves you and what he loves about you (everything). That being said, behind closed doors his touches grow more bolder. Aged as he is, he’s not one to curb his wants or needs. In between his little jaunts, he always spares you a kiss, a little touch here and there. And if he’s lucky, he enjoys just holding you. Allowing himself to just be. For all his jokes and remarks, he’s quite the soft man. Doesn’t mean he won’t get a kick out of teasing you, though. Kissing your cheek, down to your jaw, to your neck, past the collarbone– “Oh, do you mind if I go lower, love?”, yet he never does. He simply enjoys feeling your pulse jump, skip, and stutter against his lips.

Well, you aren’t afraid to go lower, that’s certain. The problem is how you’d find a way without him reading into your tricks. Any little scheme you were up to was quickly caught and snuffed out, and returned with mischief tenfold. Or, if he was in a no-nonsense mood, he’d set you out on errands. Fill up your schedule so you couldn’t scheme anymore. Even for a silly little kiss. What a pain in the ass, You’d be better off just asking him, but then again, where’s the fun in that? Might as well do it when you can, when he’s locked away in his quarters. It’s not like he minds when you’re there, anyways, so there would be nothing out of the ordinary. It was a matter of how you’d be able to slip into his lap and finally get him to trip over himself.

On a rainy evening, Cid had taken it upon himself to get busy. Not the fun kind, where he showers you in kisses, his hands wandering everywhere. No, the real kind of busy, where he could only give you nods and grunts as a form of acknowledgement. You didn’t want to interrupt his work, but you also had nothing else to do aside from sweep around the Hideaway– a never-ending task. And, to be honest, you were starting to get sick of the lack of attention. You stalk over with a cocky smirk on your face, your hands sliding over his shoulders. You give him no time to protest, kicking the leg of his chair and sweeping it away so you have just enough space to sit on his lap. All he can stammer out is a simple “love–”, before you pressed your cheek to his left breast. Ah, this life is worth living. You can hear his heart pick up for just a second, while you no doubt look a little blissed out, if not pervy. With a chuckle and a shake of his head, he places a large hand on your hip. For the next couple of hours, you sit in his lap, pampered like a cat with your head against his chest, too stubborn to move. Founder, if you left his bosom, it’d truly be the death of all things beautiful.

⎯ Hugo Kupka

You’ve really won the lottery with HUGO. A big strong man, tall and broad, and an excellent rack to match. His heart was about as big as his boobs, and Founder, how he doted upon you. He could berate an entire room of councilmen, and turn around and be just so sweet on you. Big and brutish he may be, but he’s as sweet as a babe in your arms. When he wants to be, at least. Most of the time he’s as fierce as a lion, needy and ready to get his fill. Yet there are some times where he’s as docile as a sheep, comfortable to lounge about with you. Play with your hair, maybe indulge in a little dance or two. Not that he’s any good at it. But it doesn’t matter, does it?

One of his favorite things seems to be pulling you in for an excessively long (and tight) hug when he’s sick of all the dribble he’s had to hear from the political figures. His mind is brighter when it comes to fighting, and sometimes it makes his head spin. Not that he can’t keep up, of course. Either way, you are just lucky enough to be tit-height, while he is blissfully unaware of your perversion. Who can blame you, though? He pulls you right in, and you aren’t going to push away. You do your best to make sure your mind doesn’t stray too far, worried that he may catch on and not afford you such kindness anymore. He wouldn’t, regardless, but… something about him knowing, you have no idea how he’d react.

Regardless, you find your way to enjoy such moments as much as you can. When you two lay down, you lay down on top of him, which he is all too happy about. Sitting in his lap, acting tired so you get a chance to rest your head against his chest, and much more silly things that would make you look like a spoiled royal to the guard, despite being a near opposite. Spoiled, yes. But not in the way you’re feigning fear or illness just to steal Hugo away from his guard and what not. He enables you, even if he doesn’t know it, and you just can’t get enough. His body hardened by his own ways, and yet his tits are just so soft. The world is a cruel mistress, not allowing you or anyone else a moment of proper rest, no matter how blessed they were. So why not enjoy the simple things?

this is why as a scholar in such times as these, especially one from the lands beyond, haste is an all too important preserve for a former nation turned into another.

it is also why when you arrive on the distant shores of valisthea on the continent of ash, many an attempt is made to speak to as varied a people as possible- soldiers, mercenaries, merchants, scholars, lords, ladies and farmers; a picture begins to form.

but, with all of your attempts at speaking to someone new, one name is bought up consecutively- barnabas tharmr. he is the man who lead many of the battles against veldermarke. he is the one they say is the dominant of an eikon people are calling odin. he is the man who renamed the land his; waloed. most, if not all, are calling to name him as king. he is also the man who until a week ago, has given you so, so much trouble to find and speak to him about your research. damn him.

you arm yourself with both tomes and shortsword to finally meet the man- varied accounts of a person’s character make the need for preparation feel all the more important, after all.

upon entering the new capital of stonhyrr, erected on the remains of an old nation, you recall an account that gives you pause. ‘stubborn and cantankerous! far too young for a position such as king!’

though this had come from a fellow scholar over a few pints of ale, this is a point of view you’d like to take with a grain of salt; after all, this scholar had some rather strange views about your own hometown in the lands beyond, views you knew to be entirely untrue.

nearing the finally agreed upon meeting place, you continue forwards through a more populated street, fingers flexing over a tome pressed to your left hip upon recalling another description of the man- it is swatted away much quicker, a crooning voice curling around your ears much like it had a week prior across the bar top; you don’t need to know what his hands felt like, nor the intensity of his eyes to judge what sort of information he could give you for your research, thank you very much.

a short call of your name is what distracts you completely from your thoughts, eyes now directed to a young man dressed in a strange combination of armour and finery; strange, because he wears a single leg guard, a chest plate and one vambrace on his arm baring the crest of what you know to be odin. the man is also broad, very easy on the eyes and walking your way- perhaps that account from a week prior might actually have some merit after all.

“i take it you are the scholar? apologies, it seems i’ve been a hard man for you to pin down.” eyes cut across your face from under a dark fringe, shortly followed by an amused quirk of his mouth at the tome under your arm, along with the contradiction of the short sword at your hip.

i’d not make it hard for you to pin me down.

the thought that follows across your own mind is short, unsaid and quickly dismissed by the clearing of your throat to rid it from your mind; you decide instead to speak to him like you’re supposed to for your research.

“all is well; it seems then, that you’ve been expecting me long before i was expecting to see you. i suppose i should expect as much from the man i’ve heard is to be king.”

a smile widens his mouth, hand coming up to rub at the side of his neck before he turns and beckons you to follow after him- his footsteps sound strange, with only the one leg guard and all, but you follow nonetheless. “ah, that. i- do not know how that has come to be, but, i shan’t reject it.”

you shake your head, footsteps following in quick succession with his and arms occasionally bumping against each other- his side profile is rather lovely, from the glances you take at him on the short duration of the walk back to a building of some sort. “then ser, i suppose i should keep myself in good standing with you, if you are to be the king. i am after all, just a feeble scholar.”

“a feeble scholar? aye, i can see that plainly from that.. dagger at your hip. what research have you sought me for? i have heard little of your works, though i hear you come from the lands beyond. why come to- this place?” his sentence ends when he turns to face you, taking steps backwards and beckoning you over to a table by the wall; this is where you were supposed to meet, after all, at this bar crowded with men with swords that greet him with a call of his name and ale already on its way over to the table.

you make your way over to him and sit down, watching him; he’s already looking at you. he has sharp eyes, made sharper still by the tilt of his head and his position now directly across from you. with this sharpness comes the softest familiarity, binding you into your seat and prying open your mouth.

oh. this is.. for research purposes. strictly.

oh.

..maybe not.

————————

you do not expect the man who stumbles into the rest- if you had to guess, you’d say he’s one of cid’s.. though, it’s strange for the man himself not to be here; he’s.. close with martha, after all.

but, you’re not complaining at all about this particular man making an appearance- you don’t see many travellers with a face like that in a place like this. with your gaze directed at him, you’re able to observe a few things as he makes his approach.

the first thing you notice is his face- youthful, yet hardened. he has the mark of a bearer branded onto his cheek, too; it does nothing to detract from such a pretty face, but it makes a part of yourself ache at the reality such a simple thing brings forward.

the next is when he’s right in front of the counter, broad shoulders taking up your view and head ducked down in an awkward half shrug; the hilt of the sword strapped to his back knocks into his head at the gesture, to which you smother a laugh. awkward, but still sure of himself. it works for him.

“ah, is martha here?”

his voice is not quite what you’d expected- less brash, a familiar lilt and weight of the words on his tongue that marks him as a local. this is strange, since you know all of the locals and you’re almost certain you’ve never layed eyes on him before in your life.

you clear your throat, putting down the glass that you’d previously been holding onto the counter, weighing up your words before you speak. “i’m here in her place for a few days, i’m afraid. are you- are you one of cid’s?”

his expression pulls into something strange as you speak, scrutinising over the little scar on the back of your hand shaped like a star. it is a momento from childhood, from falling on a metal picket when you’d been messing around with a boy who came to your village sometimes; you think he must have been the son of one of the lords in the capital. his eyes soon skitter back up to your face, eyes blinking too rapidly to be entirely nonchalant.

suspicious.

“yes- ah, clive. i.. there’s a note, cid told me to give it to martha. could you..” he pats down his pockets, soon withdrawing a crumpled bit of paper and thrusting his hand over the counter towards you. he looks, to put it kindly, rather bloody awkward. you take the paper, knowing better than to look, pocketing it quickly in your own apron.

you tell him your name in return, amused at this character who’s stumbled in on your shift; maybe i should ask to cover for martha more often.

“so, clive.. i haven’t seen you in before, i don’t think. i’m taking it that you’ve only recently been uh- acquainted with cid. he’s a bloody idiot, that man, you watch yourself and that lovely face of yours.”

he does that thing where his eyes blink rapidly again, looking much like he’s unsure how to answer you- or, more likely to answer what part of your statement.

“i will- thanks. i’ll be passing back through in a few days. will you still be working then?”

something in his face stops your immediate response- he’s staring at the scar on your hand again, so much so that it starts to feel like a brand. there’s a weight he carries in the steel of his eyes and the stiffness of his shoulders, for just a moment it presses down on you too.

the pressure rises into a crescendo, an old melody baring a familiar pattern just out of your grasp- i know you. maybe.

another look over his face stops the snag of your thoughts, bringing the moment back into focus with the fresh batch of regulars that stroll in through the front door. “i will be- come find me whenever you can, yeah?”

————————

you live in your own bubble, in a little cottage contained within the bounds of the land you’d inherited from an aunt on your father’s side; when you’d found out, it was a loss you did not mourn. in life the woman was an old bat- she’d certainly left you much better off dead than she had when she was alive.

you can hear her now, screeching something or other about fixing your posture and listening more to your tutors and probably something else too, you’re sure. all you can remember of the woman is hazy, great greagor you’re glad for it.

you know you shouldn’t be stuck in your thoughts like this, but you miss your little bubble. you miss it dearly with it so far from your grasp, sitting against the back wall of a dingy bar on the outskirts of ran’dellah and watching the assortment of people pour inside this place.

merchant. highborn. politician. merchant. thief. merchant. merchant. mercenary.

the last title does not taste right- it does not fit correctly on the woman who had strolled through the entrance of the bar, yet, it is the only word that comes to mind aside from a sort of white noise buzzing in your ears.

she is all hard edges of jagged glass; stiff shoulders and a spine made of iron, sword strapped to her hip and covered entirely in a sleek black armour of some kind. if your eyes pause at the sway of her hips and lock onto the curve of her waist, that’s entirely business of your own.

the way she moves through the bar is smoother than you’d expected, almost feline in a way that makes your hair stand on end. you can tell enough from your observations and you pride yourself on your survival instincts, which are telling you to leave the bar.

it’s when you tip your head back to down the last of your ale that you loose sight of the woman- perhaps that had been your first mistake. your second though, is not hearing her sit down across from you until her leg brushes yours under the table.

“you are not good at being discreet, you know?”

it takes much more effort than you’d like to admit to not fall out of your seat; people weren’t supposed to move that quiet.. at least, they didn’t the few measly times you’d been at court- all clicking heels against polished floors and frumpy greetings to hide mountains of ugly disdain.

the woman who you’re presuming is some kind of mercenary or sell-sword has a strange accent- almost waloeder in origin, but not quite. so, you look up, knowing within yourself that this is probably a bad idea. probably.

definitely a bad idea.

“how do you know i was aiming for anything in such a realm? don’t make daft assumptions.” it takes a lot to get any words out, being close to such a pretty woman- it brings back memories from youth, of laughter and hushed whispers and fingers locked together under the table.

the smile that curves her face feels more like a scar on your own skin- sharp, jagged, and oozing something that makes your hindbrain claw its way to the surface. her leg bumps yours again under the table, one ankle crossed lightly over your own as she leans partially over the tabletop, “it’s not daft when you seem like such a lamb- pretty and soft, you are. you’ve no calluses on your hands, no armour to coat you. you’d not have jumped so far out of your own skin when i sat down, if you weren’t attempting to be discreet.”

there’s a leftover mirth in her eyes as she takes a swig of her own ale, the un-added ‘and failing’ remaining needlessly unsaid.

reflexively you cross your arms, hands tucked into the crooks of yours elbows and staring at the smug woman over the table- perhaps you’d need to be more sneaky, being here, for the reasons you’re so far from home. “i detest the notion that you seem so smug to think you’ve read me- you’re none too discreet about what you are. soldier, mercenary, bloody fighter of some kind.”

she seems to be amused, if the quirk of her mouth is anything to go by- it’s unfair, really, for any one person to hold your attention like she does at such a minute gesture. the gold of her eyes contradicts her sharpness and melts over you like molasses, like the warmth of summer, golden and familiar.

“i am what i need to be. i think perhaps you might envy me, little bird in your gilded cage. tell me, how prettily would you sing for me?”

there is a flutter at her words- low in your belly that seeps through your body, warmth swallowing you whole as it lets her dig her claws and hook in under your skin. your spine prickles, your ears burn, a reflexive swallow represses any possible expression you could make.

there is a familiarity in her mirth, in the cant of conversation she steers in her own favour; the attitude that contradicts the sharpness of her gaze, the gold that melts over you like honey, sunlight peaking through foliage.

“i- i do not even know your name!”

the sputter seems to melt her amusement slightly, sharp edge gone a moment as she reaches over the table, fingertip dragging over your crossed arms and unravelling you from your tightly wound coil. “i suppose not- benedikta. now, will you give me your answer? i want your name in return.”

oh, this feeling. what is this you’ve found somewhere far from home? from the cottage that had burnt down and the courtiers that tittered behind their hands?

why now? how inconvenient.

notes; so, tldr; this was supposed to be done in december/january. obvi that didn’t happen!!! but!! it’s something (less character too because i got carried away- but, i can do others of the main cast if it’s something people want) so i’m happy it’s posted ^-^ in regards to barnabas; his part is set when he’s young and just establishing waloed, so it might not be the characterisation you would immediately expect (since it’s pre ykyk) && in case you couldn’t tell, i indulged a little bit too much with certain things, haha!! oh well :’)

“From here on out, you're the next Cid.” Clive said, his hands on Gav's shoulders.

“Me? Are you sure?”

“Not a doubt in my mind. I do recommend a certain capable scout as your assistant.” Clive replied with a grin.

Gav smirked. “You've been depending on her quite a lot the last months, I'll definitely consider it.”

Dion stood awkwardly at the side. He was the only one joining with a weakened Eikon. His mind was made up, and you were jealous of him that he was able to join. Still, there was an aura about him that he had no plans of coming back. Joshua appeared in front of you. In the end, there were not a lot of conversations you had with him. “I wish you all the best out there, Joshua.” You managed to say. Your throat has been dry since morning.

He pulled you into a hug, something the Rosfield brothers had in common. “You too, Y/N.” There was more he wanted to say, but refrained from doing so. Lastly, Clive stood in front of you. He took your hands in his, a warm, wry smile on his face. Gav and Jill were behind you, and you heard Jill sob quietly. There was a solemn aura hanging in the air.

“I'm sorry.” Clive started. “We never went stargazing.” If he meant the actual thing or the sex, you couldn't read it on his face.

“Yeah…” You stepped closer to hug him, wishing you could stop time right here to make this moment last forever. Something in you screamed that you weren't going to see him again. That you would never feel the touch of his lips on your skin. Or his fingers playing with your hair. “I'm sorry too.” You whispered in his chest.

“For what?” He replied, pressing his usual kiss on your hair.

“Not supporting you as much as I should have. And for almost getting you killed. And not having filthy sex with you before you go.” You whispered, so that the others couldn't hear.

He pulled back slightly. “You've been -and still are- my light in the darkness. You and Prometheus have been with me every step of the way.” He caressed your hair, smiling at you like you were the only one there. “I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for you, and I'm eternally grateful. Please know that, Y/N.”

You nodded, a wry smile on your face. You felt better, even though the dark cloud was still hanging over you. You were unable to freeze time. “I have something for you before you go.” You said, taking out something from your pocket. “Take off your glove.” You tapped his left hand, and Clive did as you asked, a puzzled look on his face. He wasn't expecting anything. You hoped your little gift could give him strength when times were dire. You took Clive's hand, sliding an iron ring with gold plating around his pinky. “Remember when you played my bodyguard, and I bought some jewelry to play the fancy merchant?” You chuckled, a strained smile on your face. You figured if it was a bit too big for your ring finger, it would fit his pinky. You'd kept the jewelry. Even though you had hurled your pouch against the wall in Clive's chambers, the jewelry had survived. It was a sign for you. Clive had fallen silent, his eyes wide. “It's nothing special, but I hope it can give you strength when you need it. That it'll remind you of me, that… I'll be with you until the end of the world.” The words rolled off your tongue, your deepest thoughts bubbling to the surface. He might not hear them another time. You saw his eyes glaze over, and you looked at him in surprise. “W-was that too intense?” You stuttered, not wanting to make him cry in front of everyone.

“... I didn't see this coming at all.” Clive replied, his voice unsteady. “When I'm back, I'll have to give you a ring too.” His cheeks were tinged pink, and he had the most radiant smile on his face.

“Don't worry? It's just a simple-” You were slightly confused. He didn't have to give you a ring because you did so. Yours was not even expensive.

Gav sighed, and Jill shook her head. “All these years these two have been dancin’ around each other, and this is the proposal we're gettin’?”

“I'm sure Y/N isn't even aware of what she did just now.” Jill replied.

“Ugh.” Gav threw his hands up in the air. “Congrats Lady Rosfield!” He shouted, clapping loudly. Jill smirked when your head whipped towards them in shock, and she started clapping too. And within seconds, everyone was cheering and clapping for the two of you. Anything to divert from the inevitable.

“Oh.” Your mouth fell open, as your face flushed.

Oh. I thought it only counted like that when you put it on the ring finger. That's what the books show. Well... there is nothing I can do about it now.

“I'll treasure it.” Clive replied, pulling you in for a kiss. You welcomed it, not dwelling on the ‘Lady Rosfield’ part. Opening your mouth, you allowed Clive to deepen the kiss. His hand on your lower back made your muscles tense. Your hands were holding his shoulders, and you squeezed them slightly. Clive's height advantage made him win the battle of dominance in your mouth, and both of you pulled back eventually. It was time to say goodbye. Clive put his glove back on.

“Good luck.” Were the final words you had for him.

“Take care, my love.” A final kiss on your forehead before he turned around. You watched the three of them leap off the edge, Bahamut taking to the skies.

------

You’re struck by indecision – should you attempt to wake him, or is safer to let him wake himself? You wrack your brain, trying to remember if Tarja had ever shared any advice on the matter over the years spent together, moving cautiously to the edge of the bed to think.

There is no further time for deliberation as Clive wakes with a gasp, reaching out with one hand to your side of the mattress, hoping to find your slumbering form. When he can’t find the solace he so desperately craves, he pushes himself up, flustered – heart pounding, lungs heaving, eyes darting around - to find you sat nearer the edge of the bed, watching him carefully.

“Clive?” Your tone is cautious – not sure if he’s truly awake or still in the throes of his dream.

“Oh, thank the Founder,” he twists round and pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you, pressing his face into your hair. “You… You’re all right. It felt so real.”

“A nightmare?”

“Yes,” he says on the exhale, sounding breathless.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” You ask, cautiously.

“In a moment. I just…” He presses a long kiss against your crown, and you can feel his heart pounding through your cheek upon his chest. “I just need a moment, my darling.”

“Take as many as you need.”

You stay in that position for a while, your arms looped around him as best you can, sitting in the quiet as he keeps his chin upon your crown, trying to steady his breaths.

“It was…” He swallows. “I dreamt that Barnabas… He… He had you in fetters.” An arm drops from around you, seeking your hand instead to press a kiss to the pulse point of your wrist. “He’d… He’d taken you.” His other hand begins to rub up and down your back, attempting to ground himself once more with your presence, the warmth of your body. “His sword at your throat. And I was close, I could see you, and he demanded for Ifrit to show. But… he wouldn’t come to me, no matter how much I willed him to. And you were screaming my name, begging me for my aid – and I… Founder, I…”

His voice breaks and you pull back at once, wrapping your arm around his head to pull him down against your own chest, pressing the side of his face against your heart in the hopes that hearing its beat would bring him a semblance of comfort. Warm tears soon soak into the fabric of your nightgown, Clive’s frame wracking with soft sobs.

You can say it wasn’t real, that it wouldn’t happen… But there’s no denying the way Barnabas Tharmr’s eyes had flitted between you and Jill in Kanver - moments after he’d sliced a building in two, moments before Clive had barely escaped with his life, followed by a chase across the sea to rescue Jill from the bowels of his ship.

How Odin had taunted that he’d taken the wrong treasure with the way Clive screamed when the Enterprise was attacked.

You know what you need to say because he would never ask you to, so his subconscious has done it instead - but the words don’t come immediately. You settle for rubbing your palm in wide circles on his back, press kisses to his crown – try to give him any semblance of the comfort he gives you when you’re wrapped up in his arms, feeling the world is too much.

There’s a soft hiccup, a loud sniff as he lifts his head from your chest, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

He looks beautiful.

You chase his retreat and place a hand on his scarred cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He places his hand over yours, kissing you back in return, though not with his usual vigor - tinged with salt.

You’ll do this for him, no matter how much the idea hurts.

“I’ll stay.” You whisper.

There’s a pause. “What?”

You lean your forehead against his, wet your lips with your tongue even though they’re not dry.

“I won’t go to Ash. I’ll stay.”

He kisses you, fiercely.

“Thank you.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

the king of waloed was turned into shambles the moment you went missing from his chambers. steel blue eyes were felt widening in shock the moment he enters your shared chambers, feeling his heart freeze upon not seeing the sight of your silky hair fanned against the plush pillows- naked and ready for him.

running his hands through his ebony locks of hair, he calls upon the sleipnir he had placed by you, his sole purpose was to protect you and to alert barnabas of any hasty decisions you have made.

his gauntlets fist at his hair in frustration, and he listens closely to the sounds of the chamber opening, hearing the graceful sounds of sleipnir’s footsteps.

“you called for me, my king?”

he hears the knight and summons his dark blade, facing him while pressing it against sleipnir’s throat.

“where is she?”

unfazed by his king’s temper, sleipnir backs away from him with his hands held up in mock surrender.

“relax, my king, for your beloved is safe and sound. she simply wished to take a swim within the ocean waters, just near the borders of our castle.”

barnabas could feel his anger mounting. “and you left her there unattended?”

“she is safe and deserves some moment of reprieve, my lord. i was given strict orders by your queen to remain behind. she said that if you were to stifle her any more, then she will grow to despise you.”

he could feel the veins against his temple pulsate in response. the nerve of you- actually disobeying him?

he supposes that you were lucky enough to have his heart and soul, for if he didn’t, then he would freely punish you the moment he laid eyes on you once more.

still donned in his armor, he dismisses sleipnir and allows the wisps of darkness to surround him. “you shall live another day, since your purpose is to serve my stubborn wife and follow her orders, regardless of how foolish it may be.”

“naturally.” sleipnir simply bows down to his king, watching as he disappeared- knowing that barnabas was making his way to you.

barnabas knew you like the back of his own hand; so when he travels to the shores of the beach, feeling his armor sink just the tiniest bit in the sand, he looks out into the waters for any sight of you.

as if drawn to you, like the moon chasing the sun, he finally sees you, hearing the light sounds of your laughter as you swam within the ocean.

the king of waloed had told you many times that swimming in such tides were dangerous, yet you didn’t seem to care. being the stubborn wife that you were, you often spent your free time swimming within these waters, finding comfort within the tides.

he lets out a grunt, already working on taking off the heavy set armor that surrounds his powerful form. finally hearing him, he watches as you turn around to face him, eyes going wide as your arms were crossed over your naked chest.

when barnabas was left just as bare as you were, he dives into the ocean, not even flinching when the icy cold waters surrounds him. you continue watching him inch ever so closer to you with wide eyes, not looking away until barnabas reaches you.

with a grunt of your name, he stands back to his full height, bringing you closer to his naked chest. his large hands squeeze at the fat of your thighs before giving the back of them a hard slap.

you gasp and nearly fall back into the water, had it not been for barnabas’ hold on you.

“what a naughty wife you are.”

his deep voice was dripping in amusement when he holds you closer to him, chapped lips already latching on to the side of your neck when he gently bites down against your skin.

“and what an overbearing old man you are.” your words held a tiny bite to them, but your actions were proof that they held no ill will at all. barnabas could feel the way your hands gently caressed at his hair, holding him even closer to you while you pressed you back against his chest.

“hn.”

he hides his face within the curve of your neck, gently kissing at your skin. he whispers to you; his voice becoming so soft that it could easily get lost within the waves of the ocean.

“sleipnir told me that if i became too overbearing, that you would hate me.”

a moment of silence passes between you and him before you let out a sigh. turning your head, you allow yourself to kiss at his damp strands of hair.

“forgive me. that was too harsh, i was just… feeling a little stifled from being in the castle for too long.”

he smirks against your skin, mood already lightening up considerably upon hearing your explanation. it was pathetic how deeply his emotions were tied to your own happiness, but he would never admit such a thing-

at least, not to anyone that wasn’t you.

“…i would die for you.”

he whispers while pressing a kiss against your hair.

“hm, what was that, my king?”

barnabas gives you another smirk before lifting you up into his arms. he spins you around while in the midst of the ocean waves, basking in the sounds of your laughter, further filling his heart with light.

“how do you feel about me taking you on a voyage on the einherjar? we can travel to the kingdom that’s filled with flowers and purchase all the cakes of your choosing.”

your face breaks out into a wide grin, with you whispering your husband’s name briefly before pressing your lips against his in a sweet kiss. your old man smirks against your lips, holding your bare body closer to him as he delves his fingers into your hair.

you bask in the feeling of each other, only pulling away when the need for air became too much. you rest your head against his, all while smiling down at him.

“you would do that for me?”

barnabas looks back at you with a strange glint within his eyes.

“for you, i would do anything.” he completes his oath by placing a kiss against the back of your hand, causing shivers to run down your spine as you could feel your love growing for him, basking in such feelings while in the midst of the ocean.

a.n. - i miss barnabas so much; also, this is so ooc, but it’s made from my own fantasies about him 🥹

Finding yourself in the Valisthean woods, you moved with a purpose – Clive. Your goal: to gather some of the beautiful wyvern tails, the flowers that reminded you of Clive.

The woods were alive with nature's sounds, the birds singing their tune but your mind was fixed on your handsome leader, that you definitely had a crush on, Clive. You pictured his face, stoic most times, maybe softening if he saw the flowers you were collecting. Each wyvern tail you picked felt like a piece of hope and unspoken love. In the midst of the trees, you daydreamed about Clive's sturdy presence. This whole thing felt like a scene from a story, and you were playing the main character.

Lost in your thoughts, time flew away like it always does. The bunch of flowers in your hands meant more than just petals – it was a silent message.

As you clutched the bouquet of wyvern tails, deciding you've had enough collected, you made your way back through the woods from where you came, Obolus already awaited your return at the skiff. You eagerly jumped on board, the ferry man ready to take off. The fading light hinted at the approaching night as you sailed back towards the hideaway.

The blighted sea, a dangerous yet truly beautiful sight, stretched out before you, its eerie waters reflecting the darkening sky. The skiff cut through the tainted waves, and the scent of salt mixed with the ominous air of the Blight. The distant horizon, painted with hues of orange and purple, signaled the approaching end of the day.

As you approached the hideaway, the silhouette of the old ruins of the shipwreck emerged against the dimming sky. Skillfully guiding the skiff, the soft lapping of blighted waves accompanied your journey. You clutched your bouquet, the wyvern tails seeming to glow in the fading light. Little did you know, the night held more than just stars.

The skiff gently docked at the hideaway and Obolus, experienced in these waters, skillfully secured the vessel. Your heart quickened as you stepped onto the creaky, old docks. Behind you, the Blighted Sea stretched, its murky waters reflecting the dimming twilight. You took a steadying breath, mustering the courage to ascend the worn wooden elevator that led to the upper decks.

Approaching the huge doors of Clive's chambers, you felt the weight of unspoken emotions. With a hesitant breath, you raised your hand to knock.

However, a strange impulse stopped you from doing so. Instead, you peered through the gaps in the wooden door, hoping for a glimpse of Clive. What you saw inside shattered your excitement like glass.

Through the dimly lit room, you saw Clive and Jill, in a moment that, in the shadows, appeared more intimate than it probably was. Your heart dropped, and you felt a lump forming in your throat. Without thinking, you let go of the wyvern tails. The flowers tumbled to the floor, their vibrant petals now scattered like fallen dreams.

Embarrassment and hurt gripped you as you turned away. You ran to the bunks, seeking refuge in the darkness. You wanted nothing more than to get some sleep and forget about everything that had happened.