Lemon Tarts

Lemon Tarts

Clive Rosfield x female (Branded) reader Fluff, 5,828 words

“Come on, out of there, eh? I know I have a scarred mug but I’m a nice fella under all that.” Gav – he’s introduced himself several times now – jokes with a half-hearted laugh.

He’s crouched down in front of the alcove where you’ve sequestered yourself, your body pressed right up in the corner, your head tucked in-between your knees to try and make yourself as small as possible.

Gav’s broad shoulders won’t permit him entry, his reach coming up short when he’d got down on his knees and put an arm in to catch your wrist to guide you back out – cursing himself under his breath when you’d flinched at his attempt.

Your master was harsh both in what he demanded in labour and how he treated you. However long ago, you’d decided it was better to not talk back and, eventually, not worth talking at all. It wasn’t like he’d bought you for your conversation skills - for what worth is there in anything a Branded has to say?

The days in his service were repetitive – just the faces around you would change as the curse wore away at their supposed worth. Two new Bearers had been acquired over a tenday ago, apparently tracked by a group of people calling themselves Cursebreakers when they broke into the barn where you all slept. They explained they were here to take all of you somewhere safe, to free you from your master, all whilst weapons hung from their hips.

They’d escorted you into a covered wagon in the early hours of the morning with a firm grip, before the three of you were transferred onto a skiff roped up at a small dock, tucked away off a beaten path. The boat set sail across the blighted waters of a lake, heading towards some sort of Fallen structure in the middle. From there, you were led up onto a dock and then into a goods lift, ascending up to a new fate. You had tried to keep your panic at bay on the wagon and skiff ride, swallowing down the anxiety that had churned in your stomach and threatened to come up your throat but the moment the lift reached the main deck, the fear of the unknown won and you ran without further thought.

You ran with an energy you didn’t know you still possessed, ducking around outstretched arms. You didn’t make it very far before your mind caught up with your legs - where could you even go now? You’re in the middle of a lake, you don’t know how to swim, you’re trapped.

Now that you’d ran from them, disobeyed their commands to stop, only punishment could follow. At least with your old master you knew what to expect for whatever he deemed as ill behaviour, despite your best attempts to fulfill his demands, and what to brace for when you failed.

The alcove had caught your eye – a gap between two wooden walls made of thick planks. You’d slipped in with more than a hope that you wouldn’t be spotted as you did, perhaps they’d think you’d jumped into the waters below and drowned.

Luck was not on your side – when had it ever been? - for as soon as you’d pressed yourself into the very back, a scarred face had appeared in the opening.

“You can’t stay in there forever.” Gav chides, stepping back to put his hands on his hips before his face falls. “Not that that’s a threat, like! I mean, it’s not… practical, is it? Especially when we’ve a lovely, warm bed with your name on it.”

Warm bed…?

It’s a trick.

Don’t be so stupid.

“Gav, what’s going on?” An almost amused voice draws the scout’s attention elsewhere and the man steps out of view, entering into a hushed conversation. You risk a look between your knees, seeing the railings and a bit of the sky beyond – dusk beginning to fall.

A few moments later, you hear the voice again – gravelly, but cautious and gentle. “Hello, my lady.”

The lack of sarcasm in their address of you – for who would call a Branded my lady –prompts you to peer between your knees. Another rather broad-shouldered man is knelt down on one knee - shaggy dark hair framing stormy blue eyes, clad in red and black leathers, the hilt of a great sword showing over his shoulder.

“My name’s Clive. Mayhaps I could have the pleasure of yours?”

“She doesn’t talk much.” Gav’s voice comes from over his shoulder, but Clive keeps his gaze on you. “Or ever - that’s what the others said anyway. They’re all pretty new to the bastard’s service, like. Said they didn’t know her name, and not sure how long she’d been with him.”

“That’s all right. You don’t have to talk right now if you don’t want to, my lady. We just want to help, but we can’t help much whilst you’ve tucked yourself away here, can we?”

He waits for a few moments, testing the waters.

“We have a healer who can treat whatever ails you,” Clive presses on, tone still gentle and genuine. “And a very cosy bunk for you to rest in, where you won’t be disturbed. And food of course - I’ve heard there’s a delicious stew on the menu tonight. Molly - she’s our cook - has made some exquisite lemon tarts for afters. You can have mine, if you like.”

Your mouth salivates at the prospect of hot food. It had been a while since your stomach felt content - yesterday’s meal had consisted of vegetable peelings after a poor day of harvest, shared with the chocobos…

It’s all too good to be true.

“I know you must be frightened – to be taken from everything you’ve known for so long, but you have my word that we wish only to help you.” He places his fist over his heart, hoping it would prove his sincerity. “Though I understand we cannot be helping by hovering over you like this, so I will leave you be to think on it a while, my lady.”

Clive gets to his feet with a soft grunt and takes a few steps away back over to where Gav was stood, shaking his head in defeat.

Gav sighs, wearily. “S’pose I could ask Bartram to knock the planks out at the side so we can get her out that way?”

“No.” Clive’s tone is firm. “Definitely not. I could see her body trembling – she’s terrified.”

“We can hardly leave her in there.”

“She just needs time – we can give her that. It’s not ideal, but she’s at least safe. If her health turns, I’ll consider more drastic action but patience is best for now.”

“Maybe she’d be more comfortable speaking with someone who’s Branded?” Gav muses, scratching the back of his head.

“Good idea, Gav.” Clive claps his on the shoulder with a heavy arm. “I’ll ask Molly if she can pop by with some stew – food and a friendly, familiar face might work wonders."

--

You don’t emerge later though, despite Molly’s best efforts. She gives you a bright smile and soft, encouraging words – a tale of how she was rescued, proudly demonstrating the brand on her cheek, what she does now at the Hideaway, and then offering the bowl of stew in her hand.

The aroma makes your mouth water and stomach ache. Molly carefully places it at the threshold, not wanting to encroach on your personal space. Says she’ll leave it there, alongside a waterskin, before she bids you well and disappears from view.

If you shuffled forward a little, perhaps stretched out your arm as far as it would go, the bowl would be in reach to drag back to eat.

You don’t, though.

You won’t.

It’s a trick.

--

Clive had made himself scarce, hoping Molly's presence would be more calming than his own, and left her with instructions that if you were to emerge, or engage in conversation, perhaps she could coax you into going to the infirmary next.

He busied himself in search of the seamstress, eventually finding her in the bunks, sorting through piles of material stored away in a cupboard.

“Hortense, do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” She nods, turning to face him. “What can I do for you, Clive?” “I wondered if you had any spare blankets?”

“Oh, yes – I’m always working away on more as we grow our ranks!” Hortense beams, turning back to the cupboard. “I'm not surprised you asked – there must be quite the draft in those chambers of yours.”

“Ah, no - not for me. One of the rescued Bearers from today is a little shy, sequestered herself in an alcove in fright. I'm hoping she'll emerge before nightfall for food and to go to the infirmary, but I do not wish for her to catch a chill off the lake if she does not...”

“Oh, the poor mite!” Hortense frowns at the idea, but sets to thumbing through a pile of blankets in search of one in particular – a fleecy grey one in the end - and bundling it up in her arms before she hands it over to him. “Well, this one should keep her nice and cosy, it’s plenty thick enough. Tell me she is at least properly dressed, Clive.”

“The usual attire.” A polite way of saying the threadbare cloth shirts, trousers or dresses that Bearers were permitted by their masters, sans shoes as always. “I doubt she’ll accept any changes of clothing currently, but I am sure she’ll come round. We just need to be patient.”

“How could she not? Please, do let me know if there is anything else I can do.”

“This is plenty, I assure you.” He smiles, holding the blanket aloft in demonstration and leaves her to her work, heading the long way down to the Ale Hall to avoid the main deck. He spots Molly back in the kitchen behind the counter, looking forlorn.

“I’m sorry – I tried, I really did.” She scoops a generous portion of stew into a bowl and hands it off to an awaiting Bearer as she talks. “I told her my story and everything, but it’s almost like she’s frozen in place. I half-worried the curse had took her in front of my eyes. I left the stew - I hoped with some privacy she might eat without me there watching her.”

He places a large palm on her arm and give hers a sincere smile. “Thank you, Molly. I really appreciate you trying.”

“It’s nothing. Here”, she hands him the bowl of stew she’d just prepared. “Can’t forget yourself. And before you ask, yes, everyone else has been fed.”

Clive smiles, wryly, and takes the bowl with a grateful nod.

After he has had his fill, he heads out at the top of the steps, planning to keep his distance for a while longer up in the mess before an attempt to coax you out or gifting you the blanket. As his eyes cast over the alcove, he finds an unwelcome guest with their head and shoulders wedged firmly into the entrance.

“Torgal - away from there!” Clive snaps with a growl in his throat and the wolf hound instantly retreats to his master’s side with a whine and a tilt of his head, unsure as to what he's done.

He sighs, giving the beast a pat on the head. “I am sorry, boy, just... that bowl wasn’t for you – that was for our guest. I am afraid you may have scared her.”

Clive walks over and drops to a knee to peer within. His heart sinks to find your head tucked further between your knees than it had been previously, in addition to your body now trembling almost violently.

By the Founder, you must’ve thought he’d sent his beast to devour you.

“My lady, I am so very sorry that Torgal frightened you. He must’ve picked up the scent of the stew and followed it, mistaking it for his dinner. His sense of smell is unparalleled.”

Torgal barks as if in agreement, and you jump in place at the noise. Clive hushes the wolf with another pat on his head. “Sorry – he still acts like a puppy sometimes, but he is a very loyal friend of mine and he means you no harm. Allow me to fetch you something else to eat.”

He lays the bundled blanket down and pushes it forward, until it’s less than an arm’s length away from you.

“It gets a little cold on the deck in the evenings, my lady, but this should keep you warm until you feel comfortable enough to come inside. I’ll be back in a moment with some more food, and Torgal will keep away – I promise.”

He gets to his feet, picking up the bowl as he does and Torgal quickly follows behind at his heels as he heads back to the Ale Hall. Molly’s eyes widen in delight as he places the empty vessel on the counter, but Clive shakes his head.

“I’m afraid Torgal got to it first – licked it clean. Do we have any left?”

“Ah.” The cook’s face falls. “No, I’m afraid not – some of the Cursebreakers were feeling particularly hungry after their mission. But I do have bread, some cheese, apples and a lemon tart, though I had held that one back for you…”

“That all sounds wonderful. Please.”

Molly pulls out a cloth napkin from below the counter, placing the assortment of food together with a delicate hand. She ties the napkin in a knot to keep the bundle protected and hands it over.

“Thank you.” He looks down at the hound sat by his heels. “Torgal, why don’t you go and sit with Lady Charon?”

Torgal’s tail thumps against the wooden floorboards happily – Charon often has a bone waiting for him behind her counter in the evening.

“Good boy.”

Clive heads back towards the alcove with deliberate footsteps, wishing to announce his arrival. The blanket has not moved, still in the place where he left it. From what he can see in the evening light, your trembling has appeared to ease up from Torgal’s visit at least.

“I am afraid we have run out of stew, but Molly’s put together a selection of other things for you – including the lemon tart I mentioned earlier.” Clive places the bundle down carefully upon the blanket, before moving the waterskin besides it.

He waits a moment or two to see if you might lift your head before continuing, but it remains fixed in place.

“I think you might feel more at ease if you eat something, my lady, even if it’s just a little. I will leave you be and bid you a good night, with a sincere hope that you emerge anon.”

He gets back to his feet again, swallowing back down a sigh and, reluctantly, heads back into the warmth of the Ale Hall.

--

Clive finds himself restless later that night, tossing and turning before settling to stare up at the ceiling of his chambers. His mind is whirling with thoughts of what he needs to accomplish tomorrow, the missives he has yet to reply to, the Mothercrystals that still reside – though an opportune moment was still to present itself – the next lot of Cursebreakers who would be undertaking the removal of their Brands…

..and you, the scared Bearer, hiding in an alcove off the main deck.

He sits up with a huff and looks towards the balcony.

Fresh air – despite how drafty his chambers already are - will help, he thinks.

He gets out of bed, pulling on his earlier discarded trousers and boots to go with his night shirt and heads over to the balcony, stepping out into the cool night air.

The blighted lake waters are still and the moon casts a warm, white glow over the quiet deck. Clive takes a deep breath and then another, when something catches his eye down below - a lone figure heading across the boards on unsteady legs, towards the end of the dock.

You.

turns on his heel and hurries out of his chambers, his footsteps echoing around the Ale Hall as he descends both sets of stairs two at a time. He pulls the lever back to call the lift back up and waits, impatiently, when he sees the blanket and bundle of food he’d left earlier, pushed aside in front of the alcove.

He grabs the bundle as the lift reaches the dock and hurries inside, slamming down the lever and descending below, praying that he’s not too late.

--

You were sure you hadn’t heard anyone for hours since the sun had dipped below the horizon and stars had slowly started to emerge in the cloudless sky. Cautiously, you’d pushed the blanket forward, only enough so that if someone was lying in wait for you to emerge they would pounce.

Nothing.

You wait another while before you inch it forward again, a pause, then a little more until the entire blanket is now out of the alcove. Your hands are shaking as you pop your head out, just slightly, but the deck appears empty. After waiting another few moments, you crawl over to the railings to peer below. The skiff you’d arrived on is docked up at the end of the pier – an escape route. Without much further thought, you pull yourself up on unsteady legs and walk into the goods lift, pulling down the lever to descend.

You find yourself at the end of the dock, frozen in fear. What were you thinking? You don’t know how to sail. You don’t know how to swim either, so that’s also out of the question. Even if you could, you surely wouldn’t have the strength to swim across an entire lake.

You flex stiff fingers experimentally. Maybe you could muster up enough aether to conjure some wind – would that be enough to sail the skiff? You wished you’d paid more attention on the journey over…

You’re getting ahead of yourself. Where would you even go? The brand inked on your cheek made it so you’d never have a normal life, you stand out immediately in any crowd. If an imperial soldier caught you on your own, you’d be thrown into the cells…

..or even worse.

Maybe… Maybe you could go back to your master? Your stomach swirls again with anxiety at the thought. There would be a punishment, surely, but if you came back that would count for something, wouldn’t it?

Your thoughts are interrupted by pounding footsteps, your heartbeat soon matching their pace as you turn to see your pursuer. It’s the broad-shouldered man from earlier – Clive – hurrying up the dock with a look you can’t identify on his face and a bundle of cloth in his hand.

You take a step back as he gets closer, hurriedly followed by another, then another. There’s an apology on your tongue but the world suddenly jerks when there is no longer anything to stand on. You’ve stepped too far, ran out of dock-

There is a gust of warm wind and an arm wraps around your waist, pressing you close into an even warmer chest. Underfoot, you feel the boards of the dock again - Clive has stopped you from falling into the depths. He guides you forward another half a dozen strides before dropping his arm once he’s sure you’re a safe distance away from the edge and then takes further steps back himself.

“I apologise for touching you without your consent, my lady, but I could not let you fall into the water. Are you all right?”

You don’t take in his words at all - your legs giving up as you drop down on the deck with a thump.

“I’m s-sorry.” Your words are soft, but Clive hears them in the stillness of the night. “Please – I’ll…” You swallow back a sob – crying never helped, would only make punishments worse. “I’m sorry. Please… don’t hurt me. I’ll obey. I will.”

“I will never hurt you, my lady, nor will I ever command your obedience. This is my vow.” Clive responds, equally as soft, as he kneels down to match your eye-level. “I just wish to see you safe and well.”

He sounds sincere, which is unsettling. You realise he doesn’t have his sword, nor the hound at his heels. He’s not even properly dressed - leather trousers and an unlaced white shirt, overall softening his appearance.

Clive takes advantage of your silence to press on.

“Will you join me in a midnight feast?” He places the bundle of cloth down before him, swiftly undoing the knot all whilst you stare, trying to guess the trick.

“I used to sneak into my younger brother’s chambers with things I’d swiped from the kitchen. He was often ill and prescribed a rather bland diet, so I hoped a midnight feast of more appetizing fare might cheer him up.”

He busies himself laying out the food on the patterned cloth, a little further away from him than could be comfortable having to stretch out so far. There’s a few bread rolls, apples, biscuits and something that smells tantalizingly sweet.

“This,” Clive points out a round pastry in the middle, some sort of glazed curd on the top, “is Molly’s fabled lemon tart. The best in Valisthea, I assure you. Please – help yourself.”

He leans back, propping himself up with his elbows, again trying to give you space, and forces his gaze to the sky. The moon illuminates the side of his face as you keep your eyes fixed on him, revealing a mark you hadn’t noticed earlier that day - an almost familiar one.

It’s torture having the food laid out in front of you, the second time that day. You don’t know if you feel sick from hunger or from nerves, but your resolve finally cracks.

You reach out with a shaking hand, waiting for Clive to strike.

He keeps focused on the skies above, his hands firmly planted behind him.

You pick up the roll.

Still, he does not move.

You take a tentative bite and chew, whilst Clive stares up at the stars.

Slowly, but surely, you finish the entire roll. Be grateful – your master’s voice rings around your head.

“T-thank you.”

Clive moves his gaze from the skies to yours, a warm smile on his face. “No, thank you, my lady. This is all I want for you – all we want for you – to be safe and well-fed.”

You dig your nails into your palms. “Why?”

“Because Bearers do not deserve to be treated how they are – we should be able to live and die on our own terms.”

“We?”

He nods, sitting up and turning his head to the side, pushing back his hair a little to reveal the scar on his cheek.

“I was Branded once. Tarja – she’s our healer – removed it, only so I could travel Storm safely and help others escape their fate. The Cursebreakers have all had their Brands removed as well for the same reason.”

“No, they said it can’t be removed – the ink contains poison.” You don’t know where this tone of defiance has emerged from, but there is no flash of anger across Clive’s brow.

“It is risky to remove, yes, but not impossible. And we will not ask you to undertake such a risk – that would be your choice.” He adds, quickly, worried you may take it the wrong way.

“You remember Molly, who brought you the stew?” You nod. “There are many others like her who have chosen to keep their Brand, but it does not dictate their lives in the Hideaway. And until you can live the life you deserve to, one where that mark on your cheek will not make it unsafe for you to do so, I sincerely hope you will find a home here.”

“A home?”

“Mm. Safe, fed, and never need to use aether again, my…” He pauses in realization. “My apologies - may I request the pleasure of your name?”

You shake your head, feeling foolish. “It’s silly, but I… I don’t remember it. Such a simple thing to have forgotten, but master didn’t use it.”

Of course the bastard didn’t - Clive feels a frown forming, but restrains himself. “I am sure it will come back to you with time.”

His eyes fall upon the pastry in the following silence, wishing to change the subject and he picks it up, placing it on the flat on his palm and offering it out to you. “Please – have some more to eat.”

Clive has a shy smile on his lips, a genuine and sincere look in his eye. It is the kindest look someone has given you in all the time you can remember and with that, your fingers brush across his open palm as you take the offered treat.

It is small – only two bites – but it is the most wonderful thing you have ever tasted. The pastry is crisp, thin and sweet, whilst the lemon curd is tart, the flavours dancing over your tongue.

It makes you want to cry at such a simple pleasure that has been denied to you for so very long.

The moment of euphoria is interrupted as a particularly cold wind gusts across the lake and causes you to shiver, unconsciously pulling your limbs closer to your body to try and preserve heat.

“Thank you for trusting me, my lady. I cannot imagine how frightening and worrying it must be – I truly admire your bravery. May I be as bold to request you trust me once more this night?”

You nod – the tiniest jerk of your head down – but it’s a nod all the same.

“Would you allow me to escort you to the infirmary? It has warm and comfortable beds where you can rest - properly.”

The question makes your stomach squirm with anxiety – the food sitting too heavy now in your stomach, but one look into Clive’s eyes almost settles it entirely once more.

“And in the morning, if you feel up to it,” he clarifies, “our healer would like to give you a check-up, but you do not have to make a decision on that right now.”

“A-all right.”

“Wonderful.” He keeps his tone measured, quickly wrapping up the food in the cloth and securing the top with a knot before he gets to his feet and steps back as you get to yours. He gestures forward a moment, quickly second-guessing his actions with a frown.

“Mayhaps you would be more comfortable following me?”

A small nod again.

You can’t be backstabbed if you’re facing his back, after all.

“Of course. Follow me, please, my lady.” He bows ever so slightly, before turning and heading back up and along the dock.

Clive’s heart is pounding as he walks away, worried that you may take his retreat as a chance to take the skiff and sail away or plunge yourself into the lake, but he dare not look over his shoulder in fear of frightening you.

Instead, he strains to hear any footsteps bar his own.

It is only when he reaches the goods lift that he catches sight of you in his peripheral vision that he releases a breath. He’s sure to stand in the furthest corner besides the lever, only taking one look over his shoulder to confirm you were safely within the confines of the lift before he pulls down on the mechanism.

He walks along the main deck, up the stairs to the mess, past the long tables and the hunt board before he pauses at the bottom of the next set of stairs. “It’s just up here and to the left.”

He opens the door to the infirmary with measured strength – aware the other Bearers will be resting within. The first two beds are occupied by faces you recognize – the two you’d been rescued with – and there is a man sat by a desk. Clive nods to him in acknowledgement and heads towards the other side of the room, sectioned off by a large bit of fabric. Both cots back there are empty, so he walks over to the one closest to the window and pulls the blanket down, then stepping back to the other side of the room and gesturing you forward.

“Here.”

You hesitate. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. The the stranger the other side of the curtain has unsettled you. It had been easy to forget about everyone else for a moment when it had just been Clive and you on the dock, but now you are inside… Who else would come when dawn broke?

Clive picks up on your hesitation, noting the way your eyes flit between the window and beyond the curtain, annoyed with himself he did not warn you of Rodiguez being on duty that night.

“If it would be all right with you, my lady, I would like to stay in order to make introductions in the morning with Tarja. But I will only do so if you are comfortable with me – I will set up a chair over there.” He points back the way you came, to the gap between the fabric and the wall.

“P-please.”

“Of course.” He nods, picking up a chair immediately from the side and moving it to where he had said. It is only then that you sit cautiously on the edge of the bed, slowly lifting your legs up and tugging the blanket up to your chin.

Clive settles himself on the chair – he has slept in far worse places, after all – and it is not long at all until sleep claims you.

--

Months pass. At first, your circle remains small – Clive and Molly at first, followed by Jill before you slowly begin to open up to those among the Hideaway. You will never forget the smile on Clive’s face when he introduced you to Torgal properly – the hound immediately rolling on his back, titling his head at you inquisitively as his master explained he wished for you to rub his fluffy belly.

You are still easily startled by loud noises, unexpected movement or when Gav swears out of excitement, and you are never the loudest in conversation, but everyone is so verywelcoming.

There is plenty to do, but there is no expectation of you to contribute unless you want to, especially as some among the ranks are too stiff from the curse. Jill and Hortense teach you how to sew, you spend a few days in the Backyard learning about the plants, Charon teaches you how to take a stock inventory, Gav tries to teach you how to drink a pint in record speed and, of course, Molly teaches you how to bake.

You are always first to greet new Bearers with a soft word and kind smile, telling them how scared you were, how you hid in the alcove on the deck…

Clive is often busy whilst in or out the Hideaway, but he always makes time for you, seeking out your company immediately after he has given Otto the latest, wanting to know what you’ve been up to before he’ll even speak of himself. He even picks up little trinkets that he thinks will make you smile – lined up on your windowsill in your bunk.

You knock gently on Clive’s chambers – his call for you to enter soon following. You hold the basket behind your back, a piece of cloth tucked over delicately over the contents within as you slide open the door. He is sat behind the writing desk, looking over a pile of missives, dressed in his usual leathers.

He raises his head and offers you the warmest smile, getting to his feet immediately in polite greeting. Seeing you always seemed to brighten his day – there was something about your smile that revitalized his spirits, a reminder of how far you’d come since that first day.

“My lady.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work.” You say, softly, sliding the door closed behind you.

“You are never an interruption. Please, sit.” He gestures towards the bench opposite his desk. “What can I do for you?”

“Before I do, I have some gifts.”                                                             

“Gifts?”

“Mm. For you.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t have.”

You place the basket gently down on his desk, ignoring his comment. He pulls back the cloth to reveal a pile of six lemon tarts nestled within.

“Did you make these?”

“I did.” You nod, proudly. “Molly supervised, so they should be edible, at least.”

“They’ll be more than edible, I assure you.” He picks one up and bites into it, humming happily as he chews, the pastry melting on his tongue. “They are exquisite – truly.”

“Really?”

He feigns a pout at your question. “Have I ever lied to you?”

You shake your head with a shy smile.

“Then I would hardly start now.” He takes hold of you hand for a moment and squeezes. “Thank you.”

You bite your lip before continuing. “There’s… something else.”

“I am hardly deserving of this gift, my lady, let alone more-”

You interrupt him with a name – your name.

His eyes widen for a moment before he murmurs it back to you – sounding all the more wonderful on his tongue - and you nod, excitedly. You’d been reluctant to choose a new name, despite some suggestions. The inhabitants of the Hideaway had instead picked up on Clive’s term of address instead.

“I remembered, like you said.” You wring your fingers together. “Well, in a way. Tomes was reading a story to the children and there it was, after all this time.”

“It is a beautiful name – I am honoured to learn it.” He takes your hand with a bow, pressing a kiss against your knuckles and saying it once again.

When he releases your hand, you press a quick kiss against his stubbled, scarred cheek. “Thank you.”

Clive’s cheeks redden at your kiss, seemingly speechless for a moment. He smiles, almost bashfully, as he looks down at you with an unfamiliar look in his eyes.

“May I give you something in return?”

“Clive,” you look down as you protest, feeling your own face warm under his gaze, “you’ve already given me plenty. You-” He inadvertently cuts you off as he tilts your chin up with two gentle fingers, determined to meet your gaze.

“You do not understand, my darling. I would love to give you so much more, if only you’d permit me.”

“Oh…”

Clive moves his hand to caress your Branded cheek with calloused fingers – worn from his time of handling his blade – but his touch has never felt so soft.

“May I?”

You nod.

Clive presses a kiss to your lips - gentle, chaste and far sweeter than any lemon tart.

--

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comforting seph after a nightmare

2:19

the shinra brand alarm clock on the nightstand glows in a muted blue among the moonlight of the bedroom but it wasn’t what you had expected to see when your tired eyes opened. sephiroth should have been there, the broadness of his body blocking the view of the clock while he held you in his arms. like it was every night you got to be together.

you aren’t sure what it is that woke you. you can’t recall the dream you were having or if you felt the bed dip when sephiroth seemingly slipped out of it. maybe it was both or neither or something else entirely; something you couldn’t explain logically but that was like your heart had known he needed you and was sure to jolt you awake. 

whatever it was, you’re glad it did as you blink away the sleepiness of your eyes and sit up in bed, immediately seeing him at the edge of the mattress with his back to you. in the dim silver light his long hair looks ethereal, like tangible soft strands of starlight cascading down his bare back; his skin milky pale and delicate to the touch. years of discolored scars littered on his back, bullet wounds, sword slashes and burns, tells you others hadn’t thought so but it didn’t change how you saw him.

sephiroth doesn’t move or make any indication that he hears you when you crawl across the bed to reach him. outside the sheets the room is cold, the chill making your exposed arms and legs break out in goosebumps but you can feel his natural warmth the closer you get to him. 

“seph?” your voice is barely a whisper in the quiet room but you’re sure even without his soldier hearing he would have heard you.

he doesn’t reply. doesn’t move.

gingerly you reach for him, placing the pads of your fingers between his shoulder blades and the hair that lays over it. you feel the tensing of his entire body at the sudden touch. gentle as it was, it seemed to break him from whatever thoughts or memories or dreams that he had been living in that woke him. 

he says your name but something tells you it's for him more than for you, as if to tell himself you’re here and it’s okay. you can’t ignore how rough his voice is. “did i wake you?” 

shuffling on your shins and knees to be closer to him, you wrap your arms around his middle and press your cheek against his back, shaking your head. “no, it’s okay.” a quiet moment passes with his heart hammering under your palms on his chest before tenderly, tentatively, you ask, “did you have a bad dream?”

nightmares were nothing new to sephiroth, you knew, despite how many he suffered alone but you never wanted that to be the case again. you’d dream them for him if possible, as scary as you worry they are. not that he would ever want or ask that of you but it’s not as if you could pluck them from his mind and replace them with something kinder, sweeter, while you took on the weight, no matter how much you wished you could. so you would have to settle for this, holding him, reminding him he is loved and isn’t alone. he never would be again.

he swallows and takes his first steady breath since before you began to hold him. when he speaks again, he sounds more like the sephiroth you know, with the lace of tenderness reserved only for you. “it’s late, let’s get you back to bed.” he lays his hand over yours, attempting to turn in your hold but you stay steady and don’t release your arms from around him.

of course he could escape if he really wanted to. quite easily too you have no doubt. his strength outmatched yours in every way but to sephiroth, you held his world in your palms; you are his ultimate weakness. there is nothing he wouldn’t do for you and there was no fighting the love and comfort in the weight of you pressed against his back and the way you bury your face in his hair.

“my love,” you coo as if you found what he said to be silly. nuzzling into him, you place a kiss along his spine, feeling him sigh under your lips, and speak softly against his skin. “i won't be able to sleep if i’m worried about you.”

that wasn’t something he could argue with or refute. he wouldn’t be able to either if the roles were reversed right now but he doesn’t want you to worry or lose your own sleep because of him. “i’ll be alright,” he says and he truly does believe it. every nightmare, every sleepless night, had come and gone no matter how horrible they were. this one would be no different. 

except it would be because tonight you’re here.

“can i stay with you until you’re feeling better then?” you ask, still so gentle and kind, but not giving him a chance to try to coax you back into bed. you weren’t going to give up or give in so easily. you squeeze him tighter. 

sephiroth leans back into you then, not enough to have you holding up even half of his weight but just so he could be fully in your embrace. letting himself need you, accept you, be vulnerable with you. “i’d like that.”

you smile against his skin and after a silent moment, much to his dismay, release him from your arms and start to move away from him but your touch doesn’t go far and instinctively he’s pulled back to you; your hand that brushes long silver bangs behind his ear so you can see his mako eyes and the dark circles beneath them, your other that grabs his hand and rubs soothing shapes over his still burning skin.

he leans into your palm on his cheek, lets his eyes flutter closed and your love wash over him while he grasps onto your hand like a life line in his gentle strength. finally his heart starts to slow, beat by beat trying to match your own that he feels under his fingers. the images he saw in his dreams are painted over with every gentle stroke of your touch and replaced with something so delicate and divine he almost dare not look lest his gaze ruin it but you wouldn’t let that happen and he would do anything you asked, fall to his knees in front of you if you said the word, kill for you, die for you, muster every bit of gentleness he once thought he wasn’t capable of just to hold you against him like you deserve, like you’re the most precious thing on the planet. 

though at this moment, it seems to be him that’s being held like porcelain, looked after and cared as if it was priceless despite every crack and chip and missing piece he slowly relieved to you.

“c’mere,” you beckon with a pull of his hand and so easily he follows you back into bed, between your legs and into your welcoming arms. his weight is so comfortable on top of you.

sephiroth settles with his head against your chest and his arms tightly wrapped around your middle. at the feeling of your fingers in his hair, carding gently through the silky strands, he completely melts against you, your touch a soothing balm that seeps into his very soul but that tingles and burns in its own way.

it always had whenever you had touched him. the uncomfortableness of loving care that leaves him not knowing how to act when it could break him more easily than any blade or bullet that had opened his flesh. loving care that he has only known so deeply, so purely, with you; that tears open his chest and lets you reach into the deepest parts of him to do as you please.

taking in a deep breath that’s so full of you, his arms tighten around your middle until he’s worried he might snap you in half if he puts any more pressure behind it but you don’t complain or squeak out in discomfort. you only pull him in closer in return, one hand on his back and your other fingers tangling in his hair as you gently press him against your chest with his ear right over your steadily beating heart.

“it’s okay seph..” you speak so softly, more than he ever thought he deserved. so different than he had once dreamed of as a small child coming from his mother, the feeling bringing him unmeasurable solace. “i’ve got you.”

he doesn’t know how much time passes until his hold on you loosens when his tired body and even more exhausted mind get lost in your warmth and love but he doesn’t worry as he slips in and out of consciousness. you continue to hold him, repeating your promises, running your hand through his hair, keeping him safe from a force no amount of physical strength or power has been able to stop thus far.

only you, your gentleness, your love, had been strong enough to keep it away, even if only for the night. it had been so much more than he could ask for, more than he had ever been able to do by himself but that you did like it was the easiest thing in the world and as if it was your duty, your pleasure to do so.

perhaps one day they would even stop completely. one day when he can make the much better dream now playing behind his eyes a reality; his dream of keeping you safe in a normal life together. no shinra. no labs. no war or fighting. just you, his love, his angel, and forever getting to be by your side.

main masterlist

Jessica Rabbit Effect pt. 4

So a lot of people have asked what if Crocodile & Mihawk found out about Buggys hot wife. So here we are!

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Masterlist <<

• Buggy would be dragging his feet and reluctant on letting you go.. Truthfully he wanted to keep you on his little island village were you could live in ignorance and bliss. (Cause he's possessive)

• However it seemed some things couldnt be helped-

• Especially after your kidnapping attempt. So he felt safer dragging you with him to the Cross Guild meeting-

• "I'm so nervous" You admit, stepping in land as he kept you close.

• "Don't be- You'll be fine. I promise nothing will happen" He stated confidently, you assuming because these men were his friends- (While Buggy ment he'd kill to make sure no one harmed you)

• Once inside you saw them- And you damn near were ready to run back to the ship..

• They looked so much scarier in person!

• Craning your head up to meet the two massive men- Your nerves now all over the place as they just seemed to stare down at you.

• Hard-

• Your hand instinctively squeezing Buggy for reassurance.

• "Croc, Hawk- This is my Wife (Y/N)" Buggy said calmly with a hint of irriation in his voice at having them meet you at all, keeping a secure hand on your waist as you smiled softly at the two infamous men, still a bit nervous.

• "It's lovely to meet you both"

• Sir Crocodile and Mihawk exchanged puzzled glances as they stood before Buggy's wife.

• Perplexed-

• This pretty women was Buggy's wife?- Sure they had both heard rumors that she was apparently attractive but they assumed this was just Buggy's dramatic words floating around.

• However you were actually gorgeous!?

• Crocodile muttered, "Lovely to meet you as well-" Migawk nodding in greeting to you.

• "I know its a bit short notice me coming here and all, vut I made you both some gifts as a gesture of kindness" You say so sweetly as you reach into your bag and pull out the nice gifts for both of them nicely wrapped in colored tissue paper. Mentally praying Buggy's information was correct.

• Both Guild Leaders took the gifts in question- Still assuming something about this was fishy as both slowly ripped the tissue paper to take a peak at what you'd made.

• You had made a beautiful silk orange gold puff tie for Sir Crocodile since Buggy kept saying he was wearing a 'scarf' as a tie (But you knew better that it's a Puff Tie and not a scarf)

• And for Sir Mihawk you made him a white ocean cotton button down with front frills, you didn't make it as dramatic as you typically made Buggys but it was a incredibly pretty and beautiful shirt that would be comforble to wear whenever.

• Both men stared at the gifts, like they were trying to figure out what sort of trickery this was.

• "You made these?" Mihawk questioned at first,

• "I'm a seamstress" You state calmly, a bit worried they wouldn't be interested. However smiled when Crocodile complemented your craft and the quality of the tie.

• Once inside the main meeting room, conversation flowed naturally, You chatting up both men so they could become familiar with you. Even telling them the story of how you and Buggy met all those years ago.

• "Are you wanted to married him?-" Crocodile mused, taking another drag of his cigar.

• "Of course! He's so sweet afterall" Buggy looked miffed by Crocodiles words and the fact you gushed so much-

• Mihawk was the most interested in you however, taking sips of wine as he looked over you calmly.

• "Would you reconsider your marriage for a more suitable option?-" He so bluntly asked which made you blink in total surprise.

• "HEY!" Buggy yelled, Wrapping a protective arm around you as he began to yell at Mihawk for daring to 'hit on' his lovely wife- His temper definitely getting the best of him.

• Buggy throwing a full on tantrum now as he pointed a finger at Mihawk and screamed at him. The yellow eyed man grabbing his sword in warning-

• You flushed in embrassment and patted Buggys arm gently to calm him down before he got chopped to bits. "No No- I'm very happy in my marriage and love my husband dearly. I wouldn't choose anyone else-"

• Buggy stopped his little tantrum and seemed to be soothed by your gentle hands and soft words.

• Both pirates respecting such a loyal trait and moving on from such conversations.

• Both Guild Leaders found you quite enjoyable- You had wonderful humor, great in terms of conversation and essentially made up for everything your husband lacked.

• Work did take place however, Buggy and the two men talking over strategies of wealth and gaining a greater sense of power between them all.

• They did however find it irritating they couldn't beat Buggy's ass like normal- Seeing how it would upset you and the man seemed to be practically glued to you.

• By the time for you and Buggy to retire, Maps, Plans and even money had been exchanged-

• As the meeting delved later. Food and Alcohol was served, which left you full and a bit tipsy. Leaning your head on Buggy's shoulder as you soon fell asleep against him.

• "(Y/N)? Buggy said softly, claiming his arm to properly secure you against him as he saw your sleeping form.

• "Seems it's time to go our separate ways" Migawk said calmly, having finished off 4 bottles of wine himself and not too far behind you in terms of sleep. Crocodile wiping his mouth of the crumbs with a napkin as he set his near finished cigar on a ash tray.

• "Yes.." Buggy said softly, scooping you up with care.

• "....Since my wife is asleep- I need to say this to you both"

• Buggy didn't look at the two of them just stroking your hair as you slept- "I will only speak this once... If you two hurt my wife or make her upset in any way- Death will be the kindest thing I can give to you"

• They had always know Buggy hid his true abilities and simply didn't take things seriously- But they saw you were his only button.

• His only weakness-

• No words were exchanged, but a silent agreement seemed to settle on the three men.

• You were off limits.

• Buggy carried you out of the meeting hall, taking you to his private quarters so you could rest properly. Already mentally mapping out changing you into your nice PJs-

• The two men left behind watching their peer leave with his prized wife. Crocodile muttered, "How did Buggy manage to snag such a pretty and sweet wife?"

• Mihawk, equally mystified nodding in agreement.

• "It's a mystery as profound as the Grand Line itself."

Extra!-

"I can't believe those dirty bastards got you to make them clothes!" Buggy yelled, stomping his foot dramatically as he watched you sew at a purple and gold vest which clearly would belong to Crocodile by the large size.

You sitting in your favorte chair, dressed in comforble clothes as you continued to work into the evening in the home you shared with your dramatic husband.

"I make all your clothes" Gesturing to his low riding pajama pants and socks he was currently sporting. He waved this off with a dramatic eye roll-

"That's different your my wife and I still pay for your time since it's important! and they shouldnt get it fre-"

"They are paying me Buggy Boo" You cut him off quickly, taking the winds from his sails as he stopped mid rant.

"Eh?" He said confused, not knowing what you were talking about. You reach into your vanity next to you and handed your husband the letter both men had slipped you when you'd first met them in the guikd hall.

"They have me a lump some for 5 peices of clothes for each of them. 2 pairs of trousers, 2 shirts and a special item for each. For Crocodile he wanted this vest Im working on- and for Mihawk to restore a coat he liked" You explained, Buggy raising a brow at this news as he opened the letter quickly and read over how much they offered for such peices.

....

"GAHH!-"

Buggy yelled as he fell to the ground foaming at the mouth at seeing the large number.

15,000,000 Beri for each man....

He couldn't complain-

Well not about the men paying you so handsomely but about having to become the grumpy delivery man for his wife once the clothes were finished.

When he went to the meeting handing his two peers the clothes they had specially bought from you in the nice boxes youd always packed everything in.

Both men quick to open them and look over their new purchased goodies. Mihawk immediately putting on the repaired coat after seeing its quality- which was better then when he bought it.

"Tell your wife I'd like to make another commission when she has free time- I'll pay double" Mihawk said smoothing out the coat and seeing the nice gold pattern on the sleeves and nice red satin insides of the inner coat.

Crocodile adjusting his orange Puff Tie and he nodded in agreement and went through his box with great satisfaction. "Same for me as well-"

"I fucking hate you both..."

5 : You rolled for Persuasion. It was..... a success?

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