Ao3 (xioying) - Works On Here Are Not Cross-posted

update on joshua x reader fics: current wip is at 3.6k words and it's about halfway done...

progress with it has been erratic but i MIGHT be able to get it out in a week!!

better than yourself

Joshua Rosfield x writer!Reader

1005 words, fluff

Short fluffy fic for Valentine’s. Happy Valentine’s Day! It’s the same reader as anecdotal inspiration, but you don’t have to read it to read this one (but I would be very happy if you did :))

----------------

You sighed, leaning forward and bumping your head against the book in your hands.

Opposite you, Joshua gave you a curious look. “Is something the matter?”

This had been going on for a while: you often spent your free time scrawling down children’s stories in blank notebooks, and when you had finished, put them up in a quaint corner in the library for the children to peruse. There weren’t many books suitable for the young ones at the Hideaway. You would never have dared to initiate something like this yourself, but with Harpocrates’ kind, homely encouragement that you would almost accuse as manipulative, your hobby had found meaning in one of the lowest shelves that any child could reach.

Then you had an unexpected patron—the younger of the Rosfield brothers, no less—and he was somewhat of a busybody, and he’d become particularly sticky to you after finding out you were the author of those stories in the tattered notebooks. But if anybody asked you if you minded it, you wouldn’t say you did.

You turned the closed book over in your hands. It was a random book on the history of Valisthea that you’d picked off the shelf in hopes of finding an answer. “I’m looking for a word, but I can’t remember it…”

“Have you consulted the dictionary?”

“I don’t remember what letter it starts with, so that’s not helpful.” …You hadn’t come across as rude, had you? “Um, but thanks.”

Joshua didn’t look ruffled in the slightest. He slid his own book shut and propped his elbows up on the table. “Then, would you like to describe it to me? I might know what word it is.”

He most definitely did. Although you’d done your own fair share of reading, it was hard to deny that Joshua was much more well-read than you, or anyone else at the Hideaway. Sometimes he’d dive into a monologue patterned with flowery sentences, but maybe you’d given him one too many confused looks, because he had pretty much stopped doing that with you. But those alone were enough to prove to you he had picked up far more books than you—although that was to be expected, considering he had been raised in royalty.

You let the book in your hands slide down onto the table, chewing on your bottom lip. “Well… it’s part of a castle.”

Joshua nodded attentively. “I grew up in one.”

Oh, you’d forgotten that. “It’s something like a tower..? I think? They’re usually along the walls—at least I think they are.”

“Are you thinking of a turret?”

Right—that was the word. “That’s—That’s the word. Thanks.”

“Delighted to be of help.” He leaned forward. “What did you need it for?”

“Are you asking for spoilers?”

He puffed his cheeks indignantly, almost like a child. “It’s been a fair while since you’ve published anything, so you will have to pardon me for being curious.”

Published was far too fancy of a term for you.

You glanced down, turning your wrist over experimentally. “Tarja said my wrist hasn’t been good, so I haven’t written much for a while.”

“Oh?” Faint alarm was tinged in his voice, despite him usually trying to keep a composed facade, something you had picked up on yourself. “What happened?”

Apparently, you’d been writing too much. It had prompted a cramp in your hand and after paying a visit to Tarja, who had suggested the most probable cause was your extended periods of time jotting away at your desk. Which you had initially found weird, since it had never happened before. Then after some reflection, you had realised in the past few weeks, particularly after a specific someone discovering your secret of writing those books, you had been feeling too motivated to settle down; sometimes you’d even forego a good night’s worth of rest to spend the time whittling away at words.

Not that you would ever say any of that out loud, so the long and short of it was: “I wrote too much—so my hand hurts.”

Joshua frowned. “Is it an injury?”

“Something like that… I think.” You hoped you weren’t wrong.

“I could heal you, if you’d like?” he offered.

Injured hand darting in front of your chest reflexively, you shook your head. “I couldn’t—you should save your powers for other… stuff.”

He didn’t seem to agree. “What better stuff would prevail over this?”

“People who are actually being useful on the field?” you tried.

This time he frowned at you. “Perhaps you don’t think your contributions are befitting of any reward?”

That wasn’t… “I don’t mean that, but…”

You weren’t sure what you were trying to say, either, so you trailed off. For a long moment, there was a stuffy silence between the two of you. Although you were terrible at conversing with others, Joshua always seemed to know what to say at every moment, so stretches of quiet didn’t happen with him often. Now that there was one, it felt gut wrenchingly nauseating and you contemplated excusing yourself to the toilet so you could retreat back to your bunk and shut the door and wither and die in a corner.

When he finally spoke again, it was soft. “I won’t do anything that you aren’t comfortable with. But as for your implications that your writing and your work aren’t important, those I can’t agree with. Reading your stories holds more importance than just a moment of respite for the children, and myself, as well—and if you allowed the others to peruse them, I’m sure they’d come to the same conclusion.”

Joshua held out his hand across the table.

“So, please don’t think any less of yourself.”

You stared at his outreached hand.

Slowly, from in front of your chest, to over the table, to the palm of his hand, you reached back out to him.

It was funny. You had never even said it out loud, and maybe you hadn’t even realised it yourself, so how, you wondered, did Joshua seem to know you better than yourself?

anecdotal inspiration

Joshua x writer!Reader (anxiety edition)

3444 words, fluff

Summary: Joshua finds out who’s been writing books for the children in the Hideaway. It’s you, unfortunately.

Author’s note: Joshua who loves to read and reader who loves to write has been in front of me the whole time. I have been but a blind fool

-------------

“Pardon me, but are you the one who wrote those?”

It had all started about a year ago. You had always been a daydreamer, maybe a little airy-headed, and you often found yourself penning down idyllic fantasies down into tattered notebooks since young. Growing up, you’d filled thousands of torn pages with your whimsical stories, leaving them half-complete before you began a new one, and it was a hobby that had followed you into adulthood. Now that you lived in the Hideaway, you surprisingly found yourself having more time for it. Embarrassing to admit, but you weren’t the most capable on the field, so you often had quick and short assignments.

And then one day you’d accidentally left one of your notebooks open at the library while searching for other books, and Harpocrates had chanced upon it. You had vehemently denied any relation to the notebook, and Harpocrates who had seen you walk in with it and place it on the table of course hadn’t believed you at all, but instead of mocking you or your scrawls, he had offered a suggestion with a wise smile. The children at the Hideaway, although only a few of them, didn’t have much to read. Children’s storybooks weren’t a priority to obtain, so they usually just had the same few to recycle over and over. Why not write new ones for them? Your handwriting was neater than sufficient, he had said, and your writing was pleasant.

Not knowing how to turn down his proposition, and also not being totally against it, you had agreed. Harpocrates then dedicated a row at the bottom of the shelf in one of the corners for you. It felt a little improper to you—there was no title on the cover since it was a notebook, only on the first page in your handwriting, and the books were usually worn out a little, but every time you slotted a new one onto the shelf, a few days later the children would come bounding to you with praises and enthuses of joy. Harpocrates must’ve told them it was you. You didn’t really mind.

Except, now, Joshua Rosfield had caught you sliding in your newest finished piece onto the bottom shelf.

“Uh—!” You managed a strangled noise.

You had never spoken to him before. Clive had brought him in a few weeks ago and introduced him in the Ale Hall one day, and you had bowed your head in greeting, and that was pretty much the only interaction you had with him. He mostly kept to himself, too. To be honest, he looked much too ethereal and you were afraid that if you stood too long around him you’d be incinerated to ashes just by his aura, so you didn’t try to approach him either.

Needless to say, you really wanted to run away. You stared up at him, wide-eyed.

He cocked his head inquisitively, and then you noticed in one of his hands was clutched a notebook that you’d finished writing in and put on the shelf for the children a few months ago. You hoped Leviathan would awake from its dormancy and swallow you whole right that instant.

“I’m sorry. I was just wondering if you are the author of those books,” he repeated, as if you didn’t hear him the first time.

Shoving your new book into the shelf, you leapt to your feet without meeting his eyes.

“Sorry—I have to go somewhere!”

“Ah, wait—” he began, but you didn’t let him finish.

Bowing your head and staring at the floor, you bolted right past him and out of the library.

-------------

You escaped back into the dormitories, the largest common area in the Hideaway and where you figured it’d be harder for someone to locate you. Returning to your room was an option, but not one that you entertained; you’d been cooped up in there for hours in the early half of the day, revising your story before publishing it in the little corner in the library, so you were reluctant to go back again.

In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have run away and heard Joshua out. He had seemed curious about them, even if he completely wasn’t their target audience. It could’ve been nice hearing an adult’s opinion on your storybook, too… Or, alternatively, maybe he’d been very unimpressed by your books and was about to tell you off for wasting space in the library and to make way for some real books. Oh, god. You felt like you were going to vomit. You stopped walking through the corridor and paused to lean your head against the wall, focusing on your breaths.

“Miss!”

It was a young, chipper voice. Blinking, you removed yourself from your pathetic posture, standing up straight, and looked down. The children, your loyal recipients of your books, were eagerly jogging towards you.

“Miss!” They tugged at your long skirt. “Is there a new book yet?”

“Are you writing a new book?”

“I want to read a new story, Miss!”

“Hey, now…” You reached down to carefully pat one of the boys on his head. Children were a little easier to manage, you found. Or maybe it was because they adored you. “I just put a new one on the shelf, actually.”

They were positively beaming. “You did?”

“What’s it about this time? Is it romance?”

The girls in particular asked you that question fairly often, but you found yourself quite hopeless at it. Perhaps it was because you’d never had anything going on in your life romantically before, but the words just wouldn’t come out. How were you to describe what it felt like being in love, anyway?

Grimacing, you shook your head. “It’s an adventure story.”

“Oh, another one!”

“I wanted to read a love story, too…” One of the boys was pouting.

You laughed, gingerly tugging them off your skirt. “Maybe sometime.”

With hopeful glints in their eyes, they turned and began making their rambunctious way to the library, no doubt about to fight over the single unread copy on the shelf. You watched them leave with a faint smile, waving to their retreating backs, before frowning and sighing.

Really, how were you supposed to describe love?

-------------

Maybe some of the books in the library had an answer for you.

So, the next day, you returned with a notebook, this one used to pen down ideas rather than hold finished tales, set on finding some sort of inspiration from some book.

Unfortunately, Joshua was standing at one of the shelves.

Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be around. You usually waltzed past him, and, being too lost in the sprawling ink of the book, he usually didn’t notice you, or you assumed so. The last encounter had certainly… well, shaken things up, to put it in a crudely nice manner.

Stopping a few paces behind him, you shifted awkwardly, before clearing your throat. “Um, Lord Rosfield.”

Joshua looked up, turning his head gracefully to look at you. You were absolutely jealous. When someone interrupted you when you were deep in thought, you would always jump and freeze up like a frightened chocobo in a completely unflattering way.

“Yes?” Without missing a beat, he added, “Simply ‘Joshua’ would suffice.”

“Right, well, Joshua.” It sounded foreign on your tongue. “You see, about yesterday…”

You diverted your gaze from him to the floor, only catching the view of him in your peripheral vision. Ugh. This was so horrible.

Joshua blinked, turning to face you fully.

You moved your tongue about in your mouth almost peevishly, like you had something stuck between your teeth.

“When we met at the library yesterday…”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” he unexpectedly said. You stopped and looked back at him. He wore an apologetic smile. “I must’ve disturbed you—”

“No!” You shrank back immediately. You hadn’t meant for that outburst.

Joshua looked a little taken aback. “Ah, no…?”

“No,” you repeated, almost stupidly. Hugging your notebook to your chest, you bowed your head. “I—I must’ve come off as rude yesterday. I—it wasn’t my intention, I was just… well, I’m sorry.”

The words tumbled out of you in a rush before you could change your mind. Anyhow, that should get your message across. You raised your head hesitantly.

Joshua waved a hand dismissively. “No worries. You had something to tend to, if I remember correctly.”

No, there had been nothing to tend to at all. “...That’s right.”

“I hope you finished it with ease.” The smile he flashed at you was so brilliant you thought you might melt into a puddle of goo. “I was curious about the books in that corner. You’re the one who’s been writing them, I take it?”

In that instant, your brain fired a million thoughts simultaneously. What if you lied to him and said you were helping someone else? Then he’d ask you who you were helping. What if you said you had just finished reading it and were putting it back? No, reading a children’s storybook at your age was much too embarrassing.

Eventually, you settled on a sullen, “...Right, it’s me.”

On second thought, maybe writing a children’s storybook was worse than reading one.

But Joshua’s eyes only sparkled the same way the children’s eyes had the previous day. He took a step towards you. You uneasily took one step back, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Harpocrates told me someone had been writing for the children, you see,” he said, closing the book he’d been reading shut. You had never taken Harpocrates as a traitorous old man, but life was full of surprises. “I thought it was a wonderful idea, so I had a look at some of them. I hope you don’t mind.”

You minded very, very much. “No, it’s alright.”

“They’re very well-written,” Joshua continued, painfully enthusiastically. “The plotlines are simple, but novel. Most of the premises appear quite similar at first, but the ideas are actually all unique and fresh when you properly read into it, aren’t they? And the characters—they’re all so distinct and likeable in their own way once you really get to know them. Even when some of them come off as standoffish at first, they all have their own deeply thought out motives.”

You were holding on for dear life. “Uh… um…”

“And you took great care writing these for children, didn’t you? It’s all handwritten, but they’re all very neat. I spotted not a single mistake while looking through them. And the language used, the words you chose, your style of writing—they’re catered to the children, but even as an adult, it’s hardly painful to read. It was a delightful experience, if I had to describe it.”

“Well… thanks,” you managed feebly. Leviathan, any moment now…

“I’ll be looking forward to your next volume, too.”

“Right, thank you…”

But you had to admit: all your effort, every second of care that you had spent at your desk, hand cramping, felt like it hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. And it felt a little nice.

Joshua tilted his head at you like he hadn’t been off on a tangent praising you seconds before. “So, what brings you to the library? I don’t imagine you already have another one completed.”

You started. Right, your original purpose. “No, I don’t. I came to…”

It’d be a terribly awkward time to yank out a romance novel off the shelf and start meticulously studying it.

“...I came to research something for my writing.” Not a lie.

Joshua’s smile lit up even more, if that were even possible. “Oh? What about?”

You cleared your throat, even though it was empty. “Just… stuff.”

“Would you like me to help you find anything?” He leaned towards you.

“No… thank you.”

“Alright.” He leaned back, and you finally took that as an opportune moment to leave. As soon as you turned, his hand shot out to grab your arm. You almost flinched. “Pardon my rudeness. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Joshua, Clive’s brother.”

Yes, you knew. You introduced yourself in a mutter.

Joshua let go of your arm. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

You looked away sheepishly and mumbled something vaguely similar back.

-------------

Weeks had passed since then. Now that that embarrassing introduction was out of the way, you found it much easier to slip into the library. Harpocrates always welcomed you, and even if Joshua was there, he didn’t bother you much. At most, upon first seeing you, he would quiz you on what was upcoming in your latest story. You entertained him as best as you could, and surprisingly, you found his questions becoming easier and easier to answer, but not because he was the one who changed. You never really saw him around the romance section, so you could always read in peace.

Or that was how it was supposed to be.

One sunny day, you had arrived at the library with your notebook in tow, as usual, and Joshua began asking you questions again, both of you sat down at a table, in a way that reminded you of the children who adored your books.

And then, out of nowhere, very casually: “Are you trying to write a love story?”

You choked on air.

Joshua frowned. “I’m sorry. Did I have the wrong impression?”

You stared at him, aghast.

“It’s just that you’ve been frequenting the section where most of the romance novels are kept, so I thought…”

He’d been watching you?

Admittedly, he’d been a good friend to you. He was always considerate and never pushed to overstep any of your boundaries. He was just… nice to be around. Like being near a campfire in the freezing winter. You could forgive it.

You folded your arms and looked away. “It’s—something like that. I guess.”

With that, he wore his excited smile again. “Really?”

Restraining a groan, you nodded. You did not look at him. “The children have been pestering me about one for a while, so…”

“I see. They’re at that age, I suppose.” Really? To you, they still felt all too young. “I might be able to help you in that department. I’ve read a number of them myself.”

“You have?”

You looked at him dubiously. He looked much too eager to help, leaning over in his seat.

“Yes, I have.” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. If it were you, you would’ve died of embarrassment.

He certainly had never struck you as that type. “I’ve never seen you reading one, though…”

Joshua shook his head. “Not when you’re around. You would prefer to remain undisturbed when reading those, wouldn’t you?”

You had never said that out loud, but he was spot on. Biting on your bottom lip, you looked down at the table. “Yeah, I guess so…”

“How about it? Would you like my input?”

Something about receiving a lecture about love from Joshua made you feel queasy. “It’s… It’s okay. Thanks for the offer.”

“Alright.”

The fact that he was into romance novels surprised you. He usually had his head buried in some history book, although to be fair, he had just mentioned purposefully being aware of you when you had come to do your… studying…

This felt more shameful by the second. You slumped in your seat.

Joshua reached over to grab one of your hands on the table worriedly. “Are you feeling alright?”

You straightened your posture again. “I’m fine,” you blurted out, drumming your free fingers on the tabletop. The palm of the hand under Joshua’s was starting to feel sweaty. “Could I ask you something?”

He canted his head. “Of course.”

“It might be offensive.”

He pulled his mouth to the side doubtfully. “Go ahead.”

You opened your mouth, wrangled down the hesitation down your throat, and tried to look him in the eyes, but settled on the space between his brows.

“Why are you so interested in reading my storybooks? They’re for children…” Then you immediately added, “Not—Not that there’s anything wrong, with that, of course, it’s just… a surprise? No other adults read them… except Harpocrates, but that’s him. I guess. Don’t get me wrong—I’m really flattered that you enjoy them, but I was just curious.”

Joshua blinked at you owlishly. “That must be the longest I have heard you spoken in one breath.”

“That’s not… Could you answer the question?”

Joshua retrieved his hand to rest his cheek on it, elbow propped up on the table, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully. A finger on your hand that had been occupied until recently twitched. You felt like you could be honest with him. But it wasn’t too much of an invasion of privacy, was it? Maybe you should retract your question if he didn’t feel comfortable. You would hate for him to be put on the spot.

He finally looked down back at you. “Has Clive told you anything of our mother?”

Was he dodging the question? That would’ve been fine, but you didn’t know why he was bringing in another heavy topic. Word on the grapevine spread to you that their mother had killed herself in a fit of hysteria right in front of her sons, after all. Clive, personally, had said nothing to you about her, though.

“Not really, no.”

“...Of course.” Uncharacteristically, Joshua looked down at the table. Usually you were the one to be doing that. You tilted your head. “She had always wanted for me to be the best in every way. I was already sickly as a child, and she prohibited me from overexerting myself on battlegrounds. She often ordered me to stay within the walls of the castle as well.”

She sounded awful, but you couldn’t ascertain his feelings for his mother with his vague language, so you held your tongue.

“I found solace in reading. I enjoyed books written for children, of course, being one—but my mother didn’t appreciate it as much.” He was wearing a forlorn smile. “She wanted no risk of my future position as the Archduke. At her insistence, I was to read less of those ‘silly stories’ and more of educational books.”

You felt personally insulted at that one. “She sounds a little rude.”

At the sound of your voice, Joshua lifted his head, eyes almost bleary like he’d woken up from a bad dream. “Perhaps she was.” Again, vague. He was still smiling—this time, it reached his eyes. “To answer your question, I’m not quite sure yourself. If I had to guess, perhaps reading them feels like making up for the lost time I had as a child?”

And then, catching you completely off guard, he snatched one of your hands from the table and clasped it with both of his hands. You did not have time to react.

“Thank you for writing them.”

Even through the gloves, his hands felt very warm.

You were suddenly acutely aware of how softly his golden locks fell over his face, the deep lapis of his probing eyes—every ridge and feature of him was striking you with vivid clarity.

You stood up from your seat abruptly, pulling your hand away and folding your arms tightly.

“It’s—It’s no problem. Sorry, but I should really get going.”

With a brisk walk out of the library faster than ever before, you forced yourself to ignore how warm your face was getting.

-------------

“Miss, you did it!”

You had just returned from some field work, exhausted, sweaty, and generally feeling like you needed a hot bath, when the children had crowded you once again. It was right in the middle of the Hideaway, and even though there weren’t that many people around at this time, you still raised a finger to your lips to sign the children to lower their voices.

As usual, they paid no heed to you. They came and tugged at your skirt again. “You wrote about love!”

Behind, one of the boys feigned a disgusted expression. He’d grow out of it, probably.

You took turns patting their heads as always. “Did you enjoy it?”

Of course, you were in no position to write a full-blown romance novel, and that most likely wasn’t ideal for children, either. Instead, you’d just written another adventure story, like you always did, but this time dashed with garnishes of intimate feelings. Not enough to be the main focus, but enough to be visible.

“Yeah!” Then, looking a bit confused: “Why did you suddenly write about it, though?”

The sunlight streaming through the cracks of the Hideaway looked golden, too.

You inclined your head down at them and gave a silly grin.

“Maybe… you could say I had a little inspiration?”

on the brink

Joshua x Reader

653 words, comfort

Summary: If you died, Joshua wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

-------------

The ceiling was spinning.

You hadn’t even realised your eyes had fluttered open and you didn’t even register that you had woken up after being asleep for a long, long time. Had you been sleeping? …You didn’t remember. Your arms and legs were heavier than lead. The rest of your body felt far away. You attempted wiggling your fingers, and with sizable effort, they obeyed begrudgingly.

Your vision focused on the wooden beams overhead. Oh, this must be the Hideaway’s infirmary.

Hadn’t you been journeying somewhere?

You remembered gnarled talons tearing at you and seeing red before you even saw the monster.

Oh, right. You had thought you were dead. Maybe you were, and heaven took the form of the Hideaway’s infirmary.

“...awake,” you barely heard someone say. You searched for a face, but as long as you didn’t move, all you had was a wide view of the creaky wood on top. “Can you move?”

It was Tarja. Stomach tensed, you pulled yourself up with everything you had left in you. Surprisingly, you were successful.

The first face that greeted you was Tarja’s. No surprise there. Laden over the rest of the infirmary beds were familiar faces. Your team members for that most recent assignment—and none of them were awake.

Joshua stood at the foot of your bed, lips pressed together so tightly they were turning white.

Your head spun. “What was..?”

“You’re lucky Clive found all of you when he did,” Tarja said. She was sitting on a stool, fiddling and doing something or other with a bowl. “I’d have less patients to tend to if he didn’t. Living ones, at least. And as for you,” she grimaced, “with the shape you came in, normally, you’d never be out in the field ever again.”

You felt like you were going to vomit. “Then I—”

Tarja patted Joshua’s arm. “You’ll be as good as new in a week, I’d say. Thank him.”

Joshua?

Now you understood. Never setting foot in the field ever again was an understatement from Tarja. You’d already be dead if it weren’t for the flames of the Phoenix.

Clenching the blanket in fistfuls, you began, “Joshua—”

Hearing his name from you broke a dam inside of him that you hadn’t even known was there. He was over by your side in two strides and before you could continue, he throttled you in an embrace, weight pushed onto you and face buried in the nook of your neck. You heard Tarja complaining (“Hey, be gentle with the patient!”) but her words fell on deaf ears. You shifted, raising a hand to steady on his back, letting him all but melt into you.

“I—I thought—” He was stuttering, something you’d never witnessed from him before.

You didn’t know what it was, but hearing him, feeling his touch—you felt the firing of your neurons and life pulsating through your veins. You were alive again.

“You’re back.” Joshua sounded like he was stifling a sob, and when you felt warm wetness pool in the shoulder of your shirt, you raised your other hand to the side of his head.

“I’m here,” you reassured him.

“I thought you’d left forever…”

“I haven’t.”

Tarja raised a brow at you and turned to leave to the other side of the partition. You supposed that meant you were in the clear.

Joshua peered up at you ever so slightly, but enough for you to see part of his tear-tracked cheeks and glistening eyes. You met his gaze, now wide alert, and then he buried himself in your shoulder again like a puppy did in its familiar bed.

You turned your head and lowered it, resting your cheek against his fluffy tresses.

“Please…” his voice, almost a cry, was muffled, “don’t go somewhere far away again.”

His grip on you was tight like you were going to slip away in a moment’s notice. You rocked him gently.

“I won’t.”

moonbow

Joshua x Reader

544 words, fluff

Summary: Joshua has a nightmare and wants you to comfort him.

-------------

A shake on your shoulder gently woke you up from your sleep.

Your eyes blinked open groggily. Was it already time to wake up? Before you could roll over and groan, pathetically pleading for another five more minutes, you realised the room was as dark and quiet as the night usually was. From where you laid on your bed, through the window next to you, the stars were still scattered across the sky. It wasn’t time to wake up yet. Something was amiss.

“I’m sorry. It’s still early.”

Early was an understatement. Eyes half-open, you turned your head to meet a misty blue gaze. “Mmhm,” you replied eloquently.

Joshua smiled at your reaction the way an adult would when a child did something silly—but his brows were creased. He must be worried about something.

He had been squatted beside your bed, but after you showed signs of being awake, he got up and sat with his hand pressed on the mattress, close enough to your face that you could see the fine lines and ridges along his skin.

“I had a dream about you,” he said, in a strangely quiet voice.

At that, your eyes widened a fraction. “You want to do it now?”

“I didn’t mean that kind of dream.” Oh. “...I had a nightmare.”

About you?

Rubbing the drowsiness out from your eyes, you heaved yourself up so you could look at him face-to-face. The moonlight from the window cast onto him, a perfect spotlight—for a brief moment, you thought he was an ephemeral creature who would shatter if you so much as blinked.

An ephemeral creature who’d had a nightmare about you, though. What was it? That you’d manifested into an ugly monster? That you’d died, or maybe that you’d turned on him, betrayed him and killed everyone he held dear? What should you say to him?

You slid your hand along the bed to interlock your fingers with his. “What happened?”

Joshua breathed, then fidgeting, looked away and at the opposite door like he’d done something wrong. “I dreamt that…” he was mumbling uncharacteristically, struggling to get the words out, “...you’d fallen in love with someone else.”

The stars outside were twinkling.

Your cheeks ballooned with silent laughter.

“Do not laugh at me,” he whined, even though he hadn’t even been looking at you.

“You know that would never happen, right?”

He turned his head back to look at you. Your shoulders were shaking with stifled giggling. “You are laughing at me now,” he grumbled.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant,” you tightened your fingers’ grip on his, leaning forward, “your nightmare. It’s silly.”

He rolled his eyes until they were half-lidded; you thought his eyelashes looked so long and pretty that way. Then he leaned forward, bumping the crown of his head against the front of your shoulder. “I want to hear it from you directly.”

You sighed, smiling helplessly, bringing your arms up to wrap around him in a hug. It almost felt like you were consoling a child. “I love you. Only you.”

Joshua remained still for a few seconds, and you started to wonder if that hadn’t been enough to appease him, when he slowly reached his arms out to coil around your waist.

“I love you, too.”

weight in gold

Joshua x Reader (Joshua with a crush vs incredibly socially unaware reader)

2045 words, fluff

Summary: You get a present for Joshua’s birthday and help him with it.

-------------

When Clive called you over, you straightened your back and braced yourself, fully expecting another harsh assignment mandating having to travel halfway across the continent, brave the severe weather elements and bypass thirty different bloodthirsty monsters all to retrieve some rare leaf of some sort. You wished you could say this was an exaggeration, but… well, the previous assignment was leaving you a little sullen.

Jill was standing next to him, with a strange smile on her face. You liked Jill. But prior to calling you over, they’d been whispering to each other. You didn’t like that. Suspicious.

“Sorry for bothering you,” Clive began. You didn’t feel bothered, so you shook your head. “Did you know Joshua’s birthday is in a few days?”

No, you hadn’t. “When?”

“A week from now.” He judged your reaction, of which you didn’t have much of one, uncertain of what to do with this information. “Are you thinking of getting him anything?”

A birthday present.

You knew about the concept, but you weren’t terribly familiar with it. You’d never gotten one, because you didn’t know when your own birthday was; growing up an orphan tended to have that effect. As for others’ birthdays, you had a few friends from the Hideaway, but they had always insisted you shouldn’t concern yourself with it. In hindsight, it was probably out of pity for you. You weren’t sure how to feel about that. Whatever.

Joshua had always been good to you. You had a habit of injuring yourself along your line of work—not on purpose, just out of unfortunate clumsiness—and he had taken to finding you after you returned to nurse your wounds with the Phoenix’s fire. Multiple times you had told him it wasn’t necessary, but he had always waved you off.

Come to think of it, you didn’t see him doing the same for others, but you probably just were busy playing with Torgal and not around to see it.

You supposed you should get him something as a token of gratitude.

“I guess I will,” you affirmed.

Jill nudged Clive with her elbow and they exchanged funny-looking smiles. You did not pry.

…You did have a problem with money, though.

You considered something handmade, but you had discovered your fingers didn’t know how to cooperate with one another. Once you had had to sew your sleeve after it had gotten ripped in the wild, and you had poked your fingers till they were perforated.

You could probably figure something else out.

“What does he like, though?” You knew about his infamous disdain for carrots, but disappointingly you found it hard to recall what he appreciated.

Jill reached out to rest a hand on your shoulder, smile mysteriously amused. “I’m sure he’d appreciate anything you get for him.”

“...Really?” You quirked a brow at Clive. He knew his brother best, right?

Clive laughed, fingers fiddling with his earring.

You blinked.

As you watched Clive and Jill walk away, still speaking to each other in low, hushed voices, you found your hands full with a strange assignment.

…Why did they tell you this, anyway?

-------------

A week later, with your arms behind your back, you found Joshua where Clive told you where he would be—the infirmary, which was starting to become his bedroom at this point.

“Joshua?”

As usual, he was past the partition, red scarf and gloves removed as they normally were during Tarja’s treatment. When you hesitantly stepped into his view, his eyes lit up, and with the softest of smiles, he greeted you by your name.

It was supposedly his birthday, which was supposed to be his special day, from what you knew, but it felt like any other normal day—Clive and Joshua had just returned from one of their expeditions that had spanned a few days, and Tarja was tending to the leftover injuries and ills from that. (Clive too, but being much healthier and sturdier, was allowed to be up and about by then.)

You bowed to Tarja, who was on the other side treating someone else, on your way in and strode towards his bedside.

“How was your day?” he asked, eyes trained on yours. He was sat on the edge of the bed like always, as if poised to bolt out of the infirmary.

You cast your glance to the side, fidgeting. “I just had a short assignment.” You looked back at him. “Happy birthday.”

Surprise streaked across his features, brows raised. “Oh—thank you.” A pause, then he slowly continued, “How did you know? I don’t recall telling you.”

“Um, Clive and Jill told me.”

For some reason, Joshua looked exasperated at your answer.

You didn’t think too much about it. Swinging your arms to the front, you presented the small parcel that had been hidden behind your back. “I got you a present.”

His eyes brightened with a light that could illuminate a dozen cities. He extended his hands and slid them under yours, which carried the brown box, bowing his head forward until his forehead gently bumped the surface of the box.

“Thank you,” he said. With his face facing the floor, you couldn’t see what kind of expression he was making. (Hopefully, a smile.) “I can’t express with words how happy I am.”

That made you fuzzy inside to hear.

But you weren’t very sure how to respond. Joshua always had a bit of strange mannerisms—you felt they were strange, anyway, and Mid had agreed with you—because of his upbringing.

You really didn’t want to be rude, so you mimicked what you had seen Clive doing to him before: slipping a hand away from his grip, you reached up to stroke the golden locks on the top of his head. They felt silky, soft enough that you wondered if your fingers might accidentally slip in and fall somewhere.

…Was that just his skin tone, or were the tips of his ears a little red?

Joshua raised his head to look at you.

Jill had said anything would be fine, but a nagging feeling in you wondered if he would open it and hate it. Up until he was ten, he must’ve been lavishly pampered with gifts unthinkable to a normal person like you. And then being with the Undying, who had all but dedicated their entire lives to him… you didn’t really know, but whatever it was, what you had prepared for him was arguably the least impressive thing he was about to receive in his life.

All this manifested in a quiet mutter: “I’m not sure if you’ll like it.”

Joshua, wide-eyed, riposted, “Of course I will.”

“It’s a bit cheap.” Although it had cost about a painful chunk of your savings.

“And?” He waited for you to go on.

There was no “and”. You shook your head.

Joshua judged your reaction, then brought his hands over to clasp the box, retrieving it and bringing it closer to him. You weren’t touching anymore, and your hands dropped to your sides. They felt cold now. “May I open it?”

“Sure—I mean, it’s yours, so…”

His fingers deftly found the bottom of the lid, prying the top off slowly like it would rip to pieces if he went too fast. The lid popped off, and his breath hitched.

Clive and Joshua had starkly contrasting appearances; Clive rugged, firm and built for bloody battle, while Joshua with a delicate frame and enchanting features. But they were still brothers, and probably vaguely had some similar interests, and something Clive had and Joshua didn’t had piqued your interest.

You didn’t know if Joshua had ear piercings, so you had opted for clip-ons.

“They’re one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen,” he said, with so much sincerity that you almost felt every other sentence uttered to you in your life was a lie.

Tension you didn’t even know you had receded, and your shoulders finally dropped from where they’d been squared. “Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He lifted them out with one hand with the fragility one would when handling precious stones—even though they were nothing close—and ran them over with his thumb. “I’ve received many gifts—countless, and especially extravagant before… well, during my childhood.” Before that fateful day at Phoenix Gate, was left unsaid. “Enough to be any aristocrat’s dream. But out of all of them, I think… no, I like this the most. Thank you.”

Truthfully, you were a bit perplexed. You’d bought them off a random peddler in a village close by to one of your assignment destinations, and as hopeless as you were with the finer things in life, even you could tell the material was cheap and the craftsmanship subpar. The edges were bumpy and uneven in some areas and the surface would probably completely tarnish in a few years. It was nothing to marvel at, so you didn’t know why he was looking at them with eyes full of wonder.

“I—was worried you wouldn’t want to wear them at all,” you confessed, folding your arms almost sheepishly. After witnessing Joshua’s reaction, you felt a little silly; he had never once breathed a ghost of a mean-spirited comment towards you. You shouldn’t have doubted him.

Joshua placed the box in his lap, then reached out to place a hand on your arm and squeeze it ever so lightly. “I would right now if I could.” He grinned a little hopelessly. “But I’d need a mirror. I’m not quite good at just feeling my way around my ears.”

“Oh.” Fair. “I can help you with that.”

Joshua’s stare froze on you and you wondered if you said something wrong.

“The lady who sold it to me showed me how to wear it, so I know how,” you added, hoping that would dispel some of his concerns.

It was taking Joshua a long time to process your words, even though you hadn’t said anything complicated.

After seconds that stretched on for far too long, Joshua tilted his head so you had better access to his ears. “All yours.”

You avoided looking at his eyes when you reached down for one of the clip-ons.

Your fingers found Joshua’s exposed ear, and you paused to brush some stray blond strands out of the way. Joshua squirmed.

Right, the ears could be sensitive. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.”

Your fingertips touched the lobe of his ear—you had ears of your own, of course, but his felt so fleshy and supple compared to yours or anyone else’s. Sliding the accessory to cushion the rim of his ear, you pushed the ends together to tighten its grip, slowly hovering your hand away slightly to test its stability.

“Does it hurt?” you asked hesitantly.

Joshua lifted a hand to touch where the earring had been attached, his fingers grazing against yours.

“Not at all,” he reassured, eyes flicking to meet yours. “I can barely even feel it.”

Without pulling his eyes away from you, he angled his head the other way for his other ear. This time, you tried not to compute the finer details of his ears too much.

The second clipped on without fuss.

“All done.”

He exhaled softly, saying nothing for a few seconds. His gaze did not break away.

You drew your hands back with uncertainty. “Does it feel funny?”

“No…” he said, his voice almost a drawl. “I was wondering what I’d done to have the fortune of meeting you.”

What did he mean? You would ask, but you suspected this was the kind of question where he would give a cryptic answer.

“I think it’s because you’re an amazing person already,” you replied.

“Well—” Red dusted his cheeks. For a moment, you thought he was going to reject your words. Then he leaned forward, sighing, bumping his head against your waist. “I hope no one ever claims you as theirs.”

Theirs..? As in, their child? Why was he bringing this up? Was this because he knew you were an orphan? “My parents are dead, I think, so I don’t think anyone will.”

“Hmm.”

Sometimes you didn’t understand his train of thought.

That was okay. It had turned out better than you had expected, and Joshua was humming a very contented tune, and that was all that really mattered to you right then.

-------------

Author’s note: I was going to describe the clip-ons but I got lazy and said whatever!! Imagination is bliss!!

I know Joshua had ear piercings when he was a child, but it seems like he doesn’t post-timeskip? (please tell me if I’m just blind because that is an unsurprising possibility!!) I figured it would’ve closed up, but it doesn’t matter much... If you don’t like it just pretend it’s an earring I just wanted to write an ear touching scene for my ear fetish idk

I also know Joshua rejects help usually but I feel like he’d want to be spoiled by the person he likes... anyway, that’s enough. Hope you enjoyed!!

i’m working on more joshua x reader i just haven’t had any time recently... thank u for being patient ;(

say marco, i’ll polo

Jill x female!Reader

1564 words, fluff, established relationship

Warnings: depictions of violence

Summary: It seemed like whenever you called for her, she would always find you.

-------------

You cradled your head atop a fence along the Hideaway’s exterior.

Some people had told you that they found the lake around the Hideaway dark, deep; scary. This was usually a description that came after you’d told them you found it relaxing—the stillness of the misty air and the tranquillity of the water surface reminded you all too much of someone. With your unusual fascination with the Hideaway’s surroundings, it took no one by surprise that it was the first place you’d go to when you needed to be comforted.

Which didn’t exclude that moment. You turned your head to lay flat against the top of the railing, ignoring the bustling that was going on in your peripheral vision.

Flashes in your head of bloodstained bodies replayed nonstop like a reel that had gone haywire.

You wanted to be alone.

Or, if you had to be with someone…

You sighed, and the way your chest heaved was almost painful.

“...Wish Jill was here…”

“Yes?”

You almost jumped out of your skin, whirling around, eyes widening with delight.

Jill, with a smile that could calm a rampaging behemoth: “You called for me, my dear lady.”

“Jill!” you squealed, then threw yourself at her with nothing but trust that she would catch you.

She did; her arms found your waist, securing them firmly, then spun you around. For that joyous moment, rife with giddiness, you forgot everything—everything about the Blight, everything about Ultima, everything about curses, bearers, everything about your recently failed mission—

Your stomach churned. Faltering, you slumped in her arms, eyes cast downwards.

It didn’t escape Jill’s notice—she’d never let anything about you escape her notice. Tilting her head downwards quizzically, she lifted a hand and placed a hand on your shoulder. Cool to the touch.

“Tell me what happened.”

Her voice reminded you of soft sunshine in a flower field. You looked up to meet her eyes—welcoming and warm, in contrast to the temperature of her skin, so reassuring, so comforting, that you felt wetness prick in the corner of your eyes.

Jill raised her brows, placing her other hand on your other shoulder. “Is it something you can tell me?”

You nodded, but when you opened your mouth you were afraid your voice would warble, so you shut it again. How would you describe it to her? She would never mock or jeer at you. You could say anything. But even when you tried again, the words caught in your throat, threatening to give way to despair, so you opted to bury your head in her chest and sniffle.

“I messed up…”

Only three words, and it was more than enough for her to understand—there wasn’t much else to mess up as a cursebreaker. Jill circled you with an arm around your torso, the other hand gliding through the strands on the top of your head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But it was. The bearers you were supposed to rescue dead, the soldiers you’d been ordered to take out escaped…

You shook your head wordlessly.

“It wasn’t,” Jill said again, this time sternly like chiding a child. Steadying two hands on your cheeks, she lifted your head to look at you uninterrupted. “Do not blame yourself for trying to be someone’s salvation. The only ones at fault are those monsters who’ve stolen away countless futures. Not you.”

She smelled like flowers.

“Are we clear?”

A surprising smile crept onto your lips, and you laughed shortly. Jill blinked. “How did you know what I was upset about when I barely said anything?”

She sighed, pressing her forehead to yours. Refreshingly chilly. “I would have failed you if I couldn’t understand what you were upset about.”

“You could never fail me, Jill.”

She only further proved your point by whisking you away to the Ale Hall for some comfort sweets.

-------------

Your lungs were going to catch fire.

You’d been careless. You had known the soldiers from your previous assignment had escaped. You had known what kind of vengeful scoundrels they were. You had known they would stop at nothing to maul those who had provoked their pride alive.

Idiot. Why had you returned to the village, by yourself, and not expected them to have laid an ambush, waiting for your return? Why couldn’t you have waited longer before going back to check on the villagers? Why couldn’t you have troubled some of the other cursebreakers to join you?

You were going to die.

Gasping for sharp inhales of air, your legs carried you as fast as they could, sprint automatic at that point. You were faster than your pursuers, and you could outrun them—but not for long. At any moment, your legs were going to give way, collapse, and then it’d be all over.

You didn’t want to die.

A dagger sailed through the air, and your prayers went unanswered.

Pain exploded in your thigh and you tumbled forward, throwing your hands out to partially curb your fall. Gravel in the dirt grazed your palms, but it was nothing compared to the searing stab wound in your leg. Don’t take it out, you’ll die of blood loss—gritting your teeth, you struggled to your feet, limping forward a few more paces. You knew you couldn’t run. It was your loss.

The soldiers’ footsteps behind you eventually slowed to a halt. You turned back to face them with a glare, already predicting their smug, triumphant sneers plastered across their expressions.

“Maybe this’ll finally make an example of any fools who try to get in our way,” one of them—their little ringleader, you presumed—mused.

Every breath felt like it constricted your lungs more. You wanted to rip off your leg and toss it away. In defiance, you said nothing.

He guffawed, “Any last words, missy?”

“Fuck you,” you spat at them.

Even your meaningless words could cross him. His face contorted into a snarl, and he unsheathed his blade, approaching you. How sensitive he was—mindless things like those would never upset Jill.

Oh.

Under your breath, in the smallest of voices: “Jill…”

A burst of icicles rained from the sky. You barely registered the yells and terrified shrieks from the soldiers before giant crystals of ice exploded on the ground, the impact blowing half of them away and barricading the rest, if they hadn’t been frozen over to death. You didn’t even notice the leader whip around before a wall of ice crashed between the two of you, sealing him away from you—you’d been too enticed with the sparkling dust dancing in the air.

Up above, a blizzard was howling in Shiva’s eyes.

When they caught sight of you, they visibly softened. She descended towards you, and you thought she almost looked like a fairy.

As she landed, in a veil of glittering mist, Jill emerged again. She walked to your side, steadily, with an eerie calmness—she mustn’t have primed for very long. When she reached you, she knelt down on one knee in front of you.

“Jill,” you breathed, and you had forgotten about how every inch of your body was in pain.

She nodded, resting a hand on yours wordlessly. It was cold, but it felt so warm.

“I’m still okay,” you said. Your leg was punctured, but it wasn’t fatal. You’d live if you saw a healer. More importantly: “Watch out, the soldiers are still—”

You fell silent as she cupped your cheek with a gloved hand. Her gaze had fallen to the dagger, still protruding from your thigh, and then slowly dragged back up to meet your eyes.

She smiled, so softly, you felt like the frigid air was going to melt you.

“I’ll kill them.”

With a brandish of her sword, she swept back towards the soldiers with the grace of a deadly dancer.

-------------

It was over in minutes.

Jill returned to you, clothes splattered with crimson. Wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, she exhaled the same way she did when she finished a light sparring session. You watched her every step as she crouched down next to you.

You wanted to hug her, but your arms wouldn’t obey you anymore. You settled for a feeble grin. “You saved me.”

“No.” She carefully examined the dagger in your leg. “I almost failed to protect what is rightfully mine.” Very, very gently, she meticulously drew the weapon out from piercing you, hovering a hand over and freezing the wound over before it could open and gush out. She couldn’t heal well, but it was a trick she’d learnt to shield injuries until a reliable healer was available.

“I already told you that you could never fail me.”

“I would have failed myself.” Throwing the dagger a distance away, she rested a hand on your shoulder. If you stayed very still, you could feel her tremble. “When I heard you returned to the village, I was so afraid, I…”

You must’ve worried her terribly. You chewed on your bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Jill looked at you, almost looking like a lost child. After a few moments, when it finally settled in that you were alright, you were safe, she finally smiled again.

As the both of you journeyed back to the village for a healer, you pondered on it: it seemed like whenever you called for her, she would always find you.

joshua who, in the japanese audio, normally uses "boku" but used "watashi" when speaking gently to the medicine girl... one of the twins in the hideaway calling him gentle in the japanese ver... he has to be good with kids for sure

Current WIP For @cosmic-metanoia's prompt of "I wonder how Joshua, Gav, & Mid were getting along on the Enterprise when separated from Clive and Jill"

Gav watched the massive bird swoop in front of them, placing himself firmly between the Enterprise and Odin. Not to say that Clive’s little brother wasn't brave, he was just damned near more daft than Clive himself. Constantly throwing himself into the same danger as his brother, but with a quarter of the muscle mass and a bad lung. But this? This was insanity. Odin had just dismantled his brother, the Eikon slayer, into a shred of ribbons the week before. And this skinny son of a bitch was the one who pulled him back together. Mending every limb, as if trying to un-carve a butchered bird. And by some miracle, up to his eyeballs in blood, the bastard had pulled it off. And now he was standing before Odin, ready for his turn. Who the hell did he think was going to patch him up? Is he out of his fucking mind?! Gav wondered, tossing a bucket of water onto the last fire and then scrambling to the bow to watch. No, of course he wasn't. He knew what he was risking. He knew he didn't stand a chance, just as Gav did, but he remembered the moment they'd noticed Odin appear. Joshua had moved instinctually in front of him and waved him away. He wasn't fighting Odin to win, he was fighting to keep him away from everyone else. Imagine that! The golden haired son of a duke that the breeze could knock over, and Gav cowered behind him like a little pup at the sight of Tharmr. That fucker better not die on our account!