( wriothesley can stand to ask for more, to seek more from him instead of offering up comfort like he always does — neuvillette knows that wriothesley thinks of himself as an afterthought, which is a tragedy in itself when there is so much to treasure. he shakes his head at the apology, offering the faintest smile even if his heart clenches with worry, concern, and the powerful desire to soothe his wounds and to use every ounce of his ability to care for him.
he tilts his head back easily, accustomed to wriothesley's desire to scent him. those words, the warmth of those lips, and the comfort of his proximity echoes in his chest. neuvillette doesn't think twice, helping him to unbutton his own shirt. he picks up on that unspoken desire to be close, shrugging it off to press close and give him what he needs. the drying blood blots on his pale skin, smudging with proof of the violence and pain that wriothesley has endured. )
Hush. Hush, Wriothesley. ( neuvillette offers up everything he can muster, chest to chest: care, affection, heartache, and the overwhelming instinct to care for him. one hand smoothes up the span of his back to cradle him close, the other tracing over the dried thorns of navia's vine, as if his touch could bring it back to life. nosing along his cheek, he presses a soft kiss to his lips. one, then another. one more, slow and lingering. ) I asked you to let me care for you, and I meant every word. This is my privilege, my wolf.
( they will have to talk about what he's done later, but now, caring for wriothesley and mending him is the only thing that matters. )
[ it’s one thing to be painfully aware of your own shortcomings, but it’s another entirely to recognize the shape it takes when push finally comes to shove. that deep-rooted distrust of others manifests in strange ways—sometimes as obstacles, other times as quiet victories once surmounted, depending on the circumstances. here, in this moment, where being seen as an inconvenience or burden had once earned him hollow concern masking contempt, it remains difficult to believe in comfort being offered so freely. even after years of being under sigewinne’s care through his worst moments, it had never become something he sought out on his own. that sort of comfort had only ever been something to approach when it interfered with his plans as an inmate, or when it stood in the way of his duties as a warden.
but neuvillette is nothing like the two he first sought justice against—nothing like the fellow inmates who once tried to wrong him, nor like the correspondents who always seemed to write or speak with veiled intentions. and since arriving in karteria, the two of them have been honest in ways that run deeper than simply relying on each other for help. and yet, even with that truth between them, it’s rather difficult to fully cast off the shadow left behind by his foster parents.
he tries, though. because that’s the only thing wriothesley can do. he tried to make sense of what happened at the tower. he tried to salvage something from a hopeless situation, even when paired with a stranger he couldn’t help but want to look after. and now, he tries again—placing the whole of his trust in neuvillette, despite the pain they’re both carrying. ]
—Shouldn’t have to ask.
[ he says it with the weight of finality, as if the words aren’t just meant for neuvillette, but as something he's been trying to convince himself of all along. and in his haze, his thoughts drift—pulling him back to their first encounter in karteria, to the moment he’d confessed about leaving a part of himself to neuvillette. they’ve long since moved past that now, though. whatever foundation they started on has shifted into something else entirely. and before things spiral further—before the consequences of his earlier decisions unravel his body beyond repair—he wants to correct that old confession. ]
I’m entirely in your hands. Always, my dear.
[ the admission feels a little sudden, even to him, but in the fog of everything else, it makes its own kind of sense. given that nothing about this moment is particularly rational, his kisses remain light and chaste, mirroring neuvillette’s own. it’s more of a quiet reassurance than anything else—a soft reminder of what’s still tethering him here. the effort of it all, however, is beginning to take its toll. wriothesley's strength fades little by little, though he tries to maintain his poise if only for neuvillette’s sake. his balance falters in the end, as more of his weight leans into the other, and the soft pecks he offers begin to carry a faint tremble. ]
Couch? Now that I’m home, I just want to hold you for a little while.
[ he doesn’t mean to sound so far away, but the distance is creeping into his voice regardless. still, he takes the first few steps toward the living room for both their sakes. his gait is undeniably stiffer than before, and the grimace he wears surfaces more clearly through the side of his face left untouched. it’s becoming increasingly obvious he’s holding himself together for one reason alone—either to reassure neuvillette long enough for the initial panic to fade, or to reach a place where he can finally close his eyes without losing the last of his dignity. ]
( couch. yes, couch. once neuvillette has ascertained for himself that the brutal wounds that he's enduring seems to be relatively stabilized (or the closest approximation to it), he guides him to the couch, bidding him to stay briefly while he hastily spreads a clean towel over the seats. the wounds are raw, cruel, but neuvillette is determined — heal, then everything else after.
he guides him onto the couch with care, letting go just to help him onto the couch, tenderly lifting his legs to keep them propped up properly. how this entire thing unfolded, he thinks, is not as important as the consequences of it. wriothesley is clever, and if he has resorted to something as desperate as this, then it must have been necessary.
what he's alarmed about is the extent of it, and he holds his uninjured hand, cupping his unhurt cheek to press a soft kiss to his lips. one kiss, two, and the depth of his own emotions surprises him; the powerful instinct to protect and care for his cherished, treasured person has never felt so overwhelming. but threaded within are emotions unfamiliar to him, a parallel tide in the stream of his consciousness.
the ache echoes in his chest, sharp and unrelenting, lands where home and i just want to hold you for a little while are, together with a burgeoning fear that he truly might lose him. neuvillette has endured death, but this? this is new, and cuts deeper than any loss he has ever encountered.
drawing close to hold him, he presses his forehead to his. there is much to think about when it comes to wriothesley finally choosing to trust him, the hurdles he must have overcome to reach a place like this, but at the forefront is what he has to do to put him back together again. everything else can wait: wriothesley is the only thing that matters. )
[ once made to sit and eventually lie down, wriothesley had found himself content to drift off. part of it was the unbearable pain—as it thrums slow and cuts deep—finally catching up to the pace of his soul’s ability to mend itself. but he knows it isn’t just that. a larger part of the reason, one he’s reluctant to name but wholly evident in the multitude of scars neuvillette is intimate with, is the same dogged instinct that’s always pushed him forward no matter how grievous the wound: his own stubbornness. the need to move, to recover, to carry on. extraordinary as he may be at times, wriothesley is still human, with limits just like anyone else. and when the unconscious part of him begins to recognize that this is the kind of pain he can no longer remain sound of mind through, everything within him begins to dull. his emotions fade into a steady hum, one he can easily drift beneath. his calm doesn’t come from peace—it’s born from the delicate, precarious balance of trying to keep everything from tipping over.
and for a while, that stillness holds. but then something else begins to stir alongside the rhythm of his own mind. it arrives as an undercurrent—sharp and bright, distinctly separate from the slow acceptance that he’s settled into. where his own emotions are subdued, this feeling rings delicately enough to pull some of his focus. it rushes toward the edge of his awareness like an echo too loud to ignore. and when he opens his eyes in response to it, disoriented and slow to catch up, he realizes the source of it has taken shape in neuvillette’s expression.
everything reaches him a few seconds too late. neuvillette’s words, the soft way he touches him, the tender gestures—all of it washes over him as if from a distance. and yet, he’s still aware of the strands of neuvillette’s hair as they brush lightly across his face. somehow, that’s what his senses choose to cling to. ]
I am, thanks to you.
[ his answer comes out steady, quiet, and sincere. there’s no effort to downplay the weight of their situation and it’s not meant to entirely placate. it’s simply the truth—grounded in the imprint that binds them. that connection is what keeps him tethered here, what softens the edges of the pain and gives him just enough clarity to remain present. it grants wriothesley the space to spend what little strength he has left not on survival, but on sharing these last, quiet moments with neuvillette before his body takes over. he’s no stranger to recovery and he’s endured many things before, but nothing quite like this. ]
It’ll be alright.
[ the words are spoken gently. there’s no illusion in them, no false hope—only the same resilient belief that’s carried him through every harrowing moment before this one. except now, he isn’t just holding on for his own sake, he’s still here because neuvillette is. so wriothesley shifts slightly, adjusting the hand that neuvillette holds, and makes the effort to thread their fingers together. only a few have the strength to squeeze, but the intent is unmistakable. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
he IS cooking here omg nugget
he tilts his head back easily, accustomed to wriothesley's desire to scent him. those words, the warmth of those lips, and the comfort of his proximity echoes in his chest. neuvillette doesn't think twice, helping him to unbutton his own shirt. he picks up on that unspoken desire to be close, shrugging it off to press close and give him what he needs. the drying blood blots on his pale skin, smudging with proof of the violence and pain that wriothesley has endured. )
Hush. Hush, Wriothesley. ( neuvillette offers up everything he can muster, chest to chest: care, affection, heartache, and the overwhelming instinct to care for him. one hand smoothes up the span of his back to cradle him close, the other tracing over the dried thorns of navia's vine, as if his touch could bring it back to life. nosing along his cheek, he presses a soft kiss to his lips. one, then another. one more, slow and lingering. ) I asked you to let me care for you, and I meant every word. This is my privilege, my wolf.
( they will have to talk about what he's done later, but now, caring for wriothesley and mending him is the only thing that matters. )
no subject
but neuvillette is nothing like the two he first sought justice against—nothing like the fellow inmates who once tried to wrong him, nor like the correspondents who always seemed to write or speak with veiled intentions. and since arriving in karteria, the two of them have been honest in ways that run deeper than simply relying on each other for help. and yet, even with that truth between them, it’s rather difficult to fully cast off the shadow left behind by his foster parents.
he tries, though. because that’s the only thing wriothesley can do. he tried to make sense of what happened at the tower. he tried to salvage something from a hopeless situation, even when paired with a stranger he couldn’t help but want to look after. and now, he tries again—placing the whole of his trust in neuvillette, despite the pain they’re both carrying. ]
—Shouldn’t have to ask.
[ he says it with the weight of finality, as if the words aren’t just meant for neuvillette, but as something he's been trying to convince himself of all along. and in his haze, his thoughts drift—pulling him back to their first encounter in karteria, to the moment he’d confessed about leaving a part of himself to neuvillette. they’ve long since moved past that now, though. whatever foundation they started on has shifted into something else entirely. and before things spiral further—before the consequences of his earlier decisions unravel his body beyond repair—he wants to correct that old confession. ]
I’m entirely in your hands. Always, my dear.
[ the admission feels a little sudden, even to him, but in the fog of everything else, it makes its own kind of sense. given that nothing about this moment is particularly rational, his kisses remain light and chaste, mirroring neuvillette’s own. it’s more of a quiet reassurance than anything else—a soft reminder of what’s still tethering him here. the effort of it all, however, is beginning to take its toll. wriothesley's strength fades little by little, though he tries to maintain his poise if only for neuvillette’s sake. his balance falters in the end, as more of his weight leans into the other, and the soft pecks he offers begin to carry a faint tremble. ]
Couch? Now that I’m home, I just want to hold you for a little while.
[ he doesn’t mean to sound so far away, but the distance is creeping into his voice regardless. still, he takes the first few steps toward the living room for both their sakes. his gait is undeniably stiffer than before, and the grimace he wears surfaces more clearly through the side of his face left untouched. it’s becoming increasingly obvious he’s holding himself together for one reason alone—either to reassure neuvillette long enough for the initial panic to fade, or to reach a place where he can finally close his eyes without losing the last of his dignity. ]
cw: injuries etc
he guides him onto the couch with care, letting go just to help him onto the couch, tenderly lifting his legs to keep them propped up properly. how this entire thing unfolded, he thinks, is not as important as the consequences of it. wriothesley is clever, and if he has resorted to something as desperate as this, then it must have been necessary.
what he's alarmed about is the extent of it, and he holds his uninjured hand, cupping his unhurt cheek to press a soft kiss to his lips. one kiss, two, and the depth of his own emotions surprises him; the powerful instinct to protect and care for his cherished, treasured person has never felt so overwhelming. but threaded within are emotions unfamiliar to him, a parallel tide in the stream of his consciousness.
the ache echoes in his chest, sharp and unrelenting, lands where home and i just want to hold you for a little while are, together with a burgeoning fear that he truly might lose him. neuvillette has endured death, but this? this is new, and cuts deeper than any loss he has ever encountered.
drawing close to hold him, he presses his forehead to his. there is much to think about when it comes to wriothesley finally choosing to trust him, the hurdles he must have overcome to reach a place like this, but at the forefront is what he has to do to put him back together again. everything else can wait: wriothesley is the only thing that matters. )
Are you comfortable?
🎀
and for a while, that stillness holds. but then something else begins to stir alongside the rhythm of his own mind. it arrives as an undercurrent—sharp and bright, distinctly separate from the slow acceptance that he’s settled into. where his own emotions are subdued, this feeling rings delicately enough to pull some of his focus. it rushes toward the edge of his awareness like an echo too loud to ignore. and when he opens his eyes in response to it, disoriented and slow to catch up, he realizes the source of it has taken shape in neuvillette’s expression.
everything reaches him a few seconds too late. neuvillette’s words, the soft way he touches him, the tender gestures—all of it washes over him as if from a distance. and yet, he’s still aware of the strands of neuvillette’s hair as they brush lightly across his face. somehow, that’s what his senses choose to cling to. ]
I am, thanks to you.
[ his answer comes out steady, quiet, and sincere. there’s no effort to downplay the weight of their situation and it’s not meant to entirely placate. it’s simply the truth—grounded in the imprint that binds them. that connection is what keeps him tethered here, what softens the edges of the pain and gives him just enough clarity to remain present. it grants wriothesley the space to spend what little strength he has left not on survival, but on sharing these last, quiet moments with neuvillette before his body takes over. he’s no stranger to recovery and he’s endured many things before, but nothing quite like this. ]
It’ll be alright.
[ the words are spoken gently. there’s no illusion in them, no false hope—only the same resilient belief that’s carried him through every harrowing moment before this one. except now, he isn’t just holding on for his own sake, he’s still here because neuvillette is. so wriothesley shifts slightly, adjusting the hand that neuvillette holds, and makes the effort to thread their fingers together. only a few have the strength to squeeze, but the intent is unmistakable. ]
We’ll be okay.