#ff16 x reader

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

“Me? Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

------

Jill runs another exasperated hand down her face, gliding across the hardwood below her for the millionth time as she paces. She rambles on, just like she has been from the second she burst through Clive's door with worries falling from frantic lips. 

Clive sits with his arms crossed at his desk, head slowly moving back and forth as he watches his dear friend travel across the expanse of his room in the repeated anxious motion, unsure of what the issue really is. 

"So, you love her?"

Jill freezes, whipping around to look at him with an expression that makes him want to sink down into the rickety old chair beneath him. 

"Of course, Clive!" She speaks with such ferocity he almost regrets asking at all, sparing a glance at the long forgotten papers scattered across the old worn wood of his desk. "That's the issue."

"I don't really see how that's an issue." He sighs, speaking mostly to himself as he watches Jill start going on another rant. He's barely listening at this point, entirely unsure why she would come to him for advice in the first place, and desperate to get back to the work he was doing before she interrupted.  

He originally thought that all the woman needed was the ear of a friend, an outlet to vent out some steam and frustration. He was quickly realizing, however, that Jill wasn't intending on leaving his quarters any time soon no matter how much venting she planned on doing.

She's been in here since the early morning, clearly having been brewing about something all night before she finally came in. Now, the sun is high in the sky, and she's still in here talking in circles. 

Jill finally plops herself down on the edge of his bed with an irate huff, her arms crossing as she bounces her leg nervously.

Clive begins to take it a little more seriously when he meets Jill's gaze, icy eyes big and full of a worry he hasn't seen even in the most dangerous of situations. He ponders for a moment, sparing one last glance at the papers on the desk so desperately in need of his attention. 

"For how long have you felt this way towards her?" He turns in his chair so he's facing the woman, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 

"How long haven't I?" Her head droops in tandem with her shoulders, thankful her friend is finally listening to her woes. "It's been since we were kids. Since she took the blame for breaking one of your mothers favorite wine glasses when it was really I who had dropped it."

"That was you?" Clive almost laughs, replaying the memory of his mother, her face red as a tomato as she ranted and raved for hours after she had yelled at you for being so reckless. "My mother yelled at her for nearly an hour for breaking that glass. Banned her from ever going near the dishes ever again."

"I know. And you know what she told me after?" Her exasperation seems to grow with every word, hands moving around frantically as she speaks. "That she was trying not to laugh the whole time! That taking the blame for me was the only bearable way to get berated in such a way."

She sighs, resting her chin in her palm as she thinks back on her memories of you. You had always been there for her, even in the most dire of times. You were right beside her when her powers awoken, taken by the same horrible people she was. You had begged to be a warrior for them on the front lines in a fit of desperation, refusing to leave Jills side as you fought hard to let them keep you close by the woman you call your best friend. 

You were so thankful back then for all of those times you had sparred with Clive, young face hardened as you fought against their commander tooth and nail to prove yourself. You were even more thankful when they let you fight for them, just to stay by Jill so the two of you wouldn't be separated. 

She remembers the smile you gave her when you had finally proven yourself to them; Still rivaling the sun even covered in dirt and blood. 

And, by her side you stayed. Through everything. You were the first person she whispered her wish to escape, the words barely needing to leave trembling lips before you agreed to go with her if it ever came to be, not a bit of hesitance to be found on your features. 

You told her once you would follow her anywhere. And, so far, you had. 

So, why would she be so foolish as to risk everything that you two have? What if confessing to you made you uncomfortable, and you no longer desired to be friends with her the same way you did before? She would sooner writhe in a silent agony as she watches you with someone else than risk not being in your life at all. 

Which, brings her to her next problem. Fucking Gav, of all people. 

It was yesterday, just after the sun had set and the stars were making their twinkling appearance high in the sky. She had decided that tomorrow-Now today-Would be the perfect time to tell you of her feelings. Today is special, in her mind. It's the day you risked your life to save hers, and she's celebrated your collective survival every summer that passes like a holiday. 

However, as she was wondering the hideout, making mental preparations and outlining the speech she would give you in her head, she spotted you having a drink with Gav down in the ale hall. 

It wasn't the fact that the two of you were having a drink at the bar, you're just as well-known in the hideaway as her and Clive, after all. What caught her off guard, was the look on your face. The cock of your brow and a teasing smile, a hand on the mans arm when you would laugh. 

It's the same song and dance you would do to get the two of you free drinks, or a free room at an inn just to leave the men confused and alone when you two were nowhere they could find. She remembers sharing hushed giggles with you, hiding just outside view of the men as they kicked the door in annoyance at the empty room, storming off with heavy steps as the two of you hurried to get inside the room before the door shut all the way. 

But, this is different. You're not trying to get anything from Gav. So, why were you talking to him like that?

The thought plagued her all night, tossing and turning in her bed as she replayed the scene in her mind. As soon as the sun crossed over the horizon, she practically ran to Clive's room for help, hoping the man would have some sort of advice for her. 

And, so far, he's said just about nothing. 

Clive hides a groan behind a gentle sigh, a plan forming in his mind as he stares at his friend across from him. 

He could tell her to just talk to you, sure. He knows that you're kind and understanding, especially when it comes to Jill. So, you would at least ease her worries. But, he's sure Jill has already thought of that. He could tell her that it's up to her, or that she'll never know if she doesn't just try--But he knows too well none of that will really do the trick. 

Instead, he rises to his feet, her wondering gaze snapping toward the man as soon as she notices the movement. 

He reaches her with just a few steps, placing a hand on her shoulder with a look that feels a little too mischievous for her liking. 

"If you don't tell her by the end of the day, I will."

"What--Wait--" She sputters, stopping as she considers the possibility. It's not the worst idea. Then you'll come to her to talk it over, and she won't have to come to you. "I mean, then I won't have to bring it up. Not the worst idea-"

"No, no. You misunderstand me." Clive shakes his head, his devious smirk growing by the second as he realizes just how well this might work. "If you don't tell her by the end of the day how you feel, I will tell her that I have feelings for her."

"Clive!" Jill stands abruptly, a mixture of horror and confusion exuding from the poor girl. "You have feelings for her?"

"No, but I can certainly act like it." He shrugs as he crosses his arms, like it's all so simple. "She's a very kind woman, I'm sure I can treat her very well if you won't-Ow!" 

Jill interrupts his words with a smack to his chest, almost offended at what she deems must be a joke. 

"Clive, this is serious." She might as well be pouting, arms crossed and a frown evident on her features. 

"I'm being just as serious as you are, Jill." His tone doesn't waiver. And, despite being rather snarky about it, he definitely doesn't seem like he's joking. "If you don't tell her how you feel, I will."

The words sink deep into her soul as she processes the situation. Clive Rosfield is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar. Her blood practically runs cold when she hears Gav call out your name, a friendly welcome back from your mission as you return to the hideaway. 

A ghost of a smile crosses Clive's face, motioning toward the door as he starts to walk toward it. 

"Speak of the devil," He snatches a couple of papers he needs from his desk on the way to the door, swinging it open with very little care as he calls out to you, taking long strides all the way from his chambers to the main area of the hideaway. "There you are!"

His muffled voice snaps Jill out of her daze, hesitating before she hurries after him, barely taking the time to close the door behind her as she rushes down the hall toward the main deck. 

You're blissfully unaware of the turmoil, a beaming smile on your face as you greet the friends you've grown to love so dearly. Your cheeks and dress are covered in a thin mixture of dirt and blood, starkly contradicting your bubbly demeanor as you stand from having been giving one of the children a small flower you picked on your adventure.

Her heart swells as she watches the young boy marvel at the small white flower in his hands, thanking you with a bashful giggle before running off to surely show his friends. 

"My Lady, how was your mission?" Clive's voice is soft as he approaches you, a hand over his heart to convey the genuine tone. "It went well, I presume?"

"Very well, actually!" You sigh out in relief, stretching out your arms as you crack your neck. "A few more detours than I intended. But, nothing a warm bath and a cup of ale can't fix right up." 

You nod curtly, smile never leaving your face as you let your arms fall to your sides, bones heavy and aching after having been gone since before dawn running various errands and clearing a couple extra areas than you intended when you had left. 

However, no matter how exhausting the day was, it was all worth it for what you found. 

"Wonderful news, My Lady." Clive gives you a warm smile, a featherlight touch as he reaches forward to move a strand of hair out of you face and behind your ear. His hand falls away not a moment later, the touch seemingly helpful and innocent despite being so unlike him.

Jill doesn't notice the odd face you give him at the gesture, brows furrowing with a clear question conveyed in your features. She's focused solely on the sly look Clive sends her way, a single brow cocked and that same mischievous smirk. 

She gawks, realizing just how serious he's being about what he had said. 

You're unaware of the silent mental scuffle between the two, turning toward the familiar patter of paws on the deck as Torgal comes to greet you after your mission like he always does. He bumps the top of his head into your leg so hard you almost tumble over, a beautiful laugh bubbling from you as you steady yourself to give the hound attention you all know he already gets more than enough of. 

Torgal is rolling on his back less than a moment later, relishing in every pet and belly rub before you stand with a smile even brighter than before. 

It's then, when you finally catch Jill's eye. 

"There you are!" You practically light up the whole hideaway with you, bounding toward the woman with an extra pep in your step, stopping just barely a foot away from her as you waggle your finger. "I clearly have to wash up first, but don't forget to find me later, I have something for you."

"For me?" Jill motions to herself with a bewilderment that makes you giggle, cocking your head to the side in teasing. 

"Have you forgotten what day it is?" You've never had to remind her before, not in the last 15 summers. You pause when you notice the worried glint in her eye, the uncharacteristic wringing of her fingers as she stares back at you. "Jill, are you alright?"

Your voice is low, full of worry and far removed from the teasing tone you held previously as you place your hand gently on her arm. Her heart squeezes and swells, your touch practically melting the woman in her spot as she places a soft hand atop your own. 

"Yes, I'm alright." She nods, the smile you adore so much coming back to grace her features. "And, I could never forget what day it is, then I'd be breaking my promise."

You each share a quiet laugh, clearly internally reminiscing about the day she reveres so highly. The promise to never let you forget the kindness you had shown her has been well more than kept so far, the personal holiday turning quickly into a celebration of another year you two survived.

Clive isn't sure how he's never seen it before, the way you look at her with such devotion and care, and the way she looks back at you with just as much adoration and love. He's sure she has nothing to worry about, and he wonders how she seems to be so blind to it. 

"Come find me later, I've got to get all this muck off me." You grin at her as you spin around, heading happily back to your quarters to wash up and change, clearly eager to be back from such a long mission. 

She watches wistfully until you're out of sight, a contend sigh leaving her lips as she wonders through memories of the two of you together, only broken out of her trance with a harsh snap when Clive plops his hand back onto her shoulder. 

"You have until midnight."

His words sink deep, slicing through on the way down as a heavy weight sets in her chest, the simple sentence holding as much dread as fighting against an Eikon should have. 

Clive leaves without another word in hopes to finally tend to his work, leaving Jill spiraling even more than before, if that's physically possible. You've never gotten her a gift before on your shared holiday, the two of you usually just find a place to share a drink and a good nights rest. It's just like how she repaid you the very day you saved her life, a way to remember your collective survival. 

She isn't sure how long she stands there, only moving when Torgal finally whines at her with worry, his nose bumping into the fabric of her dress. She bends down to pet him, the ache in her chest easing as she whispers her worries to the hound, wondering how she could possibly make it through this. 

It didn't take you long to get cleaned up, not with that extra pep in your step and the smile that keeps creeping it's way back onto your face. You stand out looking over the water, skin fresh and hair still damp from washing, a clean simple dress blowing lightly around the bottoms of your calves. 

You seem lost in the sparkle of the water, the orange and pinks from the setting sun only adding to the beauty of the scene before you, golden hues blessing the plant life one last time for the day before the moon makes her appearance high in the sky. 

The sight almost takes Jill's breath away, finding you leaning your forearms on the railing as you admire the setting sun; The way your eyes reflect the gleam of the water below, features outlined with a beautiful halo of light, looking exactly like the angel she deems you to be. 

Every word she had meticulously prepared and rehearsed seems to leave her when you lock eyes, your smile putting even the brightest of stars to shame as you wave her over with the cheery call of her name. Her legs move before she even registers, as if her very soul is magnetized to yours, lulled into a sense of serenity as your presence graces hers. 

You turn to her with a single hand behind your back, clearly hiding whatever you had mentioned having for her earlier. You wait until she reaches your side, her hands delicately placed on the railing just beside where you had been leaning moments before. 

"Happy 'We Survived' Day," You giggle as you say the words, the 'placeholder' name the two of you came up with over one too many cups of ale never quite changing. "To my favorite person in this whole world."

You hold out a small bouquet of hand-picked flowers, the very same ones she had shown you pictures of in a book when you were both just young girls. She had told you they were the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen, how she almost didn't even believe they were real, and how she longed to see them in person someday. 

And, here they are. In the hands of the girl she's been in love with for as long as she can remember, the sweetest of smiles gracing your bashful features as you present the flowers to her. 

Tears sting behind her eyes as she takes the flowers with care, at a complete loss for words as she looks at the almost iridescent white petals, a shaky breath falling from trembling lips followed by the most dazzling smile you've ever seen, you're sure of it. 

"Thank you," She breathes out the words, pulling you into one of the tightest hugs you've ever received from the woman, the gesture returned in an instant as your arms wrap around her with a content sigh. "They're beautiful."

"I found a whole field of them, enough to have a small patch growing in the backyard." You just barely pull away from the hug, holding onto her arms as you meet her gaze. Your thumbs are rubbing absentminded patterns into her forearms, touch so gentle and holding so much care despite how many you've killed just to protect her. "I'd love to take you there sometime, if you'd like to join me."

"Like to?" A quiet laugh full of bewilderment makes your hopeful smile grow, leaves from the bouquet tickling your arm as she holds you just as close. "I would love to, any day you wish."

"Wonderful," You nod, hesitating as your eyes wonder away from hers. She barely registers the light dusting of pink settling across your cheeks as you struggle to look into the woman's eyes. "It's a date, then?"

"It's a-" She stops, her whole body practically freezing in place as she makes her best attempt at processing what you've said. She could be wrong, and she doesn't want to misread the situation, of course. "Like, a date, date?"

The question feels silly, the two of you feeling like nervous kids again unsure of how to quite say what you mean. 

But, you're both grown women now. Standing here in front of the setting sun, pinks and purples mixing together in an intricate dance that showers you both in a warm light, looking to the other like the very definition of art. 

She slides a tender hand up your arm and to your cheek, her thumb rubbing lightly back and forth along your cheekbone as you meet her eyes once more, suddenly acutely aware of just how close the two of you truly are. 

You swallow, unable to form any words as you nod softly, a nervousness exuding from you that she's never seen before. She swears she could burst right then, holding you and being held by you, knowing you feel the very same way she does--

"But," She hesitates, just barely pulling away as she glances over her shoulder. "What about Gav?"

"What?" Your brows knit together, cocking your head to the side as you try to process the question with obvious confusion. "What about Gav?"

"Well, I saw you flirting with him in the ale hall last night," Her words trail off, catching in her throat when you giggle in a way that makes her brain stop working. "I just, I didn't--"

"Jill," You politely interrupt her, shaking your head as you speak. "I was quite honestly bored last night, and Gav gets so red when you give him any attention. It's a sight to see." Your laugh quells her worries, the beautiful sound she's fallen for time and time again making her very bones relax. 

"So, you don't have feelings for Gav?" 

"No, goodness." You shake your head with more vigor, her hand still on your cheek and with no plans for moving, much to your delight. "Gav's a sweet fellow. Just, not quite my type."

Your comment makes her laugh, the two of you leaning impossibly closer as you share hushed giggles and whispers the same way you have for years. The thought is almost overwhelming, the very same crush you tried to get over so many times turning into a deep love and devotion for a woman you weren't sure would ever feel the same. 

And yet, here you are, bearing your soul to her over a bouquet of her favorite flowers, just for the chance she may feel the same way you do.  

"So?" You look at her expectantly, the hint of worry creasing your brow as you patiently await her response. "A date, then?"

"Oh, my love," Jill practically swoons, an airy laugh leaving her lips as she shakes her head like you've asked her the most obvious question in the world. "Of course."

Your sigh of relief is cut short by her soft lips against yours, moving in slow tentative motions as your eyes flutter shut. She smiles against you, the action returned from you in less than a moment as your hand moves to rest against her waist, the two of you giggling softly into the sweetest kiss either of you have ever had. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh.

..maybe not.

————————

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

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

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

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

“ah, is martha here?”

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

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

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

suspicious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

definitely a bad idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i- i do not even know your name!”

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

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

why now? how inconvenient.

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

“The Branded can stay in the stables with the others.” The innkeep replied, assuming you wouldn't want him close during the night.

“On the contrary.” You replied with a fancy accent. You even bought some fake jewelry for the occasion. “He can sleep on the floor in my room. He's my bodyguard after all.” You didn't even spare him a glance, and you easily convinced the innkeep to allow the bearer to join you in your suite.

“As you wish ma’am.” He replied, handing you your keys.

“Quite convincing.” Clive spoke up the moment you locked the suite door behind you.

“Don't worry, I'll sleep on the floor.” You said, feeling sorry for the treatment he'd gotten the past days. Like your father treated you, Clive was still being treated every day. You didn't need an explanation on why the world had to change. Another valid reason to stay and help out in the Hideaway.

“No it's okay. You should sleep on the fancy bed. I already have one at the Hideaway.” Clive replied, trying to convince you. You wouldn't call that bed of his fancy.

“You know, I've read about this trope.” You said, sitting on the bed. Clive looked at you after he put his sword against the wall. “Yeah that's right, I've moved on from the children's books.” You were proud of that.

“I'm not sure where you're going with this. You booked the room.” Clive replied.

“You asked me along though. This bed is big enough for the both of us, and you with that tattoo would never get your own room.” You observed him, looking straight at his blue eyes.

“...” His eyes widened, as it dawned on him what you were getting at. When he was little, Jill was more into romantic fantasies than he was. She would often tell him how the two love interests got together. “I can assure you that I did not ask you along to end up in bed with you.” Clive defended. He had to admit that he might've entertained the thought the first day when you cooked that stew, but it had been years since then and valued your friendship more than anything. “Okay. In any case, you sleep on the right.” You say rather commanding, as to not show you were nervous. You trusted Clive with your life, but had never slept in the same room as a man. Clive just nodded, taking off his cape.

“The shops have closed by now, so let's take it easy and have a good night's rest before doing what we came here to do.” He said seriously, gladly changing the subject

Odd. I already thought we were leaving late. Is he trying to take it easier for once? 

“Alright.” You said, taking off your boots. 

I can do that. I'll just act like normal and we'll be on our way tomorrow.

You undressed, leaving on your shirt and smalls. You took your book from your bag and settled under the blankets. Clive undressed as well, leaving on his pants. “You don't need to keep that on because of me, that's probably uncomfortable.” You said, looking at his back. It surprised you how you were so casual on this. It was just Clive after all.

We're both adults here. This is no different than sleeping outside with Dio and Trevor.

“It's fine.” Clive just said. Maybe you made him uncomfortable, you realized. You shrugged, and got back to your book. It was a fantasy story about magical rings. “You got quite into reading.” Clive commented after he got under the covers, seeing you furrow your brows and staring intently at the pages.

“I promised Harpocrates I'd practice every day. This book however, has such long descriptions. Really easy to fall asleep to though.” You replied, flipping the page. Clive silently admired the effort you put in. He tried waiting until you put your book away, but his eyes got so heavy that he failed to stay awake.

...

If you still wanted a good night's rest, now was the time to put your book away. Clive was already fast asleep. He looked very peaceful. His chest went up and down in a steady rhythm. You could see several scars on his upper chest and shoulders alone. With a wry smile you observed him a little while longer. With his hair out of the way, you saw his full face for the first time. The stubble framed his face, the scar on his cheek, and there were no wrinkles or frowns on his forehead at the moment. You sighed, putting away your book and turning off the light.

Clive nudged you awake the next day. He was already dressed, which surprised you. “Oh, thanks for waking me.” You said, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Clive just smiled as he turned his back to you as he waited for you to get dressed. As you put on your pants, Clive spoke up.

“We have some time after this, if you want to go somewhere?” You just finished putting your shirt in your pants.

“Huh? No that's fine, I know you're busy.” You replied, finding the question odd. You couldn't see Clive rolling his eyes.

“Listen.” He turned around. “Jill told me about your last bearer rescue. How you-”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” You deflected. It was a bit early to talk about your shortcomings.

“I'm sorry, it happened because of me.” He looked at you, and you met his gaze.

“What are you talking about? We failed to bring back a single soul, and you're worried that some bastard spit in my face?”

“Y/N…” You mentally slapped yourself. 

What is it with me and spitting people? Can I get a grip please?

And then you realized why he asked you along. To get out of it for a bit. Do something different. Take a bit more time. He felt guilty. “A talk would have sufficed, Clive. No need to go through all this trouble.” This suite suddenly felt ridiculous. Clive acting like your bodyguard felt ridiculous.

“I wanted to. I'm putting everyone in a tough spot, and you don't want me to at least try to bring some distraction when I think it's going too far? I saw how Jill looked. How you seclude yourself even more.” It was a desperate plea, and you felt your stomach churn.

“You should've asked Jill to come along, not me. She's better at these kinds of things.” Jill had a more sophisticated aura about her, and was better at shopping for fair deals than you were. You sighed, letting yourself fall back on the bed.

“Jill is accompanying Tarja. And it's about you right now.” Clive calmly said, as he moved over and laid next to you. You both stared at the ceiling. “I need you to buy me some medicine.” He chuckled at the notion. “These people won't talk to me, until this brand is off my face.” You turned your head towards Clive. He looked back. A moment of silence before you relented.

“Okay fine. We're doing this because you need the stuff for your operation, not because of me needing a distraction or whatever.”

Well, Tarja was good on her word. You were used to little runs to the infirmary, deliveries of herbs and what not. But when she asked for some rope, you couldn’t help but wonder what it was for. You do your best not to pry in on her patients and who needs what herbs, focusing on just what herbs she needed. But… rope? You were sure there was plenty in the infirmary. Still, you’d rather not get an earful, so you obliged.

And, well, you were treated to quite the scene. Clive, or Cid, genuinely tied down. It was rare of you to see Clive look so pathetic in a way, battered and bruised from god knows what. You’ve never seen him like this; granted, he tends to run off halfway through his treatment (i.e. the rest period). And with him tied down to the bed, he looked even more sorrowful, like a dog who was left out in the rain. If you hadn’t been poking around in Tarja’s journals when she was away, you would’ve thought this was some bizarre new treatment. 

“Ah, good, you’re here,” Tarja immediately holds out her hand, beckoning you over. “I was starting to fear the beast would break his chains.”

Jill, next to Clive, lets out a chuckle, while Clive couldn’t be more displeased. You’d rather not end up like him, so you are quick to place the rope in Tarja’s hand.

“Tarja, please, this is embarrassing…” Clive protests weakly, his voice strained as if he had been struggling to break free for hours.

“Oh, really? Would you rather lose your head when you keel over in battle?” Tarja retorts, kneeled beside the bedside to tie more ropes around poor Clive. “You need to rest before throwing yourself into the fray again, you understand that, right? Ugh, you types are so aggravating!”

The room falls silent at that, save for Clive’s insistent grunts of struggle. Meanwhile, Tarja had just finished up with the second layer of rope. All you can do is really watch, too dumbstruck to speak, too astounded to laugh. You fear if you laugh or so much as giggle, you might earn Clive’s ire, as rare as it may be. At the same time, you simply can’t make fun of a patient, no matter how silly the occurrence is. If you told anyone, Tarja would have your head. Patient Confidentiality and all that. For now, this matter was one confined to the four people in the room.

As funny as you find this, poor Clive looked absolutely embarrassed, his cheeks flushed redder than you’ve ever seen him. Jill did her best to stifle her laughter, turning her head and covering her mouth. This seemed to make Clive deflate even more, turning his head away from her and towards you. The look he gives you is pitiful, one of a mangy, starving dog on the street. Yet it succeeds in heating up your cheeks, and taking pity on him. Have you ever seen such a hardened man turn into something so soft?

“Is this truly necessary…?” With a sigh, you turn to Tarja. “The man killed Kupka for Founder’s sake, we don’t need to punish him.”

“Are you not as sick as I am when he runs off without proper rest?” While her tone is harsh and she’s quite loud, you know she means none of this irritation towards you.

“Oh, I am, but…” You look back at Clive, who’s pride seems to mend. “He just avenged all of those we lost, must we really confine him like this?”

This seems to have talked some sense to Tarja, and she takes a moment to think about it. Wounded he may be, and stubborn at that, he did bring a sense of victory and cheer to the Hideaway that had been lost in recent days. In recent years, more of. It is nothing short of rude to tie the hero to a cot, even if he’s too damned stubborn to rest. 

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Tarja scoffs, before shaking her head. “But I am going to let him wallow like this for a minute longer. Perhaps he’ll think twice before he leaves the infirmary without resting.”

“Tarja!” Clive whines, struggling a little more with the look of a kicked puppy.

You turn your head, closing your eyes and willing yourself to shut up. You fear if you stare any longer you will enjoy the view. Not that you weren’t already, but it was starting to get to you! That, and you wanted to laugh so badly, but not at poor Clive’s condition. He was still a patient, as you keep repeating to yourself. Eventually, the awkward silence in the room feels like it’s too much to bear, and so you make your way out of the infirmary. You didn’t want to leave Clive alone, not without a voice of reason, but you had a feeling you’d done all you could. At the very least, Tarja would let him free sooner rather than in three days' time.

You’d hope you’d see him wandering around soon, to affirm that Tarja hadn’t kept him tied down. At the same time, you’d rather see him tied down than walking about, knowing he’d most likely be rushing off to another mission. And that’d earn him an indefinite spot in the Infirmary, strapped to the bed. If someone hauled him in. He’d most likely avoid it after this, not that you could blame him. But, just for extra measure, you’d make sure to drill it into him that he really should be resting after exerting himself so much. Just because you saved him doesn’t mean you aren’t of the same mind as Tarja, you’d just rather not involve ropes.

Now that you’ve (hopefully) saved the day, you feel like you’re going to burst if you don’t tell someone of the scene you just saw. You know you should be quiet and keep it to yourself, but it’s too damn much! If you don’t tell someone, anyone, you’ll die! You hurry back to the ale hall to at least find someone to chat with, and if not, you’ll drink your weight in ale and ‘accidentally’ let it slip. 

Before you even reach the hall, Gav has a hand on your shoulder. He’s chipper as always, a grin on his face and the confidence you only wish you had.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost! What was goin’ on in the infirmary…?” He cocks his head to the side. He is just begging to be told. Seems you’ve found your victim. “Don’t tell me Tarja’s got you runnin’ ‘round for more herbs.”

“No, no, nothing like that. Lady Tarja… she’s kind. As long as you follow her instructions…” You shake your head, debating to just drop it on Gav.

“Well, then you should have no reason for lookin’ so afraid… right?”

Oh, Great Greagor. You don’t care about getting out of this. You need to tell him.

“No! No, uhm, well…” Your unsure tone turns into something more upbeat, something mirthful. “She’s got Clive tied up in there.”

“WHAT!?” Gav’s mouth drops, squeezing your shoulder, before he looks back to where you came from. “She’s got Ci–”

You slap a hand over his mouth before he can continue, looking around at the few people who had turned their heads towards you. You give Gav an angry look, one that’s on par with Tarja’s. He shuts up immediately, an almost fearful look in his eyes.

“You keep your mouth shut, okay? I’m not looking to end up like him,” You huff, taking your hand off his mouth. He nods vigorously. “Not. A. Word.”

“Yessir!” Gav states dramatically, giving you a proper salute like you were Clive himself, before darting off to the infirmary. You hope for your sake, he’s quiet about it, and that Clive has already been freed of such humiliation. 

Sure enough, before Gav can even open the door, Clive is stepping out, as if he has completely ignored Tarja’s instruction for rest. Before he can spot you from far off, you duck your head and make for the ale hall, hoping now to hide away in a bowl of stew and a cup of… water. Yes, water. Something that won’t loosen your tongue. Maybe you’ll just crash in your quarters instead. Suddenly, you’re feeling very guilty over telling one soul. And the fact that Clive didn’t seem to learn his lesson doesn’t help.

You walk quicker, order your food even more hurriedly, and take a seat down at one of the tables. You settle once you're there, as if the air of tension has lifted. You fidget a little, like you had just stolen something, but no one can blame you, right? Suddenly what you’ve seen feels like an information hazard. Cid the Outlaw, who’s killed Hugo Kupka, and Benedikta Harman, shattered two mother crystals, and who has been carrying the plight of Bearers on his back, tied up and helpless. You still want to laugh. And you aren’t too prideful to admit that he’s a dashing man. Not that your relationship was any secret. But it felt wrong seeing that. Isn’t that a scene for the bedroom?

Bedroom or not, something was just so compromising about seeing him like that. And given the fact he was already up and walking around, you fear that his fate is sealed. Tarja will tie him to the cot once more, or forever more, and he will be forced to rest. What a horrible fate.

Just as you're mourning your boyfriend, he has the gall to show up. So smoothly, as if everything hadn’t happened, he sits down across from you with a warm smile.

“I have to thank you for saving me,” He chuckles, a warm blush dusting his cheeks. “I don’t know how long she would’ve kept me there.”

You want to say ‘you’re welcome’, but at the same time you also know he needs his rest. He can act as warm as he wants, but just because you saved him from that humiliation doesn’t mean you wanted him up. Especially after fighting Titan. So, you embody Tarja.

“No. No, you–” You point at him, “– are going to go back to the infirmary. Or your room. And you are going to rest. For a week.”

His demeanor changes, he wears the same expression Gav has. Are you truly that terrifying?

“No running off for a mission. No getting up to train.” You continue, pressing your finger into the table. “You will listen to Tarja and I’s instructions. If you try to run off, I won’t save you next time she decides you need three times the rope to be restrained.”

Clive deflates slightly, like rest is his greatest nightmare, and you are sentencing him an eternity to it. Or as if he believes he doesn’t deserve it, a thought process you are quite intimate with.

“... Okay…” He speaks, sounding as if he’s a child who’s just been grounded.

You can’t help but sigh and relax as he agrees, as pathetically as he does. You reach over and take his hand in yours, flipping it over and running your thumb against his palm.

“You don’t have to be so afraid of the infirmary. Or Tarja. Or me. Or rest,” You mutter, “It’ll do you good, I promise. You’ve earned it, yeah?”

He perks up a little at your praise, before nodding again.

“So you go on and start catching up on all of it that you’ve missed, and I’ll join you later tonight.”

He nods again, before grabbing your hand, and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Your heart skips a beat for a moment, wondering how long it’s been since he’s had the chance to be sweet on you. He’s spent the last couple months stressing over Hugo Kupka’s whereabouts, that most of his time was devoted to finding the man. Now that he’s killed the man, he finally has all the time to…

You can’t allow yourself to think like that. He’s buttering you up, for sure. Because you know by the time you reach his quarters he’ll be complaining about having nothing to do, begging you to let up on him so he can continue his work. You can’t let yourself grow soft!

⎯ Clive Rosfield

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

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

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

⎯ Cidolfus Telamon

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

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

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

⎯ Hugo Kupka

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

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

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