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[neimlise]

sunspot, meteor x reader tags: just vibes , takes place after Endwalker

Your breath fogs in the predawn air. The rolling hills of Yanxia stretch out all around you, dew wet on the grass. There’s something otherworldly about that time which floats between night and morning, before the sun has yet to peer above the jutting peaks and windswept plains.

A grouping of grey clouds adumbrated the paling skies, covers the pinks and yellows and oranges that the sun shepherds from the horizon each morning.

“You should be asleep,” Meteor murmurs into the crook of your neck. His bare hands come to rest on your hips, thumbs slipping underneath the hem of your grey pajama shirt. You lean back, savoring the slight give of his muscle, the heat of him through his loose jinbei. 

“I wanted to see the sunrise on our first morning here,” you murmur. The caliginous conditions which have welcomed you are hardly a fitting welcome for the so-called heroes of the star, but you have no one to take that up with. 

“There’s always tomorrow,” Meteor hums, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.

“I know, but it doesn’t feel as special.” you huff. It’s childish, but you feel like you have the right to be after saving the goddamn Star from certain doom. The weather itself should bend to your whims out of sheer gratefulness, you think. As if detecting your indignance, the winds suddenly pick up, sending a shiver down your spine. You wrap your arms around yourself, turning to huddle up against your ever fastidious friend.

“Friend” is a peculiar word for what exists between you. That spark of intimacy, of raw want, has been there since the days of Ala Mhigo’s liberation. There’s hardly ever been a time to sit down and figure out a label. Not when the entire realm is constantly in need of heroes. It’s been a strange cycle. 

Fate would place you both in the same place. You would again feel the bond between you swell. But, before you could sit down and decide on a label, some realm-shattering event would occur. Sending two powerhouses to the same location would be a waste, thus you would trudge to opposite sides of the globe to solve the problems of strangers. 

By the time you finished saving who needed to be saved or killing who needed to be killed, you would both be too exhausted to stew on it. You’d fall into bed together. Not necessarily for pleasures of the flesh, but for the sake of melding together, of closing the space between your bodies for the first time in perhaps months. For the sake of listening to the aether thrum between you both, bright and warm as a patch of sunlight.

“It doesn’t have to be special,” Meteor says, “I’m just happy to spend time with you, again. Just the two of us.”

“Ugh,” you scoff playfully. “Don’t start getting all sweet on me.” 

“Come inside,” Meteor says, not indulging you with a response. You can get away with being a little bratty when he’s mired in half-sleep. He’s too sleepy, too rustled by the high winds to do anything other than cling onto your back. His broad hands come to rest on your hips. He squeezes what he finds there, and you feel safe, cradled between his palms and the welcoming warmth of his body. “We can watch the sunrise tomorrow. I’ll even stay up with you.”  

He makes to separate from you, to reel backwards into the safe haven of your cabin. You hastily follow, grabbing his hand and sticking close to his side, unwilling to forgo even a moment spent soaking up his warmth.

They call him Meteor, but to you, he is your spot of sun.

[neimlise]

König: I don't know how to tell you this, but... I love you.

(Y/n), smiling: That's great, König. Especially considering the fact we've been married for 6 years.

[neimlise]

JUST REALIZED HOW RUDE I SOUNDED, I’M SO SORRY 🤣

do you take requests? Can you do like gaz and soap getting badly injured and the stone cold, usually straight faced completely unbothered fem!reader actually starts panicking. But only for them. Like if the same thing happened in five minutes to another member of the team they basically wouldn’t care.

Would love to take requests, but what happened to hello? How are you? Or my name is?

[neimlise]

Probably late but THIS MF IS ALIVE THE WHOLE TIME?!?

[neimlise]

Hello!!I have a question!

Do you take request?Really lmao..

If you do can I get a 141 + Vaqueros horrene moments?FEM reader please💀

Hello, I’m sorry for replying very very late. Was trying to pull myself together. Would love to do your request, but I’m just confuse on what you mean by “horrene”.

(Tried to search it up, it just lead me to “horny” 🤣)

If you’re still up for me to do this request, please do let me <3

[neimlise]

Hello!!! How you doing??

I hope you're doing good-

Just wanna let you know that I love your works! Old and new, and that you're doing a great job! Keep it up <3

- ★

Thank you so much! Sorry for not replying anytime sooner, was on a crisis. Hope you’re doing good as well and I’m glad that you enjoyed my work! <3

[neimlise]

hihihi!

how are you? hope you're doing wonderful!

<3

Hi, hello! I’m doing well, just trying to pull myself together. Hope you’re doing wonderful as well!

[neimlise]

Hello! Just wanted to say that I love your work and wish you a good day xx

~🐸

Aksjskajssj This has been in my inbox for years and I feel bad for not replying. Thank you so much, I’m glad you enjoyed it! I wish you a good day as well <3

[neimlise]

Your bio has made my brain into jelly 😃

𓁹‿𓁹

[neimlise]

SHJSKWNWJWKWJEEH THIS IS SO FUCKING CUUUUTE

a scenario with a baker!reader gifting Joshua a little cake… which he happily eats (it’s carrot cake and he has no clue lol)

Idk but I wanted to share my silly little thought because I enjoyed your writing :’3

pls, this idea is so freaking cute!!! i'm so glad i finally got to write it, thank you so much for your request and patience, i hope you enjoy

(=´∀｀)人(´∀｀=)

The Trojan Cake

Joshua Rosfield x Reader

I might write another, shorter version of this where the reader bakes him a carrot cake without knowing about his carrot aversion, but, idk, let me know if anyone wants to see that. It would have to be a bit further in the future because I have some other things I'm working on that you can learn about here.

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Baker!Reader, Finally Getting Joshua To Eat Some Gosh Darn Vegetables, Fluff, Teasing, Unedited, Lots Of Appearances From Other Characters, Fun, Cutesy, Joshua Is Just A Big Golden Retriever

A new shipment of baking supplies was due to arrive today. You sway on your feet as you wait. Water laps at the wood beneath you, but you pay it no mind. Cursebreakers and laborers work on moving boxes off the ship and onto the Hideaway’s Pier.

“Carrots? Again?” Gav’s voice sounds from nearby. “And what are we supposed to do with all of these? We still haven’t gotten through the last shipment of them. There’s only so much carrot bisque a man can stomach. Soon enough, half the Hideaway’ll have orange hair and orange skin.”

Otto sighs. “Food’s food, Gav. We’ll find some use for them.”

Gav’s disgruntled expression doesn’t fade. “Unbelievable.”

Your attention is caught by someone calling your name. Mid waves you over from the ship’s deck. “You’ve got to come and see this! You’ll be grinning from ear to ear when you see how much stuff they’ve sent for you!”

You’re already grinning from ear to ear by the time you reach her side. Crates of flour, sugar, and yeast are tied down to the deck with sturdy rope. “And this is all for me?” you ask.

“You’re the one best suited for it,” Mid points out. “Now, I don’t mean to rush you but I’m pretty sure everyone at the Hideaway can already smell all the fresh baked sweets!”

“Oh, certainly,” Cole agrees as he and a handful of other Cursebreakers approach. “We’ll get these supplies to the Ale Hall,” he assures you.

“What are you going to make?” asks Mid.

You miss a beat before answering, “it’s a surprise.” In truth, you have no idea. You know the people of the Hideaway would be happy with anything you baked, but you didn’t want to fall into a boring routine. You wanted to try something new, even if you didn’t need to.

Mid only makes an excited sound from behind sealed lips. “The suspense is killing me!”

You laugh, but you know how she feels. The frustration of not knowing what you’ll bake weighs on you as well. “Well, best get to it.”

You descend from the boat and make your way back up to the main floor of the Hideaway. There are plenty of boxes that still need to be moved, so the lift is somewhat crowded. You wait for a path to be cleared before darting out.

“Have you tried chopping them up and hiding them in a stew?” Tarja’s voice catches your ear. She and Jote are crossing the Boarding Deck, clearly on their way to the Infirmary.

“If he sees them, he’ll claim he’s not hungry and refuse to eat,” Jote replies. “Not to mention, I can’t say I feel very comfortable trying to deceive His Grace.”

“They’re just carrots, Jote. I’m sure your decree says nothing against ensuring the Phoenix eats well.”

“If it were up to His Grace, I’m sure there would be.”

You continue your way into the main hall. It’s not uncommon to hear Tarja complaining about Joshua’s bad habits. You suppose this time it’s his aversion to vegetables. Especially carrots. Unfortunate, given that seems to be what the Hideaway has most of these days.

You’re halfway across the Main Deck when someone else calls your name, their voice sounding from your left. Speak of the devil. Joshua approaches with an easy skip to his step. The smile on his face tells you that he’s heard about your new arrival of supplies, but not that of the carrots’ reinforcements. Well, he might’ve and is simply choosing to ignore it. In fact, that is more likely to be the reality of things.

“I heard about the shipment of goods. Will you get to baking soon?”

If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging uncontrollably despite his cool disposition. You nod, your own smile creeping onto your face as an idea begins to form. “And you’ll be the first to get a taste.”

“Really? I will?”

You nod again. He’s always terribly eager to sample your new recipes.

He’ll have no idea. “Ah, my love, you’re brilliant.” He places a hand on either side of your head and plants a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“You should.” You certainly are.

As he disappears on to the Boarding Deck, you dart over to the bar. 

“Psst. Cole.” You wave the cursebreaker over.

“What is it?”

“Could you acquire me a crate of those carrots that just arrived? I have plans for them. Oh, but don’t let Joshua know. Keep this between us.”

He gives you a curious look, but does as you ask without question. You ask another of the cursebreakers to keep Joshua distracted for the time being. Your plans would be ruined if he were to walk in midway through.

“What, exactly, are you planning?” someone asks from behind you.

Jill runs her finger over the wooden boxes on the counter. You can’t help the little, proud gleam in your eye. “I’m going to get Joshua to eat carrots and like them,” you declare.

“Oh?”

“A carrot cake! He won’t even know they’re there.”

“I’m not sure if eating carrots in a cake counts as Joshua getting a proper intake of vegetables,” she points out.

You shrug. “Gotta start somewhere.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Lots.” 

You, Jill, and a handful of other helpers get to work immediately. With no time to waste, the work is made lighter with more hands to share in its labor. The only thing you can’t speed up is the time of actual baking.

“Do you truly believe this will work?” Jill asks.

“I do. Although, it would be a little funny if he could tell anyway. Like some sort of carrot-sniffing bloodhound. A carrot-hound.”

“Who’s a carrot-hound?” Clive stops at Jill’s side.

“Depending on the results of this experiment, Joshua.”

Clive gives you an almost pained look. “Please do not tell me you’re planning on experimenting on my brother.”

“I promise it won’t become a regular occurrence. Probably. Most likely.”

Clive only sighs and shakes his head.

The cakes finish baking and the air is filled with the scent of freshly baked sweets. You and your assistants–now including Clive–are just finishing spreading the frosting when Joshua arrives, eyes alight with excitement. He says your name with a boyish eagerness that makes your heart squeeze. He truly has no idea. “I hope no one has prevented you from keeping your promise to me.”

You do your best not to roll your eyes. He can still be so childish at times, despite himself. “No, of course not. In fact, you’re just on time. I was about to cut the first slice.”

He smiles. “Excellent.”

He doesn’t even seem to notice how everyone pauses to watch as he takes the first bite. He closes his eyes to savor it. You press your lips together to keep your mischief from showing. “This is delicious, my love, as always.” Your heart soars. You’ve done it. And he’s none the wiser.

You exchange a knowing glance with Jill and Clive. Jill looks mildly impressed while Clive simply seems to be marveling at his brother’s obliviousness. “Alright, everyone,” you announce, “you’re all free to dig in!”

- 

Gav arrives about a half an hour after everyone has already begun eating. He and Otto approach, standing on the other side of Clive, who has taken a seat at the bar beside Joshua.

Gav takes note of the remaining cakes. “Ooo, carrot cake, one of Otto’s favorites.”

You, Clive, and Jill freeze, eyes darting to Joshua. You practically see the life drain from his face. He turns a betrayed expression on you, like a pup who’s found his medicine at the center of his treat. By now, he’s already finished two large slices and is halfway through his third. You can’t help, you begin your apologies but the laughter in your voice steals any sincerity from them.

He practically whines your name, saying, “how could you?”

“But you liked it, didn’t you? Before you knew what it was?”

You can practically see his invisible tail and ears drooping. You’ve never seen him look so unlike the Phoenix before. It only makes you giggle more.

“I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know how I’ll recover from this.”

“Alright, my love, no need to be so overdramatic.”

He pouts. He actually pouts. “You’ll have to find a way to make this up to me.”

“Up to you? I did all of this for you.”

“You did all of this for yourself. I hope you’ve had your fun.”

You lean over the counter, smug as one could be. “Oh, I have.”

“Mhm.” He leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. You can still taste the frosting. “You better have. Otherwise, I will have eaten this for nothing.”

“You would have, at the very least, learned that you can stomach carrots. Isn’t that something?”

He laughs. “No, absolutely not. Just promise you won’t do something like this again.”

“I promise,” you draw out the word, “that it won’t become a regular occurrence.”

He rolls his eyes, but a smile toys at the corners of his mouth. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“Something really good, I imagine.”

His smile grows. “Must have been.”

[neimlise]

Giggling and kicking my feet to the air rn.

NSFW Alphabet - Cid Telamon Edition

Pairing: Cidolfus Telamon/Reader Rating: Explicit, 18+, minors DNI Author's Note: There isn't enough about this chain-smoking DILF, and that's just a shame, ain't it? Be the change you want to see in the world fellas.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Cidolfus is affectionate both in and out of the bedroom, but especially so after a session of lovemaking. He becomes very vulnerable, so don’t be surprised if he keeps you all to himself after the fact.

He peppers you with kisses, from your neck, to your chest, and back to your lips. It’s almost reverent how he worships you, how he makes you feel alive, seen. 

“Cid, come now, we’ve got to get cleaned up—“ You whine, pushing him away with little success.

He barely acknowledges you, grinning ear to ear as he kisses you slowly, fingertips dancing at your sides. “Let me enjoy myself a bit, it’s not everyday an angel falls into my bed.”

You’re tempted to say something, but his verdant gaze locks you in place, memorizing every inch of your body. 

At this rate you won’t leave the bed until sundown, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Everything, he loves everything about you, but he especially loves your hips, how the plush skin curves perfectly in his hands, how they serve as the perfect grip when he wants to bend you over the desk of his solar, and even more so when they fit perfectly against his pelvis when he presses you into the mattress. A close second would be your neck, for the sole reason that you fall to pieces when he places his lips against it, the prettiest noises threatening to spill from your lips.

For himself, he’ll say his voice. He never thought about it much, but after seeing how his words have an effect on you he uses it fully to his advantage.

He walks behind you, one hand on your hip and the other pressed right below your stomach, just shy of what would be appropriate. He slots himself against your backside, enjoying how deliciously you brush against his cock, the thin fabric of your dress just tempting him to lift it.

“How long have you been at those records my dear?” He groans against your neck, voice like gravel. “I’ve hardly seen you all day.”

His presence is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. You bite your lip, silencing yourself when he nibbles at the skin of your throat, smirking. “Cid, please, you know I can’t…”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, and when he starts to suck a bruise you can barely hold the moan that threatens to spill. “Don’t worry about Otto, I’ll talk to him. For now, let’s take a break in my chambers.”

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

If you let him finish in your mouth, show him how well behaved you are by opening it and swallowing his spend, it’ll drive him crazy. If you bring your fingers to your mouth to lick off any excess while staring at him, be prepared to not walk straight for the next few days. You look up at him, exhausted but pleased. After catching his breath for a moment Cid’s fingers press against your cheeks, a signal you’re very familiar with. “Open.” Wordlessly, you part your lips to reveal his seed, sat heavy against your tongue. A moment passes, and then he nods, watching transfixed as you swallow, gladly sticking out your tongue as proof. He wipes away a stray drop and you bring the digit to your lips without question, never letting your eyes leave his. A visible shudder runs through his body before he drags you upwards, lips meeting in a searing kiss. “You’ll be the fucking death of me woman.” He groans, before pulling you back in for more.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

In his days of travel he’s been experience to plenty of unique locations and even more unique characters, but some of his more odd encounters have been in pubs, surrounded by men of varying morality simply sharing stories around a cup of ale. He recalls one man sharing the tales of his favorite pleasure girl and the various things they do in the bedroom, and he gave mention of how she tied him up once and let her have his way with him. He never thought about the conversation, but when he met you suddenly his curiosity peaked. 

He’d never say it outwardly, but if you were to bring some rope the next time you had sex, he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s experienced, without a doubt. There was a time when his face was known by several women of Waloed who were looking for a good time, even if it wasn’t for a long time. Those days are long behind him, but he’s grateful if only for the fact that he can now use those skills on you. “Didn’t know you were such a charmer Cid.” You taunt playfully, pressed against his side. “Mhm, those days are long past me now. I’d much rather spend my time with a certain someone.” He hums, content to enjoy your company. You smile, asking even though you already know the answer. “Pray tell, who would that someone be?” A kiss is pressed to your forehead, followed by another hum. “Someone very special to me.” 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, Cowgirl, anything where he can see your face. Watching your reaction is half the fun, and he’s a tease, so expect him to embarass you in the best way.

“I love seeing you like this, all pretty on my cock—“ He raises his hips to meet yours, your mind going blank. On instinct you look down, hiding your face until his rough hands hold you by the neck, unyielding even for a second.

“No no no, don’t you dare look away,” He coos softly, almost as if he isn’t keeping you bouncing on his lap. “Keep those pretty eyes on me or I’ll stop, understand?”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

More on the serious side, but occasionally he’ll crack a joke or two. Don’t expect any humor from him past the foreplay stage though, he’s here for one thing only and he takes your pleasure very seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He tries, but he really couldn’t care about his pube situation. If you mentioned it he’d probably take more care, but he’s lucky enough that it doesn’t grow out into an absolute jungle.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He has his moments, there’s always a hint of love in his actions even if he’s whispering absolute filth into your ear. He really becomes a romantic after the deed is done, as mentioned in the aftercare. He’s also more of a romantic when you two are alone behind closed doors, where no one can see you.

You lie beneath him, rendered breathless as he thrusts into you viciously, every grind of your cock inside you making it that much harder to function. He tears you apart at the seams, exposes you to your very core, and with a gentle press of his palm in your own, puts you back together once more. “You’re so fucking beautiful—” He grunts, the throaty sound of his voice bringing you back to reality, just barely. “So majestic, so perfect. All fucking mine—” And even when tears brim your eyes, when you struggle to keep your sanity under his skillful touch, he grounds you. A hand at your thigh, or a kiss to your lips, he brings you right back, then pushes you over the edge once again with another sharp thrust. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

High sex drive, but usually doesn’t jerk off. He’s often busy with the hideaway, so he tries to focus on something else and deal with it later. Besides, he’d rather wait for you to take care of his needs, it’s more fun that way. On the occasions that it’s just too much to bear he’ll relax in his bed and think of you, ignorant to anything that isn’t him and his dick in his hand. 

You walk to his bedchambers, searching for his opinion on the latest food shipment when you hear a groan in the hallway. When you get closer to his door it gets louder, and the faintest smirk pulls at your features when you recognize where you’ve heard that noise before. Without warning you walk inside, met with an enticing image of your lover sat against the headboard, thrusting into his hand languidly.

Eyes closed and mouth open, he whispers to himself, hints of your name dancing on his tongue with each grunt, just slightly hunched over with need. At the sound of your voice calling for him he turns, unashamed of his display.

His hand doesn’t stop moving as he speaks, licking his lips at the sight of you. “There you are, I was looking for you. Think you could help?”

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dominance - Either giving or receiving. He tends to dominate you but as mentioned before, he has no qualms about letting you take the lead.

Orgasm Denial - He’s a tease, it’s almost downright evil. He could sit there for hours just holding you right on the edge just for fun, he likes how high your voice gets when you’re frustrated.

Praise - Cid would sing your praises to the entire hideaway if he could (and he’s tried, only for Lady Charon to “kindly” tell him to shut his trap.)

Facesitting - Please, sit on his face. He’ll damn near cry at the feeling of your thighs on his ears, please do yourself a favor and sit on his face and you won’t regret it. Sloppy eater.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His bedroom, or on the desk of the solar. He likes to hear you scream, so anywhere he can be sure you’ll make as much noise as possible is fine with him.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Those pretty dresses you wear around the hideaway when you’re not adventuring. You look good in anything but something about a nice dress is so domestic to him, makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It’s also a bonus that it offers easy access. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything pain-related, or anything that can draw blood. He doesn’t want to hurt you, so any and all weapons are off the table.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He enjoys a nice blowjob as much as the next guy, but he goes feral at the thought of eating you out. If he had his way he’d suffocate himself between your legs and die a happy man. He’ll wring orgasm after orgasm out of you and still not be satisfied, locking his hands together and forcing you still until he's had his fill of you. Tears streak across your face, the pleasure bordering on painful. How many times has he made you come at this point? You’ve lost count after three. Every movement feels strained, your legs have developed a permanent shake, and yet his mouth still moves against your vigorously, no hint of stopping. You beg for him to stop, to let you have a break, but he’s far too engrossed in the taste of you to pay attention. “Please, I need—I can’t—” Words fail you at this point and it hurts to talk, hurts to do much of anything except lie back and let Cid worship your cunt.

“Just one more darling, let me make you feel good.” He gasps against you, barely able to finish a sentence before descending on you again. “One more and I'll stop.” But you know better, because that’s what he said last time. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sensual, with a hint of roughness. He wants to treat you like the princess you are, but he just can’t seem to help himself when you look so damn good underneath him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes, more often than not he has to leave for one reason or another, and there just isn't enough time for a full session. He’s sure to make it up to you when he gets back.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Doesn’t mind a bit of experimentation, he’ll try anything once as long as you respect his boundaries.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Have you seen this man fight? He can go on as long as you need to, and oftentimes you have to beg him to stop. Whether he listens or not, however…

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No, and he doesn’t need to. He can do plenty by himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Incredibly unfair, downright evil. The only thing he loves more than his cigars is the sound of his name on your lips.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Deep groans and hushed whispers, tends to talk you through whatever you’re feeling. Gets real loud when he’s about to come, and likes to bury himself further into you when he does.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Likes when you call him Sir. It started as a joke between you two, calling him the Lord Commander as a joke, which eventually turned into you calling him Sir. He found that he liked it more than he cared to admit, and during a make-out session you actually felt him twitch at the name and made it a point to tease him about it from then on.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

6.5 inches, average girth, well-endowed and knows it. Has a vein running along the underside that makes him see stars, but be careful with that information, because Cid likes to return the favor tenfold.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High, but he knows the importance of time and place. He isn’t thinking about it 24/7 but it's fairly obvious when he’s eyeing you from across the Hideaway that he isn't exactly thinking the most tame things about you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not quick at all, he enjoys the quiet time between you two after having sex, tracing every line and curve of your body slowly, taking his time with you. Need water, clean up, conversation? He’s down for it all. He does find it easier to fall asleep with you in his arms.

[neimlise]

I swear, the amount of people so far who's done some variation of "yeah I know Cid, we uh... 👀" like the old man fucks

[neimlise]

Pastries

Clive Rosfield x female reader Minor FFXVI spoilers, fluff

“Morning, my darling,” a husky voice greets, shortly followed by a kiss pressed to your temple. You try and bury your head further down the firm clothed-chest it was resting upon, to an amused chuckle.

“Must we?”

“I’m afraid so.” Clive rubs his hand up and down your back gently. “They’ll be queuing up with errands for us both if we don’t.”

“Mm,” you reluctantly agree, savouring one last second in his embrace before forcing yourself to sit up and looking at your beloved. “I suppose you’re right.”

You’d been a Bearer in Rosaria, coincidentally, but you'd only ever seen the Rosfields from what your master deemed a ‘respectable distance’. Despite Elwin’s wishes to improve the plight of Bearers, there was still hostility from the townsfolk towards your kin. Your master had been kind enough – no beatings, fed and housed properly, and having you learn the blade in order to defend him from beasts on the road. That is, of course, until the Night of the Flame and the Ironblood invasion. You’d managed to keep yourself and your master out of their clutches and escaped Rosaria itself, but away from home with no gil in their pocket, they’d soon sold you on to a slaver who’d then taken you to market – an experience you don’t like to reflect on - then purchased by a noble with a large estate, who a dedicated Bearer master who taught you your place.

You’d crossed paths with Cid when owned by your third and last master. Apparently being sick with fever was not an acceptable excuse for your inability to channel aether that evening for him and he’d retaliated with an assault of kicks. Cid had intervened, offering to buy you, to take you off his hands. When the two shook to seal the deal, his palm had contained lightning, rendering your former master unconscious and Cid offering you protection at the hideaway – a decision you would never regret taking, even if it had been made in a feverish state.

You’d crossed paths with Clive somewhat between Cid’s death and the destruction of the hideaway, but never exchanged more than a few pleasantries. You'd only really got to know one another when the both of you underwent Brand removal by Tarja’s hand a few months after settling into the new hideaway, meaning a few days couped up in the infirmary together under her watchful eye in fear of infection. You’d revealed your shared homeland, sparking up a friendship and, after a particularly perilous Cursebreakers’ mission, blurted out love confessions. You’d been together ever since.

Clive had slept in his undershirt - a much softer sight than his leather gear, his hair mussed up from the pillow and his stubble more prominent than the night before. You lean down and kiss him to an amused expression, his hand lightly clasping the back of your head as you do so.

“This, though pleasant, is not what I meant,” he mumbles in between kisses.

“I know…” You sigh, pulling back and getting out of the bed. There’s already chatter from the Tub & Crown below – the hideaway, with Byron’s financial support, had acquired quite the shipment of sugar recently, to the delight of everyone’s morning oats.

The two of you dress silently, finishing with your weapons. Like Cid, you too had been fond of two blades rather than one and each one was sheathed at your hip – Blackthorne priding himself on his work of making them both stronger, deadlier but also lighter.

As you buckled your weapon belt, there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Clive calls, heading towards his desk.

The door swings open and Gav saunters in, looking between the two of you with a cheeky grin.

“Well, hope I wasn’t disturbing anything, like…”

“Not at all, Gav.” You chip back. “I was just about to do the rounds. What’s that you’ve got there?” He’s holding a parchment in his hand. Unbeknowst to you, Clive shakes his head firmly at the scout.

“What, this? Erm, for Cid’s eyes only – under strict instruction.”

You look at Clive then, who shrugs half-heartedly. “You go ahead – I’m sure this won’t take long.”

“All right. I’ll go see to the Cursebreakers, then.” You nod, striding out of the chambers and shutting the door behind you.

Gav waits a moment to hear your footsteps descend the stairs before looking back at the Dominant.

“I’ve been sent to scout out a lot of things, Clive, but a recipe’s a first for me.” Gav waves the piece of parchment aloft.

“I take this means you found it.”

“Of course I bloody found it – have I ever let you down?”

“Never. May I see?” He holds his hand out.

Gav nods, handing it over. “What’s it for – we bribing our way through to Mothercrystals with pastries now?”

“Wouldn’t that be nice? No, I’m… I’m going to bake them.”

Gav places his hands on his hips. “Uh-huh. Didn’t take you as much of the baking kind, like.”

“I am definitely not, but…”

Clive lowers his voice, as if you might be loitering behind the door still after all. “Ever since the first crop of Martelle’s apples, all she’s spoken about is these apple pastries we used to have in Rosaria to celebrate Joshua's name day." It had always been a grand affair for the Phoenix, of course. Clive's eyes scan down the recipe. “It's her name day tomorrow, I just… I wanted to give her a taste of home again.” He knows it's not really your name day, that is lost somewhere in the record hall ruins of Rosaria. What use does a Bearer have of knowing their name day, masters claimed? Clive had suggested instead you celebrate the day you had your Brand removed, a fresh start.

“Why, you sappy bugger.”

“Hardly. Now, to convince Molly to permit me the use of her kitchen.”

“Aye, that’ll be harder than a coerl fight. Can’t Molly just make 'em?”

“I couldn’t ask that of Molly, she feeds the hideaway three times a day as it is.”

“True enough. Well, good luck to you. Unless there’s anything else, I’ll be off for my breakfast and then bed. Walked all through the night with that…”

“Actually, Gav, there is something...”

--

There had been a few stolas arrive in the night from across the land but nothing too concerning or need for immediate action. However, the rest of the hideaway seems particularly eager to keep you busy.

First, there’s an early morning shipment coming in on Obolus’ skiff – strong hands needed on the dock to help carry in the new timber, followed by a load of cloth for Hortense, who then asks if you have the time to help her sort through it and earmark anything that catches your eye as she’s desperate to make you and Jill new outfits. Gaute then asks you to help categorize the new reports coming in by location, and then a separate pile appears in front of you for Nektar’s hunt board, or you assume that's what they are. You suggest fetching Clive at that point, the only one who seems to be able to decipher the moogle’s squeaks, but Otto interrupts – there’s some newer Cursebreakers practicing their blade skills in the fighting pit this afternoon and he wonders if you’ll take them through the motions.

“Sure,” you nod, trying to sort the piles of paper in front of you. “I'll go after I grab some food from the Tub and Crown…”

“No need.” Jill’s voice comes from behind you, before a bowl of chocobo stew is placed besides the papers. “I saw how busy you were, so I thought I’d bring you some.”

“Thank you,” you smile. “I feel like the new Cid today, everyone’s after something.” You pull the bowl towards you and pick up the spoon. “Speaking of, have you seen Clive? Nektar wants me to do… something.”

“Clive?” Her voice goes up in pitch, slightly. “Not recently. I’m sure he’s running around completing errands too – you know the list is endless!”

“Mm,” you nod, savouring a mouthful of stew. “Oh, before I forget, Hortense wants you to look at some fabric. I suppose it might be nice to have a change of clothes next time we face a Morbol…”

--

After finishing divvying up the alliance reports by location, roughly grading beasts for Nektar’s hunt board – you’d hoped that was right – and taking a group of four new Cursebreakers through effective parrying for two hours, you were heading up the stairs towards the ale hall when Gav came jogging down the stairs, grabbing you by your arm and spinning you round towards the lift.

“Gav…!”

“Tarja needs more Errmonea Leaf for the new Cursebreakers getting their Brands removed. We’re the lucky volunteers.”

“I don’t remember volunteering.”

“I volunteered for us, like. Come on, we never get missions together. It’ll be a laugh.”

You sigh, feeling exhausted at the prospect of an evening trawling the swamplands, but, knowing how nasty Brand removal is, you know how important the ingredient is to Tarja’s painkiller.

“Fine. Let me just tell Clive-“

“No need. Told him already, and Obolus is waiting with his skiff.” Gav’s hand is on the small of your back now, pushing you towards the lift firmly and then pulling the lever before you can even blink. “And you know how he gets if he’s kept waiting.”

--

It’s late when you make it back to the hideaway. You thought you’d be back much earlier than this, but upon return to the dock Obolus muttered something about the current not being in your favour and he wouldn’t set sail until late in the evening.

“You look dead on your feet,” Gav chuckles as the two of you exit the lift at the top of the hideaway. “You head on off to bed – I’ll drop this lot off at the infirmary.”

“Thanks, Gav.” You smile and trudge up the stairs to the ale hall, finding only Blackhorne sat at a table still mulling over a pint of ale. Molly is in the kitchen, scrubbing away and muttering under her breath with what sounds like curses at Cid, of all people. You open your mouth to ask if she’s all right, when Blackthorne catches your eye and shakes his head. You know when Blackthorne gets involved in personal affairs it’s better to stay out of it. You nod back at him and make your way up the stairs to your shared chambers with Clive, hoping he’s in there after your paths hadn’t crossed since that morning.

You open the door and are immediately hit by an out of place smell – sugary, cinnamony apples, with a tang of smoke about it.

Clive is leant over his desk, fumbling with something out of sight. He’s dressed in only his undershirt and leather trousers, which is odd.

“Clive…?”

He spins round, apparently not hearing you enter and tries to block something with his back.

“There you are. I was wondering if you and Gav had decided to spend the night ashore.”

“Obolus said the current was… off. I don’t know, the water looked calm to me.” You pause, squinting at him. His black locks are speckled with a white dust. “What’s that in your hair?” Your eyes drop down to his shirt, realizing it’s covered in splotches. “What have you been up to?”

Clive’s smile falls. “I… I tried. I promise I did try.” He turns back round to the desk and grabs a plate, holding it out to you hesitantly. Upon the plate, there are four horribly mishappened pastries, contents spilling out, various shades of baked but somehow burnt at the same time. “Molly’s going to try tomorrow… after she’s got her kitchen back in order.”

You go to take one and he pulls the plate back slightly. “Ah, I’m not sure that’s wise.”

You ignore him, snatching one up and taking a bite, smiling as the taste settles on your tongue.

“Mmm.”

“You don’t have to humor me, love.”

You ignore him, taking another bite. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“I’d do anything for that smile.”

You hold the remainder of the pastry up to his lips. “Then take a bite.”

He complies and tentatively chews, a reminiscent smile gracing on his lips.

“It tastes like home, doesn’t it?”

“That is does.” Clive nods, placing the plate back down on the desk. “I’m sure Molly will still do them more justice than I.”

“Never.” You lean up to kiss him on his lips as the clock tolls from the ale hall.

“Happy Name Day, darling.” He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you and deepening the kiss, your tongues intertwining with the taste of apple and cinnamon.

You pull back after a few moments, a teasing smile on your lips. “I have a feeling you’re the reason why everyone had an errand for me today, meaning I missed my supper.” You lean around him, snatching another pastry off the plate. “These will have to count.”

“Well…” Clive smirks, swiftly picking you up in his arms to a squeal and striding towards the bed. “We can’t have you missing dessert either.”

Happy Name Day indeed.

-

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[neimlise]

The lack of Ci-DILF-us Cidolfus “Cid” Telamon and Joshua Rosfield content is killing meeeeee.

[neimlise]

Oh my, hehe.

no smooth roads for us

Summary: Clive tries to keep his strength at bay. You admonish him for it. Warnings: explicit content / NSFW, rough sex, female reader anatomy, use of the word ‘minx’, dirty talk. A/N: My first time writing for Clive! This was a journey. I want to keep writing for him — reblog’s / comments are always appreciated! :)

You discover quickly that Clive fucks you like he fights.

It starts with the gentlest of kisses, searing hot like a burn from the sun itself. Shy, but he doesn’t mean for it to be. He remedies that by driving you against him till there is no space to give, only his chest that beats with some gratifying noise when you’re bare and naked for him to witness every inch of it.

You don’t tell him, but you like it when you holds you close and fucks you rough. His fingers, calloused with the fatal semblance of war, prove your excitement as they prod and grope at your skin experimentally. He’d fucked you rough once before and refrained from it again — a fear of breaking you, he thinks. He plays it soft now.

When you moan, shudder against the splay of his fingers against the share of your muscle, the pebbled crest of your nipples, he leads his fingers further. Deeper. He tries to ignore the burning heat curdling at his hip, for you, but the intrusion against your thigh is so hard to miss.

Clive — please, touch me, comes your plea.

The madness in your voice makes the blood rush to his cock. It ruins him, makes him want to consume you whole right here, from the heat of his lap. He fights it, though, still, and his jaw bulges from the effort of it.

He begins again, tries to create and follow a slower acclivity. Maybe he could finger you, eat you out, pleasure you delicately beneath the weight of his hot, heavy fingers.

There — there you go, my love.

He splits you open deliciously slow and his remaining fingers swim against the wetness collecting on your clit. There’s a familiar rhythm amped by the joint effort of his fingers on and in your cunt but you want more of something different. A fuck thoroughly rough that you know he can manage.

It’s you who wrenches his hand from your cunt with a disappointing pop — he thinks he’s upset you in some shape or form, that he’s pleasured you too dully or too hard, but soon comes to learn that you’re acting like brat.

Come, now, my love — don’t be like that, he warns. His voice is addictively firm and set, which in turn fuels your need for more. You attempt to wiggle out his grip, piss him off further, but the flux presses against his throbbing, oozing cock, which has already spilt some of its seed against his stomach with the wait.

Don’t — his resolves works no more. His voice is more shout than reason, as he delivers your arms with a bruising feeling from the steely grip they have on them. He’s lost his patience, and his mind, pushing you into the ground with none of the prior promise of tenuity. You’ve angered him, gotten what you want finally.

Is this what you wanted, you minx? Are you happy?

He drives your ass into the floor, kneads it within the roughness of his palm like dough. On regular days, he would work you open till you were gushing and open to a guaranteed degree. Now, he primes his intrusion of your cunt with an animalistic growl, his cock pushing in till you’ve had your fill.

Rough enough?

He mocks you. Gives you no room to recover. Batters your cunt again and again with the rough slap of his hips. He grins wickedly when you cry hot, fat tears and goes to mock you once more.

Why are you crying? Isn’t this what you wanted? Could’ve sat still while I worked you open but you wanted it rough — I’m giving you rough.

You’d never thought it would be this good, this illusive. He flips you till your back faces him, and ploughs into you like none before, delivers messy and violent shocks across your body. There’s barely any touch to his ministrations, just push, as he drives your head against the floor — in the name of take it, take it, I know you can take it.

He suffocates your senses — you clamp harshly against his cock with a loud cry, unsure of your bearings. Your body spasms underneath the weight of his and when he finished with his business, taken his fill as he shatters inside you, he’s quick to smother the quickness of this violence.

I’m — I’m sorry — are you hurt? I got ahead of myself — I’m sorry, my love.

You hush him with shaking hands, and as much as your fingers reject motion, you cradle his cheeks in your palm. The reflective heat from them comforts Clive, leaves him with the blatant truth that this is what you had wanted — and now that you had it, you weren’t in it to stop.

There’s a strange curl to his lips, with the knowledge that comes to him softly in the after-burn.

He liked playing rough.

© 2023 qvrcll. Do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[neimlise]

The tension they have during this scene 👀🤭

FINAL FANTASY XVI (2023) dev. Square Enix

[neimlise]

Throw Your Weight Around And Behind Me - Let's Rip It All to Confetti

Summary: With lands as grand and vast as Valisthea’s, it was understandable to feel alone.

Yet as long as the presence of that man was close by, you would never have to bear the burden of loneliness. 

[Contains plot spoilers for Final Fantasy XVI] 

Rating: R

Pairing: F!Reader/Joshua

[Previous Piece - Cidolfus]

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