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drabblesandimagines · 8 months

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400 request! Could you do some thing like enemies to lovers with Cid, maybe an argument that leads to an angry kiss. With some spice at the end?

Thankyou!

Thanks for the 400 request, anon! Sorry it took me an absolute age to get round to it - I'm still working my way through a few. I didn't quite get enemies to lovers but there's some argumentative banter and a tiiiiny bit of spice towards the end - please let me know what you think in an anon ask xxx Sparks Cidolfus Telemon x female reader Fluffy, little sprinkling of spice towards the end

You start to look up at the sound of the bell tinkling over the door, announcing a customer, but the heavy boots on the wooden floorboards tell you all you need to know and you sigh, casting your eyes immediately back down when you see who it is darkening your doorstep.

“No.”

“Love, that’s not a nice greeting. Want to try again?”

“Cidolfus-” “Oh, I am in trouble.” He smirks. “Now, this is a nice one.” You hear him heave a pot up in his hands, “how much?"

You look up then – he’s admiring the ceramic with a fake interest. “Not for sale.” You pinch the bridge of your nose to try and relieve the tension as he places the pot down. “I have a headache that could down a behemoth and I cannot deal with that and you today.”

“Then,” the approaching footsteps show he has not heeded your plea, “you should let me help you.”

“Help?” You scoff. “You always bring more trouble to my door. If the Imperials or Dragoons get word of you being here…”

“They’ll what – poke and prod me with their little halberds?” He pretends to pout. “I don’t fear them and, if someone would finally accept my very gracious offer, neither would you.”

“Leave.” You seethe. “You’re nothing but a hinderance these days.”

“Surely it’s the thought that counts.” He chuckles, laying both palms down on the desk to show he had no plans to leave. “Besides, if you would concede, Tarja could whip you off something for that headache too, quick as you like.”

“By the Mothers. I swear-“

“This isn’t a very viable way to run a business, love – chasing your customers away at the door.”

“You’re not a real customer.”

He shrugs, before lifting a hand off the counter and grabbing a gil pouch off his belt. He drops it in show, the bag giving a satisfying thunk as it hit the counter to show off its contents.

“I’ll take however much this will get me.”

“You won’t. I hold the right to refuse you service.” You stress, shoving the pouch back across to him.

“You’re such a funny shopkeeper, someone might get ideas you’re up to something else here.”

You sigh, meeting his eyes at last. He’s a handsome man and he knows it – part of what makes him so cocky. “What will it take for you to leave me be?”

He throws his arms wide. “Come join my group of outlaws.”

“I’m doing fine work here.” You grumble. Your paths had crossed a few years back. He’d heard word of someone shipping ailing Bearers out to the Kingdom of Waloed – something he could not stand, given his history. His investigations had led straight to you – ushering them onto a boat in a way that wasn’t befitting on a slave master. After a tense exchange, it had been established that the two of you were of the same opinion – that Bearers didn’t deserve the hand they had been dealt and were trying to help where you can in different ways. You’d buy up Bearers where you could and, under the guise of selling them to Waloed, you’d find them havens throughout Valisthea, allowing them to live their final days in peace, for whatever it was worth.

He was smug, cocky, thought he was the Mother’s gift to all around him, and it drove you up the wall – like he expected you to swoon over him and his swagger, go along with whatever he wanted. But no, you’d stayed firm, held your resolve – Cidolfus Telemon will not get his way with you.

“What if I say I’m worried?”

“About yourself? You should be. I heard a certain rumour about an unwanted visitor to Drake’s Head.”

He quirks an eyebrow, looks surprised for a moment before his face falls back into its self-assured grin. “I just wanted a closer look, love.”

The bell above the door rings again and a real customer walks in – a nobleman, by the looks of it, with real gil to burn.

You look at Cid and nod your head towards the door. Thankfully, he relents, giving you a wink and a wave and finally heads out the door.

Later that evening, you’re about to lock up when a hand squeezes your shoulder. You turn, alarmed, and find yourself facing a trio of Imperial soldiers – all sporting the same haircut under military standards, the same hardened stares.

“I’m awfully sorry, but I’m closed for the day, sirs. Mayhaps you can return in the morning.” You keep your tone light, almost ditsy to try and diffuse what is clearly not a group of soldiers out shopping for pots.

“I’m afraid this matter really cannot wait, my lady.” The soldier reaches past you and opens the door into the shop before pushing you back within. “After you.”

You make it five steps in when you hear a sword being unsheathed and an almighty clatter as it collides with a group of pots on display.

“Oops.” The soldier says, dryly.

“Accidents happen.” This isn’t good – whatever this is.

“They do.” We wouldn’t want any more happening, would we?”

“No, sir.”

“Like, it must have been an accident when Cidolfus Telemon was here this afternoon and you did not bring it to our attention.”

“Who?” You tilt your head, trying to mimic confusion. The soldier, the commander of this merry trio, you reckon, grabs you by your jaw, squeezing your cheeks.

“Don’t play dumb, my lady. You’ll only make this worse for yourself. What business did you conduct with him?”

“None.” He lets go of your jaw and shoves you backwards, sending you crashing into another display of pots. Jagged bits of ceramic poke at your back and thighs, but that pain is nothing to the fear you feel when he draws his sword.

“Ladies should not lie.”

“And that is no way to treat a lady, lads.” Cid’s smooth voice comes from the doorway. The soldiers spin on their heels, holding their swords aloft. He steps in, casually, rolling up his sleeves.

“Surrender, Telemon.”

Sparks of lightning begin to crackle along his arm and into his palm. “Not my style.” And before the soldiers can make another move, he punches his fist into the ground, sending three strikes of lightning in each of their directions, sending the trio flying up for a moment before crashing down into more of your pots - dead.

You stare in disbelief of what’s just occurred, your heart pounding as Cid strides over to you, pulling you up to your feet.

“Are you all right?”

“You.” You growl, grabbing hold of either side of his collar with both hands and yanking him forward. “I told you that you’re nothing but trouble.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Love, I’m sorry, that wasn’t meant to happen-“ You cut him off with a bruising kiss and for a moment he doesn’t reciprocate, stunned, before he drops his hands and slides his tongue in between your lips, fighting for dominance. His hands find your waist and he pulls you closer, one hand dropping down to squeeze your backside. You can feel him smirk into the kiss, but that won’t do. You let go of his collar, trailing your fingers down his chest and then lower, ghosting his crotch, causing him to moan into your mouth…

“We gotta go, Cid – more Imperials heading this way!” A voice comes from the door – one you recognize as another part of his crew.

He pulls away, frowning. “We’ll have to continue this back at my place, love. Come on.” And with no hesitation, his hands are back at your waist and the smug bastard throws you over your shoulder, patting your backside as he adjusts his grip.

“Cidolfus!” --

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