“𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳!” 𝖢𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖩𝗈𝗌𝗁𝗎𝖺. 𝐻𝑒'𝑠 𝑎 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝒅𝒊𝒆.

Clive’s smile was tucked into his neck. The same neck he lost to the spiders.

He really wished people would stop petting him all the time. He’s not a fucking dog.

𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐔𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 Cid? Misbehaving? Fuck… What’s happening? He reckons he could try. But he can’t promise it would do Cid any good.

He was invited to the wedding. One of the few.

Clive had the music, the falsettos and the shimmy. He had the whole damn performance when he saw those spiders.

Benedikta is a Who. Martha May Whovier, to be exact.

Cid had a type. His type was young and blond.

“It’s Cid, robbing the cradle!” Clive added as they journeyed through Caer Norvent together.

“Come on, Torgal. Let’s leave this pathetic creature.” Clive said as he led Torgal away from the Cid who was recently recovered from the rubble.

“Keep your comments to yourself.” Bitched Cid.

𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐔𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 “I love you, Cid.” Clive replied with a smile.

Clive was pressed back as far he could get as he screamed his head off about the spiders that were raining down from the skies around him.

So call Cid stupid, call him sad Benedikta’s the best he’s ever had She’s the worst he’s ever had And that keeps fucking with his head. Call him stupid, call him sad Benedikta’s the best he’s ever had She’s the worst he’s ever had And that keeps fucking with his head.

𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐔𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 “But aren’t you a little old for them? Pack it in, Cid,” he added after he was dismissed.

He was thinking that smushing his fat rolls into that tiny Omega outfit was a good idea.