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Tifa is like a dream. She’s always been as much. The girl of his dreams, the girl everyone loved, untouchable, like she was much too grand for their little town, eyes like blood rubies and a smile that lit up the sky at night. Tender, beautiful, soft, and she never liked how the boys thought of her as a prize. How they worshipped the ground she walked on, how they always envisioned their futures with her, the most beautiful, perfect wife. She hated it.
Should Cloud feel bad for being the same? For feeling like the world he’s living in isn’t real, for feeling like it’s too good to be true, this home he’s created with Tifa and Marlene and Barret, whenever he’s able to be here? For feeling like Tifa is all of his stars, all of his galaxies and planets, his entire world, wrapped up in tender, beautiful, soft smiles and bursting eyes? She isn’t a prize. And he knows she’s more than just the perfect housewife. She’s strong, resilient, passionate, loyal, everything too good for him but everything he loves so dearly. Everything he never wants to let go.
And there’s one more thing that Tifa is. Something she’s always been, and it’s the very thing that keeps their little household from falling apart.
“Cloud, how many times have I told you not to bring your dirty boots into the house?”
She’s a tad...strict. Just a tad.
“Sorry, Teef.”
Cloud walks towards the back door, picks up his boots, winces at the mud that’s caked onto the soles and the black leather. He’d been so tired last night, drowsy from the long trip, and he’s shocked he even made it home in one piece. He wasn’t even thinking about how he’d stain the floors Tifa works hard to mop every night. As he puts the boots outside, goes over to the closet to get the mop, he thinks. He’s sorry. Of course he is. He’s sorry for messing up the floors. Tifa has told him countless times not to bring dirty shoes into the house. Barret and Marlene follow the rule obediently.
But Cloud...kind of doesn’t want to. He’s sorry, but he’s not that sorry.
He comes back into the kitchen. Tifa is fixing a sandwich for Marlene, hums sweetly under her breath, a tune he doesn’t recognize but loves all the same, a melody he dissolves into. He likes the smile on her mouth, carved in honey and softness, the tender flicker of light in her eyes, the curl of her lashes, the swipe of her fringe against her brow. He looks at her, loses himself in every single detail, small and not, because it’s her. It’s his Tifa, and everything about her is beautiful to him.
Especially the way she frowns when she scolds him.
Oh no. Oh god. He’s thinking about it. That expression she had when she scolded him over his boots, the frown etched into her lips, somehow prominent and somehow barely-there all at once. The little creases between her furrowed brows. And her voice is normally so lovely, husked but saccharine, soothing to all his senses, down to the base of his spine. But it’d been harder. Authoritative, and even Marlene does not push her when she sounds like that.
That expression, that voice. Something hot pools into Cloud’s core, shoots through his nerves like rockets would, and alarms flare in his head. Marlene is right here, sitting next to him at the table.
Oh no. Oh god. Does he...does he like it when Tifa scolds him?
“Cloud, if you don’t eat now, the bread is going to get hard.”
He does. Oh my god he does.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Oh my god. How could he say that? How can he feel...so hot and bothered? Oh god, Marlene is right there.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Cloud, you should finish your sandwich first!”
He nearly lets out a moan.
He’s a mess. An utter disaster. He bolts towards their bedroom, shuts the door behind him, and lets out a breath that drains his entire being. What is wrong with him? Tifa has always been like that, ever since they were kids, ever since he met her again in Midgar. She’s always been the sane one of their merry band of idiots, the voice of reason, the one who kept them on track. Motherly, almost. She always spoke with their best interests in mind, always took care of them, always made sure they ate well and slept well. She scolds Marlene and Barret, as well. Nothing is different now.
Well, maybe one thing is different. She’s...his. She’s Cloud’s in every sense of the word. Physically, spiritually, they belong to each other. She’s his first love, and she’ll be his last. Always. She’s his girlfriend. His partner. His lover, and every label always sounds too superficial, too surface-level, too narrow to encompass the entire scope of her and what she means to him. Tifa, his world and stars, the one thing that kept him grounded, tethered him to everything he knew and loved, brought him back when he was swept away by the memories and falsities.
Cloud makes a horrifying discovery. He likes it when his girlfriend yells at him.
Oh god, he’s terrible. He’s scum. The scummiest scum on the planet. Why is this showing up now? She’s always been like this, but he’s never thought about her in this way until now.
(Maybe it’s the fact that they’re..physical now. Very much physical.)
He’s hard. Fuck. Fucking shit. What is wrong with him? Marlene is awake downstairs. This is obscene. He’s a mess. And the bread of his sandwich is getting harder and harder with every second that passes. Fuck.
Think about...Cid’s ass. Yeah, that should get rid of the erection.
For the moment, the crisis is averted, and Cloud goes back downstairs, eats his sandwich and watches Moogle’s Playhouse with Marlene like nothing ever happened.
But his troubling realization lingers in his mind, mocks him like a bad joke. He likes it when Tifa scolds him. He likes it when she yells at him, when she’s strict with him, when she gives him that ghostly frown and furrowed brow. Her pretty, pretty features, soft and lovely, contorted in not anger or malice but slight irritation, and god, does he like it. He likes it so much.
He’s a fucking mess.
And what’s even worse? He’s trying to make her yell at him. Like, actively. He’s actively trying to make her scold him.
He is terrible. Zack would spit on him.
“Cloud, don’t leave your dirty clothes on your bed,” Tifa tells him, holding up one of his shirts, and god, there’s that frown again, a beautiful slash in the pretty pink of her lips. “I told you to put them in the hamper.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Cloud, you should wash your glass after you’re done drinking from it,” Tifa tells him, rinses the glass under running water and sets it to dry on the rack. “I just finished doing all the dishes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Cloud, it was your turn to vacuum today,” Tifa tells him, her grip on the handle of the vacuum tight, unrelenting. She stands in front of the television, one hand propped onto her hip, and she’s frowning again, a hard frown that sews itself into the recesses of his mind, an image he’s come to enjoy so much. Too much. Not more than her smiles, or her pleasant, peaceful, neutral expression, but too much, anyway.
“Sorry, Teef.”
She leaves the vacuum, and she walks away, disappears into the hallway. And Cloud watches her go, fires licking at his insides, strumming at the strings of his heart, and he takes a deep, deep breath to quell his thundering pulse. Marlene looks up from the picture she’s been coloring, a moogle riding a chocobo.
“Tifa’s been really mad at you lately.”
Fuck yeah she has.
“Don’t be like me,” Cloud says, and he gets up to grab the vacuum. “Do whatever Tifa tells you to. Be good.”
But he’s...bad. He’s so bad. God, Zack and Aerith are probably laughing at him from the Lifestream. How the fuck did he defeat Sephiroth when he’s like this? He’s angering the love of his life on purpose because he thinks it’s fucking hot when she scolds him. He’s a disgrace.
But...she hasn’t really been angry with him. Her voice has never risen past a calm, fraying levelness. She’s never really screamed at him. He hasn’t made her angry enough.
Until...now, that is.
“Cloud, were you driving all night?”
Today, he remembers to leave his muddy boots outside. And muddy they were. All the ground under him had been wet mush from the rain, and there was a lot of it. Too much, so much that he could hardly see what was right in front of Fenrir. It’d poured, and poured, and from Junon to Edge, the storm was merciless, had not eased even a little. Cloud is soaked to the bone, his sight drenched in darkness, and he tries his best to wring out his shirt and pants a bit before he steps into the kitchen. Tifa stands in front of him, and her expression is different. It’s not the soft frown he’s come to love. It’s...fiery. Raging, like flames are dancing in her eyes, waltzing between her irises and pupils.
Oh no. Oh god. He really messed up this time, huh?
“Yeah. I wanted to get home on time.”
“But it’s been raining hard all night!”
The volume of her voice is enough to boom off the wood panels of the walls, and he hopes Barret and Marlene don’t wake from it. Cloud flinches a bit, halts in his tracks. The fires in Tifa’s eyes run rabid, reach out to char at his skin.
“Teefー”
“I was so worried about you!” she yells. “What if you got into an accident?! What if you got hurt?! What if you fell asleep at the wheel?! I’ve told you so many times to stay at an inn overnight or if the weather is bad! Why don’t you ever listen to me?!”
This...this isn’t what he wanted. Oh lord, he did not plan this. Fuck, he really messed up. She’s shaking by the seams, and he’s careful as he approaches her, holds out his hands, because she’s never really reacted like this before. He’s never really seen her this way. Tifa’s always been his clarity. His rock. His foundation. The driving force that keeps this household together, that kept their team together as they were hunting down the ruiner of the world. She’s always been so strong, so put together, and it’s exactly what he’s always needed. It’s one of the reasons why he admires her so much.
But she’s trembling right now, and how could he? How could he worry her like this?
“I’m sorry, Tifa. I just wanted to get home because I promised you guys.” Her, Marlene, Barret, they’ve all been waiting for him. How could he make them wait another day?
“We could have waited,” she says, and she sighs. Cloud’s gentle as he drapes his hands over her shoulders, and her posture relaxes a bit, her eyes melting, the flames dying out into ashes. “Your safety is always more important. Got it?”
Cloud gathers her into his arms, and he’s still a bit clumsy, still new at this. This physical touch, physical affection, willingly giving so much of himself to another person. His body, his mind, his heart, his soul, everything is hers. Everything is Tifa’s, and she always feels so nice against him. Soft lines and curves, soft skin, the sweet vanilla scent of her that wakes his senses, skitters through them, plays him like it would a fiddle. He’s all wet from the rain, and he knows it must be uncomfortable for her, but she holds him close anyway, tight, as if she never wants to let go, as if she never wants to let him leave her sight again.
“Yes, ma’am.”
(Fuck, fuck, fuck, don’t get hard, not nowー)
Tifa pulls back a bit to kiss him, and it’s the slightest of touches at first, just a graze, like the velvet of a rose petal against his mouth. But kisses are what he’s always greedy for, and he bends his neck to kiss her again, firmer, harder, more than just a touch. He’s rough with it, and with this, he’s not so clumsy. They’d been finicky and nervous the night before the final battle, the weight of the world crushing, so crushing, like his lungs had shriveled up and died. But she was there, and she was so beautiful, brushed in early morning light, like the sun was made to be her halo. They’d hugged. Kissed. Touched. Let their hands wander. Slow. Messy. Needy. She’d been so shy then, so demure, covered her eyes when he took his shirt off and bit her lip to hold back her moans.
And now, she’s not like that. Not too much. They’ve been together long enough to explore, to understand what the other likes, to make each other tick, writhe, and gasp. They’re still a tiny bit clumsy, and they’re still getting used to this. This life they chose together, the future they chose to have with one another. They’re figuring it out.
He doesn’t want it any other way. Home is Tifa. It always has been.
She pulls back, a bit flushed, a bit out of breath, a bit swollen at the lips. And she rests her cheek on his shoulder, her fingers playing at the zipper of his shirt.
“You’ve really been getting on my nerves lately,” she says. “What’s with you all of a sudden? You’re normally so good with the house rules.”
Is he really going to say this? Oh god, is he really going to say this? Right now, at the crack of dawn, after a long trip back from a Junon delivery, after she was so worried about him she yelled at him?
She’s pressed against him, and the kiss has left him a little dizzy, a little manic. Yeah. he’s gonna fucking say it.
“I want you to yell at me.”
“What?”
“What?”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s so lame, oh my god.
“You wanted me to yell at you?”
She’s...surprised. Of course she is. She quirks her head to the side, and her lips are a little parted, and her eyes are a little wide, and oh god, he should have crashed his bike and died on the way here.
“I...like it when you’re...strict with me,” he stammers, and fuck, this is so embarrassing. “Scold me. Yell at me more.”
Do what you want with me.
“Did you...were you disobeying me on purpose? So I’d scold you?”
He breaks her gaze, goes to look elsewhere, at anything but her.
“You were, weren’t you? Oh, since when were you such a brat?”
His toes curl against the floor. God fucking damn it.
Tifa’s hands slide up his chest, and they go back to his zipper, and at a slow, achingly slow pace, they drag it all the way down. And her fingers go over his damp skin, drink in his warmth, trace the lines of his abdomen muscles as if she’s painting her own picture.
“I think I should punish you.”
Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes.
Tifa gets his shirt the rest of the way off, and she’s gentle when she pushes him back and against the kitchen counter. She kisses him madly, much rougher than she did before, like she wants to reach down into him and swallow his soul whole. Her tongue in his mouth, her teeth latched into his bottom lip, Cloud groans, and out of habit, his hands go to her shirt, desperate for her skin. And each of her hands wraps around each of his wrists, pulling them away and pinning them into the counter.
He pulls back, dazed, delirious in his want.
“Don’t touch,” she whispers, and god, the words fall right into his core, flood him in lava, and he can’t even think straight, feels hypnotized by the red of her eyes, chokes on the blood in them. “If you touch me without my permission, I won’t let you come.”
Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, it takes all of his strength not to faint right here and now.
And he thinks it’s the sheer newness of it all that excites him the most. Tifa’s never been much like this. She’s gotten more confident in their lovemaking over the months, but never to this extent. She’s always been just a bit shy, a bit demure, and he’d always taken the lead, and she’d always loved it, gone mad with his touches, with the way he worked her body past its limits, just how she liked. And while he always, always likes that as well, this...this is good. So, so good, and he keeps his hands molded against the edge of the counter, and it takes all of his willpower not to touch her. And when she takes off her shirt and bra, lets her breasts hang free, it’s the most trying test of his strength.
He fucking loves her breasts. God, how can he handle not touching them? He should have thought this through.
“You look like you’re already going to cave,” Tifa teases, and she presses her breasts into him, into his bare chest, and he feels the heavy shape of them, feels her nipples poke at him, hard and puckered over. She drops lazy, lingering kisses into his jaw. “You’re not good at this.”
Maybe he’s not. But she is. She’s too good at this. Fuck. Fuck.
He lifts one of his hands. And, right away, she grabs it and presses it back into the counter.
“I just said no touching.”
God. Fuck. It’s unbelievable, how hard he’s gotten when she hasn’t even done much yet. He’s straining against his pants, and she comes even closer to him, sneaks a hand between their bodies and palms his cock through the wet denim. And he lets out a staggered breath, bucks into the muted touch, and he’s so wound-up, so rigid, like she’s holding each and every one of his nerves hostage.
“Cloud, is this okay?”
Her hand stops, and there it is. That beautiful, tender, soft smile he loves so much, those bursting eyes, filled with stars that fled the sky, filled with bleeding, morning light and love. So, so much love that his chest explodes in it, and now, she doesn’t mind the touch. He cups her cheek with his hand, kisses her gently on her forehead.
“Yeah, I like it. You’re way too good at this.”
She splutters a bit, goes red in the face, and there’s his shy, demure Tifa. She’s so cute, so lovely, and every day, he wonders how she could be his.
She kisses him again, lets go and makes trails with her lips down his neck, down to his clavicle, suckles on the jutting bone, leaves her own special mark on his skin. And he’d love to do that as well, to show the world that she’s his, to bite into her neck and thighs and everywhere in between, but she keeps him firm in place, keeps him woven within her spell, keeps him right where she wants him to be. She pulls him away from the counter, pulls him out of the kitchen and towards the living room, and pushes him so he lands on his back onto the couch. She rids herself of the rest of her clothes, and he watches her, entranced, a ghost dancing in the darkness, and the rising sun bathes in the edges of her silhouette. She looks like she’s glowing, sparkling, and she comes on top of him, straddles his hips and kisses him harder, so hard every coherent thought in his head escapes him. Everything is her, her, and only her, the swipe of her hands, the curl of her tongue against his, the heat of her bare flesh seeping through his pants. He’s uncomfortable in the wet pants, and he’s so, so hard he feels like he’s going to fall apart. But she doesn’t unzip his pants. She doesn’t touch him, not yet.
And he keeps his hands above him, his fingers digging into the wood of the armrest, stays within his control, like a good boy. But it’s agonizing, Tifa beautiful and sweating and naked above him, and he’s unable to touch her.
“Tifa.”
She hums against his neck.
“I wanna touch you.”
“No touching,” she says again, and her voice is harsher, edged in coldness, and his breath hitches in his throat, his cock twitching in his pants. “Only your tongue.”
For a brief moment, he wonders what she means by that. And he gets his answer as soon as she lifts herself up and starts shimmying her way up his body.
Oh. Only his tongue. He doesn’t think she’ll mind if he uses his lips, too.
Tifa straddles his face, her thighs against his ears, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he loves this. He always loves this. Her body atop him like this, the view of her breasts, her hand grasping one of them, pinching the nipple between her fingers. Her shy, so shy face, her teeth digging into her bottom lip, the red burned into her cheeks. Her pussy, hot and wet right before him, her lips inflamed, her clit hard and swollen. It drives him insane, how beautiful she is, how much he always wants her, wants to swallow her whole, to feel her erupt in every single one of his cells.
Her hand leaves her breast and goes to tangle into his hair, to bring him closer. And the other goes to spread apart her lower lips, to spread herself out for him, and he dives in quickly, drowns happily within the sound of her moan, long, feminine, full of relief, full of want. She’s greedy above him, holds him firm against her, and Cloud is greedy as he eats at her, licks up her juices, goes manic with the taste of her. He dips his tongue into her hole, then drags it up towards her clit, laps at it in just the way she likes. Soft, quick licks towards the side, and she’s shuddering above him, her skin throbbing against his tongue. And then he sucks, and sucks, and sucks, and he watches her jaw drop, her eyes roll to the back of her head, her chest rise up and down with the quickness of her breath.
She’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, falling apart on his face like this.
“Cloud,” she gasps. “Cloud, oh my god. You feel so good.”
He goes back to soft, slow licks. Purposefully slow, agonizingly slow, and she looks down at him, gives him the frown he loves so much, the frown that makes his stomach twist into itself, the frown that helped him reach his troubling conclusion in the first place.
“Faster,” she orders, and god, she’s so fucking hot. “Harder. Suck on it.”
He kind of doesn’t want to. He drops the gentlest of kisses onto her clit, and she jolts against him.
“Suck on it, Cloud, please.”
“Are you really begging me right now?”
She blinks, looking a little confused. And then, she pulls at his hair, brings his mouth back to her pussy.
“If you don’t make me come within the next sixty seconds, I’m not going to let you come at all.”
Fuck. Fucking hell. Fuck. Why does that arouse him so much?
He obeys her, gives her exactly what she wants. He sucks on her clit, hard and fast and messy, just the way she likes it. She holds him by his hair and rubs herself into the flat of his tongue, grinds herself into his face, and he lets her, lets her get closer and closer to her peak, and he helps her, sucks on her clit until she’s trembling hard, falling apart, folding over and biting into the sofa to keep quiet. And she always looks the prettiest when she comes, the height of pleasure sketched into her face, and as she falls down from the high, skin flushed and sweating and her limbs rattling, all he can think about is doing it to her again, and again, and again, until she’s screaming, until she can’t take it anymore, until she has no choice but to beg him to stop.
Maybe later. Not now, not when he’s under her mercy.
She moves away from his face and tries her best to catch her breath.
“That was…” she sighs, and she’s still a bit shaky. “God.”
Should he feel proud? He’s pretty proud.
Tifa bends to kiss him again, takes her time in tasting herself on his tongue. And then she goes further down his body, finally, finally gives him what he wants, unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants and boxers down his legs. The fabric, still wet from the rain, lands heavily next to the rest of Tifa’s clothes on the floor. His cock is free, hanging over his stomach, the flesh hard, the head of it leaking cum.
She wraps her hand around him, starts by stroking slowly, ever so slowly, and even this feels like it’s too much. Cloud’s entire body feels tight, like he’s stuck in imaginary ropes, and his fingers grip onto the armrest so hard he wonders how he hasn’t broken it yet. He wants to touch her. To shove her face onto his cock. To grab her, sling her over the back of this couch, and fuck her until she can do nothing but yell out his name. And she looks at him with her wide, pretty eyes, the sun rising in them, her lips parted.
“Since you’ve been obedient, I’ll give you what you want now.”
Tifa takes both of her breasts into her hands, and she brings them around his cock. And her skin is so soft, so pillowy around him, and he hisses, his legs jerking. Each touch is too much, sends him into haywire, and it gets harder and harder to control himself.
“Tifa,” he rasps, and his voice is dark, sounds like it’s not his own. “I wanna come inside you.”
She frowns at him.
“You haven’t been that obedient. I’m still mad at you.”
Fuck. Fuck. And while he loves to be buried inside of her, to feel her warm, wet walls convulsing around him, to thrust and spill his cum deep into her, this, this feels divine. It feels like it’s too much, Tifa’s breasts around him, enveloping him, and she’s never really done anything like this to him before. She holds her breasts firmly and drags them along the length of his cock, up to the head and all the way down to the hilt. And he can’t bear it. It’s too much. He feels like he’s going to come in seconds.
Don’t. Don’t come. Not now. Fuck, she just started, that’s embarrassing ー
“I saw this in a video,” she says, and she’s shy again, demure, like she’s unsure. “I watched it while you were gone, because I missed you. And I thought...you’d like it.”
Yes, yes, yes, fuck, he loves it. So much so that he really, really can’t hold out any longer.
“I like it. I love it. Fuck, Tifa, Iー”
“The videos never do anything for me,” she says, and she goes a bit faster, and god, how is he supposed to focus on what she’s saying? “I use my fingers, but they never compare to you. I always want you.”
Fuck, fuck, now he has to think about her masturbating to him while he was gone? Lord Jenova almightyー
“Tifaー”
She dips her head down and licks at the head of his cock, licks at the slit where the precum beads out. And now, finally, Cloud lets go, of the armrest and of his control. Tifa’s breasts around his cock, the plush skin around him, her voice trilling in his ears, like husked honey pooling down his spine, her tongue licking at him, her lips suckling softly at the head, it’s too much, and his body spasms as he falls to pieces, unravels under her. His voice breaks on a call of her name, and he holds onto her hair as he comes, stars crashing in his eyes and his brain melting out of his ears. And this peak takes everything out of him, and the way back down is painful, leaves him in a mess of himself. He’s trembling, panting, gripping onto her hair as he tries to pick himself back up.
He felt like he was going to pass out. God. It’s dangerous, the hold she has on his sanity.
And when he looks at her, she’s...covered in his cum. Her face, her hands, her breasts, her hair.
Oh. Oh god. Fuck. Holy fuck. Tifa covered in his cum.
Why is that so hot fuck fuck fuck fuckー
“Did you like it?” she asks sweetly. And how, how can he focus on answering her question when she wipes his cum off her face with her fingers, and then licks it off her fingers?
He’s definitely going to pass out now. Fuck. Fuck.
(And he’s hard again. Of course.)
Cloud pulls her up by the arm, nestles her in between himself and the back of the couch. He kisses her wildly, tastes himself on her tongue, groans into her mouth as she pulls him closer. He feels like he’s been starved, and his hands run all down her body, grab all the skin they can reach, his fingers digging into her ass and pressing her core into his.
“Are you done punishing me?” he asks, grunts the words into her ear before kissing at the shell, taking the lobe into his mouth and suckling. She mewls against him.
“For now,” she says. “You’d better fuck me hard, and maybe, I’ll stop being mad at you.”
He lifts her leg high, opens her up, and sinks his cock into her, lets out a groan right as she lets out a sigh, feels her walls flutter around him, hot and wet and everything he’s missed, everything that has him addicted.
“Yes, ma’am.”
(He needs to let her have her way with him more often.)
.
.
.