Final Fantasy VII - Tifa - Loyalty
Title: Overpowering
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Claim: Tifa
Prompt: #10, Loyalty
Characters/Pairings: one-sided Tifa/Aerith
Rating: PG
Summary: If she let herself get comfortable… before she knew it she’d be thinking again.
Author’s Notes: I had an idea, I wanted to write some emotional Tifa, and it fit the theme. It doesn’t really fit in the game’s timeline. Which is kind-of a bummer. But I also don’t think it would really work as an AU. So I just decided to write it regardless.
“HYA!” Tifa shouted for probably the hundredth time in the last hour as her hand once again slammed into the target. She smirked in grim satisfaction as she recovered to her fighting stance and whirled to give the padded mannequin another series of punches, then followed up with an elbow strike. Hopping back, she increased her tempo, beginning her trademark Beat Rush, and slamming the target in the chest with a somersault. Then more rapid-fire punches to the dummy’s imagined vitals, a jab with her knee, and two uppercuts that left her gloved hands stinging, and the dummy’s head snapped backward, stitches straining against the force of her blows. Then Tifa was in the air again, diving to slam a fist into the ground with enough force to make the entire gym shake. A difficult move, but one of her favorites. After all, difficult was what she needed. Difficult was good. It required focus. If she let herself get comfortable, settle into a routine or one of her usual training regimens, before she knew it she’d be thinking again.
“RAAGH!” With a feral yell, Tifa rounded on the punching bag hanging in the center of the room, striking it with a fist. Then she danced away to get in range for another somersault, bouncing off the bag to land more punches and a spinning kick.
“Hya! Hya! Hya!” Tifa’s shouts punctuated every punch, and the heavy bag lurched this way and that. She felt her sweat dripping down her scalp, blinked it out of her eyes. She stopped to wipe her face with the back of her hand, panting, hands on her knees. Her soaked hair hung down, clinging to her face and neck, and she could feel rivulets of sweat drip down her sides, pooling in her sports bra and the folds of the shorts she’d changed into before her workout.
But even in that brief pause, her head began to clear from the haze of her adrenaline rush, and the thoughts drifted back, clear as ever - Aerith - Aerith’s eyes - Aerith’s smile - Aerith’s nimble ,beautiful fingers -- a pastel hair ribbon sliding out of brown hair, snaking across porcelain skin, fluttering to the ground-Tifa shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight - I can’t see you, I can’t see you, leave me alone - whirling blindly at the punching bag, each blow hitting its mark solidly. Growling, she slammed in another set of kicks - stop, stop thinking!
When she no longer had the energy to re-chamber a kick, Tifa threw herself to the ground, rolling to begin a set of sit-ups, turning her focus only to counting, forcing her stomach to contract and pull her up just once more each time. This too became unbearable, and Tifa rolled to her stomach, ignoring the burning in her abdomen and all her limbs as she lifted herself up for push-ups. She forced her way through several sets and switched to one arm as she found herself getting too comfortable, when the fuzzy edges of vague nighttime visions kept floating back into her consciousness.
Weight balanced on the tips of her toes, supported by her left arm, right one held behind her back, Tifa lifted herself up and down again. “Just one more,” she told herself for the thousandth time that night. But “one more” would never be enough to punish herself for how she was hurting Aerith-- defiling her in her mind. Tifa couldn’t stop. She couldn’t rest. Because as soon as she did, she would remember.
Her sweat dripped down from her sodden hair and clothes, making the mat beneath her slick. She ignored it. “One more,” she growled, but as she forced herself down again until her chest touched the mat, she noticed, with strange detachment, her arm slipping out from under her. With nothing left for support, she collapsed facedown into the mat.
Now that she’d stopped moving, her body felt like lead. As reality caught up with her, she realized belatedly that she barely had the strength left to roll herself onto her back. And there she lay, in a puddle of her own sweat, gasping for air, staring blankly up at the ceiling as the punching bag swung lazily over her head, once again at the mercy of her own imagination.
Why?! Her consciousness cried out. Why Aerith? Sweet, beautiful, perfect Aerith. Tifa hadn’t known Aerith for long, but she already could see, from the way Cloud treated her, that Aerith was someone to be cherished. Protected. Cloud was their leader. So it was Tifa’s duty to keep Aerith safe.
So then, she thought, shutting her eyes, giving in to exhaustion, this has to be what betrayal feels like….
Aerith should never have placed any trust in her.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Claim: Tifa
Prompt: #10, Loyalty
Characters/Pairings: one-sided Tifa/Aerith
Rating: PG
Summary: If she let herself get comfortable… before she knew it she’d be thinking again.
Author’s Notes: I had an idea, I wanted to write some emotional Tifa, and it fit the theme. It doesn’t really fit in the game’s timeline. Which is kind-of a bummer. But I also don’t think it would really work as an AU. So I just decided to write it regardless.
“HYA!” Tifa shouted for probably the hundredth time in the last hour as her hand once again slammed into the target. She smirked in grim satisfaction as she recovered to her fighting stance and whirled to give the padded mannequin another series of punches, then followed up with an elbow strike. Hopping back, she increased her tempo, beginning her trademark Beat Rush, and slamming the target in the chest with a somersault. Then more rapid-fire punches to the dummy’s imagined vitals, a jab with her knee, and two uppercuts that left her gloved hands stinging, and the dummy’s head snapped backward, stitches straining against the force of her blows. Then Tifa was in the air again, diving to slam a fist into the ground with enough force to make the entire gym shake. A difficult move, but one of her favorites. After all, difficult was what she needed. Difficult was good. It required focus. If she let herself get comfortable, settle into a routine or one of her usual training regimens, before she knew it she’d be thinking again.
“RAAGH!” With a feral yell, Tifa rounded on the punching bag hanging in the center of the room, striking it with a fist. Then she danced away to get in range for another somersault, bouncing off the bag to land more punches and a spinning kick.
“Hya! Hya! Hya!” Tifa’s shouts punctuated every punch, and the heavy bag lurched this way and that. She felt her sweat dripping down her scalp, blinked it out of her eyes. She stopped to wipe her face with the back of her hand, panting, hands on her knees. Her soaked hair hung down, clinging to her face and neck, and she could feel rivulets of sweat drip down her sides, pooling in her sports bra and the folds of the shorts she’d changed into before her workout.
But even in that brief pause, her head began to clear from the haze of her adrenaline rush, and the thoughts drifted back, clear as ever - Aerith - Aerith’s eyes - Aerith’s smile - Aerith’s nimble ,beautiful fingers -- a pastel hair ribbon sliding out of brown hair, snaking across porcelain skin, fluttering to the ground-Tifa shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight - I can’t see you, I can’t see you, leave me alone - whirling blindly at the punching bag, each blow hitting its mark solidly. Growling, she slammed in another set of kicks - stop, stop thinking!
When she no longer had the energy to re-chamber a kick, Tifa threw herself to the ground, rolling to begin a set of sit-ups, turning her focus only to counting, forcing her stomach to contract and pull her up just once more each time. This too became unbearable, and Tifa rolled to her stomach, ignoring the burning in her abdomen and all her limbs as she lifted herself up for push-ups. She forced her way through several sets and switched to one arm as she found herself getting too comfortable, when the fuzzy edges of vague nighttime visions kept floating back into her consciousness.
Weight balanced on the tips of her toes, supported by her left arm, right one held behind her back, Tifa lifted herself up and down again. “Just one more,” she told herself for the thousandth time that night. But “one more” would never be enough to punish herself for how she was hurting Aerith-- defiling her in her mind. Tifa couldn’t stop. She couldn’t rest. Because as soon as she did, she would remember.
Her sweat dripped down from her sodden hair and clothes, making the mat beneath her slick. She ignored it. “One more,” she growled, but as she forced herself down again until her chest touched the mat, she noticed, with strange detachment, her arm slipping out from under her. With nothing left for support, she collapsed facedown into the mat.
Now that she’d stopped moving, her body felt like lead. As reality caught up with her, she realized belatedly that she barely had the strength left to roll herself onto her back. And there she lay, in a puddle of her own sweat, gasping for air, staring blankly up at the ceiling as the punching bag swung lazily over her head, once again at the mercy of her own imagination.
Why?! Her consciousness cried out. Why Aerith? Sweet, beautiful, perfect Aerith. Tifa hadn’t known Aerith for long, but she already could see, from the way Cloud treated her, that Aerith was someone to be cherished. Protected. Cloud was their leader. So it was Tifa’s duty to keep Aerith safe.
So then, she thought, shutting her eyes, giving in to exhaustion, this has to be what betrayal feels like….
Aerith should never have placed any trust in her.