Where The Heart Is [FFVII, Cloud/Tifa, K]
Title: Where the Heart Is
Author/Artist: sekiharatae
Rating: K
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Cloud/Tifa: Home- Where ever she was... so was home.
Word count: 600
Summary: Cloud's lived in a number of places, but never understood what made a home. Until now.
A/N: I wanted to write this prompt, as it seems so very true and very them... but first I couldn't make it smutty, and then my brain went blank. =( So I'm sorry.
When Cloud was a child, he thought a home was simply the place where you lived. The place where you slept and ate and (in his case) dreamed big dreams about the girl next door. His was just a house, nothing more, and not even a particularly special one: it wasn’t big or impressive like the Shinra Manor, or fancy on the inside like the mayor’s.
He was positive that he’d be just as happy living somewhere else.
At age fourteen, after he’d left that little house in Nibelheim to join Shin-Ra, he had a rude awakening. The Shin-Ra barracks were a far cry from home, despite being the place where he slept and ate and dreamed big dreams about the girl he’d left behind. Home was suddenly a word he associated with the scent of fresh-baked bread and his mom’s comforting presence, with well-worn furniture that had shrunk as he’d grown, and with walls that had slowly become too small to hold his ambitions. Home was a little mountain village, often too insular for its own good, and he missed it.
Seven years later, in the midst of saving the world and rediscovering himself in the process, he also found that his perception of home had changed once more. For him, home was no longer a place at all, but a person... and somehow, he didn’t find that surprising in the least. His thoughts of home had always been twined with thoughts of her, of Tifa. That little house in Nibelheim wouldn’t have been the same if she hadn’t lived next door; the town itself wouldn’t have been the same without her in it. Now she’d simply become the whole, the embodiment, rather than a fixture.
Seventh Heaven, a place he associated with the mingled scents of fruit and alcohol and industrial strength cleaner; with walls that were worn but strong, and furniture that was sturdy rather than elegant; with rooms large enough to hold the laughter and pranks of two small children, as well as the hopes of all four occupants... that was where he lived. But home...
Home was the look in her burgundy-lit eyes when he walked in the door, and the sound of his name on her lips. Home was the way her dark hair spread over his shoulder to spill onto his pillow, and the feel of her hand in his. Home was lithe muscles and a fighter’s spirit, and a heart brave enough to hold on, to have faith in him, when he, himself, had given up.
Home was in the curve of her mouth and the scold in her voice when he caved in the face of childish pleading. Home was in the laughter she suppressed when he lost himself in something both typically him and typically male.
Home was in the sweetness of her kiss and the warmth of her embrace and the passion in her body when they came together.
Tifa was his home. Wherever she was.
The distant sound of the faucet, followed by the rush of small feet in the hallway, broke Cloud out of his musings. It was late, and he had no idea how long he’d been sitting on the foot of the bed, watching Tifa sleep. Long enough for his hair to have mostly dried from his shower and his toes to have chilled. Lifting the covers he slid in beside her, gathering her warm, willing form close. Her head came to rest in the curve of his throat, and her voice was drowsy - still mostly asleep - as she murmured a soft greeting.
“Welcome home.”
Author/Artist: sekiharatae
Rating: K
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Cloud/Tifa: Home- Where ever she was... so was home.
Word count: 600
Summary: Cloud's lived in a number of places, but never understood what made a home. Until now.
A/N: I wanted to write this prompt, as it seems so very true and very them... but first I couldn't make it smutty, and then my brain went blank. =( So I'm sorry.
When Cloud was a child, he thought a home was simply the place where you lived. The place where you slept and ate and (in his case) dreamed big dreams about the girl next door. His was just a house, nothing more, and not even a particularly special one: it wasn’t big or impressive like the Shinra Manor, or fancy on the inside like the mayor’s.
He was positive that he’d be just as happy living somewhere else.
At age fourteen, after he’d left that little house in Nibelheim to join Shin-Ra, he had a rude awakening. The Shin-Ra barracks were a far cry from home, despite being the place where he slept and ate and dreamed big dreams about the girl he’d left behind. Home was suddenly a word he associated with the scent of fresh-baked bread and his mom’s comforting presence, with well-worn furniture that had shrunk as he’d grown, and with walls that had slowly become too small to hold his ambitions. Home was a little mountain village, often too insular for its own good, and he missed it.
Seven years later, in the midst of saving the world and rediscovering himself in the process, he also found that his perception of home had changed once more. For him, home was no longer a place at all, but a person... and somehow, he didn’t find that surprising in the least. His thoughts of home had always been twined with thoughts of her, of Tifa. That little house in Nibelheim wouldn’t have been the same if she hadn’t lived next door; the town itself wouldn’t have been the same without her in it. Now she’d simply become the whole, the embodiment, rather than a fixture.
Seventh Heaven, a place he associated with the mingled scents of fruit and alcohol and industrial strength cleaner; with walls that were worn but strong, and furniture that was sturdy rather than elegant; with rooms large enough to hold the laughter and pranks of two small children, as well as the hopes of all four occupants... that was where he lived. But home...
Home was the look in her burgundy-lit eyes when he walked in the door, and the sound of his name on her lips. Home was the way her dark hair spread over his shoulder to spill onto his pillow, and the feel of her hand in his. Home was lithe muscles and a fighter’s spirit, and a heart brave enough to hold on, to have faith in him, when he, himself, had given up.
Home was in the curve of her mouth and the scold in her voice when he caved in the face of childish pleading. Home was in the laughter she suppressed when he lost himself in something both typically him and typically male.
Home was in the sweetness of her kiss and the warmth of her embrace and the passion in her body when they came together.
Tifa was his home. Wherever she was.
The distant sound of the faucet, followed by the rush of small feet in the hallway, broke Cloud out of his musings. It was late, and he had no idea how long he’d been sitting on the foot of the bed, watching Tifa sleep. Long enough for his hair to have mostly dried from his shower and his toes to have chilled. Lifting the covers he slid in beside her, gathering her warm, willing form close. Her head came to rest in the curve of his throat, and her voice was drowsy - still mostly asleep - as she murmured a soft greeting.
“Welcome home.”