Every Way That He Can [FFVII, Cloud/Tifa] PG
Title: Every Way That He Can
Author: sekiharatae
Rating: PG
Warnings: Innuendo, allusions to sex
Word Count: 900
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Cloud/Tifa: Reassurance - He was never going to leave again, he wanted to make sure that she knew it.
Summary: All the ways he tells her, and the one that makes her believe.
Notes: Sorry this is a day late. All the good ideas have already been taken, but hopefully this isn't too repetitive.
He told her with words.
Everyday, over and over, letting repetition make them a vow.
The phrases he used were simple, their meaning in the subtext rather than in concrete promises or explanations - although he’d given her those, too, more than once. And although she had needed to hear him say, outright, that he would never leave again... the small ways in which he reaffirmed it were just as important.
He never failed to tell her goodbye before leaving, usually adding that he’d be home for dinner, that he would see her later. He never returned without announcing he was home. If he was going to be late, he called to tell her; if he was going to be early, he called to ask if there was anything she needed. His voice wishing her good morning and good night bracketed her days.
He told her with actions.
Overnight trips became the exception rather than the norm. Once a week he took a day off to spend with her and the kids, and if necessary would turn away business to keep that one day free.
More often than not he answered his phone, and could be counted upon to return her calls if asked. Sometimes, even if unasked.
When the kids needed new clothes, he volunteered to take Denzel shopping; when they went for a health check and their required inoculations, he let Marlene sit in his lap. After, Tifa wasn’t sure whether the girl or the man had been more afraid of the needle.
Quietly but consciously, continually and repeatedly, he made a point of living with them, rather than merely sharing a house.
Perhaps most surprisingly, most significantly of all, he decorated his room. With help from both Denzel and Marlene, he painted the sunlit wall blue and the other three a more neutral gray. Shelves went up to hold various odds and ends, and his workspace was expanded with a larger desk. Fenrir’s spare parts were moved to the garage - including the tire he’d had in there for ages - and a rug found to cover the floor. For the first time it became a space to live in, to spend time in, rather than an overlarge storage room. The only thing he didn’t change or replace was the cot in the corner, and Tifa thought there was a message there, too. One that stated that while the space was his, it was not his bedroom. Not for much longer.
It gave her pleasant little tingles to think about.
He told her through touch.
Innocently: twining their fingers together when walking side-by-side, or letting his palm ride the small of her back; brushing her arm to get her attention, or briefly squeezing her hand in silent commiseration over a shared but unspoken frustration.
Tellingly: the lingering press of his body and hands when he helped the kids tickle her into submission; the way he tugged her close under the curve of his arm when the opportunity presented itself; his tendency to thread his fingers through her hair while they talked.
Passionately: with kisses that left her breathless and pining, nimble fingers that stroked and caressed her to madness, a body that filled, sheltered and satisfied hers in every way. He made love to her for hours, until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Until she was exhausted and boneless, clingy and pliant, and he bundled her close in his embrace to sleep it off.
He told her with his eyes, emotions both soft and possessive ebbing and flowing and shifting within their depths. He told her with the silent, unassuming way he provided things she and the kids needed, often before the need was even fully realized.
He told her with flowers on her birthday - chocolate daisies from the mountains, her longtime favorite. There was a vase of them in the kitchen and a fistful on her pillow, the sweet scent a much more pleasant way to greet the morning than the blaring of her alarm.
Each word and every gesture, each hungry touch and heated glance helped soothe the pain and worry away... until finally he banished it altogether with a thin mithril band crowned with a single diamond. Drowsy and content, sated and sleepy from his attentions, she made no protest when he slipped it over her finger. There were no words, because by that time it was understood, even expected.
And it wasn’t the fact that he’d given her a ring or the promise it signified that erased her last lingering doubts. She didn’t need a ring to know that he loved her. She didn’t need it to know he was committed. What she had always needed was to believe he understood that they were stronger together. That there would be no more misguided sacrifices, no more attempts to protect his family by leaving them - by leaving her - behind. This ring gave her that, when another would not have. This ring had belonged to his mother, and was the only thing he had left of her. To Cloud, it signified home and family and acceptance - all things he’d found in Tifa. With Tifa. The loss of the woman who’d worn it had pushed him to stand against Sephiroth; Tifa wearing it reaffirmed his will and ability to withstand anything and everyone else.
So she knew -- unequivocally -- that he really had stopped running.
Author: sekiharatae
Rating: PG
Warnings: Innuendo, allusions to sex
Word Count: 900
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Cloud/Tifa: Reassurance - He was never going to leave again, he wanted to make sure that she knew it.
Summary: All the ways he tells her, and the one that makes her believe.
Notes: Sorry this is a day late. All the good ideas have already been taken, but hopefully this isn't too repetitive.
He told her with words.
Everyday, over and over, letting repetition make them a vow.
The phrases he used were simple, their meaning in the subtext rather than in concrete promises or explanations - although he’d given her those, too, more than once. And although she had needed to hear him say, outright, that he would never leave again... the small ways in which he reaffirmed it were just as important.
He never failed to tell her goodbye before leaving, usually adding that he’d be home for dinner, that he would see her later. He never returned without announcing he was home. If he was going to be late, he called to tell her; if he was going to be early, he called to ask if there was anything she needed. His voice wishing her good morning and good night bracketed her days.
He told her with actions.
Overnight trips became the exception rather than the norm. Once a week he took a day off to spend with her and the kids, and if necessary would turn away business to keep that one day free.
More often than not he answered his phone, and could be counted upon to return her calls if asked. Sometimes, even if unasked.
When the kids needed new clothes, he volunteered to take Denzel shopping; when they went for a health check and their required inoculations, he let Marlene sit in his lap. After, Tifa wasn’t sure whether the girl or the man had been more afraid of the needle.
Quietly but consciously, continually and repeatedly, he made a point of living with them, rather than merely sharing a house.
Perhaps most surprisingly, most significantly of all, he decorated his room. With help from both Denzel and Marlene, he painted the sunlit wall blue and the other three a more neutral gray. Shelves went up to hold various odds and ends, and his workspace was expanded with a larger desk. Fenrir’s spare parts were moved to the garage - including the tire he’d had in there for ages - and a rug found to cover the floor. For the first time it became a space to live in, to spend time in, rather than an overlarge storage room. The only thing he didn’t change or replace was the cot in the corner, and Tifa thought there was a message there, too. One that stated that while the space was his, it was not his bedroom. Not for much longer.
It gave her pleasant little tingles to think about.
He told her through touch.
Innocently: twining their fingers together when walking side-by-side, or letting his palm ride the small of her back; brushing her arm to get her attention, or briefly squeezing her hand in silent commiseration over a shared but unspoken frustration.
Tellingly: the lingering press of his body and hands when he helped the kids tickle her into submission; the way he tugged her close under the curve of his arm when the opportunity presented itself; his tendency to thread his fingers through her hair while they talked.
Passionately: with kisses that left her breathless and pining, nimble fingers that stroked and caressed her to madness, a body that filled, sheltered and satisfied hers in every way. He made love to her for hours, until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Until she was exhausted and boneless, clingy and pliant, and he bundled her close in his embrace to sleep it off.
He told her with his eyes, emotions both soft and possessive ebbing and flowing and shifting within their depths. He told her with the silent, unassuming way he provided things she and the kids needed, often before the need was even fully realized.
He told her with flowers on her birthday - chocolate daisies from the mountains, her longtime favorite. There was a vase of them in the kitchen and a fistful on her pillow, the sweet scent a much more pleasant way to greet the morning than the blaring of her alarm.
Each word and every gesture, each hungry touch and heated glance helped soothe the pain and worry away... until finally he banished it altogether with a thin mithril band crowned with a single diamond. Drowsy and content, sated and sleepy from his attentions, she made no protest when he slipped it over her finger. There were no words, because by that time it was understood, even expected.
And it wasn’t the fact that he’d given her a ring or the promise it signified that erased her last lingering doubts. She didn’t need a ring to know that he loved her. She didn’t need it to know he was committed. What she had always needed was to believe he understood that they were stronger together. That there would be no more misguided sacrifices, no more attempts to protect his family by leaving them - by leaving her - behind. This ring gave her that, when another would not have. This ring had belonged to his mother, and was the only thing he had left of her. To Cloud, it signified home and family and acceptance - all things he’d found in Tifa. With Tifa. The loss of the woman who’d worn it had pushed him to stand against Sephiroth; Tifa wearing it reaffirmed his will and ability to withstand anything and everyone else.
So she knew -- unequivocally -- that he really had stopped running.