#dark!cloud strife

[miasmal-sweetness]

Bump in the Night - yandere!Cloud x reader

NSFW - MDNI - 18+ ONLY

Just a little one-shot for yandere!Cloud while I dip my toes in to posting my writing on tumblr. I fell in love with this man as a child the moment I heard he wore a dress because who the fuck doesn't love a good dress, am i right.

Summary: 2.4k. Cloud is a good neighbor, and offers to keep watch for you when you’re scared one night. He won’t let this interrupt his nightly routine, though.

Pairing: yandere!Cloud x gn!reader

Warnings: Smut, yandere behavior, somnophilia, masturbation, general creepiness, darkfic/dead dove, dubcon/noncon (reader is asleep), reader is gender neutral

Bump in the Night

You were nice. Or nice enough. Well, you were nice enough to him, specifically—Cloud couldn’t really care whether or not you were nice to others. Anyone else would probably think you were just being a good next-door neighbor, with the way you smiled and greeted him each morning when he stepped out of his apartment.

You’d be watering your little plants on the balcony that surrounded your door, your hair a mess and wearing only a robe and house slippers. It wasn’t a long robe, either. It’s a robe he thinks about often at night. It shows just the perfect amount of skin. The right balance of revealing your soft thighs while covering enough to leave him desperately wanting.

Maybe you’re wearing it now. Maybe if he looks out on to the balcony, you’ll be there in your robe, and a breeze will pass in just the right way with just the right strength to reveal more of your skin. Cloud knows there’s a fat chance of that happening, but there’s no harm in dreaming—well, other than how fucking hard he is now.

Cloud thinks of himself as a man of amazing self-control, but every man has his limits. You are his. Cloud starts his nightly routine; set his sword down, make sure the door is locked, begin to strip out of his armor, and open his closet door. The walls of Stargazer Heights are paper thin, and that means he can sometimes hear you padding around your apartment or lying down in bed. It’s a treat when he hears you speak.

Tonight, you must already be asleep. Your apartment is silent, other than a very faint sound of the fan you keep running. But he’ll still lean against the wall, just in case you make a sound, and imagine you in your bed as he strokes his cock. Maybe you’re wearing your robe. Maybe you’re not, and you just throw that on every morning because you sleep naked.

CRACK.

Cloud bristles. The wall was intact; he hadn’t somehow busted through it by jerking off. And that didn’t sound like a noise you would make… It sounded like it came from outside. Cloud tries to brush it off, gripping his dick again and returning to his thoughts of peeling back your blanket and—

CRACK. POP POP.

Did someone really have to fire their gun right now? Cloud grits his teeth and hisses, opening his eyes again. There’s another noise now, coming through the wall this time. You’re whimpering. Your bed is creaking, and you whisper harshly, like you’re scolding it for giving you away.

Cloud feels his heart flop in his chest. He didn’t know you could make those kinds of sounds. And as hot as it is, you also must be scared. What’s he supposed to do, though? Walk over there and tell you he heard you crying through the wall because he listens to you every night to get off?

Either way, his session is interrupted—by his own choice. He absolutely could keep going just to the sound of you whimpering, but his concern outweighs his arousal. He’ll just knock on your door and check on you. He’ll just say he heard gunshots outside and wanted to make sure you were doing okay. That’s a normal, neighborly thing to do. It’s less normal that he’s knocking on your door with a raging erection, but it’s dark and his pants mostly hide it.

“It’s Cloud,” he adds with his final knock. After all, it’s the middle of the night and you’re no fighter.

At this, you unlock the door and crack it open, peeking out at him with teary eyes. “H-hi,” you whisper, glancing behind him. No signs of any danger. “What’s up, Cloud?” You’re trying to even out your voice, but you’re failing. You’re too tired and too startled to put on a good act, but Cloud thinks it’s cute anyway.

“I heard gunshots,” he says, staring in to your eyes. Cloud wasn’t one for such intense eye contact most of the time, but you didn’t complain and it made you squirm and blush, so he kept doing it. “Just thought I’d see if you were doing okay.”

You press your lips together and slowly nod. You’re lying, of course. The sounds of gunfire scared the living shit out of you. You know it’s not likely to spread to the apartments, but what if it does? Your anxiety will be the death of you someday. “I’m, um, I’m okay,” you quietly, slowly say. “I’ve… been better.”

Cloud breaks his stare as you speak to glance down at your legs. You had opened the door wider, and it’s like a dream come true to him. You’re wearing the robe. Cloud coughs and looks back at your face. “I’ll hear if anyone tries to come in,” he says in an attempt to offer some sort of comfort. “So… don’t worry.”

You appreciate it, but it doesn’t feel like enough to soothe all your worries. “Um, thanks.” You drop your gaze to your feet and fidget with the hem of your robe. You have no desire to be exposed to the outside world after hearing gunshots, but you also have no desire for this conversation to end. It brings some small amount of comfort to stand in the light by your door with Cloud.

Cloud’s eyes follow your hands down to the hem of your robe. Are you doing it on purpose? Do you know? Are you teasing him? No, there’s no way. He’s seen you fidget plenty of times. Right? He feels sure of it, and then you lift your robe a little higher to run your fingertips over a loosening stitch, and he feels a lot less sure of everything other than how much he wants to fuck you in your doorway.

“I can keep watch while you sleep,” Cloud offers. He’s staring at your thighs like they have the secrets of the universe written on them, but you don’t seem to notice as you mull over the offer. “Want me to come in?”

It takes a moment, but you finally give him a meek nod and open your door for him. Cloud steps inside. It smells like you in here. It’s dark, but he can see some of your clothes lying around, and a few plushies on your desk and your bed. You’ve made an actual home out of this place—Cloud’s apartment still looks like a motel room that someone could get tetanus in.

“Thank you,” you tell him, locking your door again. “Uh… Do you want something to drink? I have coffee and tea. J-just the instant stuff, though.”

“I’m fine.” The last thing Cloud needs is to be any more wound up right now. He can’t take his eyes off your bed.

You start to fidget again. “You don’t have to stay up to keep watch. I just need someone here until I fall asleep.” That still sounds weird, doesn’t it? You’re an adult; why are you still acting like a child who needs your daddy to tuck you in? Even though you scold yourself, you’re unwilling to tell Cloud that you’ve changed your mind and he’s free to go. “Or you can stay the night here… I’ll take the floor so you have the bed.”

Nope. No way. He is not passing up this opportunity. Besides, you had crammed your queen-sized bed in to his apartment—the thing was begging to be used to its fullest potential. “We can share the bed,” he stated, folding his arms over his chest. He resists the urge to tap his foot. It would be easy to just toss you on the bed… “Neither of us are sleeping on the floor.”

He says it with such authority that you—weak-willed, push-over little you—accept it without question. Maybe that’s why he likes you. You listen to him and you don’t make him do stupid tasks, even if he’d gladly do them for you. Tifa makes him be nice to people. Aerith tries to push him to be a good person, too. And his years in Shinra were filled with constant orders and scrutiny.

But you just take him as he is and do what he says. Finally, he gets to be the one giving out orders. He once bumped in to you and pretended to spill his drink, then told you to pick it up—all so he could watch you bend over. Sure, Tifa gave him a nasty look, but he rode that power high for three days.

You pull your covers down and climb in to bed. It’s too dark to make out anything clearly, but just the fact that your underwear—if you’re even wearing any—is revealed while you crawl on the mattress is enough to make him shudder. Cloud tries to calm himself while he takes off his shoes. He’s just here to comfort you, and that’s all. Unless you want more. Do you want more? Fuck, he wishes you’d just say it.

You look up at him as he climbs in next to you. You’re trying to be polite by lying on the absolute edge of your side, but he wishes you’d be rude.

“Good night,” you say, pulling your blanket over yourself. “Wake me if you need anything.”

“Good night.”

Cloud pulls the blanket up to his chest and leans back against your pillows. Okay, it seems like you really do just want him to keep watch. And that’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. He is a fighter. He is in control. He doesn’t go back on deals. He has amazing self-control, even though his hand in lingering over the bulge in his pants.

You’re already asleep, and Cloud decides to believe that you fell asleep so quickly simply because he’s that comforting to you. He looks at your sleeping, peaceful face. Your lips are slightly parted and a lock of hair has fallen over your face. If he waits a few more minutes, you’ll fall in to a deeper state of sleep. So he does, listening to your soft breaths as he waits.

He tests the waters by sliding the blankets down ever so slightly. If you wake up, he’ll just say he was too warm. You don’t respond, so he slides them down further. You’re sleeping on your side, and your robe has fortunately followed gravity and parted.

Cloud swallows a little too loudly, but you don’t hear it. Palming himself over his pants isn’t enough anymore; he’s pulled out his cock. There’s a little part of him telling him that this is wrong of him to do, but he’s pretty good at ignoring that voice by now. You’re sleeping, anyway. What you don’t know won’t hurt you.

He gingerly pulls your robe further open. Unfortunately, you are wearing underwear. Fortunately, they cover very little. Cloud lets his fingers ghost over the skin of your thigh; he shudders as though he was the one touched. He tries to keep as still and quiet as possible as he strokes his cock, sometimes stopping just so he can savor this for a little longer.

His fingers crawl in between your inner thighs, wedging between them. You’re warm—the thought of fucking your inner thighs nearly sends him over the edge. He tries to creep his hand further up, but you stir. He pulls his hand away just in time. You adjust yourself in your sleep and roll on to your stomach. It takes away the sight of your belly and chest, but now your thighs are parted and he can lift up your robe to reveal your ass.

Cloud lets you sink back in to a deeper state of sleep before he does this. He’s trying to be a gentleman, after all. You need your sleep. He peels your robe up and admires the sight. He gently rubs your inner thighs, your ass, touches your scanty underwear—and finally runs his fingers down the gusset of your underwear.

He thinks about the sound of your whimpers again, and imagines you making those sounds as he touches you through the fabric. He’s practically fucking his hand at this point; the bed even creaks here and there. He should be more careful. He should calm down and be quiet, or you might wake up. But the risk of that only spurs him on.

You’re good, quiet, obedient. You let him be in control. And even if you decide to go against this if you wake up, he’ll just remind you that he’s doing you a favor. He’s losing sleep for you—you don’t need to know that he’d have lost this sleep anyway jerking off two or three times to the thought of you. He’s here because you wanted him. You owe him. And you live in Stargazer Heights; you don’t have a way to pay him with money. Lucky for you, he’ll accept this instead—you should be grateful. You should be thanking him. If you don’t, he’ll leave the sector—and who will take care of its endless woes then?

All it takes is the thought of you thanking him for him to finally cum. He’s panting, looking like a wild animal as he watches his own cum spurt on to your ass. He grits his teeth as he strokes out every last drop. The damage is already done; it’s not like a little more will hurt, and it looks so good on you.

Cloud creeps off of the bed and wipes his hand off with some tissues you keep by your desk. He’s sick. He’s disgusting. His parents would be so ashamed of him. He scowls at his own thoughts—his parents are dead and it’s not like anyone saw, so it’s fine. He’ll be a bad person if it means he gets to feel your thighs again. Any shred of resistance left in him was gone the moment he touched them.

“You really are a deep sleeper, huh,” Cloud muses, grabbing another tissue. Even if he thinks you should wear his cum all the time, he can’t leave you like this and risk you finding out. Not until he’s certain you want this… or until you can’t do anything about it. He wipes away what he can; your underwear will dry by morning, he’s sure. He’s had enough wet dreams about you that he’s certain of it.

Cloud settles down at your desk. He promised he’d keep watch, keep you safe. And he will, now that he’s had his fun. But maybe he’ll take his payment again in, say, thirty minutes. Although, you just gasped in your sleep, so maybe it’ll be ten minutes.

[rocketbirdie]

it's all subjective

[kifaprokumiv]

Combining my obscure 2005 toxic yuri into one

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Former SOLDIER, actually

The Cloud Strife version of this drawing I did like. a day ago?

[siringadev]

I was thinking about why I love Nero so much, and I realized that there is not only something so magnetic and unique about him and his design, but how the core of his whole personality is built on a deep love for Weiss, despite the fact that he is an antihero and does not very good things (first under orders from Shinra, since he is a Deepground soldier, and then out of duress, to summon Omega = to revive Weiss), but all this is out of desperation and love. I do not know any other character inside the FF7 world and beyond, who is so motivated to act out of love as Nero. Even take other iconic pairs of loving brothers (because it is brother's love that is depicted as the strongest in JP games and anime), their motivations were different, and love was secondary.

Take Itachi and Sasuke, for example.

Itachi is stated to have a very strong love for Sasuke, but what he does ultimately causes Sasuke great pain. Yes, Itachi wanted to save him, but at what cost? And his main motive was: to prevent a world war. So, at the cost of his clan's life and Sasuke's mental health, he does something terrible, and I still can't accept it as an act of love. It seems such an unhealthy, twisted form of love, illogical and scary.

And yet, I cried watching those scenes where Itachi reveals the truth, where Sasuke cries, everything is built to squeeze out tears.

Next, Madara and Izuna.

It is stated that he loved Izuna, and loved him even more than Itachi loves Sasuke. And how is this shown and proven? Well, it seems like almost nothing. Madara's main motivation is to become the strongest shinobi, to take control of the world and establish his own order, and thereby establish peace through strict control and then through magical illusions when he became disillusioned with contradictory and rebellious human nature. I understand his motivations, and he is one of the most admired character in Naruto. But what does love have to do with it? Izuna is not even present in his motivation. He simply died and caused Madara's grief, making him cruel and aggressive. And also gave him his eyes. But what besides this?

As for the others, like Lothric-Lorian from Dark souls, their connection was forced by the curse, and their motivation is simply to disobey their superiors. Their essence is nihilism and fatalism. Love is just an accompanying quality.

Not to mention Miquella, who did not show love as a personal emotion, although it seems he should embody universal love. We just can't see his love for Radahn or Godwyn or anyone to the point that we start to wonder if there was love at all? Or if there was love but it wasn't shown? So he is out of the love list.

If we talk about the love of Sephiroth, Cloud and other characters of FF7, they are so far from ultimate love that it does not even occur to me what can be said. Probably, Sephiroth wanted to love, but could not find anyone, suffering from loneliness and his own inability to build healthy relationships, and Cloud had many friends whom he valued, but never found "the one and only", whom he would love completely and unconditionally (which is why ship-wars still rage). It seems that Sephiroth could have become that one and only, considering how much Cloud idolized him, but Sephiroth ruined everything. Yes, Shinra is to blame for this, but partly it is Sephiroth's character, his selfishness and inability to put someone else's feelings above his own. Considering that Nero and Weiss grew up in much worse conditions than Sephiroth, and suffered abuse and pain from Shinra that Sephiroth did not experienced, yet somehow they were able to form the strongest bonds of love with each other and the healthiest relationships with each other (not toxic, not abusive, but built on loyalty, devotion, trust, unity and intimacy).

Sephiroth was so unlucky in love that even his own clones wanted to leave him in the DFFOO, and Weiss even laughed at this, telling Sephiroth that his puppet (Kadaj) cut his strings. And Kadaj, embodying young Sephiroth personality, longed for a family and to find someone who understood and cared for him, and he saw this in the illusionary form of Jenova. Sephiroth could have given him this care and love, but he simply used him as a tool, which hurt Kadaj. As for Weiss, he remembers Nero as the only one who understands him and cares for him, someone without whom he feels incomplete.

"Without Nero, there is no me" - this shows Weiss and Nero's relationship from Weiss' perspective. In DoC, we see their love from Nero's perspective and might have doubted about the reciprocity, but DFFOO shows that Weiss loves Nero as much as Nero loves Weiss.

Each case is unique, and each deserves its own respect and admiration. I simply analyzed one aspect, like love in a character, and came to the conclusion that Nero may be the strongest embodiment of this love at the moment.

[chsanlvr]

the stars collide ༉‧ ₊˚ ✧

when you and i intertwine . . .

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Zack would be so stupidly possessive over Cloud when the blond woke up. He’d spent four years mildly aware of the shit Hojo was doing to the two of them and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

Then he’d spent another year hauling Cloud across continents, looking after the blond and protecting him from everyone and everything. Had done absolutely everything he could to get the two of them to safety together.

So like fuck was he going to let some random he either didn’t know or barely knew come between the two of them and try and take Cloud away from him now.

[salternateunreality2]

Rufus and the Turks need to leave and Nation can't go.

Who is the good boy left with and is he ok when Rufus returns?

Boring answer: Rufus has a dog-sitter who's been programmed into Dark Nation's psyche as "acceptable unless they make a move against Rufus". Dark Nation behaves stoically, dutifully eating all his meals and not acting up, but not really being lively either.

Crack answer #1: Daddy Shinra. Dark Nation's conditioning from the labs tells him not to chew this man's face off, but his loyalty and training from Rufus say "DO IT", and Rufus isn't here to clarify. So Shinra's face gets chewed off.

Crack answer #2: since the Turks are busy, ZACK! Zack is so fun! Dark Nation loves Zack! SO MUCH!!! They are bestest of buddies and Zack does a good job of taking pictures and videos of him and DN having the BEST TIME EVER.

They eat a TON of snacks in addition to DN's normal food, they go on long runs in the wastes, and they terrorize everyone in SOLDIER, especially Sephiroth. The two of them like to crowd and lean on Sephiroth and DN likes to lick him. Sephiroth pretends to be annoyed, but he finds kinship in the beast and warmth in both DN and Zack.

They play "fetch Kunsel's helmet from his head, then keep it away from him". They play "who can catch the most fries out of the air". They play "smother the chocobo and the cat with affection". They play "go really fast in every direction". They play "bite the scientist aka OOPS I THOUGHT HOJO WAS A GROSS DEAD THING MY BAD (teehee)". They play "beg Angeal for snax". They play "slam into Lazard and feel bad so we have to lick him better". They play "pretend to bite Genesis and then play dodge-fire-balls".

It is a GREAT time.

Then Rufus comes back, and as soon as DN hears his human approach, DN starts whining and limping and squirming and crying.

"DAD," he seems to say. "DAD, they didn't FEED ME! They TORTURED me! They didn't let me SEE YOU!!! I MISSED YOU SO MUCH AND LOOK HOW SKINNY AND SAD AND SCARED AND INJURED I AM PLEASE STILL LOVE ME!"

Rufus falls for it and cuddles his pup for days after, even though he knows full well from all the videos and pictures that DN had the time of his life.

[sephirthoughts]

translated from chocobo: well one of us is going to have to change

[userstuf]

★ FINAL FANTASY USERS ★

• strifevr

• aerithbf

• cloudfvs

• zidwnes

• finalftsy

fav/reblog if u save or use ♥︎ dont repost it

[miasmal-sweetness]

Here, Kitty, Kitty

NSFW - MDNI - 18+ ONLY

Graduation is near and I am ignoring health issues by writing hot trash. I put on fake nails for the first time in a literal decade so I have had to relearn how to type during this and I am going to blame that for why this is honestly Not Good and pretty sloppy.

This is absolutely my attempt to reclaim the pet name “kitty” for myself after my weird abusive ex ruined it for me years ago since that’s what he called me.

Here, Kitty, Kitty

Summary: yandere!Cloud x reader. 3.1k. Cloud finally has the perfect nickname for you, but you’ve gone missing. Don’t worry; your hero will save you, just like always.

Warnings: he calls you kitty, duh; reader is gender-neutral but has a vagina; smut; Cloud 100% kidnapped reader; bondage; noncon; suffocation/drowning

“I’m home, kitty.” That’s it. Short and sweet and it rolls off the tongue. That’s what you are—short, sweet, and you also feel great on his tongue. Cloud is certain you’ll love the pet name; his heart has skipped many beats every time he’s thought about it.

Cloud sets his sword down by the door, waiting to hear the usual signs of your presence. You two have been living together for a while now, and you’ve settled into a routine. By now, dinner will be ready, and you’ll be waiting for his return in the kitchen as you flip through a cookbook for the umpteenth time. But this time, he doesn’t hear your breath, your footsteps, the soft turn of pages, or you stirring a pot. It’s silent.

Cloud steps further in to his house. Were you asleep? You had tossed and turned a lot the night before; he wouldn’t blame you for needing a nap. He peers in to the kitchen and finds no sign of you, not a single dish out of place, like you hadn’t even eaten breakfast. The living room is similarly empty, even though the couch is where you usually take your naps. Maybe the rain outside disturbed you; there was a large window that overlooked the couch, so it could be a little loud and chilly there.

You’re not in the hall. You’re not in the extra room he’s let you slowly turn into your own space. His heart is starting to pick up the pace; if you aren’t in the bedroom, then—no. He can’t think that way. Cloud cracks the door open, just in case you really are sleeping, but throws it open when he finds that the bed is empty. Cloud takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair. There is one other place you could be, but not only did he keep it locked, you also hated it. The basement—a place you’d only go in to if he dragged you kicking and screaming.

It was storming, though. Maybe you found a way to get in and took shelter out of fear. Cloud left the bedroom after another glance, heading straight for the basement door at the end of the hall. Sure enough, the door was unlocked. He keeps the key on him at all times; there’s no way you swiped it off of him, since it’s still in his pocket. Maybe you found a way to pick it.

Either way, Cloud pushes the door open and makes his way down the stairs. “I’m coming down, kitty,” he calls, flipping on the lights. “Don’t be scared, okay?”

He knows before he even sees the basement that you’re not there. He can feel it, but he holds on to that bit of hope anyway. Hope matters little in this world, though. You aren’t there. The basement is empty. His gaze lands on the red silk that lies by the wall. Strong, tightly-woven silk that he brought home after you kept getting horrible rope burns and bruises when he tried cuffs. You were too weak to get out of it, but it didn’t hurt you, either. He wishes he had used it that morning.

One of the windows has been broken open, and your struggle is remembered by the shards of glass covered in your blood. The bars that covered every window were damaged on only this one, pried apart with a hammer from the toolkit he forgot to take back from you. You said you needed it to work on your sewing machine; it needed maintenance, but he didn’t have the time to supervise you or do it himself. What a dumb decision. He should have just stayed an extra thirty minutes.

Now you’re gone, probably lost somewhere out in the rain and possibly trying to fend off monsters. You aren’t a fighter. You were easy for him to drag here; so easy he wouldn’t have had trouble even without years of training and mako forced in to him. You’re probably scared, cold, and lost, wondering why he hasn’t saved you yet.

Of course, deep down, he knows that’s not true. You ran away. Pried off the prison bars keeping you caged, escaped the room he kept you in for a month and a half before he thought he wore down your will—the room he still brings you down to sometimes when you misbehave or something triggers his paranoia. Cloud knows all of this, but he’s good at ignoring it. You need him, whether you like it or not.

Grabbing the silk rope from the floor, Cloud trudges back up the stairs and grabs his sword. You can’t have gotten far. The house is way out in the countryside, where paths are limited; your bare feet are not going to move quickly or easily on the rocky terrain. He follows a fading trail of blood leading away from the broken window. He’s so focused on your trail that the feeling of cold rain pouring on him is barely noticeable; he only thinks about it when he realizes that you must be freezing.

He moves a little faster.

Eventually, the trail of blood stops, either because the wound clotted or the rain has washed it away. He hopes it doesn’t hurt to badly. He does. He does believe that—he’s tries to drown out the thoughts that insist that you deserve it for being such a brat, that this will teach you a lesson, that this is nothing compared to what he’ll do when he drags you back home. The thought of making you crawl over the broken glass you left behind in the basement is interrupted when he notices footprints left behind in the mud. They’re barely visible, but they’re there.

The footprints guide him to a few shrubs. Some strands of your hair are caught in the leaves and branches; he wonders if you were trying to crawl under them for shelter from the rain. Evidently, you gave up and tried taking refuge under a tree, but that must not have been good enough. Your trail leads right to a dying tree leaning against a small, rocky hill; a small source of relief from the rain. There are no prints leading out. You’ve barricaded yourself in with branches and leaves, mostly in an effort to stay hidden. He smiles at the childish attempt—he might be pissed that you left, but it’s adorable that you think that would be good enough.

“It’s just me,” he calls. “You can come out.”

No response. He doesn’t even hear you shift.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” he teases, circling your poor attempt at a hiding spot. “Come to me, kitty.”

You want to tell him to fuck himself. You want to stick your head out just to spit at him. Even though you know it’s over, though, you refuse to reveal yourself. He’ll have to drag you out by your ankles, something that you know he has no problem doing. If you can’t escape, you can at least make this difficult for him. You sink further in to your spot, batting your lashes to blink away tears and rain drops.

You’re dirty, bloody, sweaty, and drenched in rain. You have scratches going up and down your waist, legs, and arms. The soles of your feet are red and covered in scrapes. You just want to be able to cry in peace, but you’ll hold your breath until you pass out if it means he won’t get the satisfaction of hearing you.

“Come out, kitty. It’s okay; you’re not in trouble.”

Liar. You know the second you’re back at that house, he’ll be grabbing at you and crushing you and making you say you won’t leave over and over until you lose your voice and he’s satisfied. You knew the risk of leaving, and you decided at the time that it was worth it—but that was before the storm came and slowed you down. Your lips and fingers are already blue. You couldn’t keep going. You can’t keep doing this. All you have the strength to do right now is sit in silence like a pouting preschooler who doesn’t want to leave the park yet.

Cloud crouches down by your shelter. You wiggle away from him, casting your eyes to the ground. He reaches past the thorny branches you’ve barricaded yourself with, not even acknowledging the thorns that scratch his arms and leave blood in fresh red lines.

“Come on out, kitty,” he urges, holding out his hand to you. His voice is soft now, gentle; it reminds you of when you first met Cloud. He had been rough around the edges and awkward, sure, but you thought you saw a good heart behind it all. Sometimes you still did, when you saw his eyes go soft as he stroked your hair or kissed bruises that formed when you bumped in to the counter—when he’d bring you treats from outside, reminders of the life he took from you, with a look in his eyes that implied a quiet regret that he couldn’t voice. Somewhere in him, that sweet boy with those big blue puppy dog eyes is reaching out for you, asking you to stay with him after he’s already lost so much.

You give in. You’ve never been able to resist him—not when his eyes go soft and he looks like you just broke his heart. You take his hand and crawl out from your spot, seeking new refuge in his warmth. Even in the icy rain, he still runs hot. He wraps his arms around you as you miserably shiver and sniffle. This was a terrible idea. You never should have left. It was pointless, and only ended with the both of you upset.

Cloud’s hand moves down to your waist, and you hiss when his fingers brush over your scratches. He murmurs an apology as he examines your wounds. They’re shallow, just plentiful.

“You didn’t run in to any monsters, right? No other injuries?” he asks, running his thumb over dried blood that crusted on your hip.

“No,” you mumble, staring blankly at your bruised knees.

“Good.” He continues to contemplate your scratches, rubbing small circles in to your thigh. “Why did you leave, kitty?”

The new nickname finally hits you. Even in the cold, you feel a little warmer from it. You supposed it’s fitting—back in the sector, you made nightly rounds in the neighborhood to give snacks to the strays. Your heart sinks a little, and the bitterness of your situation claws its way back up your throat. Sure, he’s being sweet now, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s keeping you captive. “I wanted to go home,” you spit, lifting your head to stare venom in to those stupid big eyes of his.

“This—”

“No!” You pound your fists against his chest, even though you know it barely does anything to him. “That is not my home! You are not my boyfriend! I want to go home to my friends, to the sector, to the cats and my neighbors!” Each cry is punctuated by another thump of your fists against his chest, and he takes it all without even a wince.

“Kitty, don’t—”

You won’t let him get a word in edgewise. “Take me home!” you demand, unleashing your fury in the form of a flurry of weak blows to his chest.

Finally, he responds to your pathetic attempt at a tantrum. He grabs your wrists and holds them together with an infuriating amount of ease. His eyes aren’t soft and sparkly anymore. He doesn’t have that pout that you fall for so easily. His gaze is hardened, sharp, and focused entirely on you as he throws you on to your back. You grunt when your back collides with mud and your hair is soaked by a puddle.

“Listen, kitty,” he snaps, giving a harsh yank to your flimsy shorts. You try to scramble away, but he pins you in place with just his weight. “This is home now. You can either make it easy on yourself and accept it or you can keep throwing your tantrums, but it won’t change a thing. There is nothing for you back there.”

Your top is ripped off, torn in two and discarded in the mud. He doesn’t seem to care one bit about the dirt and mud you’re in, nor about the puddle that you keep trying to lift your head out of. “Th-that’s not true,” you sputter, forcing your legs shut with all the strength you can muster. “My friends—our friends—”

“Do you really think anyone even noticed that you’re gone?”

You fall silent at this, mouth agape. You had considered the possibility that no one noticed or cared, or that they quickly forgot about you and brushed you off when you never came back. But you always held out hope that they remembered and looked for you.

“You were just another body to them,” Cloud mutters against your neck. He’s running his hands up and down your body, between your trembling legs, as though nothing is wrong and he isn’t saying horrible things in your ear. “I took you away from that. Give you a home and everything you need. Keep you warm and safe… and you fucking run away?”

Your legs are forced apart, and you feel like a hot poker is being shoved in to you. You weren’t prepared in the slightest, but that doesn’t stop him from pounding in to you.

“Cloud, stop!” you cry, trying to wriggle away from him as he sucks on his favorite spot on your neck.

“Quit moving around so much,” he grumbles, finally stopping the brutal pace of his hips. The relief you get is brief and nowhere near enough; Cloud stops just long enough to turn you on your stomach, before resuming the same pace. With your face now shoved in to the muddy puddle below, he can enjoy himself without you saying things like “no” and “this hurts.” You can only guess that this isn’t one of the days he enjoys it.

Even though you’re half-drowning and you can vaguely hear him hissing obscenities and complaints, he still shoves his hand between your legs and plays with your clit. And it still feels good, no matter how much pain you’re in. When this nightmare first started, Cloud had been awkward and inexperienced. With plenty of practice, however, he found each spot you enjoyed, and which way was the best to pleasure you. The kind of knowledge and familiarity you’d only expect to grant a partner. He knew every inch of your body; it was mapped out in his mind better than anywhere in Midgar.

And you hate it, even as the warmth builds up in your gut. He grabs you by your hair and lifts your head to let you take in another desperate gasp of air, before shoving your head back in to the mud. This isn’t like him. Even on the days you’ve been a brat and he’s come home angry from whatever the hell he faced out there, he’s at least been apologetic while brutalizing you. Frantically telling you “sorry, I’m sorry” as he fucks your throat without concern for your gag reflex or chokes you from behind as he tries to bury himself as deep as possible inside of you.

There are no apologies. The closest relief you have is the brief gasps he allows you to take, and it’s still nowhere near enough. Your eyes burn and are covered in a haze. You can feel the pressure inside of you building; the lack of oxygen only seems to make it more intense. He lifts your head just to hear you moan and sigh. He knows every sign of your orgasm—the shake of your leg, the way your core tightens, the feeling of you contracting around him.

“That’s it,” he breathes as you writhe in pleasurable misery. “Say my name, kitty.”

You obey without question. Whatever will get this over with—and his fingers away from your clit. “Cloud,” you whisper.

“Say ‘thank you, Cloud.’”

If it weren’t for the lack of oxygen and orgasm turning your brain to mush, you would have put up a fight. But there’s no point to it now. “Th—thank you, Cloud,” you manage to croak, struggling to speak past the hand around your throat and his increasingly frantic pace. You hear him groan against your ear.

“More,” he demands. His voice is breathy and agitated; he can’t tell you exactly what he wants to hear, but you can hazard a guess.

“Thank you for—f-for saving me,” you eke out, squeezing your eyes shut. The high of the orgasm is fading, replaced by pain from overstimulation and the tears he created inside of you. Still, you’ll savor the oxygen he’s letting you have. “Thank you for… f-finding me—I was lost and needed you.”

Of course that’s what he wants to hear. Another groan, and he rolls his hips against yours as you feel his cum spill out of you. Cloud rocks his hips against you as he rides out the last of the high; he wants to savor every last moment inside of you. You don’t dare complain. He’s letting you breathe, and the pain isn’t as bad as before, at least.

You fall back in to the mud when he releases you, your arms barely able to move in the clumsy motions you manage in a late attempt to catch yourself. You struggle to push yourself up and roll away from the puddle, panting as water drips from your face. You hurt. You want to cry. And you feel Cloud lifting you up by your arms.

“Let’s go home, kitty,” he says in that gentle, low voice. All malice is gone. The sadism that had been in his eyes just moments ago is gone, the only evidence of it being the mud on your skin and cum dripping down your thighs. “You can have a bath to warm up when we’re back. You should feel better then.”

You don’t fight when he sweeps you off your feet. You don’t fight when he rinses you off and sets you in a tub of warm water. And you just watch as he fixes the broken window, reinforces the bars, and boards them up to keep you from getting any more ideas. You’re tied up in a pile of blankets on the floor, his attempt at softening the reality of your confinement. You’ll be down in that basement for at least a week, until he decides it’s safe to let you out again. You should have known he’d keep his promise—he’d always come to your rescue.

[rocketbirdie]

"don't worry he won't bite"

[kaos-mass]

Favorite Smash 4 Character Alts

[extraordinary-heroes]

Artist Showcase: Ricardo Lopez Ortiz

[masqueradeassane]

All Zack can think is that he's glad this "Mama Nova" his spikey blonde, oddly Mako-eyed Infantry friend spoke of often seemed to like him as he watched the Turks, The Board and the Generals scramble in a panic as the pieces of Hojo, who barely had time to put hands on his friend before Cloud went glassy-eyed, calling Hojo. "The Thief." Before the, admittedly disturbing to be around scientist suddenly splattered across the room, seemingly with nothing touching him.

He held the little cadet as he watched The Turks respond to Rufus motioning a stand down over The president.

As he noticed the sharp focus Sephiroth had on Cloud right now.

As he tried to help Genesis reassure his currently panicked mentor he was as safe as he could be, all things considered.

Meanwhile Cloud was smiling at, seemingly unable to see the absolute mess that was once Professor Hojo.

When asked, Cloud had simply replied. "Mama Nova doesn't want me to worry about seeing unnecessary things."