Work Text:
Cloud isn’t sure how to handle this.
Being here, in the Sector Seven slums. Doing jobs for the people as a merc. Blowing up reactors with Avalanche. Starting again after years of his life were wiped away, as if he was asleep and his world was full of dreams, blurred and passing him by as if he didn’t even live them.
Waking up in the gutter, rain in his hair and crawling down his every crevice. Tifa in front of him, her eyes wide, like volcanos that erupted in his chest. His breath had hitched in his throat, the acrid taste of mako hidden, just for a moment, by the sweetness of Tifa’s smile, the honey vanilla of her scent. The peace. The relief her presence filled him, as if he’d been waiting for her all this time.
He doesn’t know how to handle it. Being with Tifa again. They aren’t kids anymore, and he knows this well. She’d been so excited at the fact that they found each other again, that their paths had crossed again. Here, of all places.
They’re going out to celebrate. And he doesn’t know what to do.
“You cannot wear that,” Jessie had told him, her tone bitten in a scold. She pointed at him, and he looked down, at his Soldier uniform.
“What’s wrong with it?” he’d asked. He thinks he looks pretty handsome in his Soldier uniform.
“What isn’t wrong with it?!” Jessie walked to him, placed her hand on his bicep. “Come on, Soldier Boy! Don’t you know how you’re supposed to dress on a date?!”
Date. Date? Date?!
“It isn’t a date,” Cloud had said quickly, and his cool, calm demeanor had slipped right from under him, and he felt the panic, the irritation at Biggs’ and Wedge’s quiet, faraway snickering.
Jessie had grinned at him, her eyebrows wiggling.
“Right. Whatever you say!”
And then he’d been pushed out of Seventh Heaven’s doors by Wedge’s incessant, chubby fingers, Biggs following closely behind. And he was stuck in a clothing store for hours, because this color wasn’t right, or this material wasn’t right, or this didn’t look right. And Cloud was wondering if Tifa would be mad at him for stabbing Biggs and Wedge with his Buster sword.
She would be, he decided.
And now, he’s finally back at his apartment. Looking into his mirror, staring, as if his reflection isn’t his, as if someone else is in front of him, wearing his skin. He doesn’t know how to handle this. It seems too mundane. Too normal. Going out with Tifa for a night of celebration and fun. It isn’t a date, and he’s sure of that.
Jessie didn’t seem to believe him. It’s not like he cares. Why should he? He and Tifa are just friends.
She had told him to wear an outfit that matches with hers. He doesn’t exactly know what she’s wearing. Biggs and Wedge had insisted on a navy-blue button down, and they wouldn’t really take no for an answer.
It’s odd, Cloud thinks, being dressed like this, in slacks and nice boots. Wedge had told him to brush his hair, but he doesn’t think he’s going to do that. His hair is cool, okay.
There’s a knock on the door, and his being is flooded in panic.
“Cloud? Are you ready?”
“Yeah.”
The door opens to reveal Tifa’s silhouette, and Cloud feels something akin to his world crumbling to pieces all around him, his heart leaving its home in his chest and soaring right out. His palms go clammy, and his throat goes dry, and he can’t swallow around the heavy lump on his tongue. Sweat licks at his brow, and he just stares. Stares dumbly, frozenly, can do nothing but drink in the sight and drown in it.
Tifa. Molded in purple satin bordered in black lace. The skirt barely reaches her thighs. The neckline and straps dip low to reveal cleavage. A lot of cleavage. Tifa. Tifa.
“Is it okay?”
She holds her arms out, Midgar’s lights dancing behind her in an elegant waltz, bouncing off the carmine of her irises. Cloud stares. Dumbly, frozenly. Something pools low in his belly, hot and flickering down his veins like he’s been struck by lightning. Tifa. Tifa.
It’s more than okay. But he doesn’t tell her that, because he isn’t really capable of words right now.
“I like your shirt,” she tells him, and her smile, framed in pale pink gloss, paralyzes him, sends his nerves into a disarray. He doesn’t know how to handle it. “You look nice.”
“You look beautiful.”
And her cheeks bloom into a color not too far away from her eyes, and she gives a shy, breathless giggle, her gaze breaking his and falling to her twiddling fingers. Cloud likes that reaction, feels his breath hitch in his throat. Tifa. Tifa.
They’re just friends, going on a friendly outing. That’s all, really. Jessie is full of shit.
The train ride is crowded. They’re stuck in the coming-off-work rush, people scrambling to get home. There aren’t many seats. There’s one, and Tifa takes it, and Cloud stands over her, holding the railing. She gives him a small smile, smoothing down her skirt as she crosses her legs.
And he feels it. The stares, his skin crawling with them, as if he’s made of spiders. He looks around. Men in raggedy clothes. Men in suave suits. Men of all types and sizes staring at the skin Tifa’s dress leaves unhidden. And she doesn’t know it, watches the world outside the window as it passes her by. She doesn’t know it.
Cloud stands closer to her, his knees brushing against hers. Over his shoulder, he gives what he hopes is a seething glare to a man in a gray suit. The man looks away, frazzled.
Tifa doesn’t ask, doesn’t question, doesn’t think anything is out of the ordinary.
It isn’t much better off the train. On the plate, everything is more open, freer. The air tastes clean, soaking life into his lungs. The lights are brighter, rainbows bursting across his vision. And men stare. They still stare, at the fluttering of Tifa’s skirt, at her thighs and her ankles in her heels. Her hair sways behind her in a raven curtain of silk, and she doesn’t know. Her expression is gleeful, shining, like the stars they had back in Nibelheim.
“Jessie told me about this really great restaurant and bar nearby!”
And Cloud thinks. He should have expected this. Tifa’s beautiful. Painfully beautiful. She’d been pretty when they were kids, and every boy on the block flocked after her like restless chickens. Every boy doted on her, dreamt of making her his.
Not Cloud. Not really. Not that much. He’s not sure, actually.
But Tifa’s pretty. So pretty it hurts him, the fluttering of her lashes, the pink pout of her lips. The curves of her body, molded in satin, put on display for his eyes to take in, and he is. He takes it in, walks a couple of paces behind her, likes the sway of her hips, likes the round fullness of her breasts, thinks they’d feel nice and heavy against his palms. And his heartbeat quickens in his chest, heat burning a trail towards the tips of his ears. He’s never thought about her like this before. Before, they were kids, and now they’re not. He didn’t have time to dwell on things like this in Soldier.
Now, he does. He dwells. And something tightens in his core, sends his chest into a chaos of flames. Tifa. Beautiful Tifa, her purple dress, the tender lift of her smile. It’s hard to handle, hard to process for him.
But, of course, she’s just a friend. Of course.
The men stare. They linger, and they stare. Cloud skips a bit, falls into stride with her right by her side. He gets closer, his shoulder brushing hers, his hand leaving its home in his pocket to wrap around hers.
The men stop staring. They turn away. They walk away.
Tifa’s eyes are wide, her lips parted, pink bled into the highs of her cheeks. She looks at him, and then at their wound fingers, and then back at him. She doesn’t say anything, her gaze dropping to the sidewalk in front of her.
Her grip on his hand tightens. And something swells in his chest. Pride, maybe. He likes it. Likes that feeling, likes holding her hand.
If he could, he’d kill every guy who’d been staring at her lecherously. Of course, she’d never allow it. He wishes she would.
.
.
.
The drinks were good. Not as good as Tifa’s, but they served their purpose well. A few shots in, and the world started fleeing him in a blur of colors and swirling faces. He isn’t shit-faced drunk, isn’t stumbling into walls and slurring, but he sure as fuck isn’t sober, either.
Tifa’s also not sober. Maybe she’s a tad further than him, hiccupping at every moment. Giggling at every little thing he says. Locking him with her in his bedroom and unzipping his pants.
Yeah, they’re really not fucking sober.
She’d led him to the bed, and somehow, somewhere along the way, she ended up with his cock in her mouth. And he’s not complaining. No, absolutely not.
“Tifa,” he gasps, pleasure pooling low in his stomach, coiling through every one of his nerves. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time, not since he was an awkward teen hitting puberty. And Tifa’s pretty. So, so pretty, unbearably so with his cock in her mouth. All those men who’d stared at her, they wish they were him. They wish.
Tifa has his cock in her mouth. He thinks he may be the luckiest bastard in the world. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol talking. He’s not sure.
Her mouth is hot and wet around him, her tongue soft against the underside. Her eyes are wide, and when she takes him in deeper, nestles him against her throat, she begins to gag, her irises misting over in tears as she swallows around him.
She pulls back, frowning.
“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I—I’ve never done this before.”
Cute cute cute cute cute. His hold on her hair is light, drifting down to cup the back of her neck. She takes him in again, comfortably holding him in her mouth. Her hand comes to cover what her mouth can’t hold, and she starts to move. Up and down, her hand following her bobbing head, and he can’t take it, goes manic with it. Tifa, Tifa, Tifa, her mouth around him, wet with spit, the flexing of her throat, her tongue tracing a protruding vein, her hand dainty around him. He watches her, his toes curling, his heart racing, like it’ll shut down.
“Tifa, Tifa, fuck, I—”
His peak rushes over him without warning, capturing all of his senses. He bucks into Tifa’s mouth, his world dissolving into white stars around him as he chants her name and comes down her throat. His thoughts don’t come back to him until many moments after, and he’s panting, sweating, trying to gather himself, trying to stop the trembling of all his limbs.
His cock falls from her mouth, and his cum dribbles past her lips. She darts her tongue out and licks all of it up.
Cute cute cute cute cute.
“Did you...like it?” she asks, batting her lashes as she sits back up. The flush in her cheeks, the way she avoids his gaze, the crumpled fabric of her dress, bunched around her waist, he loves it all, leans forward to take her into his arms. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but this kiss is messy. Feral, maybe. He’s never kissed anyone before. And he’s kissing Tifa, and her lips are soft, sticky with her gloss, and she tastes like vanilla cupcakes maybe. Salty from his spend, and he loves it, drowns in her and all that she is, curls his tongue against hers and swallows all of her moans. Tifa. He’s kissing Tifa.
Did he expect their celebration to end like this? No. But is he complaining? Also no.
“Yeah,” he says, pulling back, trying to catch his breath. Saying he liked it would be an understatement. “I—I did.”
The smile she gives him makes his heart stutter to a full stop in his chest, and perhaps she isn’t so drunk after all.
She pulls him in for another kiss, this one more tongue and teeth than lip. She swipes her tongue across his bottom lip, brings it in to suck on it, and something visceral begins to stir in the core of his being. Something carnal, something that needs to be sated right now.
He wants her. All of her, every inch.
“Tifa...”
But the words don’t come out. Tifa has always made him splutter, made him forget how to speak. It’s always been like this, ever since they were kids. But they aren’t kids, not anymore.
“Y—yes?”
He doesn’t say it. Instead, his hands reach for her, and she moves her arms to the side, giving him all the space he needs. She isn’t wearing a bra; there’s no room for one in this dress. Her nipples are puckered, poking through the satin, and he takes her breasts into his hands, squeezes them, rolls her nipples between his fingers. She likes it, her eyes glazing over, Midgar’s fake moon painting silver streaks into the carmine of her irises. He goes up, shoves the dress to the side, touches her without fabric in the way. Her flesh is soft and warm, rippling over under his hands. He bends forward, his gaze seeking hers for permission before he takes a nipple into his mouth.
The sound she lets out hypnotizes him.
“Cl—Cloud...”
She likes it, he thinks. She likes it. He’s nervous. He doesn’t know why. It’s Tifa. His friend Tifa; she’s familiar. An integral part of his childhood, the girl who’d always been there, submerged within him even when he’d been away from her. The stars brought them back together, and maybe he’s grateful for it.
He’s touching Tifa. Tifa, the prettiest girl in the world, the girl every man wants.
Of course, they’re just friends. Just friends.
The skirt hitches higher on her waist. Her legs come apart, and he can see the pale pink lace of her panties, damp right in between her thighs. She’s wet and fidgety, little noises spilling out of her throat with every suck, every touch.
“Cloud...”
He likes the way she says his name. Breathy, tinged in husk and lust and need. He likes his name only if it comes from her lips.
Cloud hooks his fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulls them down her legs, lets his fingers drift over the skin as he does. He throws the lace to the side, and she lies back on her elbows, her thighs coming apart, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip.
Wow.
Wow wow wow wow wow wow.
Tifa, her legs spread before him. Wet and needy, her arousal seeping out of her, her lower lips pink and inflamed, her clit hard and swollen and begging for his touch. He’s never done this before, but maybe it’s even better than he’s ever imagined. Tifa, Tifa, Tifa.
His fingers prod at her lips, spreading them, looking up at her as her breath comes out in fragmented puffs. She watches him through hooded lashes, her lips parted, her hand palming at her breast. Her other hand comes around his wrist, bringing his wet fingers higher, right to her clit.
“H—here.”
He begins rubbing at it. Slowly, carefully, looking up to gauge her reaction. Her features contort, soft lines full of the glow of the stars, a red flush licked onto her cheeks. Her hand crawls down her body, coming into his which rests on her hip. She laces their fingers together, her thighs falling further apart for him.
“Cloud, faster, please.”
He rubs at her faster, draws little circles. And her head falls back, her chest heaving, her mouth caught on a moan of his name. She looks so pretty like this, so unbelievably beautiful, sweating and messy and aroused for him, her body pliant, her clothes rumpled and out of the way. He’s not really sure what he’s doing, but she likes it. She likes it, and that’s really all that matters.
He dips forward, the tip of his tongue flicking at her clit. And she jolts, a broken whimper spilling out of her lips.
“Yes, yes.”
She tastes nice, he thinks. Really nice, sweet and tangy and he can’t really get enough. He takes her clit into his mouth, sucks on it, hard and fast, matching the pace his finger had. And he likes the way her fingers desperately curl into his hair, bringing him closer to her, her hips rolling into his mouth. She grinds her clit against the flat of his tongue, and he lets her, watches her as the pleasure coats her eyes in a thin, blurred film, as she begins to fall apart right before him.
“Cloud, Cloud, please—”
Tifa comes with a long whine, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. It’s the best sight he’s ever seen, Tifa unraveling before him, her fingers pulling at his hair, her thighs trembling around his ears. Her wetness drips out of her, coats his sheets, but he doesn’t mind. He dips down to taste her, his tongue swiping across her slit. She’s hot and wet, and he’d give anything to be buried inside her right now.
As a friend, of course. In a friendly way.
The fatigue catches up with her now. Tifa crawls into his bed comfortably, and he doesn’t stop her. He’s tired too. They’d walked around the sector, had a lot of drinks, took the train back. It was a nice night of celebration.
It got even better once they arrived home. Of course, he doesn’t tell her that.
“Good night,” she slurs, and she looks so content, so peaceful, nestled in his blanket. He pulls it higher, tucking it into her shoulder, wishing she’d maybe change out of her dress before falling asleep; he’s sure it’s immensely uncomfortable.
He doesn’t tell her that. Her lashes flutter closed, stringy shadows spidering over her cheeks. He doesn’t know why, but he reaches forward, wiping her fringe away from her face and curling it behind her ear.
Beautiful. So, so beautiful.
“Good night.”
.
.
.
Tifa was not with him when he woke.
At first, he thought he dreamt it all. A night out with Tifa, drinks, her purple dress, coming back into his room and touching each other. He thought it was a dream.
Until he noticed the pink lace on his floor. To his knowledge, he doesn’t own panties like that.
His head aches, as if an axe is splitting open his skull. He’s never been one to drink often, not even with his comrades back in Soldier. But with Tifa, all of his inhibitions were wiped away, his walls crumbling to pieces, and she climbed over the rubble easily, let herself into him and didn’t look back. Tifa’s different, he thinks. Different than Barret and Marlene and Marle and Jessie and Biggs and Wedge. She’s different than all of them, because she makes him feel safe. Makes him feel like he doesn’t need to guard himself.
Tifa feels like home.
He absolutely can’t believe he did those filthy things with her last night.
He almost doesn’t want to enter the bar. He doesn’t have the nerve. He lingers on the stairs, his hand reaching for the doorknob and then pulling back. He’s supposed to meet with Tifa because they have an afternoon of errands to run for the neighbors.
He kind of doesn’t want to. Damn it. Shit. Fuck.
“Oh, hey, Soldier Boy!”
Jessie bumbles up to him, her smile wide, bright like the sun.
“What’re you doing out here for?” She pushes the door open. “Go in!”
Right. He should go in.
Biggs and Wedge are seated at their normal table, elbow-deep in a wide assortment of breakfast dishes. And Tifa stands behind the bar, her back turned to him, reaching up and into a cabinet full of glass bottles. Jessie walks towards her, yelling like she does best.
“Morning, Teef!”
“Good morning!”
Tifa’s smile, beautiful and lovely and like the stars shining silver light into the dark cave of his heart, falls upon seeing him. Instead comes an expression of panic, a flush crawling into her cheeks. She looks frazzled, sounds frazzled as she lets Jessie know that she has many things to do in the back room. And then, she disappears.
Cloud stands, absolutely dumbfounded.
“What the hell’s wrong with her?” Jessie asks. “Did your date not go well?”
“It wasn’t a date,” Cloud says first, and for some reason, he feels strangely defensive. And that’s not it at all. It went well, their celebration.
Too well, if he does say so himself.
“Keep tellin’ yourself that, buddy.” Jessie slaps him on the shoulder, giggling as she does. She settles into a seat next to Wedge, whose mouth is full of egg. “I give it a week.”
“Give what a week?” Biggs asks, right before he downs his glass of orange juice. Jessie snags a slice of toast from Wedge’s plate.
“Before Cloud and Tifa confess their undying love for each other.”
Cloud chokes on his own spit, coughing as if he’s dislocated a lung.
Love. Love? Love?!
“You’re crazy,” he says, clearing his throat and gathering himself. His voice is level, as cold as he can get it. “I don’t love her.”
He doesn’t. Because Tifa is just a friend. How can he love someone he hasn’t seen in five years? It’s nonsensical.
Jessie’s full of shit. Cloud does not love Tifa.
.
.
.
Everyone loves Tifa.
Everyone. She’s the star of the slums, the sun around which everyone orbits. Her bar patrons who shout about how much they love her cooking and drinks. Her elderly neighbors who shout about how grateful they are that she helps them with their chores around the house. Her other friends and acquaintances who just shout out their greetings, shout out how they’ll see her tonight at the bar.
Her male admirers who shout about how much they love her.
That bothers Cloud. Very, very much.
There’s the redhead Johnny with a stupid haircut, and why doesn’t he zip up his shirt? No one wants to see his dumb abs. And the store owner with his even stupider haircut and smug smirk, who called Tifa baby. Baby. Baby? Who gave him the right? How does someone as gross as him have the nerve?
He won’t be smugly smirking when Cloud stabs him with his Buster sword.
There are other men. Men who compliment her looks. Men who whistle at her. Men who lament about how they missed out on their chance to live next to her.
(That last one kind of makes Cloud happy. Yeah, he’s the one living next to Tifa. They wish they were him.)
It bothers him. But it doesn’t bother Tifa, who’s, seemingly, oblivious to most of what goes on around her. She just skips through the dirty alleys, her expression carved in pleasant serenity, her hair bouncing behind her, wafting his nose in a thick blanket of flowers and vanilla. She doesn’t care, takes the compliments and flirting with a nervous giggle.
Not Cloud. He would have ripped Johnny’s head off if she wasn’t around.
The errands were easy enough. They’d replaced some water filters. Helped an old man fix his roof. Got some medicinal herbs for the nearby doctor. He and Tifa didn’t talk too much; there wasn’t time to when they were running around the entire sector.
And now, as they walk back to their apartments, dusk bleeding over the sky like ink spilled in water, they have time. There’s too much time.
“Tifa…”
Cloud breaks the silence between them, feels like he’s come up for air after being drowned in water. Tifa looks at him, her eyes wide.
“Sorry I wasn’t there this morning,” she says, wringing her gloved fingers together. “I, um, went back to my room, because my dress was uncomfortable.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “That’s not—is everything okay?”
“Y—yeah!” Her voice is high, breaks a bit at the end. “I’m just…embarrassed.”
Her ears go red. Cute cute cute cute cute.
“I’ve…never done that with anyone before.”
He kind of finds that hard to believe. Because she’s Tifa. Beautiful, incredible Tifa, the girl everyone loves. It was like that back in Nibelheim as well.
She can have anyone she wants. Anyone. Surely, she wouldn’t want him.
“S—sorry! I don’t mean to be so awkward.”
She waves her hands, stopping in front of Stargazer Heights’ stairs.
“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen!”
Okay. Alright. He can do that. Yeah. He can totally do that. Can’t he?
No. No he can’t.
He thinks about it. It doesn’t leave his mind for the rest of the night. The memories are hazy, playing against his mind’s eye like a movie he saw ages ago. Memories tinged in alcohol, Tifa’s hands, her mouth on him, the scent of her, the taste of her, how soft her skin was under his hands. The crumpled satin of her dress, her breasts, full and heavy in his hands. Her moans in his ears, her clit in his mouth, how adorable and breathtaking she looked when she fell apart against his face.
Yeah. It’s kind of fucking hard to forget.
But it’s Tifa. His friend. Friends don’t really do that kind of thing. So, it’s fine. It’s totally fine.
Friends also shouldn’t really get irrationally angry and jealous.
It hasn’t stopped. It’ll never stop, because Tifa will always be gorgeous. She mixes drinks, chats animatedly with her customers. Cloud sits at a table towards the back, nearer to the door, next to Jessie who’s talking to Biggs and Wedge about some weird play called Loveless. Barret has gone downstairs to put Marlene to bed.
It doesn’t stop. The men. They stare. And one ambitious, brave soul even tries to flirt.
Cloud’s really fucking mad at the fact that he left his sword at his apartment.
“You free tonight?” the Asshole asks, leaning forward on the table. Tifa, who’s handing his companions their drinks, laughs awkwardly.
“Uh, no. Sorry.”
And she jogs away, holding the serving tray to her chest. The Asshole looks at his friends, frowning.
“Dude, why are you even trying?” Asshole Friend #1 says. “She’s a prude.”
“It’s such a waste,” Asshole Friend #2 says. “She’s hot as hell. Look at those tits.”
The Asshole takes a sip of his drink. “You guys know I don’t give up easily.”
The Assholes all share a laugh.
Well, they absolutely will not be laughing when Cloud is done with them.
He stands up, slamming his fists on the table as he does, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. Startled, Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge all turn to him.
“What’s wrong?” Biggs asks.
“You okay?” Wedge asks in worry.
No, actually. Cloud isn’t okay. He’d like to commit a murder. Three murders. How dare they? How dare they talk about Tifa in such a disrespectful, demeaning way? It’s a waste? She’s a prude? I don’t give up easily? Who do these losers think they are? Cloud’s vision is doused in red, flames licking at his lungs until he’s breathing ashes. He can’t think, can’t really focus on anything but slamming the Assholes’ heads through the fucking floor.
How dare they talk about his Tifa like that?
Someone taps him on the arm, catching his attention. It’s Jessie, her smile mischievous.
“Jealous, Mister I-Don’t-Love-Her?”
The anger drains from his form, confusion slipping into the cracks of his demeanor.
“I—they’re disrespecting her.”
“I won’t say they aren’t.” Jessie shrugs. “But are you going to kick them out?”
No, actually, he was going to kill them.
“Got you!” Jessie sings, laughing jovially. “You were gonna murder them, weren’t you? Not only because they’re disrespecting her, but because they’re hitting on your Tifa.”
Cloud splutters, choking on his words.
“What? No. You’re full of shit.”
Jessie snorts, sitting back and crossing her arms.
“Whatever you say, Soldier Boy.”
Cloud decides to ignore her. It’s for the best. Jessie’s a dumbass.
The Asshole gets up from his seat, smoothing out his collar and looking towards the bar, where Tifa is fiddling with some shot glasses. He even fixes his hair, and his Asshole companions are rooting for him, cheering him on.
Cloud does it before he has the chance to stop himself.
He walks towards the Asshole. He holds out his foot. And the Asshole trips over his ankle, fumbling into the floor.
There is a moment of utter, deathly silence. And then, laughter. Bursting from all around the room. A few yells of, “Are you okay?!” And a loud cackle from Jessie, of course.
Assholes #2 and 3 shoot up from their chairs, diving to help their friend. But Cloud blocks their path, and they look up at him as he speaks.
“If I ever see you three in here again, I swear to fucking god, I will cut you up into a thousand pieces and feed you to the monsters in Scrap Boulevard.”
The three Assholes whimper, and they run out of the bar.
It’s a shame he couldn’t kill them. But he doesn’t want to anger Tifa, nor does he want to mop up blood from the floor.
.
.
.
Cloud has decided that he hates Jessie.
She’s annoying. First, she accuses him of loving Tifa. And then, she drags him along on stupid, boring jobs above the plate. Seriously, did she really need him in order to steal a blasting agent from a Shinra building?
He never got to eat any pizza. This fucking sucks.
His body is drained of its energy. He’s excited to hit his bed and sleep. But as he’s walking towards his apartment, a particular sound stops him, tethers him to the rotting wood beneath him like his feet are covered in roots. It’s a familiar sound, something he has heard before.
A moan. From Tifa.
Her room door is closed. Of course it is. Cloud stands in front of it, and he’s sure he looks like a creep, standing outside a girl’s door at midnight. But he can’t help it, can’t get his feet to move.
Tifa’s moaning. She’s in her room, moaning.
“Cloud.”
Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god.
Tifa’s moaning his name.
Is she masturbating to the thought of him? He can’t hear much through the door, but her voice is breathy, fluttering like rose petals grazing his ears. Another gasp of his name, this one a little louder, a little more desperate. And heat floods his core, something visceral awakening within him, his pants suddenly feeling tight. Tifa. Masturbating to him.
He’s honored. Truly honored.
She gets louder, moans without inhibitions, probably thinking he still isn’t back. But he is, and he’s leaning against her door, his heartbeat quickening, until it’s pounding in his ears. He wonders what she’s doing. Fingering herself maybe. Rubbing at her clit like he had done to her. Imagining that it was his tongue there instead, licking at her. He wonders if she’s rolling her hips, if she’s trembling, if she’s palming her breast. Did she take the time to undress, or did she feel so aroused she needed to push her clothes aside and touch herself right away?
He doesn’t know. But thinking about her touching herself, splayed out on her bed, her hand working quickly between her spread legs, it sets his body on fire.
And he’s horrible, because he unzips his pants right here and now, and he takes his cock into his hand. He’s outside. In public. Right in front of Tifa’s door, and even if it’s late at night and no one is around, this is terrible. He’s terrible.
But he doesn’t care. He’s so aroused he very well might explode from the inside out.
Cloud strokes himself, thinking of her. Of her mouth around his cock, her head bobbing up and down. Of her before him, her pink lips and her hard clit, her wetness on his fingers, how nice she tasted. Her eyes as she looked down at him, shy but drenched in lust. Tifa, so beautiful it hurts him.
He strokes his cock harder, faster, wishing it was her hand instead. Wishing he was buried within the hot, wet clasp of her body, slamming into her until they both see stars. The tension soars higher and higher within him, his nerves going rigid, his body going numb against the door.
“Tifa,” he whispers, right as Tifa calls out his name.
“Cloud, Cloud, I’m coming—”
With one more pump of his hand, Cloud comes, so hard his legs buckle underneath him, and he’s shuddering, his spine bending, his face hot and licked in sweat. He can’t catch his breath, can’t will his heart to calm down. The tension unravels, and he spills all over Tifa’s door.
The clarity comes back, crashing over his skull like an oncoming truck. Oh. Oh.
He zips himself up, and he runs into his room to grab a towel.
He’s horrible. Fucking horrible.
(It was worth it.)
.
.
.
“I’ve decided that you need an intervention.”
Great. Cloud wouldn’t want to deal with this on a good morning. He especially doesn’t want to deal with it on this morning, this irritable morning, where he’s wound-up taut, like one of Marlene’s toy dolls. He feels like he’s going to erupt, fall apart at the seams if anyone even looks at him in the wrong way. He’s irritated. And annoyed. And impossibly horny.
He wants Tifa. So fucking bad. It’s troubling, really.
“I do not,” Cloud grunts. He looks away from Jessie, staring at the bar, where Tifa is, chopping up vegetables for the lunch she’s making. Biggs and Wedge are chatting about something Cloud didn’t care to hear. Barret and Marlene are seated not far away, reading a picture book together. (When Cloud had walked in, Barret had told him that if he said anything even close to a curse word in Marlene’s presence, his “skinny-ass would be blasted right into the Lifestream.” That’s fair.)
“You and Tifa are perfect for each other!” Jessie argues. “Seriously, why are you guys being so weird about this?!”
They are…not being weird. They’re friends. Being friends. That’s all there is to it. And Tifa’s beautiful. Painfully beautiful, the shining sun of this little town, everyone’s favorite. She can have anyone she wants. Anyone.
Not Cloud. Not someone she’s seen after five years. Not the boy who made her a promise he never could fulfill.
Marlene looks at Cloud, and her big, watery eyes are enough to soften his harsh exterior. Just a little bit.
“Does Cloud like Tifa?”
Cloud says no at the same time Jessie screams yes. Damn it. God fucking damn it.
“You better get your act together, Soldier Boy,” Barret says gruffly. “And become a man who’s worthy enough for Tifa.”
“I think he’s all right!” Jessie pats him on the shoulder. “A little dumb, but that’s okay! We can work around it!”
Cloud’s fingers wind around the Buster sword’s hilt. Biggs, slowly, grabs his arm, setting it safely back down onto the table.
“No murder,” he says. “Tifa’s going to be upset.”
And Cloud can’t upset Tifa. Of course he can’t.
He hates this. He hates Jessie especially. She’s wrong. Absolutely wrong. He and Tifa are not perfect for each other. And they’re not being weird. They’re just…being friends. They’re friends.
Friends who masturbate to each other, but that’s beside the point.
And Jessie’s idea of an intervention isn’t exactly conventional. Or smart. Or good.
God, Cloud really wishes he could stab her.
“Um,” Tifa stammers, moving her leg. When she does, her knee brushes something in his pants, and he jolts, his palms leaning against the wall right next to her head. Her eyes go wide. “S—sorry!”
Jessie had said that Tifa was in the freezer, and she needed help lifting something. That was fine. Cloud could help with that. “Use your big man muscles!” Jessie had screamed.
He walked into the freezer. Tifa was in there, yes, but she wasn’t trying to lift anything. And then, the door was locked right behind him.
“Intervention!” Jessie had shrieked, her cackles dissolving into the distance.
And now, here he is. Stuck in a very, very cramped freezer, with Tifa molded against him. It’s cold all around him, frost whispering over his skin, but he doesn’t really feel it, doesn’t really care about anything except the heat of Tifa’s body against him. She fidgets, and with every movement, they get even closer. They’re surrounded in boxes and boxes, and no matter how much he tries to get away from her, he can’t. He leans his palms on the wall behind her, trying to maneuver around her.
It doesn’t work. Their chests are pressed hard together, and Cloud can feel the outline of her breasts, the fact that she isn’t wearing her black sports bra. Today, of all days, she decided not to wear it.
Her nipples are hard, and they’re poking into him. Her knee keeps brushing the growing tent in his pants. Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, her head down. Her gaze flees his urgently; she won’t look at him, keeps her hands clasped between them. One reaches down to adjust her skirt, which had ridden up in the chaos, bunched around her hips.
Don’t look at her panties don’t look at her panties don’t look at her panties.
“Can you try reaching the door?” Cloud asks. She nods, stretching out her arm. She can reach the doorknob, but it does not budge. Of course it doesn’t. Jessie literally fucking locked them in here. “I’m gonna kill her.”
“I’m with you,” Tifa says.
The cold is the least of his concerns. He’s hot, actually. He’s sweating. There’s a heat brewing between them with each touch, with each shared breath, and he doesn’t know how to sate it. How he can quell this rising tension within him, coiled tightly within all of his nerves. He thinks of last night, her voice desperate and breathy around his name, how he’d slumped against her door and touched himself to the thought of her, like she’d touched herself to the thought of him.
Tifa. Lying in bed, her fingers working between her spread legs as she thought of him, gasped his name. God. Fuck.
He’s hard. This is absolutely terrible.
Tifa wiggles against him, and her nipples are brushing his chest, her breasts soft. God. God. What should he do? What should he do?
As if there’s actually a god, the freezer door swings open, and Cloud’s doused in a wave of warm air.
“Damn, Jessie, you’re gonna make them freeze to death!” Biggs yells, Wedge nodding behind him.
Cloud and Tifa scramble away from each other, Tifa running from him as if he’s come down with the plague. And Cloud lingers in the freezer, turning away from Biggs and Wedge.
“You all right, buddy?” Wedge asks.
“Y—yeah,” Cloud coughs. “I, uh, need to do something in here.”
“Okay,” Biggs says, and he and Wedge walk away. Good. Perfect.
Because Cloud is not about to walk back into the bar with an erection this bad.
(Freezing to death is a good way to get rid of an erection.)
.
.
.
He has a dilemma. A big dilemma. Okay. Maybe. Maybe Jessie was right and he needs an intervention (that doesn’t involve being locked in a cramped freezer). He doesn’t know what to do. How should he handle this? Should he use his sword? Or should he run up to Tifa and tell her that there’s an emergency? Should he push or trip the guy to the ground, like he did with the Asshole?
In the end, he decides to just stand on the side, like a fucking weirdo.
“I love all your drinks, but the Cosmo Canyon has to be my favorite.”
“Really?” Tifa asks. “Why’s that?”
“Because it reminds me of your eyes.”
Haha. Hilarious. So fucking funny. Who even is this clown? Cloud decides to step up, stopping next to Tifa and crossing his arms. The Clown is taller than him, but he won’t back down.
“Oh! Cloud, this is my friend, Steve,” Tifa says. “He’s helped me out a lot since I moved here. He’s Marle’s grandson.”
Steve. Stupid fucking name.
“Steve, this is my friend, Cloud. We grew up together.”
As friends. Yeah, they’re friends. Of course they are. Why does that fact bother him so much? Why does the fact that Steve is also her friend bother him as well? He’s not like Barret or Biggs or Wedge; and he isn’t like the three Assholes either, or like the men who follow her with their lecherous eyes. No, Steve is different.
“You’re the famous Cloud!” Steve’s grin is wide, genuine. “It’s great to finally meet you!”
Tifa can have anyone she wants. Steve. Steve is good. He’s nice. He’d treat her well, he thinks.
Cloud hates this. This. Everything. He hates it.
He’s angry. He’s annoyed. He’s wound-up taut, stiff and jittery even as he walks with Tifa to Scrap Boulevard. He doesn’t know how to handle this storm brewing in his chest, throwing glass into his lungs. When he woke up here, Tifa’s smile drenching him in warmth as he shook off the after effects of the mako, he didn’t expect to be this bothered. He thought they were just friends and that they’d pick up right where they left off. It should have been that simple.
It isn’t. And he’s annoyed. And fuck Steve.
The monsters are back. He’d only gotten rid of them last week, but they don’t stay gone for long. Tifa had been about to head out and take care of them herself, but Jessie had butted in, shrieked at the top of her lungs, volunteering Cloud to help.
(That’s the kind of intervention he needs.)
Tifa’s fast. She moves with speed and grace and he almost can’t keep up with her, watches her as she passes him by in blurs of black and white and red, kicking dust and sand in her wake. She punches monsters to the ground without a care in the world, and he tries to follow closely behind, but it’s difficult when he’s lugging around an eighty-pound block of steel. She’s strong. It surprises him, how strong she actually is when back in Nibelheim, she’d been small and thin and frail, like a glass doll who would only shatter, never crack.
It’s been five years, after all. Things change.
The last of the monsters is nasty. A mutated dog, snarling and frothing at the mouth. At first, he seems disoriented, and Cloud and Tifa have the upper hand, swiping at him and bringing him to the ground. But then, he evades Tifa’s punch, and she goes flying, and he goes after her, pinning her into the dirt.
He claws at her, and Cloud begins to scream.
“Get off her!”
He swings his sword at the dog, and it falls back, howling and spluttering blood.
Tifa is on the ground. He runs to her, drops his sword, can’t feel anything but the panic, capturing all of his senses until he’s floundering in it. His chest swirls and swirls, his breaths harsh as they come out of him. Tifa’s eyes are closed, her shirt ripped open, her chest clawed, the skin torn and weeping blood. Gently, he holds her head, lets it rest in his lap.
“Tifa,” he whispers, his hand on her cheek, wiping away a stain of dirt. “Tifa.”
Her lashes flutter open, the carmine of her eyes so beautiful it explodes within him like fireworks, renders him paralyzed.
“I’m okay,” she says, and she smiles. She sits up, and he helps her, his palms on her back. “You saved me.”
He saved her. And he always, always will.
“I promised, didn’t I?”
Under Nibelheim’s stars, when they were children, and now they’re not. Those same stars rest in Tifa’s eyes, their home in the blood pools of her irises.
“You remembered,” she says.
“Of course.”
Because it’s her. It’s Tifa. The root that tethers him to his past. His clarity. His relief. His safety. His home.
Her shirt is in tatters now, and she’s struggling to hold it together, to keep herself covered. Cloud doesn’t think twice, undoes his suspenders and lifts his shirt over his head. He hopes it doesn’t smell too bad, and he drapes her in it, careful to keep the yarn from brushing her wounds. She’s careful to keep her gaze away from his exposed torso.
“Can you walk?”
“I think so,” she tells him. “You didn’t have to give me your shirt. I’m fine.”
“That’s okay.”
Cloud whisks her into his hold, one arm under her knees, another on her back. He carries her as if she’s his bride, and she lets out a tiny, high squeak, scrambling to hang onto his neck.
“I can walk, Cloud.”
He shrugs. He doesn't mind doing this. She avoids his eyes, color sinking into her cheeks. She’s blushing.
Cute cute cute cute cute.
“Tifa,” he says as he walks out of Scrap Boulevard. He wonders. It’s been gnawing at him restlessly. She’s popular. Everyone here loves her. She’s like the sun, and there are so many men orbiting around her like planets. They stare. And they linger. And they flirt. And they want. They want her.
She’s beautiful. Achingly beautiful. She can have anyone she wants. So, why him? Why Cloud?
“Why…did you want me to save you?”
Tifa meets his eyes. A small smile ghosts at the edges of her mouth, and he can’t stop looking at it, lets it soak into the dura mater of his brain. Tifa, Tifa, Tifa.
He’ll never get tired of that smile.
“Because it’s you,” she says softly, holding him a bit tighter. “It’s always been you.”
And he’s stupid. Stupid, stupid, because for him, it’s always been her, as well. Always.
.
.
.
Okay. So, they’re a little more than friends. Just a little. Friends don’t really make out heatedly, do they?
He doesn’t know how it happened. He’d carried her all the way back to her apartment, got some scathing glares from other men, got some approving nods from Marle. He’d grabbed Tifa’s first aid kit, sat her down on the bed. She removed his shirt and her tattered tank top, pushed her bra to the side and tended to the scratches. They’re not very deep, thankfully. He watched her, dabbed blood off her skin with a cotton ball.
And then, somehow, she ended up in his lap, kissing him messily. He’s not complaining. No, he is not.
“Cloud,” she gasps against his mouth, pulling back for air. He breathes in deep, his hands sliding down her torso, his fingers gently running over her bandages.
“Do they hurt?”
“Not really,” she tells him. “I’ve had worse.”
She kisses him again, feverish and needy, until his lips are numb. His tongue curls with hers, explores her mouth, his hands bringing her closer, careful to keep away from her bandages. He’d never bothered to put his shirt back on, and now her fingers drift over his skin, down his chest and his arms until they’re winding with his. She plays with his fingers as she kisses him, pulls back to run her lips across the slope of his jaw.
She’s braver this time around, surer of herself. But the shyness still lingers, clinging to her face in a heated, red flush, her fingertips shaky against his. She mewls a bit when he kisses her neck, bites into it and then suckles away the pain. There’s a mark now, bright red against the paleness of her skin.
He likes that. He likes it a lot.
“I h—heard you,” she says. “The other night. Outside my door.”
Oh. Oh. Well, maybe he should just go die, then.
“S—sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She avoids his eyes, looks down at their joined hands. “I, um, wasn’t exactly quiet either.”
No. No she wasn’t. The sounds of her moans still echo in his ears.
“I’ve never…felt this way about anyone before.” She bites at her lip. “I…want you.”
Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god.
He’s careful with her. Gentle, as if he doesn’t want her to break. He avoids her bandages at all costs, helps her take off her bra. When her breasts are free, he takes her nipple into his mouth, pinches the other between his fingers. He’d wanted to do this back in the freezer, when she was pressed against him without a bra on, and he could feel every inch of her, all of her dips and curves. He’s thought about this, her, so, so much since their celebration night, when they were drunk and all they wanted was each other. His mind is full of her and her always, as if he’s possessed by her. Tifa, Tifa, Tifa.
Maybe Jessie isn’t so full of shit after all. Maybe he does love her.
She lies back, her legs spread, her skirt hitched and out of the way. Cloud, slowly, brings her panties down her legs, white cotton instead of the pink lace she had before (he still has those panties in his closet).
She covers her face with her hands, whimpering.
“If I knew this was gonna happen today, I would have worn nicer panties.”
Cute cute cute cute cute. She’s so fucking cute.
“It’s okay,” he says, lying down in between her legs. “I like them better off, anyway.”
She pouts at him.
He prods her thighs further apart, looking up at her, liking the way her teeth gnaw at the tip of her finger. Her other hand palms her breast, twirling at her nipple just like he had done. And he’ll never get tired of this image, Tifa wet and spread out and ready before him, needy for his touch. Her clit is hard and swollen, and he wets his fingers with his spit, touching at it in quick circles, just like he had done last time. Her moans flutter into his ears, drowning his core in warmth. Fires bleed down his veins, the tension coiling hard within his limbs.
God, she’s so fucking beautiful.
“Cloud,” she moans, spreading her legs further. His other hand comes to pull apart her lips, his fingers now coated in her arousal. She’s wet, painfully wet. “Cloud.”
Slowly, he slides a finger into her, and she wiggles underneath him.
“Is this okay?”
“Y—yeah,” she stammers. “I l—like your fingers better than mine.”
Damn is he fucking happy to hear that.
But he’s not really sure what he’s doing. He’s rubbing at her clit, and he knows she likes that. But inside? Her walls are clenching around his finger, and he feels a rough patch of skin in there. Tifa lets out a sharp yelp.
“There,” she breathes. “Right there. Please.”
It doesn’t take long for her to come. Cloud rubs at her clit, brings his face down to tongue at it, to suck on it, just like he did last time. His finger brushes against that rough spot inside her, and soon, he adds another, and he’s thrusting his hand in and out of her, working her walls open. And she’s going manic with it, crying out his name, arching her back and tugging at his hair. She pulls his head closer into her, grinds her hips into his face, rubs her clit over his tongue. And soon, she’s falling apart all over his fingers, trembling and shouting out.
“Cloud, Cloud, oh my god—”
She tastes nice. He’ll never get tired of it. He laps at her even after she’s had her release, and she’s heaving, her grip on his hair loosening as she tries to gather herself. He watches her, the rise and fall of her chest, the red painted onto her skin, shining in a thin sheet of sweat.
She looks so pretty when she comes.
“Cloud,” she whimpers. “Cloud, please, I want you inside me.”
And he is more than willing to oblige.
He’s hard. Extremely so. His pants are uncomfortable, and he’s relieved when he finally unzips them, kicks them off his legs. He takes his cock into his hand, and it’s leaking at the slit. Tifa looks at it, watches him as he climbs over her, positioning the head at the entrance.
And it dawns on him now. He’s about to have sex. With Tifa.
This is anything but friendly.
He slides into her. She’s tight. Tight and hot and impossibly wet and even better than he could have ever imagined. Her walls are soft and clenching around him, and he’s careful when he begins to thrust. Her expression contorts into hard lines as she bites at her lip.
“Are you okay?”
“Y—yeah. Just a little uncomfortable.”
“Should I stop?”
“No, don’t.”
Tifa holds him by the neck, and she wraps her legs around his waist. He holds her thigh, his other hand keeping his balance. He’s slow when he slides out of her, and then he thrusts back in, feeling greedy for her and the stretch of her body around him. He can’t handle it, how wet she is around his cock, how he fits so nicely inside her, like they were made for each other. He struggles to catch his breath, can’t hear anything but his heart screaming in his ears.
He’s inside Tifa. He truly is the luckiest motherfucker alive.
Soon, she gets more comfortable, and she beckons him to go faster. He does, rams into her at a pace that satisfies both of them, and she moans under him, her hips rolling into his thrusts. Cloud brings her legs higher, hooking his elbows under her knees, and he goes in so deep he sees stars.
Cloud tries to hang on, to fight off his release, but it crashes over him without warning, paralyzes his entire body. One more thrust and he’s spilling into the furthest depths of her, his limbs staggering, trembling on top of her. Tifa holds him within her for a few moments, dragging out his high as far as it’ll go.
The world dissolves back into his consciousness. That was a million times better than his hand could ever be.
When he pulls out, his cum drips out of her, staining her lower lips and thighs. He jumps up to get a towel.
“S—sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I liked it:”
After, Tifa’s eyelids are drooping, and she snuggles into her pillow. He settles in next to her, under the blanket, careful not to touch her scratches. She dips her head into the cave of his chest, her arms wrapping around his torso. And Cloud holds her close to him, breathes in the sweet vanilla of her scent, her touch soothing the deepest parts of his soul. She feels like safety. Like home. Like everything he’s ever wanted, everything he loves.
Tifa. His Tifa. They belong to each other.
“I love you,” he whispers to her.
He can feel her smiling against his chest.
This time, she is there when he wakes, nestled in his arms.
.
.
.
They’re not friends anymore.
Jessie was especially excited about this. Biggs and Wedge congratulated him. Barret said that he would castrate him if he even thought about hurting Tifa. Which is fair. But Cloud would never even think about hurting Tifa. Because it’s her. It’s Tifa.
“Didn’t know you had it in you, Cloud,” Biggs laughs, holding up his beer.
Wedge nods. “You guys are great together!”
“I told you!” Jessie yells. “It only took them a week!”
Cloud hates Jessie. She’s full of shit.
The bar is full to the brim tonight. Tifa and her workers are running around, busy making drinks and bringing them to the patrons. Right now, Tifa’s shaking up a Cosmo Canyon, laughing with a kind, elderly man, a longtime customer. And Cloud feels a smirk sneaking onto the edge of his mouth, and he lifts his glass to his lips in order to hide it.
Just a couple of hours earlier, Tifa was perched on that bar, her legs spread, her lower lips wet and ready for him. And then, he’d bent her over the bar, and he railed her into the next dimension. And he’ll do it again. And again. And again, after everyone leaves. He thinks of her breathy moans, the way she gasped his name, how pretty she had looked, her clothes shoved to the side, her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at him. She’d given him her hooded eyes, shy but smudged darkly in lust, and he held onto her hips, liking the curve of her ass as he slammed into her, her walls tight and hot and wet around his cock.
“Cloud,” she’d whimpered, her walls fluttering around him. “Someone’s going to catch us.”
“Let them,” he’d said. Really, at that moment, he could care about nothing but her walls around his cock. He’d liked her from behind. Too much, maybe. He reached around and rubbed at her clit, and she was coming all over him in no time, crying out his name, gripping the edge of the bar so hard her knuckles went white. He hit his peak not long after, spilling inside of her, watching his spend as it dripped down her legs, mixed with her arousal. And he’ll do it again. And again. And again.
Damn. Fuck. He’s getting hard again. No. Oh no.
He may not last until the end of the night. He may have to pull her into the freezer, to bend her over the boxes. Because Tifa is beautiful. So beautiful, so unbearably gorgeous, and he can’t get enough of her.
Other men also can’t seem to get enough of her. They linger. And they stare. At her ass, at the sway of her hips as she walks, at her breasts pulling the fabric of her shirt taut. Cloud hears a couple of men nearby talking about how hot they think she is.
“I’m gonna ask her,” Idiot #1 says, his voice loud and full of confidence. Idiot #2 nods. Tifa walks over with a tray of drinks, her smile bright and wide and jovial.
“One beer and one Cosmo Canyon!”
“One more thing,” Idiot #1 says, holding up his hand. “Can I have the pretty bartender’s number?”
Tifa’s smile dampens a bit. But then, it comes back, reaching all the way to her ears.
“Sorry. I have a boyfriend.”
Cloud smirks. Damn fucking right she does.
The Idiots are so crestfallen, and it fills him with inexplicable joy. He relishes in their sullen expressions. Yeah, Tifa is his. Yeah, Tifa is his girlfriend, and he’s her boyfriend, and they’re in love. Yeah, they’re not just friends, not anymore. Yeah, he fucked her on that bar right before Seventh Heaven opened up.
Yeah, he has her panties tucked away in his pants pocket. He’d nearly ripped them off earlier, desperate to get inside her.
Now, she’s not wearing any. And only he knows that. Only him. And he relishes in it, feels prideful.
For her, it’s him. And it’ll only ever be him.
All those men, the men who stare at her with lecherous eyes, the men who lust after her, they wish they were him. They fucking wish.
.
.
.