#final fantasy7

Yes, Zack WOULD wear crocs with socks.

Yes, its that one song from radiohead.

⟣ don't you love when i come around . . ?

cw info𓈒⠀ ✷ cloud strife ⋆ established relationship.⠀⠀⋆⠀!fempov ⋆ nsfw ⋆ smut ⋆ slight fluff ⋆ mdni ⋆ word count : 1960 ⋆ (＞。☆) .ᐟ

disclaimer&an𓈒 nothing much to say other than this is my favourite soongg ,, been part of my top 3 since like 4 years lmao ignore any grammatical errors

16:15 PM / 4:15 PM ⋆

The mission had been a mess from the start. Deepground remnants crawling out of some forgotten lab beneath the Sector 5 ruins, a reactor leak threatening to poison half the slums, and Avalanche’s usual crew stretched thin. Cloud had taken point, as always, with you riding shotgun on the back of Fenrir and Tifa coordinating from the ground with Barret and Aerith on comms.

By the time the last soldier fell and the reactor’s core was stabilized, the sky over Midgar had already bled from orange to deep indigo. You were bruised, filthy, and running on fumes, but Cloud still looked unfairly good .. sweat-damp blond spikes, a streak of grease across one sharp cheekbone, eyes glowing brighter than usual from the adrenaline and leftover mako burn.

Tifa found you both near the extraction point. She jogged over, long hair swinging, and punched Cloud lightly in the arm.

“You two okay?” Her dark eyes flicked between you, searching for injuries the way she always did.

“We’re fine,” Cloud said, voice flat, but you caught the way his hand brushed the small of your back—protective, possessive, hidden from her view.

Tifa’s gaze softened when it landed on you. “You kept him grounded out there. I saw it on the feeds. He listens to you now. That’s… new.”

You felt heat crawl up your neck. Cloud’s fingers tightened against your spine for half a second before he dropped his hand.

“He always listened,” you said, smiling. “Just took him a while to admit it out loud.”

Tifa laughed, quiet and fond. “Yeah. Well. Seventh Heaven’s closed for a bit—renovations. You two should go home. Actually rest for once.”

Cloud gave a short nod. “We will.”

Tifa lingered another moment, then reached out and squeezed your forearm. a quiet “Take care of him,” she murmured, so low only you could hear. “He pretends he doesn’t need it, but he does.”

You nodded, She left with a small wave, disappearing into the shadows toward the kids waiting with Marlene and Denzel. The silence that followed felt heavier, charged.

Cloud watched her go, then turned to you. The glow in his eyes had settled into something warmer, less guarded.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Fenrir roared to life beneath you both, and the ride back to the tiny apartment above the old bike shop was quiet except for the wind and the steady thrum of the engine between your thighs. You kept your arms tight around his waist, cheek pressed to the warm leather stretched across his back, breathing him in . . gunpowder, steel, and something that was just Cloud.

When you finally stumbled through the door, the exhaustion hit like a wave. Cloud locked it behind you, then turned, his eyes tracing over you like he was cataloging every scrape and bruise.

“You’re hurt,” he said, matter of fact. but frowning at the shallow cut on your arm from a stray bullet graze.

“It’s nothing.” You waved him off, but he was already steering you toward the bathroom, his hand firm on your elbow.

He ran the water hot, helped peel off your grimy clothes without a word, and cleaned the wound with a gentleness that still surprised you sometimes. You did the same for him wiping the grease from his face, bandaging a gash on his shoulder from where a remnant had gotten too close.

20:46 PM / 8:46 PM . .

By the time you both collapsed onto the bed in clean clothes, the city outside had gone quiet. Cloud pulled you against his chest, one arm draped over your waist, his breath steady against your hair.

“Close one today,..” you murmured into the dark.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, tired. “But we made it. You and me.”

You smiled, tracing idle patterns on his arm. “Always do.”

He didn’t say more, just held you tighter, like he was afraid the night might steal you away. Sleep came slow, tangled in each other’s warmth, the kind of quiet intimacy that had become your anchor in this broken world.

The next morning or whatever passed for morning under the plate’s perpetual haze,, you woke to the strong smell of coffee and the faint clink of tools from the shop below. Cloud was already up, as usual, tinkering with Fenrir’s engine like it was therapy. You padded downstairs in one of his old shirts, the hem brushing your thighs, and leaned against the doorway to watch him.

He glanced up, wiping oil from his hands on a rag. “Sleep okay?”

“Better with you there.” You crossed the room, slipping your arms around his neck from behind. He stiffened for a split second—old habits—then relaxed, turning to pull you into his lap on the workbench stool.

“You’re distracting,” he muttered, but his hands settled on your hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles through the fabric. “Good.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, light and teasing. “You need more distractions.” He huffed a laugh, rare and soft, and kissed you properly lazy, unhurried, like you had all the time in the world. But the comms unit on the bench buzzed before it could deepen, Barret’s gruff voice crackling through.

“Yo, Spiky! Got a supply run needs escortin’. Nothin’ fancy, just some meds to the outer sectors. You in?”

you guy's hear shortly be fore the kiss could get out of hand. Cloud’s eyes met yours, questioning. You nodded downtime was nice, but sitting still too long made him restless.

“We’re in,” he said into the device.

The run was straightforward: a truck laden with stolen Shinra meds, weaving through the ruins with you and Cloud on Fenrir flanking it. No ambushes, just the occasional feral monster that Cloud dispatched with effortless swings of his sword. By midday, you were back, unloading crates at a makeshift clinic in the slums.

Aerith was there, her flower basket tucked under one arm as she helped sort the supplies. She beamed when she saw you, pulling you into a quick hug.

“You two are inseparable these days,” she teased, glancing at Cloud, who was pretending not to listen while stacking boxes. “It’s cute. He’s less broody when you’re around.”

You laughed. “He’s still plenty broody. Just hides it better.”

Cloud shot you both a look, but there was no heat in it. Later, as you walked back to Fenrir, he slipped his hand into yours—gloveless, calluses rough against your skin. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For… this. Sticking around. Making it feel normal.”Your chest tightened. You stopped, tugging him to face you in the shadow of a crumbling wall. “Cloud, I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?..“

He searched your face, eyes vulnerable in a way only you got to see. “Yeah. I do.”

The kiss that followed was soft, lingering, full of unspoken promises. But the day wasn’t over! Avalanche needed scouting reports, and you spent the afternoon poring over maps in the apartment, shoulders brushing, tension simmering under every casual touch.

That evening, you cooked together in the small apartment. or rather, you cooked while Cloud hovered, chopping vegetables with military precision and stealing glances at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Dinner was simple, eaten on the rickety balcony overlooking the neon sprawl below. he didn't think much of an apartment but you convinced him either way and made a cozy space for both of you. Conversation flowed easy: stories from the mission, laughs about Barret’s latest rant, quiet admissions about the nightmares that still haunted you both.

about 10-5 minutes later

Cloud pulled you onto his lap in the single chair, empty plates left on the table neatly Stacked. your back to his chest, his arms wrapping around you. His lips brushed your neck, not demanding, just present.

The following stretch blurred into a rhythm of small tasks: a quick patrol with Tifa, where she grilled you about Cloud with sisterly concern (“He’s opening up more. Don’t let him close off again.”); a solo errand's for you that had him pacing until you returned; shared silences in the apartment, were touches lingered longer each time.

after doing the dishes together cleaning up the living room you found him in the hallway, staring at an old photo of Zack you’d framed for him months ago. You slipped behind him, arms around his waist.

“Miss him?” you asked softly.

“Every day.” His voice was quiet. “But… having you makes it bearable. Like I’m not carrying it all alone.”

You turned him gently, cupping his face. “You’re not.”

The kiss started innocent, but the built-up tension from the past days ignited it, hands roaming, breaths mingling, until you were backed against the workbench, his body pressing into yours.

Start of lemon !

“Upstairs,” he rasped, lifting you effortlessly.

In the bedroom, clothes shed slow, deliberate, like unwrapping something precious. Cloud’s eyes never left yours as he laid you down, settling between your thighs like it was the only place he wanted to be.

“I used to think I didn’t get to have this,” he whispered against your mouth. “Someone who stays. Someone who sees me and still wants to be here.”

Your heart cracked open. You slid your hands into his hair, pulling him down until your foreheads touched.

“You have me,” you said fiercely

His breath hitched. Then he was kissing you again, deeper, like he was trying to pour every unspoken thing into it. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were bright—too bright—and his voice came out ragged.

“Let me show you.”

He took his time after that. Mouth tracing every bruise from the mission and the days since, tongue soothing old aches. Fingers sliding between your legs, teasing until you were arching off the bed, begging in broken whispers. When he finally pushed inside you slow, deliberate, watching your face the entire time you both groaned at how perfect it felt. Like coming home.

Cloud set a rhythm that was almost lazy, but clearly precise as if you were made out of porcelain. hips rolling deep and steady, one hand laced with yours beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to keep you open for him. Every thrust dragged against that spot that made your vision blur. and thighs tremble. Every kiss tasted like devotion. The world narrowed to just the two of you. the sound of his heavy breathing on your skin, your nails on his back, the way he filled you completely.

“Look at me,” he rasped when your eyes started to flutter shut.

You forced them open and found him staring down at you like you were the only thing in the universe that mattered. The intensity of it sent you spiraling.

“Cloud–“

“I know,” he breathed, thumb finding your clit, circling slow and perfect. “I’ve got you. Always.”

You came undone with his name on your pretty lips, clenching around him so hard his rhythm faltered. He followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, broken sound that was half your name, half a prayer.

he didn’t move away. Just rolled you both to the side so he could stay inside you a little longer, arms locked around your back, face tucked into your neck. You felt his lips brush your skin, again and again, like he couldn’t stop.

Minutes—or hours—later, his voice came muffled against your throat.

“Who would’ve thought,” he murmured, so quiet you almost missed it, “I’d get you.”

This is war by MarineCosplay

Genesis and Sephiroth hadn't spoken in two months.

Two months in which they met constantly: in the barracks of an old stronghold, during long war-meetings in MIdgar and even for the whole 2-week siege of western Da-chao. It seemed the Goddess had a way to punish two lovers for their stubbornness.

"People think you're so different… fire and ice. They ask me in interviews: 'Tell me, Angeal, how is it to work with two individuals who are so different? Sephiroth, a cold and imposing General known for being shy and withdrawn, and Genesis Rhapsodos, a fiery, outspoken, heart-of-the-party type.'" Angeal let out a heavy breath. "You know what I want to answer?"

"No… but I'm sure you'll tell me anyway," Genesis replied, feigning disinterest.

"That you're not so different at all. You're both stubborn idiots. In fact, you're so alike sometimes it's like I'm the only adult watching two whiny kids."

Art by @96min69

Thank you Anon for the request!