glee - Rachel/ Blaine - sing it
☆ ςταrς αrε gοηε ☆ hardforrichgirl wrote in memebells
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367. Getting All Cozy


what to do:
☆ post a comment with your character's name and fandom or preferences, if you have them.
★ use the magic RNG 1-12 to pick the cuddly scenario. or not.
☆ then cuddle it out!

cuddle choices:
Sweet dreams It's been a long day and all you want to do is sleep or just rest your eyes for a bit. Hopefully whoever is close by doesn't mind if you use them as a blanket.
Stormy weather The heavy rain, thunder and lightning won't be letting up anytime soon. Luckily, it's the perfect weather to stay indoors and snuggle up close and keep warm.
Lazy dancer It's the end of a party, or maybe it's only the two of you, but the tempo is slow and the lights are low. Let your dance partner take the weight and just sway.
Surprise attack Time to invade someone's personal space. Are they working too much and need a distraction? Maybe you just wanted to brighten their day. Either way, they won't see it coming.
Movie night It can be on the sofa or in a darkened theater, but you've got your popcorn and someone to settle against during your favorite movie.
I love you, man It's totally platonic, really. You're just very good friends, no matter what people like to think. But you just love your friend so much you want to hug them, whether they like it or not.
Jeepers creepers Welp. You were just frightened. Was it a spider in the washroom, a ghost in the attic, a bad dream? Either way, you're looking for someone to cling to right now, and who better than that person right there?
Hurt and comfort Whether you're sick in bed, just been dumped or suffered a traumatic event, you need someone to wrap their arms around you and make everything go away.
Sunday morning Maybe you just had a wild night. Maybe there’s just not enough space at your place and you need to share your bed. Or maybe you just got really tired and someone else happened to be there. Doesn't matter because now the person with you looks way more comfortable than any blanket or pillow. Drape to your heart’s content.
Moment after You just had incredible, vigorous sex (playing out is totally optional) and if you weren't a cuddler before, you are now. You're probably too exhausted to do anything else anyway. Just enjoy the moment.
Ménage à trois Or four, or five. Get a group and cuddle away.
Player's choice Pick one or make up your own!

coding taken from erotiquely

Cloud Strife ☼ FF7


She'd known it was going to be a bad night. First they'd found out that some town liked a warped carnival mirror had been built on the ashes of her home, full of human husks in black cloaks that no one would acknowledge. Then on to the monsters of Shinra mansion and people living in coffins until, finally, inevitably, it was up the desolate, empty mountain trails to the echoing, cold metal of the reactor itself.

She'd done okay. No one had asked her if she was all right or given her looks. Not that she'd seen at least. She'd focused on what was ahead, the way she always did and she'd told herself she was fine. She wasn't a girl of fifteen anymore. She would be okay.

She wasn't okay.

She'd put off sleeping as long as she could that night but she'd eventually had to go to bed. She'd had to close her eyes and try to put last minute thoughts into her mind to distract it. The dreams had come anyway. She'd known they would.

Dreams of fire. Of cold pale eyes. Of burned and ruined friends and loved ones in their houses as flames ate away at them, raw meat showing bones as their arms reached for her. She should have been there with them. Ended with them... The taint of blood and smoke and ash in her hair, on her skin, her tongue, forever coating her lungs. Not being able to breathe. Her father's eyes your fault, your fault, why weren't you here earlier?. The hopeless hatred, the take me too, you bastard, why didn't you take me too, the give them back!, the make you hurt the way you've hurt me. The cold feel of steel, the way skin peeled back, the fall down the forever metal stairs with the world spinning, the sound of her own bones breaking, the sorry, sorry, sorry, I couldn't do better. And the eyes of clearest mountain sky blue that she only ever saw in her dreams and why didn't you come? why weren't you there? mixed with the don't come. Don't ever see this. Don't ever know. And then sky blue eyes were bleeding and screaming and she couldn't breathe anymore.

Tifa woke up frozen. It was something she'd taught herself to do years ago when the nightmares used to come every night. No screaming. No restless moves. Nothing to tip her hand. Everyone needed their sleep and - she didn't share her nightmares. Not with anyone. But the woodsmoke from tonight's fire was still in her hair and it mixed with the clinging strands of the dream, smelling sickly sweet to her. Flames curled behind her closed eyelids. Bones ached in old places and her chest hurt.

She still couldn't seem to breathe right.

She heard the shift of someone in their sleeping bag and even though she knew it was just Yuffie, her mind played black leather and ice green eyes to the sound. Her hands shook when she struggled with the zipper of her sleeping bag and the cold mountain air, even so far down the mountain range hit her skin, wrapping ice around her bones in a thin layer. Standing didn't help the imbalance of the dream. Aerith and Yuffie slept on unaware and Tifa ducked out of the tent, bare feet starting to freeze, carrying her boots as if she was going to put them on at some point. The night was overcast though and the thin clouds scudded across the moon like drifts of smoke from a dying town. A dead town full of tiny ghosts hidden in attics that everyone ignored...

She was ducking into the next tent over before she really thought about it. shouldn't be here, shouldn't be here. But there were eyes of blue electric blue, not mountain sky blue anymore in the tent and she just needed -

if she said his name it would wake everyone up. And they needed their sleep. He needed his sleep. Pale, gloveless hands twisted together, lost in front of her, boots dangling from their laces. In the distance, far away and high up, the Nibel wolves that had mutated into something broken and horrible since her childhood howled.

Her boots lands with soft thuds and her hands still shook on the zipper this time too as she went to her knees next to the sleeping bag. She was burrowing in between the quilting and against the warm body there before her head caught up. don't ask. please don't ask. please just for a minute. please...

"s-sorry...I'm sorry."

(Let's get out of here...)

Hollow words without a voice behind them but his own echoed in his dreams, nightmares most assuredly brought on by the frustration of the day. How many times had he been so callously dismissed? How many twisted, half-formed pale faces had they stared into under black hoods and the unwholesome, waking light of day? In his mind, they were hundreds, crowding in around him, blocking every street, every doorway, as he stood with his back up against the rough, splintered wooden leg of a water tower where nothing ever happened and no one ever promised.

They didn't want him, still muttering on about their Reunion (whatever that is), about Sephiroth, who had abandoned them, too, though it was all of them who wandered the Planet, now, led only by the stranglehold of their mutual madness. But the whisper-brush of coarse, black cloth as they milled aimlessly to and fro about him was enough alone to make him ill, an unidentifiable fear (you're just claustrophobic) creeping like sickness through his chest, tightening there to settle in its grip.

(Let's get out of here)

(...that's our chance.)

His sleeping face showed little outward sign of any distress, as he dreamt, the same vague scowl at home on his features whether softened by sleep or sharp and alert with consciousness. His fingers twitched as he saw himself turning from the crowd in his mind's eye, taking hold of the slat of wooden support at his back and starting to climb--

Only to be stopped dead by a weight dragging on his other arm (the arm that was, in reality, sprawled out at his side so far as the sleeping bag would allow, first touched by hesitant fingers of cold and then brushed up against something warmer). He wrenched away from the pleading, grasping hands reaching toward him out of the increasingly indistinct throng below, and his arm tightened suddenly around (Tifa's back, as she curled in close) his precarious hold on the tower, fingers digging in. The pathetic, guttural wail of monstrous wolves hunting for their brethren down the mountainside blended into their hateful, wondering, stuttering calls.

(Let go...!)


His eyes snapped open, their glow in the shadowy tent as harsh and cold as the moonlight outside, and his heart leapt into his throat as his mind at once registered something amiss.

"Tifa--?" Even groggy, half-awake, he recognized her (the scent of perfume or deodorant or maybe just whatever brand of soap it was that she favored at odds with the lingering hint of ash and embers in her hair, the tent's air of cigarette smoke and gunpowder and sweat), the name only a shocked whisper on his breath.

This time, when he pulled his arm up around her it was with conscious effort, as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, eyes wide as his exhaustion could draw them in the dark. A quick survey of the silence still pressed in close around everything around them left him no less confused. Somewhere not so far away, someone else began to snore (Barret or Yuffie or maybe even the new guy), and his surprised expression twitched into a grimace. No sign of danger, by that account, but...

"What's going on?"


His arm around her made her feel safer and yet it finally broke her too as the shivers started to move through her despite her best attempts to not give into them. She was cold - and she hoped that would be what he blamed her shaking on. Hiding her face from him, she tried to burrow, somehow, even closer, hands tucked up, fingers tucked so she wouldn't cling to him.

"Nothing's wrong."

She was just being a silly little girl, bothered by things she should have taken in stride, scared by memories and pathetic shadows, bothering the man that made her feel safe even when he confused her. She shouldn't be here. She knew that. Usually she crawled into Marlene's bed when the dreams got too bad, wrapping herself around the comforting warmth and trust of that tiny girl - but Marlene was safely elsewhere and Tifa needed... needed...


She knew what Cloud was probably thinking about her right now. She tried so hard not to be weak, not to give him any reason to leave her behind or not trust himself with her. But tonight she just - she couldn't. please don't send me away, please, don't Instinctive, she tried to make herself smaller against him, to hide herself in the warmth and strength and safety of him. please don't let go

"I'm okay."

She lied in the same whisper, hoping saying it that quietly would hide the pathetic way her voice sounded young even to her own ears. She shouldn't be here. What if someone woke up and thought the wrong thing? Or maybe that was better than anyone seeing her shaking because of something as silly as a nightmare. She didn't want to be a clinging pull on Cloud. Just -

"It's okay."

just don't let go

"You're freezing..." And that wasn't nothing, was it? Settling stiffly back into the soft spot in the ground where he'd slept relatively peacefully, thus far, dreams mostly unremembered, he took a last furtive glance around the shadowy interior of the tent. Fortunately, though, it didn't seem as if they were in any immediate danger of waking the others.

(Heavy sleepers...)

In the distance, far from the scope of the world as it existed beyond the four canvas walls of the tent, the loosely lain boundaries of their impromptu campsite, another set of broken, wailing howls rose into the night air, shook something loose in the back of his mind. The day had been one great blur of fury and confusion, coming so close to his answers, his goal, and walking away with nothing more to show for it.

(The water tower? Why'm I thinking about that?)

It must've been Tifa sneaking out to meet him, again (if not at his insistence, this time), the thought of the familiar but not familiar nighttime sky clustered with billions upon billions of stars and pressing down on them from just above the tent's thin ceiling. He shifted his shoulders, not uncomfortable, moving just to move, and tried to remember if this'd ever happened before -- if there was something he was supposed to say or do or if it'd even be okay to ask her what was wrong, because she hadn't said, and whether or not it was as glaringly obvious as it seemed, he wanted to know, to at least pretend he wasn't as useless as he felt in this type of situation.

Back in Midgar, he thought, he might've just dismissed the whole ordeal with some cocky, offhand remark, and even if it was callous, there was a kind of mercy in that, too. But things had changed, since then, little by little -- they'd changed. Or begun to, anyway. He wanted to be better.

Or maybe it was all just the dark and the chill and the total absence of it, there, where Tifa was pressed up against him like they were kids again and it was okay to cling to one another in the dark without worrying what the others might think, just his mind playing tricks on him.

"You don't... Have to tell me, but." Another whisper of fabric against fabric, the telltale sound of discomfort as he tucked a hand behind his head, and the sound of his voice was barely more than that.

(You can.)

He didn't send her away. He didn't even pull back from her. Instead he just settled back into the way he had been as if it were perfectly okay for her to be there with him. As if she crawled into his bed all the time. Eyes finally opening to a view of his sweater, she exhaled and even if it shook, it held a stifled relief she hoped he wouldn't notice. Stealing more, knowing she shouldn't, she stopped trying to burrow and instead crept closer, fitting herself little piece by little piece closer against him. Her fingers opened, very carefully caught at the fabric of that sweater.

there was woodsmoke. but it was just woodsmoke. just the smell of woodsmoke on the familiar scent of Cloud. Nothing horrible or devastating or wrong in all the ways a fire and the smell of its smoke could be wrong.

Her breathing steadied a little more and she tipped her chin to listen to his voice in the dark. She was always listening for his voice in the dark. Barret's snoring almost drowned it out but it also played as background noise, giving them a strange kind of privacy she was pretty sure the older man never would have willingly given them awake. She tucked her face down again, into the fabric of his sweater and the solid comfort of his body under it, eyes sightless as the shudders, which had been dying down, still echoed in her exhale.

She never told anyone about her nightmares.

One of her fingers rubbed absently against a rib in the sweater's weave. Not quite picking at it but not far from the habit of picking at things when she was knotted up inside far away from the motion either. Turning her face back into his sweater, as if she could mute the sin of the confession, she weakly whispered: "I hated Nibelheim today."

"It's sick... What they've done..." That same subdued sound carried his answer to her, the look on his face remaining static, stoic. Steeled against that harmless fidgeting with the thick fabric of his uniform top as much as her gradual, almost reluctant relaxation against him, as much as the fierce words she whispered back with only a shadow of conviction, he felt he must've been no more comfortable to lean against than a sack of lumber. But he couldn't fault her where she found her reassurance; today it was they who had been wronged, their anger that had been openly ridiculed and cruelly dismissed as they wandered through the twisted joke that'd become their hometown.

They were the ones with nowhere to return to, mocked by a perfect replica stocked with frauds all in the Shinra Company's back pocket. And though he was sure he still didn't put half as much stock in the fractured memory of that place as Tifa most assuredly did, had spent most of his young life just waiting for a chance to run away from it, there was plenty that he'd lost, there, too.

...He wondered if it'd been funny to any of them, to the man they'd come chasing. He wondered if Sephiroth had even seen the town at all, (the set, the play), or if he even lived in a world where anything but his own delusion took form, any longer.

Shaking his head against the hand only just propping him up, Cloud cast his gaze around the dark tent and again found nothing to which he could latch his attention -- no safe haven here but himself.

"Are you gonna be okay...?"


It was a quiet sound and she nodded as well. There had been no real pause between his question and her answer though, no actual consideration, and her face didn't lift from where she'd pressed it against Cloud's chest. Tifa's slender finger went from subdued fidgeting to actual picking against his sweater, too light to do actual damage to the sturdy fabric.

Where's the little girl that lives here? Where's she gone? They had been stupid thoughts to have while she'd stood in that horrible replica of her childhood bedroom and had to clench her fists to keep from touching the piano keys that her mother's fingers had never touched. At least Barret had the ruins of Coral to point to. Shinra had left her and Cloud nothing. They'd erased it as if they could somehow erase all the wounds, as if the scars from that night five years ago didn't matter. As if they didn't exist. Shinra could build the house again but her father would never walk back in that door. Cloud's mother would never stand in the middle of his childhood home again. The people that had lived and died there would never walk those streets again. Who cared if the houses were the same? Nothing that had made them home was left. The wounds that Cloud wore, that she wore... no fake village was going to make those go away.

And what sick bastard had known their village, the inside of their houses, well enough to duplicate them right down to the pattern of a bedspread or a woven carpet?

Had they been violated - or ignored?

It also reminded her, all over again... Cloud hadn't been there that night. He hadn't been the SOLDIER that had come with Sephiroth. She had never led him up the mountain before today. He shouldn't remember the burning of Nibelheim. He did though. He remembered things no one alive but her should have remembered and he remembered things that made other bits that she remembered make more sense. He hadn't been there though, so how did know? And she was suddenly, in the face of Shinra's replacement reality, so, so afraid to find the answer.

"You remember the water tower. Right? The real one? And the broken down truck just outside of town? You remember the way the snow would always make the sign hanging on the inn fall off every single winter? Right? Cloud?"

"I remember..."


Learning to fish from mountain streams (by himself), using a rod and reel that he'd naturally assumed his father had left behind, the handwoven creel his mother had made for him.


Chasing (imaginary) friends along winding paths down the sparsely forested mountainside, the sound of ice cold waterfalls made of melted winter snow their laughter, happy conversation.


Listening for the call of his name just as dusk fell, his mother's the only voice that ever lifted it in such a tone, back then, all the others hushed whispers or a grownup's best disapproval.

Scraped knees, picked fights, windows to other worlds he'd never see lined with their gaudy, flower-print curtains... These memories were not his (not yet); they belonged to someone else, someone he'd buried faraway, long ago -- deep in his mind. Out of shame and anger as much as hurt, he'd gotten rid of that person, and instead of his own most insignificant, most poignant memories, he recollects hers.

The muted sound of a snowdrift and the heavy, wooden sign hung outside the Inn colliding, accompanied by the brief clink of the chains that'd held it, just barely, in softening wood. The view from atop the water tower, climbing up close under the night sky with splinters in his hands and knees and surely hers, too. Sitting in the front seat of a rusty, chopped up pickup with weeds growing out of the cracks in the seats and pretending to put the whole town in a rearview mirror that'd long since gone missing.

Bitter. Not sweet.

"Yeah. I remember." A nod, and his expression hardened, sharpened as he stared into the blank, dark stretch of canvas above and saw nothing. Blank. White. "That's not the place where we grew up."

In the dark, she blinked... and wished she believed him. He was Cloud. She knew he was. She knew he was the blond, confusing boy that had made her a promise and been lost when her world had collapsed, still waiting for him. She knew he was. He was Cloud. Her Cloud. If he said he remembered, he remembered.

Just the way when she meant it when she said she'd be okay...

Her finger stopped its lost habit and instead, her arm stretched suddenly, wrapping tight around him. Too strong and too tight before she remembered to relax it the smallest bit.

She couldn't lose him.

How many times had she lost him already only for him to come staggering back into her life? How many times did she have before one day he stopped coming back? Before the second chances were all used up? How long did luck and a childhood promise last before they all ran out?

She couldn't lose him too.

It didn't matter if he was confusing. It didn't matter if something wasn't quite right with him. They'd fix it, find the answer. Whatever was wrong, they'd figure it out and make it right. Just as long as he didn't disappear on her again.

"I don't want to lose everything."

Tight across his chest, the abrupt half-hug in which she seized him caught his breath up in his throat for all of a second, but not for the reasons he hoped she'd thought. These days, there was no escaping the vice grip of so much tension bound up inside of him, of expectation and anger and ambition (and maybe hope, too, somewhere down beneath all the rest). Even her best attempt to snap him in half, intentional or otherwise, simply couldn't compare.

A breath, a sigh, ran out of him, not so steady as he would've liked. She had every reason, every right not to trust his judgement -- as doubtful as he found his own reassurances, at times, not even he would be able to blame her. And yet...

"You won't." Still quiet, maybe even quieter than before, near-silent, he passed on another fervent whisper, his arm behind her back curling around her shoulders once more. Every one of them had already lost enough.

"I won't let it happen."


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