#serapime

❝ You won't , ❞ comes the soft breath , scaled forehead pressing against hers as hands smooth over Sephiroth's . She notes their warmth , the rush of blood that courses through them lifting them so that they rest within the cradle between hip and the jutting spikes of hips . Crown tilting down to watch how she guides the larger , uncertain hands , the cool pad of her thumb smoothing over to feel muscle , sinew , the flutter of a pulse that trembles at her touch ( fearful , distraught at the thought of bringing harm to porcelain skin and marble scales ) . She provides a gentle squeeze as a meager attempt to comfort and steady , to quell the worry that brings those words to the forefront of the woman's lips . Hand eventually draws away , but not without any small amount of difficulty , own fingertips ghosting over the sharpened points that curve and follow the swells and dips of her hips . ❝ You won't hurt me . ❞ She reiterates in a softer breath that mingles with Sephiroth's own , palms caressing jaw to gently usher upward tilt to seal the once open proximity between them so as to stoke the blistering embers that ignite upon contact . Eyes flutter shut as scent and taste fills her , as moonlight filters through the curtains of the window with watchful gaze as Ebony's hips settle on Sephiroth's thighs , tail snaking down into a lax curl , around the base of ankle with a gentle tap on the ground .

The beginnings of a hunger gnaw at her stomach , the hitched breath that snags on the curve of lips as she stays the desire to feast upon her further . The shift of fabric as discarded clothing on the corner of the nightstand drops to the ground , lost in the gasps and quiet moans before they part , the thin silver thread still connecting the both of them as swell of breasts lift with a breath . Slit pupils find themselves dilated , downcast as her hands trail down the front of Sephiroth's chest , against the warmth and softness of unmarred skin , the swell of her breast , taking time in revealing more of what usually finds itself hidden away under layers of clothing and armor . They retrace their path , sweeping over broad shoulder to push back the river of silver to reverently expose the pale expanse of musculature and the sweep of her neck , her throat . The words echo in her mind once again , the breath in lungs stilled as she finds herself in the presence of holiness .

They're damned . Damned by the humans . Damned by the world . Damned by themselves .

Yet they cannot bring themselves to damn each other .

A lingering heat clings to her skin as mouth descends to the crook of neck , depositing petal-soft kisses , the occasional soft scrape of sharpened teeth over flesh a declaration of the desire that presides . ❝ I trust you, ❞ she breathes as mouth lifts to find hers in the moonlit darkness , forms sinking back into the waiting embrace of the plush bed , sheets bunching between clawed digits as own hair spills over shoulders to curtain them together , allowing them these little moments of privacy where roaming hands pull , drag , hold closer and in the face of her trembling power , she finds herself deferent to . Starlight waterfalls over her shoulders as she bows and worships the unmarred ivory of her skin , the light trill of a whimper clicking in her throat at the pressure between quivering thighs . The tremble in muscles caused not by that primal fear , but rather that of anticipated rapture .

You could never hurt me the way they do.

--- ↪ old prompt i lost / @serapime

there it was ... raw, unfiltered emotion. cracks in the pristine glass that hid her truer state, her truer sense of being that casimir had long wanted to see. ( from her ambitions, her fears, her hidden feelings, her disgust ... ) imperfections that hidden beneath the unmarred glass that looked untouchable, to the point of being unreachable. but he's touched it. not by the hands that was shaped by the human mold, but through the truer essence that existed in all of its abominable glory. when he has her so close, how can he not want to feel her ? not through this body that cannot truly embrace her, that cannot embrace her sword, cannot embrace the marring inflictions that he'd have the pleasure of accepting inside of him. much like the hands free from this mold that curate his work, he needs to truly appreciate the art before him.

" look at you. " he breathes out, arms wrapped around her with a noise pertained to ecstasy. " finally ... you're being honest with me. " she has always been direct, blunt, and firm in ways that evoked fondness from him; but this was a type of honesty that ironically held itself behind behind that untouched glass that surrounded her. ( that innate ability to grasp control, to overwhelm, to grasp whatever centered her attention by the confines of her first. ) the limbs that slip out from the mold of his body were equally as thrilled; evident in the way they wriggle and extend in excitement all around them like a make - shift cocoon to hide them both from the world. to only allow casimir the privilege of bearing witness to something so beautiful before undeserving eyes. one wraps around her arm, another around her ankle, another around her wrist ... wanting to guide her, to help her, and encourage her.

" this is exactly who you are, my dear ... accept it. " his hands slide across the space of her back, physically noting how defined and well - shaped her muscles were. a slow, creeping smile of contentment expands as bliss evokes from the sigh escaping him. she wrapped around him perfectly. with these hands that could crush him or break him ... mar him, wound him, or stab him; how blissfully they feel simply accepting him like this. " it's alright to want more .... " tentacles slip around both of her wrists, grip not at all restricting or tight. they simply guide her hands towards him, and with his own hands, he gently makes them wrap around his neck blissful smile never leaving. " you are perfect. "

--- ↪ prompt. ( making demands. ) / @serapime

so close, yet so far ... temptations stir, and it was so, so clear to the curator just how close her foot was upon that edge that led to an abyss of the unknown -- of wishing to give in, of wanting to take control of the whispers that utter unfamiliarity within her ears. ( one unfamiliarity stood before her in the shape of a sweet smile, welcoming arms, and an abominable form hidden beneath pale flesh. ) even in the face of that sword that's held in his direction, held with caution, and that beautiful anger that's hardened across her sharp glare. or was it simply uncertainty ... ? he can see it ... something vulnerable creeping in those eyes that were equally as deadline as the blade hovering over his chest; there were cracks on the wall, and she did not like it. " did i anger you ? " he inquires, his tone almost innocent in nature despite the tender smile across his visage. " i did not mean to provoke you ... i did not think that was possible. "

pale eyes soften, and the way his hands begin to lift up were slow -- yet oddly inviting. like the cadence of a moving temptation, gloved hands wrap around the sharp blade that could easily swipe and cut him open. ( split apart this mold, finally grant her the abominable existence that lived inside this false body. ) " it's alright ... here. " gently, he maneuvers the blade to guide it closer to his chest -- the tip of the blade now meeting with the surface of the fabric of his tie. " ... you must be so confused. so lost. and that is alright, my dear. ... you know me, do you not ? at the very least, i am here with you. "

slowly he closes his eyes, his grip around the sword tightening as something breathless follows out from him. " i missed it ... " the tips of his fingers slowly glide beneath the curve of the blade. " your sword inside of me. " he sighs, almost as if in longing. " it's alright, my dear ... you can be angry with me. go on. use me. "

being the offspring of a feared shinra official meant they could do whatever they wanted with the staff. this meant that when they specifically requested for the soldier poster girl to be their bodyguard for outings, no one could actually work up the nerve to say no. machia thinks back to their mother’s stern warning under the guise of gentle chiding: try not to break this one, jasmine.

they couldn’t break her no matter what they did. what fascinated machia the most about sephiroth was how she was untouchable, unmovable. even in the sweltering heat of costa del sol, sephiroth hadn’t even broken a sweat–machia looked unabashedly as the slight bit of skin exposed in her otherwise enveloping leather uniform of hers, scanning for even the hint of bodily shine. her appearance was a stark contrast to machia, who wore a bikini that left little to the imagination. it didn’t matter how much they sighed, moaned, stretched–sephiroth seemed wholly uninterested in their antics, much to machia’s irritation. you should want me, you should envy me. they huffed and sat up, tossing their sunhat to the side so that their sunglassed glare at sephiroth couldn’t be hidden. “ you should be clawing to even graze against me. you’re boring me like this. ”

that’s when sephiroth had uttered words that would set machia’s mood for the rest of the outing: you love when it’s about you, don’t you?

machia is not their sister; they are not humble, selfless, self-pitying. i am undeniable. “ yes. ” she says with no hesitation whatsoever. there’s a hint of irritation beneath their voice; the rasp overworking itself. “ it’s always about me. that’s how i got my hands on you to begin with. ”

they try to leave it there. machia is not their sister; they are not envious, pathetic, wanting. i was made to be feared by humanity. i don’t need to be loved! a simple question, one that very well could have been a tease, flirtation, or an intended insult, was enough to sufficiently get under their skin. they think of sephiroth’s skin–warm to the eyes, cool to the touch, without a blemish. i want to be in your undeniable, loved skin. they’re not sure what they mean by this desire; they’re not sure whether they want to be her, kill her, or feel her. they hate that such desires are even being considered at all. imagine if i broke you. machia delights in the ambiguity of that word, break, broke, breaking. what would that look like in you, if i broke you? 

Is that really so bad? the selfish part of Char's mind asks, quiet and meek, as she stares up at Sephiroth with her hands balled on top of her thighs. He knows Sephiroth can hear the thought or feel it or... however it works. Again, Char is not a very good Newtype. All he knows for sure is that there is no hiding or running. He'll fall; that's fine. Char leans forward to press his forehead to Sephiroth's knee because she's too tall for his head to meet any other part of her. The meeting of their skin is enough. Another flash. For a moment she is much taller, she looks down on herself, she sees the crown of blond where it is gently pressed to her skull by the aluminum frame of her mask. Then she is herself again with her forehead against the sloped dome of a kneecap.

"I want you strong again," Sephiroth instructs him, her every word carefully deliberated upon and picked with much grace.

Char's first instinct is to be petty: he'd rather not, he's tired, he wants to just succumb. But she knows as well as Sephiroth that some of the fun is being hard-to-get. The masks that she's constructed over the years are only bits of darkness that can be blasted away by the Newtypes who either do not know how to be any other way or those who have been engineered to destroy on the battlefield--they cannot be eroded by time. It's too late for him to be fixed by such normal human methods, not after everything he's seen.

The scar on his forehead where Amuro stabbed him aches. When Char was within Amuro's mind he could feel Lalah's presence underneath Amuro's eyelids, the groping reach of her extending outwards, how even buried within Amuro's consciousness she would still go on reaching for Char. The all-encompassing nature of her-within-Amuro; his Newtype connection with Amuro had exposed him to that. Then he had gone back to himself and been utterly alone. Char was made jealous.

soldier : boy , you were destined for greatness. rumors , now , surrounding someone else with that sort of promise never went unnoticed within shinra , dante knew that much well enough. with eyes constantly fixed upon another rising star , he , himself , could finally slip easily into the shadows; worm his way from necessity into another expendable soldier among countless others , thrown back to the stockpile.

and yet , much to his own surprise , she had never seemed particularly fond of the praise thrown her way. dante lingering at another's side through gunfire and smoke alike , tossing out a quip here , another careless joke there. eventually it reached a point where one too many remarks struck sensitivity. so much so , the grin upon his face fades quickly thereafter. ' it’s cool. didn’t mean to hit a soft spot. ' earlier he’d made some offhanded joke about them becoming shinra’s favorite , nothing cruel enough to warrant the reaction it earned.

but dante understood better than most what it meant to have shinra’s attention fixed upon you. eva had known it , too. perhaps more than anyone. shinra had sought to erase her entirely from project sparda the second she became inconvenient. truth be told , he knew little of his own research beyond the fragmented notes she left behind for him to read as a child; memories stitched together with cold laboratories , IVs forced into his arms , endless blood transfusions and cell injections while strangers watched him. he knew well enough what suffocation felt like.

send 🌴 and i'll recommend a blog i haven't spoken to yet but admire from afar

This one's easy. There are a couple of blogs I've been championing ... (゜-゜) but too anxiety to reach out.

Sinna's incredible Sephiroth ( @serapime ). The amount of love and effort he put into her backstory / creation (hah) is incredible. It's like I'm sitting in a room with the actual Sephiroth. I'm genuinely not sure how my Clive could compare.

@braskide is another mun I'm nervous around. Muna (such a cute alias btw) very clearly loves Yuna so much, and they're so funny, too. Though, I'm going to admit something sacrilege : I've never beaten ffx. I don't know Yuna very well, which means I'm paralyzed when it comes to plotting lol. Oooops.

--- ↪ prompt. ( the knight and the moth. )

" oh ... not at all, my dear. you ... are far more. " something breathless leaves casimir as he looks up at her. as if he were looking at a masterpiece beheld in the walls of his museum .... but she was better than a simple work of art hung up on a wall. alive, breathing, moving, a walking ensemble of something so deeply flawed that bordered on perfection. ( to the curator, flaws are what makes one so perfect -- so whole. ) it's such a pity that the curator is far too fond of their conversations ... else he would've indulged in his curious desires to split her apart, split her mind open, and see what it was that made her tick. what delved in the machinations of her mind that differed so much from the humans he's spectated in his whole lifetime here within humanity's time. " you are ... devastatingly beautiful. " the kind of beauty that one may find only in art, a piece that no one will ever be able to own or beheld as their own except grant their eyes the privilege of looking at her.

yet gloved hands reach out, to press his palms around her face ... visage striking and gaze sharp as a blade that could cut him open. ( and he would let her. ) his touch is soft, almost ... ghostly. just barely present. the black fabric around his thumb maneuvers around her cheek, not unlike how he so often did to make sure his mannequins look presentable and unblemished by dust. oh, but sephiroth was no object. no matter how much casimir wished to have her forever beheld in this museum. " i wish i could truly appreciate you in all the ways you deserve ... how undeserving i am to even look at you. "

a chuckle leaves from the base of his throat. the tendrils inside of his body squirming and desperate to go free -- to wrap themselves around sephiroth; not to claim or own her, no no. ( she must be preserved; unclaimed as she is unblemished. ) simply to come into existence and memorize each detail of her visage .... perhaps meet with the cutting end of her sword. feel the pain that will come with it. his smile unconsciously twists with delight. how tempting it was to earn the ire of her blade.