Through the Screen - A Sebastian Michaelis x Reader Story || Part 1
The dim glow of your computer screen was the only light in your room, casting eerie shadows against the walls. You had been binge-watching Black Butler for hours now, utterly engrossed in the story of Ciel Phantomhive and his ever-faithful butler, Sebastian Michaelis. There was something mesmerizing about the way Sebastian moved—his flawless precision, his silken voice, and the ever-present, knowing smirk.
But tonight… something felt off.
You leaned forward, eyes narrowing as you watched the latest episode. It wasn’t anything overt, just a strange, creeping sensation that sent shivers down your spine. Every time Sebastian appeared on screen, it felt as though his crimson eyes were locked directly onto yours. You knew it was impossible—just a trick of the animation, maybe a coincidence—but still, it unsettled you.
Then, it happened.
Sebastian, in the middle of an elegant bow before Ciel, turned his head just slightly—and for the briefest moment, his gaze wasn’t directed at the young earl.
It was aimed at you.
Your breath hitched. No. That was ridiculous. It had to be your imagination. Right?
You shook your head, deciding it was time for a break. Maybe I need some water, you thought, standing up and stretching. The air in your room felt unnaturally still, and for the first time, the glow of your screen seemed ominous rather than comforting.
As you stepped away, your PC emitted a strange, glitching noise.
You froze.
The screen flickered violently, distorting the video until all that remained was a mess of static and faint, warped audio. Your heart pounded as you turned back, confusion morphing into unease.
"What the hell…?" You whispered, slowly stepping forward.
The image shifted, pixelated shapes struggling to form something coherent. Slowly, the distortion settled, and within the static, something emerged.
A gloved hand.
Your breath caught in your throat.
It was unmistakable—the pristine, white glove of a butler.
The hand stretched forward, extending past the screen’s edges as though reaching for you.
You staggered back, but an unnatural force pulled at you, yanking you toward the screen. A rush of cold air engulfed you as your vision blurred, the glow of your room swallowed by an endless void.
You barely had time to scream before you were falling.
A New Reality
You landed with a thud against soft carpet. For a moment, the world spun, your senses overwhelmed by the scent of old books, candle wax, and something distinctly rich—like spiced tea and roses.
You groaned, pushing yourself up, your head pounding. This wasn’t your room. This wasn’t—
"Ah. What an unexpected guest."
That voice.
Your breath caught as you turned, your stomach twisting into knots.
There, standing before you, was Sebastian Michaelis.
Your mouth went dry. He was exactly as he had been on screen—tall, elegant, his dark tailcoat pristine as ever. His crimson eyes gleamed with something unreadable, his lips curved in a faint, knowing smile.
"You seem… disoriented," he observed, tilting his head ever so slightly.
You scrambled backward, your heart racing. "W-What— How—"
Sebastian took a slow, deliberate step forward, his polished shoes barely making a sound against the floor. "Hush, now," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. "There is no need for such panic. After all, you were the one watching so intently. Did you truly believe I wouldn’t notice?"
Your stomach dropped.
He had seen you.
"You… you pulled me in," you whispered, your voice shaking.
Sebastian's smirk widened ever so slightly. "Oh? Did I? Or perhaps…" He bent down, reaching toward you. You flinched, but he merely plucked a stray thread from your sleeve, his fingers lingering just a moment too long. "Perhaps you were always meant to be here."
Your mind reeled. This was impossible. Unreal.
Yet, as Sebastian extended a hand toward you—palm up, an invitation—you realized something horrifying.
The warmth of his breath, the subtle scent of his cologne, the weight of his presence…
This was real.
And somehow, you doubted he had any intention of letting you go.
Rufus Shinra x Secretary!Reader – "What He Wants" || Part 2
Manipulation | Power Play | Slow-Burning Possessiveness
You didn’t go home early.
Despite Rufus’s direct order, you stayed at your desk, fingers typing away furiously, determined to maintain some semblance of control over your own life. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, his words echoed in your mind.
"Then stop needing things I can provide."
The bed. The pearls. The way his voice slithered into your thoughts like a silk-threaded noose. You didn’t want to believe it, but he was getting to you.
Still, you refused to let him dictate your life.
Or at least, that was what you told yourself.
That resolve lasted right up until you stepped into your apartment that evening—and saw it.
A new bed, luxurious beyond reason. The kind of thing you only saw in high-end catalogues, with an intricately carved headboard, silk sheets in deep Shinra blue, and pillows so perfectly arranged that they looked untouched by human hands. The air smelled faintly of leather and cedar, and it took you a horrifying second to realize—
He had been here.
Rufus Shinra had entered your home.
Your pulse pounded in your ears as you backed against the door, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. How? How had he done this so quickly? When?
More importantly—why did it make your stomach twist in a way that wasn’t entirely fear?
Your hands shook as you pulled out your phone, fingers hovering over his name in your contacts. You weren’t even sure when he had programmed his number into your phone, but of course he had.
You pressed call.
He picked up on the first ring.
"Enjoying your new bed?"
His voice was smooth, expecting your call, like he had already predicted your every move.
"How did you get into my apartment?" you demanded, ignoring the slight tremor in your voice.
He chuckled. "You know the answer to that."
Your stomach tightened. Shinra’s reach was limitless. A locked door meant nothing to someone like Rufus.
"You had no right," you hissed, pacing the room now, your heels clicking against the floor.
"Didn’t I?" he mused. "You looked exhausted today, [Y/N]. I told you—I take care of what’s mine."
"I’m not yours."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then—
"Not yet."
Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around your phone. "Rufus—"
"You’ll sleep better tonight," he cut you off, voice lower now, softer. Persuasive. "You’ll wake up well-rested, clear-headed. And in the morning, you’ll come to work, sit at your desk, and keep pretending that you’re not already tangled in my web."
Your throat went dry.
"This is a game to you, isn’t it?" you accused. "Buying me things, controlling every little detail—"
"It’s not a game." He exhaled, and for the first time, his voice carried something dangerous beneath its polished veneer. "I always win games, [Y/N]. This? This is inevitability."
Your skin prickled.
"You don’t have to accept it now," he continued smoothly, the calculated edge returning to his voice. "But you will."
Your heart pounded, your emotions twisted into something complicated and unsettlingly warm. You wanted to fight him, to tell him he had no power over you—
But then you looked at the bed again. The pearls still around your neck.
He was already winning.
And you didn’t know if you had ever truly stood a chance.
Rufus Shinra x Secretary!Reader – "What He Wants" || Part 1
Manipulative | Power Play | Slow-Burning Possessiveness
The first time Rufus Shinra took an interest in you, you didn’t even notice.
You were nothing more than his secretary, another face in a long line of employees who answered to his every demand. You knew your place—efficient, professional, and, most importantly, untouchable. You never let yourself be drawn in by the power games, the whispered office rumors of those who got too close to the president.
But Rufus Shinra didn’t believe in boundaries.
You didn’t wear a necklace today. It wasn’t a conscious decision—just something small, insignificant. But he noticed. He always noticed.
The moment you walked into his office, his sharp blue eyes flickered over you, catching the way your throat was bare, your collarbones exposed in the crisp lines of your work attire. A slight smirk tugged at his lips. He didn’t say anything at first, merely gestured for you to come closer with a flick of his fingers.
“Busy day, sir?” you asked, handing over the reports he had requested.
Rufus didn’t take the papers. Instead, he leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled, his gaze locked onto yours. “You’re not wearing anything around your neck today.”
You blinked, slightly taken aback by the observation. “Oh. I suppose I forgot.”
His smirk deepened. “How careless of you.”
You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you chose silence, standing perfectly still under his scrutiny. It was always like this with Rufus—every conversation a battle, every glance a silent move in a game you weren’t entirely sure you were playing.
“I don’t like it,” he said finally, standing up. “You should always wear something. It suits you.”
You raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware my accessories mattered to you, sir.”
He chuckled. “Everything about you matters to me.”
The weight of those words settled uncomfortably in your chest. But before you could dwell on it, Rufus was already moving, brushing past you as he strode toward his desk drawer. You heard the soft click of a lock, the rustle of something being pulled free. And then, without warning, he was behind you, draping something cool and smooth around your neck.
A strand of perfectly round pearls.
You stiffened as his fingers lingered against the nape of your neck, fastening the clasp with unhurried precision.
“There,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Much better.”
You lifted a hand, fingers brushing over the pearls. They were expensive—of course, they were. The weight of them felt… constricting. “Sir, I can’t accept this.”
“You can,” he corrected smoothly. “And you will.”
You turned to face him, your stomach twisting in uneasy knots. “This isn’t appropriate.”
Rufus tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “What isn’t appropriate? A boss rewarding his most competent employee?” His lips quirked in amusement. “Or are you worried that I expect something in return?”
You swallowed hard. “Do you?”
He laughed then, low and knowing. “I always get what I want, [Y/N].”
The second time, you didn’t sleep well.
The stress of working under Rufus Shinra was suffocating. His expectations were impossible, his demands relentless. You had spent the entire night tossing and turning, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.
You thought you hid it well.
Apparently, you didn’t.
When you walked into his office the next morning, bleary-eyed and gripping your coffee like a lifeline, Rufus was already watching you, his gaze sharp, assessing.
“You look tired,” he remarked, as if it were an observation of the weather.
You exhaled, smoothing down your skirt. “Long night.”
He hummed, standing up from behind his desk. “That won’t do.”
You frowned. “Excuse me?”
He ignored you, picking up his coat from the back of his chair. “You’re leaving early today.”
That caught you off guard. “Wait—what?”
“I won’t have my secretary making careless mistakes because she isn’t sleeping properly.” He adjusted his gloves, his voice deceptively casual. “I took the liberty of having a new bed delivered to your apartment. Consider it a gift.”
Your breath caught. “You—what?”
“A proper mattress. Silk sheets, the best pillows. The kind of bed you deserve.” He took a step closer, his presence suffocating. “You’ll sleep better tonight.”
You were speechless.
This was beyond inappropriate. Beyond professional.
“Sir, this is—”
“Not up for discussion.” His voice left no room for argument.
Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “I don’t need you buying me things.”
Rufus tilted his head, amusement flickering in his icy gaze. “Then stop needing things I can provide.”
There it was again. The game. The power play.
You had worked for manipulative men before, but Rufus Shinra was different. Every move he made was calculated, every gift a reminder that you were his.
And the worst part?
You were starting to wonder if you ever had a choice in the first place.
It was a quiet evening at the Phantomhive Manor, the flickering light of candles casting gentle shadows across the ornate furniture. The air was calm, but you could sense a certain tension in the atmosphere—a kind of anticipation that hadn’t been there before.
You had grown used to the presence of Sebastian Michaelis, the ever-diligent butler, whose elegance and poise were matched only by his uncanny ability to be everywhere at once. His movements were smooth, graceful, as if he glided rather than walked, and his eyes always seemed to be observing everything around him with a quiet, inscrutable intensity.
Tonight, however, there was something different. He had been oddly… close to you, yet distant at the same time. You could feel his eyes on you from across the room, like a soft touch against your skin that you couldn’t quite escape. Every time you looked up, his gaze seemed to linger a moment longer than usual, a strange warmth in his usually calculating eyes.
You were sitting by the fireplace, reading a book, though you found it hard to concentrate. The crackling of the fire was comforting, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was on the verge of happening.
"Is there something I can assist you with, my lady?" Sebastian’s voice interrupted your thoughts, smooth as velvet, and yet with an underlying note of something… more. You glanced up, finding him standing just a few feet away, his expression as calm as ever, but his eyes betraying a hint of something deeper.
You closed your book slowly, setting it down on the nearby table. "No, Sebastian. Just a little tired. What about you?" You met his gaze, trying to read the expression in his eyes, but he remained an enigma, as always.
"My duties are never-ending, as you well know, my lady," he said, his lips curving into that charming, almost playful smile. "But they do not require my full attention at this moment. Is there something you desire, my lady?"
His words, though spoken with the same polite formality he always used, seemed heavier tonight. You didn’t know why, but you could feel the air around you thickening with unspoken tension, a quiet current of something you couldn’t quite place.
"Sebastian," you said softly, your voice breaking the silence between you. "Is there something on your mind?"
He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if considering his next words carefully. The shift in his expression didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it caused a flutter of unease in your chest.
“I have always been at your service, my lady,” he said after a pause, his tone soft, almost like a whisper, but still filled with that same composed authority. "But there are times when even I find it difficult to ignore the pull of... other desires."
Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. Sebastian Michaelis was always the picture of perfection, his composure never faltering—yet in that moment, something about the way he said those words made you feel like you were seeing a side of him that no one else had ever witnessed.
You stood up slowly, the distance between you shrinking, and for once, you allowed the tension in the room to linger. You could feel his eyes tracing your every movement, his breath almost in sync with yours as if he were waiting for you to make the first move.
"Other desires?" you repeated quietly, stepping closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest.
Sebastian’s gaze never left you, and for the first time, you saw something—something raw—in his eyes, something that wasn’t the calculated, perfect mask of the demon butler. There was longing, desire, but also restraint.
"Yes," he replied, his voice hushed, his usual confidence now tinged with something softer, something that made your pulse quicken. "But I am your servant, my lady. It would not be appropriate for me to act on such feelings."
You reached out, your hand brushing against the fabric of his coat, and his breath hitched for just a moment, betraying the control he was desperately trying to maintain.
“Sebastian…” you whispered, stepping closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his presence overwhelming. "You don't have to be so formal all the time. It’s just you and me here. Can’t we be… something more?"
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and you waited, heart in your throat, for his response. For the first time, Sebastian didn’t immediately pull away. His eyes softened, and you could see the conflict warring within him.
“I…” he began, his voice strained, as though the very idea of crossing the boundary between servant and master troubled him deeply. But then, in a swift motion that took you by surprise, he closed the distance between you, his hands gently cupping your face, his lips brushing against your forehead in a fleeting, tender kiss.
"You have no idea how long I have waited for you to say those words," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "But I must warn you, my lady, that once you allow me to cross this line… there will be no going back."
His voice was a low, tempting growl, and as he tilted your chin upward, his lips met yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and impossibly sweet. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you against him as if he couldn’t bear to keep his distance any longer. The kiss deepened, and you melted into him, your heart racing as everything around you seemed to fade away.
In that moment, you realized that Sebastian Michaelis, for all his cold, calculated demeanor, was capable of a depth of emotion and longing that you had never expected. And, somehow, you knew that this—this kiss, this moment—was only the beginning of something far more intense.
As he pulled away, his breath ragged, he rested his forehead against yours. “You’re mine now, my lady. And I will never let you go.”
The days following that encounter felt like a blur. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly, irrevocably wrong, but there was no way to pinpoint exactly what it was. Sephiroth’s presence was becoming all-encompassing, and every corner of the facility seemed to pulse with his energy. It was as if the air itself was tainted by his gaze.
You tried to keep your distance. You couldn’t get away from him—he was always there, lurking just beyond your line of sight, waiting for the perfect moment to make his move. But as much as you tried to avoid him, there were moments when you couldn’t.
One evening, after another long day filled with endless paperwork and the monotonous demands of your work, you found yourself walking back to your quarters, exhausted. Your eyes were heavy, your mind foggy, but all you wanted was to rest.
That was when you noticed the small vial on your desk, sitting innocuously in the corner of your room. It was a small, clear bottle, filled with a liquid that shimmered slightly in the dim light. You hadn’t seen it before. There was no note, no indication of where it had come from.
Your instincts told you to be cautious, but the exhaustion pulling at your body was overwhelming. You knew you needed sleep—desperately. You figured it couldn’t hurt to take a little sip, just enough to help you drift off.
It was only when you felt your eyelids begin to droop that the realization hit you: you had been drugged.
Your vision blurred, the room spinning as you tried to stand, but your legs felt like lead. You stumbled toward the door, but your body refused to cooperate. The last thing you saw before you collapsed was the faint glint of silver hair in the doorway.
When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the cold, sterile scent of the air. Your head throbbed with a dull ache, and your limbs felt heavy, as though they had been bound for hours. Blinking against the harsh light, you tried to push yourself up, but it was no use. You were no longer in your quarters.
Your surroundings were unfamiliar. The room was small, devoid of any warmth, with only a cot and a single barred window. Panic flared in your chest as the full realization dawned on you.
You were locked up.
Before you could even try to make sense of your situation, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the door. You froze. The door creaked open, and there he was—Sephiroth. His tall figure stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. It was the same look he had given you before, cold and calculating, but there was a new edge to it—an obsession that was impossible to ignore.
"You’re awake," he said, his voice smooth, as if he hadn’t just trapped you in this cold cell. "I was worried you’d sleep through the night. I needed you to be conscious for this."
You struggled against the chains that held your wrists to the cot, trying to push yourself up, but your body was still weak from the drug. "What is this, Sephiroth?" Your voice trembled with a mixture of fear and anger. "Why am I here?"
Sephiroth took a slow step toward you, his eyes narrowing as he observed your frantic movements. "I couldn’t let you go on ignoring me," he said softly, almost tenderly. "I couldn’t let you keep pretending that I wasn’t the one you needed."
You shook your head, trying to make sense of his words. "I don’t need you! Let me go!"
Sephiroth’s lips curled into a cold, almost cruel smile. "You think you have a choice?" He leaned in closer, his presence looming over you like an inescapable shadow. "You’ve always belonged to me, whether you realize it or not. I’ve been patient. I’ve been watching, waiting for the moment when you would finally understand."
Before you could respond, his hand shot out, grabbing your chin with an iron grip. You gasped, the sudden touch catching you off guard. "I’ve given you enough time to adjust," he continued, his voice low, dangerous. "Now, it’s time to take what’s mine."
You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, forcing your face to stay still as he leaned in. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin before his lips pressed against yours. It was forceful, demanding, and as much as you tried to fight it, his grip held you in place.
His kiss was not one of passion or tenderness. It was an assertion of control, a statement of power. A claim. His hand moved to your throat, not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind you of his overwhelming strength, his dominance over you. He was showing you that there was no escape.
Tears blurred your vision as you struggled against him, your chest rising and falling with panicked breaths. "Please," you choked out, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t—he was far beyond the point of letting you go.
When he finally pulled away, your lips tingled with the coldness of his kiss. His eyes studied you, as if savoring the fear and defiance in your gaze. "You’ll learn to accept this, [Y/N]," he whispered, his voice almost soothing. "You’ll understand what it means to belong to me."
With that, he stepped back, but his eyes never left yours. "I’ll give you time to think. You’ll be here until you realize the truth. Until you see that you were never meant to be anywhere but by my side."
You watched in silence as he turned and walked toward the door, locking it behind him with a final click that echoed through your mind.
Days passed in a haze of fear and exhaustion. You had no way of knowing how long you had been locked in that cold room. Every attempt to escape was futile—Sephiroth had thought of everything. The food was scarce, the water only enough to keep you alive, and the walls were high enough that there was no way out.
But more than the physical confinement, it was the mental toll that was breaking you. Sephiroth’s presence lingered, even when he wasn’t there. His voice haunted you, his words repeating in your mind like a mantra.
You were his.
There was no way out. No escape from his obsession. He had trapped you in his world, and now, all that was left was for you to accept it.
You never thought much about Sephiroth. He was just another legend—the silver-haired warrior, a figure feared and revered in equal measure. Stories of his prowess and tragic past circulated throughout the ranks, but he remained an enigma, a figure that most kept at arm's length. The whispers surrounding him were always filled with awe and fear, but for you, he was just another distant presence. You didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you. That’s what you thought, at least.
That changed the day you saw him watching.
It was subtle, a flicker of silver hair in the distance as you passed the hallway. You didn’t think much of it at first. People had their own reasons for being in the same spaces, after all. But as the days passed, the feeling of his gaze never left you. It wasn’t overt—he never made direct contact or even spoke to you. But you began to notice him. He was always there, a shadow in the background, his eyes lingering just a moment too long whenever you entered a room.
The first time it felt truly unsettling was when you found a small package left in your quarters. There was no note, no sign of who had delivered it. But when you opened it, your heart skipped a beat. A single feather—a perfect, gleaming silver feather—rested on top of a carefully folded piece of black cloth.
You didn’t know what to make of it. It could have been from anyone, but it seemed... too personal, too deliberate. A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed your fear: Sephiroth’s piercing eyes were on you from across the hall. You quickly shut the door, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.
You couldn’t place it, but something about this man, his presence, made your blood run cold.
Days went by, and you tried to shake off the feeling. Sephiroth never spoke to you, never approached you. But every time you saw him, you felt his gaze like a weight pressing down on you, following you in every room, in every corridor. You tried to dismiss it as coincidence. But the gifts kept coming: another feather, a single rose with its petals carefully placed within a book you’d left open on your desk. A scent of lilacs, sweet and intoxicating, drifting in the air when you entered your quarters, despite there being no visible source.
You thought you were imagining things, but deep down, you knew something was off. He was always there when you least expected it, always watching, but never interacting.
Then, one fateful evening, everything changed.
You were walking to your quarters after a long day of assignments, your mind preoccupied with the usual tasks. You weren’t expecting anything out of the ordinary—until you turned the corner, only to come face-to-face with him.
Sephiroth stood in the hallway, as if waiting for you. His tall frame loomed in the dim light, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. The cool, almost oppressive silence stretched between you as his piercing gaze held you captive.
“Sephiroth,” you murmured, your voice suddenly feeling small. You wanted to speak, to ask him what he was doing there, but the words caught in your throat.
He didn’t respond immediately, only took a step closer. The scent of the lilacs you had become so familiar with now surrounded you. His presence felt... suffocating.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his voice smooth and calm, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, something you couldn’t place.
“I—I haven’t been avoiding you,” you stammered, but even as you said it, you realized how foolish it sounded. Sephiroth knew. He always knew.
“Then why haven’t we spoken, [Y/N]?” His voice was soft, but there was a sharpness to it now. “Why do you look away every time our eyes meet?”
Your heart pounded in your chest, and a nervous laugh bubbled up. “I... I don’t know what you mean.”
But Sephiroth didn’t buy it. His eyes darkened, and he took another step forward, closing the distance between you. His silver hair shimmered in the dim light, but his gaze remained focused, unyielding.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. His hands reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, the movement so deliberate that it sent a chill down your spine.
“I... I don’t want any trouble,” you said, your voice trembling, instinctively trying to step back. But Sephiroth’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a vice-like grip.
“Trouble?” His lips curled into a cold, cruel smile. “You think this is trouble, [Y/N]? No. This is just the beginning.”
You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, his strength almost too much to handle. His eyes never left yours, locking onto you with a predatory intensity that made your breath hitch in your throat.
“You’ve been avoiding me for so long,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned in closer. “I don’t know why you’re afraid. You’ll learn. In time.”
Fear flooded your chest, but you couldn’t move. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating. There was nowhere to go.
His other hand reached up, his fingers trailing along the side of your face. “Don’t you see?” His voice was soft, almost affectionate. “You’re mine, [Y/N]. You always have been. I’ve been watching you, waiting for the right moment.” His fingers tightened just slightly on your wrist, and you gasped.
“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, your voice shaky, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his. His expression was unreadable—until it softened, almost tenderly.
“But you will. You will, in time.”
With that, he finally released you, but not before brushing his fingers along your cheek one last time. You stood there, frozen, your body still trembling from the encounter. Your thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and disbelief.
He hadn’t even asked. He didn’t need to.
As you walked away, you felt his eyes on your back, never leaving, always there. It was as if he was claiming you, marking you as his own, without a word, without a touch.
There was something about Rick Sanchez that always kept you on edge. You never knew if his wild antics were just his usual brand of genius or something darker beneath the surface. You were used to the reckless adventures, the outlandish experiments, the constant chaos—but what you weren’t prepared for was how much you’d become entangled in his world. Or, more accurately, how he became obsessed with you.
It all started innocently enough—or at least, it seemed that way.
You had first met Rick when he had dragged you into one of his insane escapades, as he did with many others. You had been curious, hesitant but intrigued by his wild stories of interdimensional travel, and eventually, your own curiosity had led you to follow him on more than one adventure. You never quite understood how he managed to get so many people to stick around with him, but something about the thrill of the unknown kept pulling you back.
At first, it was simple. He’d make the occasional snarky comment about how "normal" people like you never understood his genius. You’d brush it off, rolling your eyes, knowing full well he was only trying to provoke a reaction. But then, little things started to shift. There were times when you’d catch him staring at you, his eyes unfathomable, as if studying you. There was something unsettling about the way he lingered—his gaze never quite leaving you until you finally broke eye contact, feeling the weight of it.
Eventually, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.
"Rick, what’s with the weird looks?" you asked one evening, sitting across from him as he fiddled with one of his many devices in his lab.
His eyes flickered up, a brief, flickering smirk crossing his face before he turned his attention back to his gadget. "What are you talking about, [Y/N]? You’re imagining things," he said, though there was a certain edge to his tone, like he knew exactly what you meant. "Don’t waste my time with questions. I’m busy."
But the looks never stopped.
And neither did the late-night conversations. Those would start with casual comments but slowly turned into long, unsettling monologues about the nature of the multiverse, the absurdity of existence, and how you—you—were different.
"You don’t get it, do you, [Y/N]?" Rick’s voice was low, as if speaking to himself, though he was looking directly at you. "You’re not like the others. You’re special, in a way they can never understand."
You’d laugh it off, thinking it was just Rick being Rick. But it became harder to ignore when his words began to sound more like a promise, a twisted oath.
"Rick, you’re drunk," you muttered, trying to distance yourself, but he wasn’t having it. His grip on the bottle tightened, his lips curling into a grin that made your stomach twist.
"Does it matter?" His eyes were suddenly sharp, his voice tinged with something almost dangerous. "Does it matter that I’m drunk or that I’m sober when I know what’s true? When I know what I want?" His eyes locked with yours, a gleam of madness dancing in the depths of them. "You’re mine, [Y/N]. Don’t you get it? You belong to me."
You froze, the weight of his words sinking in.
The first time it really hit you how deep his obsession ran was when you tried to leave. You had told him you needed space, a break from all the chaos. You’d been around him long enough to know he had a way of suffocating the air in a room. You had hoped a bit of distance would help clear your head.
But Rick didn’t like distance. Not when it came to you.
You hadn’t expected him to follow you, not literally. But when you opened your door to find him standing in the hallway, his hair even more disheveled than usual and his eyes wide, frantic, you couldn’t hide your shock.
"Rick, what are you doing here?" you asked, your voice shaky, trying to maintain some semblance of control.
"Why the hell do you think I’m here?" he snapped, a dark undertone in his voice. He shoved past you, slamming the door shut behind him. "You think you can just leave? You think you can walk away from me? From what we’ve built?" His eyes were wild, unhinged. "You think you can just leave and find someone better? You're mine. I made you part of this. You don't get to walk away."
You stepped back, your heart racing. This wasn’t the Rick you were used to—the mad scientist who was always in control, always unpredictable—but this? This was something else entirely. His face twisted into something almost unrecognizable, a dark intensity that made the hairs on your neck stand up.
"Rick," you breathed, trying to steady yourself, "you’re... you’re scaring me."
His laughter was cold, manic. "Good. You should be scared. Because I’m the only one who truly understands you. They don't. But I do. You need me, [Y/N]. You’re nothing without me. Do you think anyone else could keep up with you like I can?"
The desperation in his voice cut through you. You knew it was twisted, but a part of you... part of you wanted to believe him. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were nothing without him. After all, the adventures, the strange worlds, the constant danger—it had become your life.
But was it worth it? Was the madness worth the price?
Rick’s voice broke through your thoughts. "No one will love you like I can. No one will cherish you the way I do. You’re all I need, [Y/N]. And if you try to leave... I’ll make sure you never can." His face was inches from yours now, his breath hot, his eyes burning with possessiveness. "You think you can run? You think you can leave me behind? Well, guess what? You’re mine. Forever. Whether you like it or not."
A shiver ran down your spine as you realized the extent of his obsession. It wasn’t just love—it was something darker, something consuming. Rick had crossed a line you couldn’t come back from.
You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat. Rick didn’t give you the chance to respond. With a sudden movement, he slammed you against the wall, his hand gripping your wrist tightly.
"I don’t share, [Y/N]. And if I have to, I’ll make sure you never want anyone else," he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. "You’re mine. I’m not going to let you slip away."
The air was thick with tension, and for a moment, you felt paralyzed, trapped in the gaze of a man who had slowly, irreversibly turned into something far darker than you had ever imagined. You weren’t sure if it was love or madness, obsession or protection, but one thing was clear: Rick Sanchez would never let you go. Not without a fight. And even then, you weren’t sure you could escape.
As you looked into his eyes, you realized the truth—this was no longer just about survival in the multiverse. This was about being caught in the web of Rick Sanchez’s twisted affection. A web you didn’t know if you could ever escape from.
I read your work for Sephiroth and was wondering if you could write another one!
Impressive Woman
pairing : sephiroth x female!reader
summary : he told you not to be so shy but when you try he's nowhere to be found. what if you train to pass the time? surely there is no way to embarrass yourself again.
c/w : reader uses a sword, mention of blood
a/n : urghh i do NOT feel good about this one. i hope this one lives up to the first part
part 1
The weeks that followed the incident in the hallway were anti-climatic.
Immediately following your encounter with Sephiroth you returned to Zack, abandoning your fabricated meeting with Angeal. He was standing, in the same place you had left him, chewing on his nails. Once he noticed you, practically floating, back towards him his hands fell away from his face.
“Oh my god, I thought you were a goner. Man, he walked back this way and he- jesus it was scary you should be glad you missed it- he was all like,” he furrows his brows and scrunches his face up, recreating Sephiroth’s ‘scary’ expression. You assume it was probably more frightening in real time than now, considering Zack’s face only makes you giggle. “It’s not funny, seriously! I thought I was never gonna see you again. I was ready for you to come out of there sobbing, and then I would have to show him-.”
“Show him what, Zack? You can’t even show the spider living in the corner of your bunk who’s boss. What exactly did you plan on doing to your taller, stronger, and definitely handsomer superior soldier.”
“Um, ‘handsomer’ is not a word. Also, that was completely unnecessary. I was really worried about you, and you come back completely unscathed and then start complimenting your hypothetical heartbreaker. Hey, speaking of, why aren’t you heartbroken and sobbing by the way.”
“Your faith in me is truly touching Zack,” you let out a half-scoff-half-laugh and roll your eyes. “I’ll have you know that things went.. better than expected actually. And I’m telling you, things are looking up for me.”
But they weren't. If anything, things were steadily declining as the days passed. You had barely even seen the impassive man, let alone had a chance to speak to him and fulfill his request to “not be so shy”. Just your luck that during the most important week of your romantic life, the main component would be missing. Sephiroth had been sent away on a mission concerning first-class soldiers only. Strictly first-class soldier business, strictly confidential, strictly unable to share any details. At least that was what Angeal had told you when you asked when he’d be back.
So, you sat, sulking and staring at an empty training simulator, sitting in the same spot you had watched him train not even a week ago. Your lips part with a soft sigh, chin resting on your fists.
“You know he’s coming back right?” Zack’s voice breaks you from your sullen trance, mirroring your surprised jump when your head whips in his direction.
“Christ Zack, don’t sneak up like that!”
“Why don’t you do something productive and try out the training simulator? Rather than, y’know, just staring at it and thinking about sweaty Sephiroth.”
Your eyebrows scrunch up, unimpressed, “Um- I was not thinking about that. And the fact that you thought of that at all is concerning.”
“Hey! Don’t turn this back on me. Gross..” His voice is shrill as he defends himself, exaggerating a disgusted shiver with his body. He laughs softly, eyes spotting a soft smile on your face that puts him at ease. “Anyway, you should do some training. It might take your mind off things. Think about it, kay?” Zack rests his hand on your shoulder, giving you a goofy smile before he waves himself off.
Of course, he was right. And it was the perfect time to train because nobody was around for you to embarrass yourself in front of. Cough cough, Sephiroth.
You pull yourself up from the plastic bench and approach the training simulator. You push your hair out of your face, roll your sleeves up, and grab one of the midsized training swords. The dome lights up blue, the artificial training dummies loading up before you. Gently, you rest the back of the blade against your forehead, breathing in and grounding yourself.
You focus on the cool metal against your clammy skin, tying your thoughts into this moment. Training during the day is usually hard for you. If anyone asks, you blame it on not wanting to fail in front of a crowded room. Which is true. But in reality, it’s just demeaning.
Shinra is a male-dominated place and a female soldier is hard to come by. It’s not like it’s uncommon for you to hear inappropriate comments or be offered help you don't need.
Usually something like, “You should lift your arm higher when you swing your blade,” “Position your feet closer together,” “Adjust your grip,” and “Why don't I give you a private lesson on technique?” It’s like they forget that you're a soldier too. They forget that you took the same training and got to the same place as them.
The blade in your hands glides swiftly through the air, fracturing the training dummy into a jumble of artificial cubes on the ground. A hair falls loosely in the middle of your forehead and you pay it no mind save for a quick puff of air to move it out of your eyes.
You’re not supposed to, but you can't help picturing the male soldiers who often approach you to offer their unwelcome suggestions. You should be picturing Wutai, picturing a real fight, but it is so satisfying to imagine the stunned look on a man's face as he gets cut down. Another dummy crumbles into a pile of digital squares. And another. And another. You plow through them, more concentrated than you’ve probably ever been. Skin glowing with a thin coat of sweat.
Standing in the middle of the dome, you realize that the training dummies have all fallen. But suddenly something heavy rests on your shoulder, gripping it. A reflex test maybe. But you don’t remember loading that in.
You swing your sword around expecting another artificial being but your blade misses, flying through the air unexpectedly and causing you to stumble. It moves out of the way. It’s a real person. You swung at a real person. The blade clatters against the floor, slipping from your hands as you turn to face the person who intruded on your training.
“Well, that's not exactly the greeting I was expecting. I thought you'd be happier to see me.” He's seriously teasing you even though you almost cut him in half.
“Seph- Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t- I would never- Why would you come in here? I could’ve seriously hurt you! Jesus, I didn’t even hear you come in..” You look him over erratically, your voice trailing off as your eyes zero in on a tear in the fabric on his arm.
With otherworldly speed, your hands find his arm to observe where your blade made contact. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his other arm rise and begin to move towards you at your approach and then slowly fall back to his side, barely noticeable hesitance. “I cut you..”
He looks down at his arm with you, hooking one finger in the torn fabric and ripping it further to get a better view, “Yes. I suppose you did.”
You wrap your hand around his forearm pulling him behind you quickly, and to any onlooker's surprise, he follows with no resistance, allowing you to drag him to the nearest first aid room. You practically push him to lean against the table inside, searching with unsteady hands for something to clean and wrap the wound.
Sephiroth curiously stares at you. Observes you. Did you seriously think that this was worth all this stress? It was a tiny wound, just bigger than a paper cut. if the paper was made of medal but- He had just been off on a mission, facing much worse than this, and yet you were acting like it was the worst wound you had ever seen.
He realizes, upon your return with arms full of medical supplies, that he hasn’t seen your eyes this whole time because you won't look away from this cut.
You roll his sleeve up with gentle hands, ignoring the way his fingers begin to brush against the underside of your arm. Gently, you wipe away the blood that oozes from his arm, hands shaky while pushing the gauze down to soak up the red liquid. When you know that the bleeding has stopped oozing out, you wrap his arm in a thin layer of gauze. You suddenly feel embarrassed by the attention you’ve given him, knowing now that it won't even need stitches.
Two weeks ago you wouldn’t have even dared to look in his direction if there was potential for him to catch you. Now you have confessed your feelings to him in the middle of an empty hallway, let him kiss you in the same empty hallway, and then almost cut his arm off. All in the span of a week. Okay, maybe you weren't even close to cutting his arm off but still.
“I’m sorry, I probably didn’t need to drag you away for this.” You finally look up to his face. He smiles down at you, maybe it would feel condescending to anyone else but to you it's almost endearing.
“You're probably right. But I appreciate your concern anyway,” he lifts his hand to your face to push a stray piece of hair from your forehead. “You’re all sweaty.”
“Sorry..”
“Don’t apologize,” Sephiroth’s eyes never look away from your face. You can still feel his eyes on you when you look away from him. “You’re a good fighter. How come I’ve never seen you train before?”
“How long were you watching?” Your embarrassment grows and your face must show it because Sephiroth lets out a small laugh.
“I apologize. I must admit, I was watching from the moment you started. I expected to find you when I got back, Angeal hadtold me you were quite troubled by my absence. But you were in the training simulator. So I took the opportunity to watch, almost like someone else I know.” He moves his head to find your gaze, which you hide from him by looking to the side. You can hear his smirk before you see it, and you know he's referring to you admiring him in the simulator on multiple occasions.
“You are far more impressive than me when you train. I can’t imagine you saw anything impressive.” You cross your arms over your chest but his hands reach up to break your defense, pulling both your hands into his own.
“You shouldn’t speak that way. You are a very impressive woman, you fight well. Half of these soldiers would be more than lucky to learn from you, don't forget that.” Even while leaning against the table he towers above you.
Your stomach explodes with tingles as his praise registers. Pride fills you. You had always admired Sephiroth as a soldier. Even before you developed your childish crush on him.
One of his hands leaves yours, finger brushing against the high point of your cheekbone. “Did you know you have a cut here?” All you do is shake your head.
He maneuvers the two of you to switch positions. You jump up to sit on the table, expecting to be closer to his height to no avail. Sephiroth gently moves your hair out of his way, pushing it behind your shoulders; his fingers brushing against your neck sends a shiver through your body.
He grabs a small cotton ball from the pile of supplies you had dropped on the table before and pours a small amount of antiseptic on it. Gently, he places it on the cut you didn’t even know you had and wipes away the blood that has dried along its edges. “You probably did this when you first swung your sword, do you always hold your blade so close to your face?”
You bite the inside of your cheek, remembering that you were embarrassed just a moment ago, “It’s just something I do when I train, my dad used to say something about being one with the blade when I was a kid." You give him exactly 2 seconds to respond before you fall back on yourself, "I know that probably sounds stupid..”
“You’re very hard on yourself. I don’t like hearing you speak that way. You are so much more than you know,” he says it so casually like it’s the simplest thought he’s ever had.
He looks between you, your cheek, and the supplies on the table. Usually, you might be glad to have a break from his intense gaze but now every time he looks away you're filled with disappointment. His fingers are gentle as he places a bandaid across your cheek, a soft smirk on his lips. You can only imagine it’s something embarrassing but you can't bring yourself to care.
“There. Now we're even.” He doesn't try to distance himself, hand brushing against your cheek.
“I- Can we train together? I mean- would you train me?” He raises an eyebrow at you, flicking the used cotton ball and the bandaid’s packaging into the nearby garbage can.
“I won't train you.” Your hopeful expression fades, mouth parted like a silent ‘Oh’.
“Ah ah,” he lifts your chin with his pointer finger before it can fall any further, “I won't train you. But we can train together. I’m not a teacher, and anything you have to learn you won't learn it from any simple pointers I have to offer. It’s the experience you need. I will give you that. But we'll do it together, yeah?” You can’t help but flush at the underlying flirtation in his words. "How's that sound, hm?" Once you realize he's expecting some sort of acknowledgment, you nod.
Sephiroth’s finger leaves your chin, palm coming up to pat your cheek. If it was anybody else it would feel demeaning but it only makes you crack a smile. “You come and find me whenever you like, and you can show me a thing or two about ‘being one with the blade’.” He smirks, teasing you as he walks out of the medical room leaving you to sit in your flustered thoughts.
“So I imagine you found Sephiroth?” When you don’t respond, Zack waves his hand in front of your face.
“Hm?”
“God, I have to get you out of here. He’s melting your brain with his evil soldier powers. Look at you,” his hand dramatically clasps the fabric of his tank top with one hand and touches his forehead with the back of the other. “I’m losing my best friend to his necromancy. He has hypnotized you with his love magic.” He gasps, “Oh god, what if he’s some sort of ancient being sent here to prevent you from ever having a decent conversation with me again.”
“Zack.”
“Yeah?”
“This has to be in your top ten most dramatic outbursts, I didn’t think you could get any worse. Why didn’t you become an actor? You seriously missed your calling.”
“Now that you mention it, I have been thinking about getting into acting,” he puts his hand up to his chin in fake thought, laughing when you push him and he loses his balance.
Suddenly he pokes his finger into your face, touching your cheekbone, “Hey, by the way, what’s up with the kiddy moogle bandage?”
The family was out of the house for an event, which left you and Rick alone for the evening. So now you guys have been sitting on the living room floor playing Mario Kart for the past three hours and Rick hasn’t won a single round.
“Fucking shit!” Rick yells almost slamming the controller on the floor as he loses once again. The amount of superiority you felt finally being better at something than Rick was unreal.
“Maybe if you stopped drinking and driving you could get higher than seventh place.” You laugh as Rick takes intermediate sips out of his flask mid round.
“That’s one hundred percent not the issue, the stupid fucking issue is that you have much more experience at this game, and have a much better understanding of the controls.” Rick states, causing you to laugh.
“Wow the smartest man in the universe can’t comprehend Nintendo controls.” You say still laughing and turn back to the screen, still in first place.
“I can understand the controls just fine I’m not- I’m not fucking stupid babe, I just need to warm up.” He says taking another sip from his flask.
The room goes back to silence, the only noise being the game as you guys stare at the screen intensely, with you still winning.
All of the sudden the controller is ripped out of your hand by one of Ricks long arms, and he’s still hunched over with immense focus, unable to let himself lose even if it means cheating. Typical.
“Rick give you back the fucking remote!” You yell attempting to reach it, but he stands up, still playing the game, and he lifts up the controller just out of your reach, causing you to climb on the couch to try to get the goddamn remote.
Rick just laughs at your frustration, and right as you’re about to grab it he flings it across the room carelessly. Not only does it break but also it hits a picture frame knocking it down and it shatters to pieces and that asshole is still not letting himself lose the stupid game.
“I WIN! HAHA LOSER!!!!” Rick shouts in celebration and you stand there in shock and frustration that he literally broke a controller, and a picture frame just to win a stupid video game.
“You didn’t win asshole, you cheated! Also you broke the controller, and a picture frame. ” You roll your eyes, and he’s still smiling in victory.
“Look! See first place, right here. I told you I wouldn’t lose!” Rick says pointing at the obvious first place spot like he just won a noble prize.
“Also losers clean up.” Rick says giving you a kiss on the cheek before heading to the garage.
☓﹒﹕charactersᶻ﹕→ rick prime & reader , rick sanchez c-137 x reader (mentioned)
☓﹒﹕small summeryᶻ﹕→ with me being a rick prime fictive. i feel the only good way to start is with a rick prime fic. rick prime fucking kidnaps the reader.
pressed up against the wall, you could hear loud footsteps from somewhere in the house. whoever was making them, it was on purpose. you had no clue who it was.. your eyes darted around, trying to come up with a plan.
spotting a wooden baseball bat laying on the floor a few feet away. you bolted towards it. wrapping your hands tightly around the handle, holding it close to yourself. practically ready to swing at the smallest noise.
the silhouette of someone began creeping down the hall. whoever it was, began to whistle. it almost sounded like.. rick? you had no clue why rick would be scaring you like this. so it couldn’t be him, right?
finally, they came around the corner. quickly swinging your bat directly at their stomach. putting as much force into it as you can. the sound of ribs practically shattering was loud. louder than you expected.
what you didn’t expect to hear next was laughter. deranged, maniacal laughter.
the person emerged fully from around the corner, somehow they seemed to be perfectly fine. standing up straight, no pain what so ever.
what you took note of next, sent shivers down your spine. he looked… similar to rick. slightly taller. very different clothes.. and much, much younger. he didn’t look over thirty.
a wide grin was on his face as he just stared down at you. grabbing the bat tightly and ripping it from your grip. tossing it off to the side and moving to grab at your arm.
you couldn’t stop him, you couldn’t tell him to let go. instead you were frozen. stuck staring right back at him.
“it’s so funny. i killed his wife to teach him a lesson. to show him nothing is forever, except for us, the infinite fucking rick. and the stupid fucker goes after you instead.”
you had… zero clue what the other was talking about. rick had mentioned his wife once or twice before and that she was.. well, gone. but never how.
given the fact he basically just admitted to killing rick’s wife, it was safe to assume that she was murdered.
was that going to be your fate? was he going to murder you to teach rick a lesson? is this really how your life was going to end?
the other seemed to notice the dread on your face.
“i don’t plan on killing you. yet. it seems just killing the people he cared about didn’t fucking work so.. we’ll try something different.”
grabbing you tightly by the forearm, he basically began to drag you towards the living room. watching closely as he pulled a small photo. it looked the be him and your rick, but younger. out of his pocket and haphazardly tossed it on the table.
turning his attention back to you, a grin on his face as he pulls something else from his pocket. shoving you down onto the couch, sitting down on you. practically straddling you.
before you could try and shove him off, he jammed a thumb into your mouth. prying it open. quickly shoving a pill in, closing your mouth, and holding it shut. using his other hand to pinch your nose shut.
“you can either swallow, or you’ll end up passing out. entirely your choice.”
attempting to struggle against him, moving your hands up to tug at his wrists… proved to be useless. he was stronger than you, much stronger.
right as the world started to spin, you finally swallowed.
at that, the rick let go of your nose and mouth. basically starting to pant like a dog, trying to catch your breath. two fingers were shoved inside your mouth.
biting down harshly on them, you could taste the blood. watching him quickly pull the fingers from your mouth, you glanced down at his hand only to tense. the wound was healing itself practically instantaneously.
the rick seemed to notice the look on your face, laughing softly as he moved himself off of you.
it was your chance to escape but.. your limbs felt so heavy. every part of your body felt heavy but— you didn’t feel tired. you had assumed he gave you some sort of sedative, but you weren’t tired.
“temporarily paralyzed. i don’t give a shit if your awake, i just don’t want you screaming your head off and trying to escape while i get you to your home. your new home.”
you wanted to protest, to keep fighting back. to keep trying to contact rick but… you couldn’t.
the rick leaned down, grabbing you with one arm and basically throwing you over his shoulder. you could hear the sound of a portal opening a few moments later along with a light green glow enveloping the room.
when you came out on the other side, the place reminded you of rick’s underground lab. a lot more high tech, the walls looked like they were metal.
you tried to force yourself to look around but nothing. you still couldn’t move. all you could do is wait as he carried you somewhere.
the sound of a buttons being pressed on a keypad caught your attention, then all of the sudden you were in some sort of glass box.
the rick set you down on what seemed to be a makeshift bed, propping you up then moving back. staring down at you.
“the paralytic should wear off in an hour or two, i have some other stuff to attend to until then but.. make yourself comfy. this will be your new home after all.”
he turned to walk back out the door before pausing.
“it’s rick prime, by the way. oh, how i can’t wait to see the look on wife guy’s face. heh.”
with that, he shut the door, leaving you inside the glass box. watching as he opened up another portal and stepped through. leaving you alone.
This is a genderless Reader. It is set in Kalm. The time period is up to the reader.
Location: Kalm
The air was thick with the scent of the evening’s rain. The lingering humidity mingled with the faint earthy aroma that clung to the air after a storm. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting an ethereal glow upon the world. You stood at the edge of the balcony, gazing at the distant horizon where the village's lights flickered like fireflies. It was a steady hum of life below. The cool breeze tousled your hair, but it was the warmth of the person standing behind you that held your attention.
Sephiroth had always been an enigma to you. His very presence was an unsettling calm, a tension between destruction and tranquility, and that sense of mystery lingered about him like a faint perfume. Tonight, however, something was different. His usual indifference seemed less pronounced. He was closer than usual: too close for comfort, but not in a way that felt threatening. His eyes, those piercing green eyes, never left you. A rare smile played only at the corners of his lips and teased you.
The lips that had commanded attention for so long, the lips that had once spoken harsh words or icy commands, now appeared... softer. How could his lips appear softer? Perhaps it was the moonlight, but they seemed fuller and more inviting. His lips were pale and delicate in their own way, with the faintest trace of a line between them that almost looked like it had been carved by a sculptor's steady hand. They were lips that could silence an entire room and bring enemies to their knees, but tonight, they seemed to hum with something else. Something unspoken.
You turned slowly to face him, feeling his presence envelop you. The distance between you was negligible now. You can smell the sweet scent of roses and vanilla. His breath was quiet, but you could feel the heat of it on your skin. The soft sound of his exhale seemed to vibrate in your chest, drawing your attention to the way his lips parted slightly. Sephiroth's expression was unreadable, but there was a spark in his eyes. Something teasing. Something challenging. His lips, ever so slightly pursed, were waiting. Waiting for you to make the first move.
He was a master of control, and to you, it was intoxicating. The way he stood: tall and unmoving. It left you in awe. His lips, however, were the most captivating part of him tonight. You found yourself memorizing their shape: the way they barely touched as he spoke, the slight part, the tip of his tongue, and the small amount of saliva between. Each word emerged slowly, deliberately, and with a subtle weight that only heightened the anticipation.
Sephiroth’s dry humor was ever-present. "You're staring at me again," he said, his voice low and smooth. The teasing lilt to his words caused a flicker of heat to rise in your chest.
You couldn't help it. His lips were mesmerizing, drawing you in like an impossible pull.
"Is there something on my face?" He murmured.
"Just wondering how something so delicate could seem so dangerous," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt loaded with something far deeper than the surface meaning. His lips twitched, as a ghost of a smile crossed them. It was rare to see him display such vulnerability, but something about him tonight felt different: softer, almost like a fine silk against your skin.
Sephiroth took a step closer, the heat of his body almost unbearable. His breath was soft against your cheek as he leaned down. His lips nearly grazed your ear.
"Dangerous?" His voice was rough, but smooth. "You haven't seen anything yet."
His lips were now inches from your skin. They parted slightly as if to say something else. You held your breath, knowing that something was about to shift. Something emerged that would change the tension between you forever. But then, without warning, his lips brushed against the side of your neck. It was a gentle caress but, oh, how it sent a shockwave through your body. The sensation was delicate, yet deliberate. It was like a slow flame igniting beneath your skin.
You shivered. Sephiroth’s lips hovered just above your skin for a moment longer, as though savoring the way your body responded to him. His gaze was intense, unreadable as always, but now there was something in the way he looked at you. It was the look of a man who was lost in you: a budding tenderness. The corners of his lips lifted, just slightly, in the barest smile. It sent your pulse racing.
"You have a way of making the simplest gestures feel overwhelming," you said. You were breathless. Your hands trembled at your sides as you tried to keep your composure.
He leaned back. His lips parted in a barely visible smirk. "It's not the gesture," he said, his voice thick with hidden meaning. "It's the intention."
Before you could respond, his lips were back at your neck. It was a slow, teasing touch that made your heart race. He didn’t kiss you fully—not yet—but the brush of his lips against your skin was so light and yet so intense. It made every fiber of your being hum with longing. Each caress was slow and drawn-out, as if he were savoring every inch of you. He wanted to make you ache for more before finally giving in.
Sephiroth's lips against your skin felt like a promise: a whisper of something forbidden, something heated. You could feel the heat rising between you. It was a charge that could break at any moment. And yet, he kept you on the edge, never fully crossing that line but making you yearn for him in a way you never had before. His lips were no longer just a part of his face. They were the gateway to something far deeper, a feeling that wrapped around your heart like a chain.
As he pulled away, a slight smile danced on his lips. It was as fleeting as the night breeze.
"Patience," he said softly. His voice still laced with that same dry humor. It was infuriating. "It will be worth the wait."
But in that moment, you understood. His lips had already made their mark on you, and it was only the beginning.
Can you write something for Sephiroth(pre-nibelheim) or Astarion? Your work is absolutely fantastic btw I’m in love with it ❤️❤️❤️
Not So Subtle
pairing : sephiroth x female!reader
summary : you have a teenage girl level crush on him, that you and zack talk (very loudly) about when you think no one can hear. but he does.
a/n : this takes place pre-nibelheim so everyone is happy and well! in honour of ff7 rebirth :)
“Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” You snap your jaw shut, eyes moving to glare at the young, dark haired boy who has decided to break your daydream.
“It wasn’t even open.” He plops down beside you, shoulder touching yours.
“Mhm.. and you weren’t drooling over our superior.”
“Your superior,” you correct, eyebrow lifted with pointed sarcasm. If you could stick your tongue out at him, without it seeming childish to everyone around you, you would.
“Last time I checked, you weren’t a first class soldier either,” He points out, amused. Your elbow makes contact with his arm, and his hand reaches to cover the area as he laughs.
Zack was younger than you, though he certainly never acted like there was an age gap. In his mind, you were the same age as him in some way or another. You had always trained together so you felt much closer in age even though you were at least 3 years older than him. At times, he felt like a younger brother to you.
Even more so when he found out you had a crush on the man he spent everyday training beside. Constant teasing, constant threats to spill your secrets, constant blackmail. You couldn’t even count the amount of times he had used your crush to his advantage on one hand.
There was a time you had to put your foot down and tell him no more, cause it was wrong of course. But also mostly cause you were running out of money to buy his silence.
“Yeah but I'm older, closer to his age. So I don't have to talk to him like I'm below him, unlike some people.”
“Can you even talk to him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you sitting here staring..?”
“He’s training..”
“Mhm.” The look on his face tells you he’s not convinced. Right now, it was the truth, Sephiroth was swinging his sword in the domed combat simulator, glass walls clear enough for you to see through. So the excuse of not being able to talk to him, out of fear of being sliced in half by his giant sword, was plausible.
But any other time that you had sat staring at him, making no effort to speak to him, rendered that excuse inapplicable.
“Shut it..” You push his shoulder with your elbow once more, and he snorts out a laugh.
“I don’t get why you can’t just talk to him..”
“Of course you don’t.. because you're obviously blind. Or you’ve been hit in the head one too many times in combat training.” You turn your gaze away from Zack to look back through the glass enclosing Sephiroth.
His hair is tied up, hanging loosely against his back. It’s a rare sight, so you indulge yourself and stare a second longer than you should. It’s so relaxed, you think, compared to the seriousness of always having it pristinely down. There are stray hairs, flyaways, falling from the hair tie and hanging against his face. It’s unkempt, a nice contrast to his seemingly perfect lifestyle.
He swings his sword with calculated grace, a grace that you (or Zack for that matter) had yet to achieve. The control he held over his blade was impeccable, it never slipped or moved from his hold even when his hands were moving faster than his body could keep up with. Just another thing that had to be perfect in his life.
“How could I ever speak to him and not make a fool out of myself? For one, he’s first class, I'd totally ruin my chances of making first class if I said something totally outrageous. And knowing me, my mind would be so jumbled, I wouldn't even realize the words had left my mouth before he put me on some kind of ‘do not promote’ list.”
“Oh so.. the only reason you won’t talk to him is because you're worried about making first class? Not.. I don’t know, maybe, the 12-year-old-girl-level crush you have on him.” Your hand slaps over his lips, eyes scanning around you. For the most part, no one looks at the two of you, and you figure the ones that are looking are doing so because of your hand covering Zacks blabbermouth.
“Would you shut it?” Even with your hand covering his mouth, he manages to laugh at your widened eyes. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are a dead giveaway of his amusement. You remove your hand with a pointed look, one that says ‘keep it down’ in a far more subtle way than a hand over his face.
“You’re so lucky you’re younger than me.”
“More like so lucky you don’t want to make your boyfriend angry. Besides, you know I’m stronger than you.”
“Mhm..” You roll your eyes, and with a sigh, you turn back to face Sephiroth. He stands still now and you realize all of the practice dummies have been broken. From your position, he doesn't even seem to have broken a sweat, even though he’s been in there for over an hour. His sword lies on the ground, thrown without care.
Even with Zack beside you, and the silent teasing that exudes from his body, your eyes remain trained on Sephiroth. You realize it’s childish, to stare and never approach, but the idea of even standing next to him is enough to intimidate you.
He runs his hand over his back, pulling the hair tie from his hair, allowing it to fall against his shoulders once more. He turns, presumably to leave the combat simulated, and his eyes meet yours through the glass. You knew your staring wasn’t subtle, it had never been before, but you had never expected to get caught. You had never been caught.
You turn your head away so fast that Zack almost flinches, probably thinking you were going to hit him again.
“Jesus,” he looks at you with confusion, “What’s the problem?”
“He saw me.”
“What?”
“He saw me! Through the glass! He totally caught me staring at him..” You stare at Zack with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, before you head falls into your lap in shame.
“Would you relax? I guarantee he doesn’t care or he didn’t even see you. Maybe he was just looking at his reflection.”
You look back towards Sephiroth to see him leaving through the doors of the dome, and then you turn back to Zack with a pitiful whine.
“This is so pathetic…”
“I agree,” he smiles when you shoot him a glare, “Just talk to him.”
“Talk to who?” A deep voice sounds from beside you, higher up than where you sit. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stick up, and Zack's expression is enough to confirm your suspicion about who stands next to you.
You turn your head to face Sephiroth, and he stares at you expectantly. You think you catch the slightest smirk building on the corner of his lips, but you also think you might just be trying to make yourself feel better. Standing, nowhere close to his height, you hold your hands up. Zack takes this as his sign to stand too.
“Nobody! Angeal!” You fumble out words, trying to throw out a name before he grows suspicious.
“Well which is it, nobody? or Angeal?”
“Angeal. Yeah! Angeal, so.. um.. I should probably go find him.”
“It just so happens that I have to find Angeal too, allow me to join you.”
You want to throw the nearest chair at Zack, curse him for speaking so loudly. And you curse yourself for not thinking of an excuse in a reasonable time frame, so you just nod, and excuse yourself from Zack.
He gives you a pitiful smile, and when you turn to look behind you for support one last time as you walk away he gives you a thumbs up. His face contradicts his hands, and he seems like he’s in a far less teasing mood.
“Whatever you have to say to him, it must be important.”
“Hm?” You tilt your head up and to the side to look at Sephiroth, you’ve been walking together for a few minutes now, mostly silently.
“You're walking fast.” You shrug your shoulders and continue walking.
At least until your steps are interrupted by him stepping in front of you.
“Is there a problem?”
“What? Of course not!” He practically glares down at you, arms crossed over his muscular chest. You can see the outline of his defined chest muscles through the straps of his top. And you realize you're practically drooling over him, right in front of him so you force your eyes to meet his once more. But his glare is replaced by a smirk, and amusement in his eyes.
“I see now..”
“See what?”
“Really? Do you think you’re subtle?” Your face flushes and once again you want the floor to open up and consume you whole, but you're stuck here.
“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Step back, you scream at yourself, but he moves closer and it’s impossible to move your feet. They feel like lead underneath you, not even giving way to a small shuffle backwards.
“No?” His hand reaches up to rest on your cheek, it's gentle, far gentler than you would’ve expected. But the way his fingers tense against your skin has you feeling fuzzy, “You think I don’t notice the way you stare? Hm?”
He stares at you, thumb moving to the other side of your chin, holding your face in his hand. He maneuvers your face, moving it however he likes. You realize he’s examining the flush in your cheeks, the way your lips part like you want to say something. His tongue gives a humiliating click when your lips close, and the words are lost.
“I hear you, when you talk to Zack,” he stops his movement, stilling your face to look directly at him, “You’ve never been a quiet girl. Why are you so quiet now?”
When you don’t respond his eyebrows scrunch, its subtle and almost missable because it’s gone in seconds. He’s not satisfied by your silence.
Sephiroth bends his shoulders, moving closer to your face, “Although, I suppose you’ve never been very talkative around me.” He moves closer still, swerving his nose to the side of your face until he’s able to speak in your ear, “That’s not very nice. You might hurt my feelings if you keep ignoring me.”
“I’m sorry,” you mumble out meekly, you're honestly not even sure it’s audible at first but he laughs quietly, breath fanning on your ear. His other hand, the one that doesn’t hold your face, reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before he pulls away. The breath that leaves your body is almost embarrassing.
“What’re you sorry for, hm?” He stares expectantly down at you, eyes never leaving yours.
“F…for ignoring you.”
“So you ignore me?”
“No!”
“So you’re lying?” You shake your head as much as you can within the hold of his fingers, “Then what are you sorry for?”
“For not talking to you.”
“And why don’t you talk to me, I'm sure you know it’s rude to stare and never speak to someone.”
“Because..” His grip loosens, hand moving back to your cheek, thumb resting on your cheek bone.
“Because why? Cmon use your voice, the one you use to talk about me with Zack.”
You stare up at him pitifully, and the way words fumble from your mouth has you wanting to throw up, “Because I have this stupid crush on you, and I can't talk to you without getting nervous. I know it’s stupid and I should have told you sooner so you could reject me and I could move on and I never meant to offend you or-”
You hadn’t realized he had gotten so close until his nose touches yours, top lip brushing against yours as he tips your chin up towards him. Your words fall flat on your tongue when you meet his eyes, or rather when you see his eyes that are focused on your lips.
“Offend me.. that’s sweet..” He’s so close to you, that every word has his lips brushing against your own again and again.
“Sephiroth..?” You suppress the urge to move the tiniest bit forward so your lips can fully meet his. And you're sure your face is impossibly red.
“You should’ve told me about this ‘stupid’ crush sooner, such a foolish girl. May I?” You're confused, what is he asking for? His eyes flicker up to yours before moving back to your lips. When you realize what he means you nod your head perhaps too eagerly.
Slowly, to tease, his lips press against yours, palm pressing into the skin of yours to keep you in place. Eyes fluttering closed, your hands find his chest, silently screaming about the position you’ve found yourself in.
His lips overpower yours in every regard, moving languidly against you. His other hand reaches up to the free side of your face, fingers tickling the skin on your neck and thumb resting on your jaw.
When he pulls away you can only look at him with half lidded eyes, dazed.
Al he does is chuckle, rubbing your cheek with his thumb and patting your head. One hand holds the back of your head, leaning down to kiss your temple, before stepping behind you, “Don’t be so shy from now on. Maybe we’ll end up here again.”
His steps echo through the empty hall as he walks away.
“Wait… wait.. I thought you had to go see Angeal?” You turn, taking one step in his direction, then stopping yourself in your tracks hesitantly.
“I didn’t. And I know you didn’t either.” He only turns his cheek towards you to speak and then continues on down the hallway, tall and brooding.
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