Synopsis: While training as a Shinra doctor under your uncle Gast’s influence, you are tasked with caring for Sephiroth, the company’s most valuable soldier. As experiments and missions tear at his humanity, you become his only refuge; clinging to stolen tenderness in a world that was never meant to let both of you be human.
Multiple-Chapter Work || AO3 || Prologue.
This story contains themes of medical experimentation, torture, psychological abuse, self-harm, and suicide. It also explores trauma, grief, and loss. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Please take care of yourself, and do not hesitate to step away if any part of this story becomes distressing.
Chapter TWs: Trauma, grief, emotional manipulation, loss, guilt, death references and distressing authority confrontation.
𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒.
You were asked so many times it left a print in your mind that time nor god’s hand can erase: why weren't you there for him? No one did ask out loud: you heard it under their tongues, you've seen it in their eyes and none of your super senses could've ignored it. It may have been years, but recounting everything made it start all over again: the first arrow, the first kiss, the first love and then— the first trip over the cliff of your life.
“What are you thinking of?”
You averted your gaze from the ceiling to him just as he spoke; his voice always hauled you from your thoughts no matter how deep you were in them. It was for your own eyes to see how Sephiroth’s had that unworldly wonder in them— it was not the color, not the feline shape, but the jollity in them that didn't need to be screamed or laughed, he was just happy inside.
He looked happy.
“Something” you smiled.
“Which is?”
At your chest rested his head, still looking up at you, green lenses reflecting your image in them; fingers of a hand in his hair, the other securing his elbow to your side. It was one of those rare moments when everything was alright with the world; no experiments, no check-ups, and surely better, no missions— even for a little while.
You mentally worded before saying “How I don’t dream much when I'm asleep”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Not really” adjusting your position a little while holding him still, you continued “But it's strange how out of all times in my life, when I didn't see anything in sleep, to recently see… visions” you weren't sure whether the last word was correct in its sense; it was artificial to try and relate to something that wasn't tied to you like it's tied to others.
“Of what?” He asked ever so sweetly— your sweet Sephiroth, the way you remembered him, not as he was told by Shinra.
“You”
The word dropped low from your lips and hooked his eyelids up— so slightly another eye can't catch except yours; you thought sometimes that he wasn't in full control of his own face threads. He didn't say anything for moments, slowly seeping the mere word ‘You’ and its possible interpretations. He was a smart boy, given less credit than he deserved and more weight than he could have carried. He moved even closer; muttering too close to your face “What do you see?”
The smile stitched itself across your face, involuntary and sudden like a good memory. you held a lock from his bangs and twirled it between your fingers and the way it ringed your digit; hair holds memories indeed.
“I've seen you one night extending your wings” you mimicked the gesture of a bird ready to fly with an arm, the other cradling him still “Floating high… so high I only saw you like a satellite, Moon's snow and sky dark” you lowered your arm again to hold his shoulder “I called out to you but you didn't hear me”
He laughed— laughed, really laughed; a short-lived joyful sound you memorized all of its strings. If only the human memory could record you'd hear his laugh for an eternity.
“I have only one wing”
“I know” you pushed back his bangs behind his ears “In my dream you had two”
He leaned into your palm “Why do you think that is?”
“I don't know” whispering “Dreams are silly most of the time. They don’t mean anything”
The quietness of after hours painted everything in a prismatic peace, nothing mattered now except this feeling of amity. your hand brushing his head, seeking bliss from his very existence. The pause wasn't bothered as he started “Do you think…” a winter night weathered his lilt “I could ever really have two?”
The movement of your hand froze. You blinked at him, he wanted an answer.
“You already have”
His eyebrows knit “I only have one”
“No” your hand moved again, channeling the tenderness eating your nerves into the act of comforting him “You have one others can see, and one you keep to yourself.”
He went as still as water underground. You don’t remember any words after that, just the way he lifted your hand from his shoulder, held it with both palms; they were warm, a heat you've never felt in any other human being– none of them held a candle to what Sephiroth had. It was for your own senses to feel and internalize, not to be told and shared— Adam would've kept his paradise pure if he was given a second chance, why tarnish what you held so precious to your heart?
You gently tapped the sides of his arms, asking permission. His expression was neutral, staring, just staring, till a slow, small smile curving up his mien, nodding: a yes. Just as that, you took him in your embrace and heavens, you'd be glad to have your ribs tangled with his as far as the time would end. Time stopped, the universe went silent, only the echoes of his pulse atop yours: leisure, shy and full of life. His scent fills your lungs the way the light fills the planet; consuming in love and all air to roses. His arms rose, demurely mirroring the manner of yours on his back, short hair tickling your cheeks.
“Oh sweet boy…” you whispered, spilling it in his ear “...You're more than what they say about you”
“You're more human than all of them combined…”
“Doctor Faremis!”
The unmistakably nasal voice peeled you off from your reverie— who wouldn't be other than the Jykyllian embodiment of modernism, the great Professor Hojo?!
You didn't bother to stand, merely putting down a leg from the other and straightening your back across the chair “Yes, Professor?”
His gaze was to be followed, not seen: anyone barely saw his eyes behind the dark glasses— that was in fact a favor he did to everyone around him, not like they were a ray of sunshine to be spared sight “Still spending your nights here?” he asked, tone color of burnt wheat “Old habits die hard, I suppose”
Why not you? You chewed the retort back to your throat, maintaining the calmness “Someone has to make sure the equipment is functioning.”
“Always so responsible” He strided along the small room, judging the white wall as if it wasn't supposed to be there. The pause allowed your imagination to picture things that could take you to the disciplinary committee: him choking, beaten to death or shot with arrows, images of a saint-Sebastian-esque divine punishment. He must have sensed what you were thinking as he cut the cord of silence short “Y'know…Sephiroth used to sleep better when you were around…”
Your heart clenched for a second, beat troubled by the mere memory. However, you can't let that show “I wasn't aware you tracked his sleep pattern so fervently” you replied.
He chuckled “Why wouldn't I?” he gestured his hand around the room, an amused smile drawn up his comportment “After all, he was my greatest achievement. I monitored everything about him. You name it—” He counted on his fingers “Nutrition, stress levels, blood pressure, brain activity, bone and muscle structure… He was such a winning horse”
“Was…” you reflected, looking at the pale floor.
He tilted his head, mock-confused “Still uncomfortable with that word, Dr.Faremis?” he took a small step towards you, sighing theatrically “Such a shame really, all that potential and power, all that hard work and investment” He turned abruptly, giving the ceiling a sharp eye dagger “Wasted.”
Your legs sprung with a sudden electricity, standing up on their own “People aren't investments.”
“Oh?” he laughed, turning back to you “Then what was he to you, Dr.Faremis?”
“a human being.”
“Ah…” he pointed at you, shaking his wrist as if you were a student “That explains it”
You scoffed “explains what?”
“Why you failed to see what he truly was” the words landed like Ivy drops: softly and so poisonous.
“I saw exactly who he was” you tilted your head to the side, still staring at him “He was a human, a man, a person—”
“How sentimental.” He leaned closer “Tell me…do you ever wonder if things would've turned out differently… If you'd been more…” he moved his hand in a thinking matter, choosing the word “...Logical?”
“...What are you implying?” a bottle of ink shattered in your ribs. you knew this was heading somewhere you didn't want to go to.
“You've been here for thirteen years, Dr.Faremis. yet you always forget what I tell you” Hojo circled around, checking the room —more like looking for something to analyze— as he dropped so very casually “That attachment clouds judgment.”
Your lips sewed themselves together.
“You had to learn that the hard way. Your dear uncle had to learn that the hard way. I don't know what's running in your family line so both of you had to be…mushy, if I dare say…” The man took a good look at you: standing, and out of defenses. Knowing how valiant you can be, he added fuel to the fire “Don't get me wrong, I respect Professor Gast, but it was a good ending for him to leave Shinra. He had one job yet he chose to complicate it. same as your mistake.”
“My uncle tried to save him…” You murmured, sharp as a razor “I did as well”
Exasperated, he exhaled “Save what? you only drove him to his end.”
The muscles in your knees withered. Warmth pooled under your eyelids, gathering like rain drops in a pond. The amphora filled itself again and washed your heart with the same feelings haunting you ever since: guilt, sorrow, loss and an ache that settled like a bird with a broken wing. In such times, you sought the punishment you yearned for yet never came; left to be munched and feasted upon as years passed, till you pay nature's debt yourself. you sank back into the chair, face bleak as a blind man's eyes.
a ghost of a smile danced on Hojo's lips. Satisfied, he headed out as he delivered the last whip hit for today “Let yourself sink back in if needed, Miss Faremis. that'll help you in life.” then the heavy emptiness of after a storm.
Only after his steps faded away, you let the tears run free; the luxury of warmth and catharsis with thorns you were unworthy of; it should dwell inside and kill you. sluggishly, you got up and laid on the bed— his bed: his scent of balm and leather lodging in a lobe within your skull; unforgettable. You pulled out the dark feather from your sweater's pocket, your solace for staying the night along memories and shapes of a past you dearly loved but treated you ruthlessly as company.
Summary: Cloud comes home from a mission to find you pulling an all-nighter, and he agrees to stay up with you.
Pairing: Cloud Strife x Reader
Themes: Roommates AU, Fluff
AO3 link
Your apartment had long been plunged into darkness when the front door creaked open, admitting a late-night visitor. Or rather, a late-night homecomer, as this apartment was not yours alone.
Cloud placed his sword by the door, propping it up against the wall once he had shut the door behind him. He let his eyes drift to you, curled up on the couch beneath a blanket. You hadn’t greeted him as you were completely indulged in your study of the weighty book resting in your hands. It didn’t bother him.
“Hey,” he spoke offhandedly, not expecting a response as he stepped further into the humble apartment. You gave off a hum in response, brows knitted together as you committed your whole attention to the words swimming in front of your tired eyes. Cloud hesitated then at the hallway leading to your separate rooms then, glancing back at you briefly.
“Whatcha reading?” He asked casually, choosing to commit a moment longer to you, his roommate. It just so happened that Midgar was short on apartments for broke people, and it just so happened that you were one of the few people that he could put up with. You were quiet, calm and minded your own business. You asked nothing of him, only that he paid his half of the rent. He was fine with that. But over the weeks, living within the same apartment had inevitably led you to become more acquainted with one another. Talking became more natural, all while holding that nonchalance that had always been there. Conversations that didn’t mean anything. The easy kind.
Grateful for an excuse to get away from your reading if only for a moment, you let your gaze wander to Cloud, lazily stretching out over the couch. He was filthy. Cloud always came back like that. In the early hours of the morning, looking like he had just tumbled in the Midgar dirt. You never really asked him why, just like you never asked him about the massive sword he carried around. This was Midgar, after all. Nothing’s too weird to be true. The blonde had opened up to you about a couple things in time, though, as you had with him. “Oh, you know, the usual.” You gave a quiet groan, rubbing your hand over your eyes. They were burning from the strain of pulling an all-nighter. “University stuff.”
“Yeah.” Cloud nodded then, somewhat awkwardly. Like he didn’t know how to respond to that. He wasn’t big on talking. “You want a coffee?” But he was still very thoughtful, in his own way. You smiled at the proposition, nodding as you suppressed a yawn.
“Yeah. That’d be great, actually.”
“Give me a minute.”
“Thanks, Cloud.” You called after him, but you got no response. Sighing through your nose, you curled back onto the couch, casting a wary look down at your book. You had been at it for hours, slaving away at your university assignments. It may seem silly to those like Cloud who were out there doing actual jobs. But to you, it was important. It was your chance at a better future than one in the slums.
You hadn’t realized you were falling asleep right then, nodding off as you fell deeper and deeper into your thoughts until Cloud came back with two mugs in his hands. “You okay?” He asked you, mako eyes burning into your face as you were startled awake with a quiet snort. You flushed in embarrassment but the mercenary didn’t even seem to notice it, handing you your cup of coffee.
“Thanks.” You brought the drink to your lips, feeling Cloud’s weight plop down on the couch next to you. He casually slung his arm over the side of the couch opposite of yours, making himself comfortable in his filthy state. You didn’t complain. “Did you get in a fight with Barret again?”
Cloud’s gaze followed yours, focusing on a bruise on his arm, one too large to have been caused by a mere trip-up. He didn’t show a reaction, leaning back against the couch as he shrugged.
“Maybe.”
You laughed quietly then, shaking your headd. Sounds about right. It did kind of surprise you, though, that a guy as quiet as Cloud always seemed to be getting into fights. A silence fell over you both as you held your mugs in your hands, simply enjoying the cover of peace that only existed at night in this city. You could still hear the distant ruckus of breaking glass and drunken shouting from further down the street, sure, but it was nothing to how rowdy it would get during the daytime.
“You should really go sleep if you’re tired.”
Cloud’s voice broke into your thoughts as you looked over to him, finding him looking back. His expression was its usual. Neutral, unreadable. Except in time you had learned to pick up one small but crucial detail. His brows were furrowed in the slightest, eyes set on you intently. Like he meant it. He had shifted out of his lazy slouch, sitting up in the slightest. Attentive.
You showed him a tired smile then. Cloud was right. Some shut-eye wouldn’t hurt you. But you absolutely had to get this reading done by tomorrow. “I know. But these books won’t read themselves.”
“Can I help?”
You had to admit you were surprised by the prompt reply, feeling his eyes burn into yours. It didn’t seem like he was letting up. Truth be told, this kind of attention was not something you saw everyday from your roommate. It was a side of him you got to see slowly, bit by bit as talking became easier. In a way, perhaps he was seeing that side of you too, ever since you had first offered to stitch up his wounds for him.
You shook your head. After that it was like Cloud hadn’t said anything at all, his posture relaxing as he laid back against the couch and turned to focus on the empty TV screen. But you did reconsider his offer after a moment. “Well… There might be something.” You heard him hum absently. “Maybe you can stay up with me until I’m done?”
Cloud didn’t respond right away. You figured he was giving it some thought as he leaned back further against the couch and crossed his arms. His answer came shortly after. “Sure. I wasn’t planning on going to sleep yet, anyway.”
“Great.” You showed him a grateful smile, making yourself comfortable on the couch. “Thanks.”
And so you read, and so did Cloud, picking up some book he found laying around. ‘LOVELESS’. Ha. You hadn’t taken him for the type. Or perhaps he wasn’t. Peeking at him from over the top of your book, watching his focused eyes and tireless demeanor, you had to wonder if he really had meant to stay up or if he was doing it because you had asked him to. Regardless, his company was… nice. It made it easier to study this late into the night, knowing someone else was there with you.
About an hour in, just as you were nearing the end of your chapter Cloud slid off the couch, stretched his hands over his head and straightened out. “Going to shower. I’ll be back in a bit.” He told you from over his shoulder, blue eyes briefly meeting yours as you nodded. He left, the sound of the shower soon letting itself be known as you dove back into your reading.
By the time Cloud came back you were fast asleep, book held limply in your hands as your body was slumped against the back of the couch. He frowned a bit, examining the scene as he wondered what to do. In the end he chose not to wake you. Instead he moved the book out of your hands, marking the page before he placed a blanket over you. The nights were cold in the slums. He let himself observe you for a moment, shaking his head. He wished you had taken his words more seriously. At this rate you were working more than he was. However, it seemed sleep had gotten the better of you. In any case, it seemed that reading that was so important to you would have to wait until tomorrow.
“Night.”
And with that he shut the lights, dousing the apartment in the early morning darkness.
My mind has been assaulted with thoughts of a chief overseer era Hermes who has taken a a very strong fancy to you and is now about to make that your problem. :)
WARNINGS: Manipulative and obsessive behavior, coercion, abuse of power dynamics, yandere themes, Endwalker spoilers.
Hermes wasn’t above using your love of Meteion against you.
While your relationship with his familiar had grown increasingly strong over the past several months (making the two of you nigh inseparable), your relationship with him was doing nothing but steadily sour. Hermes used to be so close to you, sharing everything from ideas, to meals, to eventually living space. But recently you avoided him as if your life depended on it, coming up with excuse after excuse to escape his presence the instant he took a step in your direction.
It was maddening.
Where had it all gone wrong? As of late, every creation he crafted was in your honor, your existence igniting his creativity like nothing else had before. You were his muse, his confidante, his treasured friend. Slowly yet surely, you were becoming his everything- the reason he was able to pull himself out of bed each morning and push through another day, even in moments when it felt like no one on the star particularly cared about his ideals and musings. Other than Meteion, only you always listened to him. Only you ever truly understood.
You were always so vibrant, so exceptionally smart and caring that he couldn’t help but be ensnared by your many charms. Your existence had become a truly irreplaceable part of not just his life, but the daily lives of just about everyone on Elpis. You always went above and beyond to help whoever and however you could, from electing to be a late night study buddy to a colleague in need, to helping pitch in to clean entire dormitories unprompted, you were always quick to step in and assist without seeking anything in return. Your mere presence was a ray of sunshine, and in the few short years since you had begun working at the testing grounds, you had become so dear to so many- Hermes most of all.
He never wanted you to doubt this importance either, so he would exceedingly dote on you, providing you with his ceaseless support in all of your endeavors. So fervid was his cheerleading that he had garnered quite a few reprimands for showing you ‘obvious favoritism’, all of which he disregarded as rubbish. Hermes only ever awarded you the praise you deserved.
There was no way you could misconstrue his ardent feelings of adoration towards you- so why? Why were you distancing yourself now, when weeks ago the two of you were so incredibly close?
He couldn’t quiet the whirring in his head, the nagging feeling that you were slipping away from him for reasons he couldn’t comprehend. Your avoidance had become so prevalent that even matters pertaining to work seemed to perturb you, should Hermes be involved. His ideas and creations, all of which you used to dote on and swoon over when presented to you, were now regarded with hesitation and suspicion, eyed with the slightest hint of scorn.
The praise that used to gush from your lips had trickled to a standstill, uplifting and thoughtful commentary about his creative process completely quelled. His work always used to easily net him your beaming smile, but now he was lucky if he even got a nod of approval, let alone verbal acquiescence.
Unwilling to accept such lackluster interaction he began to work overtime, churning out creations with gusto he never exhibited prior. Each of his new designs was more elaborate and charming than the next, causing confidence to swell in his chest as he watched their births. He was sure that one of them would be just what was needed to reignite your feelings for him, making a promise to himself that whichever creation yielded this desired result would be honored by him eternally. He’d even grant it the distinction of sharing your name, hopeful that the delight it brought others would be sure to become your delight as well.
He dutifully summoned you the moment a new creature was born, making sure your eyes were the first to witness the latest marvel. To say Hermes was eager to see your response was an understatement, he was downright giddy over the mere prospect of your joy, pacing back and forth as he listened for the sound of your footsteps outside his door. Driven by his thirst for your approval, he yearned for the sweet glimmer that would spark in your eyes whenever you were pleased by his creations, finding solace in this small token of your delight, especially when your lips didn’t form the words.
Yet even with all the extra effort he expended, his attempts achieved nothing. In fact all the excess work garnered the opposite effect of what he desired, pushing you further away as he floundered, desperate in his attempts to reel you back in.
It surely wasn’t the quality or the quantity of his constructs that were driving you away, and he couldn’t imagine you had suddenly grown distasteful of his work as a whole. Even while dodging her creator, you still maintained frequent contact with Meteion, taking time out of your hectic day to play with your most favorite of his familiars. Your love for her had never dwindled, and neither had your passion for creation. No, the only logical conclusion he could come to after all this was that it was he himself that you had become averse to.
And that hurt him, deeply.
In fact, it hurt him so much that Meteion couldn’t help but be caught up in his anguish, writhing and moaning in a state of addled torment each time the thought of you flitted through his mind (which was to say, constantly). Seeing the suffering he endured mirrored onto her cherubic, kind face plunged him further into despair, very quickly turning the whole situation into something unbearable.
At his tipping point, he did the only thing he could think to do. He scooped the small girl up in his arms, bee lining it to your chambers. He cared not that it was the dead of night or that this could very well just add to your distaste for him. He just needed to see you- needed the balm only you could provide.
All it took was a glance at sickly, pale Meteion to turn your initially displeased scowl into a look of utter concern. With the ravaged girl draped limply in Hermes arms, you ushered the two of them into your room without question. You guided him to your bed with a steady hand placed on the small of his back, throwing the sheets this way and that to make a proper area for her to lay.
How wonderful it felt, having you touch him again.
A myriad of rapid questions tumbled from your lips, all of which pertained to Meteion’s poor state and what possibly could have happened to cause it. It was obvious from your frantic expulsions that you were clueless of the inner turmoil that Hermes had been suffering, your mind unable to fathom what event could have transpired on this beautiful, peaceful star to cause such a sweet being as Meteion to go into such a tizzy.
Initially, Hermes felt nothing but immense irritation over your ignorance. After all that had occurred by your hand, all the avoidance and contempt you had been directing his way, how could you not understand? How could he not be affected by your actions? How could you not see how much both of them needed you just to function, and how your self-imposed detachment from him lead to this conclusion?
Through gritted teeth, he struggled to keep his composure as he relayed the truth.
This was all your fault.
Once he started speaking, he found himself unable to stop the vitriol that bubbled up from his throat, birthed of the immense torment he had suffered through. It was almost painful, watching the way your face contorted with each admission. Witnessing you experience the realization that YOU were the cause of such anguish was akin to watching as you took repeated blows to the face, striking you with such concentrated ferocity you found it hard to maintain your balance. As your legs buckled under the weight of your transgressions, Hermes offered himself for support, helping to steady you despite the potency of his words. It was a good thing he was there to catch you, as you would have surely crumbled were he not around to embrace you.
Even overcome with anger, he treasured your proximity, savoring the weight of you in his arms as he held you close for the first time in a long time.
The exchange brought an odd sense of peace to him, unloading his concerns upon you greatly diminishing the burden he had damn near been buried beneath. Though the news caused you visible grief he felt no pity for the dissonance he had planted in your heart. While unfortunate, the guilt you were experiencing was a pain you had inflicted upon yourself, any melancholy brought on by your actions was a burden you deserved to bare. He felt no remorse over his tirade, instead feeling a sense of accomplishment as his words broke you down, leaving you with no other choice than face the bitter subjugation of the truth, understanding in full how greatly you had wronged him.
The ends justified the means.
As fat tears rolled freely down your ruddied cheeks, he was taken with how stunning you looked in the moment. Watching as you were overcome by emotions was a beautiful thing to witness. From the tremble of your shoulders, to the shaking of your legs, an overwhelming feeling of catharsis and awe flooded him as you sobbed and apologized in his arms. Even at your lowest, you were still absolutely enchanting.
Finally he was getting through to you. Finally you understood your importance to him. Finally you were realizing your true role in Elpis, nay, on this entire star.
It was to be his. Your smile, your kindness, your thoughts, your wisdom, the warmth of your touch, the sigh from your lips, your ecstasy and your pain- it was all his, and he would no longer deny his right to claim what belonged to him.
Warmth blossomed in Hermes chest the longer you clung to him. He extolled gentle whispers of reassurance while his methodical hands rubbed circular patterns against your back, the motions soothing him more than they seemed to soothe you. Regardless, peace and balance were slowly being restored, the effects of which were beginning to manifest in Meteion as well. No longer in the grips of despair, her breathing evened as she looked over towards the two of you embracing, the sparkle returning to her clear and hopeful eyes as she took in the sight with a smile.
Everything was returning to as it should be, and this time around, he knew just the tricks to keep your heart from wandering any further.
You never thought that you’d end up in the center of a a political war. Subterfuge and intrigue weren’t something you saw in your future. Yet, thanks to your friends, you were on the path to restore order after the fall of Nabudis.
On your first meeting with Larsa, he was apprehensive about speaking too much to any of you. But when you saw him again and he told you who he truly was, he started to gravitate toward you. You were unsure why, but he would often stay near you and ask for your advice when possible.
Once his brother was defeated and he had to assume the role of a leader, with Basch at his side, he called on you to meet with him in Archades.
“Thank you for coming, Y/N. There is a matter of importance we must discuss.”
“Of course.”
He explained to you that although you hadn’t known each other long, he’d come to trust you and your judgement. He asked you to stay in Archades and be an ally to him. You’d be considered an adviser and compensated accordingly and you’d be able to come and go as you liked. It was clear that Larsa just needed someone to be with him now, and he wanted that someone to be you.
“I do not want you to think you must accept this proposal. If you wish to decline, I shall bare it with understanding.”
You debated for a while, and after spending a few days in the palace, came to the decision that you would stay. Larsa was pleased and set to work on making it official right away.
Once he was able to relax a bit, Larsa was able to act like a child again. At least when you two were alone, or if it was just you and Basch with him. Although you weren’t there to replace Vayne (nor would you try to) you still felt like an older sibling to Larsa. He was vulnerable around you, and looked to you for guidance when he was unsure. You could say that you genuinely cared for Larsa, and you’d always be there to protect your newfound family.
It wasn’t uncommon to not see the Prince at school for days, or even weeks at a time. In fact, most of the student body considered it a fact of life that came with having a Prince in your school. His reasons for being absent were never true, and utterly absurd at times but really it was the best time of the day. He would fill out the form and he would always unnecessarily elaborate for the teachers. He had a collection of all his forms in his apartment, that at this point nearly covered an entire wall.
When Noctis walked in after being absent for two weeks, the first thing you noticed was him attempting to hide a smile. You and the the rest of the class quickly quieted, eager to hear the Prince’s newest excuse. You heard a heavy sigh as the teacher took the slip of paper from Noctis. You might think by the look on her face that she was annoyed, but you knew better. Noct’s excuses made the teacher’s day just as much as it made the students’.
“Hiding underground?” The teacher questioned aloud as Noct rested his hands in his pockets. “What were you hiding from, exactly?” The teacher asked, purely to waste time, as half the school knew Noct’s excuses were bullshit.
“From a herd of girls, in the secret Royal underground bunker,” Noct responded in a forcibly bored tone. You heard giggles throughout the room.
“You don’t have that many fangirls, Noct,” You commented with a barely concealed grin.
“There were some boys, too,” Noctis responded without missing a beat. You snorted, grinning at the black haired boy. You saw the teacher shake her head with a smile, concealing a laugh with a hand.
“If that’s all, Mr. Caelum, please sit down,” the teacher said, gesturing the Prince to his chair. Noctis made it down the aisle and sat down in his seat with all the grace of a beached whale.
“Was the bunker nice, your highness?” You asked, turning to Noct as he sat down.
“A bit too stuffy for my tastes, but the crystal walls made up for it,” He responded smoothly, which caused more scattered laughing from nearby. You shook your head before shooting the Prince a fond smile.
“That certainly seems a lot more interesting that Council meetings.” Noctis groaned and lied his head down on his desk.
“I’d prefer an underground bunker over Council meetings any day,” Noctis grumbled.
“Me too, buddy,” Prompto pitched in from his place behind the prince.
“That going on your wall, Noct?” You gestured to the now crumpled paper on his desk. Noctis smoothed out the paper with a small smile.
I agree with everything written in the pic but it has way more to it.
I think that Sephiroth is drawn to people who have emotional depth, strength/Intelligence, a confidence that bleeds into their actions and doesn't need to be admired or validated, and most importantly: calmness of a breeze and patience of a saint.
He's a man with an eye holding beauty, not catching it. He isn't amazed by a flashy type of behavior, instead he is enchanted by something that always makes him curious and urges him to dig deeper: the more he knows, the less he falls for you— in other words: mystery keeps his attention.
He isn't looking for advice or psychological help nor want to be saved; he wants you to share his chaos with him, to understand his inner mayhem, to justify his rage, to put him on a pedestal yet see him as a human, not a weapon or as project S. His main emotional need is understanding, something that he couldn't get from most people who were around him.
Once you fulfill all of his emotional needs he'll put you on a pedestal as well. He'll see you as the exception, the difference, the chosen flower, the north star— he'll offer all what he has and mostly take from others to give you. he'll keep chasing you even when with you because you are playing a card anxious people can't: keeping agency and secrecy that can't be decoded. That'll have him in constant struggle to get you thus wanting you more.
You represent what he wasn't allowed to have: a normal life, an autonomy that fears nothing nor needs to be shaped, a natural existence that was purely chosen, not invented (unlike him) — an ontological envy that keeps gnawing at him whenever your mere thought jumps into his head.
You're the very little normal he's allowed to have.
Tw(s): Medical trauma, intimate betrayal, dehumanization, psychological manipulation, coercive control, human experimentation, moral injury, institutional abuse, violation of body autonomy, use of syringe, existential dread.
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tag: @darkangel-lover
can be read as a part of this.
Clear cyan liquid fluttering in a cold syringe, its tip twinkling like fangs in a predator's mouth; eager to sink its teeth in his flesh. Your hand held the needle as if it was a serpent— it may have been in a sense; another test from the head scientist to see how far he can tear apart his best soldiers and gather the shreds to sew them back into übermensch¹.
Drawing a deep breath, you tipped the needle's end with your middle finger’s nail, stray dews of liquid flying off and little barely making it out. You've done this thousands of times before, a skill you memorized like your name, but the guilt never ceased, only growing every time you blink thinking of it. Was a violence committed with shame forgiven? you dearly hoped not. you claimed to love; to be different, caring, merciful even in carrying out the one of many atrocities that made Sephiroth flayed out of humanity's skin.
Swallowing, you kindly instructed “Lift up your sleeve please…”.
Face as empty as a blind man's eyes, he obeyed. He had gone through this and more as long as he can remember, a bird bred to fly with a string connecting it to the cage. Skin pure porcelain, tinted with blood beneath, lively for someone considered to be a walking weapon; more than most ‘ordinary’ humans who didn’t see further than their noses allowed. You wiped the little space on where his shoulder and arm met with an alcohol soaked cotton, sterilizing it before hovering the syringe on it. For a second, you hesitated— the very same hand that held his back and wiped his face is now injecting poison through him. What use was in repeating love vows to an angel at night only to pluck its feathers at day? He was pure, too pure for you or anyone. Lily stepped on and tarnished cruelly for its crime: existing.
Swiftly, you pierced the needle in him to its shaft, dense muscle sinking. His arm was sculpted, pallid lamina coffining the lanes of shy blue veins along. It never felt like a body; more of a marble veiled with silk. fingers atop his upper arm for support, touching him alluded to dallying something too precious to be carelessly swung around— he's a first class soldier, anything but fragile, yet your eyes caught another shade of him that longed to be ordinary.
“There…” you whispered. He rolled his dark leather sleeve back down, not bothering to wait for you to bandage it.
The silence lurked, out of mutual exhaustion. The cord was cut short as he asked, voice a purl of water “Did he ask you to do this?”
Your hand halted, the used syringe still in your fist, hovering above the trash can. You licked your front teeth, zipping your lips inside before answering with a small “Yes.” You heard him let out a jagged breath, halfway between a chuckle and a glum “He always sends the things I cannot strike down.”
Hojo warned you for a reason. ‘Attachment clouds judgment.’, he had repeated. back when your head was filled with all those rose-colored glasses, you didn't see what wrong have you committed by being close to someone as Sephiroth— You didn't care if you got hurt, but your foot dug too deep in the trap: If you love him stay by his side, If you decide to leave he'll be thrown under the guillotine of Shinra and SOLDIER, this time abandoned by his sole ‘support system’— You. If you left he got hurt, If you stay you'll hurt him yourself. The illusion of choice in its most perfect tableau.
Maybe you've been the Cerberus² guarding his heel, maiming and nailing him to the cross till he ascended all the way up to paradise; far cry from this planet, Hojo, SOLDIER and you. where he could be human at last, loved in a way you couldn't offer.
¹ : Originating from Friedrich Nietzsche's philosophy, the Übermensch (translated as "Overman" or "Superman") is the goal of humanity: a being who creates their own values and rises above the "herd" morality of the masses.
²: In Greek mythology, Cerberus is the multi-headed dog that guards the gates of the Underworld.
TW(s): obsessive and possessive behavior, implied psychosis and hallucinations, emotional manipulation, physical violence, graphic bodily imagery, threats of harm, crushing/grabbing injuries, derealization, unstable mental state, nihilistic ideation, and themes of coercive attachment and distorted perceptions of love and reality.
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Stasis in darkness, then the substance blue melting on his gyri and burning, hot pour of tar on flayed flesh. Forehead pounding as if a relentless hammer, Cloud cannot bring one image to his mind's eye without the jolt of pain tearing a lobe within his skull. For someone like him, an oblique¹ kissing his neck would be a mercy, yet as much as the thought seemed like a light at the end of a tunnel, It brought a silent dread of never seeing you again, not even in a fragment of sudden, uninvited memories.
As a shadow on a cloudy day, the twinge of his brain suddenly vanished— never there to begin with. All he had to do was think of you and the mere thread of thought put the pain to rest, were you the real oasis among a mirage?
“Don't go” firm as a blade, he ordered. grabbing your wrist, pressing on the tender ring of a bone to feel your presence whole and to anchor himself to the very true left: you. It was always the damn you, with your twisted ways and honeyed tongue, luring him close then pushing him back in a heartbeat. If it was someone else they'd see another shade of him but it was you. Not a single muscle rippled beneath your skin, no sound left your throat even when his fingers threatened to break your wrist. The pulse sinking in your windpipe thrashed and rippled; a bird desperately trying to fly out. The color of your eyes never seemed so enticing till now, framed by your eyelids that spread so wide and panicked. The sight lulled him better than any twilight sleep² can.
“You think I'm losing my mind,” whispered he, drilling it through your brain with absolute certainty. Cloud can’t see or feel how his expression contorts, but as of now, he can tell his lips to part and bare the very fronts of his teeth, something in an attempt of a smile. “But I’ve never seen things more clearly”
For there is nothing that brings more terror than a man who is as sure as a prophet on his beliefs, Cloud felt a surge of strength— enough to burn it all down, to tear through every ghost that haunts him, to behead Shinra with the same thing he served it with. Once the veil of other worldly things was torn, you were next.
“You are the only thing that is real” The thrum of your neck and the twist of your hand bones are never fake. “I'm not letting you go.” Into the red he'll jump, dragging you with him. He doesn't care anymore, to hell with the planet and its scum excuse of people.
In one swift move, he squeezed your hand, feeling the bones crush. You didn't scream; melting into the air instead, colors around thinning with seconds.
He stared, disappointment drawing itself on his face.
Maybe you were like the rest too, a fucking liar, except when time comes, he'll make someone honest out of you.
¹: an oblique blade refers to a blade or a clean cut striking at a certain angle across the neck used in guillotine.
²: Twilight Sleep (Dämmerschlaf) was a medical amnesic state induced by a combination of morphine and scopolamine, widely used in the early 20th century. It didn't necessarily block pain, but it made the patient completely forget it happened and detached them from reality.
