Hi! I’ve been reading your Sephiroth works and wow they are phenomenal. 😍
I was wondering if you could do a Sephiroth x reader who wants to brush and play with his hair? It’s just too gorgeous to leave alone, and I need to style it so badly! Maybe we can even lightly massage his shoulders too?
“i still don’t know how you’ve managed to care for it all this time,” you mumble.
your fingers comb through his hair, like wool against the pads of your skin. it’s surreal how soft it is, you could get lost in the strands if you tried.
he’s seated with his back to you, long silver hair spilling like liquid down the length of him, pooling against his back in a way that feels almost unreal. it always startles you a little, how much of him there is—how something so soft can belong to someone so feared.
sephiroth exhales amusedly, a puff of air escaping his nose at your comments. “it isn’t so difficult,” he claims. “i dedicate an hour or so each night for it.”
“an hour?” you ask, and he really wonders if it’s so incredulous. he makes a low noise of accordance, and you sigh. twirling a couple of silver strands in your clutch, you admire the sheen it has in the dim light of your room. the way the warm bulb catches on everything, painting you both with its own hue and capturing you within its clutch.
you hum absentmindedly, a song you’re sure you don’t even know the name of. sephiroth tries to guess it in his head, sifting through all the recent music he’s heard (which isn’t very many).
“did you always have hair like this?” you eventually ask.
“what do you mean?” he asks.
“when you were younger, i mean.”
he thinks back, the memories muddled; warped visages swirling around in his brain. his brow furrows, and another comb of your fingers brings him back. he glances down at his hands, neatly folded in his lap.
“i’d assume so,” he says. you don’t press on, but instead, nod your head softly as if he could see it.
“i was wondering if you’d let me braid it,” you ask. “do you think that’d look nice?”
“do as you wish,” he says instead, softer.
you take a deep breath, lips twisting as you try to decide how to go about it. you gather it gently, careful not to pull. you don’t think anyone’s ever done this for him—not like this. not slow. not without purpose beyond function.
he doesn’t react at first. his posture remains straight, composed. but you feel it—the faint shift when your fingers brush the nape of his neck, the near-imperceptible breath he takes. it’s meditative, the repetition of motion, the quiet between you stretching into something comfortable.
“you’re very careful,” he murmurs.
you shrug, lightly. “i don’t want to hurt you.”
the quiet settles along the room again, only your small breaths filling the silence. you work your fingers through another section, letting it fall into a silver cascade, until your skin hits his scalp. you let your nails graze his head and he suppresses the chill that threatens to wave over him.
that, more than anything, stills him.
you begin the braid slowly, dividing his hair into three even sections. your hands move with care, crossing one over the other, weaving something deliberate from something wild.
you continue humming, and sephiroth finds some comfort in the way the sound buzzes in your throat. he lets his eyes fall half-lidded at your soothing cadence.
another cross. another pull, gentle and precise. it feels intimate in a way neither of you can explain.
his gaze lowers, just slightly.
“i’m not so fragile as that.”
“i know,” you say softly, focused on your work. “but i think you deserve gentleness anyway.”
he huffs, lightly, and you tap your knuckle against his head at his comment. like it’s so outlandish that he said that.
and after some time, you’d finished the braid at the end of his hair finally, tying it off with a small ribbon you’d brought without thinking he’d say yes. (you’d know he wouldn’t mind anyway.)
when you’re done, your hands linger, just for a moment. then you let go.
“there,” you whisper, before leaning forward and pressing your lips to the nape of his neck, reveling in the feeling of your mouth against the warmth of his skin. he reaches back, fingers brushing over the plaited hair.
you lean back against the headboard, watching as he tactically examines your handiwork.
he turns only slightly, enough for azure, feline eyes to catch on the features of your face. he gazes at you, slit pupils flickering along you. your lax position, your soft expression, the way you look at him with nothing but adoration.
“thank you,” he eventually mutters.
a smile tugs at your lips, yet nothing comes out. sephiroth thinks the sight is more than enough.
