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blackwinged-silversolace · 3 years

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Oh, How close Genesis came to being devoured entirely. It was torturous just to remain still. It would be known as Sephiroth's breath caught sharply in his throat the instant his fingers disappeared into the other's talented lips. Ultimately he succumbed, surrendered to the shudder that ran through the silver one's form, aching everywhere it blossomed blistering remembrance.

He clenched hard over a pleased groan that made its throaty escape, while the look of enchantment for the other narrowed into a glare as his fingers were coated by that ravenous tongue. It was painfully clear whatever advantage Sephiroth had before was stolen. had he not been released so soon, so casually, he would have undoubtedly pounced on that smug devil.

Surely the other could feel the result of the game he'd won when he had slipped into position against Sephiroth's body. For everything went rigid. How bittersweet it was to be carelessly toyed with, and despite how everything screams to dominate the other's mouth with his own, Sephiroth merely shrugs away the words. Eventually his demeanor softened.

The hint of a smile tugs at Sephiroth's lip, a mischievous glint flickering behind barely tamed eyes, "Hmm, well at least… you seem to enjoy being corrupted."

For a moment, the famed swordsman considered blatantly ignoring the question, having found it impossible not to be drawn downward. Lips nearly grazing the redhead's in a blatant act to deny Genesis' escape. There the breath turned to that of a sultry purr and it was deadly. "In a moment...I have yet to thank you properly for-..." but before making that delectable contact a grimace twists over his features.

In a single step he retreats from his tempting creature, breathing erratic as he grips the countertop for stability. The sludge in his veins had turned cold once again, like a slithering parasite it writhes about his blood, angrily, sending that gnawing static to crowd out the silver elite's thought. He laughs, breathless, eyes clamping shut before a chaste gesture given to excuse the crimson soldier with a flip of a wrist. Then, once again the hand desperately seeks the stable surface.

But there's no humor. Not now. The sting of noise at the back of his eyes is a sobering reminder of how wrong everything had become. This grueling day of procedures, the taste of mako, the unshakeable contrast of guilt and desire he felt for one of his only companion's...gods and how his skin felt so revolting and foreign after his so-called 'mako-injections'.

The last thing he wanted was to be seen this way. Vulnerable, flawed, exposed. Weak. Shaking his head, the silver elite grits his teeth bitterly behind the shield of his thick hair. If Genesis would only leave-... Ha. But it was there that lay the laughable truth… for as much as he instinctively sought to reject the other, he craved anything but to be left alone.

blackwinged-silversolace:

Caught.

Held captive to the very being he had chosen to provoke. Sephiroth had invited him, invited it.

Then. His methods were meant with curiosity, an innocent flirtatious invitation to see if indeed there may be anything left of their indiscretion besides his own confused emotions. Allegedly, a ploy born of nothing more than a need to test the nature of the bond shared with the one before him. The nature of himself.

But before he knew it, Sephiroth’s own selfish experiment had revived a more sinister creature, he watched it bloom in Genesis’ wicked features. Felt his own fevered beast respond in kind, and he cannot resist being consumed~

Chains had snared him up, been locked tight, and Sephiroth might as well have thrown away any key to freedom he might have owned before the warmth had synched ‘round his wrist.

The shackles took him, ornate and beautiful, but still he is the one caught in the heat, held in the volatile snare of those unquenchable gleaming eyes. Gaia, how it burned.

Unable to break the enchantment, Sephiroth’s lids heavied, drunken by the sound of his companion’s sultry tones. So it is, that he allows his hand to be manipulated, breath held and eyes fixed, by the puzzling maneuver. During which, he is frozen. Perhaps, seemingly caught off guard and maybe he was, but too soon his body betrayed any instinct to seek escape. It knew.

Now. He had forgotten the thoughts, the self disgust, the pretenses: If the other had been used, If the other had used him? Was that sickeningly beautiful feeling for the other anything but infatuation? Would anything that came of this end in no other place but destruction?

Now. He had forgotten for a moment the exhaustion: The recent bout of insomnia these last nights had taken him, and their waking nightmares. The end of this long day of examinations, the slew of Hojo’s newest battle simulations, the thick ooze he had grown to hate seeing pumped into his skin– the increasing amounts syphoned into his body, as it had been periodically… for so many years.– The way it intruded and churned coldness within his veins and made his head throb with deafeningly quiet static.

~Even now his skin was left colder.

All of the day wasted back at that hidden laboratory. The hazed trek back to his home… All of it, only hours ago, minutes? Everything faded.

All except–

‘ Feed me~’

Whatever force bent fate, all powers that be, could not keep Sephiroth’s expression from twisting into something dark, starved. The thrill was chemical, a reaction that sparked and flitted across his skin, too irresistible the sort of torture that set his spine afire. All for the reminder of what it had felt like.

Before. He could have tried to stop this. He could’ve pulled at the tightening tethers, find an excuse to leave, to dismiss the other. To somehow, not allow his form to slip closer to the siren before him. He could have buried the feelings driving him to keep his hips from pressing into both of his companion’s knees. But now, he cannot dream of doing anything but all of this, or anything but allow his serpentine smile from hovering mere inches from the other’s.

So he does, and now it cannot be taken back.

“Oh? Too tired?” There is a pause, a facade of concern flickered toward his tempter’s curled lip, but the glance is quick to find the other’s eyes again, burning and amused. He purrs, the danger seeped from his voice, too thick, too deep, beckoning. “Perhaps, a taste then.” And he presses the two stained digits to the other’s parted mouth, admiring the soft way they caved. The way they did before.

That smug, ravenous void blew wide, intent to expel all but this and devour. All thanks to the look that crimson fiend had given, that treacherous demand, it was so little and yet everything needed to dance carelessly deeper into a promised inferno. The box, his clever tool of temptation, is discarded to someplace amongst the other forgotten things upon the counter..

Sephiroth’s attention would not venture, nowhere aside the memory of those lips on his, the way hands had groped for stability at his back, the teeth that bore their mark…and whether by intention or careless slip, his touch deepens ever so slightly.

He would toss the forgotten items later.

Sephiroth never cared for sweet things anyway.

The heat against his knees was victory. But the spoils tasted sweet on his tongue, the velvety chocolate imparted from Sephiroth’s fingers giving Genesis a thrill. In stark contrast to the redhead’s aloof demeanor, his eyes were ravenous, his mouth even more so. With little provocation, he was coaxed to lap his tongue against those stained fingers, the slick muscle gliding seamless along the pale flesh. But all it took was an exhale for his words to form casually, as though his mouth were not occupied with a more insidious task.

“Hnnn… Tease.” His words were muffled, but only for so long. Although he took his time to guide those fingers into his mouth, there was a sense of urgency in his movement, as though intent on reminding Sephiroth what it was it could do. And he did this by swallowing down those slender digits, the muscles in the back of his throat collapsing down on them. Then, Sephiroth was free, and Genesis was smug.

Anything to get a rise out of this stoic creature– surely. Although the fervor of his act had Genesis huff a little to regain his lost air. “I was going to ask if you had managed to stay out of trouble without me keeping you in line.” He grinned, returning the stolen hand to Sephiroth’s side, chaste, like a good highschool boy would return a man’s daughter after a dance.

Then, he slid off the counter, poignantly aware of how this made their bodies press flush against each other. Fingers crawling up Sephiroth’s ribs up to his chest, Genesis sweetly swept off a long piece of hair and pushed it over the other’s shoulder. “But something tells me you are mischief.” Flashing a fluttery smile up at his fellow SOLDIER, Genesis broke into a warm smile. “You would make an angel like me downright corrupt.” As though of the two of them, Sephiroth was the corruptor.

“So, are you going to let me through?”

#soooo #idk wut happened #seph demanded the angst #bad day for the big hero #>-< nemain cannot #-weeps-#rp:begrudgingaffection #verse: crisis core #unforestalledreturn #blackwinged-silversolace #silver boy confused and upsetty #needs emotional support birb?

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blackwinged-silversolace · 3 years

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Ooc: I will be back to RP soon! || Nemain has been distracted || HERE: Another WIP ff7 edit ||

SEPHIROTH VS CLOUD (this recording is terrible-so sorry 💔 )

Song:Animals

Artist: Architects

#sephiroth #ff7 #cloud strife #edit #blackwinged-silversolace #please forgive the dirty computer screen

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blackwinged-silversolace · 3 years

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// Ooc: Headcanon // Sephiroth // Verse: Crisis Core // Apartment/Homebase Aesthetics - Objects of Sentimental value //

I Imagine Sephiroth living in an offshoot building that is, or is nearly connected to Shin-Ra HQ.

The structure --designed to fit the needs and standards of healthy living would offer activities from-- Top of the line Gyms and Rec facilities, common areas with group activities and entertainment equipment, spas, etc....

They are issued to active SOLDIER members and are done-so according to rank. The higher ranking, and the more awarded and praised a member is, the more permissions and luxeries are to be received/given access to.

This structure, is meant as a permanent residence... (until retirement (if so--in their mind- you are lucky/ useful....and so: you are deserving enough) or you are unfortunate: made into a test subject, exiled, or have died in combat)... for the members of their military unless given special permissions to live in another part of the city/or if given extended 'family' leave-of-absence.

Sephiroth's place here, I picture, as the "private penthouse" equivalent of say, a hotel for 'the rich and elite'.--- though he does not acknowledge this status, at least not often.

It would be thrice the size of your average, first and second class Soldier living quarters. But feel several times more vast than this, and though it would be neat, with expensive modernistic furnishings, unique geometric patterns in mirrors and tiles, mute-monichromatic tones from gray to black....and illuminated with remote-controlled fixtures that are almost always: dimly lit, but nonetheless warm and with natural toned colors to the lights... They appealingly contrast with the muted palletes. Make less demanding the monolithic furniture shapes in a way that shimmers over every metallic/intimately-hemmed edges, that it welcomes, and yet...intimidates any guest that is rarely invited.

Yet... For all of this it feels much the opposite of anyone's home. Why? Not because Sephiroth had not chosen every item he wanted in the dwelling. He chooses them carefully, with deep thought as to how it would fit the bigger picture. They are personally, and as far as he could guess....publicly appealing and expensive, and every piece fits together as if the whole unit were pulled from an advertisement within a catalogue formed by his own mind.

But there is no visible signs of a person living here. No framed photos, no dish left out to dry a bit too long, no fabric wrinkled, no cords peaking from out behind their appliances... It is a dry, immaculate, and lifeless place. But it is his only one, and though he is rarely able to spend any lengthy amount of time within... It is his to control, and clean-- from the cracks between books on his shelf, the near-emtpy refrigerators and pantries, all the way to the folds between each items of clothing foldedand hung just so within their spaces. -- It is, within every inch, without clutter, displeasing stains and tarnished memory.

That is unless you are too look between pages of certain books; gifts from professor Gast... Their paper folds hiding secret treasures, notes passed between two comrades he knew as friends, pictures of a trio-elite that no public eye would ever witness, awards won as a silver haired boy who had innocent dreams now forgotten, and much more....

#sephiroth #rp #ff7 crisis core #headcanon #im emotional now....#this got deeper than i anticipated #....this guys really has no concept of home...#ff7 headcanons #ff7 rp

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blackwinged-silversolace · 3 years

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Caught.

Held captive to the very being he had chosen to provoke. Sephiroth had invited him, invited it.

Chains had snared him up, been locked tight, and Sephiroth might as well have thrown away any key to freedom he might have owned before the warmth had synched ‘round his wrist.

The shackles took him, ornate and beautiful, but still he is the one caught in the heat, held in the volatile snare of those unquenchable gleaming eyes. Gaia, how it burned.

Unable to break the enchantment, Sephiroth's lids heavied, drunken by the sound of his companion's sultry tones. So it is, that he allows his hand to be manipulated, breath held and eyes fixed, by the puzzling maneuver. During which, he is frozen. Perhaps, seemingly caught off guard and maybe he was, but too soon his body betrayed any instinct to seek escape. It knew.

Now. He had forgotten for a moment the exhaustion: The recent bout of insomnia these last nights had taken him, and their waking nightmares. The end of this long day of examinations, the slew of Hojo’s newest battle simulations, the thick ooze he had grown to hate seeing pumped into his skin-- the increasing amounts syphoned into his body, as it had been periodically... for so many years.-- The way it intruded and churned coldness within his veins and made his head throb with deafeningly quiet static.

~Even now his skin was left colder.

All of the day wasted back at that hidden laboratory. The hazed trek back to his home… All of it, only hours ago, minutes? Everything faded.

All except--

‘ Feed me~’

So he does, and now it cannot be taken back.

He would toss the forgotten items later.

Sephiroth never cared for sweet things anyway.

blackwinged-silversolace:

A daze slipped over the taller elite, silver brows becoming further bent in a nearly untraceable frown, when had this worry become such a chronic illness?

Ah but the master delinquent was practicing his charms again. Sephiroth can’t help but break his trance, shoulders shrugging in casual surrender to his company’s clever tease.

“Well…I’ve certainly never been considered… normal.” He chuckles at his own expense, laxing his arms at his side as he at last turned to meet the eyes of his friendly rival and taking the offered box in his hands. A soft smirk playing somewhere flirtatiously at the corner of his lip.

Damn that stubborn fox, and his seemingly effortless allures, perched there atop the countertop…looking irritatingly appetizing in his nonchalance. He certainly made it difficult for Sephiroth to deny the heat aching to reignite inside the void.

This was where friendships could become… ’dirty’, topple over under mucky complexes, and crumble inward, atop their own corroded foundations.

Had it been a mistake to bite into that forbidden fruit? To allow his own void to let bleed those words he’d meant never to say aloud? That he never thought capable, even still unsure if he knew the meaning. It had not felt like a mistake, not then, but–

It is just a feeling. To mention that night should be an easy feat, effortless between close companions. Surely far less of an obstacle than organizing tactical warfare or mastering weaponry.

– What value did Genesis place in words, or one night of treacherous bliss? He should ask.

Oh how Sephiroth wished he believed this as much as he knew he should. But it never feels so simple. He was never entirely socially inept, never stricken with the transparency of a chronic type of aloofness- as some have claimed him to be. No. For Gaia’s sake, he led armies, regarded as a hero, stood upon a thorn-ridden pedestal–all stone and slick with that dark slippery crimson– yet the words he wished to say still scrambled themselves behind walls that slowly froze themselves over.

Catching his gaze drifting toward the other’s lips, feline eyes dangerously gleaming, he retreats his gaze to object in his grip and takes care to slip the ribbon out of it’s knot. Absentmindedly admiring the-… Hmm. “Silk?” A Wutain fabric. “Quite an expensive gift on a pedestrian wage, don’t you think?” Sephiroth asks, darting a smugly telling glare in Genesis’ direction. Perhaps, there was a chance he was not the only one who craved more than just one night’s slip of clarity…

And with that, of course, the need for victory in clever games itched its way within the silver one again.

Placing himself in front of the other…hips tauntingly close to the space where the redheads knees parted, he opens the box and offered Genesis his pick, as if it weren’t just a polite gesture, certainly not a ploy to fan the smoke and lean another inch into that combustible proximity. “It wouldn’t be decent of me to keep such a thoughtful treat to myself, would it?“

Fools tempt fire once… learning their lessons with wounds and burns. To do once could be forgiven for a simple act in ignorance, but some would call it insanity to tempt again.

Then again… Sephiroth wondered if he had ever been sane to begin with.

Briefly, as the box changed hands, their fingers brushed, and Genesis was still. It was effortless to play. Forever, it felt, he could spout witty things and dangle pretty vices without tiring. However, the ceaseless amusement was insidious. For as the contact, meaningless, consequential ended, Genesis felt an emptiness in its place. “Oh fine, you caught me. Almost.” Genesis threw his head back, and although he faced the ceiling, his eyes remained on Sephiroth through narrow slits. “I messed up the gifts and had to.. repackage them.” Pursing his lips, Genesis’ eyes flickered over to the pile of gifts. It was true, that none of them were in their original shape or contents. Not when he had unceremoniously lit the entire trove on fire and stomped them under foot. But even Genesis knew that was petty. He knew that it was not a bystander’s fault in who they knew, who they did not know, who they thought was a hero and who… they did not. It was not their fault everyone loved the poster child of ShinRa. It was only fair to replace what he had destroyed…. But now that Genesis looked at the pile with new eyes, he felt sheepish. It really was overboard for a handful of goods. And there was something else that gnawed at him. Something about the thought of Sephiroth receiving such an outpour of affection made him… made him… Jealous yes… but of him? Somehow, that no longer rang as true as it once had. His emotional turmoil was interrupted on Sephiroth’s approach. Eyes falling to the chocolates, Genesis stared, before a gradual, awful smile crept on his features. Jealous. Pushing himself forward as to free a hand from its sigil, Genesis slid his fingers around that of Sephiroth’s free wrist, silently demanding control of it. “So thoughtful. But you see, I’m just so tired.” He feigned wickedly. Jealous. Guiding his hostage’s wrist over the open box of chocolates so that Sephiroth’s finger’s grazed the top of what appeared to be extremely high quality fudge, partially melted from the heat, Genesis’ voice fell to a sultry purr. “Feed me~” Jealous.

#sorry for length...#this just slipped far past my ability to control the muse...#ffffufufufuuuuuu #y gen b so great at destroying this boys control #like...why?#seph is doomed >:333 its faaiiiiine #rp:begrudgingaffections #verse:crisis core #unforestalledreturn #blackwinged-silversolace

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blackwinged-silversolace · 3 years

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// Silly CC Headcanon that just popped up out of nowhere// :'D

SOLDIER don't mess with Sephiroth in the locker rooms.... Especially after a shower. He will use that wet, glorious mane as a weapon of mass destruction

Imagine it... them cold feline eyes burning green fire as he starts whipping that silver slapper like he does with Masamue.

I am dead. X'D

#sephiroth #sephiroth rp #headcanon #crisis core

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blackwinged-silversolace · 3 years

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// Ooc // Sephiroth HeadCanon Development // How did my Muse come to be?// {Nemain Speaks... For better or...worse?//

Someone, (I can't remember specifically, who it was. Admittedly, at that time I had no idea how to respond, so I deleted the ask. If you're out there, I whole-heartedly apologize for my previous cowardice) 'NA' asked me a while back, something along the lines of this~~ "How do you form your HC's for Sephiroth given his ambiguity, and the several conflicting story installations?"

Sephiroth has been important to me for a long time. At first, it was infatuation that drew me to him, that ominously powerful/mind-game-entisiast/ beautifully evil antagonist, that antagonist that everybody loves to hate-or hates to love / member of the intelligently pretty asshole club...etc, etc...

But always, from my first time playing the OG and until now (having played all that came after several times), I felt bad for him... And it wasn't until I was a teen that I started to pick up on why, and it wasn't just because the guy was a good guy- gone bad... It was this weird omnipotent sadness, an ever present need to right the wrong of the world within every aspect of his character.

On some level, I think anyone who has gone through trauma can pick up on this.

Sephiroth is a very complicated individual ( as most of us know ). So, when forming headcannons, I have to acknowledge his in-game mannerisms / minimal backstory/ personality traits / vocal tones - or dialogue- used depending on the listener and subject matter/ etc... --within each game, then make sure that I don't let go of the core mystical integrity that was the OG SEPHIROTH. --

From there... presenting an image of what little we know for sure- then, finally adding on my own psychology research/ personal experience with trauma, to piece together a congruent idea of how his character would develope based on his childhood, the collateral damage his upbringing / pre-cc & early cc events would do to his mental health (so to speak). Then reverse, bend, and hew the process depending on the chemistry of my muse and yours.

#sephiroth #blackwinged-silversolace #headcanon #ff7 #rp #{ nemain ramblings #asks #answers #<3

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