#verse: petal soft but razor sharp

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid JUST DROPPED CH. 4 Nero meets his Brother's Boyfriend I Guess?

The dad!vincent-verse keeps growing. This one finally has some well-earned Cid and Vincent time.

Mature rating this time, for non-explicit sex

NERO HE'S SUCH A PRETTY BABY LOOK AT HIM

Beautiful. So goddamn beautiful. Like a painting in a shrine, or one of them fancy poems about plum blossoms in snow, or something. Like one of those things that makes you realize you’re dreaming cause no way could anything real be that perfect, and it breaks the spell and you wake up. Only when you wake up, there’s that black-haired beauty you dreamed of, laying on the pillow right next to you. 

Every time he looked at this celestial creature who for some ungodly reason had consented to be his own, Cid’s chest tightened up and his throat ached with emotion. He loved this man so much, he felt it physically, as a tender, aching wound, in his heart. Not just love, but worship, devotion, fervent adoration—an almost religious zealotry. The kind that inspires men to lay down their very lives in service of the object of their idolatry. 

Vincent stirred and sat up, on the edge of the bed. Cid lay still, watching, as hair like a waterfall of ink, cascaded down an ivory-white back, crisscrossed with deep, ragged scars. Sinewy shoulder muscles flexed under the translucent skin, as a long, slender, white hand and a gnarled, black hand with razor-sharp claws, reached back and drew the heavy, glossy hair into a loose ponytail. 

“You’re staring,” Vincent’s deep, honey-smooth voice said, over his shoulder.

“I can’t help myself, baby. You’re as pretty as a goddamn picture,” Cid defended (unfortunately, his spoken vocabulary was not quite the match of the poetic transcendence in his internal ruminations).

“Hmph,” Vincent scoffed, as Cid sat up behind him, with his thighs outside Vincent’s, and slipped his calloused hands onto a waist so narrow, they could almost encompass it.

“I mean it, sugar dumpling, you’re prettier’n the prettiest girl I ever seen,” Cid insisted, coiling his arms around him. “Prettier’n a flower. Or like—one of them birds with the long-ass feathers.”

“Peacock.”

Cid had meant a certain crimson, long-tailed bird he’d seen once, but he didn’t know what it was called, and didn’t feel like dwelling on it. “Mhm, a peacock.”

Vincent’s chest vibrated with a low chuckle, then his head lolled forward and he gave a little gasp, shuddering at the hot breath on the back of his neck, the soft lips and scratchy stubble, as Cid dropped kisses like flower petals, on his pronounced spine and shoulder blades, both of which he was deeply self-conscious, but Cid appeared to enjoy immensely. 

Much like his scars. Those knotted, twisted lightning bolts, that shot through every inch of this ruined hide, as if his body had been torn apart and stitched back together, many times over. Which it quite literally had. That he’d been in a state of forced consciousness for most of it, was a secret he told to no one. Least of all his adoring husband.

Feigning reluctance, he gradually allowed himself to be coaxed back into bed, tumbled amongst the sheets, pressed down beneath the weight of a solid, muscular body, taken with a heat and passion that were astonishing to him, even after all this time.

He arched his long spine, lips wet and parted, half-lidded crimson eyes hazy and lust-drunk, his black claws cutting a bloody trail across Cid’s brawny, golden-tanned back, with his shuddering release. Cid covered his mouth with fervent kisses and spilled inside him, saying ‘I love you, I love you,’ over and over, against his lips.

The sun poured liquid gold between the curtains, as they lingered in each other’s arms, basking in these precious moments of tenderness and joy, amid the slings and arrows of life. This was a luxury they could afford, now, since the care of their infant daughter had been almost entirely assumed, by the most dangerous man either of them had ever encountered.

The morning was growing late, when the two of them finally emerged from their bedroom.

“Good morning, father. Stepfather,” Sephiroth greeted them, rising as they entered the living room. “There is fresh coffee in the pot and I’ve kept your breakfast warm in the oven.”

“Mm, thank you Sephiroth,” Vincent yawned, turning toward the kitchen. 

“How’s my little princess, this fine mornin’?” Cid inquired of the black-haired infant, who was in her play swing, drooling all over a ring of brightly-colored teething beads. 

“Ba-baaaa,” she chirped, kicking her chubby legs, as he lifted her from the swing. 

“Stepfather, I’d like permission to take my brother to the grocery store, today,” Sephiroth said to Cid. “I think it would be good for him.”

“Uh…Vinnie’s the one in charge, here. You don’t gotta ask my permission,” Cid said, confusedly. “Speakin’ of your brother, where is that little fucker?”

“Fuh guh,” Ollie repeated, drooling exuberantly.

“Sh—hey!” Cid whispered to her. “Don’t repeat words papa says, like that, or he’ll get in trouble with daddy!”

“Dadadadaaa,” she conceded.

“Nero hasn’t been feeling well,” Sephiroth said. “Please, excuse his rudeness.”

“Tch. I’m feeling fine. Excuse yourself,” a soft, slightly hoarse voice retorted, from the hallway arch. 

“Wee-woo!” Ollie announced, as the black-haired, crimson-eyed young man slunk into the room. 

“Good mornin’ to you, too, sunshine,” Cid said irritably. “What brings you to the land of the livin’?”

“Your charming manners, of course,” Nero sneered, till a big hand grabbed him by the back of the neck, giving him a start. 

“Apologize to our stepfather, and speak respectfully to him, from now on,” Sephiroth said, with a placid smile. 

“He’s not my fucking—ah!” Nero cried out, grimacing in Sephiroth’s iron grip. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, sir!”

“Wee-woo!” Ollie added, for good measure.

“That’s your second elder brother, mei-mei,” Sephiroth told her. “You can call him er-ge.”

“Ah-guh! Ah-guh guh guh,” she burbled, leaning forward in Cid’s arms toward Nero, who shrunk back at the sight of the slobbering little gremlin, who was grasping at him with its slimy paws. 

“What’s going on in here? Is everything alright?” Vincent asked, as he entered with two mugs of coffee. 

“I was just instructing my brother regarding how to properly address our stepfather,” Sephiroth, whose arm was now around Nero’s shoulders, explained.

“About that. You don’t gotta do all that ‘stepfather’ and ‘sir’ shit,” Cid put in awkwardly, accepting one of the mugs from Vincent, and then holding it away from Ollie, who immediately tried to get her fingers into it. “Specially since…ya know. You and me are the same age.”

“Age has little to do with courtesy. Your position as our father’s husband demands respect, from us, as his children. However, if it makes you uncomfortable, please tell us what you would prefer to be called.”

“Cid’s fine. Just no more of that sir business. A family ain’t a military unit.”

“You married a man the same age as your son?” Nero smirked, at Vincent. “Exemplary.”

“Was that sarcasm, little brother?” Sephiroth asked. 

“No, no!” Nero answered hastily. “I was simply congratulating…our father…on his good fortune in marriage.” 

His voice betrayed a little tremor of disgust, as he pronounced the words ‘our father’ but Sephiroth let it pass. At that moment, the front door opened, and a young man with inexplicably buoyant golden-blonde hair, and big, bright, mako-blue eyes entered. He stopped short, seeing the entire family gathered in the living room.

“Hey, everyone. I’m here to—what the fuck!” he exclaimed, doing an actual double-take at what appeared to him to be two Vincents. “Who is that guy?? Why does he look exactly like Vincent?!”

“Maaaamaaaaa! Mamamamamaaa!” Ollie shrieked joyously, writhing and kicking her little legs, in an earnest attempt to propel herself from Cid’s arms to Cloud’s.

“Mama?” Nero said, arching a sharp, black eyebrow. “Now this is getting interesting.”

“No—Cloud. I keep telling you, Ollie, it’s not mama, it’s Cloud,” the young man admonished, accepting the wriggling bundle from Cid (which he had to, as there would be no pacifying Ollie, otherwise). “Can you say it for me? Cloud.”

“Mama!” Ollie asserted, with cheerful confidence.

“Cloud, this is Nero,” Vincent explained, stepping forward. “It’s rather a long story, but he’s my son.”

Cloud’s blue eyes widened. “Like, biological? Seph, you have a brother, now?”

“Mn,” Sephiroth nodded. “Nero the Sable, no legal surname. He is twenty-three years old, uses a Chaos-derived darkness ability, and has been declared criminally insane, by the state. He belonged to the Deepground Tsviets, before being remanded to my father's custody, and has likely killed a person or two of your acquaintance, at some point.”

“Wow. Sounds like he really is your brother. Hi, Nero. Nice to meet you. I’m Seph’s boyfriend, Cloud.”

Nero was opening his mouth to say he didn’t give a shit who he was, but a subtle shift in Sephiroth’s posture made him shut it again, and make do with a stiff dip of his chin.

Cloud looked back and forth between them. “So…you guys ready to go grocery shopping?”

LINK TO CH. 5

[formorethananame]

@evercharmed, a closed starter

Is one night of peace too much to ask for?

Daesung sighs softly as he takes Dacy’s hand. He’s more than familiar with the sensation of eyes on him, even in the middle of a crowd. Daesung ignores it for the time being. They’ve finished their food, and now that the dessert is ready to go, he pays the vendor and drops a generous tip in the jar. 

It might make up for any trouble he could potentially draw them into. 

Daesung takes the bag handed to him and leads Dacy away from the food truck. He’d hoped tonight would be a date night and nothing else. His days have been so eaten up by work lately, always needed to oversee this and to back up that and make sure all loose ends are tied up. It’s given him hardly any time for Dacy, and that simply hasn’t been acceptable. 

Tonight was supposed to be for just them, and now work is interfering once more.

Daesung squeezes Dacy’s hand and pulls him closer. “Stay by my side,” he whispers, expression still calm. “Someone is tailing us. I need you to do exactly what I say so that we can make it home safely. I really want these doughnuts, so the sooner we’re done with this, the better.”

[formorethananame]

evercharmed​:

  Daesung picks him up, but for a split second, it isn’t Daesung that holds him in his arms. Dacy stares at him, the face he wears, stares at how it flickers and morphs into the face of the man who’d taken him all these years ago. Dacy’s heart jumps into his throat. He screeches and struggles, but the police sirens shut him up as soon as they ring through the air. There’d been no sirens back then. Nobody who’d come to help, who’d heard what happened.    The way back home passes him in a blur. It doesn’t register that they’ve stopped moving until after Daesung addresses him again, and Dacy’s heart once again jumps into his throat. Daesung is still alive. Doesn’t look as though he’d been fatally wounded. Every part of his trembles, still, wracked with tremor after tremor. He’d worked so hard to desensitize himself to gunshots, binging movies and watching documentaries loud enough to shatter his ear drums.    The real thing is different, after all. No amount of self-conditioning will ever change that.   “You’re… –” he squawks, drawing away from Daesung’s touch on sheer instinct. Dacy wrings his hands. His surroundings are familiar, despite the darkness. He knows this little garden, the bench he’s seated on. A breeze ruffles his hair. He isn’t at the warehouse, and there are no chains on him, no bars around him. He’s free, and this place is not dangerous.   Home. He’s home.   Dacy all but collapses, slips off the bench with a weary little noise. “Oh my god. So many years and this still fucks me up.” He lifts his head to meet Daesung’s eyes, and the worry he finds brings back the sickness sloshing in his stomach. Right, they’d been followed on their date, and Daesung had had no other choice but to deal with whoever it had been. He’d been shot. Daesung had been shot.   Frantically, Dacy runs his hands along his chest, his back, his face, turning his head every which way to check for wounds. He finds the one on his arm with a hiccup. “Please tell me this is the only one,” he whispers, staring at the blood drying on the fabric of Daesung’s jacket.

Dacy pulling away from him wounds him, but he doesn’t give chase. He knows when to push and when to hold back, and right now, Dacy needs a moment to come back to reality on his own. Anything else will overwhelm him and he’s had enough of that tonight. 

So he sits back and waits. Daesung watches Dacy join him on the ground and feels a modicum of his worry fade, but there’s still so much more to push through. He doesn’t miss that revelation, either, and it worries him. It’s no secret that Dacy has been through hell. He’s shared some of those troubles before, but it had been more of an outline with no real details. 

Just what exactly has he been through? 

Daesung looks down at his arm. His jacket is soaked with blood now, dark and still wet. He shrugs out of it with a sigh. Most of the blood has dried on his arm and the fabric of his jacket, though it still oozes slowly out of his skin. It’s a flesh wound, nothing more. Daesung twists his arm in an effort to inspect it. 

“Just this one,” he assures Dacy, watching him. The ashen quality to his skin only heightens his worry. Daesung stands up, and this time, he reaches for Dacy. “Let’s go inside. You can rest while I talk to hyung.” Daesung smooths Dacy’s hair back and kisses his forehead. “I’m so sorry I got you caught up in that.” In all of this. He bites that thought back and takes Dacy’s hand instead, leads him inside. 

Minho is the first to see them. He spots the blood on Daesung’s arm and swears, jumping to his feet. Daesung holds up a hand. Not yet, the gesture says. Though Minho frowns, he stays where he is, watching Daesung lead Dacy through the hall to their room. Daesung turns the lamp on instead of the main light, filling the room with a soft, warm light. 

Daesung sets their desserts down on the desk and drops his jacket. He pulls Dacy into his arms and cups the back of his head. Though he doesn’t show it easily, he’s shaken inside. The idea of Dacy having been hurt at all scares him more than almost anything else can. Sighing, Daesung kisses Dacy’s hair. “You can come with me if you want,” he murmurs, stepping back, “But I have to talk to hyung about this. We weren’t followed for nothing.”