(no subject)
Title: Midnight
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Character(s): Sephiroth, Tifa
Pairing(s): none
Word count: 793
Rating: R
Note(s): Post-game and during the Nibelheim incident, the night before Seph goes batshit crazy-insane. Smut of the not-so-graphic variety.
Summary: It amazes him that the little mountain town can be so quiet in the middle of the night, almost as if everyone was dead and it was merely a ghost town.
It amazes him that the little mountain town can be so quiet in the middle of the night, almost as if everyone was dead and it was merely a ghost town. This is what he gathers as he moves from the inn and across the square of Nibelheim while casting the water tower a tired glance with calm eyes. He idly wonders with what children does such a thing hold memories to, perhaps which adults as well.
A movement to the side and the silver haired man’s head whips in the direction and the small form of a young woman enters his range of sight and she freezes when he sees her. It was almost like a deer caught in headlights, he muses to himself and grins.
“Whatever are you doing out at such a late hour?” He asks, hands moving to folding behind his back as he takes a few steps towards the girl.
“…” Her relunctance to answer makes him chuckle and shake his head slowly. Eyeing her up and down he takes in the girl before him and finds a grin twitching to his lips; for someone so young - he was guessing fourteen or fifteen, at least - she seems developed in…many aspects and body parts, though he was sure that growth and mother nature was no quite finished with her quite yet.
“Well…?” He urges, stepping closer and she twitches and backs away a little, dark brown hair pull back in a low ponytail and her cowgirl outfit (he guesses this must be the tour guide for tomorrow…) seemingly a little bit dirty.
“…I was out for a walk.” She looks away and frowns. “I’m on my way home right now so, if you would excuse me…”
With those words he watches her move towards him, tiny hands to his arm as she pushes past and there is something about that touch that makes him twitch. Even through the layers of his outfit he can feel the heat of her hand and the tremble of her fingers against his sleeve.
The touch makes him reach for her wrist and grip it tightly, a small squeak of surprise slipping from the girl’s throat and she turns her head to stare at him.
…she was suddenly frightened?
How amusing, he thinks and grins down at her.
It had been a long while since the last time he recalled bedding a woman - but this would be a girl he would take, a major sin with their age difference - and a lust had started to build within him a bit ago. There was a yearning to quench said lust and, well, with a girl as young and as attractive as this tour guide who would not be able to help themselves?
Gripping her wrist tighter the man just lets the grin turn to a smile as he tugs her and leads her back to the inn. Despite small protests and whimpers, the feel of nails trying to dig into his gloved hand, there was no detouring once his mind settled on what he wanted.
An empty room was where he brought her; tossing her to the bed he was quick to the shedding of clothes, watching as her face turned flushed in embarrassment at the knowing of her sudden bareness. He felt the little quivers and trembles of her body beneath his touch - both hand and mouth - and listened to the whimpers and soft groans elicited from the back of her throat.
He was readying her, allowing the girl to loosen and relax and understand what was to come shortly.
Then she was writhing beneath him in a matter of minutes, her back arching up and hot tears well in her eyes as a pain courses her body. But against better judgment he just goes, not allowing her a time to get used to the feel of him within her. Against better judgment but a judgment he is sure he never had before, so what was it to matter?
And it goes for awhile, her small body trembling beneath his as she arched to each rock of the hips and rough thrust, before all sense of time is lost and he feels a release. All built up sexual tension and frustration released within the young girl beneath him.
When it’s over her stares down at her, sees the pain written across her face and finds an odd satisfaction over it. He moves and stands, telling her in a cold tone to dress herself and go back home before her father wakes and finds her missing.
She does as she is told and he watches her leave, amused by the lack of eye contact and the disgust that was seeming to radiate off of her.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Character(s): Sephiroth, Tifa
Pairing(s): none
Word count: 793
Rating: R
Note(s): Post-game and during the Nibelheim incident, the night before Seph goes batshit crazy-insane. Smut of the not-so-graphic variety.
Summary: It amazes him that the little mountain town can be so quiet in the middle of the night, almost as if everyone was dead and it was merely a ghost town.
It amazes him that the little mountain town can be so quiet in the middle of the night, almost as if everyone was dead and it was merely a ghost town. This is what he gathers as he moves from the inn and across the square of Nibelheim while casting the water tower a tired glance with calm eyes. He idly wonders with what children does such a thing hold memories to, perhaps which adults as well.
A movement to the side and the silver haired man’s head whips in the direction and the small form of a young woman enters his range of sight and she freezes when he sees her. It was almost like a deer caught in headlights, he muses to himself and grins.
“Whatever are you doing out at such a late hour?” He asks, hands moving to folding behind his back as he takes a few steps towards the girl.
“…” Her relunctance to answer makes him chuckle and shake his head slowly. Eyeing her up and down he takes in the girl before him and finds a grin twitching to his lips; for someone so young - he was guessing fourteen or fifteen, at least - she seems developed in…many aspects and body parts, though he was sure that growth and mother nature was no quite finished with her quite yet.
“Well…?” He urges, stepping closer and she twitches and backs away a little, dark brown hair pull back in a low ponytail and her cowgirl outfit (he guesses this must be the tour guide for tomorrow…) seemingly a little bit dirty.
“…I was out for a walk.” She looks away and frowns. “I’m on my way home right now so, if you would excuse me…”
With those words he watches her move towards him, tiny hands to his arm as she pushes past and there is something about that touch that makes him twitch. Even through the layers of his outfit he can feel the heat of her hand and the tremble of her fingers against his sleeve.
The touch makes him reach for her wrist and grip it tightly, a small squeak of surprise slipping from the girl’s throat and she turns her head to stare at him.
…she was suddenly frightened?
How amusing, he thinks and grins down at her.
It had been a long while since the last time he recalled bedding a woman - but this would be a girl he would take, a major sin with their age difference - and a lust had started to build within him a bit ago. There was a yearning to quench said lust and, well, with a girl as young and as attractive as this tour guide who would not be able to help themselves?
Gripping her wrist tighter the man just lets the grin turn to a smile as he tugs her and leads her back to the inn. Despite small protests and whimpers, the feel of nails trying to dig into his gloved hand, there was no detouring once his mind settled on what he wanted.
An empty room was where he brought her; tossing her to the bed he was quick to the shedding of clothes, watching as her face turned flushed in embarrassment at the knowing of her sudden bareness. He felt the little quivers and trembles of her body beneath his touch - both hand and mouth - and listened to the whimpers and soft groans elicited from the back of her throat.
He was readying her, allowing the girl to loosen and relax and understand what was to come shortly.
Then she was writhing beneath him in a matter of minutes, her back arching up and hot tears well in her eyes as a pain courses her body. But against better judgment he just goes, not allowing her a time to get used to the feel of him within her. Against better judgment but a judgment he is sure he never had before, so what was it to matter?
And it goes for awhile, her small body trembling beneath his as she arched to each rock of the hips and rough thrust, before all sense of time is lost and he feels a release. All built up sexual tension and frustration released within the young girl beneath him.
When it’s over her stares down at her, sees the pain written across her face and finds an odd satisfaction over it. He moves and stands, telling her in a cold tone to dress herself and go back home before her father wakes and finds her missing.
She does as she is told and he watches her leave, amused by the lack of eye contact and the disgust that was seeming to radiate off of her.