Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Curled in a large, pastel colored ball in a fluffy, compact nest, was the napping figure of one fallen military angel; his silver hair had been carefully brushed into shimmering softness was resting over his shoulder, his once quite gaunt and tired visage with his firm nose and soft lips that were always touched with a coy smirk, was instead flush and rounded out at the cheeks, and the smirk became softer and genuine. 

From his nose, puffs of breath, a low purring distinct from the snore of a deep sleeper. He lay on his side in as much of a fetal position as he could manage now considering the growing mass at his core, of which his curled in position was meant to both subconsciously hide the vulnerability and offer comfort to himself and the cubs inside. 

In this deep restful sleep, Sephiroth was completely unprotected from the outside. He was fat, heavy, and off balance when he allowed himself to sit up and stand. His skin was softer and warmer to the touch, the muscle loosened around his belly, and the his coat, of which was cold and tight on him, was exchanged for a soft sweater. This was not only to offer him physical comfort because of his weight gain, but also for his posterity, as he had always been the shy sort and had to grow accustomed to his chest being exposed, now that breasts (though small) were formed upon the waking of his second sex's full potential, he felt even more uncomfortable with showing so much sensitive skin.

His pants (if he would ever put them on.) were now flowing lounge pants. If they would ever let him out of the cellar, he think he would be wearing colorful house shoes and shuffle around in them. He shuffles around down there enough anyway, he just needs the slippers.

In his dreams, he watches himself from the sidelines, occasionally from outside a window on the bottom floor of an old fashioned house, similar to that he recalls seeing in--

He fidgets slightly, presses his palm into his belly to sooth the fluttering. He was told he shouldn't be feeling any sort of fluttering right now, it's only been a month or so. But he swears he can feel a slight movement, one that tickles a bit, like a breath on the back of his neck. He soothes it with tapping of his fingers. 

Anyway. He sees himself shuffling in a day coat around a quaint little house, a bit unsteady on his feet of course, as he's still getting used to having this added weight protruding from himself. He sees an ideal image of pregnancy, all soft colors and warm hues, the walls are decorated with patterned wallpaper and shelves full of books. He sees picture frames on the wall, and a space left purposely empty for a new image of his child. 

He sees Cloud, his alpha now, coming home. He is older and his blonde hair captures the sunlight. He's carrying bags of groceries and wears simple villager's clothing, the only thing moderately reminiscent of the city is the ring on his finger. His face is tan, his arms are strong, he's still just below his chin. His eyes are green--

"No, they aren't." He thinks, disrupting his own dream. "They're blue. Sky blue."

He tries again.

...His face is tan, his arms are strong, he's still just below his chin. His eyes are blue. He's happy to see him. When they hug, Cloud is careful, still shy, he flexes to slip out of his hug.

Sephiroth can't help himself. He cracks a smile, then huffs a pleasant chuckle. The dream begins to fade off, his body begins to tingle, the fine hairs on his arms and neck stand. A wonderful scent creeps into the air, it mixes with his own and drowns out the bleakness of the cellar. He can hear the strain of the old wooden stairs. Sephiroth wakes, but despite his eagerness to see his mate, he stays in his napping position, pretending. He wishes to play with Cloud a bit, he always enjoyed the game of chase and chance with him.

"Sephiroth."

The omega stays still, holding his chuckles in. Cloud sighs. He jumps the last two stairs, blushing to himself at his poor attempt to hide his own eagerness to see his omega and check on him, to press his nose to his glands and listen to his belly. 

"Seph."

A chuckle. Cloud sighs.

"I know you're awake, I can hear you giggling over there."

Sephiroth sighs too, but this one is joyous and pleasant. He lets his humor take him and laughs just a bit. He's been feeling so playful these days, so light and airy, he swears he's never felt so... blasé about everything.

"Yes, Cloud?" The omega moves his head too look at him, slowly pulling up to face him. With the movement and the nature of his aesthetics, Cloud can't help comparing it to the unraveling of a large white snake, who's scales would be shining under the light just as the omega's hair, who's slow, methodical moves were just as captivating and pulling. Sephiroth's eyes will occasionally take on a sea green then return to their jade tone when he's pleased or sated in some way, and when he's pleased or full, just like that snake, he curls back into a ball and rests.

He looks at Cloud so happily, the alpha feels almost threatened by it. It feels, after all this time still, to be a facade. That this new mated, placeted and nearly submissive state of mind and being that Sephiroth has taken is a false security. That inside of that scheming head of his, he is still planning something evil and wicked, just like the aforementioned snake, who only moved from his coil to strike a mouse.

Yet inside of Sephiroth's head, his mind drew blanks on the topic of revenge or grudges, instead only thinking of his alpha as his ultimate joy at the moment, who could do little wrong against him without reason, and who protected him from those who wished him ill intent. In his own mind, if he knew of Cloud's engendering of a creeping reptile, Sephiroth would imagine himself as more of a little kitty instead; a fluffy white kitty who needed a pink bell on his neck and more time to lounge with his master.

"How are you feeling?" The other man had removed all the harsh, hard pieces of his clothing at the door, as per usual, only needing to remove his boots when he came down, and proceeded to creep his way into the nest. It was built up of pillows, blankets, pretty patterned linens, and whatever fragrant item Cloud would leave with him whether by accident or design. As he settled in beside the older man, he reached into his jacket and produced a cloth handkerchief that was brimming with both the heady perfume of his natural masculine scent and the purposely embossed waft of his scent glands. He gave it to the omega with a slight embarrassed flush. "It must be hard being all alone down here. Sorry."

"I'm fine, Cloud." Sephiroth's voice was leveled and gentle, having little hitch or rasp and sitting in that perfect level between a whisper and projection. Coupled with general depth of his voice, his speech was now more soothing to Cloud's ears than before, where his tone was only made this way to mock him with it's false kindness. He smiled slightly at him, then turned to some rounded corner of the nest, where he started to rub the fragrant fabric alongside the cloth walls and cushioning. He spoke with a warmness as he did so: "And truthfully the solitude is welcomed. It's often quiet and your friends are as kind as they can be given the...situation we've found ourselves..."

Cloud nodded, still watching as the larger man in his flowing clothes and pale colors moved on his hands and knees, his body shifting with the movements of his arms and hands. He retained little shame about tracing the rounding lines of his pale thighs, the mounds of his calves and the soles of his feet, the back up to his jutting posterior and the underwear he wore. He thought of reaching out to pull at his hair for no reason other than to do it and cause the omega to jolt, and he thought of biting him in this unaware state. But Cloud did not, as Sephiroth was speaking again.

"There are some feather touches here and there." There's playfulness in his voice and also palpable excitement. Neither of them ever thought they would be in this situation, together or otherwise, and beneath the general despairing anxiety there was hopeful anxiety, which typically overtook all other feeling if they allowed it to. "Every day, it feels as if my body is reminding me that this is real, and something even more real will be coming soon."

He finally sits again, this time letting out low groan. His back has begun shorting out on him again, a familiar feeling, that brought about the a piercing static in the back of his mind when he tried to piece together a deeper memory than merely: 'an old training injury. Too much power in that move.'

Whenever he attempted to piece together who exactly had caused this still smarting injury, his head would throb so badly he would feel sick. Now that Cloud was present, he allowed him to shut his thoughts off with a soothing touch to his back.

Again, a flutter. A toe touch in his belly. He put his hand where he believes it came from, though logically it hadn't come from anywhere in particular. Cloud pulled forward to catch his eyes, silently asking if there were an issue, but the older man shook his head slightly.

"Nothing. A phantom touch, perhaps." 

"And the headache?"

"How did--" He caught himself. With a blush, he bowed his head slightly. "Such a perceptive alpha you are..."

"When you have one, you wince with you left eye and your hand twitches."

Sephiroth was vaguely aware of that. He chuckled, slightly caught off center by his legible body language and how Cloud knew he was coming on to a migraine despite thinking that he had beaten it.

"It's my memories. Or rather, attempting to look further into them. Seems that plenty has been slipping from me these days." 

"Since...I--" Cloud didn't know how to phrase it. It still didn't sit well in his gut to detail about their mating. He didn't feel well calling it a joint effort, and felt worse implying it was a single, individual effort. "We--"

"-Yes. More so now I would say. " He smirks at Cloud lovingly. The young alpha's heart skips, but his mind reels from it. "It must be that if it is not about our immediate future, my mind determines it not worthy of pondering."

Moments pass. Eventually, Cloud is massaging all of Sephiroth's back, up to his shoulders and neck with firm circles and thumb presses, telling the other about his work now, what's going on above them, about Shinra and the changed relationship with Rufus. He tells him about future plans for the nearby areas, about his teammates, and their own plans for the future should all go well. Sephiroth listens with great attention and asks very little about this and that, sometimes for clarification, he even offers a slice of sage advice about leadership.

Soon Sephiroth is doting on his alpha, grooming him with his brush and comb,  fixing his clothes and checking his body for any small wounds or bruises that might become bothersome without rest. He holds Cloud against his chest, he rubs his cheeks and smooths his hair, humming songs he's heard when the radio is playing and the bar is full, he relays a poem he's read in his solitude, until Cloud's breath is even and his weight shifts.

Cloud doesn't often sleep in their nest. In fact, this was the rare times he felt so calm and receptive to him to desire to stay so long. Before, he would give Sephiroth his token of good faith or a meal, a short interview, and then been off again. So, when moments such as these, where Sephiroth can tuck them in and lay together, he holds it deep in his mind. He tucks it in the growing empty spaces of his memories, not caring if they over shadow his past or paints them with a rosey sheen.

Cloud holds him carefully. Sephiroth let's Cloud hold him, and he always will. Even if Cloud suddenly decides he will no longer come back or entertain him. He'll hold him in his mind. He'll return to Cloud's comforting arms time and time again.

Chapter Text

Yazoo preferred napping away his mornings or reading a book in some confined corner, notably looking over all the pictures of animals he has never seen and flowers he's heard Aerith speak about. He also would pick up magazines and brochures to look at the people inside. It wasn't inherently odd behavior to an avid people watcher like Vincent, but considering the fact that Yazoo could not in theory read most of what he picked up to stare at, he thought it was a bit odd for him to just...look at their faces and poses. Sometimes he would bring over a magazine to ask for help with a word or what certain thing was used for, but mostly he just used them as picture books.

It also became apparent after while that he took immense interest in childcare magazines with baby toys and pregnant mothers in them, even cocking his head thoughtfully at their huge bellies. 

He'll never forget when he asked: "Why are they all so fat?" 

To which of course Vincent accidentally revealed the nature of pregnancy. He got a strongly worded text from Cloud telling him that it would be his duty to explain to the boys what he meant. 

Appart from his silent solitary enjoyments, he also enjoyed being around Vincent. In fact,  Yazoo spent most of his time in Vincent's immediate space, however tentative it was for the man, who felt rough about him being around but was often reasonable and could quell Chaos to not feel threatened, as the boy often only wished to read and nap. This arrangement was solely due to Cloud's work schedule and to give Sephiroth a break (no matter how hard it was for him to admit he needed one), and instead of sending all three of the troublemakers to one friend for the weekend, Cloud reasoned to split them up, Loz spending time with Barret and Marlene (and Tifa, when she was available), Kadaj with Aerith and Yuffie, and of course, Yazoo with Vincent and Reeve. Due to Cid having to shuttle flights so often, he was out of the question, and Nanaki went wherever he felt like. 

When he first came over, he attempted to introduce him to Reeve, who instead thought to introduce himself to the boy behind Cait Sith, but when Yazoo was wholly unimpressed and mildly disgusted with the cat creature standing on two legs, the man (eventually and shyly) met him the boy in person, trying to reason with his nerves that since they were staying in his flat, it was only right. Still, Yazoo regarded him with an unimpressed look and an almost begrudged handshake. 

When they ate dinner together, Reeve had learned quickly that the boy did not approve of him sitting so close to his favorite uncle. Vincent opted to not say much (see: anything) about it, only speaking up when it came to bedtime and Yazoo wanted to jump into that too. He didn't want him to know about the depth of their relationship yet, and would bite the bullet and lay with him until he slept.

Watching things come apart and be put back together appeared to also be a favorite past time of the little boy considering how when Vincent wasn't around, he'd watch Reeve fiddle and fix various simple machines, and when Vincent was around, he'd sit back and do the same with him.

When Vincent would clean Cerberus, taking it apart and putting it back together, the boy perked up and watched. He watched Vincent's hands work deftly at turning screws and cleaning the barrels out, he watched him with such rapt attention, that it made Vincent feel like a specimen again, but he said nothing of the sort. The boy wouldn't understand. 

Yazoo would ask short, concise questions. Vincent would offer short, concise answers. If Yazoo did not understand or was unsatisfied, he would push for more. Vincent would give him more, hoping the more adult and winding answer would get him confused enough to pull off, or at least satisfy his curiosity. He was only six, after all.

“Uncle Vincent,” The man did not know when he became ‘Uncle’ Vincent. Barret had become Uncle Barret, Cid was ‘Gramps’ because of how often he was caught napping and letting the boys jump on his lap for a wild story, Nanaki had become Nana, and all the ladies (minus Yuffie) had become their aunts. Vincent never considered himself the uncle type, but he never caused friction over it, even after the title caught on with the other two who had simply addressed him as Mr. Vincent. "Uncle Vincent."

Cloud had mentioned that Yazoo was very physically affectionate ages ago, noting how he would always find a way to hold his brothers' hands or attach himself to a known person's leg. He also casually mentioned his pension for following his friends (see: Family) around the house.

It was during the earlier years when it was that Cloud only allowed Vincent or Aerith inside their home, or perhaps it was more likely, that the others didn't feel comfortable coming in with Sephiroth around. Vincent couldn't see at the time how Cloud would know those details so early though, as he had hardly been aware of how often Yazoo in particular was stuck in his gravity. Cloud had given him an odd look when he asked where Yazoo was when the other two were playing, and he had gestured at his peeking head behind the couch. 

And as Yazoo leaned forward when Vincent started tending to his gauntlet, his soft childish voice and warm cheek rubbing against him, and little arms hanging on his shoulders, Vincent understood it very, very well.

The boy was constantly and purposely rubbing his cheek against his own, and Vincent was aware it was his childlike way of attempting to scent him because he liked him, but didn't understand that he had no scent to spread and was just chafing their cheeks.

“Why do you wear that claw thingy?” He asked after a moment of rubbing their faces raw. He stared at the gauntlet with big eyes.

“Because I like it.” Was Vincent's short and concise answer.

“That's it?” The little boy sounded both unconvinced and surprised. He couldn't understand the idea of having something just because you liked it when you were an adult. Adults were supposed to have a reason for everything, even when their father would say 'Because I said so'. To Yazoo, that was reason enough sometimes. He expected his uncle to have a really big reason for something deemed incredibly cool. He leaned on him again and stared at his profile. 

“That's it.” Vincent responded. He did have a reason, but it was a long and winding reason he didn't feel the need to explain to a six year old. Yazoo played with his hair, braiding the dark strands nearest to his fingers in the world's sloppiest attempt at doing so. He hummed playfully and Vincent couldn't help himself from asking: “Why?”

“I don't know.” Kids just ask things just to hear themselves talk, he guessed. “...can I put it on?”

‘No, you cannot.’ He held his tongue on that one. “It'll be too big.” 

“Duh, because I'm a kid still! But I'll grow!” The boy jostled his uncle when he twisted this way and that, forcing Vincent to produce a warning growl, knowing that just like his brothers, Yazoo could spiral himself into an energized fit and start bouncing around the place. The boy relaxed.

“So try it on then.”

“What if I don't like it then?" The boy copied his speech like a parrot. That would be troublesome. He was already crossing his arms and cocking his head like him, he had heard. “I hafta try it on now ‘cause I like it now.”

“You can try it on when you're bigger." He took a thin brush to the mechanism's grooves and pinch points, dusting what he could from them. "Remind me when you're...twelve.”

“Twelve!” The boy got excited at this, almost yanking the shoddy braid. He huffed. “I'm six! That's forever from now!”

“Stop whining.” Vincent put away his tools and slid on the shining, freshly polished glove on smoothly, he flexed his fingers in it and listened for any grit left over and felt for any stiffness in the fingers. He closed his hand into the tightest fist he could nake with it on. Yazoo was watching him do this. There was a bit of pinching around his last two fingers and he would have to take another look.

“Cool…so cool, Uncle Vincent!” He reached out and touched it. In fact his movement was so quick that it took the man by surprise, it made Chaos’ fur ruffle and their skin prickle. It reminded him that this was no regular child, but he didn't pull away. Vincent is reasonable, you see, and boy's touch was gentle and his eyes were bright with pleasure. Pale fingers traced over the intricate detailing, taking on every unfixable dent, scratch and cut in awe and wonder. 

“Uncle Vincent, I want one!”

“Sorry," Vincent took a calming breath. "It's one of a kind.”

“Really…? Well…” Yazoo had managed to get him to turn his hand, and now their palms touched. His hand was so small in his, yet warm. He put his little fingers between his, and locked them as best he could. The gesture was sweet and kind. It made Vincent’s stomach churn in guilt. Should a moment such as this not have been with his own son? Should there not be a raven haired child hanging on his back and playing with his hair, asking him questions and trying to play?

Undeterred, Yazoo smiled at him. He was so darling and striking with his cute little face and big eyes that Vincent considered for a split second to let him try it on. Yazoo showed his pretty baby teeth to his uncle, the one that had fallen out was growing back in at the bottom.

“Can...I have a gun then? Just like you?” He jumped on his back, shaking his uncle from his stupor. "Please, please, please!? You still have Quicksilver right? Can I have it?"

Cloud would kill him. Yazoo's eyes were pleading, his pupils were wide and he stuck out his bottom lip. Begging.

Cloud would kill him. Aerith too. Barret as well. 

"Please?" Vincent closed his eyes and looked away.

“M-maybe. I'll think about it." Then he added quickly: "When you're twelve.”

The boy threw his head back and slapped his uncle's palm. “Ugh! No!"

Vincent chuckled and the boy made an offended noise. "Stop whining or I'll make it fifteen."

"Grr! You're so mean Uncle Vincent!" He rubbed their cheeks together even harder. So hard in fact, that when he was finished and tired enough to take a nap, he saw his check was a bruised red. He didn't smell like anything, of course, but he didn't know how to feel about the sentiment behind it. He'd try flattered, but he was never the type to feel that way, but he couldn't be annoyed either because it was sort of cute. 

Laid down for his nap on the couch, and there came Yazoo again. He tossed a blanket on his face and attempted to tuck him in. He also pushed his own stuffed toy beside his face and pat his head in his idea of 'gently', which was more like him slapping his head two times. When Vincent looked at him, he smiled again.

"What?"

"You look a worm."

"..."

"A big one." He opened his arms as wide as he could. "Like this big. A big red worm with black hair."

"..." Vincent fought the urge to ask what the hell he was talking about. He closed his eyes instead. "I'm goin' to sleep."

Yazoo knelt on the floor. "I know." He whispered when he watched him drift off. He put his arms on the edge of the cushions. "Don't have a bad dream, 'kay?"

He watched him. And watched him. He watched him until he became sleepy too, and grabbed his own blanket. He wrapped himself up and lay on the floor with a pillow, and watched him some more. He rolled to his back.

"A big worm..." He mumbled to himself. "I'll dream of'a big worm..."