!"SANCTIFIED"!
Tags: soft domme!reader, yandere sub!Sephiroth.<3
It started small.
You told yourself it was just stress, just how missions could wear on both of you. That Sephiroth had always been a little… intense. Quiet. Serious. But never frightening.
Not at first.
He kneels in front of you now, tall frame bowed low like he’s praying at your altar. Hands loosely curled against his thighs. Silver hair pools down his back like silk spilled across the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak,he just waits.
Waits for you to acknowledge him.
You shift, unsettled. “Sephiroth… you don’t have to do that. I’m not—” You try to laugh. “I’m not some goddess, you know.”
He lifts his eyes. Mako-blue and bottomless.
“You are to me.”
Your breath catches. There’s no sarcasm. No humor. Just sincerity, raw and quiet and terrifying in its depth. Like he means it. Like he believes it.
You step back. He doesn’t follow.
You’ve been noticing the changes for weeks now. How he lingers outside your door after saying goodnight. How your terminal logs show access at times you know you were asleep. How people you used to talk to.
Genesis, Angeal, even Cloud have grown distant, like something unseen is keeping them away.
Like someone is warning them off.
You’ve caught him staring at you with something too still, too sharp behind his eyes. Once, you found a strand of your hair in the pages of his journal. Pressed between paragraphs written in a language you didn’t recognize.
And now, this.
“Did something happen?” you ask softly. “You’ve been acting different lately.”
“I haven’t changed,” he murmurs. “You’re just seeing more of me.”
That shouldn’t scare you. But it does.
You kneel, slowly, to meet his gaze. His breath hitches like you’ve touched him. Like your closeness is some kind of mercy.
“Sephiroth,” you say carefully, “did you do something to Genesis?”
His expression doesn’t change.
“He questioned your loyalty.”
Your stomach twists.
“I didn’t hurt him,” he adds quickly. Like a good boy. Like he wants your approval. “He still breathes. But I made sure he understands.”
You reach for his face, and he leans into your palm like it’s the only warmth he’s ever known. There’s blood on the inside of his glove. You hadn’t noticed before.
“You shouldn’t do things like that,” you whisper.
His eyes flutter closed. Smiling slowly.
“I would die if you asked me to,” he says. “But I’d rather kill.”
He kisses your hand like it’s sacred. Reverent. Slow. Your fingers tremble as he presses them to his lips, then his cheek, then down to the pulse in his throat.
“Let me serve you,” he whispers.
You should say no.
You should stand up, leave, report this to someone—anyone. You should tell him that what he did to Genesis was wrong. That you’re afraid of him.
But what comes out is:
“…Take your gloves off.”
His breath stutters. You’ve never seen him move so fast to obey.
Black leather discarded. Long, pale fingers curl into fists at his thighs. He watches you like he’s starving, like he’s trying not to break apart in your presence.
You drag your chair closer. Your legs part just enough to draw him in, and he does wordlessly, eagerly, settling between your knees like it’s where he was meant to be all along.
“You want to be good for me,” you murmur. “But you hurt people.”
“I only hurt them because they don’t deserve you.” His voice cracks. “I can’t stand when they look at you. Like you’re not—like you’re something they could touch.”
You cup his face. His lashes flutter. He shivers.
“Are you hard right now?” you ask, just to be cruel.
His lips part. He nods, shame and arousal hitting him like a wave.
You trail your thumb down to his mouth, and he immediately opens for you. Of course he does. He’d let you do anything.
“Show me,” you command softly.
He fumbles at his belt fast, but clumsy with how desperate he is. And then his hand is between his legs, stroking himself under your gaze with a quiet whimper he tries to bite down.
“Don’t hold back,” you tell him. “Let me hear you.”
A choked little moan escapes him, too broken to be dignified. His shoulders tremble. His cock twitches in his palm, already leaking. Already aching for you.
“You’re sick,” you whisper, leaning in. “You think this is love?”
He moans your name like a prayer.
“I’d kill again if you told me to,” he gasps. “I’d do anything. I—I want to be yours.”
You lean closer, and he looks up at you, flushed and trembling, lips parted, the perfect picture of obedience and madness wrapped in a soldier’s body.
You don’t kiss him.
You just say:
“Then come for me. Right here. Show me how disgusting you are.”
He breaks with a cry. Shaking, eyes squeezed shut, his body arching just slightly as he spills over his hand, breathless and panting like he’s been baptized in something holy.
And the worst part?
He’s beautiful when he cries.
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I don't see enough final fantasy writings on here, so wrote one myself.
