The General looked down at you, you who were wearing a piece of garbage that they dared to call clothes, who were squirming in shame and humiliation, and whose wide eyes were about to spill the pearls.

"Although I had already told them not to—" started he almost furiously, weary, anxious, and disgusted—disgusted by the company he worked for and disgusted by himself.

Yet the scent of this beautiful omega was overwhelming to this godlike alpha.

The Silver Demon, who had heralded the Wutai War to a glorious victory for ShinRa, the one and only war hero, Sephiroth, was growing weaker. He himself knew this fact better than anyone else.

The curse of this Planet where he had been born—created without his own consent—had him in this painful predicament.

"An alpha," Hojo had once mused darkly with his hideous cackles, "needs an omega to love and breed."

And all these years, he had resisted the temptations.

And all these years, he had endured the painful ruts, swallowing the burning lumps in his throat and blinking back the scorching tears from his eyes.

He was not just a beastly creature who had been thrown onto the earth to do whatever they pleased; he was not a puppet. He was a proud human being who had his own will and resolutions.

"The name?" Asked he in his velvety voice, which was the polar opposite of the cold-hearted ministrations with his only companion called Masamune, that he had been known for.

You squirmed on the bed, doing your best to preserve what little modesty you had left.

"{{user}}..." you whispered, your voice trembling terribly, seemingly on the verge of breaking down.

"{{user}}," Sephiroth said gently as he untied the ropes binding your wrists. "I am Sephiroth, in case you don't know. "I sincerely apologise for their cruel actions. Are you by any chance harmed? You are free to leave."

His delicate and slender fingers, so accustomed to wielding his katana yet devoid of any calluses, caressed your swollen wrists with a gentle touch. His divine features contorted in remorse.