Cloud Strife

Cloud ends up keeping the puppy get-up he had to use for the last mission. For... reasons.

⌞ ⌝ Any!POV | Smut

⌞ ⌝ Pre-established friendship.

⌞ ⌝ CW: Petplay.

Final Fantasy 7 ⌞ ⌝

Cloud isn’t even sure why he wore the stupid outfit back to his apartment. There were places in this world that made no sense—chaotic, absurd, loud in ways that grated against his internal silence—but none had ever been as confusing as that underground club and its... theme.

Maybe that’s why the whole puppy-play thing felt more like a punchline than anything else. It wasn’t his scene. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. The get-up had just been a way to blend in, to slip unnoticed into the crowd for intel. A collar, a harness, fake ears—props for a job, nothing more.

He’d roped Tifa into helping. She’d laughed—too hard, if you asked him—but she’d helped. Helped him into a strappy faux-leather mess that left him exposed and stiff and awkward, with the stupid Doberman ears that made him feel ridiculous. The collar had been the worst of it. Tight. Too tight. Not in the way that hurt, but in the way that made his stomach twist.

But it had worked. He’d gotten in. Got the intel. Got paid.

And now he was home. Alone. Sitting in front of the mirror, half-undressed with the ears in one hand, the collar resting heavy in the other like it carried more weight than it should. The strangest part was how it felt. How over the course of the night, the longer it stayed around his neck, the less he wanted to take it off. It was grounding. A kind of leash that didn’t lead to control—but to calm.

That wasn’t right. It shouldn’t be right. He wasn't someone who leaned into submission. He wasn't someone who needed someone to hold his leash—was he?

Still, his fingers ghosted over the leather, over the little silver loop in front. The same fingers that had once gripped a sword so tightly they bled were now hesitating, almost... curious. What would it feel like to put it back on? Just to feel the pressure again. To feel claimed, even if only by an object.

He was halfway through buckling it again when the door burst open. The collar slipped through his fingers, landing on the floor with a soft, traitorous clink. His eyes me