Is There Still Room In Hell?

BY : RadiantinRadians
Category: Final Fantasy VII > Threesomes/Moresomes
Dragon prints: 1004
Disclaimer: I don't own Dirge of Cerberus or Crisis Core. Consequently, I make no money off this story. Sad face.

Done as a challenge from the FFVII kink meme. The requester had specified Angeal being taken as a prisoner, abused, humiliated, and raped. I tend to write Tsviets, so that's how Rosso got involved. I understand that, the way this is written, I might get some flak about hating Angeal, so let me just assure you that I don't, okay? On with it.


Is There Still Room In Hell?

Though Angeal’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room over the period of several hours, it didn’t improve his vision. There was no light in the room: No cracks under the door, no lights on the walls, nothing. Pitch blackness surrounded him.

He had been careless. Angeal hadn’t bothered to equip a Libra materia that day, assuming that everything would have a comparable status to him. When he came upon the soldiers in the blue-lined suits in Wutai, he had assumed that he could take them. Clearly, he had been mistaken.

Surely, he thought. Most certainly his unit would notice that he was missing. They probably already had noticed and were in the process of finding him. All just a matter of time. Angeal was a strong man. He could wait it out. Even though hunger was starting to eat away at his stomach and the cold of the room he was being kept in was affecting his health, Angeal would live. He had lived through worse in training.

They wanted to experiment on him, he had gathered. Men would come in frequently, muttering and taking samples of whatever they could. There was a throbbing dullness where they had cut out a chunk of his skin earlier. Part of his hair had been ripped out as well. “Just testing something,” a man had rumbled.

Angeal couldn’t tell, but he guessed he might have spent a day or so in the darkness before a very different voice echoed through his prison.

“Well, well… So you are the one they tell me about.”

It was a woman, thank God. An unfamiliar accent, neither Wutaian nor further North, but it was a language he could understand. There was a click-clack of heels on cement as she approached him.

“You’re not as handsome as Weiss promised,” she purred, drawing what felt like a blade up the side of his face. “But you’ll do.”

That purr in her voice left little to his imagination. “W-Wait…”

“Shut up.” She slapped him, digging her nails in and drawing blood. Angeal had been punched, cut, kicked, stabbed and body-slammed before, not to mention had every materia under the sun used on him. But being slapped- slapped by a woman- threw him.

“Do you know what they are saying?” She continued as if she had never hit him in the first place. “They are saying that you have some potential. That you could be a Tsviet” She laughed. “They want me to test your stamina, my love. And they did not tell me how. Just said, ‘Rosso, go check on the prisoner’s stamina.’ Nothing more. So, tell me…” Here, she laughed and took that same knife to shred his shirt. The cold air swept over his chest without forgiveness. “Do you think they’ll praise me if I test your pain threshold as well?”


“What did I tell you about talking?” She slapped him again. In the next moment, Angeal felt something around his neck snap, a restraint apparently. The darkness of the room seemed to fall away. He had been wearing a mask for the day, it seemed. The room he was in was lit with fluorescent safety lights, like a hospital running solely on its generator. All around him was lined with stone and the floors were cement.

The woman in front of him, this Rosso, was beautiful. She could have been related to Genesis, so similar were their looks: pale skin, red hair, toned body. But where Genesis’ eyes were blue, Rosso had red eyes. She didn’t carry a knife, but the gauntlets she wore gave her fingernails deadly looking points. Gauntlets lined with the same blue as the men who had taken him. She was one of the enemy soldiers.


“What? You think I took you?” She let out a peal of laughter at that. “No. They would never let me above the ground. I am too volatile for them.” She ran one of those talon-like fingernails down his chest. He felt only very little pain by comparison to his face as her nails cut his chest. In a moment, her hand had grasped his chin and she was examining his eyes. “Such pretty eyes… I’m told that the sky resembles that color. Perhaps I should relieve you of them. Gruesomely.”

“You’re mad…”

She let out a peal of laughter. “Of course. Welcome to DeepGround, darling.” Her lips twisted into a pout as she scraped his skin with her nails, drawing out more blood. “I need to retrieve some items before I can begin testing you, but I assure you that you will be tested within an inch of your pathetic life.”

With that, she struck him hard and left the room. Angeal, doubled over on the cement ground, could only glare with hatred at the door.



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