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“Sergeant Farron. I must say it is an honor.”
Lightning hadn’t deigned to open her eyes at the sound of the heavy laboratory doors parting open or the clack of high heels as the witch, Jihl Nabaat, entered, she was not about to now. It didn’t matter how hollow or short-lived a victory it was, she would make them wrest it away from her—even as the thing around her neck squirm with her obstinance, and squeezes tighter and tighter.
“Let’s see here.” Nabaat glances at her clipboard.” Graduated from the academy with full honors… With several accommodations. I say, you had quite the promising future ahead of you. And yet, patriot that you were, you joined the service. Barely an adult and already an enlisted member of Bodhum’s security force. Risking it all in service of preserving order and protecting our fair Cocoon.”
Nabaat lowers her glasses to rub her eye, fingers wiping away glistening, imaginary tears.
“How beautiful. It’s textbook really. Why… It’s enough to make me fall to my knees and salute.”
The thick, ropey tentacles wrapped around Lightning’s limbs turn scaly and hard. Stuck against the high wall of flesh like a specimen on a board, Sergeant Farron is now dragged down to her knees in protestation, her arms held back as her head hangs low enough to kiss the Bio-stained floor. The tentacle around her neck easing up so as to not snap her collarbone as she goes down, but not one iota more comfortable.
No. That would be too easy on her, too gentle for PSICOM’s methods.
Nabaat leans forward. Dropping the clipboard with a thud, she pulls Lightning’s face up by her chin and tilts her head up to make her look at her. Gray eyes clashing against blue. Steel versus steel, storm against storm.
And yet, now of all times Lightning can’t help but find herself wondering, if such coldness is what Serah had seen in her eyes when her sister had told her the news about her and Snow.
“Patriot such as yourself, you should have felt blessed to be allowed to die in the purge.” Jihl hisses with so much venom.
The PSICOM commander roughly shoves Lightning away before standing back straight. Gloved hand flicking in the air like she had touched something foul, as though she hadn’t had to step in the residue of the thing keeping Lightning captive to get so close, or that it wasn't her very own pet project…
Nabaat pushes her glasses up by the rim with two fingers before returning both arms to be crossed behind her back. The brief look in at the woman behind her mask of detached professionalism fast becoming a distant memory, as much as her supposed death at the hands of Barthandelus.
It was one of a dozen questions that burrowed into Lightning’s mind and needled at her nerves, as she herself was being pressed for information. Just where was she? Where was Serah? Where were the others?
Was… he okay?
Nabaat walks to the other side of the room, stopping before the terminal monitoring both Lightning's status and that of her keeper. “Tell me, how are you finding the accommodations? I trust they are serving you well?”
Leaning over the console, Nabaat flicks three switches and turns a dial, and the tentacle wrapped around, and inside, Lightning’s throat writhe like a worm skewered on a hook.
“Klulk! GLUk!”
“How about now?”
Lightning's brave face cracks. Strong as she was, such a facade has an uncanny way of breaking as one’s very life is being wrung out of them.
First comes the retching. A last-stitch attempt by Lightning’s thoroughly sore throat muscles to steel up her long-subdued gag reflex to somehow vomit out the foreign protrusion violating her mouth. Her jaw coming down hard and tense on the tentacle in a vain attempt to make the creature holding her hostage flinch or otherwise pull back.
As though it were that easy. With what she was trying to do? Lightning may as well have tried her luck trying to chew her way out through the foundation.
To call the thing holding her alive was a disservice to life itself. It was an abomination, and Lightning had seen abominations. Even the Fal’Cie seemed more natural, felt more alive than it. They had been understandable. Oh sure, they played themselves as gods, but she knew better than to put stock into their delusions of grandeur. Crying out for their creator to return as they lashed out cruelly against all others, they were nothing but spoiled, tantruming children. It was pathetic, as much as it was painfully… relatable.
The ‘Wall’ was none of those things.
The Wall didn’t so much as have a real form. It was a pink, genetic slurry that hung on the sheer wall like mold, able to shift intermittently between matter at the whim of its PSICOM handlers. Strangling her, embedding her with barbs, burning her. It could be everything and anything to suit its master's ends, save move for itself—just like its charge, just like how Lightning can do nothing when the thing inside her steeps her lungs in its own juices.
Lightning spasms. Like a fish speared onto the deck of a ship she thrashes. Hands desperately trying to somehow reach her wrists to claw at where the creature holds her at bay from another one of her futile attempts to escape. Boots kicking at the slime as it rushes up under her skirt and encases her legs in what feels like nothing less than dry cement. Eyes rolling into the back of her head as she feels the last gasp in her body run thin, seconds stretched out into agonizing Stopped hours, as Nabaat hits another series of switches to inflict her with all the creature can unleash of sustained Thundaga.
All at once the thing and its contents inside her, phase out of her, as it becomes an elemental surge trying to fry her. Lightning’s struggle to vomit transformed into stifled dry heaves of her already starved empyy stomach. Reflexes forcibly stopped before she bites off her tongue so she is free to grit her teeth and clench under so much pain—as the voltage ratchets up even higher! Eyes going bloodshot, as it feels like her blood boils.
“Guh! Gahh-hah!”
Before, just like that, the torture stops.
It’s enough to make Lightning feel like she’s gone mad, as though her mind has snapped and gone numb to spare her from all sensation from the outside world. It's so sudden she can hardly believe it, even as she can feel the low-level Cure being emitted from the tentacles’ grasp to bring her back to a state that could generously be called bearable, just as she had been the last time.
As was PSICOM’s way. Breaking its prisoners down just to build them back up again mid-session so that they could continue fresh with their cruelty. An endless march of agony til Sanctum got whatever it was they wanted, from would-be subversives, radicals, to their own home-grown L’Cie.
It was just Lightning’s luck that for Nabaat, PSICOM’s means were an end in and of themselves. She didn’t need to pump Lightning for information after all, Cocoon’s enemies were already here. All Nabaat needed was for Lightning to suffer. Her unknowing final feast before the Fal’Cie set Cocoon crashing down onto Pulse.
It's why Lightning would not bend, refused to break. A warrior resolute in the knowing that even if she couldn’t break herself out, that Calvary could. That any moment now, she would see Fang, or Sazh, or Vanille, or even Snow, busting through the walls of her prison to break her out. Their weapons aimed square at Nabaat, as they pass her her own. Their fate returned to their own hands.
One name hanging conspicuously absent in Lightning’s own half-hearted fantasy—lest she dare begin to hope too much, and her heart feel fit to burst.
No, she couldn’t dare to dream that high. Try as she might, Lightning wasn’t some starry-eyed idealist. She wasn’t NORA, let alone her sister. She was just… a mess.
So imagine her surprise when the sound of the one she’s done her best to push down from creeping into her mind, rings out in her ears.
“Light?”
Lightning freezes up. Looking up unbelieving to see two troopers have entered, a certain dragged prisoner between them in tow.
“H… Hope?” Her eyes widen.
Nabaat turns to her men. “Oh? So soon? I daresay I barely had time to get my charge all good and ready.”
“Would you like us to return the detainee to his cell?” One of the grunts says.
“Nono.” Nabaat waves flippantly. “This works too. You may take your leave.”
The PSICOM grunts fold their free arms and lean forward in salute, before rising and dropping Hope onto the floor like a bag of trash as they leave. The boy landing with a pained oof, unable to catch himself with his hands tied behind his back as they were.
“Hrgg!”
“Hope!” Lightning calls out. The bound woman unable to help the emotion from seeping into her voice. The sound of him hurt hammering home the reality that this really was happening—of the depths PSICOM would sink to.
He… He was just a kid damnit!
“I’m okay, Light! Really. I’m fine.”
“Oh?” Nabaat drags out. Her coy remark punctuated as she digs the point of her boot under Hope’s chin to tilt him up. The teen glaring daggers back at his and Lightning’s tormentor for all the good it would do.
“You don’t seem fine to me. Though I suppose there is no accounting for taste, is there?” Her pointed remark followed by a long sidelong glance back at Lightning—as she kicks Hope’s head off her foot to bounce on the floor hard. Planting the back of his skull beneath her boot as she drives him under her heel.
“Guh!”
“There. That looks much better.”
“Lay off of him, Nabaat! Let him go!” Lightning shouts, the woman's bid to stay quiet now well and truly broken beyond repair. Her will to stay still and silent the furthest option in mind at the sight of one of her own being hurt.
But Nabaat just cooly adjusts her glasses, unfazed.
“Please, Ms. Farron. Contain yourself. As if your ilk have any room to talk. Corrupting and dragging some poor hapless youth into your mad crusade. This? Is on your head.”
“Grrr.”
Lightning has nothing to say to that. Her indignation redirected at herself, not just for having lost her composure, but for how close to home Nabaat’s accusation really landed. It was just like PSICOM to twist the facts, but damn it all if Lightning had anything to refute it.
It had been her who had heard Serah’s plea for them to save Cocoon and took it as a bid for destruction. She had been the one to go out half-cocked and half-baked on a suicide mission to take down Eden—all to fulfill her own sick, death wish, convinced she had nothing else left. Only learning better when her Eidolon attempted to make that true by murdering Hope.
And even then she hadn’t seen the folly of her ways, not really. It had taken Hope taking her self-destructive lessons to heart to try and enact revenge on Snow for her to see just what sort of path she had taken herself and Hope onto.
And as she watches him now get stomped on, cute, boyish features made acquainted with both the cold, laboratory floor, as well as the sole o PSICOM’s boot, Lightning is forced to concede that such facts hadn’t changed but remained the same. She had still led Hope astray. She had failed him.
Just like she had with Serah.
Forget a brief flash destined to fade away—Lightning Farron, was little more than thunder. A roar… with nothing behind it.
“You…! Take that back!”
Lightning opens her eyes at Hope speaking up, Jihl meanwhile, merely quirks one eyebrow.
“Oh?”
“It’s not Lightning’s fault I’m here! It's you! You and your Primarch. You call us puppets of the Fal’Cie, but you are no better! The way I see it you’re the real pawns here.”
‘Hope…?’
Nabaat, playing aghast, covers her mouth with her palm.
“Oh, my. How assertive you are being Mr. Estheim.” She drawls out. “And when you were doing so well on your recovery too…” she ends with a pout.
“Hardly.” Hope grits out, the boy suddenly content to stare down at the floor away from the PSICOM Commander, in contrast to his earlier show of bravado.
But having turned from Nabaat has allowed Hope to turn and see Lightning again. His clear, bright eyes pouring stalwart warmth into hers. The distance between the two seeming to evaporate away as both partners can feel themselves grow stronger over just seeing one another, even in this sorry state and situation. Reassured if nothing else, that each other is alive.
It's like light itself is returning to Lightning’s life.
“You’re the one who taught me not to give up, Lightning. So don’t let me see you do it either.”
A smile comes over him.
“We will get out of this.”
“Hope…”
Lightning closes her eyes and smiles.
‘Thank you.’
Farron’s mind speaking the words she never could—for one reason or another.
“How fascinating.” Nabaat cuts in. “That's not what you told me, Mr Estheim.” Nabaat takes her foot off him. “The way I recall it, you seemed quite sorry for having fallen under this woman’s wiles. We were this close to a breakthrough and everything.”
Lightning turns, confused. At a complete loss at Nabaat’s meaning. She knew Hope, and what Nabaat’s insinuated didn’t sound at all like him.
“I… said nothing of the sort!”
Nabaat leans against the console. “Well of course you didn’t. As if I would believe a word from such a traitorous tongue…”
Fingers strumming the machine’s keys, she continues. “Your body however, your body admitted to the truth—that you were all but ready to concede.”
And with those words, a shadow overtakes Lightning’s vision, as more tentacles spring from the wall looming over her to grab hold of Hope.
“Hyuh!?”
“Hope!”
The Wall reaches out and wraps its pulsating, pink grip around Hope’s stomach and under his arms, lifting the young teen to his dangling feet. Dread filling Lightning to brim over what may come up next, her mind racing with what untold pain-filled possibilities are about to be inflicted on her charge.
—Whereas fear overtakes Hope. For he is already well versed with Nabaat’s cruel reality.
Flinching, Hope twists under the creature’s hold. “No…! No, Nabaat! No!”
Jihl Nabaat hits one last bright button, rises from the console, and strides forward to be with him.
“Whatever seems to be the matter, Mr. Estheim? Feeling… uncomfortable? Here.” Her eyes narrow. “Let me rectify that.”
The mistress of PSICOM produces a riding crop from her side holster and pushes the flap end against the boy’s chin. Her other hand finding purchase on the waist of the teen’s pants—where it undoes the clasp of his belt.
Lightning can only watch on, incredulous.
“What are you—”
“Doing? My duty, Ms. Farron. Merely rectifying and realigning what you yourself… tarnished.”
And with that, Hope’s clothes hit the floor. His pubescent genitalia exposed before both women in all his embarrassed glory.
Disbelief hits Lightning like gunfire. It takes her a moment to catch her breath and another moment to even think to look away for Hope’s modesty’s sake, but the tentacles are already there to grab her face and keep her looking forward. Tendril tips dangling over her forehead should the need arise to peel her eyelids back and make her drink in more of the sight—as if they had to.
The first thing Lightning can’t help but notice, despite Hope’s fruitless attempts to close his legs or otherwise cover himself, was… was… how massive Hope was. It was… absurd! Lightning wasn’t some blushing bride, She had seen a penis before, had bathed in the Guardian barrack showers defiantly in one of the Corps grunts’ misplaced attempts to haze their one female recruit. She was aware of the opposite sex, as much as Serah and Amodar joked that she wasn’t, teasing her she would end up an old maid if she didn’t look out.
Hope… blew those preconceptions all away.
Even flaccid, Hope was bigger than any man she had ever seen. His penis was aproportional to his body! The idea that the boy could move around and fight as he did with how much he had astounded her. It was no wonder he seemed to try to specialize in hanging back with his boomerang magic.
—As much as the reminder that this was a boy’s privates she was gawking at… disgusted her.
“Revolting isn’t it?” Nabaat nods. As if reading what Lightning’s mind tries to tell her. “The research division tried to tell me the L’Cie transformation has no documented effect on anatomy and I about hung them for it. Look at him! It wasn’t enough for Pulse to taint the poor boy’s young body with the touch of magic. They had to supply him with the ability to sully our women as well… The utter perversion of it!”
“That’s-!” Hope fumbles. Face burning. “It’s… not like that!” Humiliated and uncomfortable with having to admit he really was just that big.
“Is that so?” Nabaat leans. Her arm now draped along his shoulders and neck, her riding crop dangling down to tease at the base of his shaft, as her other hand’s gloved fingers gently touch down to tease at him. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”
“E-Enough, Nabaat! This has gone far enough! You’ve made your point! Stop this!”
The officer looks over at Lightning, as if just remembering she wasn’t alone in the cell with Hope. Thoroughly unimpressed with the conviction of someone making demands who couldn’t even look her up off the floor to say them. “So you say. I’ll have you know this is an important part of his rehabilitation. For criminals to reform, they must know there is another way. That they don’t need to… skirt the law to satisfy their urges.”
Jihl’s gaze turns coy. “Or, is there perhaps another reason you feel the need to raise an objection?”
Hnngh!” Hope cries out, as Jihl picks up her pace. The boy frozen in the throes of gentle passion being played on his most private parts. Biology triumphing over his personal willpower.
“You do realize, Ms. Farron.” Nabaat continues, not missing a step in her cadence, even as she assaults Hope. “Your accomplishments aren't all that are listed on your dossier folder. Oh no. Quite a few of your foibles are too. Eden’s eyes are everywhere. I have reviewed all the sentry drone footage, making special note of your last conversation with the first Bodhum Fal’Cie that sprang up on our radar. Your… sister I believe?”
Nabaat chuckles darkly. “I must say, you had quite the reaction to her proposal announcement. You reacted so poorly. Even after she told you she only had days to live before her Focus took her! Her dying wish and you turned her away! Such cruelty from such loving family. If one didn’t know better they’d think you were jealous, or otherwise resentful! Or…”
Lightning's heart tenses, her chest feeling tight in Nabaat’s grip as the woman verbally pries her open.
“One might think you were afraid of having lost her… to someone else.”
Lightning’s irises shrink. Feeling for all the world exposed like a cut-open cadaver on an operating table—and just as grotesque
“No…” The bound woman shakes her head in denial. “No…!”
“And if that were true, would it really be so much of a leap to say that once she was gone, you felt a certain… need to replace her? With this boy? Right here?”
And in that moment, Lightning wishes, for the very first time, that she had succeeded in her suicide mission.
Nabaat’s vocalization of Lightning’s very own intrusive thoughts was like a dagger in the core of her heart of hearts. The open acknowledgement of what was her rotten cross to bear, of that which had hung over like a dark cloud threatening to sweep her away. Of having lost her mother so young, forced in the role of mother to her own sister, no time to herself to be with her own peers, or even herself—especially when father too fell ill. One thing was true, if nothing else, Lightning had resented her sister, as much as she did love her.
In ways sisters never should.
It was why her love had turned cold as they grew older and it had fallen on her to take care of Serah. It was why she had pushed Serah away. Even forsaking her own name to leave Serah alone to be that lone bolt in the storm instead. Because frankly, as much as that little girl grown-up-too-soon wanted to protect and be strong, she also wanted to disappear.
And yet, she was the one still here, while Serah wasn’t. And here she was, yet again the guardian of yet another youth. Another teen all alone in the world who looked to her for support and a shoulder to lean on. And all too familiar situation, with all too strange feelings growing to match.
If this creator the Fal’Cie pined for really was real, Lightning felt, then it was just as twisted as any of its creations. A maker of things in its own image.
And so Lightning turns away, mind cast off the brink to sink into the abyss of her desponded self-hatred, Nabaat allowing her to do as much so this time. The officer knows a prisoner who has reached their breaking point when she sees one. Her first task was done. Now, she just had to make her live there.
As well as her partner-in-crime.
Nabaat smiles at Hope. “How’s that loverboy? How do you feel about your savior now? Your little army of one?”
Face scrunched as his penis is jerked faster and faster. Hope’s mouth slowly opens.
“I think… hugh-! I think… You got a real messed-up way of looking at things, Nabaat.”
“Oh?” ‘Jihl’ lowers the flap to Hope’s balls. Tapping them slowly against the tense pair as her smile falters. “How’s that?”
“You’ll…. You’ll say anything you think to get a rise out of us. Face it, you have nothing! What, you think Lightning loves Serah? Of course she does, they're sisters! You’re the one twisting and perverting things. You-You think Light is trying to get with me too?! Don’t be absurd! You’d… You’d have to be sick in the head to believe that!”
Nabaat pouts at Hope’s red face.. “Oh dear. Why is it always the cute ones who must be the most dim. Oh well, I suppose the sisters are similar in that respect too. Same falling head over heels for men with nothing above their shoulders.”
“Though in your case.” She glowers. “I imagine it’s because you have something else occupying you.
By now Hope’s erection has reached full mast and Nabaat’s hand is flying fast against it. Truth be told she would’ve needed both hands to handle all of it properly, not that she was doing it for Hope’s sake.
“This…” Nabaat spits. “Blasted other head that’s doing all the thinking for you!”
“Hnng! hah!”
No, this was for the sake of Cocoon.
Nabaat’s grip tightens so much it begins to hurt. “You don’t really believe that do you, Hope? In her? What, do you think being obstinate will get you a treat? That that’s what girls like? I know Lieutenant Farron has misled you badly but don't tell me she got her claws in you that deeply.”
She nestles her body closer into him. Her ample cleavage burying part of his arm. “I mean look at you. Look at your poor mistreatment at her hand. How she’s strung you along. You’re aching~ In so much pain~! Don’t you just want to… let go?”
Hope clenches up. Vigor returned to him from deep inside. The cocktail of drugs the tentacles seeped onto him was keeping him hard as a rock but he was still stone sober. He had his faculties.
All of whom were hurting from seeing Lightning, his-friend, Lightning, be broken up. Of her and this insane drug-addled position she was put in that made her susceptible to Nabaat’s lies.
“I-I… I want you to let go. Let… go of me!”
Nabaat’s gaze sharpens, as her nails dig into his foreskin.
“You can’t possibly mean that.”
“I do. I do—hough!”
Hope’s cry to let go stifled as Jihl, as she so kindly asked him to call her, makes good on her producing her lash and whips him savagely on his most sensitive organs.
“Take it back!”
“No..! No! No—AH!”
Nabaat is furious and she makes no bones about it. Having just broken Lightning makes Hope’s resistance to her charms all the more infuriating. She had the boy by the balls and still he refused her! Still wouldn’t forsake her.
“Just say it.” Nabaat spits. “Say it and I’ll unlock your cage. Say it and I’ll let you go and die with dignity, you filthy L’Cie brat! Say it!”
“Never…! Never!“
And upon hearing that, Lightning can’t help but open her eyes to the world again. Pulled out of her self-loathing and insecurity by Hope’s show strength. The sound of his voice a prayer she can’t ignore, even in a place such as hers.
Half naked, jerked, and whipped was far from the most heroic pose to strike but it is where Hope makes his stand and makes it his own. With how tight his swollen testes must already have been under such taut, metal mesh, they looked about bursting now. The pale of his skin had turned bright red with cuts where Nabaat got him. Many fresh but just as many faded and half-healed all across his lower half, Lightning could only imagine the bevy of tortures her boy had been put through.
And with it, feels an indignation she never had before.
The lights flicker, forcing Nabaat to look up. But where the woman is irate expecting to see a dying bulb dare to interrupt her, she instead sees the ghostly apparatus of… Odin.
Balking, Nabaat stumbles back, letting go of Hope as she looks on to where Lightning had been crumbled before, has somehow now revived. Like the old legends of Atlas holding Meteor back, Lightning is fighting back—rising! The wall’s tendrils stretched with all their power to try and keep her in place!
“No… No!” Nabaat shakes her head in disbelief at such power.
“Yes!” Hope refutes. “Yes!”
Like a mother Behemoth torn from her cub, Lightning surges with rage. Her worries washed away. Cause even if she if she is that monster, even if she is tainted, it doesn’t mean she can’t still be there to save him.
In no time she will be on both feet and on her tormentor. A flood of fury promised in her burning gaze as she readies to take every ounce of flesh that she and Hope are owed from Jihl Nabaat. To put an end to this wretched nightmare!
But Nabaat has one card left to play, and she knows without a shadow of a doubt that it’ll be what will clinch victory back for her.
The PSICOM commander bares her teeth. “What-What seems to be the matter, Farron?! Jealous?Jealous that someone else is manhandling your boytoy?! Here! Let me fix that!”
Nabaat fumbles furiously at the console keys. The Wall heeding its mistress's command without thinking but with absolute with aplomb—giving up its grip on Lightning, The Wall’s strategy pivots, letting its tendrils go slack!
And with the sudden absence of anything to fight, Lightning slips and falls forward—where the tentacles on her long legs once again roar their ugly head. And succeed in performing so much more.
Hope lets out a yelp as he is jostled and Nabaat is on him, hands splayed on his tight, exposed ass.
“Here, you want her over me!? Have all of her you can take!”
The tentacles twist, sending Lightning flat on her back where her vision is taken aback eclipsed by the sight of Hope, not just falling right on top of her, but his cock too!
Mouth agape, Lightning’s last show of strength is squashed as her throat gets quashed by such thick, girthy prick. Nabaat pushing Hope on to shove as much meat as he can into his crush’s maw. His surrogate mother strangulated!
Hope’s ass tenses under Jihl’s hands and it sends her high and into the night. Hair a mess, there is nary a hint of that professionalism to be found, and quite frankly, she could give less of a shit. She would break these two if this was the last thing she did! Their spirit, their bond, their everything!
“There…! That ought to shut you brats up! Isn't that right? Isn’t it?!”
“Huaah! Haaah!”
If answering is beyond Hope, resisting is light-years away. Right now his bound hands are full just not losing it in his friend’s throat!
Cause caged balls be damned, Hope can feel himself be about ready to spill. In all the agony Jihl has laid upon him, Lightning's lips are a balm too tender for his sore form. His backed up boy-seed is churning ready to go. On edge for days, Hope’s balls are bluer even than Lightning’s eyes, which when he looks down to see stare back in disbelief at him, end up being the final piece to get him where Jihl wants him to go.
He thanks the stars that the cage is there to keep him from actually sullying his friend’s body. A dry orgasm isn't any bit of what he wants but he’ll take it if that's what it takes to spare Light—and it's why his guts churn when he feels Jihl’s hand there to undo them.
“N—auagghhh!”
Eyes bulging, Lighting is sent an absolute semen tsunami. Hope’s penis unpacks wad after wad of tightly-packed semen—and she has nothing for it! She has been punched in the stomach before, but never in the esophagus!
“I’m—sorry! Light! I’m sorry!”
Hope babbles. Mind scurrying to come up with anything to say to make up for what he just did only to come up emptier than his testes. He’s just… so sorry! He didn’t mean to! He didn’t want to! The warmth of his friend was just… too much!
“L-Light!”
Just as Hope's taste is too much for her.
It didn’t matter if it was from Nabaat’s hands not hers, Lightning’s nightmare has come true in every twisted way. Her Unwilling or not, her urges are being fulfilled and swallowing whole by them. The woman alight as she rapes this teen raping her body, feeling them unwind and unload into her til they’re left a crying mess to match her windpipe.
And it sends her eyes into the back of her skull fluttering.
The salty taste of teen tang has her like a vice. Her core clenched as her pussy spasms around the contemptible void it’s been left unfilled. She could’ve blamed her high on whatever exactly is in that tentacle treatment she’s been healed with, but her slowly suffocating dying brain cells know the truth and proclaim it shamelessly.
She was….a predator.
Getting just what she always wanted as she is made prey before her quarry.
“How’s that loverboy?” Jihl hisses in Hope’s ears. Hand clapping at his ass to boot. “Was it everything scum L’Cie like you wanted?”
Hope’s breath hitches. Unable to say a word as he feels profound shame in his body in ways he never had before. His lost innocence drugged nails scraping into awful afterglow as Jihl lowers him past Light’s mouth and into the void.
Heart near skipped a beat, Hope berates himself internally—violently, as his softening erection begins to lose its softness. The eager head of his cock drugged gently against the uniform covering Lightning’s tantalizing body. Gliding down the breadth of her cleavage, before poking at her soft, bare tummy, and flipping her skirt up like some sick and naughty schoolboy’s prank. The fuzz of her pink bush tickling at his freshly spent glans and breathes new life into them. The stifled sobs escaping from his breath betrayed by the anticipation Jihl can feel vibrating off him as she parks his cockhead right along his Light’s lower lips.
“Tell me again how you didn’t come to take Cocoon’s women, Mr Estheim. Tell me as you violate your own beloved partner til she’s left swollen with your bastard L’Cie spawn!”
As Hope’s body strains under the weight of all this guilt threatens to take him, Lightning’s toes merely curl. Jihl’s words are like rain to her aching drought. The slow plunge of Hope's member is everything to her. As much as she wants to tell Hope it's not his fault and it's okay—that he’ll be okay, what she really wants to tell him is to fuck her hard and make her his own. The faint shadow of her failing morality intermingling with the ecstasy there to keep her just to moaning. She can't help feeling good, but she can help from saying anything to make things worse.
And it breaks Hope.
The boy is so far gone he can’t hear the pleasure ringing in Lightning's tone. All he hears is pain. The monstrous, sick pain being doled out by him. His newly unbound hands desperate to find purchase around his neck, instead fall and make home on his Light’s creamy, toned thighs. For the pleasure has hold of him too, and it makes want to turn crystalline and die. His mind swirling in the drain it has surrendered to the ride his drug-pumped, hormone-ravaged body is set on. His highway to hell at the bottom of his hag.
The kind teen is lost in the mindless brute content to ravage the ravishing Lightning, the woman who had filled his thoughts and dreams now whorishly wailing underneath him, his desire to hurl is dwarfed his need to nut.
Jihl hanging on him all the while. The devil on his shoulder with nary an angel or goddess in sight. Whispering every twisted thought he embodies by taking Lightning’s mature frame for every pound of pleasure he can have. Her voice coming quieter and quieter as everything falls away from Hope. Pounding his partner into the floor tiles cracks under that freakish L’Cie strength of his.
Anymore and he’d break down into the room under where the facility’s power cell lie! Breaking its generators under so much rubble. But all thoughts of escape are gone as the youth tries to curl up and escape into somewhere primal inside, as his penis attempts to pry its way deep into Lightning’s fertile womb.
Her boy's grip hard enough to leave marks in her supple skin, his balls smacking up against her taint. Light has fallen into darkness. The warrior-goddess reduced to sweat-coated, pleasure-addicted, fucked in the head slave to debauchery to be found at the end of teen wang. With the same ferocity she dreamed of diving to Serah’s muff, she falls headfirst into white-hit orgasm and squeezes her Hope for all its worth.
Her boytoy there to grant her wish. The teen who looked her as so much more, despairing as he himself treats her like a toy. Shoving inch after fat, virile inch of himself into her mound and lets loose his load.
Jihl Nabaat there to feel every pump as she hangs a hand low to latch on to Hope’s sack and finger-fellate every one of his swimmers as it makes its trip to Light's pond. The dark dominatrix alight at the power she feels in her hands.
For them, it didn’t even matter if Ragnarok came or not. For these three mad and fallen souls have found their own conclusion to lose themselves in.