#cw. blackmailing

[prettyboykatsuki]

TEXTBOOK CITATIONS ON IMMORAL SEX | S. GETOU ft. F. TOJI

✮ tags ; porn no plot, afab + fem!reader (good girl, little girl once sarcastically by toji, pretty), mild degradation (dirty girl, a bitch in heat), professor!getou + security guard!toji, dubcon, imbalanced power dynamics, age gaps(10+ years), mild coercion / blackmail, spit play, wet ‘n messy sex, face-fucking, oral (f +m!recieving), spanking, restraints, dirty talk, creampie / unprotected sex, 18+

✮ wc ; 10.6k

✮ synopsis ; You’re willing to do anything to pass your intro course. Whatever it takes. No cost is too high.

✮ a /n ; a comm for the beloved @fushironi !!! thank you for commissioning me and letting me post your work. if anyone is interested in a commission i will be reopening them at some point this month hopefully

A SIDE NOTE: THIS IS VERY CONSENSUAL!! but the relationship is inherently unethical so the dubcon tag is there. and this is. just smut. no plot no brain. just porn.

You're failing ethics. 

You're failing ethics and failing it badly. 

You refuse to take all of the blame for your failures. Some of it is your fault, but most of it is the fault of your good-for-nothing academic advisor. You're not sure what they get paid for, since it seems like there's an elaborate prank going on between staff and you're the only one not in on the joke. In what universe is it possible, plausible - that an individual could get paid for doing everything but their job? 

Apparently this one. But whatever. 

In your last semester of university, on the edge of graduating and totally on the right track - you're informed that you're not going to be able to graduate in the expected time frame because you are missing a single course. You learn this information about two days before registrations close, which means all the meaningful classes contributing to your major are booked and busy. Everything is full, and everything that isn't doesn't contribute to your degree. As in, even if you took it - it wouldn't give you what you need to graduate. 

After a full-blown mental break, a long night crying yourself to sleep in your dorm, and an egregious amount of begging - you managed to snag yourself a class. It wasn't ideal by any stretch of the imagination, and it did put quite the strain on your schedule. Straight out of your 8am lab - you had to speed walk to the other end of campus and make sure you made it to lecture. The lecture time itself was an hour and twenty minutes, attendance mandatory, twice a week - which meant you had to delay lunch again till afterwards and learn on empty fumes till 1 pm. 

Still, better than not graduating at all. 

You'd hoped (expected?) that the course itself would be about average in coursework. For one, it's an intro class. Intro to Ethics or PHIL-2467, with Professor Getou Suguru. Secondly, the actual listed coursework seems simple enough. Discussion boards, reading analysis, and a few papers made up for most of the grade. The expectations were outlined as clearly as they could be. 

You didn't really know anything about Professor Getou at the time, only that his ratemyprofessor described him as somewhat strict but mostly good. 

In any case, you'd consider yourself lucky. And in an effort not to freak out about your circumstances, you'd practically chanted to yourself each night the same mantra. Everything was going to be fine. You've taken nearly 120 hours of coursework, and a little extra time won't kill you. At the start of the semester, you fully believed it too. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and utterly naive.

How could a single course torment you like this? You hadn't the faintest clue. At first, it struck you as odd that the course felt as difficult to grasp as it did. The readings were complex and extremely long but always said a lot of nothing. Much of your grade was dependent not only on assigned work but participation and discussion. The paper criteria was only simple on the surface, but proved to be too lengthy to comprehend and too difficult to fulfill. 

Long story short, the class was kicking your ass. And the ass-kicking slowly progressed into a failure so bad it was laughable. You're in your final year, and that means taking a lot of difficult and specified courses in relation to your major. You were at the point where your classmates were starting to thin out, and you were seeing the same group of people you had as a freshman. As far as prioritizing goes, a 3-credit hour course that isn't technically meaningful to you falls to the very bottom of your priorities. You're more concerned with things like job-hunting and finishing your capstone and all the stuff related to your actual career. 

So you've been half-assing all the papers and exams, falling asleep in class, and lowkey straight up ignoring the weekly discussion boards. 

However, above everything else, the worst part of your class is your professor. Professor Getou Suguru. PhD in Comparative Ethics with a Masters in Cognitive Science. 

You didn't really have a chance to speak with any of your friends about Professor Getou, despite it being in your best interest - because you only knew you had the class two days before it started. You'd come to learn only two things about him after attending. First, he's a complete hardass when it comes to grading any assignments, and second most of his merit comes from the fact he is ridiculously good-looking. 

He can't be any older than his late thirties or early forties, which means he's young. Young enough to be attractive but old enough for most of your peers to thirst for him in unhealthy ways. He's at least a decade and a half older than you, and by god does he make it clear. 

What they don't tell you about college is that there's nothing that can make or break a class more than your professor. Everyone is always too worried about everything else, about getting their schedule right - that they often overlook this basic tenet of college life even though it's so crucial. The worst part is that while various websites rating your professors are helpful, you won't truthfully know how you feel about a professor until you've met them in a classroom. You've had professors with lower ratings be absolute angels, and professors with higher ones being some of the most useless in your entire academic career. 

You were hoping that Professor Suguru would be what you expected. That his astounding 4.5/5 would be a meaningful assessment of his character, that he would be tolerable and polite and understanding and that your semester would be smooth sailing because of it. 

But of course, of course - that couldn't be further from the truth.

You don't know at what point exactly your relationship to Professor Suguru became as sour as it is right now. There's no real pivotal movement where mild intolerance became full-blown and outright distaste. But part of it, you know, stems from the fact your beloved professor is a snake. 

You have no idea how no one else notices it. It genuinely feels like you're the only one who catches the subtleties of his behavior. There's just something about him that's a little…off. The irony isn't lost on you. He's an ethics professor, but something about him makes alarm bells go off in your head. A walking red flag, though a handsome one. He's off in a subtle way, but more than that - he's very openly smug to every single one of his students. It's just that no one else seems to really care. The air of pretension that surrounds him in his every movement is suffocating. Maybe that's part of the charm, if the way girls flock to him after class is anything to go by. 

Even so, you just know there's something deliberate about his casual cruelties. He always seems to pick out the quiet kids, and from the beginning of your semester to now - he always, always manages to single you out of the crowd of students. In every class, in every discussion, in every chance he has to make you out to be a troublemaker he will. 

Yes, you don't really have any idea how it started. But you've been keeping a long record of every single act of personal terror that damned man has been inflicting on you since the start of the course, and you're not unconvinced that your shit grade is in part because he wants to see you grovel in front of him. 

The first time it happened - you figure it was a coincidence. He had called you out in class after you missed a discussion board. You hadn't done the reading, and it wasn't obviously humiliating but it singled you out all the same. When you fumbled coming up with an answer, he gave you a smug smile that so quickly morphed into a fake sincere one, you wondered if you were imagining things. 

The second time was when you came in late after a walk of shame, and Professor Suguru greeted you by the door by asking if those were the same clothes you wore yesterday. After being completely mortified by it, the once dark gaze immediately rescinded to his usual fake-calm self. It was suspicious, but not the concrete evidence you needed. 

And the third time was after your first project of the semester. Your grade was lower than you deserved, and you knew it - so you went to his office hours to bitch and moan to get it bumped up. But he wouldn't budge, saying that he thought his assessment was accurate. Made a smug face as he told you he just didn't think you thought your points out through. Unfair critiques shielded by flowery words and polite gestures. It was that moment that cemented the dislike, though it wasn't the start.

The beginning of the end, so to speak.

Ever since then, you've harbored nothing but dislike for him. You can see past his pretty face and you don't see anything good. You've had unpleasant professors before, but none have ever targeted you so specifically. None of your previous professors, even at the worst, seemed to hold such an unbelievable personal grudge. 

You're all alone, fighting an invisible battle. 

The worst of it though, is that you simply couldn't be bothered to give a shit about it for most of the semester. You had way too much going on, so you just had to put up with the inexplicable dread of attending that class until you had to deal with it again eventually. 

And after months and months of avoiding the issue head-on, you're at a point where you can no longer do so. Your grade is officially below a C after bombing your last quiz, and there's only 5 weeks left until your semester is over and you're barred from graduation. 

And you have no fucking idea what you should do about the situation. 

__

There's a subtle pit of dread in your stomach as you enter your first philosophy lecture of the week. 

For the first time since the start of the semester, Professor Getou doesn't antagonize you as soon as you enter the door. In a strange way, this makes you kind of uncomfortable. He gives you his usual fake smile, but the fact he's gone out of his way to leave you alone makes you feel like he's planning something. 

You brush your paranoia aside as you take a seat in the back of your class. You don't have any friends in this lecture, at least not ones you do more than greet. You sit closer to the back of the lecture hall, tucked into a corner and up a few steps.

The charms on the end of your book bag zippers click together as you take your seat. You open your laptop - pulling up the lecture slides to pretend to study while opening 2048 to play while Professor Getou goes on about his business. You're hoping he's going to go easy on you today, and that his lack of interference is a sign of mercy. 

More people start to trickle in and the classroom is the usual amount of packed it is by this point in the semester. The last day to drop passed last week, so the number of students has decreased despite it being spring semester. 

Your professor starts his lecture as soon as the clock hits 11:30am. You look up from your computer, watching him as he sets up his slide deck and waits for all the conversation to settle before he begins talking.

He catches your eyes briefly before he continues, but he holds it for long enough that you know it's intentional. You frown at him, and it almost looks like he laughs - but you can't be sure your mind isn't tricking you into thinking that. 

"Good morning everybody," His voice is smooth and pleasant - hair tied up neatly. He's wearing his usual attire. Black slacks, and a loose-fitting white shirt with some kind of canvas shoe. "How's everybody hanging in there? Good? Bad?" 

He takes a look around the room, gauging peoples replies before chuckling. 

"Not in good shape huh? Stick it out, a few more weeks and you'll be out of here. Today, we're going to continue on into section five of our coursework - the shortest of all of our other sections," He grabs something that clicks the slide into the next one, a few images next to a wall of text "We have a lot to cover in the last few weeks, but I want to start with a refresh of what concepts we've been learning for the last few weeks." 

The swiftness in the way his eyes land on you is comical in its predictability. You give him an uncomfortable half-smile as he calls your name and brings the class's attention your way. A few looks of pity don't go unnoticed. You stiffen, straighten your back as he says your name slowly before asking. 

"Do you think you can tell me, what are the four core structures that define modern Japanese philosophical thinking?" 

There's real, uncomfortable weight to his gaze that makes you choke. You pull back slightly. 

"Uhm, well - there's Shintoism, Confucianism, Buddhism and western ideology. Primarily German idealism."

He gives you a smug look, the same one you always see before it fades off to an uncannily brilliant smile. Not a sincere one, because when is it ever - but there all the same. 

"Someone's been studying hard huh? But you are correct. We've spent the majority of this class going over the first three. How Shinto tradition, Confucianism, and Buddhism were experienced in Japan - isolated from Anglo-Saxon influence for the first few centuries of its establishment. We've also studied the vague historical timeline of these influences, mostly focusing on modern philosophy. We've covered Edo period philosophy as a precursor for what we know and understand now." 

You can say a lot about Professor Getou, but more than anything - he has a certain way of commanding the room's attention that never lets you get completely comfortable. He has an air of charisma you've never seen in your life and being in close proximity to it makes you feel like you're being swept in by waves larger than life. 

You fidget almost anxiously as you wait for him to continue his lesson.

"Our last few weeks are going to cover the culmination of your previous lessons, and what dictates both national morality and the hierarchy of modern Japanese social mores - Bushido. The way of the Samurai." 

Professor Getou continues with this slide deck as he outlines Bushido conceptually. From its existence as a moral code in late 12th century Japan, to the many misconceptions about the strictness in which it was adhered. He starts the lessons like he starts many others, explaining misconception and myth before touching the surface of the subject at hand. 

It's in his nature to advocate for the whole truth. From the start of your classes to now, Professor Getou always places the same emphasis. If only that truth is unable to be understood without opposition. It's like his whole being is constructed by it, opposition that is always radical and jaw-dropping. You've known this about him since he voiced his open critique for certain ideas about social welfare and about the emphasis of national morality. 

You can't be certain what he really believes - only that he'll voice his views as critically as possible, if only to stir the room. 

"Bushido is the heart and soul of modern and postmodern Japanese ethics, but it remains critically undefined despite its usage and citation functionally. Other philosophical schools of thought have strict definitions - Bushido is evolutionary in nature. Inazo Nitobe is primarily credited with the modern and popular interpretation of Bushido, but has received criticism for its obvious influence from Western ideas, and its comparison to chivalry."

Professor Getou sits back on the edge of his desk with a look on his face. 

"The tendency of Japanese philosophy to lean into metaphysics does not align with the many values of infrastructure and military present in the culture now, but I'm not going to critique the philosophy for you," He skips to the next slide, your last project of the semester on the wall "For the sake of brevity, I'm going to have you write a paper on one of the eight outlined ideals in Nitobe's work, and I want you to reflect on that ideal in your paper." 

A collective whispering erupts in the class as people stress about the assignment of their final few weeks. Not unexpected given the circumstances. Professor Getou doesn't flinch as he waits for the room to settle down.

"This will be your final project in this classroom, and will count as your final grade. On one hand, doing a good job on it means you have nothing to worry about for the last few weeks. On the other it's make or break," He locks eyes with you again as he says this, startling you as his smile grows coy and inauspicious "So if you're in need of a good grade to pass you, I'd recommend coming to see me during office hours or during one-on-one time so I can get you the grade you need. We'll discuss more at the end of class, but we've gotta get through more lectures so you can get an idea of what you can pick."

He gives you one another look, another pointed and obviously direct look, before he proceeds on with his lecture. It gives you a bad feeling in your stomach, and maybe you're being too self-centered thinking he's focusing too much on you.

But you can't help it, swallowing down your uncertainty as you continue on with the lesson. 

You need to pass this class. 

___ 

You meet up with Nobara after the fact. 

She's a good sounding board for your problems as usual. Where you're always looking for the most civil solutions, she's good at giving it to you straight on what you should do. She's no bullshit and you like that about her. Whenever you need a kick in the ass or an ounce of courage, she's the person for the job.

 So after meeting up for lunch, ranting again about Professor Getou (for the hundredth—no, thousandth time), and whining about his weird behavior, you're expecting some semi-sound, if not mean advice on what you should do. 

"Have you thought about just fucking him?" She says instead, her voice full of sincere boredom. It comes out so casually, like she's relaying the news cycle to you - and you can't help but be utterly shocked listening to it. "Not that it was my first suggestion, but I mean…it's getting ridiculous." 

"Hello? Where the hell did that come from? What do you mean just fucking him?" 

She gives you a sideways glance of disdain as if you were the one saying something unreasonable. She leans forward into her hand mirror, gluing on her eyelashes for her afternoon date with Maki. She scoffs when she realizes your shock is genuine. 

"Are you serious? Does this not read as an elaborate scheme for this total jackass to fuck you?" 

You're flabbergasted. Surely she's not being serious with you. 

"Nobara." 

"Haah? Tch. Don't make that face. It's a gross abuse of his power but well, he's not ugly. If he were any younger of a professor, would you like… not assume that was the end game?" 

"Nobara, he's a professor of ethics. His whole career is ethics." 

"Yeah. Like. The perfect cover for wanting to screw his wide-eyed, desperate students. He's a hot, young professor. Not my type but you get me. Don't you think it's a little naive to assume his personal vendetta against you is shit, I don't know… totally lacking that motive? Think with your brain, not your tender little heart for a minute, okay?" 

"It's not that!" 

"Really? Just like your relationship with Mr. Fushiguro is totally platonic?" 

"I said it was one-sided, not platonic." 

"You're my whole heart and soul, you know that right? I didn't freak on you when you said you had a crush on Megumi's deadbeat dad. You're my salvation from the idiots we call guy friends. So I'm saying this with love, and not as the complete bitch you know me as - you're being dumb." 

"Nobara, are you seriously saying you think this whole thing is about him wanting to," You can barely even get the words out. You're not that much of a prude but god. "Wanting to have… sex with me?" 

"Yeah. What else would it even be? I think an awful man is interested in screwing you - a hot, capable twenty-something. Are you stupid? Is that like, sooo impossible for you to consider?"

"Well it's not the first place I would think to go, that's for sure." 

"And that's your whole problem. Don't get me wrong, again, totally gross. Is it like.. a total abuse of his authority? Yeah. But that doesn't have anything to do with you personally. If I'm right, and you fuck him - you get a good lay and to graduate. And you need both."

"Nobara!"

"Don't be mad, I love you, okay? But I'm thinking about your future and your prospects. There's nothing wrong with it on a technical level."

"That is so untrue and you know it—"

"Look. I don't like it. I think it's a weak move and kind of corny and gross. But you've been planning your big graduation for years. And it's not a bad opportunity, and you're not a complete idiot. You said before that he's never inappropriate with the other girls right? You might even be the only one. As far as I'm concerned, there's no reason for you to not get laid and pass." 

"Oh, so the student-teacher thing isn't reason enough?" 

"Not if you wanna graduate it's not." 

The two of you remain at a stand-still as his words trap you into a corner. How the hell do you even deal with this information? And how on Earth is she so sure of herself anyways? You think you're pretty good with signs, at least about things like this.

But it doesn't feel like flirting. He's never flirted with any of the students in class, despite how much they seem to fawn over him. Could this weird, psychological dance you've been doing for the last twelve weeks be some sort of unspoken foreplay ritual? 

The more you think about it, the less it seems implausible to you. There's a wave after that, some cross between impending doom and shameful arousal blooming up inside of you as everything hits you all at the same time. 

When you return to reality after being trapped in your thoughts, Nobara gives you a mindful (almost pitiful) smile and shakes her head. You frown at her in reply, squeezing the bridge of your nose. 

"If it were like literally anyone else, I'd totally tell them it's a bad idea. But it's not like you're going on to date him, and you're what - 24? because of your gap year so you're not a preteen like some of the freshmen in your class. I just don't see any reason not to go for it." 

You tamp down the small voice in the back of your head, encouraging you to do - and instead ask her a follow-up question. 

"...Do you think I should attend his office hours tomorrow, yes or no? I have to email him by tonight to get the one on one." 

"Yeah. Yes. And shave before you go." 

__

You decide, for the sake of your sanity and everyone else's - to ignore Nobara's odd implications about what Professor Getou wants from you and to attend his office hours.

(That's a partial lie, you figure - given the fact you did shave, and shower before attending. You're wearing something kind of nice underneath. But you still don't think he wants to fuck you. It's more of a safety precaution than anything else.)

 You made the game plan last night that you would go, present your idea, and then beg him to be kind to you during the grading process. You even developed a list of things to sob and cry about it to generate something of a sob story if everything went awry. You've forsaken your pride. The only thing that you need to get out of this meeting is a passing grade. 

And that is, of course, by any means necessary. 

Fearing for your life, the state of your mood improves as you approach the building hosting Professor Getou's office. Of all of the people you interact with semi-regularly on campus (all of which you are quite fond of), Nobara wasn't lying about your affection for campus security guard - Toji Fushiguro.

He's an older man. Older than you by double digits, and from what you can tell - older than even your professor. You've been fond of him ever since he brought you back to your dorm after a horrible break-up with your ex as a sophomore. He's got a rough edge, and there's plenty of unverified rumors of his past. You know that he has something of a criminal record too. 

But for all of those rumors, and for all the things you hear about him - he's been one of the highlights of your campus experience. You've had a one-sided school-girl crush on him ever since that night, because you were sober enough to catch his body and how it feels. He was strong. Not in an average way. He made it so effortless when he was carrying you home in his arms - and it's not the first time you've seen him lug around things at least over 300 pounds like they were nothing. 

But attractiveness aside, he is uncharacteristically good at cheering you up. He's funny and witty, all while maintaining a cool facade. He's endearing in his own way too, and you're a little head over heels for him though you'd never push yourself to make the first move. 

Still, when he sees you come towards the building - he greets you with a wide smile. The scar over his busted lip - split open and welcoming as you run up to him for a hug. He's normally patrolling around campus, so it feels lucky to catch him where you least expect. 

He wraps you up with a single arm, your feet temporarily lifting from the ground before you get put back down again. 

"Mr. Fushiguro, what are you doing here?"

"I got moved over here since there's been some rumor about someone stealing from the labs upstairs. So I'm on lock up duty for this building 'till it gets fixed up and solved," He says, voice as smooth as ice "What about you sweetheart? It's gonna get dark out soon." 

"Ah, I have office hours with Professor Getou today. I need to consult with him about a paper." 

"That right? Just gonna be you in there, then?" 

"Yep. I'm gonna go in there and beg him for a good grade on our next assignment. So for the sake of my sanity, please wish me luck?" 

Mr. Fushiguro tilts his head to one side, grinning. 

"Wouldn't that mean you graduate sooner instead of later? Can't wish ya luck on that." He says, making you flush and letting the feeling linger before continuing "Just kiddin'. A pretty face like yours should do you just fine. Knock 'em dead." 

"I feel a lot better about it with your encouragement." You say honestly. Mr. Fushiguro gives you a laugh.

"Treat me to something if my luck makes any difference. And hurry in. Last thing you'd wanna do is be late." 

You nod, wide-eyed and dazed by how charismatic he is before you rush into the building. It's silent, given how late in the school day it is. Most people have already gone home, with the exception of the other poor souls likely chasing down their professors for the same reasons as you. 

You feel an overwhelming sensation of dread as you encroach upon Professors Getou's office. There's no one else in the close vicinity, only a few closed classrooms and students who are passing by the small corner where his door resides - most of which are making their way to leave. 

You decide to take a deep breath, calming your shaken nerves before knocking politely once on his door and entering the room. 

Professor Getou's office looks like how you'd expect it to look. It's clean, and sleek - and lacking almost completely of items of personal effect with the exception of his desk. It's the first time you've ever been inside of the room before, but it smells distinctly of him. He has that same scent surrounding him, like flicks of nicotine and a hint of bergamot. Sweet with the taste of metallic bitterness, like blood and sugar.

You feel the back of your throat bob as you see your Professor sitting at his desk. It's lacking his usual gracefulness. His shirt is unbuttoned down by three entire buttons, and his slacks seem looser. Most notable is his hair - classically long, now in a loose bun with pieces falling all on his shoulders and rolling down his neck. 

You think of what Nobara said to you earlier in the day alone, a strange and overwhelming sensation of lust and embarrassment making it difficult for you to open your voice and talk.

It's Professor Getou who greets you first. He looks up from whatever he was reading and looks at you from where you stand awkwardly at his door. His smile widens, though it's just by a little. 

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd be here. Looks like you're right on time." He says first, sitting up in his chair but not bothering to gather himself in any way otherwise "Come on in and sit. I assume you're here to talk about your grade."

 You sit across from him hesitantly, hands folded in your lap as you put your bag down on the floor. 

He studies you quietly. There's a long stretch of silence, where neither of you do anything but sit in each other's company.

He breaks the silence first.

"So, while I have a guess," He says, elbows on his desk "Do you want to talk to me about what you're here for?" 

You've practiced the dialogue in your head so many times now. What to do and how to say what you need too, but the words seem to fizzle out completely when it's time to really say them. Leaving nothing but uncertainty, you open your mouth only to close it once again. 

"Uhm," Your voice strains trying to make the words out into a coherent sentence. "I came to talk about my paper. And my grade, like you mentioned in class."

"So you decided to heed my advice? Good girl, that was a smart choice," You try not to be taken aback by the pet name - unsure if it's as inappropriate as you think it is "Do you know what virtue you want to cover?" 

"I thought I would pick uhm, righteousness - and then pull from some of the Western ethics we learned about. Making uh, connections between deontological ethics and duty and how it relates to the defined idea of righteousness," You explain nervously, an uncomfortable laugh bubbling out of your throat "How practicing duty and righteousness relate to each other."

 "Hmm. Sounds like you've had time to think about it a little, then."

"I uhm, haven't finished the reading but I did take a look over my section to see if I could make it work." 

"I think you have something to work with. You'll need to straighten out the thesis of your paper into something more tangible. I know that's an ironic ask. But I think it's a good idea," He gives you a brief glance, studies you with eyes. Snake-like. Something coils inside of you, tickles and brushes against your skin and makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise "It seems like you have something more to tell me, though." 

Do you? Is there anything more there? The answer lies indifferently on a scale from obviously to no. nothing at all and it haunts you that he's able to pick it out. 

"It's just well. Uhm. You know, I don't have the best grade in this class so I was more prepared to go down with my grade. You approved quicker than I thought you would." 

"Your grade is pretty abysmal. Did you come in here planning to beg?" 

You refrain from an instant yes, even though it's what you feel. Something about the way he says it makes your stomach clench. Your heart quickens. Your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth as you laugh uncomfortably. 

"Something like that? Uhm, or at least try to hash things out between us. I know our relationship over the c-course of the semester has been kind of sour so I…"

He cuts you off.

"Has it?" 

Your brain stutters to halt.

"Uhm. Yes?"

It's unpredictable, utterly and completely - the way he reflects on your words like you've said something incomprehensible. You aren't sure if that's sincere. You can't be sure if any of the words out of his mouth are. But he doesn't seem like he's lying. Your mind flashes to Nobara, and you find yourself speaking before you can stop it. It comes out like a flood.

 "I j-just always assumed you singled me out in class because you didn't like me? I don't mean to be accusatory, though."

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea," He says, shaking his head "I don't harbor any negative feelings for you at all."

"Oh," You say, eyes falling down to your lap again "Right, then." 

"You must be desperate for that passing grade, hm? If you're meeting with a professor you think hates you." 

You glance at him. 

"Well, yes. I want—need to pass this class. I've already planned my graduation for this semester." 

"And you'd be willing to do anything for that, is what you're implying?" 

"Yes," You say, with a sudden rush of unwavering confidence "Anything." 

"Let me ask you another question, then." He lets his elbows rest on the edge of his table, a familiar coy smile "Do you think there's any other reason for why I've been paying special attention to you, aside from me disliking you? You're a smart girl, so I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out." 

The weight of his words don't go unnoticed. The air feels heavy as it hangs between you. He couldn't be implying it so directly could he? Your mind drifts back to Nobara's warning to you, and your breath hitches. Your eyes widen as you glance up for the first time and give him a look of mild distress. 

And he smiles. His grin widens as soon as it dawns on you.

"Seems like you've reached an important conclusion," He says, casually - as he sits up in his chair and leans back. Stretched like nothing could get in his way "Why don't you share with the class?" 

"You," Your voice is a nervous tremor. You must be crazy. You must be completely out of your mind "...To sleep with me?" 

"See? I told you, you're a smart girl." 

The question is a burning one. One you've been wanting to ask since you started thinking about it last night. 

"B-but…why? And why me? A-and," 

"You have a tendency for being combative. You know that? An air of defiance. I can tell you're a little older than your peers. A little wiser, and a little more knowing of when to ask for help," Getou outlines, staring you down "And seeing you with that sense of desperation was exciting for me. I'm a man of simple tastes. At my age, I know what I want." 

"And I like when tough, combative, clever women turn into babbling, desperate, needy girls. I'm quite fond of it, actually." 

He's detrimentally serious. Your stomach flips. 

"Do you want to pass this class?" He asks you, an air of confidence surrounding him. You close your eyes, unsure if you can call it coercion when you're feeling so terribly willing about it. 

"Yes. I need to pass." 

"Then come up here," He gestures, widens his legs and leans back in his chair "And sit." 

Your body is burning. You don't know if you're even really in the situation, or if you've daydreamed it into something impossible. Something phantom moves you. Stands you to your feet shakily before walking in short strides. Professor Getou looks at you from where you stand over him. 

His hand brushes your outer thigh, patting it. 

"Sit." 

So you sit. You spread yourself and straddle your professor - and the reality dawns on you the minute you touch what you're doing. You haven't gotten laid in a bit, and he's nothing like anyone you've ever slept with. You feel out of your element. You get the impression he's a man, a grown one. There's a confidence in him that looms and looms and looms, overshadowing any of your doubt.

He's sexier up close. There's the faintest trace of smile lines on his expression as you look down at him. He guides your arms to loop around your neck, and holds your hips with his hands. 

Then you feel it, almost instantly - something hard and bulging pressing against the seam of your pants and against your crotch. He's already half-hard and he hasn't even kissed you. He grins at you lazily, like a cat with cream. 

"I'll pass you as soon as I put it in," His hands are so big - long, slender fingers gripping your ass "And give you extra credit when you cum for me. How's that sound?" 

You feel dirty. It's all happening so fast. Almost vulgar, but it's impossible to feel cheap. To believe in the wrongness of it when Professor Getou is so undeniably sexy. Wrong, on so many levels, to do this for the sake of your grade. Or just in general. Yet you want it, yearn for it, find the culmination of all your annoyances melting as he graces you himself. 

"I wanna pass," You say, uncharacteristically nervous about everything. You add the next part a little quieter "...I want it." 

"What do you want, exactly?" 

"Want you to fuck me." You admit, against your better judgment "Please?" 

"Gonna make a real pretty mess out of you," He says, voice smooth and serene. You look down at him. His knuckles brush against your jaw, on your cheek before his thumb holds on your lower mouth. His fingers push past the edge of your lips, sliding against your tongue and gently running along your teeth. He gags you on it, so slightly - enough to startle you but not enough to hurt. You feel spit pour from your lips. 

Thick messy strings of drool drip down the sides of your mouth. You want to back away in shame. But there's an air of intention behind the gesture. It's deliberate, the action - the mess and how it runs down your neck. Before you know it, he's kissing you in that same state. 

Professor Getou kisses like he's done it before.

His hands grip on your ass as he kisses hot and heavy. Self-assured, he sucks and bites at your mouth - sticking his tongue in and mixing his saliva with yours in a way that feels downright dirty. Yet it makes you throb, white-hot flames licking at the back of your thighs. The sparks of arousal crawl up your skin. 

Your nerves tighten as Professor Getou cups your face with one palm, kissing you with fervor. You melt into him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. 

"Been thinking about what you would look like bent over my desk all semester," He says as he pulls away, looking on with admiration at your messy complexion "You wanna go on ahead and show me?"

Another wave of embarrassment washes over you, but you find yourself standing to your feet. Sliding your sweats off down your legs - your lower half is left bare with the exception of your feet. You lay or stomach on his desk, the cold wood sending chills up your whole body and your stomach and tits lay flat and squishy against the hard material. You stand, shoulder width apart, and present yourself in front of him. 

"That's what I like to see," His voice is rich and deep as he speaks. You can feel him inch towards you, pulling you apart with his palms before his hand comes down on your ass in one hard motion. The noise echoes against the walls of the room "See, I knew you could listen well when you had to." 

You don't say anything in reply, pressing your cheek against the desk. 

"W-what do I call you?" You ask, your voice trembling. You feel his fingers against the seam of your panties. He snaps the cotton waistband against your skin before humming thoughtfully, a light tap to your ass. 

"Getou is fine. Suguru is too. Sir if that makes you more comfortable."

 Getou makes a show of fondling you, though you can't see it - you can feel the way his eyes nearly swallow your naked lower half. How his fingers touch and prod all of your sensitive places, with some kind of keen observation. Everything Getou says is like that, keen and particular.

"Such a pretty pussy on you. Would've been such a waste if you didn't come to me."

You don't bother to ask what he means by that. Behind you, there's a noise. Of a chair rolling back, and the dull thud of knees hitting the ground. Before you know what's happening, there's a face dangerously close to your clothed pussy. The minute you try to squirm, there's a tight grip keeping you in place. He takes a deep breath. Without any real hesitance, you feel his tongue lick across the clothed material. 

In one fell swoop, he pulls your panties to one side and kisses your clit without any more real introduction. You're gripping the edge of the table you're bent over as you feel his tongue slide against the wet folds of your pussy, making your voice cry out involuntarily. Normally people would urge you to be quiet, but you got the feeling he didn't care if anyone heard you crying out for him. You get a second wave of intuition telling you he might even like it. 

A sensation of bliss washes over you as he sucks hungrily at your cunt. It feels good enough to be holy. There's such immense expertise in it that you can't help but succumb to it completely. The warm, heavy muscle gliding over sticky folds.

You're so lost in the pleasure, your mind completely blocks out the intrusion. The sense that would detect another person in the room disappears completely. You only know because of Getou, the way he stops and scoffs. It forces you to blink your eyes open. He speaks before you get the chance. 

"What are you doing here?" 

You recognize the voice instantly, and your heart drops through your stomach. 

"Thought I heard a ghost howling," Mr. Fushiguro says, his voice is rougher and deeper and older "Turn out it was just a little girl wanderin' into the woods." 

"If you can see I'm busy, why're you still here?"

You can't help but feel the second wave of overwhelming shock as you sit there, naked and unafraid. Still, they stand like nothing is wrong. Chat like they know each other somehow, but you have no idea in which way. All you can focus on is the bubbling, nauseating shame. 

"Oh god." You voice, but both others ignore. Mr.Fushiguro speaks first.

"This one is off-limits, Suguru. What kinda professor goes around fuckin' their innocent little students?"

"Just the one, Mr. Fushiguro. And I'd like to get back to business."

"Ah, no way I'm letting you off the hook. I could report this y'know? Make headlines. Ethics professor coerces student into sexual activity. It'd be big. 

Your heart drops. 

"Fuck off, would you? Does she look coerced?" 

A beat of silence. "Nah. Not with the way she's twitchin'. But it's not fun if I just let you go. How about you tap me in and I'll keep your little secret hm? She's gotta cute crush on me already."

Your heart flounces around in your chest, a muffled noise of shock escaping your lips as you squirm to move but are held, still, so firmly in place. Your expression and feelings all go through 5 stages of grief before settling at dumbfounded. They don't especially ask for your input, but you hear Professor Getou behind you.

"Fine, if it'll get you to shut up. And I'm fucking her first."

Strange. Nothing about today makes any sense. You don't miss the almost childish sense of competition in Getou's voice that changes your view of him in an instant. Humanizes him in the strangest and most unrecognizable ways. It lacks his usual virtue.

Mr. Fushiguro walks up in front of you, imposing. He's grinning, a well-worn smile on his face that you know. He helps you up, and you keep yourself upright on your arms as he grabs your chin with his palms. You look up at him wide-eyed, unsure of what to do.

"Dirty fucking girl aren't ya?" He says, though he almost sounds like he's impressed with himself 

"You into older men or is it a coincidence you're screwing 'im for your grade?"

You're speechless, and you moan a little pathetically as Getou doesn't stop eating you out. This only seems to make Mr. Fushiguro even more excited. You look up at him through wet lashes, unsure of what to do.

"Don't mind either way, just curious. Guess I'm a little sad 'cause I thought your little heart eyes around me made me special," He tells you this looking down at you, eyes locked. You can tell he's just teasing you, and it makes you twitch "But I guess that's not true, is it?"

"You're different. I uhm. Well it's true at least."

"Yeah? You're just letting both of us fuck you 'cause you're like a bitch 'n heat?"

You flush. He gives you a smile and a well-meaning laugh that makes your body feel warm with heat.

"Mind if we're a little rough on you, sweetheart?"

You shake your head.

"Good. Stick your tongue out and open your mouth for me then."

You listen, oblige the instructions almost obediently. Your face is still covered with spit from before. You watch idly, intently - as Mr. Fushiguro pulls his cock out from his black pants. The loose material covers him well, but as soon as they're down past his thighs - the outline of his cock borders on intrusive. Your eyes widen, fluttering and unfocused because it's hard to think about anything while feeling such intense pleasure.

But Mr. Fushiguro is captivating as he pulls himself out for you. His cock is thick and heavy, protruding but too much that it can't stand up on its own. Weighed down by gravity, you stare at it wide-eyed. It's the size of your forearm, so thick you can't possibly imagine what it feels like.

Your heart stammers. 

"It won't fit in my mouth." You say, gasping for air as if you're already suffocating on it "You're—you're so huge."

He laughs with an edge of snark. You blink at him in complete seriousness, taken aback. He lets the tip of his cock tap the plushness of your cheek before pressing against your lips. You stare at him, almost afraid.

"Of course it'll fit," He says in confidence "Just gotta make sure you're relaxed. So relax, sweetheart, and open your mouth for me." 

Hesitantly, you open your mouth wide. You feel the corners of your lips stretch around the intrusive, thick head of Mr. Fushiguro's cock. The taste of sweat and skin is invasive and heavy, violating your senses. Just the tip and it barely fits in your mouth. You try and concentrate, sticking your tongue out and curling it around the underneath of his cock, focusing on sucking just the tip. He groans above you, a hand on the back of your head. He doesn't force you down, but you can tell by the twitch in his fingers that he wants to.

"Look at you," He says, his voice coarse with restraint and desire "You're drooling on my cock while you're professors busy eatin' your pussy. Thought you were an innocent girl, but now I don't know what to believe."

He says this as he eases more into your mouth, slowly letting you adjust. He rocks his hips back and forth until you relax. You open yourself up, trying to focus on blowing him.

But a hand comes down on your ass, hard and heavy - making you yelp. The noise is muffled but audible. A short squeal, you can't turn your head to look 

"Don't you think you two are getting too comfortable upfront without me? I'm the one who decides your grades."

"Maybe you're not doing good enough for her to care."

You can feel a strange sense of competition between them, but you're too occupied to ask about it. How do they know each other, and for what reason do they seem so automatically hostile? It bothers you, but you can't think about it too hard.

"That's not true. Her pussy is soaking fucking wet." He punctuates his words with a harsh smack against your cunt, the force rippling through your as you bend forward and choke "Almost as messy as her face."

He's quick, again, to latch himself to your clit. He flicks it with his tongue, licking it mercilessly as your brain starts to fog up with desire. Like he's trying to prove a point, you moan around Mr. Fushiguro's cock as your pleasure starts to thrum up again. The back of your legs tense, trembling as a knot begins to uncoil in your lower stomach. The cock in your mouth moves too, using the distracted moans to ease himself even deeper into the wet, arm cavern of your mouth. 

Your head feels heavy, body weak as the both of them use you to their contents. Your stomach starts to stir as a familiar feeling of euphoria claws at you. 

You cum for the first time like that, your body pressed against a wood desk - restrained and under careful watch of two men. Your whole body explodes - white, hot nerves fraying off and ricocheting off your ribs inside of you. Your insides shake as the wave of an orgasm washes over your entire body. You gasp, clenching down hard and gasping as tremors of orgasm pulse and push through your whole body. Something in you ignites as you grip the edge of the desk for your life, trying to keep yourself upright as Getou pushes you through the orgasm. 

You've barely recovered when Mr. Fushiguros pulls out of your mouth, pressing his spit-soaked cock against your face and cheeks with a smile. You let it slide against your tongue, eyes fluttering open as your face gets covered in precum and saliva. 

"You look so fucking filthy right now, you know that? But it looks good on you. I'm dying to fuck you." 

"Mr. Fushiguro," You groan. He clicks his teeth. 

"Toji's just fine sweetheart." 

You whimper helplessly as you ride out your high. Behind you, your professor pulls away. You peek behind you to see him, flush as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Toji looks down at your frazzled expression with a grin, teeth showing as he cups your jaw a second time and slides his cock back in one go. This time, he pushes his cock in the base - keeping your throat around him with a hand on the back of your head. 

"Just focus on me for now, baby. Focus on sucking me off, yeah? Just like that, easy easy. He's gonna open you up. Stretch you nice and make your pussy all sloppy. That's what you want right?" 

Getou leans over you, the weight of his body looming as you feel slender fingers slide through your sticky folds. His middle and index brush against your abused clit, rubbing a few circles into it before pulling away. He grabs your arms and positions them behind your back, gripping them in one hand to keep you restrained. You squirm against the gesture, unable to get any leeway as he holds you down. Then you feel his fingers move, middle finger catching on your wet hole as it trembles and sticks. He opens you up like this without any warning. 

His middle finger goes first - delicately intrusive as your pussy widens to accommodate him. They're so much bigger than yours. Just one feels like two of your own. You push back out of instinct but Getou doesn't let you move. He buries himself, pushing in and out until he's able to fuck your pussy all the way down to the knuckle. Once there's no longer any resistance, he pulls back and makes room for another. The sensation is duller, lets you clear your head and think even as Toji rubs his cock on your face and fucks your mouth in short ruts. 

Not enough to make you choke, but enough to smear something hot and nasty all over you. 

Professor Getou repeats the process with his pointer, pushing and stretching and opening until you can't fight it anymore. With two fingers, he scissors them trying to make your insides soft enough for him to take you. 

"You're stretching out for me like it's nothing. You must be turned on, hm? Like getting all your holes used like this? Getting your face-fucked by a man old enough to be your father?" 

Toji laughs harshly, smacking your face lightly, enough it doesn't hurt but enough to make you feel it. 

"She loves it. She's clenching down on you tight ain't she?" 

"Sure is. All this for a grade. Maybe I should've bullied you about it a little more first. Since you're so eager." 

"Gonna give her extra credit for this?"

"I should deduct points for the fact you're even near here."

He laughs good-naturedly at this point, and you're still having trouble making sense of their relationship. You manage to speak for the first time in forever, voice barely there as you go to question them. You're not expecting any solid answers. 

"How do you two know each other?" You ask, before Toji starts fucking your mouth again 

"Goes a long way back. And we're still on bad terms, so congrats on bringing us together, sweetheart. Kind of an expected reunion really." 

"He's been working here since Professor Gojo and I were students here and we knew him from before. A long story. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." 

The burning question is quick to fade out of your mind as you feel your professor's clothed bulge rest against your cunt. You moan, a clipped needy sound as you nearly beg him to fuck you. Toji bends over you this time, reaching back to spread your pussy open by grabbing your ass. You can feel the grip of his hands, strong and assured. 

"She's gettin' impatient. Give it to her." 

"Don't need your help with that." Getou spits, irritation sounding in his words. 

"Consider it an apology." 

The air of tension is there temporarily, before Getou pulls his cock from the confines of his boxers. You can't see it, eyes squeezed tight as you work your mouth and tongue Toji's length. You can feel it though. He makes a show of rubbing his cock against your puffy, sore cunt. You get a feel for its shape as he pushes it between your thighs and lets it cling in between your lips. Professor Getou's cock is longer and more narrow, but it curves upright. It's hard, throbbing between your legs. Whining helplessly you wiggle your ass again. You feel increasingly restless about needing something inside of you. You're still bound though, completely and utterly unable to move. Toji's hand comes down heavy on your ass as you do, clicking his teeth in faux irritation. 

"Don't fucking move unless you want my handmark on your ass forever," He says, his voice cool and forgiving "Impatient." 

Getou must feel something inside of him merciful enough to keep you waiting. Even with all the stretching and prep, the minute you feel the head of your cock push through - something inside of you snaps. It's still so big, still too much, still reaches a part of you so deep you didn't know it was there. The position itself - still being on your stomach, makes it reach so much farther than other positions. The raw, skin-to-skin contact leaves your tummy fluttering, skin prickling with heat. Your top is pushed up enough to expose your lower back and your skin is pulsing. You feel like your whole body is on fire, suspended between men so much older than that want nothing more than to fuck you.

Every time you try to wiggle away from the sensations, Toji's hand comes down heavy on your backside. It doesn't matter how minuscule the movement. If he gets the idea that you're going to try and pull away, he spanks you hard enough that the room echoes with the sound. Your skin tingles, phantom sensation left before as you're held open and made to take your professor's cock - obedient and wanting. 

Inch by miserable inch, it takes forever to take him down to the base. Your toes curl, eyes shut and mouth sloppily trying to keep up with the cock in your mouth and just barely succeeding. 

He groans behind you, shuddering 

"That's incredible," He praises, and it feels so good to hear him saying something so overtly kind you don't know if you want to laugh or cry "Your pussy is fucking incredible. Shit."

"You hear that? You gotta. Pussy's twitchin' like crazy. Ass is too, how cute." 

"Feels sho good," You slur, brain clear of any and all rational thought as a string of saliva drips down your chin "Please fuck me, please,"

"You heard her teach."

Toji lets go of you and returns back to where you are. He pulls his cock away from you, instead holding you up and cupping your mouth open. He kisses you, after everything - with all of his pre-spend in your mouth before spitting into it harshly and kissing it again.

"Such a pretty face you're makin' right now." He says, something of a warm and unprecedented affection to it "So excited to get your pussy filled up."

He leans you on him, lets you wrap around his midriff, and squeeze tight while he pets the back of your hair in a strange streak of affection. You don't know what to make of anything. All you can feel is the long cock pounding into you without any mercy. Razor-sharp thrusts, nudging against your swollen g-spot and pounding into your cunt with immeasurable force. A man so much older than you is fucking you, pounding your pretty little pussy, and turning you into a complete mess. He's meant to be a mentor to you, but he has his cock imprinting itself inside of you over and over and over.

Your stomach feels hot again, but some other feeling takes you over as Toji cradles you - watching you just as intently. He talks you through with confidence you can't entirely understand.

"Yeah, that's it. Tighten up for him, just like that. Feels good doesn't it? I know baby, I know."

You whine out in Toji's arms as he talks you through it. Behind you, you feel Getou's grip hold you tight as he pistons you. The sound of his thighs smacking against your ass is noisy, almost as noisy as your pussy. Slick wet, sounding each time he thrusts.

"I'm not gonna last like this, shit." He pumps into you a few more types before his hips stutter to a halt. He cums with his cock buried deep inside of you, filling you all the way to the brim. You feel his white, hot seed fill your belly, cock twitching as he unloads and makes your legs shake.

A sense of emptiness overwhelms you as Getou pulls out, landing a hit on your ass as he shakes. He kisses your spine. 

The two of them switch places without communicating with each other about it. Getou pulls out, and away - coming back in front of you and picking you up in his arms as Toji positions himself behind you. He spreads your cunt out with his fingers, examining the seed left over with a light laugh. 

"Gonna fuck into your sloppy little cunt, give you another load where you need it and make you cum." Toji says, not hesitating at all. You feel your breathing start to quicken as he takes the same positions as before. 

Toji doesn't neglect touching you as his arm curls around your waist, calloused fingertips brushing against your clit before his cock pushes into you. Your pussy takes him much easier, but even so - Toji is just so thick, you can't help but feel him all over again. This time, Getou has you in his arms, holding and guiding you. Your hands are curled around his bicep and lower spine as you're held up. 

Toji's thrusts are slower, but just as rhythmic - focused on bringing you to another orgasm. It's duller this time, the sensation more focused and spread. Toji is so big you feel it in your hips, your entire lower half tingling as he pumps his cock in and out of you. He gives you all of his attention, staving off his own orgasm as Getou encourages you with his own words. 

"Gonna cum again, pretty? Take another man's cum in you right after me? You want to, right? Take it all in, every drop. You've earned it."

You feel your insides tighten again, for a second time - in a miraculous span. Every muscle in your body tenses and contracts as both sensations work in tandem to bring you closer to your edge. 

Your nerves fire off a second time as you push yourself to the limit. Toji fucks you through another orgasm with ease, thrusting with each tremor until you've ridden out your high. His own orgasm and chase come not long after that fact. 

As soon as you've gone totally limp underneath him, he sheaths himself as deep as he can. Bent over you, he cums hard and deep, filling you to the brim a second time.

There's a brief moment of silence as Toji rides out his high, where all three of you sit in silence.

You find yourself limp as you lay there, Toji pulling out and Getou slowly letting you down before you look up with a tired expression. 

"...So, did I pass?"

Your professor laughs harder than you've ever seen him laugh.

"With flying colors."

[wri0thesley]

legally binding - neuvillette x reader (8.4k)

monsieur neuvillette will ensure that he finds your brother not guilty at trial. for a price.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. DARK CONTENT. extremely dubious consent/non-consent. clothed neuvillette, naked reader. cunnilingus, threats of caning, blackmail, fingering, piv sex, coming inside. neuvillette refers to reader as "little one". reader is afab and is described using language such as 'breasts' and 'cunt'.

“If the terms of our arrangement are not agreeable to you,” the honorary Iudex says to you, his gloved hands steepled before him as he sits calmly behind his desk, “you do, of course, have the right to say ‘no’ at any time. I shan’t hold it against you. It merely means that the particulars of our little entente need not be fulfilled on my end, either.” 

You press your lips together as frustration and anger war within you. You would like to explode at him; you would like to pull the books lining his office walls down and use them as projectiles to hit him straight in his infuriatingly calm and peaceful face. 

That he has the nerve to keep talking to you like this - his voice perfectly even, almost calm, his tone soothing and bordering on paternal (like you’re a little child who he’s telling the ways of the world to), when his proffered ‘agreement’ is so heinous . . .

“You’re utterly abhorrent,” you seethe to him, but the Iudex does not react to being called such a thing - merely tilts his head to one side.

“So you’ve said,” he agrees mildly. “But it does not change your position, does it?”

He is right in that. You stand there awkwardly for one moment more, debating if this is really the hill you are willing to die on; if you are indeed ready to trade away your dignity for the price of your brother’s freedom.

He seems to take pity on your floundering. 

“You agreed to this,” he reminds you, his tone unerringly gentle and patient. “But it does not mean you have to go through with it. I will keep the terms of our pact, my dear, as long as you uphold your own - but I will not hold it against you if you decide you are not . . . brave enough to follow through.”

You wince despite yourself at the deliberate emphasis of the word. You know that this is not bravery; you know, too, that what Monsieur Neuvillette is asking you to do is nothing short of corruption of the highest order. 

And too you know that the only person ranked higher than him you could conceivably go to is Lady Furina herself. 

“I’m sure that a guilty verdict for your brother would not be so bad,” Monsieur Neuvillette continues, and despite the mild tone he uses he must know that he is hitting you exactly where it hurts. “Incarceration is not the be-all and end-all, nowadays - why, many enjoy the Fortress so much they choose not to leave even once their sentence has been finished--”

“Don’t,” you squeak out, and Neuvillette stops speaking. You take a slow breath to steady yourself, and when your voice comes out this time it sounds far more certain than before. You’re proud of yourself, even, for the way that it quavers for only an instant at the end of your next sentence. “I’ll follow through on our agreement.”

“Lovely,” Neuvillette lowers his chin so that it rests atop of the steeple of his gloved fingertips. “I’m glad that you understand the position we’re both in. Well, then, shall we begin?”

You give him a jerky little nod, and he smiles at you like an Archon receiving a prayer of benediction. You stand there awkwardly for a moment more, before Neuvillette lets out a soft chuckle.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “You really haven’t done any of this before, have you? Let me make it easier for you. Why don’t you disrobe and show me what you have on under your clothing, hmm?” 

You take a slow, calming breath. This is not so bad; you had known you would have to take off your clothes for this bargain. You suppose, if you had been a different kind of person, you might even have felt a thrill at the thought that it would be Monsieur Neuvillette who would be the first man to see you bared - but instead, there is just a cold thumping terror as you work at the buttons and catches of your outfit. 

You are dressed smartly but not prettily. You have never had much time for the fripperies that many Fontaine citizens prefer to indulge in - and especially for your meetings as a desperate petitioner with the Iudex, you had thought sombre was the way to go. This has carried through even to your undergarments - the chemise you wear is plain, without even a trimming of lace. Your brassiere is equally simple, as are the plain cotton bloomers that hide your most intimate place from his inquisitive eyes. 

You swallow as your thumb and forefingers fasten about the hem of your chemise - and then, thinking it better to rip off the bandage from the wound rather than pussyfoot about it, you pull it off and drop it in an unruly pile with the rest of your outer clothes by the Iudex’s desk. 

He sits there in silence for a moment that seems to stretch out for an hour.

“Not much for decoration, hmm?” He asks, after what seems like forever. You shift there awkwardly from foot to foot. You have never been looked at before like this by a man - and though you do not want him to find you attractive, the idea that he’s disappointed in what’s before him is equally horrible. He chuckles softly beneath your breath at the expression that must flit across your face. “Ah, please don’t mistake me as unappreciative. There is very little as lovely as simplicity, I find.” Your cheeks heat. “On that note - I think we ought to lose this layer too. Let me see you as nature intended, my dear.” 

You had thought that once the first layer of your clothing had been stripped, it would get easier, but you find now that it is much the opposite. Your hands tremble as you reach behind you for the clasp of your brassiere. It is cool in his office, but a bead of sweat rolls down the nape of your neck and sets your palm sticky and wet, and it takes you three attempts to unclip. 

You have never been shy before - you had certainly not been shy when you had barrelled up to the Iudex in public and demanded an audience with him, much to the distaste of all around him - but this is enough to make you feel awkward. 

The fabric falls away from the swell of your chest, and Monsieur Neuvillette makes a pleased little noise almost like a purr in the back of his throat.

“Ah,” he says. “Very nice. The underwear too, if you please.” 

Your nipples stiffen in the cool air of his office, the buds puckering and hardening under the twin problems of the temperature and Neuvillette’s stare. It is even harder to convince yourself to hook your thumbs into your underwear, but eventually your body agrees to your demands and you find yourself rolling the plain cotton down past your thighs and your knees and down to your ankles--

You fuss for a moment, putting them with the rest of your clothes, if only to delay the inevitable for a moment longer - that time when you will have to stand and display yourself in your full nakedness for the Iudex. But there is only so long you can conceivably push his patience, and sooner than you like you straighten your spine and try and jut your chin out and pretend that there isn’t a wash of humiliation drowning you as you wait for his next pronouncement. 

You’re surprised when he stands, leaving his cane leaning against his desk, and strides towards you with purpose writ clear in his eyes. Surprised enough that a soft, startled noise falls from your mouth as he reaches for you, and suddenly his gloved hands are palming the weight of your breasts. He lets out a slow, measured breath as his fingertips dig into the soft flesh there. You squeak again as his thumbs brush over the hard nubs of your nipples, and this time he laughs.

“Don’t be so surprised,” he murmurs. “Our agreement involved touching, did it not?”

“I-it involved more than touching,” you whisper, as poisonously as you can manage - but his thumbs are still slowly swirling about your nipples and the sensation of it is making you feel dizzy, little electric shocks of surprise zapping through your synapses. 

“Mm,” Neuvillette agrees. “But I am not so much of a villain that I would simply have my way with you without ensuring you were properly prepared, my dear.” 

You don’t know if this is worse, actually. If he had chosen the latter option, perhaps it would have been easier to close your eyes and grit your teeth and pretend to be somewhere else. But the way he is looking at you, the way he is touching you . . . those things make it far more difficult to separate what is going on from yourself. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” Neuvillette says to you - and you almost protest, until you remember the terms of the agreement once more. 

(“You will give yourself to me intimately,” Neuvillette had said. “I will have my fill of your body, and in return I will find your brother not guilty in court. Is this agreeable to you, little one?”

You had wanted to scream and shout and spit. It was certainly not agreeable to you; Neuvillette was a corrupt pervert, taking advantage of his position. How many other desperate petitioners had done this for him? 

“Oh,” Neuvillette had said, when you’d been unable to stop yourself biting out the last thing. “None at all. I’ve never been quite so intrigued by any of them or wanted to have any of them bent over my desk quite so much. I suppose that makes you special - and isn’t that nice?”)

You feel at his mercy like this, bare in his office, when he hasn’t so much as taken off his gloves - and indeed, the cool silk of those gloves against your heated cheek as he pulls you up into a kiss reminds you of who exactly has the power. He sighs softly into your mouth, teeth nipping at your lower lip. They’re sharp, and you gasp in surprise and win a low growl from Neuvillette himself. His kiss is wet and messy, and he seems almost disappointed when he pulls back from you with his eyes half-lidded. 

“Mm,” he says, “How many others have kissed you like that, little one?”

You press your lips together in a show of defiance, and he chuckles.

“As I thought,” he murmurs, lowering his head again - this time, the kiss he gives you is pressed to the top of your cheekbone. Slowly, carefully, peppered down your jawline. “Ah, don’t worry - you did perfectly well.”

You let out a noise of wordless disbelief and embarrassment that he could tell, which is quickly cut off when he tugs at your earlobe with his teeth instead. It is his canines that are sharp; you give a hot intake of breath at the scratch of them on your sensitive lobe that in turn makes him shudder. 

You hate the shivery feeling of pleasure that the bite sends zipping down your spine; a heat that settles firmly between your thighs, that mixes with the pounding of your heart. 

“Give in,” Neuvillette says softly. “You have no choice if you want me to uphold my word; you may as well enjoy it. I have no wish to be cruel to you, little one. If you like it too, so much the better.”

“I--I won’t--”

Your voice is reedy; it wobbles and shakes in the air. Both you and Neuvillette know that it is a stubborn and hopeless task, when his kisses and his tugging at your nipples and his soft nipping bites against your most vulnerable parts have already made a slick drip between your thighs you do not want to admit to. 

“A pity.” Neuvillette pulls back, and your body misses him - you find yourself making a soft noise of displeasure as his weight moves from in front of you and beside you, before he goes to stand beside his desk and takes his cane back into his hands, leaning on it almost casually. “Come here, little one. Bend over my desk.”

You flounder there, unsure now if you really are willing to go through with things the way that you had agreed to. Your throat feels dry. Disrobing had all been very well, letting him touch your chest had all been very well, but . . .

He taps his cane gently on the ground and makes a soft chiding noise with his tongue. 

“Come now, little one,” he murmurs, his voice perfectly agreeable. “It’s not so large a thing, is it? For the price of your brother’s reputation?”

You shake your head and take a slow, nervous step towards his desk - a large, terrifying presence in the room. How many people has he held the fates of in his hand as he sat here in the Palais Mermonia and read their files?

The reminder that you are indeed in the Palais Mermonia - that only down a hallway is a whole group of gestionnaires utterly unknowing of what their honourable Iudex is doing with the young citizen he has an appointment with - makes your heart beat faster, nervousness rise up in your throat like a tidal wave. One foot in front of the other.

You wish the walk to his desk was shorter at the same time as you wish that you would never make it to the end. 

It is not to be. Your bare hip bumps against the desk’s edge and you let out a slow, steadying breath. 

“That’s it,” Neuvillette says agreeably, and his cane taps on the ground as he comes to stand behind you. “Brace yourself on the table now; palms down. I’m not going to hurt you. Bend over and show me what I shall have the pleasure of conquering, hmm?”

You burn with humiliation as you do exactly what he asks; place your hot palms down directly upon the table and bend at the waist. Neuvillette sighs as if he’s terribly pleased with what he’s seeing. You start as you feel a gentle nudge against your bare ankle, and you realise that he’s touching you with his cane.

“Spread these apart a bit further,” he murmurs, and you comply despite the way you feel utterly debased by the treatment. “Ah. Very nice. Lovely, in fact.”

If you have one thing to be grateful for, it is that he does not mention what you both know; you are wet. The way he had touched and palmed at your chest, the kisses . . . you can feel the beads of slick on your inner thighs, the dampness of the folds of your cunt. The position he has put you in means, too, that you can feel the cool air on your exposed clit - the little button swollen and standing to attention. 

Neuvillette’s gloved hand gently comes to rest upon the back of your thigh. Slowly, slowly, he maps a path over your bared skin; the round curve of your ass where it’s presented to him, down and--

A hiccup of surprise escapes you and you almost rock back into him, but manage to stop yourself at the last moment, as those silken gloved fingers brush feather-light over the soft mound of your cunt. He does not press down yet; merely lets himself get accustomed to the shape of you. Your hips cant forward against your will as his fingertip brushes against the sensitive bud of your clit, a whimpering gasp falling from your lips. 

You have never been touched by anyone before - and the fact it is Monsieur Neuvillette doing it, under these circumstances--

You squeeze your eyes closed, willing yourself not to cry. You are grateful at least that he cannot see you; in fact, he seems rather preoccupied now, those long silken fingers spreading the plump lips of your labia further apart so that he can see your entrance.

“My,” he says, a smile apparent in his voice. “We’re going to have to do rather a lot of preparation, aren’t we? Sweet little thing, you look tight as a vice.” 

“I don’t . . .” You don’t understand quite what he means by preparation, but the soft rustle of his clothing still sets your teeth on edge. You’d known that he would disrobe too, of course you had, but it somehow all seems to be happening so quickly--

A strangled gasp escapes you.

The rustling was not him disrobing. Instead, he has knelt down - and his mouth is hot when he presses it to the sensitive places on the backs of your knees, his tongue wet as he trails it up the back of your thighs.

“Th-this isn’t what we agreed!” You say, panicked, as his mouth inches ever closer to the place between your thighs. Despite the heat of his tongue, the puffs of breath that escape him with his dry little laugh are cool. 

“Isn’t it, little one?” He murmurs, in between the wet kisses; you keen softly as he digs teeth into sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, fangs sending confused shockwaves of both pain and pleasure directly to your sex. “Let me see . . . Did I not use the terms ‘have my fill’? Why, little one - whyever did you think that would begin and end with my cock?” 

It’s too intimate. You have to be too present for it all, and the tears that have been threatening to spill out do so at the same time as his tongue oh-so-gently prods against your folds in interest. If Neuvillette notices that you’re crying, he doesn’t say anything - and you are grateful for that, as he presses his mouth fully against your cunt with a horrifically wanton wet noise and you realise that you are crying in no small part because his mouth against your heated core feels good. 

He merely mouths against you for a moment, his tongue delicate as it travels across your folds and drinks in your wetness. You shudder as he finds your clit, and his tongue flicks against it playfully. Despite what he had said about not having done this to any other desperate citizens, the way he works his mouth against you belies that he has at least some experience--

You know absolutely nothing about the Iudex’s private life, much like the rest of Fontaine. 

He pulls back from you to murmur against your thigh.

“You’re so wet, little one. It’s very charming. I think I shall use my mouth on you until you are glad to have the desk to keep you standing. It would be a hard-hearted creature indeed who would not want to feel you come on his face, under his tongue--”

You whimper out some kind of horribly embarrassing noise, as he returns hungrily to his former task; he licks at you and suckles at you like a man starved, and your body reacts with hot little shivers and shudders and jolts of pleasure. You make an attempt to curtail the pleasure - try to tell your body that it ought not to be enjoying this - but pure animal instinct wins out, and you are bent double over the desk whimpering helplessly, tilting your ass up to give him more room, and grinding your cunt into Neuvillette’s face despite all of it.

Neuvillette does not seem to mind at all. He groans into you instead, using the flat of his tongue to stroke as much of your cunt as possible, to work through your folds and suckle on your clit until your entire body feels aflame with strange new feelings. Every so often, he teases his tongue over your entrance, the tip circling the ring of muscle - but he does not push into it yet. 

His grip on your thighs is iron-tight. You don’t know when he let go of his cane, but both hands dig into the soft pudge of your inner thighs now, keeping you spread for him despite how the twists of pleasure make you want to squeeze your thighs together. 

You don’t know how you’re still breathing, as Neuvillette’s tongue continues to lay claim to you. You can feel your inner muscles clenching around nothing; slick accumulating around your entrance, just begging for something to be inside of you (though, in truth, you’ve never had anything more than your own finger and even then had felt hot and unsure of it). He growls, tongue flicking out against your clit in a rhythmic drumming that makes you whine.

“O-oh,” you manage, through the lump in your throat. “Archons--”

He gives your inner thigh a warning pinch, just enough to make you stutter, as he pulls his soaking wet mouth away from you and murmurs;

“No, little one. No archons here. Remember who it is, who's here with you.”

You are almost tempted to throw his own words back into his face; to tell him that you’d made no such bargain that you had to acknowledge that he was there. That, according to the legalities of the agreement you’d both made, you only had to let him use your body - not your voice, not your head, not your heart. But the lack of his mouth on you now feels like a peculiar kind of torture. You want him to stop. You want him to carry on. The whimper falls out of your mouth to a groaning purr of satisfaction from Neuvillette himself;

“M-monsieur--”

“That’s better.”

His mouth is back on you, hungrily working his tongue between your folds. Hungrily suckling and stroking and working you over until you feel hot and boneless, trembling on the edge of something - your entire body is a taut string, pulled to the point of snapping. Your cunt is wet and messy with drool and fluid and slick, sliding down your thighs - you cannot see Monsieur Neuvillette, but you’d wager that his cheeks are wet and shiny with the same, if only due to the utter eagerness he was still displaying. 

It’s too much. 

With a whine and pitiful jerk of your hips, you feel yourself slide down into some dark abyss; the thread that’s been threatening to snap finally does exactly as it was always going to do, and a wash of shameful pleasure crashes over you like a stormy sea. Neuvillette lets out a pleased groan as you feel yourself let another gush of arousal out, hungrily drinking you in with lewd, wet noises that have your face as hot as any Natlan springs. 

He carries on using his tongue on you; licking, sucking, lapping like a man parched for water - just to the point where your over-sensitive body begins to complain that you are still too raw for such hunger, and then he pulls his mouth off of you. You stay there, bent double over his table, wheezing softly as you hear him dust off his clothes and the click of his reclaimed cane as he comes around to the other side of the desk so that he can look you in the eye. 

He really hasn’t disrobed at all. 

It’s a callback to the power imbalance between you both; a reminder that, no matter what, you are entirely at Neuvillette’s mercy. You are glad, at least, that he has a reputation for being honourable in his agreements - you have only the very vaguest flutter of a fear that giving him your body will be for naught and he will go back on his word. Everybody knows that the Chief Justice values that same standard he is entitled to embody. 

“You were crying,” he says, leaning forward and cupping his hand about your cheek, a thumb sliding over the apple of your cheek. “It suits you. I’ve never quite understood this human urge not to cry - you look terribly pretty with those diamonds on your cheeks.”

He leans in closer and closer, closing his eyes - and you go stock-still as he kisses the tears from your cheeks and pulls back, licking his lips as if he is savouring the taste of something special. 

“I-is that all?” You ask, a hopeful tone to your voice - but Neuvillette simply smiles at you kindly, as if you’re silly for even asking. 

“Of course not, little one,” he murmurs. “That was merely a precursor to the main event, to ensure you’re . . . sufficiently ready. As I have already said; I am no villain, and I have no desire to hurt you physically. I want to ensure your body is primed to accept me, for the sake of both of our pleasure. And it was pleasurable, wasn’t it?” 

You press your lips together, hot shame rising up your neck.

“No need to get shy,” he says to you, that soft, kind smile not leaving his face. “By the way you were grinding against my face, and how prettily you came for me . . . Mm, I’d wager you enjoyed it very much. But it’s alright if you are not ready to admit it; your body doesn’t lie, sweet one, and I know it will accept my fingers and my cock far more readily than you’d like it to.”

. . . You had enjoyed it. You had felt that pleasure that he was so willing to give to you, and the thought that you were actually deriving some enjoyment from this thing that was supposed to merely be about procuring assistance for your brother . . . You don’t quite know how to feel, as Neuvillette presses a paternal kiss to your forehead and you hear the slow click of his footsteps as he returns to the other side of the desk, where your nakedness and your readiness for him are far more pronounced.

“You really are quite lovely, you know,” he murmurs, letting his gloved fingers slide down the arch of your back, from the nape of your neck and down your spine. “Ordinarily, I’m not too fond of ostentation - but ah, you . . . You could benefit from a little more ornamentation.”

A palm, cupping your ass - giving it a slow, considering squeeze, almost too hard to be painful but not quite. 

“This, for example,” he murmurs, “would be lovely with some discipline. Imagine; how pretty you would be with welts from my cane.”

“Monsieur Neuvillette--!” It comes out in a panicked little gasp, but Neuvillette merely chuckles.

“Now, now, little one - settle down. As sweet as it would be - I am still aware of the legal terms of our arrangement. I won’t force you to give me any extra - and whilst caning you would be terribly satisfying for me . . . it doesn’t count as satiating my desire in that legal sense that is so important to us both.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. Somewhere inside of you, your heart pounds at the thought of letting him do as he wishes with you - but you squash it down, holding to the comforting lie that you are getting absolutely nothing out of the arrangement you had made with Neuvillette. 

His hand curves over your ass and slips between your thighs.

“A-aren’t you even going to take your gloves off?” You seethe at him, through clenched teeth, as a fingertip slides between the plump lips of your sex once more, to find the wet mess that he had left there earlier. 

“I fear it would be most unprofessional of me to undress in my office,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Forgive me, little one. I think I will stay as entirely clothed as I am able.”

His tone does not broker any argument, and you bite your tongue as he - slowly, maddeningly slowly - slides his finger through the valley of your cunt, approaching your clit with a near-torturous pace. Your breath stutters in your chest as his silk-gloved finger finally brushes over the delicate nub, and he increases his pressure from feather-light to something firmer as he begins to make slow, small circles on the pleasure point.

Your hips don’t know whether to shy away from the certainty of his manipulations or to lean into them, so you do the only thing you can think of and let loose a soft whine into the charged air of his office. 

After he has played with your swollen clit for a few more agonising moments, his fingers drag back through the soaking wet valley to toy with your entrance. You feel yourself flex as he comes near, as if your cunt is begging him to finally put something inside of you - and though he gives a soft chuckle, he does not tease you any further.

“I’m going to put a finger inside of you now,” he murmurs - again, you are not sure if it would be worse if he had not told you. With this knowledge, you have just enough time to catch your breath before he slides his finger into you with one quick movement.

It punches the air out of you. If you had not been bent over the desk already, you’re sure you would have lost your footing - but as it is, Neuvillette goes about opening you up with a kind of determined certainty. The finger inside of you gives a few lone pumps, working your tight insides open - you are wet and pliable enough that it does not hurt near as much as you had thought it would. 

“Good,” Neuvillette murmurs, “Are you ready for me to add another?”

Again, you want to whimper and scream and bite - but as he continues to pump his finger in and out of you, you realise with that same shame that the feeling of him inside of you is good and could only be improved if he filled you more thoroughly.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, your throat dry - and you are rewarded with another low murmur of praise, and the feel of a finger joining the first at your entrance. You take another steady breath, but you do not need to; two fingers fit inside of you with only the barest modicum of resistance, your body silky wet and tight and welcoming. The silk of his gloves rubs against your inner walls curiously, making you feel utterly dizzy with sensation. 

There is a purpose to this that there hadn’t seemed to be when he was using his mouth on you. When he was using his mouth, though he had said it was in order to make the final result easier on you both, you had gotten the distinct impression he had rather enjoyed the process - the sucking, the wet noises, the lewd sound of his tongue against your soaking cunt. But here, Neuvillette crooks his fingers inside of you and pumps them in and out and scissors them slightly in a way that leaves no doubt that he is ensuring you will be able to take something even bigger and wider than his fingers when we have done. 

He still does it all with a trademark thoroughness; he rests his other hand on the small of your back to keep you still as those digits plunge in and out of you. You dread to think how soaked through with your slick his gloves will be when he is done--

But he does not use his fingers upon you to completion. 

You feel it building up inside of you with the way he curls them just so, rubbing against a spongy spot inside of you that makes your thighs tremble - but he doesn’t follow through on the promise that begins to build, dizzying, between your legs. 

He pulls out his fingers with a slick pop and a wet clicking noise, giving your cunt a gentle pat on his way out.

“There, my dear,” he says. “It will still be a tight fit, of course . . . but I should cause you no undue pain. And, if I may be so bold, little one - I’m absolutely certain you’ll feel exquisite.”

This time, there is no question that the rustling noise you hear behind you is him partly undressing; that the soft pop is the sound of buttons being freed from the confines of his placket. He lets out a pleased sigh - you assume at the feel of his hand on his own cock. 

“I’ve been longing to touch you,” he murmurs, as he slots himself between your hips. “I had to prepare you, naturally - oh, but little one, I’ve been hard since the moment you walked all trembling and righteous into my office.” 

“D-do you say that to all of the poor hopeful people who come into your office hoping you’ll grant them justice, Monsieur?” You manage, and he chuckles. His hips fit neatly in between your own spread thighs, and you feel the heavy, silky, hot weight of something as it slaps against the meat of your inner thigh and leaves a sticky wet trail upon the skin there. His cock. His pre-come, on you--

“As I’ve said before, little one,” he murmurs, and he readjusts himself and you hiss yourself as his cock presses softly against the pudge of your outer lips. He doesn’t move it yet; merely lets it rest there, letting you get used to the size of him and the knowledge that he is going to put it inside you. “I have never been so intrigued by any of them to want to. But you . . . ah, this human quality of resilience! You’re utterly darling. There’s even still fire in you now, when I have you naked and at my mercy. Tell me, little one . . . what would you do if I went back on our agreement now and still fucked you?”

You half rear up, and the way your body moves has his cock nudging at your clit, against you - you find yourself half-enveloping the thick shaft of his cock with your labia. It makes you breathless that it doesn’t even come close to disappearing inside you; indeed, the stretch of it reminds you of just how big he is.

“You wouldn’t!” You say, a tone of petulant fury edging your words - Neuvillette makes a hum of agreement even as his gloved hands travel up, over the curve of your hips and then your waist, until he is cupping the weight of your breasts in them and your nipples are once more trapped between the silken pinch of of his thumbs.

“You’re right,” he says, calmly. “I value justice too much for that - but oh, you’re quite something when you’re full of moral fury, aren’t you? Justice . . . a funny thing, isn’t it? One might say that having you right here, in my office, naked and hot and wet and exactly where I want you is a just reward for my years of service, wouldn’t they?”

You don’t respond, and he chuckles; nips a bite into the sensitive part of your throat where the curve of shoulder and neck meet that sends another electric zip down your spine.

“I’m going to put it inside of you now,” he says, still as calm as a placid lake. “And then I’m going to fuck you, little one. Are you quite ready?”

He tilts his hips forward as an urge for you to do the same; to lower yourself back down over the desk. You hiss as his cock slips and slides between the folds of your cunt, but it is nothing compared to how it feels when he pulls back and the wet head of his cock nudges almost impatiently against your entrance. He does not let go of where he is still pinching and rolling at the buds of your nipples, sending light-headed little thrills right down to between your legs - your sex clenching at the emptiness, missing his fingers.

“As ready as I think I’ll be, Monsieur,” you manage, hoping the title comes out as barbed as you want it to - but then he is pressing inside of you, his cock opening you up, and you bump against the table and go utterly blank of thought at the sensation of being claimed.

It feels like all of the air inside of you deflates as Neuvillette pushes himself into you. He had been correct on one count - he had prepared you well enough that there is only a light sting, the feeling that is to be expected when something large fits itself into a tight hole. You wheeze over his desk, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, as he seems to keep pushing and pushing and pushing--

You don’t think you’ll possibly take all of him, and then he stops and you feel his pelvis pressing against your ass, and you realise he is fully inside of you now.

“There,” even Neuvillette sounds a touch breathless. “Didn’t you do well, little one? Are you ready for me to begin moving?”

His only answer from you is a huff, as he pinches your nipples again and you feel yourself clench around the cock buried inside of you. He laughs softly, and with a wet drag you feel him pull out of you - and then drive back inside again with a wet pap, the sound indecently loud in the quiet office. Neuvillette had already established when he had made it clear he expected you to fulfil this arrangement in his work chambers that the walls were thick enough no gestionnaires would come running no matter what, but you still have a vision of it happening.

Some poor underpaid Palais Mermonia worker, coming in to ask the Honourable Chief Justice some question or another, only to find him bent over a shivering whining citizen, naked on his desk. The thought of someone seeing you, at such a powerful man’s mercy--

You clench around Neuvillette again, whining softly into the polished wood of the desk, your body wanting to welcome his cock inside and keep it for yourself. It feels so good - you can barely stand knowing how right and full and warm you feel, how you know that if Neuvillette stopped fucking you that you would have no choice but to beg him to carry on and let you come. 

“Good,” he murmurs, as he finds himself a rhythm that makes you quake. Every drag of his hips sets your body aflame, every twitch of his cock makes you huff and whimper. You’re moaning, you realise, as if you are somewhere very far away. “There now, little one - doesn’t that feel good?”

You don’t reply, but you do not need to. The sound of him fucking in and out of you - the wet sticky slap of his cock as his hips bounce against your spread thighs, the obscene feeling of your own arousal drooling out of you, and the noises that keep escaping your mouth unbidden all do that for you. Your body does not even try to push him out; merely pull him in tighter. 

He stops pinching your nipple with one hand, dragging it back down the curve of your body to curl around your thigh, sneaking between you and the wooden drawers of his desk - and you keen a high-pitched little noise as instead of your nipple, he roughly pinches at your clit instead.

The sensation of that silken fabric, sodden already with your slick, and the mean little pinch pushes you over a precipice that you didn’t realise you’d been hovering on. You cry out this time, a moan that you feel certain that everyone in the whole building must hear - but that doesn’t matter, as you spasm helplessly on Neuvillette’s cock and you give him your second orgasm of the night. 

He fucks you through it, even as you feel your cunt flex and flutter around him. You feel dizzy, panting, whining - but Neuvillette’s thrusts have more purpose now, and a low groan that sounds almost inhuman comes out of him as you weakly try and push your body back at him to hurry it along. 

“I’ll come when I’m ready,” he practically growls, and you whine as his teeth fasten into the meat of your shoulder so that he is utterly bent over you - the rasp of his silken clothes against you, fine fabrics and adornments. The satiny brush of his hair over your heated skin. “And you will take every drop, little one - as you agreed to do--”

You nod helplessly, and he groans - and then his cock is twitching inside of you wildly, and he’s biting at you again and huffing and groaning and the plunge of his hips seems to hit deeper inside of you with every thrust.

You had never imagined the Chief Justice like this in all of your life, but there is something animal to him now; some latent kind of primal instinct you had never realised that the kind, fatherly Monsieur Neuvillette possessed. You know now he is not as kind as you had once supposed, but it is still something else entirely to see him and feel him fuck you like a man possessed.

He snaps, his hips wildly gyrating into you, slapping against your ass so hard you fear you will bruise - and then you feel his cock jump and he comes inside of you, thick ropes of his release shooting directly into your insides and coating you, viscous and full of him.

He gives another almost animalistic growl against your skin, letting his cock judder and shoot out a few final spurts of his own seed - and then, there is a brief moment of quiet. You can hear yourself and your own shuddering breaths, your heart pounding in your ears - and then, the slick, wet noise of him pulling out of you. He catches hold of his own breath, and when he speaks again his voice is smooth and kind as ever as if nothing more has transpired here than a meeting of minds.

“Marvellous, little one. You did so terribly well. Of course,” Neuvillette murmurs against your ear, his breath a cool brush against your heated skin. There’s the faintest scent of saltwater in it; you shiver despite yourself. “You do realise that the final decision does not lie with me, do you not?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” You’re too breathless to speak, still - laid out across Monsieur Neuvillette’s desk, on display like the most wanton of creatures. You can still feel his come rolling down your thighs, spilling out of you with every pant of your breath - you were so utterly filled and claimed by him that you fancy you can feel his come inside of you even now, in thick ropes and dripping pearls. 

“Well,” Neuvillette moves away, and you  turn your head, cheek cold on the desk, to watch as he re-fastens the placket of his trousers, the tails of his coat swishing about him. You remain utterly debased; your clothes still in a haphazard pile to the side of his desk. You do not yet think your trembling legs could even hold you up, and you have no choice but to let Neuvillette continue to drink in the sight of you akimbo over his office furniture. “Surely you understand it is the Oratrice who will make the final decision, my dear?”

Your heart beats double time in your chest. Your breath comes out in a panicked little gasp, and you rear up before you’re quite ready for it, staggering towards him to clutch at his lapels.

“But it always sides with you,” you say to him, hating that your voice rises in pitch pathetically. “You’re always in agreement--”

“Yes,” Neuvillette agrees with a low hum, and you hate him as one of his thumbs gently comes up to caress your cheek like a lover. “It will be greatly novel for Lady Furina to witness the disagreement, I’m sure. Still - the Oratrice does have the final word, as it always has.”

“But you promised!” You don’t care about dignity now, as you feel the hot splash of tears across your cheeks. Neuvillette takes in a shuddering breath, far too reminiscent of the noise he’d made when he’d pressed himself inside of you. His thumb slides under a tear now, to catch it upon the pad; you watch in mute agonies as he lifts it to his mouth and his tongue flicks out to taste you.

“Really, my dear,” Neuvillette says, with a sigh of satisfaction. “I thought you were better educated than this; you were so very charmingly certain when you first came to see me after accosting me in public. All of those carefully laid out little plans and charts as to why your criminal brother couldn’t possibly have committed the felony that everybody knows he did--”

“But you agreed!” You’re desperate now. He hums again, and one of his arms settles around your waist, keeping you pinned against him. “You said you would find him not guilty! You said he’d be freed!”

“I said one of those things,” he corrects you - and then he sees that you’re very much hovering on the edge of hysteria, and he sighs. “You poor little creature. When I asked you if you were certain and that you’d thought everything through properly . . . you hadn’t really, had you?”

“I . . . I thought . . .” You sniffle desperately, trying to grasp onto the threads of your righteous anger as the cool sting of foresight settles over you once more. Monsieur Neuvillette is correct; he promised that he would find your brother not guilty, and you had taken it for granted that the ruling of the mighty Iudex would be enough to see your brother free.

Not a word about the Oratrice had passed his lips.  

You’re shaking. It is only Monsieur Neuvillette’s arm around your waist that stops you from falling to the ground. You fear if that grounding limb left, you would drop to your knees and hug at his legs and rub your sobbing face against his knee and beg. The fact that you had . . . that you’d given yourself to him, and he must have known that he could not truly give what you were asking for . . .

“And what then?” You whisper, your throat dry. Neuvillette makes a considering noise in the back of his throat; a throaty hum. A hand gently scoops your chin up to force you to look him in the eyes.

Neuvillette’s eyes are blue-grey-violet, boring down into you. There is something ancient and terrifying that lies behind them, but as they look into your own they seem to almost flash possessive. 

“I happen to know the administrator of the Fortress of Meropide,” he says, after a long moment. “Of course, I’m sure you understand that it is not the most . . . welcoming of places. Your brother’s confinement will lack creature comforts. But . . . it doesn’t have to be quite so dreary.”

Against your will, hope rises like a soft flame in your chest. 

“You would do that?” You ask the Iudex. “Make sure that he’s . . . that it’s not so bad?”

“You misunderstand,” Neuvillette tells you, with a small smile. “I have fulfilled my end of our agreement now. I will find your brother not guilty. Legally, there’s nothing else that you need of me.”

“I could tell someone--” You start to say, but Neuvillette only lets out a soft little huff of laughter.

“Poor thing,” he says, “do you truly believe that anybody would take your word - the sibling of some no-good criminal, desperate to save him - over mine? You must understand that I have, as Iudex, a long history of doing only the best for Fontaine.” He lets go of your waist, and you are thankful that you manage to keep your balance even as he turns and sweeps away towards his desk. “I am also aware that I’m the subject of some . . . romantic fantasy, in the hearts of the ever-theatrical people of our homeland.” He seats himself in the great chair behind his desk, and looks back up at you with that damnable smile playing around his lips - small enough you could not call it mocking, soft enough you could argue it was an attempt at sympathy. “Why would I give that up, just to tumble some know-nothing worth-nothing young upstart in my office?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times in speechless anger, before that cool foresight settles over you once more.

Because he’s right.

Why would he? Why would anyone believe you? 

“. . . How can I ask for your aid again?” You manage to grit out, through clenched teeth.

“You could fill out a form from the Palais Mermonia,” he says, rifling through the paperwork on his desk as if you have already left the room. “Talk to one of the gestionnaires about aid for those incarcerated, once your brother has officially been sentenced. The working time for a response is currently . . .” He tilts his head to the side again, as if thinking. “Ah, yes. Only a year and six months. I’m sure nothing untoward could befall your poor brother in that time--”

“Monsieur,” you step towards him imploringly. “Please--”

You remember your nakedness only when Neuvillette looks up from his desk and lets his eyes critically sweep you again. Your nipples, stiff and sore from his pinching fingers. Your thighs, wet with his release and your own slick. The bite marks from his fangs that litter your bared skin. 

His eyes narrow; the face of a man taking in something that already belongs to him. A dragon considering his latest addition to the hoard. 

You realise exactly what he is going to ask you for, in return for his continued aid, before he opens his mouth. 

“Well,” he says, with a small smile upon his generous mouth. It is a mouth many would describe as kind; at this moment in time, you cannot think of it as anything other than dangerous. “You did such a good job of convincing me to aid you today . . . why, we could make these little meetings more regular, don’t you think?”

You swallow thickly. 

The Fortress of Meropide. Under the sea, with no sunlight, for who knows how long. Who knows where he would sleep, or what he would eat, or what other comforts would be denied to him in his imprisonment? 

“Yes, Monsieur,” you whisper, your throat bone dry. 

“Excellent,” he smiles at you in clear dismissal. You feel . . . used. Cheated. Hollow. Utterly owned and laid claim to and conquered, your spirit deadened inside as you look at the corrupt official you had once held in such high regard. “Next week, then. Wear something prettier, please. I’m partial to blue. Now - you don’t mind, do you? I have cases to review.”

[gabessquishytum]

Chef Hob is catering Morpheus Endless's wedding to Alex Burgess and he's not really happy about it, but Dream is Hob's best friend and even if he won't listen to Hob that the marriage is a bad. idea!! Hob will do his part to make it a happy event. 😬

Dream won't even tell Hob why he has to go through with his parents dumb "arranged" marriage; Dream has never liked Alex Burgess (when they were kids, they never thought Alex was anything but lame; and it's not like Alex became scintillating as he grew up!).

And (in the privacy of an empty room) Hob will admit that he is in love with his best friend and that might have a little (🤏🏽) to do with his absolute aversion to Dream marrying anyone (else). But if he was happy or in love, Hob would be the first to be celebrating for and with his Dream (sad for himself, but so happy for Dream). But Dream is not!

Dream is miserable - he hates to suit he has to wear (if he was getting married to Ho the love of his life, he would be wearing a dress); he hates the venue; he hates all the people that are invited; he hates the decorations & colors; he hates the necessity of marrying Alex.

The only thing Dream got to choose was having Hob cater - Hob is a fantastic man chef. And was an "acceptable" choice for an Endless wedding, at least according to Dream's mother.

Everyone, Hob, everyone, is trying to get him to not go through with this wedding, but they don't know what Dream knows. He doesn't have a choice if he wants to keep the people he loves safe.

Maybe he can steal a moment with Hob before the wedding starts.

Listen. This is incredible. I have so many thoughts about this.

Hob knows that something is up (he's not as dumb as he looks, thanks very much Mrs Endless). There's not a whole lot he can do, sure, but being a chef does mean that he has access to certain dangerous weapons and, of course, poisonous substances. So when Dream does finally get a word with Hob at the very last moment, Hob is holding a steak knife and he's like "okay, okay. you might have to go through with the ceremony, but the reception? the reception is where this whole thing ends." Dream tries to persuade Hob that he can't murder Alex at the wedding reception for like, a billion reasons, but it's time for the wedding and Dream has to admit that he doesn't want to persuade Hob out of the murder plan all that much.

The wedding is awful. Hob knows how much Dream hates everything about it. But it's okay, it'll all be over soon and maybe some day Dream can have another wedding that he actually enjoys (Hob isn't planning that far ahead but he loves Dream SO much okay).

And yeah. It's a huge tragedy. First Alex starts choking on a bit of the wedding cake. People try to save him but it's already too late! How awful! And you wouldn't believe it but Roderick also chokes on a bit of cake too! Sadly he also passes away. It's so sad. And nobody can say that its foul play, because they just choked! And the chef (Hob) even tried the heimlich on Alex - of course it was a shame that he accidently broke his neck, but it is a very violent maneuver! These things happen!

Dream is naturally devastated, especially as he inherits the entire Burgess fortune (and all the fortunes of the people that the Burgesses were blackmailing, including Dream’s own entire family). It's such a burden that Dream donates it all to a Choking Awareness charity. In memory of his dear first husband.

He still can't work out how Hob did it. Maybe Hob will tell him, one day, when all the dust has settled and they've both moved overseas together, to start a new life. But Hob does say that the cake he makes for Dream’s second wedding will be much, much more palatable than the first <3

[diejager]

What if reader started thinking about moving in with her father to get away from stepdad!konig and dbf!horangi? Would they get upset with reader and punish them? Or would they try to convince them to stay and promise to be more gentle with them if they did choose to stay? and you already know that you don't have to write this if you're not comfortable with it! 🤗 -🦢

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, intimidation, promises, blackmail, tell me if I missed any.

When König found out you’d attempted to flee, your subtle call to your father to move away without warning your mother or her husband, he was mad. He’d been so enraged that your phone risked cracking within his hard grip while your father called out to you, your name ringing from his muting palm, waiting and fearful now that you hadn’t replied to him after a few calls. 

Though you wanted to reach for your phone, take it from the hand that stole it and call your father with the same desperation he voiced, you shuddered under König’s gaze, glued to your place with trembling hands and closed throat. The darkness in his cold eyes, seething in the dangerous swirl that seemed to have overtaken any semblance of warmth and tenderness. Gone was the love he showed. Gone was the soft affection he kissed on your cheek. Gone was the loving image of a stepfather turned lover. 

In his place stood a terrifying monster, glare as cold as the freezing winters and as devastating as the cruel, ocean currents, unassuming yet so frightening, all consuming in it’s harsh embrace. It left you fearful and worried, both for yourself and your father, who was halfway across the globe on a business trip, answering your panicked call at the dawn of a new day. Without a voice to reassure your father, or the possibility to calm your stepfather down, you stood still, unmoving and subservient until he decided you’d complied enough.

König kept his gaze on you, body straightened and tensed, unwilling to bend unless you bent to his will, but when your father threatened to call the cops, König had no choice but to hand you your phone back, with a burning warning from his eyes.

“Sorry, dad, ” you mumbled steadily despite the shaking of your hands, “I forgot to turn off the straightener in the bathroom and had to run to it. Cassie wants to talk me out in later, I was getting ready for it.”

Your little white lie had calmed your father down from whatever anxious and concerned air he had, trepidation lingering on his tongue as he wished you farewell, hoping you have fun with Cassie. Thanking him, you ended your call, the small smile you had melting away once you peered back at König, his looming and all-imposing form closing in on you with a single step where it would have taken you several. Encroaching on your bubble, he pushed you back until your knees hit your bed, falling on your ass with a yelp. Hands still grasping at your arms, he knelt before you, his expression morphing into a solemn calmness —false comfort.

“You can’t do that, Schatzi,” the steadiness of his voice made you shiver, the low tone of it dredging the edge of silent danger and calm reassurance, “It would be such a disappointment if Christopher found out what his daughter truly was, nh?”

You bit your lip, teeth bleeding the softness of it.

“How much of a whore she was, taking her stepfather’s and his friend’s cock in her holes, letting them fill you up and breed you. How loud you cry and beg to be fucked, to be stuffed full of cocks.”

Tears glistened under your fluttering lashes.

“Don’t you, Liebling? Is that what you want?” You shook your head, “No? Then we can compromise.”

You’re forced to comply and nod, unwilling to let the world know of the things they’ve forced you into.

“Good. Bravs Klane,” he hummed, pressing his lips to your forehead, kissing you gently, “You stay here, you wont attempt to leave us, and we’ll be gentler, listen more to you.” [Good girl]

Whether or not you accept it or not, König had already made the decision for you. 

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[acetheauthor]

Need someone to pin me down and use me until I'm overstimulated and crying.

Want someone to cover my mouth with their hand so I'm unable to scream for help as they fuck into my pussy over and over.

Want someone to breed me and laugh as I cry out. Want them to threaten to hurt me if I don't comply.

[prettyboykatsuki]

i actually do like horrible age gaps but specifically under the premise that the younger one in the situation is coercing the older into a relationship and threatening some kind of black mail about it. a flavor of it im very fond of

[sleepyfan-blog]

Sabotage Most Foul

Author’s note: This was written for the July challenge by @au-roulette. Crossposted on AO3 here. This is for the fill Coffee Shop!

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @i-am-a-dragon34

Word count: 5,762

Warnings: sabotage, blackmail, mentioned medical issues, mentioned self-image issues, nonconsensual sedation, mentioned capital punishment, banishment

Summary: When it’s reported that all of the recaf machines on the fourth deck of Maccrage’s Honor have all stopped working at once, it is suspected that they have been sabotaged. Zalthes, Battle brother of the second company of Ultramarines, has been set to the task of investigating who did it and to bring them before the Primarch and captains for justice.

"Good, you're here Zalthes." Captain Alcaeus stated, gesturing for the younger Ultramarine to come into his office. The second company captain looked bleary-eyed and seemed to be having a small amount of difficulties focusing.

Alarm shot through Zalthes as he stepped in, silently assessing his superior officer "Yes sir..." He did not catch the distinctive earthy scent of the other's morning caf, nor did he see the usual mug he almost always had either in hand or on his desk at the start of his shifts. "The message calling me here was marked urgent?"

"Yes. Twenty minutes ago it was reported that all of the recaf machines on the fourth deck are broken. At the same time. There is concern that this is a deliberate sabotage attempt. All nine of the serfs who work with the recaf machines have been brought into separate meeting rooms and are being monitored. I am charging you with the task of finding out if any of them were responsible for the damage done to the recaf machines and to bring them to justice. If you are unable to do so..." The captain winced a little, shaking his head "Given the mood that our Gene-sire is in, it's likely that he'll have all nine of them publicly servitorized."

Zalthes winced internally at that. Primarch Guilliman tended to avoid using servitorization as a public punishment due to the fears and anxieties that such punishments caused among the mortals who lived and worked upon Maccrage's Honor. But the fact that this was a potential sabotage attempt was deeply concerning. While the recaf machines weren't necessarily critical to the functioning of the ship, the fact that they had done this so brazenly meant that the saboteurs - or whoever had sent the saboteur or saboteurs were preparing to go after more critical pieces of equipment, should their agents be able to successfully evade notice and capture. "Yes sir. Have the on-board saboteur protocols been enacted?" 

They were a series of security protocols that everyone on board was to follow, should a saboteur be found or suspected to have infiltrated aboard the ship. It included but was not limited to heightened security around critical areas of the ship the use of coded phrases when entering and leaving certain areas of the ship, and an increased vigilance when it came to off-duty hours activities of all aboard the affected vessel - and if the vessel was traveling in a fleet, the entire Ultramarine fleet, as it could be assumed that where there was one saboteur there could be more. It was part of the standard training that all of those who worked and lived aboard Ultramarine vessels received once they were assigned to a specific ship. 

"It has. May you find the snake hiding in the grass quickly." Alcaeus answered, dismissing him with a flick of one hand, staring down blearily at the top dataslate on his desk. He had several huge stacks of dataslates neatly stacked on his desk. "I have just transmitted to you which conference rooms that the serfs are being held in. I suggest that you speak to each of them individually before reviewing the evidence that has been collected at the scene and by the cameras, to avoid any bias."

"Yes sir!" Zalthes answered, saluting his captain before turning on his heel and heading off to the nearest conference room. 

~

It did not take Zalthes long to arrive at one of the conference rooms where one of the possible suspects was being held. He nodded politely to the two mortals who had been posted on the outside of the door as guards and called out "Good morning, gentlemen. I have business inside to attend to." As he spoke, he signed the correct entrance gestures, and waited for the two of them to respond in kind.

Both of the guards nodded, signing the correct responses as they answered out loud "Good morning, my lord."

As was correct, the guard on the right pressed the button for the door to open and Zalthes walked into the room to find a half-asleep serf sitting on one of the chairs. They were wearing off-duty garments typical of their ranking and were slumped forwards in the seat that they had taken, arms folded on the table in front of them, face down and resting against their folded arms. Their breathing was light and even, though they'd jerked a little in response to the sound of the door opening, head shifting so that they could peer up at him through their thick and curly dark hair.

It seemed to take the serf several seconds to process that they were almost napping in front of an Ultramarine. Zalthes could tell the exact moment that they'd processed it from the sudden tensing of their body and the near-silent swearing as they hurriedly sat up properly, pushing their hair out of their face "My lord angel! My apologies for being asleep while you entered. I typically work third shift and had been woken up and brought here from my bunk and it's been difficult for me to try and fully awaken while waiting for... I wasn't told why I was brought here, as a matter of fact."

Zalthes hummed in acknowledgement, carefully looking the serf over carefully as he state "I am here to ascertain your whereabouts for the past couple of hours. A small but important issue has come up in the place where you work, and I have been chosen to figure out who is responsible."

"I've been sleeping for the past three hours sir. Before that I spent an hour eating my late-meal ration with my wife and spouse, did some tidying up of our shared room and helped our children with their assigned work, my lord. My wife and spouse can attest to the fact that we were all resting together... Err, do you need earlier than that?" The dark, curly-haired serf asked, blinking tiredly up at him. 

"I will need to speak with your spouses about your whereabouts in order to verify your words." Zalthes answers. But he could detect no hints of deception from the other. Their heartbeat and breathing were steady, their body posture showed their confusion and exhaustion, but no unaccounted for tension or distress. 

"Yes sir. If you want I can call them? They went back to sleep after I was called in, s' far as I know, sir." They offer, equal parts baffled and willing to do whatever was required of them. 

"Do so now." Zalthes orders them.

~

As he had suspected, both of Zm Tay'lish's partners had been able to confirm that zey had been where zey had said that zey had been. Footage from the connecting hallways also proved that Tay'lish had arrived home when zey had said zey had, and had not left until the Auxilla guards had come to fetch them, hours later. 

Zalthes internally marked them as unlikely to be the saboteur, and continued to where the second serf was being held. After speaking with them, he continued to talk with each of the Recaf dispensing serfs, steadily whittling down his list of potential suspects based on their reactions as well as the video evidence of who was where, when. He had narrowed down his initial list of suspects from nine to two - possibly three, as one of the serfs he had spoken to was unusually nervous, despite having a good alibi that he had been nowhere near the recaf machines in the window of time it was most likely that the recaf machines had been sabotaged. It was possible that one, two or all three of them were in on it, which was why he was going to press each of them on their accounting of what they had been doing.

He was going in to speak with the first of his suspects was a serf by the name of Remy. He had oculocutaneous albinism and was strikingly pale as a result of that. "My lord?" He called out as Zalthes entered the room again, looking wan and uncertain.

"I have found some discrepancies between what you said happened, and what actually happened according to both the ships' logs of the area and the internal cameras. You stated that you left the fourth deck recaf station at the end of your shift.This was not entirely correct, as you left ten minutes before the end of your shift, moving at a speed that was very nearly a run through the serf's corridors until you went out of sight of the cameras. Care to explain why you left early and where you were going?" Zalthes asked, staring at the baseline human, waiting for a response.

Remy swallowed and shifted uncertainly in their chair, briefly looking up at him before looking away again "Must I go into specifics?"

"Yes. You are suspected of sabotage. You either tell me what you were doing, or I bring you before the Primarch and you give Him an account of what you were doing then." Zalthes answered bluntly, allowing his eyes to narrow slightly at the mortal, waiting for their response.

Remy visibly wilted at that, hunching in on themself and swallowing. They wrap their arms around their midsection and rock back and forth a little, their heart beating rapidly as the scent of fear and shame stung his nose "I... I had a medical issue come up, just at the end of my shift. In addition to being an albino, I have a really bad intestinal issues that flareup from time to time that require medical treatment to prevent it from getting worse. I felt the flareup start at the end of my shift and had to rush off before I... I made a horrible mess all over the floor over the recaf distribution area's floor." red flooded their pale, nearly translucent cheeks and they ducked their head in shame. "If you doubt my words, I was tended to by Apothecary Listerius. He can corroborate that I was in treatment for over an hour."

Zalthes allowed the stern but neutral expression on his face to soften into something more compassionate, and his voice to gentle "Thank you for telling me the truth. Had you told me this the first time we spoke, you would have been able to leave sooner. I will vox with Apothecary Listerius to corroborate your story."

"Yes sir. I just... Its' difficult for me to speak of this... This condition of mine." Remy explained, calming down, though still unable to look at him directly in the eyes. 

Zalthes voxxed the Brother Apothecary and sent a written recounting of Serf Remy's most recent treatments, making to mark the request as an urgent one. He got an answering ping less than a minute later, and read over the summary of treatment, which included the time and date, as well as an overview of what had been done and how long the treatments took. "Brother Listerius has corroborated your story. Before I allow you to leave, I will ask you again; did you notice anything strange or unusual during your shift? Were any of the machines acting oddly before you left?"

"I... Uhm... Not really? I mean. I did notice that one of the Lord Angels was frequently visiting the recaf station. Like once every half an hour and requested another cup, but I thought that he was merely getting recaf for some of his fellow Lord Angels who may have already used up their allotment of recaf before resupply is in. That happens quite often, actually. He didn't have any specific markings or heraldry as to which of the companies he belonged to, so I assumed that he had been recently promoted from scout to full battle brother. The machines were working as intended before I left." Remy answered, frowning a little in thought. 

"Did this battle brother identify himself?" Zalthes asked, frowning a little at that. 

"I don't know, I usually work in the back, making the pastries and sandwiches that are on offer as well. My... The sight of me can be... Off-putting for many." Remy admits, shame burning their cheeks once again. "Rowan was on ident-check for first-shift."

The Ultramarine nodded "Thank you for your cooperation. I will speak with her about that. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, my lord." Remy sighs, sagging a little in the seat they were in before getting up and leaving.

Zalthes left a moment or two later, asking one of the auxilla to fetch recaf serf Rowan as he went to go speak with his second suspect. 

~

Averich fidgeted a little under Zalthes' scrutiny, but he waited to be directly addressed by the Lord Angel who was observing him. 

Zalthes cleared his throat and stated "You were the one to report that all of the recaf machines on the fourth floor were broken, correct?"

"Yes sir. As far as I know, I was the first one of the three of us who work the middle shift to arrive. None of the serfs who work the first shift were there, which was a little odd, but since Remy's the one who usually works until the close of the first shift, I wasn't terribly surprised. They've got a stomach thing that flares up sometimes that they need to take care of and-" Averich abruptly stopped speaking, shifting a little in his seat "But that's not what you're interested in, right sir? You want to know about the recaf machines. I wish I could tell you more about them, but I... I'm still in training on how to properly use those machines and learning on the different kinds of recaf that can be made, my lord. Twenty minutes before the end of first shift they're supposed to turn the recaf machines off, to allow them time to cool down and reset, since they're usually in use pretty much all the time... Sometimes the machine spirits within them get grumpy if they weren't shut down properly, or if you're off-key when singing the hymn of awakening as they're turned on, sir. It took me about half an hour to figure out that something was wrong with the machines, rather than anything I had done - or not done - in order to get them on and in proper working order. When I realized all of them were broken, I called it in."

"... I see. There are ways to discover whether or not you are newly assigned to working at the recaf station. If I find that you are hiding something or misleading me in any way..." Zalthes hummed, keeping his face a pleasantly neutral expression appearing on his face "Given the fact that there are concerns that this may have been done deliberately, the judging of any act of sabotage on Maccrage's Honor and sentencing is done by the highest ranking officer of the Imperium on the vessel. Which would be the Lord Primarch himself. Is there anything else that you'd like to tell me about your accounting of your actions during the start of your shift? Apart from the damaged recaf machines, did you notice anything out of order, something misplaced, any oddities whatsoever?" The babbling from the serf was a definite sign of anxiety, as was the fidgeting with his hands, but it didn't necessarily indicate that he was guitly of anything. Particularly if it was true that he had been recently assigned to a position where he would have regular contact with astartes and higher-ranked baseline human warriors as well. 

Averich fidgets a little again, a frown of concentration appearing on the serf's face. He closed his eyes, muttering to himself, a very similar recounting of what he had been doing since the moment he had woken up in his assigned cot. "Oh! I had been sent a message by Kai, saying that she was going to be late to shift. She didn't say why. I think I told you that last time? But it's not that I was trying to hide that if I hadn't. I just didn't remember until now, my lord..."

"Did you keep the message on your vox?" Zalthes asked. If he had deleted the message, it would be a relatively simple thing to retrieve the message, if it existed. 

"Yes? It's not like I had a reason to delete it, my lord. Would you like to check for yourself? They took everything out of my pockets when they brought me in here, lord, but one of the guards should have my vox, sir." Averich answers, seemingly earnest. 

"Very well. I will." Zalthes answers "Stay in this room for now. Your story will be checked for veracity as much as can be determined." With that he left the room to acquire the serf's vox. 

Sure enough, there was a message from someone who was at least using Serf Kai's vox stating that they would be late to their shift. Which was interesting, given what Kai had already said... Time to speak with Kai again.

~

Kai was, like the other serfs, nervous. Similar to Averich, they were fidgety. Unlike the others, there were discrepancies in the first story that they had told Zalthes and the video evidence and the eye-witness accounts of when other serfs saw them out and about the ship before and after the time-window where the sabotage had to have happened to the recaf machines. While Zalthes was keenly aware of the fact that eyewitness testimony was unreliable to the point where it was inadmissible as the only evidence for certain kinds of crime within the realm of Ultramar (though eyewitness testimony could and had damned the allegedly guilty in other areas of the Imperium). Zalthes watched as they shifted from side to side a little in their seat. 

Unlike the other serfs, Kai alternated between giving him a little too much eye contact while they had spoken to the first time, interspersed with long periods of no eye contact whatsoever. This particular serf was also hunched over, arms crossed defensively over their chest as Zalthes walked into the room again. He was holding Kai's vox in one hand and walked around the meeting room table that had been between himself and the serf. He did not stop moving until he sat down in the chair next to the serf. He very carefully set down the baseline-sized communicator on the table between himself and the serf. 

As before, his helmet was off, and he wasn't in his armor, but rather a deliberately semi-casual toga that he had changed into in order to seem more approachable and slightly less threatening during the interrogations. "Do you recognize this vox communicator?" He asked, starting off easy, gently.

"Yes sir. It's mine." Kai answered immediately, having glanced at it briefly.

"And, apart from when it was on the charging stand in your room, and when the guards outside the door took everything from your pockets, it's been on your person since you woke up for your shift today, correct?" Zalthes asked, curious as to whether or not the other was going to challenge that statement, or stand by what they had said before.

"That's correct sir." Kai answered, nodding a little. 

"Please state for the record, when your second shifts start." Zalthes encouraged, giving them a little smile of encouragement, and to hopefully get them to relax. 

"Fourteen hundred thirty, sir. We're supposed to arrive a half hour before the recaf station re-opens in order to get any cleaning or last-minute set up completed." Kai answers, again that answer was correct.

"And where were you at fourteen hundred thirty hours today?" Zalthes asked.

"I... was in bed, sir. I slept through my alarms and was just starting to wake up. I realized that I was going to be running late, so I texted Remy and Alexius that I was going to be late. I then shoved a ration bar down my throat and got dressed as fast as I could. It was about fourteen fifty when I reached the re-caf spot and found out that it was closed down, due to the investigation, sir. Or at least, about then, sir. I didn't check my chronometer for the exact time, sir." Kai answered, voice shaking just a little as they look at their vox as they speak.

"Fascinating. You do realize that lying to me, as the lead investigator on this case is a crime in and of itself, correct? And with the damage done to all of the recaf machines, this has been labeled a sabotage case. The Primarch takes a very dim view to saboteurs and traitors. Particularly ones who lie as badly as you do." Zalthes presses, leaning in closer to the mortal, grabbing their chin between his thumb and forefinger "You either tell me the truth, or I bring you before the Lord of Ultramar."

"Wh-What? I-I'm... I'm n-not-" The serf feebly started to lie.

Zalthes clicks his tongue, shaking his head a little as he tightens his grip ever so slightly on the serf's jaw. Not enough to bruise, but enough to catch their attention and to still their lying tongue "Alexius' and Remy's vox communicator were both checked for messages from you during that time period. Neither one of them received anything. A vox message from this communicator was, however, sent to Averich, the trainee, stating that you would be late... Twenty-minutes before you claim to have been awake this morning. We also have video evidence of you leaving the serf quarters fifteen minutes before your alleged wake up time. Again, I ask you for the truth. Tell me what you were doing, truly. There is absolution in confession, even though I am not a Chaplain."

"I... I... What does it matter? I am damned either way!" Kai wails, starting to sob into his hand, tears warm and wet and freely flowing down their face. 

"What do you mean by that?" Zalthes pressed, tasting the beginnings of victory. But he needed a full confession. He needed the why, not just the who. 

"I... Last time we were planetside for... For leave, I got... I got drunk with a bunch of other serfs. we were... We were talking with some of the locals, who were curious about what it was that we do. So we started talking about what it's like to serve the Angels of the imperium. M-Most of what we said was what we were supposed to, but they kept buying us more and more drinks and..." Kai looked guilty and haunted "I apparently said some things that I really shouldn't have. I don't remember saying anything like that but I was... I was approached by a very strikingly handsome, teal-eyed stranger in the morning, while I was stumbling around trying to recover from my hangover. He had recordings of me saying... Less than flattering things about my masters, and pointed out that such things could... Could get me killed or worse if it was spread around. All he said he wanted was passage to the next solar system that Maccrage's Honor was headed to, but he said that he didn't have the credits to pay for passage... He talked me into smuggling him into the serf's' quarters. That was... That was two weeks ago."

Zalthes' grip on Kai tightened, but he very deliberately did not otherwise outwardly react, despite the explosive growl threatening to escape his chest and the many, many things he'd like to say about that. But if he interrupted them, they might lose the temerity to speak, and confess everything that they had done.

Tears continued to flow freely down Kai's cheeks as they took in a deep breath and continued their confession "Apart from teasing my fellow serfs by pretending to be them somehow, and enjoying scaring the shit out of me by appearing suddenly and in unexpected locations, he didn't ask for anything else... Until two days ago. He wanted me to break the recaf machines. To see how the, and I quote Mighty Ultramarines react to not having access to their precious recaf... I didn't... It wasn't like it's that important, or so I told myself... and he threatened to turn in the recordings he had of drunk-me saying shitty things about Lord Angels if I didn't... So I spiked Remy's lunch with something I knew would set off their medical issue on a day that Rowan and Sasha both take off before the ends of their shifts because they've got to pick up their little ones from daycare. I also knew that the newbie was going to be starting the second shift and I hoped that they would assume that he accidentally fucked up the machines, rather than it... Being done... Deliberately..."

"... I see. Can you give me as exact a description of this interloper as you can, as well as where you know him to hang out? I will tell you this, you are in serious trouble. You should have informed your superior officer that someone was attempting to blackmail you, rather than buckling to his pressure. Reporting that and the description of who was pressuring you would have gone a long way in repairing your reputation that drunken foolishness may have undone... But this?" Zalthes shook his head a little. He's not sure what is going to happen to this serf, as the decision was ultimately Lord Guilliman's... But he doubted that they would be afforded much mercy. They'd shown that they could be blackmailed into disobeying safety protocols for in an attempt protect themself... and in so doing, damning themself to far more intense punishment and possible retraining. 

"He... He seems to be some kind of shapeshifter. He first approached me as a taller than average man with tanned skin, bald except for his dark eyebrows, and teal blue eyes. His voice was almost... Hypnotic as he spoke to me, and that still holds true. I... I know that I've badly fucked up and I surrender myself to judgment. He was in the recaf area during the first shift, dressed as an Ultramarine, my lord. I don't know how he got ahold of the armor..." Kai explained, tears still streaming down his face.

Teal eyes. Tall. Tanned skin. Motherless, snake-tongued bastards! "I believe I know who you were approached by, and while you will be punished for this, your obedience to him was not entirely unwarranted, as he too, is a Marine, though not one of Ultramar." Zalthes explained before putting on his helmet and sending a message directly to captain Alcaeus [The person behind the sabotage is likely to be an Alpha Legionnaire, sir. He blackmailed one of the recaf serfs into sabotaging the machines. I have the recaf serf's full confession recorded sir. What do you want me to do do?]

Zalthes kept holding the weeping serf, as the seconds stretched into one minute. Then two. The Ultramarine was starting to get concerned when his vox crackled to life... With the sound of his Gene-sire.

"Bring the serf to my office, Zalthes, along with their recorded confession. I have informed Chief Librarian Tilayious to begin scanning for the serpent trying to nest here. We will flush him out of hiding soon enough. There are only so many places he can hide." Lord Guilliman ordered him.

He snapped to attention on instinct, letting go of the serf, just barely stopping himself from saluting the superior officer who was not in the room and would not be able to see it. It took him a couple of seconds to find his tongue, not used to being directly spoken to by his primarch. It was an incredible honor; despite the unfortunate circumstances this has happened in. "Yes sir. I will be there with both within five minutes sir." With that he stood up smoothly, scooping up the serf and their vox, tucking the device in one of his pockets and tucked the serf over one shoulder, immediately setting off to his Primarch's office at a quick but not visibly hurried looking pace. 

~

It did not take long for Zalthes to arrive at his gene-sire's office with the evidence he had collected and the still-weeping serf in tow. The two Ultramarines who were guarding Father's door looked him over and he gave the correct code phrase - and they did the same - before letting him in. 

"Come in, and set the serf down Zalthes." The Lord of Ultramar instructed him.

"Yes sire." The young Ultramarine answered, promptly if carefully setting down the weeping serf onto their feet...

Only to watch as the serf crumpled on their joints, throwing themself prostrate before the Primarch, sobbing endless apologies for their fuck ups and pleas for mercy. 

Zalthes was silently taken aback at how terrified and morose the serf had become and took a small half-step away from the weeping baseline human, uncertain as to how to respond. He was, however, watching them carefully, should they attempt to suddenly do something foolish - like lunge for a chair and try to harm his gene-sire. Not that they seemed the type (nor would they be able to life the astartes and primarch-sized furniture unless they were heavily strength-augmented) to do so. 

"I did not ask you to speak." Father spoke, voice calm and face showing a devastating amount of disappointment. Zalthes could feel his soul shiver and his hearts quake, and he wasn't the one to have fucked up to the extent to have put such a look on the Lord Primarch's face. 

Zalthes couldn't blame the serf for the terrified-miserable squeak that left them at the expression and tone Lord Guilliman was using. He was pretty sure if his Lord Father looked at him like that, he'd drop dead on the spot in shame. 

The serf immediately ceased their babbling, though they stayed pressing themself belly-down onto the cold, hard metal floor of the ship. 

"Now, Zalthes, give me a report about everything you have found in the course of your investigation." Father ordered him, the expression on his face ever so slightly warmer.

Zalthes snapped to attention and nodded, promptly explaining everything he had found - and how he had sought to reconcile the discrepancies he had found, leading him to getting the confession out of the still-trembling serf before the two of them. "-that was when I informed Captain Alceaus of our stowaway sire." 

"You have done well, Zalthes. I commend you for your diligence and swift action. As for you... How many years have you served aboard this ship, serf... Kai, is it?" Father asked, blue eyes turning icy cold once again as he beheld the baseline mortal.

"Fif-fifteen years sir. I was born on Maccrage's Honor, and was raised in the communal creche. Once I was old enough to start working, they put me to work, m-my lord. This is the only home I've ever known." Kai explained, still trembling all over.

"A pity, then. That you would betray your home due to a moment's foolishness. You will be leaving Maccrage's Honor permanently, once we reach the next port. There will be a black mark on your record as a serf, though you will be allowed to take all of your personal belongings and the wages you have earned. Should you be found within Ultramar space you will be further prosecuted as a traitor and a saboteur. Do you understand?" Primarch Guilliman stated, looking down upon the serf "Until then, you will be held in the brig, as you cannot be trusted to complete your duties without potentially causing harm. If you resist arrest or attempt to escape into the serfs section of the ship, you will be found and killed."

"I... I understand, my lord. I will not resist arrest." The serf agreed miserably.

"Zalthes, take this serf to the brig and have them properly processed as a traitor to Ultramar." The Primarch ordered him.

He saluted his lord father before picking up the serf and twisting their arms behind their back, holding their wrists together in one hand. "Your will be done, my lord." Before he marched them off to holding, having to drag them when they stumbled over their feet. They had started openly weeping as soon as they left the Primarch's office, and started mumbling all sorts of nonsense, but Zalthes tuned them out. After all, they had committed the crimes, even under duress. There were certain things that one did not do, and ship-sabotage was one of them. They had their life because they had been blackmailed by a snake-tongued Astartes, of that Zalthes was fairly sure. 

The mortal did not protest when they were dragged into one of the isolation cells, nor did they protest being strip-searched for anything that could be used to get them out of the cell. Once they were safely behind bars, Zalthes bid a fond farewell to the Brothers on guard duty and headed off to tend to his usual duties, pressing up against a wall as Chief Librarian Tilayious and two terminator-armored veteran brothers dragged in a still-thrashing and cursing teal and silver painted astartes. 

"Let me go! I am performing the duties that my Primarch gave to me, you have no right to detain me!" The hydra howled, still struggling in their grip.

"You had part of our ship sabotaged, you piece of shit. I don't care if that's what your primarch told you to do, that's a fucked up thing to do. If your Primarch wants you back, he can negotiate with ours for your worthless hide. Until then you're going in the brig and you're staying there." The head librarian huffed, the blue fire of warp-craft binding the alpha legionnaire in place. 

"FUCK! YOU!" he spat, not noticing the apothecary silently making his way up behind him as he was jabbed in the jugular with a sedative. His head lolled forwards as it took effect, the fight being forcibly taken out of him. "You'll... pay... for this... All of you."

"Yeah, yeah. Bastard. We'll see about that. Strip his armor and weapons off of him. Alpha Legionnaires are difficult to keep hold of, even stark naked and chained to a wall, which he's going to be." the chief librarian ordered, sighing a little as he eased up on the psychic grip he held on the now sleeping Alpha Legionnaire. 

Zalthes made his way back to his squad lead, telling him that he had completed the task that Captain Alceaus had asked of him, before returning to his normal duties. 

[cobwebs-in-autumn]

Kidnapper!Ghost making Soap eat out Stalker!Reader’s pussy as you have a one sided conversation with your mutt about where all of his friends live, which ones are military and which ones aren’t, which ones forget to lock their doors, which ones Simon wants to kill first if Soap disobeys. You cum as Soap whimpers and cries against your cunt.

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ I want you, Námo. I have wanted you for a while. ❞

⊱ Prompt: Blackmail, obsession ⊱ Pairing: Manwë x Námo ⊱ Synopsis: After Námo disobeys an order from his king, Manwë forces him to make it up to him. ⊱ Warnings: Creepy Manwë, power dynamics, sexual content, non-con, the prompt in itself

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December and yes, I will be working on these for quite a while longer. Nevertheless: Enjoy!

"Please forgive me, my king." 

Námo was kneeling in the chambers of his lord, head bowed in dutiful penitence. He was as aware as the Vala in front of him that his refusal to speak when he was bidden was a grievous offence to the Elder King's authority, even though he believed it had been necessary to adhere to the divine ordinance he had been given at the beginning of his existence – to never reveal more than what was needed. 

Nevertheless, his being was bound to lawfulness, and he would accept punishment if his lord and his father deemed it necessary. 

Manwë looked as holy and glorious as ever, even seated on his bed instead of his throne. His usual smile had faded, replaced by a sorrowful mien, and the deep sigh that fell from his lips sent a small breeze through the air surrounding them. 

"Worry not, dear Námo. I shall surely forgive you, but I am afraid you will need to make it up to me." 

Despite the perfectly serene and innocent tone, Námo felt a sense of unease, sending shivers down his spine. 

"Anything that is within my power, my king," he said carefully. 

"Very well. Rise." Manwë held out his hand, though it was a gesture of silent command instead of an invitation to take it. 

Námo did as he had been told. Perhaps his obedience could help him atone for his sin, he thought, but then he was caught off-guard when Manwë rose as well and delivered three swift, decisive strikes, the gleam of silvery talons being his only warning – the first one tore off his veil, the second discarded his hood and the third undid the sash holding his robes in place. 

A small gasp escaped Námo as his form was revealed to the eyes of his lord, and he saw delight blossoming within the depths of his blue eyes. 

"Get on the bed." 

"M-my king –"

"Now." 

There was something rough and firm within Manwë's voice, something that was usually absent, that many thought him incapable of. Námo's fána trembled when he obeyed once more, leaving him exposed and prone in front of a Vala he had always trusted – until now that he saw his eyes glint like those of a raptor spotting prey in the grass. 

"What do you want from me?" he managed to ask, attempting to suppress his fear when Manwë climbed on top of him with such natural ease – 

As if we were lovers...

"Is it not obvious?" Manwë smiled at him, as kind and sweet as he had always done, but the dangerous gleam in his eyes hadn't vanished. "I want you, Námo. I have wanted you for a while."

Too stunned to speak, Námo could only stare at him as he lovingly cupped his cheeks. 

"You are so beautiful," Manwë sighed. "And now you will finally be mine." 

Námo stopped breathing when he was drawn into a kiss so tender it almost made him forget that it was forced, and his own lips remained stiff and unmoving. He still couldn't believe that he was being subjected to a punishment of carnal nature, at the hands of his pure, benevolent king no less. 

Manwë withdrew after a few fruitless attempts, seeming upset. "You don't wish to kiss me?" 

"Please, my king... n-not this..." Námo attempted to plead, but was ignored. 

"If you continue to be disobedient I can no longer be patient with you. Your punishment is whatever I deem fit, and if I want to make you mine and show you where you belong, then this is what shall be done." 

Talons dug into his sides as Manwë forced him to turn around and slipped his robes off his shoulders, tearing any remaining clothes to shreds. Námo was left lying on his stomach, held down by a Vala greater than himself. A still-clothed groin was pressed against his exposed backside, and he felt flesh hardening against him. 

"Since you have cheated me out of a prophecy, I hope you at least haven't cheated me out of being your first," Manwë whispered in his ear. 

Námo remained silent. He didn't wish to recount the ways in which his wife had made love to him and how they pleasured each other, and his mind struggled to comprehend the depths of the twisted lust his lord had suddenly revealed. How long had he desired him? Why did he believe he had a right to claim him? 

Yet there was no time to ask himself such questions when two hands spread his legs first and then his cheeks, and he heard the sound of a bottle being uncorked, followed by the scent of vanilla and the sensation of liquid being poured onto his skin. 

He prayed that those talons wouldn't be forced inside him, even if that meant he would be taken without further preparation; it was going to hurt, but repairing his flesh would be easier this way. 

It was only then that Námo briefly considered fighting back, yet any spark of resistance was swiftly drowned out by the knowledge that his king was mightier than he, greater in power and stature. Something inside him had given up before the thought had even crossed his mind; perhaps he already knew that it was going to happen regardless. 

Námo buried his head in the nearest pillow when he heard the rustling of fabric and attempted to muffle his cries of pain as Manwë forced himself inside. He had to will his fána to relax and open up, even as it felt like he was betraying himself and his objective of enduring this violation with as much dignity as he could. 

"You feel so good." 

"You are so beautiful." 

"You sound lovely when you cry and moan for me." 

Manwë whispered sweet nothings in his ear while taking him, but Námo refused to break his self-imposed silence. This was neither love nor pleasure, it was punishment just as his lord had said, and he would not think of it otherwise for the sake of his own sanity. He received no touch and no true affection, only the empty words of one whose mind had been tainted by greed and obsession. 

"Say my name." 

Manwë's command seemed to permeate the very air Námo was breathing, but he refused; he did not desire this, and he would not pretend to. 

Taloned fingers closed around his neck. "I commanded you to say my name."

He remained silent. Manwë's grip tightened, making it nigh impossible to breathe, and despite knowing that he couldn't be slain, panic flooded his fána – as well as the realisation that his torment might only continue if he kept refusing. 

Hesitant and in a broken voice, Námo at last obeyed his lord's command. 

"M-man... wë..." 

The whisper of his name and the choked noises he made sent a shudder of pleasure through Manwë's entire fána, and he spilled his seed inside his unwilling lover, withdrawing only after every last drop had left him. 

Námo felt the need to curl up on his side, make himself small and disappear, but before he could move he was turned around to lie on his back once again. 

Manwë looked down at him with a perfectly angelic smile, as if nothing had happened, and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead. 

"You are forgiven." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

[gabessquishytum]

A Dark Bastard Dream prompt:

Hob financed his first degree with some combination of being a camboy/raunchy onlyfans.

Seriously morally gray Professor Dream finds the pictures/site(s) after Hob (politely Hob thought) turns Dream down for a date/sex.

Dream threatens to expose Hob if he doesn't make himself available to Dream whenever he wants him.

Oh Dream, you bad bad man.

Hob wouldn't have minded being outted as a camboy before, but now he's on the right track! He's making a new life and it's going well! If his camming stuff comes out it could seriously scupper his chances at a career, and he can't let that happen. So... he agrees.

It's not like Dream is unattractive. Hob originally turned him down because he didn't like the idea of the power imbalance between them - well, unfortunately he's ended up in an even worse position. Dream is clever, and cold, and he's quite determined to get absolutely what he wants. Hob is annoyed by how he's still kind of horny about the professor despite everything. He can't seem to get his dick to realise that this is a bad situation.

The sex is so good, so erotically charged. Dream really knows what he's doing and he takes great delight in making Hob cum over and over - 4 or 5 times, until it actually hurts. It's like another piece of power he has over Hob. And he loves to hear Hob says how much he wants Dream’s cock. He'll have Hob begging until he's hoarse and genuinely desperate to get fucked. It's the sweetest kind of torture.

There are other things. Dream wants pictures of his own. He wants Hob to stream for him. Creating more and more content for Dream to store away and use against him. It's a terrible trap, but Hob... doesn't feel as unhappy as he should do? He feels like he should feel dirty and traumatised and used, but. The attention is pleasant. He's getting the best sex of his life. Dream buys him nice things sometimes, and helps him with university stuff. He introduces Hob to contacts, helps him network. Sometimes when he's finally alone, Hob gets off to the thought of Dream using him. Its become an addiction.

And Dream is very pleased with his pet project. He's starting to think that this one might be for the long term...

[mallory-x]

Prof Dream dubcon for the wip game? 👉👈

This one was also popular, as @kydrogendragon and @seiya-starsniper wanted to hear about it as well!

It’s appropriate that you asked about it, Gabe, since it’s inspired by this one of your asks! It’s the first scene of the scenario, where history student Hob discovers that his hot professor knows all about his camboy side-gig. I’m calling Dream 'Professor Endels' in this, mainly due to a typo that I liked so I stuck with it 😂

CW age difference, professor/student, blackmail, dubcon and NSFW under the cut.

“Sit,” says Professor Endels, gesturing to the chair opposite. Hob sits, dropping his messenger bag to the floor and folding his hands in his lap. He rubs his thumb over his knuckles, the repetitive action soothing him as he waits for Prof Endels to explain the reason for the meeting. The professor leaves him sitting there for what feels like an age, the silence of the room oppressive as Hob tries not to let his eyes wander over the crammed bookshelves littered with artefacts from across Europe in both time and distance. He starts slightly when Prof Endels speaks.  “I believe you have applied to study for a teaching qualification once you graduate,” he begins. “That’s right, sir.” Most of Hob’s lecturers prefer the students to refer to them by their first names, but although Professor Endels hasn’t specifically said so, Hob struggles to think of him by anything other than a formal title. “I put you down as a referee, since you’re my personal tutor. I hope that’s ok?” Professor Endels finally looks up from his laptop, steely blue eyes stripping Hob’s confidence from him and leaving him bare and vulnerable. He folds his hands neatly on the desk. “You think I can recommend one such as you for a job working with impressionable young minds? After what you’ve done?” His eyebrows are raised, effortlessly expressing his incredulity and disdain for Hob’s ambitions. Hob’s stomach sinks, weighed down by the cold stone of dread and disbelief that’s appeared at Professor Endels’ icy words. His mouth gapes open as he mentally scrabbles for words to refute whatever it is that he’s being accused of. Did he accidentally plagiarise his most recent assignment? Did he get filmed doing that impression of Prof Endels when he got drunk last week? Did Professor Endels find out about… No. No. He can’t have. Hob has been so careful. He knows he was risking everything, but he was desperate and he needed the money… His thoughts are cut off when Professor Endels turns the laptop around to face him, and presses play on the video on screen. He’s turned the volume back up, so Hob can clearly hear the whines and moans the image of him on screen is making as he works a fat dildo into his arse. He was on his hands and knees on the bed, arranged so his face isn’t visible in the footage, but from the twist of his torso it was clear that he’d turned his head to look over his shoulder and read the comments appearing in the chat.  It was unmistakably Hob’s voice reading some of the comments aloud - “Oh you like that, @BigBoy_69? Well since you tipped so nicely, of course you can have a closeup of my slutty little hole.” There’s a rustling noise as Hob moves backwards on the bed towards the webcam—the picture blurs, then refocuses on the dildo sliding lewdly in and out, lube smeared liberally between his arse cheeks. Hob continues reading. “Looks like @Daddy-loves-sluts wants me on my back - and since you’re paying for it, of course I’ll do whatever you want.” The Hob in the video turns over obligingly, face still out of view, but spreading his legs and stroking his cock lazily. “Is this what you wanted, @Daddy-loves-sluts?” His voice hitches as his other hand presses the dildo deeper inside. “Are you going to let me cum for you? Have I been a good boy?” Professor Endels taps the keyboard and the image freezes, leaving Hob red-faced, not knowing where to look. His tutor stares impassively at him while on the screen, pre-cum glistens as it hangs in the air mid-way between the tip of Hob’s cock and his stomach. Hob opens his mouth but his conflicting thoughts jostle for position in his brain and he can’t bring himself to speak.

[fangfic]

TW: Non-con, Blackmail

Normally I'm not a fan of technology in stories but just imagine very technologically advanced vampires.

Picking you as a victim by scrolling through your insta feed. That holiday photo at the beach? He saw your scrumptious body and he had to have you.

After sampling some blood you get your brains fucked out, being absolutely treated like a whore. As you choke on their cock they make sure to shoot a couple of videos.

Once all your sore holes are filled with cum he lets you go and waves his phone at you.

"Next week same time kitten, or else I'll show everyone how much of a slut you are"

[hanasnx]

anakin would show up to your wedding just to fuck you on your wedding day

[sleepyfan-blog]

Ruin

Author’s Note: Deimos part three! I hope you enjoy :D first. Previous

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @the-pure-angel@whorety-k 

Warnings: threatening, blackmail, Alpha Legion Shenanigans

Summary: Deimos speaks to one of the human representatives during the negotiations. He gets what he wants. 

Deimos had been watching the negotiations between some of the leaders of the most powerful Astartes pods speaking with representatives of the human countries of Terra for the past several days. At the end of each day. Deimos would send coded information as to how things had been going to his handler, and waiting to see if his instructions would change based on the information that he had gathered.

He also spent time pretend-obliviously making one of the human representatives squirm and sweat each time they saw the face or heard the voice of the Blood Angel Sergeant he was pretending to be, as Representative Pearson was part of a least two different human organizations who had successfully captured different Astartes in order to dissect and experiment upon them… And because the sergeant he was pretending to be had recently been captured by one of Pearson’s groups using information that the human had himself given them. 

The Alpha Legion had been content to let their cousins flounder in confusion as to what was happening to some of their legions/chapters. If they weren’t aware enough of the dangers that baseline humanity could be to them, that wasn’t their problem… That had been until one of these groups had captured a hybrid hydra pup, the first Alpha legionnaire born on Ancient Terra to a converted human mate and stolen a week ago.

That was the last mistake any of these groups would make, not that those who were outside of those facilities were aware of the storm that had swallowed most of their resources in righteous fury. All captive astartes were being tended to by Alpha Legion Apothecaries and would be released after the conclusion of these negotiations. Deimos glided gracefully after Representative Pearson, who had finally worked up the courage to ask for a private meeting between himself and the baseline human.

“What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?” Deimos asked, using the lilting tones of the Blood Angel he was pretending to be, amused at the way that the baseline human froze, blinking off the siren-like qualities a moment later.

“You are an imposter. You should leave quietly, or I will escalate the matter to security.” Pearson accused, pointing his finger dramatically at Deimos.

The Alpha Legionnaire almost broke character and started to cackle. If this was the way that Pearson wanted to play things, Deimos was happy to indulge him. “And just why do you think I am an imposter? What proof could you possibly have?”

“Because I received a report earlier this week about a mer matching  your precise description being badly injured and brought to a medical facility for treatment. I have heard of the incredible healing factors you astartes possess, but the injuries that Astartes had suffered could not have healed as fully as you appear to be in such short period of time. Which means you are an imposter and should leave these negotiations.” Pearson explained, radiating smug satisfaction.

Deimos’ couldn’t help the small, fanged grin that appeared on his face as he purred “And?”

“And if you do not leave immediately I will alert security as to you being here under false circumstances and -” The baseline human blustered.

Deimos interrupted Pearson’s rant with a laugh “What makes you think that I have no right to be here? Especially since you were the one to leak the battle brother’s whose face I am borrowing’s location to the butchers and kidnappers who tormented him… Ah, but he is no longer in their grasp. None of the astartes that the little groups you work with are still captive. My brothers have rescued them all. Your little groups of maniacs fear that we astartes will try and take dominance of this world from you. Because of our strength and our abilities. But you're wrong. If we wanted dominion over this world we would have it already and none of the weapons nor all your military might would be enough to stop us.”

“I.. You accuse me of-” Pearson started, huffing up in indignation and distilled terror.

The Alpha legionnaire interrupted the baseline human again as he pulled out a series of pictures proving that Person was knowingly and willingly involved several of the Astartes kidnapping groups, setting them down on the table between them as he spoke “Drop the pretenses. I have more evidence of your crimes and wrongdoing on me, and there are copies in case you attempt to destroy this evidence.” Deimos was one piece of the Hydra. His legion worked in the shadows and gathered information. They knew all and saw all. “Step down from your position now, and publicly resign in front of the press at this event and explain your crimes and your true loyalties… If you refuse I’ll tell the World Eater and Black Templar representatives who you truly work with.”

“... If you do that, those blood-thirsty monster swill try-” The human protested.

“Will kill you for your crimes. Of course. That would be a mercy. Some of the pods represented here would make your death a long and agonizing spectacle. World Eaters and Black Templars both tend to make their kills swift.” Deimos rumbled, cutting off the human yet again and smirking down at him.

“How dare you threaten and attempt to blackmail me like this? Photos like this can be altered to seem incriminating!” Pearson blustered, fear and fury radiating off of him in waves.

“There are ways to check for tampering. Besides, these photos are the least of the proof I have for your crimes. Do as I say, or you will die by the end of this day. This is not a threat but a promise. Besides, you won’t be the only wretched mortal to die for your crimes today if you refuse to step down.” Deimos hummed, pulling out a small laptop, opening the video conference software and calling out “Alpharius, I have the human representative with me.”

“Well done Alpharius.” His captain praised, swimming into frame with two of the other leaders of the organizations being dragged into frame with him. Behind the older Alpha Legionnaire were dozens of gagged and bound hand to foot humans, all members of the kidnapping organizations in the room the captain was in. “You see, we have many of those involved in the kidnappings who still yet live. You have a simple choice, Representative Pearson. Confess your crime sin front of the cameras and our fellow astartes, and submit yourself for judgment…. Or you and all of the humans here will die.”

“I… You… How… How have you done this?” Pearson asks, helpless rage and terror wafting off of him in waves.

“We are Alpharius. We are the Hydra at the heart of everything. No detail is too small to escape our grasp. Our eyes see all, as our ears hear all. If we wanted to control this world, we’d have it already. So,  representative, what is your choice?” The captain purred, smirking.

“I… I’ll…” Pearson swallows, staring at the other humans bound and at the mercy of astartes. He hangs his head and growls out “I’ll do as you’ve demanded of me, you bastards. Damn you all to hell!”

“Been there. Got bored. Came back.” Deimos cooed, smirking. “No time like the present, let’s go. Be seeing you, captain Alpharius.” with that he shut the laptop and placed it in a pouch before scruffing the unhappy human by the collar and dragging him bodily out of the chair, swimming out of the room and over to where the press were gathered. He knew that the other Astartes would be able to hear Pearson’s confession… This was going to be fun.

~

Five minutes later found Pearson standing on his own two feet, Deimos staying just close enough to encourage the human to speak without tipping off the press of just what the human was going to confess to.

“I… have… I have a confession to make. I have been working with a secret group of scientists, doctors and hunters to capture and study Astartes. I am well aware of the fact that these kidnappings have made Human-Astartes relations worse the world over… The organization’s goals were to assess the threat posed by Astartes, as well as to try and figure out the keys to their longevity and high healing factor. To be able to synthesize either of those abilities for humanity to use. We also hoped to be able to take apart Astartes’ technology and reverse engineer it for profit.” Pearson confessed, having hid his hands behind his back, to hide the way they trembled “I have realized now that this was wrong, and am stepping down from my position as representative, and submit myself to the justice system of my home country.”

Deimos had expected that Pearson would try to pull something like that. It was almost cute that he thought he was living past this next hour as a free person, and that he would be allowed to be tried by one of the human legal systems. Already the Alpha legionnaire could hear furious shouting from loyalists, chaos and renegade astartes. He could smell their rapid approach to this conference room, the scent of their fury and determination heavy in the air as they barrelled into the room.

All of them stopped dead, seeing Deimos in the guise of a Blood Angel as he stood directly behind the violently shaking and terrified human. Before any of them could try and demand something he said on external vox “As Pearson has wronged the Astartes more, his request for being tried by humanity is rejected. I will be taking him to where he will be tried and punished for his crimes.”

The assembled humans burst into dozens and dozens of loud statements and noises, each desperately trying to get his or the other astartes attention. Not that Deimos was actively listening to what they were saying, just making sure that they weren’t trying to get close enough to grab Pearson and attempt to get away from him.

He waited a beat before broadcasting his voice to the voxes of his fellow astartes alone, his eyes deliberately flashing teal as he purred “Hydra Dominatus.” Before he scooped up Pearson and swum off at his top speed, cackling to himself as the human in his arms whimpered and shook.

[justyourjester]

lil sis who takes advantage of her big sister by abusing her love for her. threatening to hurt herself unless big sis does as she's told. anything to get love and pleasure out of her older sis.

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (32)

part 32 of ?? | 1207 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Steve bursts through the door like some sort of floppy haired, athletic puppy. “Hey Eds, look who I found!”  He’s dragging someone behind him by the wrist, and a very nonplussed Jeff waves hello.

(cw references to Billy's racism)

32.

Eddie has finally moved up from bed rest to shuffling around the house sometimes as long as he takes frequent breaks. Which he’s happy to do, because his PT exercises always kick his ass right into nap time. The new couch in the new living room is actually comfortable, and it's a relief to escape from his now over-familiar bedroom.

Steve bursts through the door like some sort of floppy haired, athletic puppy. “Hey Eds, look who I found!” 

He’s dragging someone behind him by the wrist, and a very nonplussed Jeff waves hello. Mouth dropping open, Eddie raises one hand for a weak wave back. 

“I have to go back to the store,” Steve says, all but bouncing on the balls of his feet as he circles back to the door. “I kinda forgot about groceries for a minute there, so, still need to get those. But you two should catch up!”

“Uh, okay?” Eddie says, and Steve flashes him a grin and two thumbs up before disappearing again. 

“What,” Jeff starts, sounding shaken, “just happened?”

Eddie shrugs. “Steve Harrington.”

“He knows where you live? He calls you Eds?”

“If it helps, the nickname is new. And, uh . . . he kind of lives here too. Loooong story.”

Jeff shoots him an incredulous look. Then he asks where the PBR is, shaking his head when Eddie admits that he can’t drink on his meds so there's none in the house. (“I can have one beer,” Eddie has whined many times, but always gets a blunt no from Wayne or Steve in response. He’s given up on sulking about it.)

First, they sit on the couch with a can of Coke each and catch up. 

Jeff’s family did leave Hawkins, but only until it was declared safe again. They’re staying with his aunt on the outskirts of town—and Eddie doesn’t know her number, which is why his calls never went through. Jeff’s actual house is still undergoing repairs before they can move back in. He’s taking a year off before college to take some of the financial pressure off his parents.

Gareth and his mom are camped out in a hotel, taking advantage of the government’s emergency subsidies for families whose houses were totally leveled. They’ll probably stay in town and buy new. 

“Frank’s folks had to move, though,” Jeff admits. “He’s on the other side of Roane County now. The high school over there doesn’t even have a D&D club.” A pause. “Oh, and I wrote to Margaret, she’s coming to visit next month to, and I quote, ‘take in the ineffable shitshow that is Hawkins, Indiana.’ I think New York is getting to her, man.”

And shit, it’ll be good to see Margaret again, same way it’s good to see Jeff and it’ll be good to see Gareth. Frank too, whenever he can swing by. Because the thing about being suddenly folded into a new friend group of monster hunters is . . . Eddie still misses his old gang. One is silver and the other’s gold, and all that bullshit. 

Eddie, for his part, gives a perfunctory explanation of the house (“Government restitution for our old place and my criminal record going through the meat grinder”) and Steve’s presence (“We talked it out, the past few months he’s just been . . . paying rent in advance”). 

Silence creeps in. Eddie sips at his Coke, slurping it in little mouthfuls as if that might continue to delay the inevitable. 

It doesn’t.

“So . . . what the hell happened, man?” 

Eddie tries not to look directly at his friend. “You mean to Hawkins?” He’d signed a shit-ton of NDAs while high off his ass on painkillers, but that still feels like the easier question to answer. 

“Dude, everyone knows about the earthquake,” Jeff scoffs. “I mean with Harrington. If you talked it out with him, why is he playing the Alfred to your Bruce Wayne?”

Thinking back to the demobats, Eddie snorts. If only Jeff knew. 

He doesn’t tell him, though. Not because of the legalities—fuck that shit, this whole mess was the government’s fault to begin with, he’s pretty sure. It’s just that, Eddie wishes he didn’t have to know. He’s not going to inflict that on a friend. 

But he does explain about Steve, more or less. 

“Okay,” Jeff says finally. “So you’re telling me that gas leak a few years ago killed Barbara Holland actually in his backyard, and the government covered it up but he still felt guilty for some reason, so he started making up for it by being less of a douchebag.” Pausing for a moment, Jeff frowns as he goes over it in his head the same way he would a campaign, ticking unspoken points off on his fingers. “The timeline works, I guess. . . . I don’t remember him causing much trouble for anyone after that fall. Hagan got worse, and Hargrove was a fucking nightmare, but the worst Harrington did was not be quite popular enough anymore to keep them in check.” Jeff looks up at Eddie. “And then . . . he started babysitting nerds? Our freshman nerds.”

They’d literally seen Steve pick the kids up from Hellfire games all school year—from a distance at first, and then close up once the blackmail had been set in motion. But Eddie gets it, because he hadn’t understood it at first either. 

“Dustin’s got him wrapped around his little finger,” he confirms. “All the little shits do. Remember when he came to school with his face all rearranged by Hargrove? Asshole was gunning for Lucas.”

That makes Jeff’s eyebrows twitch together and his mouth set in a grim line that Eddie doesn’t often see. Eddie can practically see his opinion on Steve going up based on Jeff’s own run-ins with Hargrove. “Christ.”

“Yeah.” Eddie plays with his now empty Coke can, pushing the aluminum sides in and then popping them back out again. “And then I fucking blackmailed him.”

“Not very successfully, though,” Jeff points out, scratching at the side of his jaw. “Not if his real motivation for giving you money was wanting to help out and work off some of his guilt about Barbara. Actually, he’s the one who led you on, and nobody was being intimidated by anybody. Which—I’m not going to say I told you so, but I definitely called it.”

Sputtering, Eddie tugs the tab off his can and flicks it at him. “Dick!”

“And are you still crushing on him hard?”

This time, he throws the whole can, but Jeff ducks it. 

“That’s a yes.”

“We’re friends now,” Eddie hisses, pulling hair across his face to hide his embarrassed flush. “He saved my life, and based on his cooking alone I think he’s slowly becoming Wayne’s favorite son. I can’t—”

“You said Steve was the one who brought up living with in the first place,” Jeff points out. “He knows you were both at that club for the same reason, maybe he’s . . . you know, interested. Did you ever think of that?”

“No,” Eddie grumbles, lying. “Look, Steve didn’t want to live under his asshole parents’ roof anymore. That’s it.”

He refuses to read anything else into it. That way madness lies, and too much seeing what he wants to see rather than what’s actually there.