#extreme dubcon

[evilwriter37]

Inspired by this art from @mdoodlerfandomart!

Rated: explicit

Warnings: slavery, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, blood, stabbing, extremely dubious consent

Pairings: Viggo/Hiccup

Word Count: 4,117

Summary: Hiccup doesn’t expect Dagur to be at the auction, and he is almost bought by him, but another, mysterious buyer, wants him badly, and has the money for it.

[blot-squisher]

🎃Happy Halloween all!🎃

Here's a special little treat I've been cooking up ;)

As always, please heed the tags. I know this isn't everyone's cup of tea and I don't want anyone caught off guard 😅

[whimsyvixen]

Ask me what type of romantic dreams I have at night.

The man in my dreams:

(He wasn't happy I escaped from my gilded cage)

[b1mbodoll]

i sent that reader baby trapping jake ask and saw someone ask abt the other way around and what if,,,they both had the intention of doing it to each other and it's just a rlly fucked up relationship ya know (giving netflix you vibes)

pairings: jake sim x f! reader

warnings: babytrapping + breeding + manipulation + stalking + dubcon + jealousy + panty sniffing + panty stealing + pregnancy ment + cervix fucking + daddy kink

💌: this has got to be my favorite idea yet omg???

the relationship you had with jake was confusing. it started off as the two of you fucking whenever you were horny, simple enough right? wrong. so wrong. the longer you two continued messing around, the deeper your infatuation with him grew, wanting nothing more than to be an official couple. but you couldn’t tell him, after all you were the one who told jake you didn’t want a relationship. he respected your wishes but every time he found himself in your bed, he couldn’t help but wonder what you’d do if he fucked you raw without warning. would you let him cum inside you? or make him pull out?

he was obsessed with you, scarily so, breaking into your apartment when you were out, seeking out your hamper and sniffing your dirty panties before ultimately deciding to stuff them in his pocket to take home. he was also constantly following you around at parties and scaring off any guys that tried their luck with you, hiding his anger behind kind eyes and a sweet smile thrown your way, asking if you wanted to head back to his house.

you knew, of course. how could you not? you were just as obsessed with jake, purposely leaving your panties on top of the rest of your clothes in the hamper, blushing when you realized they were missing because that meant jake had dropped by for a visit when you weren’t home. he was so focused on keeping other guys away he didn’t realize you had also been watching him at parties, subconsciously squeezing your thighs together while your eyes were locked on his clenched jaw, your pussy growing wetter by the second.

the two of you had snuck away from jay’s party, jake leading you to one of the guest bedrooms and locking the door behind you. “did you see the way sunghoon was looking at you tonight? fuck, i could kill him. who does he think he is?” he seethed, pushing you on the bed roughly. you could cum just from seeing how angry he was, “don’t worry ‘bout him jakey, ‘m only yours, promise. i’ll even let you fuck me without a condom this time.” the look on his face was comical, almost causing you to giggle at his reaction. “really? you’d let me do that?” he questioned. “mhm! just gotta pull out before you cum, ‘kay? don’t wanna get me pregnant right?” jake couldn’t believe this was happening, he had no intention of pulling out but he couldn’t tell you that so he just nodded, unable to voice his thoughts.

you were just as excited as jake, for weeks you’d stopped taking your birth control, planning to let him fuck you raw sometime soon and now that the time has come you needed to feel his bare cock inside of you. “please put it in, jakey. can’t wait anymore.” he wasted no time, coating his cock in your arousal and sliding deep inside, the two of you moaning as his lengthy cock hit your cervix. it wouldn’t be long before he came but he wanted to savor the feeling of your walls gripping his dick without a condom in the way, fucking you slowly, making sure you could feel every inch of him battering your cunt.

“you feel so good ‘round my cock, think you were made for me. made to take my cum, shit, i wanna fill you up so bad, sweetheart. can i?” he babbled, too pussydrunk to notice you’d already locked your legs around his hips in an effort to force his cock even deeper. “yeah jakey, you can cum. ‘m on the pill,” you lied, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you felt your orgasm approaching. he sped up the pace, angling his cock in a way that made the tip hit the opening of your womb each time causing you to squeal, pussy creaming around him.

jake was already so close and the way your cunt was squeezing him drove him crazy, hips stilling as his cock spurted globs of thick, creamy cum so deep inside you, you thought there was no way he wasn’t successful in knocking you up. his mind was reeling after his own orgasm and all he could think of was how much he wanted you two to be exclusive, wishing somehow your birth control wouldn’t stop him from impregnating you.

you kept your legs around him even after he’d stopped moving, his cock keeping the obscene amount of cum from spilling out. “gonna make you a daddy, jakey, you can’t leave me now. ‘m so full, it has to work!” you couldn’t stop yourself from revealing your sick plan, muttering about how you weren’t on birth control anymore and how he’d be such a good daddy. jake wasn’t upset though, his cock hardening again inside of you, after all he had to make sure his girl was properly bred.

[seijorhi]

SHUDDER

Kozume Kenma x female reader

a Valentine’s Day Collab

tw: heavy dubcon, nsfw, voyeurism, murder, yandere themes, this one's a doozy y'all we're goin' out with a bang :))

The red light on the camera atop his computer blinks steadily.

Kenma’s not some sappy romantic, he doesn’t really do Valentine’s Day. This stream wasn’t even his idea to begin with. It just so happened that he was frustrated and pissed off, venting in the chat when one of the users made a comment that got him thinking.

(He’s not an asshole, either – he did remember to bring you a box of heart shaped chocolates.) 

He was gonna do this one way or the other, the timing just sort of worked out, and he supposes he can see the romantic side of it all. Girls are supposed to like this sort of thing, aren’t they – grand declarations of love and all that. 

“You remember the rules, don’t you?” he asks. 

Your cheeks shining with stricken tears, your lower lip wobbling, you nod minutely, eyes downcast.

Kenma frowns a little, and draws your chin upwards, forcing you to meet his eye. “I need you to say it. Out loud.”

You swallow audibly, risking a glance over towards the bed, the bound figure thrashing about, yelling desperately through his gag. Kenma’s fingers tighten, and you let out a startled squeak, quickly returning your attention back to him. “You– you’re gonna–” your voice hitches, “I h-have to–”

“Aw, c’mon Kenma, don’t be mean to the poor thing,” Kuroo snickers, driving his elbow into the gut of your soon-to-be ex boyfriend for good measure when he gets a bit too rowdy for his liking. 

Irritation spikes, and Kenma barely – barely – refrains from rolling his eyes and huffing. Truthfully, he’s not so sure he could’ve pulled this whole thing off without his friend’s help, he’d just appreciate it if that help were a little more silent. 

“Say it,” he repeats, the hand keeping you perched on his lap slipping down between your thighs to your bare cunt, the wet slick from your earlier efforts coating his fingertips as they rub possessively along your slit.

Kenma’s eyes drift back to the camera, tilting your face along with his, “Tell them what you’re gonna do.”

You look miserable, terrified, and so fucking pretty as you hiccup another sob, “I-I’m going to fuck you, a-and if I want… if I want him–”

“If you wanna win, you have to make me cum before he runs out of air.”

He’s already had you cum for everyone watching, made you play with your cute little pussy with the toys he’d bought for you. A part of him hates that others got to see it, but it was his choice to livestream this. Just for tonight – and then you’re for his eyes only.

… And maybe Kuroo’s. He does sort of owe him for this. 

Kenma doesn’t bother asking if you’re ready to start, he just spreads his legs a little wider, looks to Kuroo and bobs his chin. The plastic bag and duct tape thing isn’t exactly high tech or all that elegant – it’ll do the job, though, he knows that much. 

“I dunno how long it’ll take,” he tells you quietly, Kuroo grinning widely as he begins sliding the bag over your boyfriend’s head. “A minute or so to lose consciousness, I guess, after that…” he shrugs, looking almost bored at the prospect.

You, though – it lights a panic in your eyes, your whole body trembling as you lurch to your feet. Duct tape rips, your boyfriend’s choked and muffled noises growing more and more frantic as he yells your name and thrashes about. Kenma ignores him – there’s a part of him that kind of wishes he wasn’t here to begin with, but he s’poses he does have some value – as you reach for his boxers and pull out his aching, twitching cock and stroke it.

He looses a shuddering breath, fingers sinking into the armrest of his gaming chair.

You go to sit down on his cock – facing him, like lovers do – and Kenma barely has the presence of mind to stop you. “No,” he gasps, shaking his head and swallowing dryly. “Show them.”

You’re clumsy as you turn, flinching, half-sobbing with every distressed noise that fills the room. If Kenma were particularly vindictive, he’d tell you to hurry it up, because at this rate your stupid boyfriend will be brain dead before he’s even inside you. 

He’s far too invested in the way you settle your thighs either side of his and grip his cock – flushed pink to the tip, weeping with pre that you diligently swirl over the sensitive head – in a trembling hand, guiding it to where it needs to be as you lower your hips down to meet his. 

And the feel of your pussy, that warm, slick velvet that sucks him in has him moaning, every thought eddying from his head. Holy fuck, it feels incredible. Uncoordinated and sloppy as your movements are, you’re heaven and your pussy is a thousand times better than the fantasies he’d gotten off to before. He promised himself he wouldn’t do anything to help you along while you fucked him, but Kenma can’t help the hand that reaches for your breast, needily groping at the soft, pillowy flesh. 

Seated to the hilt inside of you, every sensation is heightened. Every hitch in your breath, the fluttering of your pussy, squeezing and pulsing around him, the shudders that wrack your body as Kenma’s other hand tightens around your hip. “Move,” he pants. “Fuck– please–”

You do, raising your hips until only the very tip of his cock remains inside and sinking down once more. Your chest bounces for the camera as you set the pace, your tears and sniffles lost to the sound of comments pinging, donations pouring in. Kenma can’t stop touching you – everywhere, every inch of soft skin he can reach, squeezing and pinching and groping. “Don’t look at him,” he growls when your head starts to turn towards the bed. “Watch.”

Your boyfriend’s hacking and gagging, the noises growing louder and louder, warring with Kenma’s moans and your sobs, the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt as you pleasure yourself on his dick. When the noises start to die down, and your boyfriend’s flailing turns into an unsettling, unnatural jerking and then not even that, you clench so tightly around his cock that Kenma’s vision goes white. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–” he chants, clutching you closer with a rabid desperation. 

You’re wailing, scrambling in vain to get off of him and with a mind of its own his hips buck up inside of you, once, twice – and Kenma cums harder than he ever has before.

[necrotic-nephilim]

jaybrusteph. steph and bruce fuck on jason's grave, jason and bruce fuck on stephanie's grave, steph and jason fucking on bruce's grave. threesome where stephanie gets 2 cocks up her ass. they keeo her tied up in a secret part of the cave fir a week with a vibrator on her clit at low vibration and a fuck machine pounding her ass. they share her for another week straight and by the end of it she's mentally checked out and her face id smeared with mascara and cum. maybe they bring cass over once, and all of steph's holes are occupied at the same time. i want her to keep cumming so hard she walks with a limp for a month. she goes on patrol with a butt plug holding in both of their loads. remote controlled vibrators. just the kinkiest shit possible with these 3. any time bruce and jason fight, they take it out on steph. they both try to fuck her mouth and she chips a tooth and dislocates her jaw but they keep going

i've been thinking about this for *days*. bc idk how you intended this anon, but to me it reads as *delightful* non-con and *super* fucked up with grooming vibes. like in my head, i picture it as Bruce dealt with enough problems when Jason came back from death and he *really* doesn't feel like doing a repeat. so when Steph comes back, even if Babs gives her blessing for Steph to be Batgirl, Bruce doesn't trust it and he definitely doesn't like the idea of Steph wearing a Bat. he's been down this road before and this time, he's not making the same mistakes.

so he tells her she's allowed to be Batgirl but this time, there are more Rules. maybe he had a thing with her when she was Robin but Bruce feels like he obviously wasn't strict enough so, he sets new rules this time around. and Steph has no choice but to agree bc she wants to be Batgirl, she feels like she needs to prove herself again.

i love the idea of the mindbreak the first few weeks, too. esp if there are aphrodisiacs or some kind of drugs involved to keep her in a haze where it's all she can think about until she rlly just. breaks. and is okay with it and has no concept how fucked up it is. Bruce invites Jason just because he'll try anything to pacify Jason at this point, and maybe he had a fucked up thing with Jason already and they needed a sub as a buffer.

i also think it's fun if patrolling and missions are the one place Steph has an escape from all the sexual control. so she really leans into being Batgirl bc it's all she has so when they start making her wear plugs and vibrators out it breaks her a little bit. even as Batgirl, her life will revolve around pleasing Jason and Bruce. and Bruce is telling her that she has no idea how much she's helping with this, he's showing her numbers about how Red Hood has been much less lethal since this all started to really get in her head about how this is a duty and it's a favor that she's doing for Bruce and he's so thankful for it, he almost convinces her that she agreed to this somewhere along the way. so she agrees and is submissive when Jason is getting rougher and rougher with her until joints are dislocating and she's crying and doesn't even have the words to ask for it to stop so she can get a breather.

also like the idea of Bruce and Jason arguing while Steph is on a patrol and it's Jason who finds Steph first and without any sort of warning forces some kind of aphrodisiac drug into her mouth and makes her swallow, calmly telling her she has about an hour before it'll kick in so she better wrap up whatever she's doing and hope she gets to Jason's base so he doesn't have to find her and fuck her wherever she ends up when it kicks in-

and all the bruises and injuries she gets from the sex are explained away by vigilante work. i'm also really into the idea of like, gradual body modification without her awareness or consent. constantly having her on muscle relaxers so it's easier to fuck her without prep. adjusting parts of her body with supplements to their likings until she realizes she doesn't really recognize herself in the mirror. her nose has been broken by sex so many times it stoped healing right. her hips are a different size and she has to wear a plug most of the time bc she's usually so loose. just like. Complete Bodily Control over her, yk? and by the time she realizes how fucked up it is, she's in way too deep.

and pulling Cass into it is *really* fun bc Cass is someone she trusts. so if Cass is okay with this, leaning into it and fucking her mouth with a strap while stroking her hair, then it must be okay. bc it's Cass. and maybe Cass is also fucked up, maybe Cass is just trying to provide Steph comfort in a situation she can't get Steph out of. both are good options esp if Steph doesn't know which it is. she never knows if ppl just don't care enough to notice what she's going through or if Bruce and Jason are doing such a good job of hiding it all that they can't see it. and she gets so Stolkholm'd by the end of it there's no escape she even wants. bc it's not like she can go back to normal. it's not like she could come from regular sex that doesn't hurt to the point she cries anymore. so she just. accepts it.

but yk that's just my hurt/no comfort braincell being evil. bc i am evil and i love the psychology of being sexually broken as much as i love the sexual aspect of it. i think it makes it so much crunchier and realistic if there's this haunting acceptance that isn't necessarily a "oh she loves it now" but more of a "she knows escaping will make her feel worse" sort of thing. like she sees Bruce and Jason arguing and just starts to brace for it instead of trying to break them up. it's good food.

[hannahbarberra162]

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart Chapter 22

18+ MDNI on Ao3 All chapters

I'm still writing chapters for my other works, I've just been in a yandere-y mood lately.

Thatch POV

Being so cruel to you had nearly broken Thatch’s heart. It had taken everything in him not to console you after you started crying in the mess hall. He felt even worse for force feeding you, he could tell you weren’t going to eat the moment you’d walked into the mess hall. But you needed to be reminded of who made the rules and who followed them. He’d only given you what you asked for and you couldn’t handle it. True, he knew you meant that you wanted to sit on your own chair, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. Not when it was one of the brightest parts of his day, something he got to look forward to multiple times a day. You were steadily gaining a bit of weight with him, which had brought a glow of health to your visage. He couldn’t have you undoing all his progress. 

It just so happened that the bi-monthly Commanders’ meeting was this afternoon. He’d let Marco know that they needed an extra few minutes between them afterwards as well. Ace was still sailing back to the Moby so they would appraise him of the situation later. Ace was a good third to have, he just needed a little guidance from his brothers. He was so much younger than them, after all. Ace had been with them sexually for a while now, but he really was more of a switch rather than a true submissive. Having you with the three of them rounded out the relationship, helping them all to feel more fulfilled. Marco and Thatch were trying to show him by example how to handle you, with correction and punishment needed only occasionally. He’d met you first, so by rights you were his, but it was always better when good fortune was shared among siblings.  

Thatch settled in for the long meeting, looking over the agenda. He needed to pay attention, but the only thing he could think about were the tears that had run down your face and your shoulders slumped in submission. He wanted to find you and discipline you now, he didn’t like to delay the punishments and build anticipation like Marco did. He wanted to punish and soothe you, bringing you back to him with love. Unluckily for you, their attendance at the meeting was mandatory so you’d have to wait until it was over. Thatch sighed and tried to concentrate on Blenheim, who was running the meeting, without much success. It would be a long few hours.

~~~

Once the neverending meeting was finally over, Marco plopped himself down next to Thatch in the meeting room. All the other Commanders were filling out, but they had a lot to discuss. Thatch wanted to fill Marco in about breakfast and recap the situation from your panic attack. 

“Has Pops asked you about grandkids yoi?” Marco began, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, so embarrassing. He asked me yesterday.” In that way, Oyaji really was more like their father than their captain.  

“He’s not going to stop, he’s gotten it into his head that he needs a grandchild before he dies,” Marco complained.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Thatch said slowly, “but I don’t think now’s a good time. She’s not quite stable yet. And she’s still underweight.” 

“True. We need to wait until she regains her regular menstrual cycle and puts on more weight. I also want to see her sleep improve more. Then we can see about some fertility drugs. Might speed up the process and get Pops off our backs,” Marco mused. 

“Well, about her weight, there was an incident this morning I wanted to talk to you about…” Thatch told a very interested Marco about your small attempt at independence this morning. The more he described your disobedience, the more Marco smiled. 

Y/N POV

Every instinct inside you told you to run and hide so no one could find you. But you knew that was a bad idea and would only make Marco and Thatch angrier than they already were. Thatch for the breakfast incident, and Marco for the infirmary incident. You were honestly scared to meet up with either one of them, but you knew it was going to happen one way or another. You ended up holed up in one of the crow’s nests, putting some finishing touches on the nurse uniform redesign you’d been working on. It was slow going because every time your mind drifted from the designs you thought about the punishment that was looming over your head. You had barely gotten any work done when Deuce came up the crow’s nest ladder.

“Ah, hello. Time for lunch,” Deuce said awkwardly, fiddling with his jacket cuff.

“What - Why are you here?” You hoped you weren’t being rude, you were just puzzled why Deuce of all people was bringing you to lunch.

“Marco told me to come get you to eat. The Commanders are all in a meeting and you need dietary supervision,” he said shrugging. You paled thinking about the meeting Thatch had mentioned.

“Ok, I’ll come down,” you said, grabbing your things. You had been nervous for lunch with Thatch but had also been hoping to talk to him or try to get him into a better mood. You didn’t think you could avoid punishment altogether but you thought you might be able to mitigate it if you showed him how much you appreciated him. You came down the ladder and followed Deuce to the private dining room. He’d already brought the food in and took a seat opposite you at a plate of his own.

“Sorry you have to do this,” you said apologetically. You felt bad that Deuce had to work more to cover up for your mistakes.

“I don’t mind. At least it’s quiet in here, which is a nice change of pace.” Deuce began eating and you tried to as well. You picked at your food, attempting to eat some of it. Your stomach was in knots and you didn’t think you could keep much down. You moved the food around your plate, waiting for Deuce to finish eating so you could leave. Once he’d eaten his fill, he brought out a small notebook and pen. He glanced over at your plate and made a few notes.

“You’re not going to regain any weight if you don’t eat more,” Deuce reminded you. He finished writing and put the notebook and pen away.

“Are you reporting this back to Thatch?” you asked worriedly.

“Yes. And Marco,” Deuce supplied neutrally, gathering the dirty plates. He didn’t know the implications of what he had just told you, but you felt like there was a weight bearing down on your neck. Now they’d know you hadn’t eaten lunch either, just proving Thatch right yet again. You laid your head in your hands. You didn’t know what to do to alleviate the tension radiating from within you. You felt a hand clap onto your shoulder, and looked up to see Deuce giving you a supportive smile.

“I know they can seem scary, but they’re actually quite kind once you get to know them. I’m sure they’ll go easy on you.” Deuce left, taking the plates with him. Oh, how wrong he was.

~~~ 

After lunch you were a bundle of nerves and you couldn’t focus. You spent hours of your time pacing the deck, trying to calm down. You were picking at your skin, your fingers, and biting your lips. You tried to stop but as soon as you weren’t actively thinking about it to prevent yourself, you started again. You knew Marco and Thatch would be upset you’d been picking at your skin. You wanted to ask for help but Marco and Thatch were busy and mad and you were worried and stressed and your stomach hurt and and and

And you felt someone hug you from behind, putting their chin on the top of your head. You detected the smell of a match after it had been extinguished. You leaned your head back and saw shaggy black hair and a smattering of freckles smiling at you from behind.

“Ace!” you exclaimed. You were truly happy to see him. You spun to face him and hugged him tight. 

“When did you get back?” you asked into his chest, not releasing him from your hug. 

“A couple of hours ago, I had a few things to do before I saw ya.” You squeezed him tighter.

“Whoa there tiger, what’s going on?” Ace pried you off of him, looking you over. You wilted under his gaze.

“What’s got you so shook up?” Ace asked with concern, pulling you to the side of the deck. He stood opposite you but kept his arms around your waist.

“I messed up and Thatch and Marco are mad at me and are going to punish me and I’m -I’m scared.” You said it all in a rush while looking out at the water, eyes filling with tears but trying not to cry. You had been anxious all afternoon and it was coming to a head. Ace sat down cross legged on the deck, pulling you into his lap with him. 

“You broke the rules?” Ace asked you softly. You nodded and Ace rubbed your arms.

“You don’t have to be afraid, it will be OK. We’re never going to hurt you. Once the punishment is over, it’s all in the past. It’s a way to show we care about you. I’ve been in trouble lots of times and I’ve always been fine. Besides, isn’t it a little fun to be punished?” Ace remarked with a twinkle in his eye. Thinking about the last time you saw Ace getting punished sent shivers down your spine. You didn’t think you could handle anything close to what he had and you definitely didn’t think it was fun. You’d been loved by other people in your past and had never experienced anything like this situation before. You didn’t think love needed punishments, but maybe relationships with pirates were different. 

“I’m sorry this is your welcome home, Ace. Sorry I couldn’t be good.” You hung your head. He didn’t reply to your comment, but his expression faltered.

“Come with me, they sent me to get you.” Ace stood up, giving you his hand. You took it and he hauled you to your feet. You hoped he wasn’t mad at you too.

“Nothing really bad will ever happen to you here,” Ace replied. “We love you and are going to keep you safe, no matter what. You’ll see.” You appreciated the sentiment but the closer you got to the stairs the more the sense of foreboding grew within you. Ace led you by the hand to the Commander’s meeting room and herded you to the door. 

“I’m not staying. I have a lot to catch up on, but I’ll see you later.” Ace kissed the top of your head and pushed you into the room gently, shutting the door behind you. Thatch and Marco were already seated, stern expressions on their faces. You didn’t see another seat available, there was just a cushion on the floor, so you stood. It reminded you of the first meeting you’d all had together where you’d gotten your first set of rules. You fidgeted in place waiting for someone to start talking, squirming more the longer the silence dragged on.  

“Sit yoi,” Marco said firmly. You spotted another chair from the edge of the room and started to walk towards it.

“No, on the floor.” On the cushion? Like a dog? You swallowed your pride and sat on your heels like Marco told you while your face heated. You felt too embarrassed to speak or look up from your seated position. You felt like you were on trial, or at the center of an interrogation.

“We have a number of things to discuss, yoi. Let’s begin with what happened the other day on the Moby Jr.” Marco didn’t sound upset or angry, just serious. 

“I’m sorry, Marco. I didn’t mean for it to happen.” You preemptively began with your apology, knowing it was going to have to come anyway.

“Why are you sorry?” Marco inquired in a neutral tone. You looked up at him with a slightly furrowed brow. He had read the report right? Maybe he just wanted you to explain it point by point so you knew how badly you messed up. You played with the hem of the pillow by your feet, pulling at a loose thread.

“Because I freaked out and um, hurt myself, and um, it happened a second time, and I um, couldn’t work the next day. I didn’t mean to make you angry.” You hoped he didn’t want more details on the freaking out, it was kind of difficult for you to remember a lot of what happened. You were pinching your fingers with your nails from nervousness. Marco exchanged a look with Thatch. 

“Why would I be angry at you for that yoi?” 

“Um, because I was bad? And, um, b-broke the rules?” You looked down at the floor, ashamed of yourself. 

“Look at me,” Marco said softly. You brought your eyes up to meet his. “None of what happened on the Moby Jr. or afterwards was your fault. You weren’t bad yoi. We just need to talk about it.” You felt lost - you really wished you were sitting in Marco’s lap and getting some physical reassurance from him but it didn’t feel like the time to ask. 

“Obviously, you were unable to control your reaction to whatever was happening yoi,” Marco said frowning. “Has anything like that ever happened before?” You nodded, it had happened a few times since you’d been off the Marine ship but you’d hidden it from the Brothers. It was easier then, you did your own thing with no supervision.

“It’s just something else you need help with. And of course we’re going to help you yoi. You know there’s no one else in the world who cares about you like we do.” You nodded, meeting Marco’s intense gaze. You knew they cared about you and had brought you to the ship when you didn’t have any other options. 

“I know. Thank you, Marco.” You felt a little better that Marco wasn’t upset at you for the infirmary incident.

“Which is why your behavior this morning was so disappointing,” Thatch stated bitterly. You immediately deflated and curled into yourself, bringing your knees to your chest. You had been feeling better momentarily but now you felt like the air had left the room. 

“You’re lucky we love you so much, Querida . We’ve thrown people off the ship for less.” Marco threw Thatch an unamused look.

“I’m wondering if you misunderstood our discussion last night yoi. We talked about how you need to learn to ask for help. Not about getting what you think you want.” Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes but you didn’t allow them to fall. 

“It’s surprising to me that you could be so disrespectful to Thatch after he helped you and took such good care of you when you were incapable.” Marco said with a contempt. You felt small and in the spotlight, like a bug pinned down on a card.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears now tracking down your cheeks.

“So you say,” Marco remarked dismissively, “but you’re going to need to show it yoi.”

“H-how?” Your hands shook thinking about whatever they’d come up with for your punishment. Your heart was racing with the anticipation.

“You’re going to have to show that you actually want us to help you yoi. We’re not making you do anything - this was your idea to show that we can trust you, that you can remain with us on the ship, remember? If you don’t want our help, that’s fine yoi. You're always free to leave.”

“N-no, Marco, please, please I - I still want your help,” you sputtered out. You remembered the initial discussion with Marco the night he caught you in the closet but the details were a little fuzzy. Had it been your idea?

“Good. I’m glad you agree. Come here,” Marco said, motioning you over to him. You got up on wobbly legs and slowly moved to stand in front of his chair. 

“Over my lap,” he said, guiding you. You laid down across Marco’s muscled thighs, your ass hiked in the air. Your torso was laying across the armrest of the chair, keeping you mostly level. Marco wound his arm around your waist, keeping you pinned in place. Marco lowered your pants and panties until you were completely bared. His large hand started caressing and rubbing your ass cheeks. 

“If you want our help, you have to allow us to help you. You need to let us take over. That makes sense, right, yoi?” Marco said while massaging you. 

“Yes, Marco.” Marco stopped massaging for a moment to reach for something out of your line of sight. He was doing something but you couldn’t make out what.

“Do you know what happens to bad little doves?” Marco asked calmly, still manipulating something you couldn’t see.

“N-no, Marco.” 

“They get fucked in the ass.” You tried to jolt up but his arm kept you in place. You felt something cold being put onto your puckered entrance.

“Wait - no, I - Marco, please -” you weakly tried to get up but knew you were no match for his strength. 

“Shhh. Not right now, you’re not ready yet. We’re just preparing you.” Marco spoke to you in low tones, trying to calm you. He continued to rub and started pushing something hard and large into your hole. It felt like an intrusion and you didn’t want it in. You tried to stop it from being put in you, but Marco wasn’t relenting.

“Ah, ah, Dove. Show us you can let us in. Show us you can be good and accept your punishment. It’s not a large plug, it will fit. You'll learn to like it.” He continued to push the plug deeper.

You tried to turn your head to watch him but Thatch came and stood in front of you. He crouched down so his face was level with yours. Putting his hand on your cheek, he looked at you downhearted.

“Is it true Mami? You’re sorry you were so disrespectful to me this morning?” It was difficult for you to answer, Marco was still driving the plug deeper into you, stretching your hole. The plug was tapered and you could feel it getting larger with each push from Marco.

“Yes, Thatch. I’m ah -I’m sorry. I won’t - aah - I won’t do it again.” You felt the plug narrow and the flared base flush against your skin. Marco was gently grinding it into you.

“See? What a good dove you can be yoi,” Marco said. “You’re keeping it in until you’re told otherwise. I’ll know if you don’t.” You shivered - you didn’t doubt he would be able to tell. Now that the plug was in, Marco was toying with it, twisting it and moving it. You didn’t enjoy the sensations but it didn’t hurt.  Marco started moving the fingers of his other hand down into your slit. 

“Feel this, Thatch. She’s soaking wet yoi.” The chef reached over you to run his fingers through your folds as well. Thatch took his time and started running his fingers lightly over your clit. You squirmed from the sensation of being so full and teased.

“Absolutely drenched. Maybe this isn’t such a punishment for her.” It was humiliating for them to talk about you like you weren’t there, like you were just an object to play with. 

“Show Thatch you love him,” Marco rasped. “Show him you’re thankful he took care of you.” Marco sat you upright on his lap while Thatch stood up and undid his pants. Sitting up meant the plug was pressing into you, making you whimper. Marco put one of his hands on your jaw and squeezed, holding your mouth open. Thatch slid his erect cock into your mouth, all the way to the back.

“ Ahh I needed this,” Thatch sighed as he drove himself forward, “remember, Mami, I need you like you need me. No one will ever love you like we do.” Thatch’s hands had a hold of your head, keeping you in pace with his desire. One of Marco’s hands had snaked up your shirt and was rolling your nipple between his fingers while he kissed the back of your neck. His other hand was playing with your clit while Thatch was fucking your mouth, gagging you on his thick cock. You could barely breathe, tears were streaming down your face as Thatch forced himself deeper and deeper into your throat. You started to see stars in your vision and tried to pull back but Marco was behind you, keeping you where they wanted. Every time you moved, the plug in your ass did too, causing you to shift in discomfort. It was so much you couldn’t focus on any one thing happening to you. You felt an orgasm building within you to your dismay.

“If you want to come, you need to ask for permission,” Marco ordered, increasing the tempo of his rubbing. You whined but couldn’t talk with Thatch’s dick deep in your mouth. Marco didn’t provide you with any solutions, just continued to stimulate you.

““T-that’s it nnf t-t ake my cock, take all of it. Show me you’re mine,” Thatch gritted out. He was close and was pumping into you furiously. You were gagging but he didn’t stop. He came with a groan, gripping your hair tightly, and you felt him come down your throat. Marco stopped his movements once Thatch did, denying your orgasm.

“Swallow it,” Thatch ordered. You were panting and getting your breath back but did as he told you. “Show me,” he said, hand in your hair tugging your head up. You dutifully opened your now empty mouth. Thatch smiled radiantly down at you.

“Too bad you didn’t get to come, yoi.” Marco said slyly, lifting you off his lap. The plug remained firmly nestled within you to your dismay.

“See, Mami? Everything is wonderful again. Come, let’s go eat dinner together. I know you haven’t eaten today. There’s a party tonight to celebrate Ace and Marco’s successful mission and I want you to eat beforehand.” Thatch was all smiles as you reached for your clothes that were bunched around your ankles. You were glad he was happy and no longer angry with you. Ace was right, everything seemed to be forgiven.

“Oh, one last thing yoi,” Marco noted in a casual tone, “you aren’t allowed to wear panties. I need to be able to quickly check that you’re following the rules. You will wear dresses from now on.” Your head was spinning - there were so many new rules you had to follow. How were you supposed to remember everything? Dresses didn’t really fit with the kind of work you did, but you didn’t think you could complain, especially now that they weren’t mad anymore. You’d stand out even more than you already did on the ship, which wasn’t a pleasant thought. Maybe this would just be temporary.

Marco handed you a coral colored dress you hadn’t noticed before. You took the dress in your hands and stood for a few moments, thinking. How long had this been planned? But you were uncomfortable, tired, and actually hungry so you quickly changed into the dress. At least your back was covered for the party.

[9haharharley1]

Blackice Fuck or Die/Sex Pollen-type scenario

wherein Pitch punches Cupid in the face and then gets lust-dusted in retaliation, but it's not the first time this has happened because Cupid is an asshole and they can't stand each other, so he resolves to wait out the effects in the dark of his lair and maybe masturbate a handful of times to ease the building heat slowly burning him from the inside out and sleep in between.

Of course, this is before Jack decided to pay him a visit. What could the baby Guardian possibly want from him at a time like this, it's terribly inconvenient. But oh, Jack's skin is delightfully cool, it feels lovely against his burning hands when he cups Jack's cheeks. Is the rest of him just as cold? Pitch has to know, has to get his hands on more skin, has to feel more, so he forces Jack out of his hoodie, has to run his hands down pale, freezing flesh, has to feel all that wonderful cold pressed to him, he's burning, it's almost unbearable!

His room. His room is dark and chilled, so Pitch whisks Jack away into the dark of the lair and Jack has no idea what's going on, he only came to check up on Pitch, the man had been inactive for years and the Guardians were starting to get paranoid. He hadn't expected him to start feeling Jack up, start divesting him of his clothes, and Jack really doesn't know what's happening or why Pitch is doing this or even if he really likes it.

Pitch throws him on the bed, throws his own robe to the floor, crawls over on all fours above Jack, and Jack can finally see how dilated his pupils are, how brilliantly gold and hazy, unfocused. Something is wrong, there's no way Pitch would ever want to touch him of his own accord, and Jack tries to push up, tries to talk some sense in the man, to reason with him somehow, but Pitch only lays down on top of him, pinning Jack to the bed, groaning as his over-heated skin comes in contact with blissful cold. There's steam in the air from the extreme temperature difference and Jack is legit worried for the older spirit, but something distracts him. There's something digging into his hip, Pitch is making these noises Jack has never heard him make before, soft grunts and little groans, and there's a nose at his neck as Pitch inhales deeply. Jack really doesn't want to stop this.

[aevallare]

for the trope asks: dead dove? (i know those words mean many things, but i'm using them as a synonym for darkfic in this case)

oh when I drop my dadstarion fic. then u will Realize

[interrogatormentors]

INTERLUDE 2: a king, a lord (an emperor, a god)

Sometimes, Eridan would lay in his cupe and he'd stare at the ceiling. He'd think about the things he'd been pushing away for so long.

He'd think about late morning chats with Karkat. He'd think about orphaner duties with Feferi. He'd think about his occasional lamentations with Kanaya (and the fact that he kept losing her name in the haze was both terrifying and comforting).

He'd think about his archives back on Alternia. He'd think about his hive, his lusus.

He wondered if the old skyhorse had moved on, already. If the ruins of his hive were repurposed. If the books had been pilfered. He wondered if the new inheritor cared as much as he once had about the knowledge he'd so carefully cultivated.

He wished, in a small way, that he was back there. Back then. When times were simpler, when his mind actually worked, when things made sense. He kept losing time. He kept losing himself.

But really, who was he anymore? Was he really anything before Her? His beloved Mistress. His reason to keep going. She was everything.

Thinking about this was always the worst. He shuffled out of his cupe, sighing as he went to shower instead. Once appropriately and impeccably groomed to the nines as was expected of him he made his way out of his blocks, taking his time to walk through the halls.

The lights, the sights, the stars, they never ceased to dazzle, nowadays.

Eridan felt like he was the center of the universe, for all intents and purposes. It made him feel warm and fuzzy in ways that he couldn't begin to describe, the things he had deserved all his life finally being given to him as he justly deserved.

He was a fucking marvel, a gift to the Empire.

(She laughed more genuinely, She smiled more pleasantly when he wasn't sober, so he'd do whatever it took to keep Her happy. That was all he was worth, after all.)

He fished out his flask again. He took a long swig from it and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, letting the sting of the alcohol on the back of his tongue ground him. A notification pinged on his palmhusk and he pulled that out from his pocket, brows rising as he saw the notification. His presence was required on the HBC Condescension, with the DC Reichenbach having already been given instructions to land in the docking bay.

He approached the massive pressurized doors in the loading bay, tapping his feet impatiently.

"Dock," he snapped out, eye twitching with the pang in his temple. God damn it. Not now.

"Dooooock? What's the magic word, Amps?"

"Shakes, none'a this runt grub nonsense outta you. I got summons. Dock." At least this request wasn't horribly fraught with time sensitivity. He hammered at the button nonetheless, annoyed.

"Ughhhhhhh you're no fun anymore. Fine. I'm docking, dude, just chill." The snotty fucking helmsman devolved into grumbling that Eridan couldn't possibly retain care less about retaining. There was more important information he needed to keep track of.

"I don't need to be fun, I need to be good at my job, maybe you should try it one night," Eridan snapped back. He ignored the mock offended gasp from Shakes as he stepped out of the ship, staring up at the docking bay of the HBC Condescension . It was a familiar sight at this point, almost comforting even if it felt too big to fit sometimes.

He slowed as he saw another figure coming straight towards him. He recognized the outfit, decorated with Head Admin certification badges as well as medals and pins that spoke of countless experience and demanded respect. The figure was a seadweller, significantly older than him with age-darkened skin, grey hair and a sharp-cut beard, so he reflexively saluted. It was still strange to receive the respectful gesture in return, but it was slowly becoming less jarring and more expected of his station.

"Head Admin Ashvar Zysgin," Eridan greeted coolly.

"Head Admin Eridan Ampora," Ashvar replied in an equal formal tone, looking down his nose at the smaller seadweller. "The Empress filed for your temporary transfer to assist in Head Admin duties for the next two perigees."

"My what?"

Eridan stared blankly at Ashvar, as if expecting to be hearing things. He was clearly not, though, as the silence stretched on before Ashvar clucked his tongue in annoyance.

"You were supposed to be sent notice." The tone of voice was distasteful, and it made Eridan's blood boil. True to his conditioning education under the Empress, Eridan didn't respond aside from straightening his back, annoyance clear on his face. No stress. No panic. He had to be better. Do not let emotions rule your head. Turn it off.

"I was only sent notice of summons," Eridan said slowly. "It seems a miscommunication occurred."

Ashvar's lip curled. "Clearly." He turned his nose up, clearly annoyed. "Can't trust shitbloods to do anything these nights."

"Clearly," Eridan agreed simply, keeping it short and concise. This one seemed to be far more old fashioned.

"In any case, there is no sense in dallying. I was informed that my duties for the night were to get you caught up. The crew of the Reichenbach will supplement the crew of the Condescension for the next incursion; it's a colony expansion. Captain Nekara will manage orders ship-side, to ensure our magnificent Empress can focus on her glorious conquest as necessary. Consider it an honor, Consort, that she is putting her trust in your capabilities."

He was quite proud of himself for maintaining the calm, casual air that he was meant to carry, even as he preened at the attention and the reverential title of Consort. "Understood, sir. Ever may She reign."

Some of the tension eased as Ashvar clearly approved of the appropriate deference. Good. One step done correctly.

—

Managing a ship as massive as the Condescension was one that took several admins, Ashvar explained as they walked. Eridan kept his eyes focused out as he listened to the senior Admin, taking stock of the surroundings. The interior arrangement of the ship always made it felt more like a mobile city than a ship, in his opinion, but it was fascinating to see. The changes made throughout trollkind history were obvious. Despite having been in the ship multiple times, it never ceased to enthrall him.

Now a bit of that wonder was occupied fiercely by the route memorization he was fiercely committed to as it was explained to him. The maintenance sector was manned by Sector Admin Talawa —and wow, Sector Admin! A whole subset of admins for each corner of the gargantuan ship! It wasn't something taught in schoolfeeding, that's for sure— while the sector by that was engine technology, under Sector Admin Elagya. The culinary sector, responsible for maintaining the meal hall and providing for the fleet, was overseen by Sector Admin Uareon, and the armory was manned by Sector Admin Julien. The mediculling unit was managed by Sector Admin Isopre, and Sector Admin Daunus was in charge of personnel.

He was glad he was recording all the discussions dutifully. He'd upload them to his pandrive later.

"I've called for all the sector admins to meet," Ashvar droned on, gesturing grandiosely, "so they can meet with you and understand that you'll be filling in with... who was the junior admin on your ship again?"

"Ysseol Holkaf," replied Eridan. Ashvar seemed to take Eridan's presence in stride, and there was actual hope that maybe Eridan would find himself fitting in here, better than the rapidly alienating presence he held on the Reichenbach.

Meeting the sector admins unfortunately coincided perfectly with running into someone else. Someone rather unexpected that would blow all those hopes out of the water. 

The admins that had gathered were all stiff at attention, and even Ashvar was taken aback at the towering presence of the Empress where She sat, waiting for them all in the meeting block. Her massive mane of hair easily took up a huge portion of the block, let alone Her horns. She smiled coolly, eyes narrowing in amusement.

Eridan stepped forward immediately as She stood.

"Mistress," he breathed out, taking a knee and bowing deeply, hand over his pusher and other tucked behind his back. Perfectly executed, as She'd taught him. He opened his eyes after waiting the requisite three seconds to see that She had closed the gap, holding Her hand out with Her wrist facing him.

Oh, truly, what an honor. He leaned in and pressed his lips reverently to Her pulse, and he relaxed as he felt Her claws curl around his jaw.

"Stand, guppy," She said coolly, and he did so at Her command, hands now tucked behind his back. "Good buoy. You're in charge."

Eridan froze. Ashvar followed suit. "...My Empress?" Ashvar asked, dimly confused. The other admins, loathing the risk of being singled out, all stayed eerily quiet in the block as it seemed to instantly grow more suffocating.

"Did I stutter, Head Admin?" She asked, coldly. "He's shrimpressed me. You whale do as he says. He has no otter will than mine . For this incursion, I trust no otter."

Eridan bowed his head numbly, eyes shut in reverence to Her judgment. He felt fit to explode.

"And, Eridan," he stopped breathing as he heard his name on Her lips, looking up in wonder at his dear, beloved Empress, "you'll come to my personal blocks after shift's end. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," he murmured, awestruck. "Glory be. May your reign be eternal."

There was a playful spark to Her eyes that hid vicious satisfaction, cruel amusement that he wanted to see more of. So caught up was he, that he missed the reviled rage thinly hidden behind Ashvar's eyes.

As She took Her leave, he watched Her go, taken by Her presence as he always was. He was rudely shocked back to himself with a firm, sharp clearing of the throat. Turning on his heel, he saw Ashvar, looking less calm and collected than he had been prior.

"I will not fail," Eridan said firmly, straightening his back. "Introductions, then. If we're goin' to be workin' together for the next incursion, we ought to know each other. Head Admin of the DC Reichenbach, Imperial Consort to the Empress, Eridan Ampora."

He learned more than a few names in the brief meeting that followed. The spindly, long-haired cerulean that looked down his glasses at Eridan with derision was Quetus Isopre, and the stocky, burly purple that stood by his side was Baldur Daunus, his brow set in a wrinkled scowl. Fidice Julien was a buff butch blueblood with a sharp military haircut, a gnarly scar over the right side of her face that took her eye with it, a broad chest and a mean grin that didn't reach her eyes. Vigare Uareon was another seadweller, not as old as Ashvar but not the youngest of the group, hair tied back in a clean ponytail. Asavra Elagya was a tealblood, the lowest blood of the admins and the shortest with a bush of hair and large, thick rimmed glasses, while Toptan Talawa was another purple with subjugglator-style face paint, and seemed the youngest of them all. He'd have to pull their files to know for certain.

Another thing that Eridan learned, with a sinking feeling he carefully hid, was that none of them were particularly excited at the sudden shift in power.

—

When Eridan reported to the Condesce's private blocks as instructed, he expected everything to go as it always did when She summoned him to Her chambers. Casual chatting about the state of the Empire, some quips thrown in by Psii, Her best alcohol with that horrible powder served in his glass, and everything to go hazy and foggy as She did whatever She so pleased took care of him in a way he'd likely never truly earn the right to claim. He certainly wasn't about to question anything She did to him so graciously gave him in the way of attention.

And that it was. He would never deny how much he adored these quiet moments that only he was so blessed to be privy to. Even if remembering everything that happened wasn't exactly an option...

As usual, Eridan came back to himself tucked away in the Empress's embrace, feeling sore all over and finding it hard to breathe, everything between his knees and stomach feeling raw. He blinked slowly, tucking himself up against Her as She played with his hair, claws curling around his horns. They ached as She did this, but he couldn't react, he'd learned. He needed Her touch more than he needed air.

"One night, if you keep up your current performance," She murmured into the skin of his neck like a kiss, cool, plump lips skimming over tattered gills, "this will be yours. Zysgin's on in his sweeps. I won't have need of him soon enough. A lame troll is of no use to me."

He swallowed. "Such faith in my ability, I could never ask for more, Mistress," he replied hoarsely. His throat ached. He wondered if She'd had him screaming. He didn't really need to know.

"I know you'll be a wonderful extension of my will, guppy," She crooned.

He let out a happy little hum, curling further against Her, simply basking in the attention and the affection, listening to Her breathe. He didn't say a word as Her hand began to wander over his skin again. It didn't matter what he wanted, after all.

He just did as She wanted.

—

The next evening began bright and early. He woke up alone in Her chambers, unsurprising but still disappointing. His pan pounded as usual, displeased with him for falling asleep without being in sopor. Unfortunately, he always fell asleep like this after late mornings spent in Her chambers, and so it was a reality he'd just have to deal with.

Arming himself with his flask, taking a quick shower before dressing himself up as normal, he took his leave from the blocks.

His first stop... personnel. That'd be the biggest doozie, considering how he was certain the sector admin had to speak to each of the division heads on board for morale, health and livelihood reports. It was guaranteed to be the biggest headache possible. Laughsassins, threshecutioners, cavalreapers, ruffiannihilators, interrogatormentors (he shuddered, bile in the back of his throat), subjugglators—well, they all had force deployments here on the HBC Condescension. This was the forward ship for all military campaigns, after all, the stuff of legends. He was excited to read into the stuff.

He was less than enthused when he arrived to see no sign of Baldur. He frowned. The purple should be here somewhere. Where the fuck was he? Something itched in his pan; he sought another swig from his flask.

Wasting too much time trying to find him, at least Eridan actually found him. He saw the jackass brawling with the head of the ruffianihilator squad, which most certainly wasn't part of his duties.

"Admin Daunus!" Eridan barked, bewildered and taken aback. "Where's your report?"

"Somewhere else, shortstack," Baldur snarled in reply, "don't fucking interrupt me."

"The— this is your fucking job!" he snapped, completely blindsided by the sheer disrespect. The other ruffiannihilators all laughed, and Eridan burned in a rage, lip curling as he sneered down the whole lot of them.

"Just like your ancestor, aren't you? Complete stick in the mud. That can get your pail kicked, chumbucket," a purple ruffiannihilator called out. Eridan's eyes narrowed, incensed by the sheer disrespect he was being afforded.

"Show some fuckin' respect, you're talkin' to the acting head admin of the HBC Condescension on Her Imperious Condescension's illustrious order, cannon fodder."

The expression on her face fell into severe unease at this revelation. A subtle glance she gave to Baldur was all Eridan needed to know; the other admin had rigged this interaction.

He turned his ire on the larger purple. "Report, sector admin. That's an order and I am done tolerating your disrespect."

The dry amusement drained off Baldur's face, leaving only annoyance behind as he flipped the ruffiannihilator he was sparring over. "Left it with the threshecutioners, Head Admin," he drawled, and the title felt like an insult.

He bared his teeth and turned off. The report he ultimately found was dismal; damaged and barebones, barely legible and an insult to administrative work as Eridan prided himself on conducting. God. Fucking. Damn it.

—

Next admin... okay. Surely, it couldn't go as bad as Baldur's sector. He hated the smell of antiseptic, of course, and he'd been in this area more times than he'd like (the sight of his horn being removed, the tendrils in his pan crawled and writhed and hurt and hurt and hurt and—) but reports were reports and things needed done. The rota needed to be established, and Eridan was hopeful that Quetus would keep notes as diligently as he appeared to from a glance.

Instead, Quetus was doing something completely unrelated. No reports were prepared for him. After stocking something that most certainly was not his job, he looked over slowly, taking his sweet time to acknowledge Eridan who had been standing there for the past ten minutes.

"Do you know about Orphaner Dualscar?"

Eridan blinked. He glanced over, confused at the line of questioning. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Quetus looked over to him, eyes crinkling in vicious amusement. "Did you know he died a disgrace? Pathetic and washed out, culled by the Grand Highblood?"

His mouth went dry. His eyes narrowed. "Hell are you implyin', Admin Isopre?"

"Watch your step, pupa," Quetus merely said, turning off. Eridan struggled to comprehend what the hell that was supposed to mean, insulted at the way his rank was so casually disregarded .

"Oi!" he called out, frustrated and annoyed. "Where the fuck's your report!?"

"The table," came the infuriatingly vague reply. The way the docterrors and assistants all looked at him, knowing full well who he was and what procedure had been done to him in this very hall incensed him more, and he frustratedly scoured the goddamn block until he found the stupid fucking manila folder. Much like Baldur's report, he realized in quiet dismay, it wasn't worth jack shit. But he was now running late and low on time. He couldn't afford to redo this shit. He needed to keep going.

—

Once was strange. Twice was a trend, and Eridan wished it wasn't so. Because the third time was simply enough to piss him off, which sustained as he merely continued floundering about, unable to get a purchase with any of the sector admins.

He couldn't get a single goddamn report delivered correctly. Each sector was either missing its admin, or experienced its admin doing things they had no business doing. Fidice was outright neglecting the job to drink and play poker with the guards! Come on! She didn't even need soporifics to keep functioning! 

The packet that he ultimately ended up with was disgraceful, a great lump of barely legible shit that didn't get any of the required details a report should have.

He was losing his mind. And by the end of the night, he was summoned by his Mistress. He arrived at Her throne, lowering himself in a prostrate bow and horrified at the fact that he had nothing to show but substandard, cobbled together reports.

He was incensed to see Ashvar showing up with a much nicer looking report folder. He realized at that moment that he'd been duped . And as Ashvar handed off the report to his Mistress, Her expression held only disapproval that cut him far more to the core than anything else She could have possibly done in that moment.

"Oh, guppy," She said softly, disappointed, "I'm gonna have to prawnish you today."

Eridan's shoulders stiffened, panic flickering over his face. "Mistress, I, I swear I—"

"Shhhh. No excuses, buoy. You're bein' two shrimpulsive. What are you?"

Eridan felt humiliated, for Her to bring this up now while the saboteur responsible for this daymare was in the same fucking block? "P-please, Mistress—"

Her tone grew colder. "What are you?"

Eridan squeezed his eyes shut, shame rising up. Don't cry. She would hate that more than anything in the world, at this moment. "...a failure."

"Good buoy. To my private blocks."

The taste in the back of Eridan's mouth was sour as he looked down at his feet. "Yes, Mistress," he croaked quietly. He could feel smugness radiating off that grandiose piece of shit, but he couldn't afford to feel rage in that moment. He wouldn't give the fucker the satisfaction. 

He had to accept his punishment.

—

His throat was sore the next evening. Everything hurt, bruises covering him under his uniform as a reminder of his incompetence. Moving was a misery in and of itself, but he knew he'd deserved it. It wasn't like he could say anything against Her, after all (the heretical audacity of the mere thought gave him anxiety), so he simply sucked it up, showered, and with a thundering pan, he went off to start his rota for the night.

"Hey, Amps!"

He snarled in annoyance, pinching his brow as he turned his attention to the usual troublemakers from his crew. "What?" he asked, sharply, "I'm busy."

Shakes squinted at him and let out a low whistle. "Jeez. What crawled up your nook and died?"

The acrid glare that Shakes got in return had him holding up his hands. "Okay, okay, bad line of convo. Something up, dude?"

"Head Admin Ampora, and no, I'm—I'm fine. Just. Just stop distractin' me, I have reports to get!"

He turned off, paying no further mind to his ship's helmsman. He didn't even pause to wonder why the guy was out and about, considering how outright hostile a lot of people on the HBC Condescension were to lowbloods and, in particular, mobile helmsmen. Traditionalist fucknuts, the whole lot of them.

It's not like it mattered to him, anyways. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

Any hopes he'd had of the first night being a fluke were firmly dashed. The second night went just as poorly, this time overrun by the fact that he tried to do all their reports for them. This took too much time for one troll to do, for the ship was simply so massive that it was impossible to get the work done in a single night. He showed up that night with half the packet clearly done by him alone, and the other half still the same, low tier work. Ashvar, again, showed up with a comprehensive report.

Eridan was once again ordered for punishment.

The punishment that morning was immediately soured by Ashvar intercepting him after they were both dismissed, as Eridan was making his way to Her chambers. The other seadweller had simply smiled, a hand placing on his shoulder, claws threateningly tight against his uniform;

"You know, it's not as if this is unexpected," Ashvar said. "Your ancestor was a disgrace to the empire as well. Vying for something he had no business vying for. You could simply admit to the Empress that you're not cut out for this work, pupa, surely she would allow you to take second position."

Eridan yanked his arm away from Ashvar, not deigning to give him a response. "I have my orders," he simply said, making his way to her blocks again.

How the fuck did this spawn of a bitch know anything about Dualscar?

—

Night three didn't go any better. Supplementing the holes in their shit reports rather than rewriting the shit from scratch didn't work when Elagya simply lied on her report, coming up with bullshit that didn't match the report she'd given to Ashvar. Collapsing on the job didn't help matters, either.

This time he remembered screaming until his throat gave out. Forget it forget it cast it aside. Don't think about it. Just shut down. Keep going. You have to keep going.

God, he was so tired. And, of course, because he was actively being punished, his pathetic plea to see Psii for a moment of relief was immediately and firmly denied.

"You need to do betta for that, guppy," She'd told him.

God, he wanted to cry.

Turn off. Turn it all off. Focus on the work.

—

Alright. No more relying on their reports. He just had to get up earlier. He just had to work harder. He just...

...who was he kidding? Another night, another sinking feeling that he wasn't going to survive to the end of the week. Three nights of failure leading into three days of consecutive punishment and sopor denial was starting to wreak havoc on him. He couldn't afford the time needed to cover up the deep, heavy bags under his eyes, punched in with restless, worthless sleep. He should honestly have just worked through the day, once She was done with him.

Even still, he got up early. He showed up to personnel before Baldur was even conscious, ignoring the annoyance at the troop heads at being bothered before the shift alarm had even gone off, and got the data he needed. He had mediculling's reports written up as well and was walking and sorting through his list of what needed getting, pan going a mile a minute to meticulously micromanage his timing when something changed in his fortunes.

Eridan groaned, scrubbing at his temples, but took pause as he saw a figure approach. Teal on her uniform, expression carefully controlled, he recognized her, first by the shift in her gender-presenting pheromones.

"Admin Holkaf," he said slowly, tucking the still burning anger and betrayal (and hurt so much hurt what had he done to deserve her betrayal, he tried so hard to be an admin worth respecting on that thankless ship) deep in his pusher until he never had to think about it again. Ysseol saluted, and he noticed something in her hands.

"...reports I gathered, sir," she said quietly. "From the armory and culinary sectors."

His brows shot up, genuinely taken aback for a moment. He slowly took the folder and opened it.

He recognized this handwriting. This wasn't Ysseol's, but he wasn't about to bring it up. The second report, of course, had her neat handwriting in it, but the first one... well, that was Spoons. 

What the fuck was a helming tech that had no reason to like him anymore doing, preparing a report? But as he read it over, it was a breath of fresh air that twinged his sore, aching lungs. This was comprehensive. This was excellent work. If her blood had been a couple shades higher, he'd always thought, she'd make an excellent admin. Now he was wondering if that long-standing rule should be twisted for her, but... well. By now, he knows her. She would hate the kind of work that came with administrative tiers. She liked working with her hands, staying busy—

— Why did any of this matter, guppy?

The thought, sounding eerily like Her voice, shook him out of his mystified reverie. He took a slow breath.

"Good work."

Ysseol tilted her head back subtly. He ignored the look on her face. "Of course, sir," she said quietly. "Do you still have additional sectors needing to be gathered?"

Eridan felt a sting in his thoracic cavity; doubt, anxiety. What if she was plotting against him too? The admin crew of the HBC Condescension saw no desire to step back and let him have an easier time of things by any means. She'd already betrayed him, once. Spoons had all the more reason to see him burn, after what he'd done to Bricks he didn't remember he didn't remember why didn't he remember? Wouldn't he have remembered? Wouldn't he—

He took in a slow breath. "No," he lied, and he turned away.

Despite the hustle and the tireless struggle, he ultimately managed to get the rest of the reports. He felt a mix of annoyance and gratefulness when he saw a familiar teal-written folder waiting for him at the entrance of the engine technology sector that he viciously smothered, knowing full-well that he needed a better poker-face. He took the report anyways. He'd arrange for Ysseol to have a night off when the DC Reichenbach was on its merry way, after this horrid shit-show was said and done.

Night four was the first night that ended in his position as acting Head Admin where he didn't get pushed by Her. Ashvar looked fit to spit nails. Eridan did not give him the satisfaction of a response as he was pulled into Her lap and postured like a lap-fitted woofbeast spoiled rotten as his station deserved. 

He simply stared, blankly, turning his mind off and letting Her do as She pleased. 

As he was made to do.

—

It came to a head when, by the end of the week, Eridan was run ragged and exhausted, beyond annoyed. Ysseol and Spoons continued to pitch in when they can (he ignored the report that looked like Bricks's handwriting, pushed that far back in his pan until he'd forgotten who that handwriting belonged to) and his workload became slightly easier. But it wasn't ever supposed to be like this.

He would never complain about his crew on the Reichenbach again, he swore, because if this was how his beloved Mistress's people ran her ship, he felt so, so sorry for Her. Never before had he understood Her troubles more than in this moment, with sheer incompetents sullying Her illustrious name with their panrotted drivel.

His mind made up, he called a meeting to discuss the problems he was seeing. He arrived at the room with the pathetic excuses of reports he'd had to hand the Empress sorted (because yes, he'd been told that he had to keep them, read them over, and solve the issue, of course he had).

He also came with a lighter.

So he waited, there, for the meeting to start. This would hopefully clear the air between them. Just a proper meeting, where he set the groundwork for how their relationship was going to be from here on out.

.....a meeting where no one fucking showed up.

Eridan took a deep breath. He let the breath out. Turn them off. Turn your emotions off. Do not let your emotions rule your head.

"...Psii," Eridan said, lowly, hands splayed across the table, the results of the disastrous week scattered across as much as they well deserved. "You're not too busy at the moment, are you? Could you do me a favour?"

"You know the answer to that question, but I can multitask for you. State your request."

Eridan closed his eyes, breathing again. Slow. Measured.

"The sector admins have elected to not show themselves at a meeting I specifically called. Nor has your head admin. Find them."

Not even a second passed before the Helmsman was rattling off locations. "Admin Daunus is napping. Admin Isopre has invented a maintenance request and is currently meandering through a supply closet. Said supply closet is on deck seven. Admin Fidice is carving the ice for her soporific. Admin Elagya is in a tepid excuse of a hot tub with Admin Talawa and Admin Uareon. Head Admin Zysgin is finalizing routes through the next system. All alerts for the meeting have been snoozed manually in their systems and thus I had no authority to reinstate them nor alert you."

Eridan closed his eyes. "In my position as acting Head Admin of the HBC Condescension, and as the Imperial Consort of the Empress, this is my order. Make them come."

"Would you prefer promptly, or humbled?" There was something like amusement on the edge of the Helmsman's voice, despite the deadpan death-rattle he always spoke with over intercoms.

Eridan smiled slowly, each tooth bared straight to the gum. "Humble them, my dearest diamond. Show them what happens when they disrespect the will of our Mistress."

"Understood. The query was a formality. Your poker face still needs work, Eridan. This request has been deleted from the Imperial Network and shall commence shortly."

Eridan let out a mirthless laugh. "Let me have my fun, snowflake. For now, I'll wait."

There was a scratchy exhale that had an echo of a laugh to it that trailed into a cough, and then the intercom went silent.

Eridan sat and waited, patiently. He flicked the lid of the lighter on and off, feet kicked up on the table. He would outlast them, after everything they'd put him through. It took half an hour before the scumfuckers finally showed up, all of them irritated and annoyed and clearly displeased at the methods visited upon them. He would have to ask Psii for recordings of the merriment later, if only to observe the best ways to get under these dipshits skins.

"How highly immature of you," Ashvar sniffed indignantly. "You would set the Helmsman, an important tool to the Empress, on us? And for what? Because you're unhappy?"

"Object lesson, Ashvar," Eridan said slowly, flicking the lighter on. He stood slowly, eyes flicking slowly, purposely down to the meeting table. "This is the work you all presented me in this past week."

He touched the lighter to the surface of the table. The table which had been cleanly drenched with ignition fluid, and thus lit up like a trash fire. Which, truly, it was.

"I am disgusted with your conduct," he said, calmly, in the midst of their shouts of alarm. "You hem and haw about immaturity, and yet in your illustrious tenure, you present me with trash. I would expect this out of wigglers. I would expect this out of unorganized rebel scum." His eyes glared into each of the admins eyes, all of them appalled at the way the table between them all burned. "Is this how you respect our wonderful, radiant Empress? Undermining the sanctity of Her well oiled machine, when we're gearin' up for a new colony?"

"You set a fucking meeting block on fire! Are you fucking insane?!" Vigare yelled, eyes wide. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Eridan placed his hand on the table. The flames licked around his fingers, around his rings, and they all stared, put into an immediate hush. "What's wrong with me? Me? My problem is that I'm surrounded by incompetent fools who have grown complacent and resistant to change. There's a new Head Admin in the picture at a critical juncture, one who holds the Empress's confidence more than any of you remora ever fuckin' have." He pulled his hand slowly back, wiggling his fingers. He could barely feel the angry blistering of his hand where the rings grew hot. He'd had worse.

"Do you think I'm some sort of yellow-bellied weaklin'? That I wouldn't catch on to your game? 'Cause I was on it from night one. Your Head Admin, I'm afraid, is not subtle in the slightest. So if you think I'm stupid, naive, well, you are sadly fuckin' mistaken."

He rounded the table and approached them, nose turned up in the air, eyes narrowed to slits. "You know, I know intimately well how to dismember corpses. I was an Orphaner in my youth, much like a certain undeservin' whisper of an alleged ancestor you shitpans keep tryin' to foist on my person. So it should come as no surprise to hear when I tell you that once you have a skeleton, yer wretched meatsack follows a pattern. Doesn' matter if you're a troll, or a lusus. You've got joints. Those can be broken, easy. Claws? Those can peel off much easier than you'd think. Muscle fibers need the right angle, but they'll tear, even with a blunt instrument. With the right technique, nothin' lasts."

There was a sharp sound, and Eridan reeled for a moment, blinking slowly as he felt dull pain spread through his face. He looked slowly to see Ashvar, violet in the face and enraged, his teeth pulled back in a snarl.

"How dare you," the other Head Admin snarled. "You miserable little brat. Barely out of your fresh molt, and an accident has convinced you you're worth something? When such a critically important assignment looms over us as a guillotine? You should have accepted your failure on that first night and conceded that you were ill-equipped to handle this task."

"You raised your hand to the Imperial Consort," Eridan commented, eyes dragging up to the intercoms. The casual threat only incensed the usually composed seadweller.

"You're nothing," Ashvar roared, grabbing Eridan by the lapels, the fuchsia of his consort cape bunched under his undeserving grubby claws. "Nothing but a little runt clawing at the worthless legacy of a disgraced Orphaner who died in pathetic misery! Even she thinks you're nothing, she tore your ear off, left you mutilated— marked you a wretched little slave! I owned dozens of you in the prime of the Empire, hundreds of sweeps before you were even spat out of the mother grub's brooding sphincter!"

Eridan snarled. He lashed out, but without claws to dig in, he could only grab Ashvar's throat and squeeze. The man threw him aside, laughing, and he slammed into the wall. He collected himself quickly, pushing himself up to his feet as he glared over furiously, eyes narrowed to slits. "You're a declawed, defanged little plaything pacified by a crippling dependence on soporifics that she's winding up to watch break! You–" Eridan was kicked in the side with a sharp bite of pain that he dared not voice, "–are–" another kick, another bloom of pain, more unvoiced rage, "–nothing!"

The admins laughed in amusement. The laughter circled in his aching, roaring pan, twisting the band of sanity tauter and tauter until it finally snapped in a moment of pain, humiliation, and cold, nauseating fury.  

The red overcame him.

Last longer. Punch harder. Tear flesh and scales apart with your teeth. Be every bit the monster that people think you are. But do not let emotions rule your head.

Do not let emotions rule your head.

DO NOT LET EMOTIONS RULE Y

Eridan sucked in a slow breath as his vision cleared. He was sore. He was tired. He was panting for air, gills burning, teeth bared to the gums. The table was slammed into the wall, cracked clean in two, the charred remains of shit reports scattered uselessly and soaked in violet.

He could taste iron and flesh in his mouth, and he blinked slowly, staring blankly down at the fallen limb in front of him. He could see it was impaled in multiple parts, and he noted that tacky coldness was dripping slowly down his horns. Fingers were missing off the hand, and he saw shredded remains of them scattered around in a barbaric bloodbath.

Ashvar was down on the ground, dry-heaving from the pain. His only hand with what fingers remained clung at the jagged stump of his arm. Eridan moved forward, slowly, boots squishing on the tacky violet blood that stained the pristine floors of his Mistress's ship.

He placed his boot on the stump, and shoved the older seadweller down without remorse.

The resulting shriek made his fins ring, dimmer in the slave-cut fin. He ignored it. He only felt cold anger, slowly drenched in the arctic waters that filled his lungs.

"Crawl," Eridan said, frigid. "Crawl to the fuckin' medbay and pray to the good will of our Illustrious Empress that the Docterror on duty won't turn you away for bein' a dumb sack of shit waste of genetic material. And th' next time you think of somethin' smart, watch your tongue or I'll rip it out of your withered sack of meat, you panrotted hasbeen. I am the Imperial Consort of the Empress, executor of Her will, extension of Her radiant, everlasting splendour. I can and will always rank above you, and lip service will earn you a visit from the drones, if you're lucky enough to miss disciplinary action from the Imperial Network." His eyes rose slowly, needling each of the other admins purposefully.

No one was laughing at him anymore.

"Ashvar Zysgin is an example," he continued. The rage he felt was drained out of him entirely; only cold remained. "If any of you have any complaints, by all means, come forward. We'll settle this the old fashioned way. I don't need any'a you dead-weight swill to get this job done. I've already made that painfully clear."

None dared to move. He wondered, dimly, what he'd done to earn the looks on their faces. He decided that, having seen the aftermath, he didn't actually care.

"Good. So you understand," he said softly, "that if you ever, ever disrespect me or mention the Orphaner Dualscar to my face again, you will not survive your next breath."

Everything felt cold, so fucking cold. He didn't think he could feel cold like this. They kept shooting glances at each other, and he couldn't make out the details, the aura in his eyes unbearable. The silence burned colder in his throat.

"I expect an answer out of you, bottom-feeders. Are. We. Clear?"

Uareon stumbled forward, clearly ousted into the speaking role by her co-conspirators. She immediately shrank back, nauseated and pale as death as she looked down at the sobbing mess that was once a tenured Head Admin. "...crystal, Head Admin Ampora, sir. This will not happen again, sir. A thousand apologies for the disrespect, sir. Your will be done, sir."

He saluted automatically, demanding respect as they responded in kind with the additional deferential tilts of the head to expose their necks. He felt cold, cold, colder than ice as he turned on his heel. He saw Nekara at the door of the meeting block. He couldn't make out the expression she wore. The aura he saw was overwhelming. He needed relief a drink.

"Captain Fyrane," he said, coldly, the only acknowledgement he offered as he passed her out the door.

There was only one person he needed to respect anymore. Only one person he could trust. He'd tried, he'd tried so hard so fucking hard, but realized in futility that he would never belong anywhere. He only belonged in one place in the whole cruel, unfeeling world, and it was a place he'd never leave. 

He understood now, understood why She ruled through fear, understood why none dared cross Her, and he felt pity for Her. To be so alone in the universe, with no one to understand Her... what a sad, lonely existence.

But he was there. And he would let Her do anything to him. Because he was so, so desperately flushed for Her.

And as he saw Her standing further behind the gruesome scene, simply watching, judging, and waiting, saw the vicious approval, the too wide smile, the amusement at Her toys playing approval and pity and affection on Her face, he stopped before Her.

He bowed, followed the cues he'd learned so well, and finally received the pleasure of kissing the palm of Her hand with all the tenderness he could possibly muster in the universe. Violet blood and bits of gore smeared in his wake. She smiled wider, deeply amused by his grand show.

He felt nothing at all.

(Somewhere else, choked out and unheard through a suffocating web of necrotic wire, someone sang a funeral dirge for the person he used to be.)

[cry-ptidd]

A daily occurrence

[pupyr0arz]

soaps the fresh faced fng to the squad still desperately trying to prove himself, but not too desperate, you know. A cool kind of proving yourself like surviving initiation pranks and impressing the squad with his sick skills with explosives, cause every military man loves explosions. They’ll love him seriously, he jus needs a minute to prove himself but the captain is already grudging starting to like him, soap can tell. He’s paying him some attention and he offers soap a chance to come into his office and have some of the top shelf whisky and damn soap is on this like a fly on shit, it’s in the bag. He’s gonna have a mentor moment and really bond with the guy, trust him on base as much as he’s starting to trust him on the field, letting him lead before his conscious mind can think to audit and then soap is a little woozy which is weird cause he can drink other guys under the table and he’s like, two glasses in and is price feeling sick at all— and then he’s waking up with his face in a puddle of his drool bent over the desk, limp and spread eagle, naked. Just wide open with no respite as Price fucks into him slowly and he’s been at this for a while because it doesn’t hurt at all even with how fucked up thos all is and price can tell the minute he wakes up and he drapes himself over soap like he just wants to remind him that even if soap worked past the drugs there’s no getting out of this and he laughs in his ear and god price is massive and price is telling him he can scream and maybe ghost or Gaz will show up and gag him with their cocks or he can stay quiet and be price’s toy for a bit <3

[tequila-solar-storm]

Clear Day, Cold Touch (Chapter 2): Smiling Rain

PLEASE READ ALL TAGS BEFORE STARTING! ALL TAGS BELOW CUT!

Fandom: Pokémon

Characters: Amethio, Spinel, Sidian, Friede, Hamber

Ship(s): Spinel/Amethio/Spinel, Friede/Amethio, Mentioned Hamber/Amethio

Platonic Ship(s): -

Content Warning(s): Dubious Consent, Angst, Toxic Relationship(s), Blood, Unsafe Sex

Rating: Explicit

With the ‘assistance’ of his colleagues, Amethio tries to get Friede out of his mind.

In the world he lived in, Amethio only had two things: strength and dignity.

But that strength was a pedestal of glass; easily broken, easily taken. With his ‘strength’ so mercilessly ripped from his grasp, what would Amethio be if not the proud, resilient fool?

Smashing the alarm bells in his head to pieces, Amethio sealed his lips shut and closed his eyes, turning limp once more.

READ HERE ON AO3

Tags

•Chapters are the same story with minor differences

•CH 1 is the problematic version and CH 2 the even more problematic one

•Friede does not show up in person but is mentioned throughout the story

•Hamber only appears near the end

•Dubious Consent

•Amethio consents to sex but not to some of the shit the others pull

•Aged-Up Character(s)

•Ages are Amethio (21) Sidian (22) Spinel (24) Hamber (Grandpa) and Friede (23)

•Angst

•Hurt No Comfort

•Unhealthy Relationships

•Manipulative Relationship

•Sparring

•Friends With Benefits

•Colleagues with Benefits

•Threesome - M/M/M

•Threesome

•Kissing

•Scratching

•Painful Sex

•Size Difference

•Anal Sex

•Barebacking

•Creampie

•Bottom Amethio (Pokemon)

•Top Spinel (Pokemon)

•Top Sidian (Pokemon)

•Not Beta Read

•No beta we die like the pacing in Horizons

•Written before Horizons episode 62

•Pocket Monsters | Pokemon Horizons: The Series

•Tags from this point on apply only to Chapter 2

•Mentioned Amethio/Hamber

•Which naturally means mentioned old/young teacher/student etc

•Unsafe Sex

•Bloodplay

•Anal Tearing

•Anal Bleeding

•Knifeplay

•Choking

•Non-Consensual Choking

•Stabbing

•Non-Consensual Stabbing

[slutcore-starships]

anywyas not to be Extremely Normal™️™️ on main but fuck i need to get domesticated so bad . need to get bound and kissed and held down and snuggled and tied up in her bed and trained and bitten and used by other pets and . you know . Normal Things™️™️™️

[pyrepostings]

To Pin A Songbird

Free Birds and Fiddlers

Cw: dubcon, noncon drugging, needles, Smut with plot relevance

~~~

Kevin knocked on the door of the house. It was cold and drissling rain, and he was glad when the door opened quickly.

"Scotty."

"Hey John. You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, I- come in, please."

Kevin stepped inside, sliding off his muddy boots and draping his half-soaked cloak over the back of the chair by the door. "You said in your letter you wanted to call in a favor. Is it the favor, or something else?" He said with a smirk.

John blushed. "Yeah. You said you would sleep with me again, once, if I asked. Do you still mean that?"

"Of course." Kevin stood, closing most of the gap between them. "I said anything you want. Though, do you want to talk about it first?"

"Talk about what?"

Kevin drew away and walked further into the house. "Well that depends on what exactly is on your mind. For one," He flourished onto the couch, taking a relaxed pose as open and inviting as possible, putting his feet up onto the table in front of it. "Generally speaking, lovers, when sleeping together for the first time or the first time in a long time, will often find it useful to have a little talk beforehand, discussing precisely what they expect from each other. I said I would do as you wish, but I would like to know at least generally what role you want me to play."

There was a strangely strained smile on John's lips as he leaned against the door frame.

"You know, it doesn't have to be detailed, just a general heads up as courtesy. Secondly- it has been quite some time since I gave that offer. I just feel that something might have happened to warrant cashing in now, specifically? A date stand you up?"

"No no, nothing like that." He scratched the back of his head. "I just- I don't want to talk about it. In the morning, maybe." He suddenly mustered his bravado, and started what could only be described as a saunter towards Kevin. "Besides, do I need a reason to want you, in a little less clothing, with your feet off my table, and your ass in my bed tonight?"

By the time he finished talking, he was straddling Kevin on the couch, lips tantalizingly close.

"Hm. There's one more thing absolutely essential before we begin."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"You haven't even offered me a drink yet. What a host you are."

"Oh. Ah, do you want something to drink?"

Kevin smirked up at him. "No, I think we should just get down to business, don't you think?" And with that he reached up and made contact, kissing John's bottom lip hungerly, stifling the sounds of amused confusion.

The pair eventually made it to the bedroom, John pulling off Kevin's harness and flight gear as he pressed him against the closed door, kissing fervently as he ran his hands against every inch of Kevin's skin, disrobing him quickly.

Kevin found himself being pushed to the bed with only his underwear and socks left to remove. He arched his back and pulled a knee up seductively. He knew doing so pulled his hair in such a way against the sheets that it looked like a fire ring halo around his head. He knew how to present all his best features, and he smiled at the effect he was clearly having on his partner.

John kissed Kevin's knee as he slowly pulled the sock off his foot and tossing it aside, and Kevin presented his other one to repeat the process. John was being deliberate now, kissing slowly up Kevin's strong toned legs, sending shivers up his spine until John was straddling him on the bed.

"Is it part of the scene, or did you think I wouldn't want a good look at you too, section commander?" Kevin's tone was light and teasing, making John blush and squirm.

John kneeled up, flexing as he pulled off his shirt, to Kevin's delight. And as John leaned back down, Kevin groped and kissed his now exposed chest until he pulled Kevin's hands back, and above his head, and kissed him deeply, running his hand delicately down from Kevin's jaw, to his neck, nails gliding gently down his side, and hands cupping his hips and thighs.

John kissed down Kevin's neck, biting not to leave a mark but just enough to feel his teeth.

Kevin rolled in the sensation, thrusting up, letting out little breathless moans at each faint touch. John was breathless too, but in a way that told Kevin that he needed this night as a distraction more than he thought.

And as Kevin was getting into a vocal mood, when a sudden pain pierced and flooded his side, he cried out.

"I'm sorry. Scotty, I'm sorry. You're going to be fine."

"What did you do?!"

"It's just a needle. You're going to wake up I promise."

"John, what- let me go!"

John's grip was bruising now, and he was perfectly positioned to keep Kevin down. Kicking and squirming accomplished nothing.

A different kind of chill ran through Kevin, and set his breathing erratic. "John. Let me go. Right now."

"I can't do that. I'm sorry."

He tried to struggle. He braced himself and put all his strength into wrenching a hand free. Because if he could get just one hand free then-

It didn't matter. His vision blurred and darkened, and the last word on his lips was, "traitor."

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