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sol-consort · 10 months ago

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Smut for super earth! 🫡

Sir yes sir 🫡 Smut for democracy!

Launching Helldivers 2 smut in 3...2...1

C-01

[heavy smut, dom/sub, blood, slight humiliation, exhibition, penteration, aphrodisiac, objectification, use of military titles in bed, obedience kink]

[Dark themes, parody of fascism]

[Reader is a helldiver and gender neutral]

“Welcome aboard, helldiver, and great job out there” the ship master held her clipboard as she went over your mission report, “the samples you've collected will be put to great use.”

Droplets of red follow your trail as you make your way towards the ship management screen, cape drenched in blood and sticking to your body. The ship master was polite enough not to comment on the limb in your steps, or maybe it was stoic professionalism that let her ignore the shortness of your breath.

Looking over the list of new weaponry you've unlocked, it was hard to make a decision on what to spend your requisition slips on, especially with the pain in your leg. It has already been treated by the onboard ship medic and is technically service ready, but you've exhausted your government assigned monthly allowance of painkillers, and the doctor wouldn't prescribe you any.

Rations were running tight at the moment. They cut back on helldivers' luxury medical comforts in order to fund the fight for democracy and boost the research for the upcoming mech suits. Just what kind of enemies would require a mech suit when they usually throw you bare at bile titans, you wonder.

And so, having exhausted all other options, you reach inside a deep pocket under your armour and take out the stem injection. tilting your head to the side to expose your neck, with experienced hands, you quickly stab the substance right over where your vein should be.

A shudder runs through your body as waves of adrenaline quickly pass through every single one of your blood streams. Your armoured grip on the monitor almost cracks the screen, wasn't it for the reinforced glass.

Finally, as it washes down your body, a sigh of relief is all that's heard as you fix your posture. Back straight and all the pain evaporates from your leg as the stem forces your body to immediately replace the cells with new ones. Pumping the blood faster by pushing your heartbeat to the edge of the dangerous zone, tricking your immune system into thinking the damaged cells are a threat so they'd attack It faster.

With nowhere for the excess energy to go, the dosage leaves you restless. It was meant to be taken amidst a battlefield where you can find release through spreading freedom in the name of democracy at your enemies, in the shape of an RS-422 Railgun, of course.

With no shooting ranges or infiltrating enemies to take out your energy out on in the safety of your own destroyer ship. The blood rushes wherever it could go. You feel the heat pooling in different parts of your body, filling whatever place it could find.

Eventually settling between your thighs, making you hyper aware of the rough texture of the under-armour padding pressing against you. The smallest movement grinds the fabric more and more against you with every breath you take.

How sensitive your thighs suddenly feel, your blood wasn't the only wetness seeping into your armour.

You don't make a single sound, pressing your lips tightly shut as you endure the pleasure building up. For it wasn't much different than enduring the pain of a chest wound on the battlefield while laying on the ground, holding back the waves of terminid scouts with nothing but a pistol as your teammates calls for airdrop resupply.

You've signed up your body to be given for the cause long ago, for the future of super Earth and all of its civilians. So you've learned to endure and obey all commands, like the excellent little soldier you are.

Pushing your weight off of the desk you were leaning on, you head towards the navigation map at the end of the ship.

One step after another, the pleasure intensifies. Your own legs have never felt more energised and light before despite your brain twisting every average sensation to squeeze out any resemblance of sexual gratification it could from it.

The way your under-armour hugs your body. The way the padding presses between your legs, against the inside of your thighs and right over your chest. The straps securing the metal plates to you start looking sinful.

Another step, your body is screaming at you for any relief from the overwhelming pressure building inside with nowhere to go.

A final step, and you've reached your destination. The familiar sight of the map greets you, showing super Earth in its centre with the two enemy factions creeping in from the borders of the galaxy. The automatons stick to the borderlines as their red territory crawls its way upwards the map. While the terminids are swarming towards the home planet of Lady Liberty herself at an alarming speed.

“Your fellow helldivers are fighting on the frontlines for our freedom as we stand here.” The ship's executive officer found his way to your side, looking over the dwindling liberation percentage on the yellow territory.

His orders remain unspoken, yet were orders all the same. Go join the fight.

You're not even sure if he can give you orders. Are you even the captain of your own ship? It was handed over to you alongside the armour from another Helldiver who failed to evacuate in time before the shuttle took off. Yet you haven't even met the pilot of your supposed own ship.

It's been endless missions after missions, and anything in between is spent in stasis in cryosleep. It's to prevent helldivers from being at less than their optimal physical age whilst cutting down on unnecessary costs like food rations, symptoms of traumatic experiences that rear their head during idle times, and off shore leave.

These few minutes spent at your own destroyer are the only waking moments where your fighting instincts aren't pushed to limits alongside your sanity. a glorious sacrifice to upkeep the daily privileges and rights of humans everywhere.

The democracy officer must have noticed the trembling of your fingers as you picked the next destination, the way you were squeezing your thighs together and leaning your weight against the circular map.

He must've seen this case before in many other soldiers like you. That's why you didn't question it when his hand went under your cape, wrapping around your back to help steady you. His voice took a softer tone as he ordered you to follow him.

Helping you walk and letting you lean against him made you realise how strong he must be under his uniform to be able to endure the weight of a helldiver clad in full armour. His hand kept you in place, and you didn't resist as he led you through the staff quarters. Unlocking his door with a simple face scan, you were surprised with what you saw inside.

How long has it been since you've seen a bed? And an actual bed stood here in front of you. It was nothing luxurious, the usually army manufactured steel frame with a thin white mattress above.

it looked uncomfortable, but compared to your standing cryo freezer, it looked like paradise.

“Now, I assume you know the rules and regulations set in place about fraternisation amidst ranks, helldiver?”

You were nudged towards the bed. In your current state, it didn't take much to get you tumbling over and face first onto the mattress.

“It's highly encouraged.”

To boost troops' morale and help cure homesickness or any deviation thoughts about returning to civilian life. rule C-21 was put in place to allow soldiers to aid each other when it comes to stress relief activities, no matter its nature.

Of course, like any other activity that involved sexual Intercourse with another human, it required an immediate report in the aftermath to the ministry of healthcare in the form of paperwork. In the case the activity could result In a child, an extra paperwork is in order to request a permission slip that you could forward to the ministry of population regulation in order to start your work towards getting pre-pre-approval for the right to create a child, with additional screening and tests required to pass through plus an additional wait period depending on how many other people are requesting the permission to repopulate during this year. All fall under the rule of C-01. Failure to do so might result in having the right to your reproductive organs revoked for not meeting the standards of civility expected of every loyal citizen to uphold the constitution of managed democracy.

Surrendering all control to your democracy officer, you obediently parted your legs when his hands lifted your hips up to get you to lay on your knees instead.

Face down, ass up, with your captain cape falling off to the side.

His fingers made quick work of the straps, keeping your armour secured before undoing the belt to your pants and lastly the zipper to your under armour. It was more time effective to only remove enough parts to be able to push your lower armour down to your knees, revealing just enough of your intimate parts and leaving the rest of your body covered.

“You're dripping. You've made a mess already.” With two fingers, he trailed them up the inside of your thigh, scooping as much of your wetness as he could manage. Trailing his fingers up and pressing your own sticky wetness against your tight hole, circling the rim with his fingertips to get you to relax and open up to him.

You laid there helpless with an iron grip against the sheets below. Anticipating the feeling of being prodded open on his fingers. His other hand cupped directly between your legs, with a leather glove holding your most intimate parts like it was nothing.

Not being able to resist much more, you found yourself grinding down on his hand. The friction of the leather and increased sensitivity of your body only made the sensation more addicting.

You didn't care for the fact you were his captain and he was technically your inferior, the electric pleasure shooting through you with every press against his big gloved hand was slowly clouding your brain of all senses of rationality.

He only kept his hand there as you did all the work. desperately pushing against it in search of release. It wasn't enough, but he didn't make any effort to help you go faster, preferring to keep you squirming in neglect.

It was nothing more than a temporary nicotine patch, akin to a band-aid against a gushing wound. Just enough to give you a taste of pleasure and have you pathetically grinding and seeking more.

without a warning, his two fingers pushed inside you, covered in your own leaking wetness and nothing more. Pressing you harder against the bed and the hand cupping you, forcing sounds of pleasure from your throat that got muffled by your helmet.

His fingers were wet enough to reach further inside, fucking in and out of you at a steady pace that grew faster and faster. it was clear now why he was neglecting your genitals on purpose, he wanted you to cum while getting fucked by your inferior officer instead, because that's what good soldiers do.

A third finger joined soon enough as his other hand let go of you, now covered in your own wetness and pre-cum. In a rare tender moment, it went to hold one of your closed fists on the sheets, entangling your fingers and reassuring you that he's here.

The three fingers were brutal, not giving you a second of rest as they explored your insides with a purpose.

The more the pleasure grew, the harder it was to think. All you cared about was the feeling of being filled and thoroughly taken care of.

Paying no mind to your knees that were getting numb, much like you had to crawl through dirt and kneel during combat to get better accuracy on your machine gun, you could endure staying in this position for hours.

You were made to fight, your body honed for combat, endurance, and stamina. Every scar littering it is a living proof of every death you escape with nothing but its claws scraping your skin as you lived to be sent on another mission immediately after.

And rightfully so, the democracy officer could be as rough as he wants with you and you'd still take it, because that is your purpose in life.

It was decided for you, like everything else in your life. You don't need to ponder or get curious about anything. You don't even need to think because your government will do the thinking for you.

You don't even need to touch yourself, just say the word and the closest democracy officer will bend you over the nearest surface and fuck your brain out In front of everyone, even with other helldivers in the room.

The armoury is already placed in the middle of the ship after all, exposed for all to see much like your dignity each time you get ready for a mission. It's not like all your officers and engineers haven't seen you naked while changing equipment.

There is very little courtesy offered in times of war.

So it won't be any different to have you pressed against the armoury wall, thighs wrapped around him as he fills you with his cum before zipping you up and shoving you into the nearest landing pod so you won't miss your next mission.

Landing on the planet with legs all wobbly and stuffed to the brim with his cum. Feeling it slowly leak down your legs and stain your armour as you fight for your life while simultaneously trying to finish your mission and avoiding the falling meteors.

Having to work with the teammates who just watched you take a load inside. Who heard the sounds you make while struggling not to finish embarrassingly soon with so many people watching you get fucked.

Then join them like it's nothing. Feeling their eyes on you the whole time and knowing they know what the growing stains between your legs are.

Their touches start to linger. They squeeze your thighs whenever one lends you their stem injection after you run out. Grope your back as you help them reload their weapon before another breach arrives. Using you to their heart's content in the evacuation shuttle as a way to vent out the aftermission adrenaline from their bodies while the Falcon 1 pilot enjoys the sound of your gagging.

That's the humiliating fate that you could be subjected to. That's the life of a soldier you signed up for.

Instead, you're here, laying on a semi comfortable bed.

Having the luxury of getting prepared beforehand, of being taken on a subjectively soft mattress instead of the cold metal floor. The privilege of working with such professional helldivers that would never do such a thing during missions. I mean what's next? Helldivers throwing down eagle strikes right before boarding evac shuttles or using the reinforcement as stratagems by throwing you into hordes of enemies? Don't be so absurd, these things never happen, you're just imagining things and if you keep talking about it you might be given a mandatory trip to a freedom camp for re-education, as a work bonus.

Taking you to his own quarters, giving you the privilege of privacy and going out of his way to be kind to you. Your democracy officer must really care for you.

Just don't think too hard about how he's the one who calls down the strikes on you if you ever wander outside your mission zone too far, charges of treason and all you know how it is.

How about, don't think too hard ever again? Stay the way you are and endure everything life throws your way. Saying yes to every order, saying no to every break, keep showing up to be such a good little obedient soldier.

Three fingers pull out of you with a wet pop as your insides clench around nothing. You stop yourself from whining because it's not becoming of a ship captain. Instead, you wait patiently with your ass in the cold air as you hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down.

Something big slots against your back, rubbing its head up and down your gaping hole, giving it a wet tap or two as your thighs quiver.

At this moment, you've never wanted something in your life more than you wanted this big mean cock inside you.

To feel it stretch you out and finally push you towards your release. Afterall you can't cum on your own, you must wait for permission in the form of your democracy officer's cock fucking you until the lights in your brain turn off.

Very early in training, you're taught never to beg. Be it for your own life against an enemy or anything else, for death is preferable to cowardice. Cowardice is treason, and treason is bad.

Even when every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire from the anticipation, even when you're being deliberately teased and toyed with for nothing more than another's amusement.

You're a helldiver, and your job is to endure and follow orders. That's the only thing you're good for.

“Good job, soldier.” His praise is shortly followed by the head of his cock spliting you open, the delicious stretch of being filled with something so large as you spread your legs even more.

“Thank-” you attempt to stutter a reply, but the air is pushed out of your lungs as he bottoms out inside you. You've never been this full in so long. The less than ideal lubricant amount makes it burn deliciously, what was supposed to be pain gets turned into overwhelming pleasure by the stem in your bloodstream. You keep clenching around him as you adjust to his size. “Thank you, Sir.”

His body is fully pressed against yours. One of his hands moves your arms behind your back and is holding them in place. Forcing you into a submissive docile position while his other hand grips your hips, no doubt leaving marks on them by the end of this.

Every thrust pushes you up the bed, moving your entire body before he pulls you back down with his grip against your hands and hips. Bouncing you back and forth.

Your panting and moans would've filled the room, wasn't it for the helmet muffling them for everyone except yourself, making you hear your own cries crystal clear. Every hiccup and groan digging into your ego and self image. Thankfully your ego was used to the bruising from being put in place each morning as you stood up and swore allegiance to super earth, repeating how you're nothing more but a servant for democracy, carved stone to be stepped on for a brighter future in the ladder of liberty.

His thrusts were powerful and deliberate, a steady pace that didn't leave you any room to meet them or wiggle away. Making you completely at his mercy, how clearly he is in charge as he moved and manhandled you however he wished.

You wonder, just how many details about this encounter will go in the report? Will he have to tell them how he fucked you? Describe In details how your insides felt as they milked him dry, spasming and squeezing around his cock with every thrust as if this was your first time getting properly dicked down.

Will he have to specify how he prepared you beforehand? How he didn't use any lube, just your own sticky wetness instead because he knew how much of a slut for pain his helldiver is.

Is it note-worthy to mention how obedient and patient you were the whole time and didn't whine or make a fuss? How you still adorably addressed him as sir despite outranking him, how you let him tug and throw you around like you were a common whore instead of an honourable disciplined soldier.

Or does he only have to refer to the time-period in which he defilled you on his bed? And management can just pull the surveillance and security cameras footage, the same one in the corner of this room right now. Because you never know when a cowardly robot or a nasty bug could infiltrate the helldivers' ranks. So there are cameras everywhere to ensure the safety of the collective, no exceptions made ever.

For privacy is a small price to pay for liberty and freedom! Or are you so selfish to prefer having your entire crew killed without warning by a bug? Just because you didn't want to give up something as insignificant as personal space? Shame on you, Citizen.

As we all know, it is the people with nothing to hide who have nothing to fear. Could you imagine what people might get up to on their own time if it wasn't public knowledge for all to see? That's why it is important for the government to monitor everyone! It is for the safety of the collective.

For the many shall suffer for the sins of the one.

by now most of the stem injection aftermath has been fucked out of you, as the adrenaline wears off you're growing more and more exhausted, brainless and limb.

The same brutal pace that he used with his fingers, only instead it's a thick cock making your brain melt and insides spasm now.

You're so close. The relief you've been so desperate for is just out of reach.

collecting your remaining brain cells to try and form something coherent between all the moaning and whimpering, you manage to make a full word at last.

“Sir-I” a hoarse cry is forced out of you, his cock pressed against a rough patch of skin inside you that lights your nerves up. Almost pushes you over the edge, biting your lips you force yourself to resist the painful temptations to cum.

You attempt again “I'm close, officer. Permission to-” it's burning and clawing at your core from sheer intensity, threatening to burst at any seconds. You put all of your self control into holding it back as tears collect in the corners of your eyes.

You're pulled by your arms to sit up on your knees. Manhandled by your officer like It was nothing despite all of your armour. Much like you ragdolled whenever a charger flung you around as you attempted to dodge being crushed by its claws.

Immediately, your body collapses back onto his chest. Your head lays on his shoulder as you meet his eyes through the tinted windshield in your helmet. Releasing your arms, both of his hands wrap around your waist to keep you up despite your weak knees.

“Permission granted.” His own voice is breathless, unlike the collected tone you've grown used to greeting you whenever you approach the map. The same voice praising you at the end of each mission, encouraging you before the start of another, that same voice was giving you allowance to cum, a silent order that you will obey like all of his others.

You look him in the eyes as you cum, your executive officer watching waves of Intense pleasure going through his captain's body, making you spasm and make a mess on his bed.

Your overstimulated trembling body is used like a fleshlight as he thrusts his cock in and out of you.

Up and down, in and out, seeking his own pleasure, which arrives shortly after.

Filling you to the brim with his cum as he stays inside, a ring of white forming around his cock as it attempts to leak out.

With the stem fully worked out of your system, you're suddenly aware of how much your knees hurt. How numb they are by now.

A hand goes under your armour, gently rubbing your stomach. The harder it presses down the more your insides convulse around the cock plugging you, involuntarily attempting to push it out to make space for the cum threatening to overflow.

Moving down to your hips and thighs, the hand squeezes them tightly just as the democracy officer gives one final thrust forward that steals your breath before pulling all the way out and watching the cum leak down your legs.

Before your insides could close, the same two fingers thrust back in and keep your hole spread out. The other hand continues to rub and squeeze your thighs reassuringly as you push all the cum out.

Aware of his eyes watching you through this whole thing, helping you get it all out with his fingers. It's almost humiliating how you had to be guided and ordered through this whole thing from the moment your ass was up until the second you're having your insides cleaned by your inferior officer.

After what feels like an eternity of probing, you're finally pushed forward to fall on the bed. Your knees give out instantly as the blood rushes to them. Your arms ache, and your thighs are all sticky and wet.

Even now, laying on a bed, in a puddle of cum, you're reminded of how more comfortable it is than being frozen to sleep each night in your cryo chambers.

Your racing heartbeat slows down. The officer leaves the bed for a moment before coming back with a warm wet towel, wiping between your thighs and cleaning you out as you lay there.

He fixes your armour back on afterwards, pulling your now ruined underwear back up. Making you wear the mess you've made. Your pants follow after, then under armour padding and finally strapping the armour pieces back into place.

The screen monitor on your wrist flashes, an invitation request to join on a mission from a fellow helldiver.

You just laid down, but it seems the world can't give you a break. With no time to relish in the bliss that follows an orgasm, that luxury too must be sacrificed. Pressing the option to accept the mission, the coordinations get sent to the entire team as the destroyer prepares to make the jump across the galaxy.

The democracy officer extends his hand to you, and you hold on to it as you slowly get up from the bed. Taking the towel and wiping away any stains on your armour.

Your body pulses with soreness and aches in pain. You can't tell where the blood ended or cum started in the mess that is your cape, proudly showing off your helldiver status as captain on the back.

The democracy officer cups the side of your helmet to turn your head towards him. There's a look in his eyes that you can't place. It's too perfect of a poker face to make any details from.

He knows you can't feel it, and yet his hand caresses the side of your helmet with softness all the same.

Knitted brows above his glistening eyes as he attempts to meet your gaze behind the tinted window on your helmet. Searching for a pair of human eyes behind the endless dark void of the helmet.

Do you remember the colour of your own eyes? The destroyer doesn't have any mirrors.

Is he looking at you with pity, or is it pride? These days, you can't tell these two emotions apart, be it in yourself or others.

He tilts his face closer to yours, eyes fluttering shut. time slows down, and you could count the wrinkles on his hardened skin. Just what kind of life did he lead? What is the price for surviving this far? What is the cost of keeping one's life during a war? Did he pay for it with his sanity or heart?

Chapped lips press against the cold metal of your helmet, a small kiss. tender and fragile like a single snowflake amidst a hail storm. No one will bear witness to it, and yet it's beautiful for having existed at all.

It's over, just like that. Barely having lasted a second. A vulnerable show of intimacy.

“You did well.” There's more he wants to say, more questions he wants to ask, more time he wants to spend holding you. Give you a proper bath and bury you in his chest as he works out all the knots in your muscles. But it's clear he can't, not without repercussions, not with his position as your inferior.

Especially not with the camera watching.

And so he steps to the side, waiting for you to finish before leaving with you. His uniform was as pristine as ever, except for the few wrinkles standing out where he held you against his body. Still, he looked more put together than your dishevelled state. Thankfully your crew have never been anything less than professional no matter what state you showed up in.

He speaks one last time, the same reassuring hand going under your cape to pat your shoulder lightly “I'll take care of the paperwork. The galaxy needs you to save it, helldiver.”

You're reminded of each time a fellow helldiver waited for you to reach the shuttle before boarding, each time one hugged you after a successful mission, tight enough to almost lift you off the ground as they laughed from the sheer joy of being alive.

Each time someone watched your flank for you, fistbumped you after an especially difficult fight. The weight of their heavy helmets on your shoulder during the evacuation take off, stealing some seconds of rest and dozing off cuddling to your side.

A stranger behind a mask, holding your hand and reassuring you that everything is going to be fine, knowing that making it out alive is nothing more than optional bonuses in all of your assignments.

His touch doesn't linger, and the world becomes colder after it's gone. Like someone turned off the sun, a familiar freezing numbness barrows in the hollows of your heart, urging you to forget the sweetness of Eve's apple and move on.

“Thank you.” Is all you manage to reply before the announcement chimes, requesting all helldivers to report to the hell pods. A timer starts counting down from 30 seconds on your wrist monitor.

Walking ahead of your democracy officer, your cape trails behind in a show of authority. Another Helldiver is off to save the galaxy and defend super Earth.

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