Summary: Ettore pushes her just that little bit too hard | Word Count: 2.3k~ | warnings: smut, dubcon, oral (f recieving), analingus, cum eating, degradation, sex pollen, just fucking filth
A/N: I was in a mood, please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs sex pollen writing challenge! Had fun with this 😈 also two birds one stone, fulfilled this request.
Even here in the greenhouse, she could still hear the ship’s systems beneath the sound of clipping leaves and weeding. She was knelt in the dirt, gloves on, trowel in hand, doing the only thing that ever gave her some peace in this place. It was dirty work but quiet, safe. Unlike everything else on this floating coffin.
She knelt up, leaning over a rosebush, the thorns prickling her forearms as she reached for some soil she had yet to spread. Her eyes caught a glaring flash of orange from a cluster of flowers behind the tended ones. They'd been here since she started doing this little duty, untended and messy, with stems twisting in green and yellow, and their fleshy petals bursting in bright orange like a mouth with a dangerous red centre. It smelled sweet, almost chemical like.
Fuck knows what they were, she'd have to read up on them.
She almost let her curiosity get the better of her, before his voice made her heart fall out her arse.
“What are you doing?”
She needn't even see his face to realise there was a smirk on it. Annoyance bubbled in her gut at the mere sound of him, traipsing across her freshly tended to garden with a confidence that didn't seem earned.
“Working,” she answered without moving, “should try it sometime.”
He laughed, leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, like her annoyance tickled something inside of him. She glanced up, eyes narrowed. His chest was damp as if he'd just been to shower. She willed herself not to notice it.
“Have you come here just to annoy me?”
“Not specifically you,” he muttered through a grin, “but you're the only entertainment here so.”
She rolled her eyes, turning back to her flowers, “then go entertain yourself somewhere else.”
He scoffed, “entertain, huh?”
She ripped a weed out the soil just a fraction too hard, “yeah instead of— starting fights and tugging your tiny dick outside the communal showers.”
“Oh, so you do watch me?” He raised an eyebrow.
She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, pulling off her gloves and bracing herself for the smug expression on his face. “You are such a colossal twat.”
“Rich coming from you,” he spat back, pushing himself off the workbench, making her heart race just slightly. “You walk around here like you're not just another piece of crap like the rest of us, like your shit doesn't stink.”
“At least I actually do something useful around here,” she countered, throwing her gloves on the ground, “unlike you, stalking around like a feral mutt.”
His jaw tensed, but his smile stayed. It was unsettling, watching the way his eyes took her in, searching for the weak point. “You must be so fucking lonely. Touching yourself on your side of the wall, pretending you don't want someone to hear.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she shoved him, palms flat on his chest, and even though it barely moved him, the touch shocked him.
As if acting on pure instinct, he shoved her back, not quite knowing his own strength. She seemed to trip over her feet, hurtling arse first into the bed of bright orange flowers. It cushioned her fall just slightly, enough not to hurt. But it was the pollen that the flowers coughed out that disoriented her, sweet, cloying, hitting her nose all at once.
She blinked, and the air seemed to shimmer.
Heat curled in her belly, sudden and unwelcome. She felt her skin flush bright and needy, pupils widened and her heart racing against its natural rhythm. When she dragged in a breath, it only made it worse. Her nipples hardened under her shirt, painfully almost, and she pressed her thighs together to relieve the ache that formed heavy, to no avail.
“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Ettore furrowed his brows, watching her chest rise and fall from a new burst of aggression.
Her eyes raised to him when he spoke as if only just aware he was still there. A haze covered her vision. She could hear the beat of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins. And nothing else seemed to matter. Her lips parted.
Ettore took half a step back, “you good?”
Her eyes crackled with a near feral gleam as she scrambled to her feet, covered in soil and sticky pollen, and grabbed his shirt to crash her lips to his. It was sloppy, desperate, panting. And Ettore mumbled into her mouth, the strength of her grip surprising him and taking him off balance as his back met the workbench again.
“What the fuck?” he spoke against her lips when he could get air in, but she couldn't stop. Wouldn't. Her nerve ends were sparking and he was right here, warm and solid, exactly what her instincts were screaming for.
She moaned softly, pushing her hips to his, her other hand rubbing the growing hardness there recklessly. Her nails clawed under his shirt, leaving red little trials across his pale skin.
“Jesus—wait—” he muttered, grabbing her wrists. He was so used to being the one in control, he didn't like it one bit that he and his body was at the mercy of someone else, someone he hadn't expected to be so strong against him. He was half annoyed at himself for freezing up for so long.
But her lips found his throat, sucking and biting the sensitive skin, and his grip faltered. She was grinding against him now, dry fucking him like a mindless animal. Like she didn't care about anything else. She moved like she needed a primal closeness, like she needed to smell his natural sweat, feel the tackiness of his body against hers, but annoyingly all he smelt of was the dull powdery musk of the prison soap.
He could have pushed her off if he really wanted to. But maybe some part of him didn't. He swore under his breath, “you're high as fuck.”
Her voice was raw and needy, “I need—”, it came out more sob than a sentence, desperate. And fuck if it didn't make his cock twitch.
He pushed her back against with a cursed, ‘fuck’, her body landing once again amongst the orange flowers and another puff of shimmering pollen released around her, clinging to her skin like springy glitter. Her legs tried to catch around his waist, squirming for contact she didn't have yet, dragging him into the dirt with her as he fought to rid her of any clothing below her waist.
“You don't know what you're asking for,” he murmured, crowding her body with his, already pushing his sweatpants down to line himself up with her heat, pressing the blunt head of his cock against her slit.
She twisted beneath him, bucking her hips desperately, her fingers clawing at him with impatience, “shut up— please, just—”
He laughed, low and rough, enjoying the appearance of her like this, a way he'd never seen her before. The laugh died quickly when she grabbed his cock, hard enough to draw out a low hiss of part pain and pleasure.
“Easy,” he growled as she guided him to where she needed him most, her body feverish with the need to be fucked. Her glassy eyes met his, and without waiting Ettore pushed in with one brutal thrust, grabbing her face and swallowing the broken cry she let out with his lips. She clenched around him instantly, her nails creating welts in his back in a way that made his vision swim.
There was no gentleness. Ettore fucked her into the dirt, hips snapping forward and grinding her into the crushed petals beneath. Each thrust pushed out of her lungs and drove the pollen further into her bloodstream. The madness building without an idea of where it would end.
The dirt that had been on his fingers had smeared on her face as he grabbed her jaw, making her lips part, the moans falling out of them with abandon. Her thighs trembled, and he pulled out just enough to hear her whimper, before slamming back inside, deep, painful, as if he wanted to carve himself into her.
She gasped, weak and overstimulated, so close to that delicious high the pollen craved. And her stomach flipped as Ettore grabbed her thighs and lifted, forcing them up until her knees were nearly to her chest.
“Stay like that,” he ordered, positioning higher over her, “don't move.”
He folded her in half, pushing her body further, pinning her open and helpless. The position let him sink in even deeper, the angle making her cry out as he bottomed out with a brutal snap of his hips.
“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, watching her face twist with pleasure she couldn’t fight, “you feel that? You like this, don’t you? Getting ruined in the fucking dirt.”
She could barely speak now, just gasping, nodding, babbling nonsense between moans and whines. Her hands clawed at his arms, but she didn’t try to stop him. She wanted it. Needed it. Her body arched under his, sweat glistening, completely at his mercy. The slick sound of him driving into her echoed in the humid space, mixing with her breathless, broken cries.
He wrapped one hand around her throat, her pulse hammering beneath his fingers, “you gonna cum, just from me fucking you like this?” he muttered, eyes burning into hers, “like a bitch in heat?”
Her answer was a sob, her legs trembling in his grip as her walls spasmed around him, the orgasm ripping through her with force. She clenched so tight he could barely move, but he didn’t stop, he just kept going, chasing his own release with ruthless rhythm.
But just as he felt himself teetering on the edge, he pulled out, slow, deliberate, dragging a long, wet moan from her throat as he slipped free.
“No,” she whimpered, hips bucking up instinctively, trying to follow him, “don’t—please—”
He slapped her thigh, sharp enough to sting, “shut up,” he hissed.
She froze, panting, eyes wide as he knelt over her, fist around his cock, stroking himself hard and fast. She was spread out beneath him, ruined, legs still trembling, her sex soaked and twitching, glistening with slick and dirt and shame.
“Look at you,” Ettore muttered, his voice smug and cruel, “laid out like a fucking cum rag.”
With a final stroke, he came, hot, thick ropes spilling across her inner thighs and glistening slit, painting her skin in filthy, dripping streaks. Some of it landed just above her clit, sticky and warm, sliding down into the mess already coating her folds. She gasped, moaning at the sensation.
He rubbed the head of his cock along her sex, smearing his cum into her swollen lips, not bothering to be gentle. “Look at this pussy,” he sneered.
It was a sight he wanted to look at forever. Something stirred in his body, need. And it was slow at first, like a fever burning up. A wave of warmth that made his skin itch, made his pupils dilate. The scent in the air, the crushed petals, the sweat, the sex, it got thicker. He blinked, licked his lips, and his eyes dropped back to her.
She shifted slightly, letting her legs fall open further, exposing the full, glistening mess between them, like she wanted to show him, like the burning need still thrummed in her own blood. His cum still pooled on her folds, sliding down slowly.
That was it.
A groan tore out of his throat. Like an animal wounded. And he lunged forward.
She gasped when his hands gripped her thighs, rough and unrelenting, forcing them apart again. His mouth descended before she could even speak. No teasing. No warning. Just his tongue, hot and wet and starving, lapping at her like he was trying to devour her whole.
“Oh fuck—Ettore—!” she cried out, body jolting as his mouth sealed over her cunt.
He moaned against her, tongue thrusting between her folds, licking up the mix of cum and slick like it was the only thing that could satisfy this sudden, burning hunger. He licked deeper, rough and messy, tongue dragging through his own spend like it meant nothing, like he liked it. Every groan he let out vibrated through her, sending new shocks of pleasure down her spine.
He pulled her higher, pulling her body up so all her weight was on her shoulders and her legs over his. She was barely coherent now, sobbing and gasping, hips twitching as he tongue-fucked her, nosing up to her clit only to suck it harshly, then retreat to taste her deeper.
He dipped his head again, dragging his tongue back over her pussy, slow and indulgent, savouring the mess he’d made. But then, lower. Past her folds, past the soaked seam of her slit, down to the soft, untouched skin beneath.
Her breath hitched sharply.
Ettore smirked against her, licking a slow circle around her rim, deliberately filthy. Her body jolted, spine arching as she cried out, too far gone to stop him, too lost in the heat to care.
She screamed out as his hands spread her open, greedy and rough, holding her in place as he circled her tight hole, then pushed in, fucking her with his tongue with reckless abandon.
He licked deeper again, faster now, rutting into her with his tongue like he couldn’t stop. Her thighs were trembling violently, her voice reduced to moans that bordered on sobs. And still he held her open, still he feasted on her like it belonged to him.
She felt his cock against her body, had done since he'd abandoned fucking her altogether to fuck her with his tongue instead. Her mind was clouded with sex and lust, and she understood the same claws had sank into him too, when he began to spring to life again, pressed hard against her backside and grinding.
That's when she was unsure if she would leave the greenhouse whole. Whether clarity would come rushing in any moment now. But for now, lost in the yellowy cloud of pleasure and weightlessness, she could not find it in herself to care.
✨ Please note ✨ I no longer do taglists. If you would updates, please follow @targaryenrealnessdarlingfics and turn on notifications!
Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Somnophillia, rape, non-con, slight dub-con, masturbation, creepiness, sedation, assault, drugs, induced vomiting, blood, spitting, cum play, violence, degradation.
Pairings: Dark!Ettore x Reader (It’s Ettore… come on)
Synopsis: The cold of space had nothing on the cool glare of Ettore, another inmate on the spacecraft you were sentenced to life on. At the mercy of the Doctor onboard, Dibs, all are a part of fertility experiments and used as test subjects. Said Doctor has increased your sedation dosage as part of the trials, what will happen when suspicions arise for the unusual things happening to your body?
Word Count: 6.1k
Notes: @targaryenrealnessdarling and @ewanmitchellcrumbs inspired this hedonistic fucking abomination by creating an obsession with a man I shouldn’t even like. This is DD:DNE territory, so you have been warned. I blame you both for making me so fucking feral for this man. Enjoy ;) <3
It was cold.
It’s not supposed to be cold, but it was.
There was no way to keep out the chill of outer space. No way to keep the sub zero chill outside from seeping into metal ship you drifted in. No way to keep the unnatural of being in space away from your bones.
Your senses.
There was heating, and it was warm enough inside for you to wear shorts and a shirt, some mandated clothing given to you, but even then, the artificial warmth couldn’t keep the chill from seeping into the walls or floors.
Or perhaps it was the chill of being watched.
But you were always being watched, prisoner and a body for human experimental trials, or ‘guinea pigs’ as Boyse says, another inmate who hates being there just as much as you. She was sweet enough, but you kept her, like everyone else, at an arms length.
Being put on the floating jail in space was a combination of a shit routine and being stuck with other not so great people. When you first arrived, you had kept to yourself, quiet, head down, methodical. You didn’t want trouble, you just wanted peace. And anything was better than the Super Max they had you in before back on Earth.
So you were good.
Took your meds when told, took showers when commanded, ate and slept on the clock like a well trained pet. And sometimes, if you were feeling particularly inclined, which was more often than not, you found yourself in The Box. A crude space for you to go in and get out your ‘urges’.
'Fraternising' with the others was a big no no, but really, what were they going to do? Shoot you out the hull? You doubted it, and if you were honest, you didn’t care much either way.
You were going to die on this ship, lost in the same fucking routine for the rest of your days if you didn’t all go absolutely bat shit insane and cannibalise each other, which was a real fear Monte had whispered to you once.
Not much of a talker that one.
But Ettore was worse.
He barely even spoke a word. He just watched.
Listened.
Like he was sizing everyone up, writing invisible notes in his mind of who was who, and what was what. As though he was collecting intel from everyone like a secret government plant, or as though he was waiting to sell secrets, not that there really were any, all of you were there for crimes that warranted a life sentence.
Death sentence in your case.
And the way Ettore watched you, watched Boyse, or any of the other women on board, gave you an inkling as to what he may have done to deserve being locked up with the rest of you.
But it didn’t stop you from being intrigued, nor casting an extra glance here or there to watch him. Pine over him even, bent over, shirtless scrubbing the floor, but what else were you to do? You hadn't been touched in months, maybe years, you couldn't tell how long it had been with no natural rise or set of the sun, and he wasn't bad on the eyes. Leaning against the wall of the hull, waiting for whoever it was in The Box to finish.
Because thats where he always was.
The Box.
You would say it bordered on slightly neurotic. Obsessive. Insatiable.
And it was the moments before he went in that really rivalled the chill of space.
His pale blue eyes would always find you.
Always.
And although it sent shivers down your spine in fear and disgust, it also settled a warmth within you too.
It was hard.
Not being able to touch anyone.
Being surrounded by people, all day, all night, and not once having a chance to feel them. Hold them. Be with them. You had thought that perhaps Dibs would have at least let same sex interactions slide because there was no possible way for conception, but it was as if the bitch was edging herself. Or had some sick fetish of having everyone in a fucking cube strung out to shit in space.
Not the smartest of moves to whoever gave this experiment the go ahead, but you had to give them props for their misplaced faith.
You padded down the hall, making your way to the Doctors office, ready to collect your meds; sleeping pills which knocked you flat on your ass about half an hour after ingesting them, and then go to bed.
You saw the door up ahead and sighed, it was not that you didn’t want to sleep, you just hated the idea of constantly being pumped with this shit.
Surely it wasn’t good for your body?
But then again, being in space and stuck where you were with no choice to go outside in fresh air, noting that there wasn’t any air outside the craft, wasn’t good for you either.
Unnatural.
But it was all unnatural.
And in some ways, better than death row.
Sometimes.
Just as you moved to round the door, Ettore’s large body ducked beneath the frame, strolling right past you. His eyes flicked over your body quickly, predatorily, lashes blinking softly as he brushed past you and went on his way back to his cell.
There was that cold again.
It surrounded him like a wraith.
You slid into the room, Dibs barely sparing you a glance as you stood behind her, her long fingers fucking about on the table as she took her time to give you the meds you got from her at the same time, every fucking day. You thought that perhaps she may be a little more organised since all she did was sit around on her ass and be a prat.
But she wasn’t, and you waited, standing beside her as she swivelled in her stupid little chair to face you.
You had always had a pretty good read on people. Ever since you were young, you could spot the bad ones from the good, but it never really kept you away from the bad. Your ex's more bad than they were good.
It excited you, if you were going to be honest.
The rush of adrenaline, feeling of fear as your fight or flight would kick in when you looked at someone and just knew they had a more sinister part of them simmering beneath the surface.
And the moment you had spotted Ettore on the ship, being strapped in beside him, the alarm bells had rung in your head, blaring red DANGER behind your eyes. And you had felt the same fluttering in your chest as you felt his eyes on you the whole time.
But Dibs?
She was different.
There was something more malevolent than what meets the eye. Something that hid behind her dark gaze. And as you stood inside the make shift infirmary, doctors notes spread out on her table, shut curtains behind you, you felt as though perhaps you would have been safer stuck inside The Box with Ettore.
Dibs held out a small plastic cup to you, two pills inside.
Usually, it held one.
Your brows furrowed as you looked up at her.
"Changed dosage.” Was the only thing she offered you.
“Why?”
The Doctor blinked up at you with no answer, silence falling over you. You asked again, and were met with the same blank stare. And so you took the cup begrudgingly, snatching it from her hand and throwing the two little pills into the back of your mouth to dry swallow them. You could feel them catch on the back of your throat, sitting heavily like a lump, and so you swallowed once more to get them down.
Dibs gave you a sterile smile, and turned away back to her notes, scribbling.
You stomped away, walking back down the corridor to go to your cell, feeling the acidic, briny feeling on the back of your tongue.
No matter how many nights you had swallowed those things, it always made a bad taste settle in the back of your mouth, and a hollowness in your stomach.
When you had first arrived on the ship, you struggled to fall to sleep knowing that you were drifting in space, and couldn't get off even if you wanted, with the low hum of the ship in a constant drone keeping you alert, and so Dibs had given you sedatives to help you drift off.
There was already sedatives in the water Dibs gave you all, but the other girls in your cell followed suit soon enough, asking for the little pill so that they could sleep undisturbed in the night.
The closer you go to your room, the more your mind felt clouded, as though a thick layer of fog had crossed it, obscuring your thoughts and making each one feel as though they had been dipped inside a vat of molasses.
Even your limbs felt heavy, and so you hurried your uneven pace to your cell block, stumbling against a wall where you flopped down onto the bed, too exhausted to pull yourself beneath the sheets as the room around you spun.
You could feel and hear the others making their way to their bunks after you, but your eyelids grew heavy, and soon enough, you were out like a light. As though a switch had been flicked by the manicured nails of Dibs.
There were no dreams to be had, not even an awareness of sleep, just a deep, black abyss that swallowed you whole and completely, with neither complaint nor fight from your limbs.
When you woke the next morning, the first thing you noticed was how tired you still were, as though the medication still lingered in your periphery like dark little tendrils that rubbed smooth and soothing hands upon your mind, trying to lure you back.
But the day had to move on, and you were unstrapped from your bed, limbs feeling entirely too heavy to lift as you hauled yourself out. You didn't understand the need for the restraints, especially since you would be sedated and unable to move anyway, but you supposed they were there to keep you put in case you did.
Behavioural issues and that.
Who knows what the others had done to warrant a death row sentence. Yours certainly wasn't a light one.
The moment your feet hit the ground, your stomach lurched. Pain rippling up through your stomach.
What the hell?
You rubbed your face blearily and sighed, chalking it up to your period making an appearance early this month, or perhaps Dibs' experiments had finally stuck, or were melting your insides by the feel of it.
Dibs was going to have a field day with you, you knew it. You would have your legs pried open by stirrups and have her shove a million and one swabs inside of you like she did every month.
Like clockwork.
Well, cycle really.
You hated it.
Another thing to add to the misery of it all; being prodded by a stone faced bitch who only showed kindness to the men on board. Couldn't even get off to the way she shoved those cotton swabs or fingers inside you, fishing around as if she was going through a pocket for spare change.
Except this pain was sharp, and stung, but was dulled by whatever lingering sleeping pill was dragging your body down. You would have to tell the eager Doctor to be more gentle about turkey basting you with whoever's cum she picked from her cups.
Boyse had told you once she could have sworn she saw Dibs dipping her fingers into the 'donation' cups to taste test each one. You had laughed so hard you cried, and Monte had eyed you from across the canteen.
You yawned and stretched, ignoring the ache and hit the showers with the others, beginning your day of chores.
Today you were cleaning, something you actually didn’t mind. It was methodical, time consuming, and there was a clear outcome at the end that you enjoyed.
Cloth and cleaner in hand, you polished handles and doors and any surface that you could reach, wiping down the metal and other surfaces to sterilise them.
Boyse was on floor duty that day, and so she cleaned alongside you quietly, the occasional whisper or conversation had as you moved. But you truly struggled to hold one, your mind still muddled from the lurch of the changed dose.
You would need to speak about lowering said dosage back to normal with Dibs. This was like trying to think and exist when shitfaced at the pub.
God you missed the pub.
It was the little things you missed most. Things that you had taken for granted, like wind, or rain, or bugs. You missed the itch of being bitten. How fucked was that? Missing mosquitoes? Dibs needed to check your head rather than your fertility.
And so the day ended, and every surface in one wing of the ship was spotless thanks to yours and Boyse’s work. You ate alongside the others quietly and couldn’t help but feel that chill again, covering you in an icy blanket.
Lifting your head, you spotted Ettore watching you.
Still.
Like those nature documentaries you used to watch, when the lions would be hidden in the tall grass, still as a rock, watching and waiting to pounce on the galloping gazelle.
Your mouth felt dry, and the hunger you had felt left, pain winding its way inside of you as you stood slowly, careful to not set anyone off, especially him, and moved to clear your plate to go to Dr. Dibs.
You were more eager to get away from Ettore’s piercing gaze than anything, feeling like a game of cat and mouse, waiting to turn your head and see him chasing after you down the halls. It set your skin alight.
But he didn't.
Your journey to speak to the doctor about your dosage was a waste. Dibs didn’t budge, and in your hand ,the small pill tub was dropped with two inside.
You watched her intently, mouth parted to argue.
“You done yet?” Ettore’s voice swallowed the artificial air in the room.
Your head snapped to the door, watching as he slowly walked in, like a predator, looking at you intently. You blinked up at him, his lean form towering over you in the sterile cream room. You could smell the soft scent of generic soap you all used and the musky undertones of him beneath.
“I want my treat.” He spoke again, hand held out to Dibs, who placed a pill in his palm, no cup holding it. Simply placed into his palm with her fingers, as though there was an element of familiarity between the two.
The cold of his gaze contrasted the warmth of his body as it loomed over you.
Dibs spun on her chair to look at you through her lashes, eyes dropping pointedly to the pills still un-swallowed in your cup, “Take them.”
You threw the pills into the back of your throat, locking eyes with Ettore as you dry swallowed them, holding back the grimace as they slid down the back of your throat roughly. Ettore followed, smacking his palm over his mouth as he swallowed his own, then turning his head to open his mouth in show to Dibs, who gave him a soft smile.
“Smashing. Thank you.” He spoke down to her, accent thick on his tongue. His eyes flicked over you once more before he sauntered out the room.
Your feet felt stuck on the linoleum flooring until Dibs cleared her throat at you, “Go back to your cell.”
Taking her command, you left, winding down the corridor, falling onto your bed again and succumbing to the heavy sleep.
This went on for days, the same dosage, the same medicated sedation, and the same groggy rising with a continued ache that never seemed to leave your core. You waited for the blood to come, but there was only the occasional bit of spotting.
Perhaps a lighter cycle this month.
It wasn’t until that morning, when you went to the showers did you notice something was not right. Something that justified the inkling in the back of your mind that something was afoot with the pain that wracked your body.
That the pain wasn’t due to your monthly cycle, and something far more sinister instead.
Washing down with soap, the others in their cubicles beside you, your eyes were drawn to colour that should not be on the skin. Dark blotches of purples and blue, streaked with pinks across your hips and inner thighs. Your fingers pressed into them, hissing as pain shot up through you. But the pain wasn’t what made you blanch. It was the shape of them. And how your fingers fit perfectly within the large blooms of colour.
Fingerprints.
More specifically, finger marks, littered across your body.
Your heart raced in your chest as you looked at them, horror and sickness skyrocketing inside of you. Bile rose in your throat, and the urge to scrub your skin raw became an immediate compulsion, your nails scratching at the bruises roughly.
Dressing rapidly, you raced to the Doctors office, shoes not even on as your feet slapped on the floor loudly as you made your way down. But of course, whatever high power above controlled the fate that surrounded you had other plans for you, and your body collided with a body of steel.
You neck craned up, meeting the icy glare of Ettore.
“Watch it.” He sneered down at you, hands at his sides in fists.
You didn’t know what to do but blink at him, and it was all you did, looking up at the man who set your skin alight, a blush creeping along your cheeks and fear shimmering down your spine.
“You gonna move?” He asked again, lips pulled into a sharp frown.
You took a step back, then another, and another, Ettore’s eyes grazing over your body, settling on your chest as it heaved, wet patches of your shirt sticking to your skin.
You swallowed thickly.
“Quiet one, huh.” Ettore mused, eyes becoming half hooded as he watched you, “They always scream the loudest.”
You sneered, watching as Ettore walked towards you, leaning his head down just a bit as he whispered to you, “I’ll be in The Box.” Before he was on his way, body swaying with his walk.
Your heart leaped through your chest as you watched him.
-
“Somethings wrong.” You sat on the doctors bed, legs in stirrups as Dibs looked at you in annoyance, clinical eyes roving your body as you pulled your shorts high on your hips to display the bruises on your thighs.
Dibs didn’t even blink at them, just glanced at them shortly before writing in her notes.
“Something is-“
“-Vitamin D deficiency, Iron deficiency.”
“Fuck you. It looks li-“
“Take these.”
Her hand was held out to you, a small circular brown pill and an oblong pink one sat inside a medical cup. You blinked at her hand as she held them out to you.
“I don’t fucking-“
“-Take them. Or you will be marked as refusing treatment.”
Snatching the cup from her palm, your own nails scratching her hand, you threw them back into your mouth, staring at her angrily as you swallowed them.
“Good girl.” Dr. Dibs spun in her chair away from you and back to her desk, already looking through her notes in dismissal.
You swung your legs out of the stirrups and sat on the edge of the bed looking at her, staring daggers into the back of her head.
It could be so easy.
Who would know it was you?
You could just-
“Are you refusing to leave now too? Very naughty of you. Monte will have to come deal with this behaviour, little birdy.” Came her slimy voice.
"Fuck you."
Grunting, you hopped off the bed and stormed out the room, muttering beneath your breath in agitation and anger as it poured out of you.
"Fucking bitch."
Something was wrong, and you knew it.
Fucking useless cunt.
You went back to your chores, but found that you could scarcely concentrate with the anger that seemed to mount within.
You needed a release, and fast.
The Box was made for just such thing, and so you dropped the clippers in your palm in the garden and made your way to your destination. The anticipation of going into The Box made way for excitement over the anger, but all in all, it still rippled through you in waves.
All you needed was a good and rough fuck.
Get the anger out.
Your ex was always a good source of inspiration when inside The Box. The way his hips would snap into yours brutally, his teeth in your flesh, hands slapping, pinching.
Choking.
The Box would calm you down.
Your legs carried you down the ladder before you jumped down the last few impatiently, the light in this part of the ship far darker than the rest. You walked forward, looking at the closed door before feeling ice wash over you.
Who else would be waiting outside of it but Ettore.
His cool eyes flicked to yours as your steps slowed, looking to him and then the closed door. His lips pursed together into a pout and one corner pulled down into a smirk.
Shit eating bastard.
He leant back against the steel wall of the hull, head turned to look down at you as you leant beside him. Too frustrated to turn back, and not willing to let him scare you out of a reprieve that you needed.
“Gonna be waiting a while.” Ettore hummed, suggestive grin on his lips before he swiped a tongue against the front of his teeth noisily.
You looked him up and down, no mood for his attitude or creeping glares, “You look like it’d be quick.” You purred.
Ettore’s nostrils flared and his lips pulled down into a sneer, he pushed off of the wall, looking down at you as he adjusted his jaw, the muscles clenching tightly, blue eyes narrowed.
Your head connected with the metal behind you as he jerked you back into it roughly, forearm pressed against the top of your chest. Pain bloomed in the back of your skull, but that didn’t stop the small mewl that escaped from your lips.
Ettore’s eyes widened before they narrowed, face looming in closer to you as he watched your chest rise and fall rapidly, heat blooming in your stomach.
The door to The Box opened and Boyse stepped out, eyeing the two of you suspiciously.
Ettore stepped back dropping his arm to his side as he spun around and entered, facing you as the doors began to close, his eyes roaming down your body slowly as he sucked his tongue.
A shiver rolled through you.
Boyse watched you carefully, “You right?”
You cleared your throat, feeling your heart beat like a drum in your chest, “Yea, I’m alright. Asshole.”
Boyse nodded and left, and you waited for your turn, waiting for the door to open again, but it didn’t.
The moments flew by and it almost felt as if he was taking his time because of your comment. Punishing you.
Proving a point.
Fucking cunt.
You huffed and pushed away from the wall, making your way back to work again, knowing that dinner would be soon, and then the deep and dreamless sleep once more.
Dinner was quick, and in no time you were walking down to collect your sedatives from the Doctor who made your skin crawl almost as badly as Ettore. Your mood had not improved, and you would say that the want that simmered inside of you made it even worse now that it had gone unattended.
When you entered the infirmary, Ettore was already there, talking quietly with Dibs who was seated, craning her neck up to look at him with a soft smile on her lips.
Fucking pick-me.
Upon hearing your arrival, both turned to face you, and Ettore instinctually held out his hand, a pill placed in its palm, before it put it in his mouth, his eyes on you, narrowed and almost angry. But when he looked down at the doctor, a soft smirk wound its way on his lips and he whispered a small ‘thank you’ to her, brushing past you with a sniff on his way out.
You held out your palm in the same manner he had, eyes still on the door Ettore had walked out of, feeling the plastic of the small cup being placed in the centre. You looked down at it.
Two sedatives.
"You're a fucking bitch, you know that?" You grumbled, and tilted your head back, letting the two pills roll onto your tongue, Dibs eyes watching.
But there was something about it.
Something about her watching you like that, that made you shiver.
“Show me.” She commanded and you swallowed both dryly, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue obscenely at her so that she could get a closer look.
The Doctor nodded and turned away, back to her notes.
But fear scrambled in your throat.
You all but raced out of the office, making your way straight to the toilet, dropping to your knees in front of it as your instincts took over, shoving two fingers down your throat. You gagged quietly in the space, daring to not draw attention to what you were doing.
You did it again, and the bile and bitter taste of stomach acid flooded your tongue. You bent over the rim gasping, looking down into the water to see if the pills were in the bowl with your dinner.
You spotted one and collapsed down onto the floor feeling some sort of relief, though your stomach still turned, and bile coated your tongue. You sat there for a moment, feeling the cool of the bathroom floor on your thighs and hands before standing.
You couldn’t get caught.
You flushed the toilet and brushed your teeth carefully, cupping water into your mouth to rinse the acidic taste that settled behind your teeth. And yet still, you were still wrought with nerves.
As you lay in your bed, bottom bunk opposite to Boyse, you stared up at the top one, the restraints strapping you down by your arms as the beginnings of sedated fatigue gnawed at your vision.
So you had only gotten one pill out.
No matter.
Better than both.
At least it calmed your heart, and you turned your head to look at Boyse who was already out like a light, the soft curve of her nose shadowed in the dim of the room.
You wondered what she was here for often, but never had the courage or want to learn.
Some things are better left unsaid.
You tried to resist it, tried to fight the way your eyelashes sagged and your limbs fell heavier by the second, but in no time at all, you were sucked into the usual dreamless state that you had been in for god knows how long you had been on that goddamn ship.
-
It’s dark.
So dark.
And warm.
Soft pressing in the back of your mind, drawing you just below the surface of consciousness.
Why was it so warm?
There was pressure.
Pressure on top of you.
Pressure inside of you.
A thing.
Or two.
Maybe three.
What?
The pressure turned to a dull ache.
A pain.
Pleasure?
Why was it so warm?
It curled in your gut and you groaned, mind foggy, limbs of stone as you felt the weight of your body come back to you. Come back to the room.
The bed.
Soft sheets.
Grunts.
Weight.
Warm.
Pain in your thighs. Pain between them. Weight on top of you.
Breaths in your ear that are not your own.
Grunts.
Moans.
Hisses.
Eyelids feeling like lead as they fluttered, the sound around you louder, rustling, wet, clapping, breathing.
The room spun on its axis, mind reeling as you were pulled from the depths of your sedated sleep, your body reacting to whatever was being done to it.
It was hard.
Hard to stay awake.
You drifted again, bobbing beneath the surface only to rise back up again, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. Blurred vision making it hard to focus.
Heavy mind making it hard to comprehend.
Hard to see.
“Whas-“ You slurred, head being rocked backwards by movements, making the nausea that rose within stronger, barreling through you with a spearing sensation.
A loud grunt in your ear as the jolting of your body picked up. Something moving inside of you.
Atop you.
You could see movement above you, hair, a body.
A face.
Ettore.
You blinked, his sharp jawline coming into focus, comprehension wading through the thick fog of your mind as you continued to look up at him, mind reeling to figure out what was going on.
Eyes half lidded, lips pulled down into a sneer, Ettore rutted into you from above.
“Wha-“
“Shut the fuck up.” He growled, hand slapping over your lips as he fucked into you.
Your eyes widened, pain blooming through you, strength dulled, senses foggy, but knowing.
Knowing.
You knew now.
Ettore’s length fucked into you roughly, the tip beating against your cervix painfully. The stretch stung as he drilled into you, splitting you apart on his cock. Each thrust was just as brutal as the other, the sound of his hips clapping against yours loud in the cell of the others sedated, still in their dreams.
Was this a dream?
It felt too real.
You writhed beneath him sluggishly, trying to get out of his grip, breathing heavily through your nose as his hand stayed pressed against your mouth, small whimpers and grunts spilling into his palm as his cock bullied your walls repeatedly.
Ettore watched your face, lips pulling up into a smile as he gave a particularly harsh thrust, your eyes scrunching shut in pain as you yelped, sensing you had come fully to the surface of consciousness to feel the truth of his assault.
Pain pinged up you, your walls clamping down on him as your hips tried to angle away from him, restraints cutting into the skin of your wrists, legs too heavy to lift. Tugging at them for dear life as he watched you struggle from below. He laughed, deep in his chest before a groan fell from his swollen lips, eyes closing in pleasure with his mouth hung open.
You tried to scream beneath him palm, to try and wake the others, to call for help, for anything. But the hand at your mouth did not budge, and so the muffled sound of your cries fell on sedated ears. Tears prickled in your eyes from the pain as you tried to shake your head away from him, mouth opening.
You bit down on his palm.
Hard.
Ettore cursed, flinching as he pulled his hand away from your face, fist reeling back before it connected painfully into the side of your mouth.
You could taste blood. Coppery on your tongue, and you didn’t know if it was his or yours. Probably a mixture of the two. But your bite did not deter him, and his thrusts only became crueler, your body jolting beneath him as you felt wet beneath your hips.
How long had he been doing this?
How many times had he done this?
But the wet was not just from the man above you.
It also came from you.
Small sparks of pleasure wound its way up through your gut as he rutted into you in fervent, animalistic thrusts. Each one a sharp grunt or hiss falling from his lips. Each one, his tip bullying the soft and sponge spot within you. Each thrust winding the coil within tighter and tighter.
Ettore slapped your cheek, a small cry falling from your lips as you looked up at him, tears running down your cheeks as you sobbed quietly.
From the pain.
From the shock.
From the pleasure.
“Fuck you’re tight.” He growled, “Fucking dirty bitch.”
Another sob, mouth opened to cry out.
His lips pursed, and warmth sprayed across your face, the wet of his spit landing across cheeks and lips, hand coming to grab your jaw painfully as he squeezed, the joints protesting with pops as he continued, no doubt bruises to be seen in the morning.
Your walls fluttered around him, each snap of his hips grazing your swollen clit sending euphoria racing up your spine.
It was all too much.
“Look at you.” He sneered at you meanly, “Gonna cum on my cock aren’t you? Feel you tightening up. Fuck. So fucking disgusting. Asking for it. Always looking at me with those fucking eyes. Take it.”
It was a peel of words that continued to fall from his lips, his hips stuttering as his pace faltered.
He was near his end, and you were too.
With two hands, he wrapped them around your neck, leaning his weight down on it as he fucked into you, black spots blooming in your vision as he cut off both air and blood supply. You wheezed beneath him, thrashing against the restraints, hands in fists as they rubbed the skin raw.
You felt light, airy as you looked up at him, the lead of your limbs lifting with the lack of oxygen, the angle he fucked you in having changed, and each rut of his hips jabbed against your G-spot violently.
“Take it, you fucking cunt.” He growled, your eyes fluttering shut as you began to feel weightless, beginning to drift back to your sleep. A nice sleep. Comfortable one. Soft and warm and-
You came violently, a silent cry ripped from your throat, eyes shooting open as you looked up at the man who bit his bottom lip roughly, eyebrows knotted together as he fucked you through it.
The hands left your throat, gasp sucked into your lungs as you writhed beneath him, his thrusts pulling painful pleasure from you as his hips stuttered, one hand clawing at your hip, the other tugging your head back by your hair, exposing your neck to him.
Ettore came with a grunt, head dipping down to bite into the sensitive skin in the crux of your shoulder, teeth piercing the skin as you whimpered below him.
Hot ropes of his cum filled your walls, his thrusts stilling as you felt him throb within you, teeth still in your neck that he lapped at with his tongue, breathing hotly through his nose against the skin.
Another tear fell down your cheek as you lay beneath him, staring up at the cool, darkened grey of the ceiling. Pain and pleasure swirling around each other hotly in your core and gut, walls still fluttering around him from your own release.
You swallowed dryly, throat hoarse from where he choked you and wriggled beneath him, stirring his rest as he grunted into your neck, finally releasing the skin from his teeth. Small incisions and blooming bruise beginning to take its spot there, a dribble of blood leaking from where a crooked tooth pinched flesh between another.
He huffed above you as the world spun, slowly pulling out of you. You whimpered and half whined, feeling sensitive. Stinging pain and pleasure winding its way around your entrance.
Too much.
Ettore sat back on his haunches, cock softening in front of him as he looked down at you, fully naked. Your eyes roamed his body, muscular and lean all in one, watching you with lust filled eyes and hatred.
Another tear dripped down your cheek as his eyes roamed down your body, to the torn shorts he had ripped to the side, watching as his spend leaked out of you. His hand shot out, scooping fingers through your folds as you hissed, playing with his cum and smearing it into your folds and along your thighs.
Your heart pounded in your chest, nausea turning painfully in your stomach as he moved to loom over you, looking down at your tear streaked cheeks and the blood on your split lip, bits of his saliva dried on your face from where he had spat on you.
His lips pulled into a smirk, sticky fingers coming to smear themselves on your cheek as he pulled your shorts back into place, adjusting you roughly beneath him.
“Wasn’t too quick for you I hope.” He mocked, giving your face a rough tap before he stood, pulling on his pants and shirt as he looked down at you, chest heaving as you cried quietly, adrenaline pumping through you.
His eyebrows lifted on his face, grinning once he was dressed, grabbing your face in his hand and shaking it as he cooed at you.
“Good girl.” Another tap.
He left without another word, leaving you strapped to your bed, body aching and bruised as his cum leaked out of you, pooling wetly into the crotch of your shorts. You could still feel him inside you, thrusting atop you, his breath fanned in your ears.
You sucked in a steeling breath, shaking in the restraints, skin raw and bleeding in some places where you tugged too hard, pulled too violently as you shook beneath him, pleasure exploding within.
You didn't drift back to sleep, no matter how hard you tried, the sedative had worn off and adrenaline kept you alert.
You simply laid in your bunk, in your cell, surrounded by people who were none the wiser to your attack, sleeping soundly in their own restrained cots as your eyes stayed to the doorway, waiting for him to return.
Knowing that he would.
And not minding it either.
Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3
Ettore's been watching a girl on the ship, and finally decides to sneak into her room while she's sleeping.
— TWO-PARTS
Mine Must Be the Shame TW: hard BDSM
Ettore x female reader || in progress
Ettore is a professional Dom. Every Thursday he enjoys a session with a particularly pain-oriented client, until one night she reveals to him her darkest fantasy...
14/12: Blizzard and Blowjob - Ettore
Word Count: 2.7k~ | Warnings: dub-con, face fucking, Ettore is a dick yada yada, facial
12 Days of Smuff Masterlist
A/N: I was on something nasty when I wrote this FYI
“Dibs says there’s gonna be a solar storm soon. With any luck it’ll take us with it”, Mink mutters distastefully between bites of lumpy, cold rations.
“Hm..”
“What’s that old cunt gonna do when it hits? Not like we have any escape pods.”
“Yeah…” she murmurs half-heartedly in response, only partially listening. Lost in the repetitive motion of pushing her food around her plate with a fork. It doesn’t even look edible, she thinks with displeasure. They’re all dying on this stupid ship, and somehow the rations look worse off.
Mink flicks her hand against her arm, prompting a sharp look, “Ow! What the fuck—”
“You’re not listening to me.”
She scoffs, rubbing her arm in more of a theatrical way than to show it actually hurt. “So?”
“The hell’s wrong with you? You’ve been weird a few days now.”
It’s been longer than that, is all she thinks with bitterness. About a week now she’d wager.
Longer than that, really, she thinks with a familiar bitterness. About a week, she figures, maybe a little more. She’d known getting involved would be a bad idea. She knew better than to get involved with him, to anyone on this miserable tin can. But there had been that inescapable pull, that sharp ache that was part loneliness, part hormones maybe, stupid as it seemed now. And now, she was paying for it.
Mink’s voice pulls her back. “Is this about… Ettore?”
The name hangs in the air like smoke. She freezes, doesn’t answer, just stares hard at her plate. Mink leans closer, her brows drawn.
“Oh, come on. You think I didn’t notice?”
She wants to lie, but somehow, she doesn’t have the energy to. So, she shrugs, and that’s enough to make Mink snort.
“Thought you were smarter than that,” Mink says, and it’s not unkind, exactly, just blunt in the way only Mink can be. “You know what kind of guy he is.”
She sighs, finally pushing her tray aside. There’s no point pretending the food’s worth eating. "I’m not exactly winning any prizes for smart decisions lately, am I?"
Mink snorts. Glad she’s finding this amusing, she thinks bitterly, but really holding no resentment.
“We have enough on our plate without getting tangled up with wanting dick. Not to mention it’s against the rules.”
“I’m aware,” she states bleakly, feeling that familiar flicker of irritation at the reminder. As if she needed another living soul to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. She’d done the worst things imaginable to end up here, as had everyone else, and yet that slimy, smirking doctor was gonna tell her she couldn’t fuck whoever she wanted?
That was the reasoning initially anyway.
Now, she knew there’d be consequences if Dibs did find out. Punishment in the form of what metal instrument she could shove into their bodies next.
As much as she enjoyed the release. It wasn’t worth that. Besides, she knew there was never any future in it. Never anything more than a few stolen moments in the middle of the night. A bit of relief in the endless monotony of living in the hollow, metal hell of this ship.
“I’m done, anyway,” she says, almost to herself, “should have stopped it before it started really.”
“Should’ve, but you didn’t. But you’ve given him a taste now. Who says he’ll want to stop?”
She sighs, eyes closed. Yeah, I’d considered that.
Ettore wasn’t the type to let go of his toys easily. Especially when he’d been given something he wants, something forbidden that he knows could be taken away. It seemed that the thrill wasn’t even in the sex, it was breaking the rules that had half the appeal.
“If he pushes, he’ll get the message I give him.”
“Sure, but he’s not exactly the type to take ‘no’ for an answer, is he?”
“No,” she admits, looking off. As usual, Mink was right there.
She had seen that look in Ettore’s eyes, the one that says he’s already decided what he wants, and nothing will stand in his way to get it. The thought had been exhilarating at first, that singular, dangerous focus. Now, it feels like a liability, a choice she wishes she could rewrite.
“As much as I hate to give you ammunition, you are right,” she adds, “I gave him an inch, and he’ll think he’s got the whole mile. But I’ll handle it. Somehow.” She doesn’t know exactly how yet, but one thing was clear.
She could not keep going down this path, not with the risk getting sharper and closer by the day.
When she’s alone again, the silence presses in, heavier now, weighted with the knowledge of what comes next. She takes a breath, bracing herself for the inevitable fallout. Ettore may come looking, but this time, she’s ready to hold her ground.
Maybe, she thinks, the clean break will be worth it, if she can manage it before he pulls her back in again.
The worst part of trying to keep her distance from Ettore was the way it left her awake at night, her body a knot of unresolved tension that refused to let her sleep. She lay there, wide-eyed in her bunk, staring up at the dull, metallic ceiling and then over at the other bed, where Mink was already sound asleep, breathing evenly.
Bitch, she thought with a pang of envy.
Mink never had trouble sleeping in this place, not like she did, tossing and turning every night, gnawed at by this frustrating, white-hot need she couldn’t shake.
She shifted, but no matter how much she tried to will it away, her mind continued to drift back to the last time she’d been with Ettore. How it had felt to give in, to let that need unravel. She could still feel the press of his hands on her hips, the roughness of his touch as if he needed it as much as she did, the intense look he had given her that made her forget the rules and her situation. The risk. Everything but him. She’d wanted to stop it, she really had.
But when she had him once, that familiar fire burned in his eyes, and it was hopeless to resist.
Now she was paying for it. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the memory. But the tightening in her stomach, the craving, was near unbearable.
Must be ovulating or something, she thought bitterly back to her last appointment with Dibs.
She was sick of lying here, wallowing in horny self pity. Glancing over at Mink, she saw she hadn’t moved an inch. The cold air hit her bare legs as she swung out of bed, not even having the effort to pull anything else on as she made the mercifully short journey to the Box. She hated using it. But any relief at this point was welcomed.
Making her way down the steel ladder, she groaned and wanted to smash her head against the nearest wall when she found it occupied.
At least the washers are on. Whoever’s in there better be out in ten seconds flat or else–
The door slid open with a hiss. Ettore stared right back. Surprise at first perhaps. But the shadows darkened over his eyes, looking her up and down.
Fuck.
And if that wasn’t bad enough.
The alarms blared to life, shrieking through the narrow corridors as the ship jolted under the force, lights flickering wildly. A shiver shot through her, but before she could shove past him, he reached out, his fingers closing firmly around her arm.
“Ettore, let go,” she hissed, trying to pull back, but his grip only tightened, and there was a glint in his eyes that made her pulse jump.
“Not a chance,” he murmured, a dark edge to his voice.
He moved quickly, pulling her into the Box with him as the door slid shut behind them with a heavy clang. The sound of the emergency lock echoed around them, trapping them in the confined, dimly lit room. She tried to turn, to make for the door controls, but it was useless, the ship’s emergency protocol had sealed them in tight.
Emergency. Solar Storm. Automatic shutdown is in effect.
She was locked in with him, and judging by the way he was watching her, Ettore had no intentions of keeping his hands to himself.
With an annoyed huff, she slammed her palms against the door, the low light in the Box now charged with thrumming red glints of warning lights. Steadying her breath, she turned to him, schooling her expression to something calm in the face of his low, dangerous one.
He was not happy.
“You've been avoiding me.”
It wasn’t a question. He stood tall, blocking her like some predator in a cage, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with accusation.
“Maybe I have,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, trying to appear calm even though her pulse was racing. “Take the hint.”
Ettore’s lips curled into a humourless smirk. “That’s not how this works.”
“And here I thought this wasn’t supposed to be anything,” she scoffed right back.
“It wasn’t.” He stepped closer, and she pressed her back to the wall, her defiance faltering. “But then you decided to ignore me, and now it is.”
She swallowed, trying to do the same to the rising discomfort as he caged her in, trying to cover how she felt with her voice.
“You're all talk,” she says low, firm. “Trying to intimidate me. What you gonna do, hm? I bet you can't even get it up.”
The flash of anger in his eyes made her breath hitch. And yet, there was something about it that made her want to push him more.
He moved then, so fast she barely had time to react. One hand slammed against the wall beside her head, his body crowding hers. She should’ve been scared, should’ve shoved him away, but the sheer heat rolling off him pinned her in place.
His other came to her neck, fingers curling around her flesh, slow, deliberate, as if daring her to stop. But her lips parted slightly, exhaling so soft it was near imperceptible. She watched the pulsing red light on the side of his face, casting sharp shadows on his skin where his features were carved out.
And found she didn't want him to stop.
She swallowed hard, her bravado crumbling as his touch ignited something low and insistent in her belly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d come here to forget him, to regain control, but now, locked in this room with him, her control was slipping fast.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
“No, you don’t.”
Ettore’s hands were on her, firm and unyielding as he grabbed and pulled her toward the bench that stood in the middle of the dim room. She stumbled, jerking against his grip, but he didn’t let go.
“Ettore, what the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her voice rising as she struggled against him.
“Stop fighting,” he muttered, the edge in his voice sharpening as he manoeuvred her onto the bench.
She tried to push herself up, her palms bracing against the hard surface, but he was already lowering her down, his strength undeniable as he guided her head to the edge of the bench. Her neck arched uncomfortably as she twisted, glaring up at him.
“Ettore, I mean it, what the fuck are you doing?”
His hand gripped her chin, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to look up at him. The dark hunger in his eyes sent a jolt through her, half fear, half something else entirely. Stood tall over her, head level with his strained crotch.
“I’m gonna feel your throat around me.”
Her pulse thundered in her ears, watching as he pulled his erection free of his sweatpants. Her mouth went dry, a mixture of anticipation and panic rising in her gut.
“And you're gonna take every fucking inch.”
She barely had a moment to even speak, before his cock head was prying her lips apart, his length sliding mercilessly into her mouth without care of comfort. Just the idea that he was looking down, watching, as she took him, her throat trying to close around him.
Her hands instinctively rose to push at his hips, her palms flat against the hard muscles beneath his sweatpants, but he didn’t stop. His hand tangled in her hair, holding her in place as he drove himself deeper, filling her mouth until she could feel the head of him brushing against the back of her throat.
Her eyes watered, her nails digging into his hips, but he didn’t relent, his other hand gripping the edge of the bench for leverage as he rocked his hips, sliding deeper with each thrust.
Just the idea that he was looking down, watching her struggle to take him, sent a strange thrill coursing through her, a mix of frustration, humiliation, and something far darker.
He groaned, his grip on her hair tightening as he angled her head just the way he wanted. “That's it,” he breathed darkly.
Her throat clenched around him as he pushed deeper, his hips rocking with steady, deliberate thrusts that left no room for her to adjust. The stretch was intense, her lips aching as they strained around his girth. Her gag reflex fluttered again, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to suppress the instinct, but Ettore wasn't about to let her hide.
"Don't close your eyes," he said sharply, following with a light smack to her cheek.
Her cheeks burned with humiliation, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. The smug satisfaction on his face only made her breath hotter, stuck in her chest.
"God, you're such a mess," he said, his voice dripping with mockery as he watched her struggle to accommodate him. "Look at you. Choking on me like it's the first time you've ever done this.”
Her lungs burned for air. He was relentless, thrusting into her mouth as if it were just another hole for him to claim. Each slide into her throat was deeper than the last, and the vibration of her whimpering around him made him groan out loudly.
His hand slid to her neck, as if to feel himself in her throat, squeezing experimentally, stimulating himself through her flesh in some lewd, completely wrong but erotic way.
"You feel that?" he said, his voice low and strained, using the grip he had on throat as leverage to pull her onto him harshly. “Bet you can't even breathe.”
His pace grew erratic, his grip tightening painfully as he chased his release. "Fuck," he growled, his voice breaking as his head tipped back for a moment.
Suddenly, he pulled back, his cock slipping from her mouth with a slick gasp of air that left her coughing, her chest heaving. Before she could gather her bearings or even protest, his hand was still firm in her hair, holding her in place as he stroked himself roughly.
Her stomach twisted, shame and anger warring with the simmering heat in her belly. "Ettore, don't-"
"Shut up," he cut her off, his tone sharp as his thumb angled her face up toward him. "You wanted to push me? Then take it."
She barely had time to process the words before his release hit her skin, hot and thick. He groaned deeply, his body jerking with each pulse, the sound low and guttural as he painted her face with his cum.
The humiliation burned hotter than her anger, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as he finished, the sticky warmth dripping down her cheeks, her lips. She wanted to wipe it away, to shove him off, but the way he looked at her, satisfied, smug, and utterly in control, froze her in place.
"Look at you," he muttered, his thumb smearing the mess across her cheek almost mockingly. "So fucking pretty like this.”
She glared up at him, her voice hoarse as she spat, "You're disgusting."
Ettore only laughed, the sound dark and unapologetic as he tucked himself back into his sweatpants. "You're the one who came crawling to me."
The door hissed open as the emergency protocols finally deactivated, the solar storm subsiding and red lights receding to normality. Ettore stepped back, the smirk never leaving his face as he looked her over one last time, his eyes lingering on the mess he'd made.
"Clean yourself up," he said lazily, turning toward the door. "Wouldn't want anyone to see you like that, would we?"
Summary: disgruntled with the decision to return to Earth, who knows what the prisoners aboard will do to cling to their false freedom. And who will get mixed up with it | Word Count: 5.5k~ | Warnings: smut, p in v sex, dubcon, choking, degradation, blood, murder, threatening behaviour
She blinked hard, having stared at the blue, intrusive light of her computer screen for what seemed like hours now. Pressing the heels of her palms against her lids provided some relief to the thudding in her temples, but not nearly enough. This place was suffocating. And she briefly wondered how on Earth the prisoners had lasted as long as they had without going completely insane.
She closed her laptop in a huff, her report written, a script planned out in her head for what she would tell Dr Dibs. She steeled herself, preparing for any reaction, her shoes plodding on the linoleum floor, every step echoing her growing apprehension, but she knew this conversation with her was inevitable. The dim lights in the corridor flickered as she reached the door. She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts before entering.
Inside, Dibs was hunched over a tray of instruments, methodically wiping each one with a clinical precision that made her skin crawl. The doctor didn’t look up, her voice calm, almost detached.
“You’re here to tell me it’s over, aren’t you?”
Even the tone she used seemed unemotional, a stark contrast to the mess she had been when they had first arrived and broke into their systems, destroying samples. She held her breath, “Yes. The investigation is wrapping up. We’ve gathered enough evidence to ensure this project is shut down. The prisoners will be returned to Earth.”
Dr Dibs shook her head, placing a gleaming scalpel on her table before moving to the next. “And you think that’s a good idea? Bringing them back?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think.”
Dibs finally looked up, her eyes dark with something unreadable. “No, I suppose it doesn’t,” she mused, before her lips turned into a small, cynical smile. “They’ll tear each other apart before you even reach the atmosphere.”
Her stomach churned with unease at her words, though she tried not to show it on her face that the doctor had managed to make her uncomfortable. There was, of course, a whispering of rebellion amongst those who didn’t want to go back, she knew that. But naively perhaps, thought it would go no further than a few choice words.
“An announcement will be made shortly. I suggest you prepare yourself for the outcome.”
“Prepare myself?” she echoed, her voice dripping with irony. “It’s you and your team who should be preparing. Once you announce their return to Earth, you’ll be the only thing standing between them and their worst nightmares.”
The prisoners were gathered in the central area of the ship, their eyes flickering with a mix of curiosity and suspicion as she stood before them, report in hand, flanked by guards. The air was thick with tension, the kind that makes every breath feel weighted. Each gaze was filled with distrust, hatred almost, all except one, half-lidded with amusement. She took a deep breath, projecting as much authority as she could muster.
“After thorough consideration and investigation from our colleagues, it has been decided that this mission will be terminated, and all of you will be returned to Earth.”
A murmur spread through the crowd, a mix of surprise, disbelief, and anger. Monte stepped forward, his face a mask of barely contained fury.
“I’m not going back to Earth, not like this. You’re sending us back to rot in a cage, to be paraded around like freaks. We’re not going back. Not all of us.”
“This isn’t up for debate. The decision has been made,” she repeated, her voice firm though her heart pounded against her ribs.
Monte's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white as the tension in the room thickened. His fury, barely held in check, finally broke through, spilling over like a dammed river and before anyone could react, he lunged forward, knocking over the nearest table with a force that sent equipment clattering to the floor. Other prisoners, emboldened by his defiance, began to move as well, their voices rising in a chaotic blend of anger and desperation. Chairs were overturned, shouts echoed off the metallic walls, and the guards tensed, readying themselves for violence.
“You’re sentencing us to worse than death!” Monte roared, his voice booming above the growing chaos. “You’re no better than the people who sent us up here in the first place!”
No. She thought. I’m a lawyer, I’m helping them. Surely.
She could not think why they would be so desperate to stay. So eager to die up here where nobody could find them, or even know where they were. But seeing the sheer determination in some of their looks, she briefly understood.
These people want to disappear.
Her hand hovered near her comms device, but she knew calling for more backup would escalate the situation further. But the guards, finally springing into action, moved to subdue Monte as he approached, and the other prisoners stepped in, creating a human barrier. The room descended into utter chaos as shoves turned into punches, and the violence spread like wildfire.
Across the room, Ettore leaned casually against the wall, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watched the chaos unfold. His eyes locked onto hers from across the room, and for a brief moment, amidst the turmoil, their gazes held. There was something predatory in his expression, a dark amusement at her situation, as if he was enjoying the spectacle of her losing control.
“You think you can control us?” Monte snarled, his body wedged between two guards. “You think you can just send us back to that hellhole?”
With her heart hammering in her chest, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. She tore her eyes away from Monte’s seething form, only to find Ettore still watching her, his expression unreadable. She turned sharply on her heel, retreating to the relative safety of her team, her mind spinning. In the midst of the chaos, one thought lingered in her mind. Ettore’s smirk, his gaze that seemed to pierce through it all, as if he was waiting for her to slip.
Waiting for the vulnerability he was sure was going to rear its head.
Mink sidled up to Ettore, her expression serious as she glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, filled with concern. “Monte’s losing it. You can see that, right?”
Ettore didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still following the path she had taken as she retreated with her team. The smirk from earlier lingered faintly on his lips, but there was something darker beneath it. He turned to Mink, his voice detached. “Monte’s been on edge since day one. Today just gave him the excuse he’s been waiting for.”
“He’s desperate. Desperate people do stupid things. What happens when she figures out what’s really going on here? If this blows up, they’ll throw us all under the bus.”
"Whether it’s Monte that takes us out or Earth, doesn’t really matter in the end, does it?"
Her jaw tightened, frustration flickering across her face. “And what about you? What’s your angle in all this? Are you just going to sit back and watch him burn everything down?”
His gaze darkened as he thought about her, like the snuff of a candle, his blue eyes went near-black. There was something about the way she held herself, the way she looked at him, that intrigued him more than he wanted to admit. She had a confidence, a belief in her own righteousness that he found almost laughable. Yet, underneath it all, he could sense the tension, the fear she tried so hard to mask. He’d seen that look before, on other women, other people, just before they broke.
"Maybe I’ll just sit back and watch," Ettore finally answered. "Or maybe I’ll give her a little push, see how far she can really go before she snaps."
The door pressed shut behind her as she pushed into her quarters for the evening, still dressed even at such a late hour. She carried the day’s stress with the tension in her shoulders. If she focuses hard enough, she can still grip the panic she felt earlier that day when the prisoners had all turned on her and her staff. She kicked off her shoes, the tension in her shoulders momentarily easing as she stretched out her feet. The dim lights overhead cast a warm, soft glow over the small, sterile space. A brief respite.
As she was about to take a breath and unwind, everything went dark. The ship's systems cut out abruptly, plunging the room into an oppressive, suffocating silence. She froze, her heart leaping into her throat as she was enveloped in complete darkness. No emergency lights. No familiar hum of the ship's engines. Just an endless, empty, nothingness.
She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, the blackness so absolute it felt as if the walls were closing in around her. Panic began to creep in, but she forced herself to stay calm. The air felt heavy, thick with an unnatural stillness that made her skin prickle.
“Stay calm,” she whispered to herself, reaching out for something, anything, to ground her. But her fingers met only empty space. She knew the layout of her quarters, could navigate it with her eyes closed, but the utter darkness was disorienting. She felt her way along the wall, her fingertips brushing against the cold metal, her breath quickening with each step.
The thought that this wasn’t an accident slithered into her mind. Could this be sabotage? A prelude to something worse? The faces of the prisoners flashed in her mind. Monte’s fury. Ettore’s unsettling calm, and a chill ran down her spine.
Her breath hitched as she considered the possibilities. The ship wasn’t supposed to fail like this. Not without warning. Not without backup systems kicking in. She reached for the small comms device, fumbling in the darkness, but the screen remained dead.
She was alone, blind, and utterly vulnerable.
Heart pounding in her chest, her hand gripped the door frame of her quarters as she cautiously stepped out into the pitch-black corridor. The darkness was suffocating, every sound amplified, her senses on high alert. She moved quietly, trying to navigate the ship's labyrinth passageways by memory.
The path she was taking should have led her to the guards’ station, but the disorienting blackness made it impossible to be sure. She fought down the rising panic, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t afford to get lost. Not with people she knew loathed her, possibly lurking about in the adjoined ship.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally stumbled upon the entrance to the guards’ station. Relief washed over her as she pushed open the door, expecting to find safety within. Her foot slipped, and the metallic scent of something deep filled her nose, sharp and acrid. It was only when her foot caught on something soft and unmoving that she stifled a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth to keep from making a sound.
She took a step back, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to put distance between herself and the grisly reality. Her mind raced, trying to process the horror of it all. How had this happened? Who could have done this?
With trembling hands, she eased herself to the floor, her hand patting over the body of one of the guards until she found her target. The gun felt too large in her hand as she picked it up. The cold weight of the weapon in her grasp was both alien and strangely comforting. She wasn’t trained for this, but she wasn’t about to be caught unarmed.
“WHERE ARE YOU, YOU BITCH?!”
She froze, her breath catching in her throat. The voice was close, too close. And oh so familiar. Her heart thundered in her chest as she gripped the gun tighter, backing up against the wall, her pulse racing. Fear threatened to consume her, but she forced herself to stay calm, to think.
Monte was out there, hunting her.
She could recognize that voice anywhere, the fury behind it unmistakable. He’d gone into her room and discovered she wasn’t there, and now he was hunting her down with a vengeance. Thank God she’d kicked off her shoes. The thought flashed through her mind as she pressed herself against the cold metal wall, her breathing shallow, trying to remain as silent as possible. Without the squeak of her trainers on the floor, she had a chance, however slim, of slipping away unnoticed.
The darkness was both her enemy and her ally. It masked her movements, but it also made every step fraught with the risk of revealing her position. She had no idea where Monte was now, only that he was close, and that his rage was palpable, even through the thick walls of the ship.
Monte’s voice echoed again, closer this time, filled with venom. “WHERE ARE YOU!”
The darkness was suffocating as she crossed into the prison ship, the stale air thick with tension. She prayed Monte wouldn’t think to look for her here. The ship's unfamiliar layout was like a labyrinth of potential traps. Every step felt like it could be her last, each sound amplified in the oppressive silence.
She stumbled into the rec room, her heart pounding against her ribs. She backed up slowly, her senses heightened, straining to catch any sound of Monte’s approach.
And then she heard it, the sound of deliberate footsteps. Monte was getting closer. She couldn’t see him yet, but she knew he was near, racing down the hall towards the rec room, the door luckily closing softly shut to note she had not been near. But all the same, the fear lingered.
Backing up, she collided with something solid. Her first instinct was to scream, but before she could make a sound, a strong hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the cry. She was shoved against the cold metal wall, her back pressed firmly against it as a tall figure loomed over her. Her heart raced, terror surging through her.
“Shh,” he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.
Ettore.
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the air thick with a tension that was both terrifying and oddly charged. She didn’t dare move, her breath shallow and trembling against his hand. He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing her ear as he whispered.
“Stay quiet, and maybe we’ll both make it out of this.”
She nodded slightly, in no position to argue or protest. His voice was a low, dangerous murmur, but there was something almost protective in the way he held her, his body shielding hers from the imminent threat. It was a strange, twisted sense of security, and despite the circumstances, she found herself clinging to it.
Monte stormed into the room, his heavy footsteps echoing through the pitch-black space. The door slammed against the wall, the sound reverberating through the silence. Her entire body tensed, a wave of raw terror gripping her as she pressed herself against the wall, wishing she could melt into it and disappear.
She had never been more scared in her life. The darkness was all-consuming, robbing her of her senses. She couldn’t see Monte, couldn’t gauge his distance or his intentions. All she knew was that he was close, far too close.
Ettore’s hand remained firmly over her mouth, his grip steady but not harsh. She could feel the rough texture of his palm against her lips, could almost feel the thudding of his own heart against hers, and she fought to keep her breathing steady, her panic threatening to break through. For the first time, she was thankful for the darkness, for the inability to be seen, but it didn’t stop the tears from welling up in her eyes, blurring what little she could make out in the blackness.
Monte’s voice boomed through the room, a raw, violent shout that made her flinch involuntarily. “Where the fuck are you, you bitch? You think you can hide from me?”
Her tears spilled over, silently sliding down her cheeks, and Ettore’s hand, still covering her mouth, felt the wetness. She didn’t know if it was fear, hopelessness, or the sheer weight of the situation crashing down on her, but she couldn’t stop the silent flow.
She tried desperately to make out Ettore’s face, to find some anchor in the overwhelming darkness, but it was impossible. He was just a shadow, a vague outline she could barely discern, his presence more felt than seen.
Monte’s footsteps grew closer, his breathing heavy and erratic as he stalked through the room, searching for her. She could feel Ettore’s grip tighten slightly, a silent reassurance or perhaps a warning to stay silent. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might give them away.
The sound of Monte’s boots scuffing against the floorboards seemed deafening in the darkness. The tension was unbearable, a taut line ready to snap at any moment. Monte cursed under his breath and turned away, his footsteps retreating as he left the room. The door slammed shut behind him, and the oppressive silence that followed was almost worse than his presence. She didn’t dare move, not even to breathe, until she was sure he was gone.
“Jesus…” she whispered in relief when Ettore’s palm dropped from her lips. She expected him to move away, for them to find some way of escape.
But his hand, once firm over her mouth, slowly slid down to her neck, his fingers curling around the sensitive skin, holding her in place. The touch was no longer just about silence, it was possessive, controlling. She could feel his breath against her ear, slow and deliberate, as the tension between them morphed into something darker, more dangerous.
Her heart raced for a different reason now, a confusing mix of fear and something else, something she didn’t want to acknowledge. His other hand moved with a deliberate slowness, tracing the line of her waist before cupping her womanhood through her jeans. She gasped softly, the sound barely escaping her lips, but it was enough to let him know that she was fully aware of his intentions.
In the darkness, with Monte gone, the only thing she could see was his outline, and the only thing she could feel was the slow, purposeful movement of his hands. He held her firmly against the wall, his grip on her neck tightening just enough to remind her who was in control.
His hand applied just enough pressure to make her pulse quicken. "You're shaking," he noted, his tone almost mocking. "Is it fear, or something else?"
She could tell from his tone, he was loving this. Amused by her fear and helplessness. He enjoyed far too much the feeling of having someone’s life and control in his hand.
"Tell me, are you scared of what I might do? Or are you more afraid of how much you might want it?"
Her breath hitched, the question slicing through her like a knife. After a moment that felt like an eternity, she finally found her voice, though it was barely more than a whisper. “I'm not scared and I don't want you-”
The lie hung heavy in the air between them, and Ettore chuckled darkly, his free hand sliding down her body. He didn't believe her for a second, and she could tell.
His fingers deftly found the button of her jeans, and with a single, practiced motion, he popped it open. “So if I touch you here,” he whispered, his hand sliding beneath, “you won’t be wet?”
All it took was his fingers to dip beneath her underwear, sliding between her folds to collect her arousal on his fingertips, for her to freeze, the realisation dawning darkly that his presence in the darkness, his grip on her, and his words, were all having the effect she wanted least to happen.
She bit her lip, trying to suppress the involuntary reaction that coursed through her as he drifted north to circle her clit with ease.
“You’re not the woman I thought you’d be,” he continued, his tone mocking. “Say you're a professional? You're a fucking liar.”
Once again, she tried to make out his face. Trying to imagine his expression. She was convinced he could somehow see hers as he pushed forward, stretching her hot walls around his fingers to harshly fuck her with his fingers, as if testing the dangerous waters.
Her hand clamped on his wrist. She wanted him to stop. She wanted him to carry on. The darkness was doing her indecision no favours whatsoever, blurring her common sense.
He bruised his body against hers, pinning her even more firmly to the wall. The sound of her moisture clicking against his skin both erotic and a terrifying reminder of how her control had waned.
“Tell me to stop,” he challenged, his voice low, a whisper that curled around her like smoke. “But you won’t, will you?”
Her voice came a shaky whisper, an attempt to grapple back that sense of self she felt was swiftly slipping. But her tone betrayed the conflict raging inside her. “You…don't know me-” she strained to say, wincing as she felt the rough pads of his fingers brush the front of her walls.
She felt his breath, amused against her face. Ettore’s response was a low, mocking chuckle. “Maybe not,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, “but I know enough.”
Her whine was low as his fingers left her, but her heart stuttered in place when he rolled her jeans over her hips, taking her underwear with it. His knee harshly nudged her legs apart so she couldn't close them, before moving his sweatpants down just enough, his breath hot against her neck, where his palm still pressed.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He knew enough about her to know that at this moment, she wouldn't stop him. Perhaps, couldn't. If she even tried. She choked air out her lungs when his chest pressed against hers, one hand pulling her leg over his hip to angle her up.
And the sharp pang of panic when she felt the blunt head of his cock press into her. She felt herself starting to say ‘no’, but all words died on her lips as she felt him stretch her open on his length, disappearing inside her with barely a sound of his own.
It was sharp and biting, the pain initially. If it could have been called foreplay, none of it had really been for her in any case, so she felt every inch of him. And she winced, eyes pressing shut when his pace was immediately brutal, snapping against her hips with commanding intensity.
All she could do was press her fingernails into his arm, try and share some pain with him in some twisted way. That's the only sound he made, was a low groan, his grip around her throat tightening to feel the rapid thrum of her pulse.
She hated it. Hated giving him this…sick sense of control over her. Knowing that he would be much too proud and one track minded to stop until he'd come, she thought, get it over with.
She clenched around him, hard. Wanting him to lose it himself and just finish what he started. And when she felt his breath catch, she smirked in victory, until his hand raised to her face, pushing her head harshly back, her jaw anchored in his grip.
“No you don't, you fucking bitch,” he breathed, low and dangerous in a way that made her heart freeze. “Think you can rush me?”
The smirk that had momentarily crossed her lips vanished as she realised how deeply she had miscalculated. Ettore wasn’t going to simply take what he wanted and be done. He was going to make her feel every second of it, make her pay for that brief moment of defiance.
“You’re going to come on my dick, and when you do, you’ll sound pathetic. Just like you are.”
It was fucking annoying, was all she thought, that when he renewed his pace to borderline erratic, the pain ebbed into sharp pleasure. The hand that held her leg around his waist drifted inwards, clumsily circled her clit, too quickly and firmly to feel entirely pleasurable, but just enough combined with his relentless assault to send her spiralling.
Her breath hitched, and she felt the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, more from frustration and rage than anything else. He could feel it too, how close she was to breaking, how her body betrayed her resolve. Ettore revelled in it, every small tremble, every shaky breath, feeding his twisted need to dominate.
He pressed her sensitive bundle of nerves like he hated her, and it was enough to send a full body shudder from the top of her spine right through her core. He only let out a breath of smug relief feeling her walls clamp him in, tending uncontrollably around him.
The room was silent except for the harsh breaths they both struggled to catch. The darkness around her seemed to close in, the only light left in the room the fading stars behind her vision. As the reality of what had just happened began to set in, she felt Ettore’s body still against hers, the warmth of him inside her chasing away the numbness that had momentarily overtaken her.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, with a surge of disgust and anger, she pushed against his chest, forcing him away from her. Her hands trembled as she scrambled to right her clothes, feeling hot in her chest with shame. Ettore staggered back, and she could practically feel his smug grin in the darkness. He adjusted himself with a deliberate slowness, clearly savouring the moment. His breathing was still laboured, but there was an unmistakable air of satisfaction surrounding him.
“No use fighting it,” he murmured, amusement seeping into every word.
She scoffed, her hands fumbling with the buttons of her jeans. “Dick,” she muttered under her breath, the word laced with a mix of anger and frustration.
Ettore’s smirk only deepened, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Call me what you want. You know I’m the only one who can get you through this. You need me. Whether you like it or not.”
The emergency lights flickered on, casting a dim, flickering glow over the room. The sudden illumination was a relief, pulling her back from the suffocating grip of darkness. She could finally see again, the oppressive void around her receding. The sight of Ettore standing there, so smug and composed, sent a wave of shame crashing over her. Disgust curled in her stomach, twisting alongside a sick sense of arousal she couldn’t fully suppress.
But like a cold slap to the face, she knew Monte was still out there, stalking the ship, hunting her down. And now, with the lights on, it would be easier for him to find her. |It was a jolt, reigniting the fear she had momentarily pushed aside amidst the dull haze of thrumming pleasure.
Ettore seemed to sense her shift in focus, his smirk fading into something more serious. "He’s not far," he said, his voice low and measured. “Stick with me. I know a quick way back.”
She didn’t respond, her mind racing. The thought of Monte finding her now, after everything, sent a fresh wave of terror through her. As much as she despised the idea, as much as she loathed Ettore for what he'd done, he was her best chance at survival. But how could she, with everything she knew and everything she had just experienced, possibly trust him?
Was the onus on her? For allowing him to do what he did? For the way she had let him touch her, for the strange, conflicted sensations she had felt?
Before she could dwell on it further, Ettore yanked her forcefully, snapping her back to the present. They had to move quickly. The urgency in his grip was impossible to ignore, and in the rush, she realised too late that she had forgotten to feel for her gun.
They hurried through the narrow corridors, the cold metal walls echoing with the distant sounds of chaos. When they finally reached the entrance to her team’s ship, he pulled her inside with a final, rough tug. Panting, she glanced around the familiar interior of the vessel, trying to steady herself. Ettore didn’t waste a moment.
“Do you have the authority to access the emergency autopilot system?” he asked, his voice sharp, cutting through the haze of fear and confusion.
She hesitated for just a second. “Yes, but what about everyone else? We can’t just leave them.”
“There’s no time,” he shot back, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach drop. “Monte’s not going to stop until he finds you, and when he does, you’re dead. We need to get off this ship now.”
Her hands shook as she moved toward the control panel, the reality of the situation weighing heavily on her. She could feel Ettore’s gaze on her, urging her to move faster, to make the choice she knew she had to make. The ship’s systems roared to life, as did the alarms, signalling their imminent departure from the prison ship. For a brief, harrowing moment, she could hear Monte’s voice echoing through the corridor, filled with rage, mingling with the desperate shouts of others. But then the door hissed shut, sealing them off from the chaos outside.
Ettore was already behind her, his presence looming, suffocating in the small space. “Control Room. Now,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. Panic surged through her, her mind racing as she obeyed, her steps hurried and frantic. She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t process the fact that a dangerous criminal was now alone with her on her ship. Panic pushed her forward instead. Primal and urgent.
Once there, her mind scrambled for any option, any way to get the ones who wanted to return to Earth safely off the prison ship. “We can’t just leave them behind,” she stammered, turning, desperation clear in her voice. “There are others who want to return-”
Her blood ran cold as she whipped back at him, he stood tall, almost proud, holding a gun to her face. A brief, fleeting thought roared through her mind that she doubted it was loaded, but she dare not entertain it right now. Not when fear gripped her ribs.
Her own gun. She knew the second she went to feel for it.
He’d stolen it during her moment of weakness.
Ettore smirked, his expression infuriatingly smug. “No hard feelings,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery.
Her heart raced with a potent mix of anger and terror. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She had come here with the intention of doing good, of offering these people a chance at redemption or at least a fair trial. And now, what had she done? She’d left behind an entire ship of prisoners, all so she could be trapped here, alone, with him.
She stared at Ettore, her mind swirling with a thousand conflicting emotions. The anger bubbling up inside her was nearly as strong as the fear. How had it come to this? How had she let herself be so easily manipulated, so trapped?
“Here’s how this is going to work,” he said, his tone all business now, as if he were discussing a simple transaction. “You’re going to take me back to Earth, and when we get there, you’re going to make sure I live a nice, cushy life. No more cells, no more guards, just freedom. I’m sure a smart woman like you can figure out how to make that happen.”
She opened her mouth to protest, to argue, but the cold, unyielding barrel of the gun in his hand kept her silent.
“And in return,” he continued, his eyes darkening with a twisted sort of pleasure, “we’ll have some fun on the way back. You’ll make sure of that too, won’t you?”
Anger and fear warred within her, but the sharp edge of reality kept her from saying anything that might push him further. She felt utterly trapped, forced into a role she never imagined she’d play. The man in front of her was dangerous, and there was no telling what he would do if she refused.
Ettore’s smirk softened, just a little, as if he could sense her internal struggle. “You’re smart. You know what the right choice is.”
She wanted to scream, to cry out in frustration and fear. A dark, violent urge flared within her, the impulse to bash him over the head, to kill him and be done with it. But here, alone in the vastness of space, without the guards or anyone else to enforce order, who would hear her? Truly hear her? Her fury would echo into the void, and she would still be utterly and entirely, alone.
His voice was a soft, poisonous whisper. “So, what’s it going to be, little lawyer?”
General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn
18/12: Board Games and Breath Play - Ettore
Word Count: 2.4k~ | Warnings: strip poker, slight degradation, breath play and face fucking, dub con
12 Days of Smuff Masterlist
A/N: board games was a loose prompt for this one lol
“No.”
“Why?”
“No.”
She groans dramatically, “you are so fucking boring.”
Shuffling the cards expertly in his hands, he raises his eyebrows, “don’t care, now piss off.”
This was backfiring hellishly. She rolled her eyes, having exhausted literally everyone else on the ship to try and dull the numbing boredom of just simply existing here. The board game she’d bought with her was slung to one side, and she nudged it further with her foot, annoyed. “Cluedo. Cute,” she scoffed, the irony not lost on her.
She slumps into the chair opposite him, her arms crossing over the table like a petulant child. Ettore doesn’t even look up, his focus on the deck of cards he’s shuffling with the kind of precision that makes it look like an art form.
He's always been elusive. A mystery. But one she likes watching. He's always doing so with other prisoners, but he seems to mind when it's the other way around. When he's trying to concentrate.
“You play poker with Tcherny.”
“And?”
“Teach me.”
He scoffs, “fuck off, you’ll lose anyway.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snaps back. “Did I ask for a motivational speech? No. I just want to learn,” she fires, leaning back and kicking one foot up onto the table. Ettore’s eyes finally flick to hers, narrowed and glinting with something between annoyance and mild amusement.
He cuts the deck in a smooth motion, eyes still glued to the cards. “Get your feet off my table.”
“Make me.”
For a split second, it looks like he’s debating whether it’s worth the energy to actually toss her out of the room. Instead, he sighs heavily, his expression sliding into one of exasperated resignation as he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.
“Fine,” he growls. “You want to learn poker? First lesson, don’t act like an idiot. It gives away your hand.”
She blinks, startled, before breaking into a grin. “Was that a joke? Ettore, are you feeling okay?”
He doesn’t dignify her with an answer, instead starting to deal the cards. As they land with a sharp snap against the table, her excitement is palpable.
“Alright,” she says, rubbing her hands together. “How do I win?”
He leans back in his chair, tilting his head. “Second lesson, don’t annoy the dealer.”
Ettore regretted agreeing to the game almost immediately.
She was terrible. Embarrassingly so. The kind of bad that made him question whether she even understood what a flush or a straight was, despite the twenty minutes he’d spent explaining it to her. He watched her fumble through another hand, the cards slipping from her fingers like she was holding them for the first time in her life.
She bit her lip, staring intently at her cards as if sheer willpower could turn her mess of a hand into something worth betting on. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You can’t raise,” he said flatly. “You don’t even have anything. Literally. Nothing.”
She scowled. “How do you know that?”
“Because you’re holding your cards like a fucking open book,” he snapped.
She huffed, dropping her cards onto the table with a dramatic sigh. “How about we make this more... interesting?”
He didn’t respond, just watched her with that cold, unimpressed stare that usually sent people running. She, of course, was immune.
“Strip poker,” she said casually, leaning back in her chair and tossing a card onto the table. “You win a hand, I lose something and vice versa. Simple.”
Ettore’s eyebrows lifted slightly, the first hint of interest he’d shown in the last half hour, his pupils dilating slightly. “You’re bad at this game,” he pointed out, but she merely shrugged.
“Unless you’d rather play strip poker with Tcherny, I can get him–”
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin. “Oh? He not your type?”
His fists clenched hard, suppressing, albeit barely, the desire to rip her head from her body. “You want to lose? Fine.”
And yet he still wanted to play. She smirked victoriously, watching him shuffle the deck once again and deal out the cards. Seeing that darkened look in his eyes, she thought she may have bitten off more than she could chew. But it was too exhilarating for her to care, in fact, it was a welcome distraction.
Predictably, she lost the next hand. With a dramatic groan, she peeled off her tank top and tossed it onto the table. Ettore’s eyes flicked to her now-bare shoulders, and she didn’t miss the way his smirk deepened.
“You’re terrible at this,” he taunted.
“Mmhm,” she hummed noncommittally, crossing her arms over her chest, not quite trying to cover herself. “Deal again.”
They played another hand. She lost again, of course, and Ettore’s smirk was practically a permanent fixture now, secretly wanting the bra to come off. But instead, she wiggled out of her sweatpants with exaggerated slowness, tossing them aside with a careless flick of her wrist.
But then something shifted.
The next hand, she won. Ettore frowned, brushing it off as a fluke. He wasn’t worried. His outer red shirt came off.
The hand after that, she won again. His brow furrowed, his confidence wobbling just a touch as he peeled off the long-sleeved white shirt that was underneath.
Ettore frowned, eyeing her more carefully now. She was shuffling like she’d done it a hundred times before, the cards flipping smoothly through her fingers. The way she dealt the next hand was too precise. Too confident.
His eyes narrowed. “You’ve played before.”
She grinned.
“You hustled me,” he growled, leaning forward, his voice low and dangerous.
“Maybe.” She picked up her cards, glancing at him over the top with a smirk that was equal parts infuriating and triumphant.
He bit the inside of his cheek, his confidence beginning to crack as the game dragged on. The pile of clothes at her feet wasn’t getting any bigger, but his was. His shoes, then his belt, then his sweatpants.
“You’re cheating,” he said, but there was no real heat behind it. He knew she wasn’t, and that only made it worse.
She tilted her head, feigning offense. “I’m just better than you.”
“You’re full of shit.”
She leaned forward, her smirk practically glowing now. “Tell you what,” she said, her voice dropping into a teasing lilt, “if you want to quit, just say the word. I won’t tell anyone you couldn’t handle it.”
He glared at her, his jaw tight as he tossed his cards onto the table. “Deal the next hand.”
By the time he was down to nothing but his boxers, the realisation had fully set in, she’d played him. And she wasn’t just good at poker, she was good at this, at getting under his skin and staying there. Ettore glared at his cards like they had personally betrayed him. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his forearm taut as he tossed his cards onto the table in defeat. Across from him, she leaned back in her chair, utterly victorious, her smirk practically gleaming in the dim light.
“That’s it,” she said, spreading her arms in mock triumph. “Game over. You’re out of clothes. Time to pay up.”
He didn’t move. His hands rested on the table, his expression stony. He was no stranger to feeling comfortable in his skin. He worked out, was proud of the form he’d built. But he did not like doing it at the mercy of someone else. Not when he felt like he wasn’t the one in control.
“No.”
“Feeling shy?”
“Fuck off,” he growled.
And then she saw it. The way his hand twitched, the shift in his posture as he sat just a little too still. Her eyes flicked downward, and realisation struck like a lightning bolt.
“Oh my God,” she said, her voice dripping with disbelief and amusement. “You’re hard.”
“Shut up,” he snapped, his voice low and sharp, but it was too late. She was already laughing, her head thrown back as she cackled.
“This is amazing,” she said between laughs, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hand as she studied him. “Big, bad Ettore, bricked up by a bit of strip poker.”
He didn’t respond, his glare intensifying as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Come on,” she teased, leaning closer beside him, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ve already lost. Might as well let me see the full package.”
He could feel it. The burn of violence, the burn of wanting to shift the tables of power. She was dangling hers in front of him like a toy, just waiting for him to stop and almost challenging him to. His lungs fired up with its need. He didn’t need to glance down at himself to know he was hard. When was the last time he’d even seen the supple flesh of a woman without having to imagine it during those dark, lonely nights in The Box?
Even with her bra and underwear on, she was dangling herself in front of a man who had lashed out for less. His jaw ticked.
She wanted him to snap? Fine.
The table rattled beneath her as Ettore shoved her back, his hands gripping her arms hard enough to leave marks. She gasped, her fingers scrambling for purchase against the edge of the table. For a split second, something flickered across her face, fear, perhaps, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a practised calm that made his jaw clench. She felt the heat of him against her bare stomach, and her lips curved into a dangerous smile.
This would be a fight.
“You want to play games?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“Who says I can’t finish?”
The words barely left her mouth before his lips crashed into hers, bruising and demanding, swallowing any retort she might have had. His hands moved with the same ferocity, one gripping her waist to pull her closer while the other tugged at the last scraps of fabric still clinging to her body. She let out a sharp gasp, her fingers threading into his hair as she kissed him back just as hard, her nails digging into his scalp like she wanted to draw blood.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was a fight, one neither of them intended to lose.
When his fingers hooked into her underwear, she twisted sharply, breaking free just enough to shove him backward. He stumbled, and before he could regain his footing, she surged forward, slamming her hands against his chest and sending him sprawling onto the cold metal floor.
Ettore barely had time to curse before she was on him, straddling his hips and pinning him down. Her thighs clenched tightly against his sides, her hands braced on his chest as she leaned over him, her hair falling in messy strands around her face. She was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sharp and wild with triumph.
“Not used to losing?” she asked, her tone dripping with mocking victory.
He stared up at her, his hands resting on her thighs like he was deciding whether to let her win or flip her over and reclaim control. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, his lips swollen and slick from their kiss.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his voice low, his gaze locked on hers. But there was no hiding the hunger in his eyes, the way they drank her in like he couldn’t decide whether to tear her apart or worship her.
She leaned down, her face inches from his, her smirk returning. “Good,” she whispered. “I like it dangerous.”
She saw his throat bob with need as she made her way up his body, clenching her thighs to keep him where she wanted.
“Do you?” she gleamed.
He glared up at her, his jaw tight, but the hunger in his eyes betrayed him. She slid back just slightly, enough to reach for the waistband of her underwear, her movements unhurried as she peeled them off and tossed them aside. His eyes flicked downward, his restraint unravelling as she settled herself back on top of him, her thighs framing his face.
It was hard and unyielding, the way her fingers threaded into his hair, pulling his lips to her wet and waiting core without delay, forcing herself onto his mouth and grinding, head tipped back with gasps and moans that she dare not hold back. His growl of frustration turned into a low, almost primal sound as his mouth met her. The first flick of his tongue made her gasp, and she felt her insides tighten around nothing. His hands slid up her thighs, holding her steady as he worked her with an intensity that made her toes curl and skin feel electric.
She shifted, her thighs pressing in against his head, limiting his movement. Ettore growled against her, the vibration sending a jolt through her, but she didn’t let up. “Breathe when I let you,” she murmured.
For a moment, his body stilled, and she counted, grinding against his lips with every second, his nose pressed flush against her clit, and she felt him exhale sharply against her skin. Then, he pushed back with renewed fervour, his tongue exploring her with precision and hunger. She rewarded him with a roll of her hips, pressing herself harder against him.
Ettore’s grip on her thighs tightened as she continued to ride the line between giving him air and taking it away, her movements deliberate, teasing. He growled again, his fingers digging into her flesh as he matched her pace, his breath growing shorter with each movement. When she finally eased up, allowing him a gasp of air, his teeth grazed her in retaliation, a reminder that she was pushing him to the edge.
Finally, the wave of pleasure crashed over her, her body tightening as she let out a sharp cry, her grip on his hair almost painful. She shuddered against him, her thighs quivering as her climax overtook her, leaving her breathless and flushed. Ettore pulled back slightly as she released him, his face glistening and his breathing heavy. She looked down at him, her smirk returning despite the haze of satisfaction clouding her mind.
“You’re fucking insane,” he rasped, his voice raw, his gaze sharp and filled with heat.
“And you’re still here,” she replied, her voice soft but triumphant. She climbed off him, letting her fingers trail down his chest as she stood, before wrapping her palm around his aching erection, relishing in the choked groan he let out.
Summary: tensions rise as strangers board the ship and turn Dibs' entire operation on its head to obtain critical evidence. But not everyone feels the same at the prospect of returning to Earth | Word Count: 4.5k~ | Warnings: mentions of Ettore's crimes, swearing, mentions of violence, threatening behaviour, masturbation (m)
A/N: A birthday present for @dreamymoomin @in-a-mountain-pool, my fellow Ettore fucker (affectionate 😘). Have a very happy birthday <3
For the last several days, Dibs was irritable. There was something she wasn't telling them, and none of them had the interest nor the energy to ask. But something had spooked her, and that was never good. She stopped the weekly examinations for the females, and started destroying the samples from the males. Both of which were things she previously cherished as part of her twisted experiment for a child.
The rest simply followed their daily routine as usual, just without the lingering, judgemental glances from Dibs, replaced with a sense of unease and confusion when she’d shut herself in her office for days on end. It was a good and happy coincidence that at least without her help, they knew how to look after themselves.
Loud alarms startled their otherwise quiet lunch. Some didn’t move an inch and others merely looked around, eyes wide with fear, not knowing what to do with themselves. And the second they felt the ship quite literally jolt, as if something had docked against them, Ettore had a sense of where the situation was headed. No more than fifteen minutes later, the doors where they had boarded the ship, opened once again, revealing quite shockingly a band of official looking people.
Several armed guards stood like pillars beside the army of lawyers and technicians, prepared to both shut down the operation and steer the spacecraft back towards Earth. They held their weapons casually, their gazes insistent that violence would occur should the team be threatened in any way.
“If you all know what's good for you, you'll let them do their work. And you'll all get to go home.”
Ettore watched with a stoic expression, as if uncaring and neutral at the idea of returning. He highly doubted that everyone shared the same opinion about the prospect of returning to Earth, to their prisons, where they all knew too well.
His eyes watched with a deep interest as the team split off to start their investigation around the prisoners, starting with downloading the encrypted files Dibs had attempted to hide. Each one potential evidence for the twisted doctor's misconduct.
He watches one of the lawyers particularly closely, unable to admit to himself exactly why he finds her interesting to look at. They all wear casual clothes, something he has not seen since leaving Earth in the first place, and now something that seems so undeniably foreign and alien.
Her lanyard displayed both her name and her title. Legal Representation.
She started by organising individual meetings with the prisoners, for them to air their grievances, with evidence of course. Documenting each one regarding their treatment, health and level of punishment. Some were forthcoming and some, predictably, were not. And could she blame them? For so many months, years even, distrust was just another fact of life up here.
Dibs watched with frustration her life work being dismantled and dissected. At first her attempts at justification were met with cold looks and shakes of their head from the legal team, eventually turning into silence. They were there not to debate ethics but to enforce the law and protect the rights of those who had been under her control.
The little lawyer, Ettore so affectionately named her in his head, was diligent about her work. And when he spotted her next, she was deep into downloading onto an external hard drive the encrypted data on Dibs' computer in the infirmary. He couldn’t deny, it was strange to have other people wandering the ship. The otherwise wide and meandering hallways now felt cramped, with barely two people able to stand side by side while letting another pass. It felt suffocating. And he knew it was only a matter of time before someone snapped.
His jaw clenched as he watched her from the doorway, attempting to make sense of the software Dibs' had so often fiddled with to make it near impossible to infiltrate. And he wondered with a sense of defensiveness and perhaps immaturity, or naivety, that this woman was pushing change, and he wasn't sure if he liked that.
She let out a pleased sound when she cracked the last layer of security, and Ettore laughed through his nose.
“Suppose she didn't account for someone like you, hm,” he mused dispassionately and somewhat uninterested. A flash of irritation gnawed at him when she didn't look up from her work to address him.
“‘Dr Dibs’ didn't account for a lot of things,” she started, her tone neutral, “nevermind taking accountability.”
His eyes darkened, roving over her form behind. She was easily smaller. If he really really wanted, she wouldn't be able to fight. But did he want her to?
She finally paused and swivelled on her chair to face him, her expression insistent, making his darkened thoughts pause for just a moment.
"You don’t seem too thrilled about the prospect of going back to Earth. Most would be eager to leave this place.”
It wasn't a question, but he could smell that she wanted an answer. And normally, he would have entertained her. But her expression, coupled with her expectancy for him to bend, made him huff and turn away.
“Content with staying here and giving Dibs sperm samples for the rest of your life? Not that I think that's the part you dislike.”
She mumbles that last part under her breath, turning back to the computer to check its download progress. And while her back is turned, something is stoked in his eyes. That was an incredibly dangerous thing for her to say. Especially to him. To someone like him.
He shoves his hands in his scrub pockets, mostly to touch himself.
“And what is there to go back to?” He inquires, watching with interest when she turns back to him halfway. He raises his eyebrows, tone somewhat mocking, “something about the devil you know.”
She gives a breathy laugh, “suppose it's comfort in its own way. Wouldn't you rather live than just survive?”
He narrows his gaze, stubbornness enhancing his disbelief.
“You really believe that it's just step off this ship and poof, everything's fine?”
“I didn't say that.”
“Why would I want to go back to a world that forgot me the second they sent me up here?”
She sighs. “It'll be what you want it to be, if you keep thinking like that.”
He has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. These lawyer human rights fucking types will always cling to some kind of hope, however naive. It was a word long flung out of Ettore’s vocabulary, not that he was usually the hopeful type. She sighed through her nose at his lack of response and turned back around, typing quickly and practised on the keyboard. Her messy, plaited hair fell down her back, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he thought of what it would have been like to grab the end, and twist it over his fist he’d be strong enough to subdue her, that was for sure. Even thinking about it, he ran his tongue over his teeth.
He wondered if she knew what he was here for. Did she know the ins and outs of what the jury said about him? Or what the judge condemned him to? Or was he just another tick box on her list, just another name? Did she either understand the man he was now, or what he was capable of? It both thrilled and unsettled him in equal measure. He watched her slender fingers move across the keyboard, thinking, how would she react when she knew how dangerous he really was.
Would she still carry that same determination, or would fear finally colour those idealistic eyes?
He smirked slightly, thinking that he had met many women like her that used her indifference as armour over her, shielding her from the darker truths of the world, or perhaps, just the darker truths of his world.
“You’ve read my file, haven’t you.”
His voice was low, almost a growl, daring her to acknowledge the monster many believed him to be. She paused, her fingers halting mid-type, and her lips parted. For a moment he thought she might turn around again, but she wet her lips and continued typing.
There was a firmness in her voice that surprised Ettore. “I've read your file, yes. I know what you've done.”
“And?”
“I’m not giving a glowing review on your crimes.”
He gave a huff of a laugh. “No need to get antsy, sweetheart.”
She turned her head, her face calm with an expression that belied any fear in him. “My job isn’t to judge, it's to defend human rights, yours included.”
Ettore's smirk widened, his eyes narrowing as he processed her words. "That's a neat way to put it. Defending human rights, even for someone like me? Must make you feel pretty good, huh?"
Her expression remained unchanged, her resolve as firm as ever. "You think I do this for my health?"
Before Ettore could respond, the sudden clang and shout from the other end of the corridor cut through their conversation. Both turned toward the noise. A group of guards hustled past, their faces tense, moving toward the source of the disturbance.
Ettore's attention briefly flickered to the commotion, then back to her, a victorious smirk on his face. "Looks like not everyone's as cooperative as I am."
She cocked her head, “and you’re being cooperative are you?” she asked firmly, with a harsh rhetorical edge. “Anyway, it’s not about that. It’s about your safety as a whole-”
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried an unmistakable edge. "And what if I wasn't safe? What if I was the one out there causing trouble? Would you defend me then?"
She met his gaze, unflinching. "I defend the rights of all prisoners, no matter their crimes."
Their intense exchange was suddenly interrupted by the return of the guards, escorting a handcuffed prisoner between them. The man was shouting, struggling against the restraints, his eyes wild with desperation.
"Fucking assholes! You're all just dressing it up as justice!" he yelled as he was dragged past them.
Ettore watched the scene unfold, his expression unreadable. Once the noise had died down, he turned back to her, his voice low. "Not everyone believes in your justice. Being out here…it changes people, makes them into monsters."
“I don’t believe that.”
Ettore's smirk faded, replaced by a contemplative frown. "Maybe you should. The monsters are real. And sometimes, they're closer than you think."
His words lingered in the air, thick with an ominous undertone, he turned and walked away, his steps deliberate and heavy against the metallic floor. She watched him go, his broad silhouette gradually merging with the shadows of the spacecraft's corridor. It was only when he disappeared from view that she realised she'd been holding her breath, her chest tight with apprehension.
She exhaled slowly, trying to dispel the tension that had coiled inside her during their conversation. The exchange had revealed layers to Ettore she hadn't fully appreciated before, depths of cynicism and a hint of something darker, perhaps a warning or a challenge. His parting words echoed in her mind, a reminder of the complex human narratives woven into the fabric of this mission.
Her eyes lingered on the corner where Ettore had vanished, the unsettling feeling of his presence still palpable in the air. She was left with a profound sense of the weight of her task, not just to administer legal justice but to understand and navigate the human elements at play. The reality of Ettore's warning, that the monsters might indeed be closer than she thought, settled heavy on her shoulders as she turned back to her work.
The mission to dismantle Dr. Dibs' operation continued, but a quieter but equally dangerous plan was brewing among a faction of the prisoners. These were men and women who, for various reasons, fears of retribution on Earth, lost ties, or simply the terror of facing their past crimes, had decided they were better off lost in space. They saw the arrival of she and her team not as a rescue but as a threat to the precarious stability they had found, or rather forged.
Ettore, caught between his newfound interest with his little lawyer and his inherent distrust of returning to a world that had discarded him, found himself pulled into this group’s orbit. Monte led the group, not particularly charismatic but he was seen as trustworthy, had quickly identified Ettore’s influence among the prisoners and sought to leverage it, despite their dislike for each other. There was something in Monte that was also as antsy as Dibs, as if he feared returning to Earth not because of the consequences, but because it meant confronting ghosts he had long buried.
With them, huddled in secret within the confines of the storage room, Mink leaned, arms crossed, as if she were still on the fence and could be persuaded.
“This ain’t redemption,” Monte started, his eyes firm, “up here we’re forgotten, nothing but fuckin’ dust. Back there, we're monsters on display.”
Ettore scoffed lightly, “and what? Hijack the ship? You think that ends well for any of us?”
“You know Dibs wants ‘em gone too.”
“We’re not killing them,” Mink interjected.
Monte glared at Mink, his frustration evident. "You think I don’t know we can’t kill them? We take control, redirect the course. We can find a place out here where they can't just drag us back to face whatever hell they've cooked up for us on Earth."
“So they’re hostages,” Ettore added bluntly. “They’re not like us. They'll come looking for them."
Monte nodded, his voice steady. "Then we make it too costly to come after us. We send a message back, make it clear we’re not their lab rats anymore, not their spectacle."
Mink shifted uncomfortably, her arms still crossed, her gaze flickering between Monte and Ettore. "Okay, stop measuring dicks for one second. We're talking about potentially starting a war here. What if they send the military after us? We're equipped to handle guards, maybe, but not a fucking assault."
The two men beside her fell quiet, and Ettore glanced down the hallway as if to check they nobody was listening in.
Mink filled the silence, her decision torn in two different directions, “And what about the others? The ones who might want to go back?"
Ettore rolled his eyes slightly. "Sometimes you gotta make the hard choices for people. Look at where trusting Earth got us in the first place."
His point didn’t at all mean to sound like he was supporting Monte, so he hated the little nod of agreement he gave. The way his eyes lit up.
But Monte caught it, misinterpreting Ettore’s reluctant agreement as support, his own resolve hardening. "We were discarded, forgotten. If we don't take a stand now, when will we ever?" he speaks erratically, as if even now pleading his case, “I killed a man. His family won’t rest until I’m buried. Talking won’t change that.”
Mink and Ettore remained silent. But their expressions could not be any more different.
“It won’t change it for you two either,” Monte added with venom, “You think any of us got a fair shot down there? You really trust this lawyer, these people, to make it right? Open your fucking eyes. She's here to make herself feel better, not to save anyone."
Ettore, who had been following the exchange silently, felt a surge of concern. His thoughts briefly flashed to his little lawyer, her conviction that the law could serve justice, her determination to fight for their rights. It contrasted starkly with the raw survival instinct that drove Monte.
“So that’s it then,” Ettore mused, “you want violence.”
Monte turned on Ettore, his gaze fierce. "If it’s violence they understand, it’s violence they’ll get."
Ettore met Monte’s fiery gaze with a steely resolve of his own. The tight confines of the storage room seemed to shrink further, suffocating under the weight of impending decisions. Decisions that could very well define the fate of everyone on board.
“You want to lead us into a war we can’t win,” he countered, “you’re gonna fuck all this up, and for what?”
Monte's breathing was heavy, his chest heaving with each breath, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He looked as if he wanted to say more, to argue that his plan was their only chance, but the fight seemed to drain from him second by agonising second.
“Fine. We’ll see what your lawyer can do. But if it doesn’t work, if they don’t listen...” His voice trailed off, leaving the threat hanging, an unspoken ultimatum that they all understood.
After a week of tireless work aboard the spacecraft, tension simmered under a deceptive calm. She and her team had catalogued countless files and dismantled numerous experiments, yet they were still not close to gathering all the evidence they needed before the planned return to Earth. The ship was suspended in the vast silence of space, a temporary lull in their journey both literally and metaphorically.
Ettore leaned against the doorway, the threshold between their ship and the prisoner's felt so inescapable. The distance between their daily lives aboard the ship was not lost on him, and a cynical remark bubbled to the surface, and he couldn't help but run his eyes over her as she made her way past him to go to her own quarters.
With a sardonic twist to his lips, he approached her, his voice carrying just enough edge to be provocative. "You look tired, sweetheart. Must be tough, being so close yet so far from all the answers you need.”
She merely glared at him sideways, and despite her composed exterior, there was a fatigue in her eyes that spoke volumes about the strain they were all under.
“It's part of the job. And Dibs hasn't exactly made it easy.”
Ettore chuckled softly, the sound more mocking than amused. "Sure, but at the end of the day, you get to retreat to your safe corner of the ship, away from all of us. Sleep better thinking you’re not surrounded by monsters?”
Her face remained impassive, but her eyes hardened slightly, a hint of steel beneath the surface.
He huffs. “Maybe one night you should try sleeping over here, see how dangerous we really are. Maybe then you’d get all your evidence faster.”
There was a moment of silent acknowledgment between them. It was a threat. One meant to hit deep. If she was smart, she'd see the larger threat beneath it.
"Just remember, justice feels different depending on which side of the ship you sleep on.”
She cocked her head at him, but not in question, her eyes remained steadfast and firm. It was as if she merely wanted to see a different angle of him.
“Maybe it’s less about where I sleep,” she muses, “maybe it’s understanding the lay of the land, hm? Knowing where the landmines are buried.”
Ettore’s expression shifted only barely, whether she caught it or not, he couldn’t tell. She had obviously been interviewing all the prisoners. And if he had to guess about who was likely to blab about this plan Monte had cooking, it was most likely Boyse. They’d notoriously disliked each other.
But a subtle smirk rose to his lips. She was trying to prod him, thinking he was the leader in all of this. Where she could not be more wrong.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, sweetheart.”
Her jaw tightened at that. And his warning was cryptic enough and yet clear enough to read the hidden meaning beneath. There were dangers lurking within the ranks. Uprisings. That not only jeopardises the mission, but their lives as well. She felt her heart thud hard in her chest, feeling right now more than ever, that she did not belong here.
With a thick swallow, she sighed, trying to appear calm, “I appreciate your concern for our safety.”
Ettore gave a half-smirk, recognising her diplomatic reply. And though he was tempted to say more, to see how she’d squirm, he pushed off the wall and turned his back to her. He recognised he had shared too much with her, a crucial piece of information, but something that also revealed a concealed trust for her.
When he turned back to glance at her, he felt a smug pride in his chest, she was still watching him. And her eyes flickered upwards when she felt she had been caught. And the little lawyer scurried away back to her haven, with not another word.
She returned to her quarters, the sound of the door sealing behind her echoing slightly in the compact, utilitarian space that served as her temporary sanctuary. She slipped out of her shoes, feeling the cool metal floor beneath her feet, a small comfort after another long day of navigating the tight corridors and tighter tensions of the spacecraft.
After a long and decompressing shower, she moved to her small desk, where she activated her datapad, to record her nightly entries for the team back on Earth, to update them on the progress.
Day 23.
Looking at herself on the screen, her hair wet over her shoulders, she felt she looked tired and more weary, compared to when she first arrived. And wondered briefly how the prisoners had not yet gone mad.
“The evidence we need to solidify the case against Dr Dibs is…extensive and…elusive. She’s trying to hide things, which doesn’t help, behind walls of useless other data she thinks we’ll miss. The crew’s morale fluctuates, as expected. They are under immense stress, given that the cooperation of some of the prisoners has been divisive at best.
Boyse’s interviews are particularly interesting. She’s afraid of going back to Earth, seeing as there is little support for her. But she seems rather excited to see Dibs see justice for the horrendous things she's done to them. She made me aware of a former prisoner, Elektra, who died shortly after childbirth due to lack of proper care. The baby... also did not make it. Boyse has made it very clear that the experiments and examinations on the women have both become more frequent and more desperate after this incident. Mink tells a similar story, albeit with some details redacted. Unfortunately, Dibs disposed of the bodies shortly after their deaths, so they won’t be recoverable.
They both heavily dislike most of the men on board, with the exception of Tcherny. He seems keen on returning to Earth. Mostly because he has nobody there to judge him anymore. Monte…has refused interviews. And too refuses interaction with any of us.
Ettore. Well, he was cryptic today, as usual. I believe he is the type of person to lure people in just to watch them try and escape him.”
She paused, with a heavy sigh, running her hand through her hair. Stress gnawed at her temples. And something else tugged at her gut. Something she could not mistake as sickness.
“He refuses to say anything outright. But we must tread carefully. It’s clear some, if not most, of the prisoners do not wish to return, fearing retribution and violence, or whoever awaits them who will not share in our opinions of them. I can’t help but…wonder why we are here.”
She couldn’t concentrate after that. Her thoughts involuntarily drifted to Ettore. There was something undeniably compelling, beyond the complexities of his personality. Her racing thoughts could not keep up with her mouth, it felt.
“He’s an enigma. He has strong features but…manages to control them under a mask. And yet, there’s an intensity in his eyes that’s so piercing. The way he looks at me sometimes…it’s unsettling. And yet I can’t find it in myself to look away. And his voice, even when he whispers it’s…”
“The monsters are real. And sometimes, they're closer than you think."
She swallows, her fingers resting on her throat as if to feel her own pulse.
“It carries a weight, one that commands attention. Like a threat but also…like he’s testing me, measuring my reactions…”
“Maybe one night you should try sleeping over here, see how dangerous we really are.”
“...like a predator.”
She paused, clarity rushing back to her like a wave, pulling her under and robbing her of breath. With a quick flick, she turned off the video, taking a moment to really consider her words and her runaway thoughts. Why was she focusing so much on his physical details? She argued perhaps that it was the amount of time she’d spent with all of them. But she shook her head slightly, trying to steer her thoughts back to reality.
After a moment of pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, the stress and internal conflict caused her to hastily climb into bed, hoping perhaps that the sweet escape of sleep might rid her of these thoughts. As she lay back in her bed, staring up at the ceiling of her quarters, the ship's constant hum a soft backdrop, she couldn't help but replay their interactions. There was an undeniable tension there, something that went beyond the usual professional dynamic. Was it just the stress of the mission making her over analyse, or was there something more, something real and tangible in the way he moved and spoke that kept drawing her thoughts back to him?
Ettore too, lay awake, lost in turbulent emotions. His mind replaying his interactions with her, each moment etched into his memory. The way her eyes narrowed in concentration, the subtle shift in her posture when he spoke of their harsh conditions on the ship before their arrival, and particularly, the flickers of fear when he would tread into dangerous territory with his words alone. Not even having to be near her. He was captivated by those expressions, those nuances, and the challenges they presented.
In the quiet solitude of his cell, Nansen asleep in the top bunk, he allowed his hand to slide beneath his scrubs, eyes slipping shut as his hand lazily stroked his length to full hardness in no time at all. He indulged in the image of her. Her intelligent, alert eyes seemed to follow each word he said. Always evaluating. Evaluating him.
And fuck, did it feel good to be picked apart by her.
He returned to the same recurring thought he’d had every night, that if he pushed her boundaries, how would she react when truly tested? He wanted to see her rough, unguarded. Would she shrink or rise to the challenge? The mere thought of breaking through those defenses to a place where she might react out of sheer instinct, rather than reason, was intoxicating.
With a stuttered moan, and coming hard into his hand with a jerk of his hips, the challenge was set, and Ettore was eager to see it through, to discover just how deep the layers of his little lawyer went.
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