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bugsfanficfaves · 3 months ago

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The Devil's Prized Possession

Synopsis: You are Raphael's warlock and tasked with the most difficult mission: Retrieve the Crown of Karsus from the clutches of Enver Gortash. Remember, Raphael does not take kindly to failure. But do him proud and he will reward you for your troubles. As it turns out, he's been particularly eager to introduce you to a certain Incubus for a while now...

A/N: During my 5th run doing the House of Hope I had the most devilish and filthiest idea for a Raphael fic…so here we go! ;)

Words: 3637 Warnings: smut, smut, smut, blood, injuries, violence, voyeurism/exhibitionism, mentions of suicide and rape (past events), and um… incubus?

“My, my…look at how diligent my little warlock has become.”

You breathed out, the grip around your dagger loosening. You were covered in sweat, your damp training clothes sticking to you like a second skin. There was a mirror in the corner a few feet away from where you’d put the training dummy—a straw sack dressed in leather armour. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair greasy. In short, you were in no way presentable to receive your devilish patron.

You flipped around, facing Raphael with his hands clasped behind his back and a sly smile on his lips.

“Do you ever use doors? And knock? Like a normal person?”

“Oh but I am far from a normal person, am I not?”

You sighed. “I remember. That’s how I ended up in this situation in the first place. Why are you here?”

“Why am I here? Can a devil not check in on his little…protégée?”

You scoffed. “Come now, Raphael. I know you better than that. What do you want?”

“Very well. Let us cut to the chase. I have a mission for you.”

“A mission?” You frowned, removing the gloves you had been wearing to protect your knuckles. “For me? Does Korilla have annual leave?” you joked.

“I did not ask Korilla, I am asking you.”

You crossed your arms before your chest when he stalked closer, his eyes fixed on your form, observing every little movement you made. “Running errands for you was not part of our deal, Raphael.”

“Then perhaps you will be interested if I tell you what’s in it for you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Why, power, of course, my dear. What do you know of the crown of Karsus?”

Power? To hunt down the remaining thugs who’d stolen your life? “I’m listening.”

He followed you over to your small kitchen area. You kept some good wine hidden away in a cupboard for the sole purpose of his visits. Your life in Baldur’s Gate wasn’t exactly a luxurious one. When Raphael stepped into your life and you became a Warlock to take revenge on your family’s murderers and your rapist, he’d saved you from a dark pit you feared you’d never be able to get out of. You’d been close to suicide when he found you and offered you a way out. You didn’t regret it, didn’t regret the power his devilish abilities trickled into your very blood to give you abilities beyond your comprehension. Raphael was the reason you were still alive. All he had asked for in return was your soul—forever a guest in his House of Hope.

Raphael sat down at your mangled table. If he was disgusted by the leftovers of your breakfast and the dirty dishes, he hid it well.

You poured him a glass and set it before him on the wooden surface before sitting down opposite him.

“I assume you know the story of Karsus?”

You nodded. “Who doesn’t?”

“Then you’ll know what a powerful artefact the crown is. And I want it.”

“Well, where is it right now?” you asked, seemingly unaffected by his words. You knew better than to question him. You didn’t give a shit about this world anymore. If he decided to take over, at least you knew he’d make the sinners suffer, simply by seducing them into agreeing to a deal with him that they could not refuse.

“It was stolen, my dear. Stolen by someone you know all too well. It was our self-proclaimed saviour of Baldur’s Gate, Lord Enver Gortash. I hear he is up for archduke now.”

You frowned. “Why would Gortash steal the crown of Karsus?”

“Why would anyone? The crown in the hands of this Banite tyrant will bring ruin to the city, to the whole of Faerûn. I intend to save it. I want the crown,” he repeated.

“Wait. Did you say Banite? Enver Gortash is a Banite? Really?”

“The crown, dear. We were talking about the crown.”

“Alright, alright. So what do you want me to do?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple, actually.” He leaned back and smirked. “I want you to retrieve it for me.”

“And steal from the future archduke?”

“You are skilled in stealth. You will find a way.”

“Why me? Why not Korilla?”

“Korilla has been tasked with…some other business of mine.”

You blinked, considering his offer. “I still fail to see what’s in it for me.”

“The crown of Karsus will allow me to become the archdevil supreme. The most powerful devil in existence. Legions will bow to me and follow my command and the hells…will be mine. And you shall become the most powerful warlock any devil has ever taken under their wing.”

“Those were a lot of ‘most powerfuls’ in one sentence. But fine. I bite.”

“Excellent.” He waved his hand and out of a mist of smoke and sparks, a roll of parchment appeared. “Here is all you need to know to infiltrate Wyrm’s Rock. I expect results within a fortnight. Do not disappoint me, little mouse.”

He was gone before you could respond, his glass of wine left untouched.

Stupid, handsome devil. Stupid, stupid Banites! You should never have agreed to this. How could you have known that they would start a bloody cult directly at Wyrm’s Rock? Who could have known that they would, instead of questioning you, send you to the prisons to have you executed the next day? Raphael. Raphael could have known. You scoffed. That damn devil. He’d never elaborated on the consequences if you failed but knowing him, it couldn’t be good.

But then again…you’d already promised him your soul in return for your powers, so what else could he possibly take from you now? You were of little use as a lemur, after all.

If you ever made it out of here, at least you wouldn’t return completely empty-handed, you thought, as you played with the loose straws of hey on the dirty ground. You’d found out a great deal about Gortash’s plans. And he wasn’t operating alone, either. He had both the Chosen of Bhaal and the Chosen of Myrkul by his side.

You’d always known Gortash to be a bit shady but this form of evil was on another level entirely, even for him. An Elder Brain? Frozen ceromorphosis? An Illithid empire with him on top? You shook your head.

It was just then that sparks of hellfire danced through the cell. Smoke erupted in the corner, the smell of sulphur filling the stale air; and yet, despite the discomfort this very circumstance should have brought you, you felt relief flooding your body.

“My, my, what a predicament you have gotten yourself into here.”

“Raphael! Thank the gods… get me out of here, please!”

He truly was a sight to behold—hope, ironically, given your current predicament.

“Come. We have much to discuss.”

You stood, patting the dirt and the dust from your clothes. A sliver of hesitation wrapped its icy claw around your heart as you took the hand he offered and teleported you to safety. But wherever he took you…it was not your home.

“Where are we?” You peeked around, taking in your lavish surroundings. Imposing statues of devils—of Raphael himself—towered up into the air, marble pillars holding a high ceiling. Everything in here had been placed in the right spot with the utmost care, carefully chosen by Raphael himself, even the bottle of finely aged wine and the silver chalice next to it on the small table in front of a luxurious armchair by the fireplace.

The chimney was lit and spreading warmth. This…this was…

“The House of Hope,” Raphael finished your thought.

“I’m in the hells?”

“Indeed you are, my dear. Now. Have a seat. And tell me what happened.”

You did as you were told—there was little to no reason for you to resist or fall to your knees to beg him for his forgiveness. Not yet, anyway.

Raphael sat down in the armchair opposite you.

“You are…surprisingly calm,” you said.

“Should I not be?”

“Well…I failed you. Your mission. Aren’t you going to roast me over eternal hellfire?”

“You did fail. Except you did not.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“I knew that retrieving that crown was going to be no easy feat. I knew Gortash was a force not to be underestimated. You merely needed the motivation to try. So tell me. What were you able to find out?”

You blinked. You were…forgiven? By Raphael himself? Confused and still a little hesitant, you told him everything you had learned—including where his precious Crown of Karsus was right now.

“Hmm…hmm…”

He looked away and said nothing else for a while but who were you to interrupt his devilish thoughts?

“That indeed changes the game…I will need time to accommodate to these…circumstances, shall we say.”

“So…am I dismissed?”

Finally, Raphael’s gaze found yours again. His smirk burned hot in your veins, setting the power he fed you with ablaze. Damn that warlock connection.

“You are. You provided me with everything I needed to know about the crown’s whereabouts. About Gortash’s plan, the dead three, and the Elder Brain. You did well.”

You tilted your head. “No punishment? No ‘your soul will burn in eternal hellfire for failing me’?”

A pause. And then, his smirk grew even wider. “No.”

“Okay…um…thank you. So…how do I get back home?”

“You don’t.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“As of right now, you are a wanted criminal and a traitor to Baldur’s Gate. The Banites will long have infiltrated your home. It would be suicide to return just yet.”

Shit. He had a point. “But…where am I supposed to go then?”

“Why, you will stay here, of course, in my House of Hope.”

“You…you want me to stay here…in the hells…with you?”

“Now, now, I will be very busy. Do not expect me to entertain you, little mouse.”

You bit your lower lip. You despised his nickname for you…except you didn’t—and neither did, apparently, your nether regions.

“But for now…” he continued, looking you up and down as if deep in thought all of a sudden. “Let me show you around. I believe you deserve a reward for all your hard work. You can freshen up in my boudoir, wash the dirt from your skin. You will most certainly enjoy what awaits you there.”

You didn’t like his tone when he said that. Not at all. Expect you loved it. There was something sensual about Raphael’s voice—the devil loved to listen to himself talk but of course, that was nothing new. You’d grown to like his ways, his attitude, even his arrogance. After all, he was the very reason for your powers.

Raphael led you through a long and empty corridor, safe for the souls who had been unfortunate enough to strike a deal with him. If this was his way of showing you what awaited you once you perished…you swallowed thickly, your stomach churning.

“Oh…oh…oh…you will be so much fun to watch!” The soul who spoke to you had wide eyes and she was visibly…aroused. Perhaps at this point, your alarm bells should have been ringing. Whatever Raphael’s plans were…whatever awaited you in the boudoir…

“I gave them exactly what they asked for, little mouse,” Raphael said, his hand finding the small of your back. “Don’t worry. The fate you promised me will be much less hopeless and sufferable.”

You stepped through what resembled a portal—an arcane lock, you realised—keeping unwanted visitors out. Cool magic grazed your skin, and then you faced a vast pool with two running faucets on either end. Cushions, wine, delicacies, and even books formed a wreath around the pool, along the wall there were several wardrobes you assumed contained fresh clothes and towels. There was another area behind the pool, one that was barely visible from where you were standing. Still, you could make out the wooden posts and the luxurious fabric of a king-size bed.

“Please… step inside. Help yourself to some fruit and some wine.”

You hesitated—again. But this time it was because of a strange stab of excitement in your stomach.

Eventually, you stepped forward and took off your boots. Raphael, however, made no move to leave. Instead, he stalked over to a lush sofa in front of a high window and sat down with his legs spread wide as if he owned the place. Well. He did.

What was his plan? Was he going to watch you? You knew better than to object. You had no problem with nudity, although it was a little strange Raphael would want to watch you bathe.

With a sigh—if anything to shake off the nervousness eating away at your insides—you began to undress until not a single layer of fabric remained.

Your patron’s eyes followed your every move as you stepped into the pool, taking in every single inch of your exposed skin. It was…pleasant. The water was just right and as it wrapped around your limbs to clean it, it felt…soft.

You moved to the middle of the pool, submerging yourself until the water reached your collarbones. The bruises and cuts you had taken with you from this mission all but shrunk and disappeared, leaving behind healthy and unmarred skin. Restoration faucets…no wonder Raphael always looked so impeccable and untouched.

The relief was like a balm for your body. Your aches disappeared, the exhaustion draining from your core. You were about to close your eyes when all of a sudden, a tall figure appeared above you. A gust of wind tore through your hair. You looked up, discovering bat-like wings keeping a red-skinned figure in the air with its arms crossed, a sly smirk on its—his lips.

The demon, an Incubus, you recognised quickly, was the spitting image of Raphael.

“Hello, little mouse.” Fuck. He sounded like him too. “Is that your little warlock?” he asked. You were very well aware he wasn’t talking to you, yet all you could do was stare at him with wide eyes and your jaw dropped.

“Isn’t she a fine specimen?” Raphael bragged.

“She is indeed.” The incubus lowered himself down until his bare feet touched the carpeted floor, his eyes, identical to Raphael’s, never leaving your form. You were frozen in place. Meeting an incubus in the flesh was quite a remarkable experience—but also potentially dangerous. What did your patron have in mind? To show you off? You gasped for air. He’d promised you a ‘reward’. He couldn’t have been referring to…

“My name is Harleep,” the incubus purred as he flew closer. The faint smell of sulphur hit your nostrils. Every instinct inside of you screamed for you to get out, to save yourself…yet a very depraved and filthy part of you was begging you to stay to see what would happen. What could happen.

You told him your own name and he gave a toothless grin. “Such a pretty little mouse…what do you say? Should we make you feel good? I take it Raphael has brought you here because you’ve been a very, very good girl.”

You lower regions clenched. Fuck. Why did this excite you so much? It shouldn’t. And yet, you found yourself nodding. “I…I think so?”

Raphael chuckled. “I was hoping you’d say yes. Harleep is a very…thorough lover. And I do admit, after all of our time spent together, I am rather curious as to what it would be like to claim you.”

Oh. Oh. He…oh gods. If there was one thing you knew about Raphael it was that he was quite possibly the most narcissistic and self-absorbed devil in the nine hells. It was beneath him to mingle with anyone who didn’t live up to his standards—and the only one who did, apparently, was himself.

You actually had to bite back a laugh when you realised. Raphael had made Harleep take his form because he wouldn’t fuck anyone but himself. And now…he wanted to watch Harleep fuck you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find the thought intriguing. It had been ages since you’d last had sex, besides, receiving pleasure from an incubus? There was nothing else like it. Should you give in?

“My…such a shy little mouse…” Harleep’s hand came up to stroke your cheek as you stood there in the water, naked and dumbfounded. It slid down the side of your face, over your neck, your shoulders, and your arm until he was able to intertwine his fingers with yours and gently pull you with him.

And just like that…all of your remaining resistance, any doubts and fears…faded away. Harleep snapped his fingers to dry your skin and had you sprawl out on the huge king-size bed. The bed sheets were soft, silk, or satin as you sank into the mattress and rested your head on the pillow. The Incubus crawled over you in an almost predatory manner, Raphael following suit behind him. He pulled up a chair and poured himself a glass of wine, his mischievous eyes glistening with curiosity and desire.

Oh gods…he really was going to do this, wasn’t he? This was going to happen. He was going to watch Harleep fuck you right before his eyes.

You breathed out when Harleep grabbed your knees and spread your legs for him to position himself between them. You glanced down, eyes widening a little at his size. He was as hard as a rock, his red skin almost glowing in the orange light of the hells. Feeling him inside you…all of a sudden, there was nothing else you wanted in this world any more than this, any more than him.

He already was fucking with your mind then…Incubi had an uncanny ability to charm their victims before they devoured them entirely. But surely, Raphael wouldn’t let him go this far…would he?

Harleep’s tip pressed against your entrance and you realised in shock that you were dripping wet. Your pussy was throbbing, eager to take a cock and ease the growing arousal he was making you feel.

“Now…let us see how you taste, little mouse.” Harleep buried himself inside you to the hilt without any forewarning, meeting no resistance from your wanton body. A gasp escaped your lips as he claimed you, causing Raphael to chuckle as he twirled the red wine in his chalice before taking a sip.

“Hmm…like a lush and ripe fruit, juicy and ready to be plucked…” the incubus raved.

Was that really how you tasted to a sex demon? You couldn’t talk, couldn’t think… You bit your lower lip, digging your nails into the sheets as Harleep began to move inside you, withdrawing almost entirely only to plunge himself back in and fuck you slowly and intimately as if to savour your body.

Your breathing grew heavier, your arousal climbing even higher. Every single thrust was an ode to an impending orgasm. It was pleasure like you had never experienced it before. Nothing else mattered anymore. Whatever Harleep was doing, whatever his superpower was…it was working. Penetrative sex alone never did the trick for you—but with him, you’d been on the brink of climax from the very moment he’d sheathed himself inside of you.

Raphael chuckled and your head fell to the side. His gaze lingered on your joined bodies, taking in your bouncing breasts and Harleep’s powerful strokes, his cock disappearing into your wet warmth over and over again. He looked…fascinated—and you couldn’t help but let it fuel your carnal desire to drown in a whirlwind of lust.

Harleep joined in on the devil’s chuckle. “Keep going, little mouse. I can feel you tightening around me. You want to come so badly, don’t you?”

You bit your lower lip harder, almost drawing blood. Forcing your eyes back on Harleep, you nodded eagerly.

“Then come, little mouse. Show us how much you are enjoying this.”

It was all you wanted to hear, all you needed to hear. You fell apart beneath him on the bed, the delicious knot in your stomach unbound. Your walls contracted around Harleep’s cock who did not relent, fucking you through your orgasm until you turned into a whimpering mess.

The pleasure cursed through you like pure electricity, your mind shutting off. You were his…his for the taking, his to feed on, his to do with you as he pleased, forever…

“Now, now, Harleep. Don’t forget your manners.”

The incubus chuckled and with a start, as the last remaining weaves of bliss ebbed away, you woke up. Harleep dug his nails into your hips, lifting them off the bed to bury himself even deeper. He fucked you hard and fast now, ready to take his own relief.

“Do not come inside of her,” you heard Raphael say. His tone allowed no contraction.

You threw your head back, enjoying every single luscious thrust until Harleep stilled and pulled out, one of his hands wrapping around his length to finish himself off.

Ropes of his seed landed on the clean bed sheets between your legs, staining the pretty fabric. You were panting, fighting for your sanity when part of you didn’t even want it back.

“My, my…what a show.”

You half-expected Raphael to clap. Instead, he only chuckled again and got up from his seat. You couldn’t help it—you glanced down, noticing the considerable bulge in his trousers.

“Join me for dinner once you’ve recovered. You must be famished, my dear.”

With that, he left, leaving you behind with a seemingly out-of-breath Incubus who was still drinking in your essence, your arousal. He seemed…satiated. Amused, even.

Fuck. You’d need that restoration faucet again before you could even consider having supper with the very devil you had promised your soul to.

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bugsfanficfaves · 4 months ago

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Please consider ARMOR INTERFACES.

These bastards (read: Space Marines, Primarches, AND Custodes) literally have exposed nerves on or near the surface of the skin through the Black Carapace or whatever Emperor-spawned-fuckery the other two have going on, just so they can control their armor.

Can we consider how incredibly protective they are of the ports? And HOW MUCH TRUST it would take for one of these fools to let a serf or lover touch one, especially given how sensitive these ports must be?

And also how touching one is definitely going to be a fast route to being thrown onto the nearest flat surface and being bred thoroughly, especially with how touch starved they must be >.>

Or it might just take them ALL the way out for an hour or two from all the endorphins and oxytocin that just got dumped into their bloodstream from the act of ultimate intimacy. WHO KNOWS.

Only one way to find out.

I was just thinking about that recently actually. Like since the neural spikes are quite thin you couldn't get a finger in there, but i imagine the skin around the ports are quite sensitive.

Also just the generally theming of like, the eroticism of armoring your marine; slowly putting on their armouring suit, etc. You're figuratively touching the innermost parts of them and connecting to them through the interfaces, so to speak.

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bugsfanficfaves · 4 months ago

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✧₊⁺ Dessert ✧₊⁺

Pairing: Titus x Reader(f)

Arthur's Note: It wrote this for the fat Titus lovers. It's not long, truth be told, I am not comfortable writing smut ;_; and panic every time I write it. So here we are. My small humble offering for the kinky masses. Implied reader is female. Proofread? Never heard of her

Warnings: feederism stuff, breeding kink just at the end, but very light. It's pron without plot y'all.

18+ Minors DNI

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

The bed groaned as he sat down. You had told him to go and relax while you cleaned up the dishes. His large frame resting on the bed, larger now thanks to you. If he weren't a smarter man, a man resistant to warp influence he might think you an agent of the power excess here to slow him down and leave him helpless in doing his duty. But you were not that. Just a simple woman with desire to care for him. And care you did.

Titus smiled as he rubbed the sides of his full middle. It was too easy to just gorge himself when you cooked. Eat like he was some starving baseline. But then again once he was called for duty it could be months before he could taste you and your food again. So yes, he was being gluttonous. He could hear your walk in, smell you too. He licked his lips and smiled, suddenly very hungry again, but for something sweeter...juicer. Oh yes, you had an ulterior motive, but what it was he didn't know, and he willingly let himself be consumed by it.

“You know I am starting to think you are trying to fatten me up on purpose.” Titus moaned as he tried to soothe his stomach with ginger strokes with his calloused hand.

“Trying?” you echo, delicate fingers tracing the curves of his belly, the effects of her work, “I think I have succeeded My Lord.”

The impish smile at your words, the scent of your sweet sex filling his nose, your delicate touch. He was drunk on it all, consumed. His tongue still dancing over his lips, angry it still did not have what it craved. You have ruined him, and he let it. Regretted none of it. He was yours. You lean close to his ear, “I am. Show everyone who you belong to, and make sure you understand no one can sate you like me. No one can sate your hunger like me.”

You lick and nip at his ear, smiling as he groans at your words. He was so close, right where you wanted him, but dessert was never given without a proper beg. You grin as he gasps your name, and you pull back so you can go back to rubbing his belly, “Tell me. Is my beloved full already?” you tease, knowing the answer.

A soft whimper, so soft for a man of his size and power, “Please...no, just a little more. Something sweeter.”

Despite how many times this has happened, Titus always got a little sheepish at this part. Perhaps it was the Astartes conditioning that always made begging, asking like this, uncomfortable.

“Oh, a little dessert for eating all of dinner?” you coo climbing onto the bed, and straddling his round middle. Your weight made him gasp and bark out a needy moan. He could easily take what he wanted. Do what he wanted, but he loved this; feeling weak and out of control. A nice chance of pace, and you were so kind to play your part. Maybe a too well.

You rock on his middle and Titus fights to keep his thoughts from scattering so he can get what he wants, “Yes.” was all he could muster, his hands gripping your thighs as he fights to not just jerk you on his face.

There was fire in his belly and burned down to his raging erection. He wanted to be in you, he wanted to devour you; he wanted it all at once. It was maddening. You lean forward still grinding on him, your beautiful hands tracing those beautiful lips. How he instinctively kissed and licked those fingers, craving you.

“Say, please. My Lord.” you say so sweetly.

“Please!” his normally deep raspy voice cracked with need.

That was all you needed, with a kiss on his chest and a nod from you Titus pulled you onto his face and started to devour you. Your cries filled the room as the man feasted like a starved madman. His tongue plunged so deep into your core you almost felt he might consume you, desperate to taste and have you.

He doesn't even stop for air, mouth, and tongue merciless in his hunger for you. Your body shakes as he feasts like the king he is to you. Because like you said now he knows none would satisfy him the same way. Care for him like you do. The tension and boiling stimulation inside reaches a fever pitch and before you can catch your breath from him licking up his reward for being such a gluttonous lover, you are pushed onto your back. Titus is grinning down at you licking his wet lips.

“I just had the most delicious idea my love,” he croons getting close to your ear, nibbling on it and kissing down your neck, “I think I would like to make sure all know you belong to me now. For when I am gone, yes?”

You feel his cock press against your still raw folds, “The milk you will produce for out child will be so sweet, I just know it,” he continued pushing himself inside you. You gasp as he starts to plunge himself to the hilt inside you.

You smile dreamily, completely and utterly yours. What a gluttonous husband you've made.

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bugsfanficfaves · 4 months ago

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Can you write wg/feeding stuff for Titus?

Of course Anon. I’ll make it a sort of bounce back to a healthy thickness after the Rubicon surgery.

Warnings: Weight gain/Soft feederism. Nothing explicit.

• Titus didn’t necessarily anticipate the physical burden of the surgery that turned him from a firstborn into a Primaris marine.

• Yes, he was strong, but being torn open from head to toe and having multiple, multiple parts of your body replaced was no easy feat. He felt and looked very weak, with obvious muscle definition but very little supportive fat.

• Currently, he was on temporary rest, advised by the Apothecary so his body could recover and be back at 100% for the battlefield.

• You were the serf designated to bring him meals, at least until he felt well enough to move without any pain.

• When you entered his quarters, you found him sitting on the edge of his cot, unable to truly rest. In your hands was a bowl of soup - chunks of roast, potatoes and carrots slightly submerged in a rich, golden broth. Simple yet nutritious and filling.

• There was also added “nutrient sludge” to the broth, so he could be properly nourished. It added some slight viscosity to the dish. The sight of it also brought what appeared to be a flicker of a smile upon his lips.

• “Thank you.” He graciously accepted the soup in one of his large palms, freeing up both of your hands. The soup went down easily for Titus, and he’d quickly pass back an empty dish and spoon into your small hands.

• This was the first of many small exchanges.

• His physical state concerned you - just being a serf you had little idea of the suffering this marine endured, but he didn’t look healthy. Sure he was broad, strong and muscular, but it wasn’t a good sort of muscularity.

• It looked almost painful - skin drawn tightly over the bulges of flesh with boney joints, hands and feet, while his ribs were somewhat defined in areas. This would not do.

• You worried your little heart about him, so whenever you obtained a meal, you made sure to add spare nutrient sludge to it so he could gain some more weight. The cooks would’ve added nutrients, of course, but you didn’t think it was enough.

• Sometimes you’d worry he’d notice your “additions” because of the gravy having a clumpy texture, or the soup’s base being a little more gelatinous, but he never did.

• He merely ate.

• Didn’t take too long for him to start getting back to normal. There was proper color on his scarred complexion, and his muscles were back to having some proper support from healthy fats.

• And then some.

• Astartes could develop fat reserves when there was an abundance of caloric content, which is what you were trying to encourage in secret. It seemed to be working well, for the most part.

• When he was marked as physically healthy again, he was deemed to return to service on the field.

• He just didn’t anticipate the new struggle he’d face with getting - he had to squeeze into his body glove as it felt far tighter than he could remember, hugging his thighs, middle and neck in a way that indicated his size was straining that poor piece of equipment.

• He stood in his quarters, examining his body with slight admiration at how it managed to obtain such abundance in size - running a hand down the front of his somewhat curved middle, giving test squeezes to the firm give of his biceps or feeling the pliability of his thighs that wasn’t there before.

• …You couldn’t help but peer in, proud of your diligence in bringing the Lieutenant back from sickness into health.

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bugsfanficfaves · 4 months ago

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grrrrrrrrrrRAAAAAAWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

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bugsfanficfaves · 4 months ago

Note

Titus in heat Titus in heat Titus in heat Titus in heat Titus in heat Titus in heat Titus in heat Ti

Warnings Ahead: Smut - In relation to speculative biology and requesting a (f!reader) serf help alleviate his heat. In this instance the rut is a sort of expected thing to occur, Ultramarines and other chapters that can go into rut (I imagine the Salamanders can't, mainly because they have no need to! Being around humans and all that jazz). I imagine their rut is more akin to an estrus cycle where it's not done as a response to heat but as it's own seasonal thing. In a way it is heat but in males due to the circumstances of the Ultramarines and how they don't necessarily engage in coitus with each other or with serfs. When they picked up on the symptoms of their "libos cycle" (derived from Latin "libido", which is lust or desire) Ultramarines, to prevent such temptations are prescribed hormones akin to those given to cattle that help control their own estrous cycles for max productivity. In this instance, it's just to keep them at their best temperament and prevent them from the (rare) possibility of being seduced by Slaanesh's promise of excess in the form of lustful pleasures once they get a taste of sexual pleasures. Prologue: • Titus, being Titus, is one of the few that are just lucky enough that they need a double dosage of their hormonal prescriptions. The Apothecary and any other medicae trained geneticists are not entirely sure why this occurs, but the double doses are easy enough to distribute. • Except for this one time. The dosage meant to carry him through the 2-3 month long "heat season" was made as a daily dose, not a double dose. • Titus didn't exactly want to go crawling back to the Apothecary or any other medicae to ask about having his dosage corrected - he was a little stubborn with his 'unbreakable will'. • He would take this single dosage as a double dosage, but once it ran out, he planned on bearing with any symptoms. • After all, how bad could this "heat" be?

[…]

Titus' skin felt warm to the touch when he stirred from his allotted 4 hours of rest. He felt no other symptoms that may indicate illness, but the heat was a bit of a distraction for his mind. As he rose from his cot and worked out any stiffness from his joints, he couldn't help but eye the small pill bottle that sat on his munitions box - a bit of an unwanted reminder that there were no more doses for his libos cycle.

Training, meditation and other activities done throughout his day were simple enough, ignoring the heat that was blooming from his core. It was just a little too… warm. Sometimes he’d pause whatever he was doing to press his forehead against the metal beams and pipes lining the interior of the battle barge, seeking reprieve from his feverish state.

And his cot.. ugh.. when it was time for rest, he felt very, very uncomfortable. This man could probably sleep on a boulder normally, but at the moment he was unable to stop turning and shifting impatiently on the thin mattress. Eventually, he’d come to prop himself on all fours and start.. fervently pushing on his cot, then do a little twirl around and resume pushing on the mattress once more.

After about 8 cycles of pushing down on the cot, grunting, then turning on his hands and feet, he came to flop on his side with a huff, annoyed with his lack of comfort but knowing he has to sleep anyways.

[…]

Within the next couple of days, Titus deteriorated further. He felt as though he had this permeating stench about him that a bath wouldn’t be able to rid him of for longer than 3-4 hours. His scalp was unusually oily. He also noticed he couldn’t help but rub his neck or head against different surfaces for reasons he didn’t have any sort of conscious understanding of. It was a compulsion.

But he could handle it. He knew he could handle it. At least that’s what he told himself.

And the panting. Titus’ ‘fever’ felt worse, to the point he was behaving like a dog in a hot summer’s day. It was embarrassing and, as a result, he sought more isolation and became far more reclusive. He could not, however, not participate in combat or training, so he’d have to bear it, brushing off any mentions of his musk or flushed fevers by saying he’s just warm.

Armoring up to be deployed was also rough. His pectoral muscles felt inflamed and tender, and his manhood was throbbing hard, at least half mast when he had to stuff himself into his body glove. He hissed through his teeth as he looked down at the prominent bulge pressed against his stomach, seeing a small, dark splotch from where his precum was starting to ooze into the material.

He whined pitifully as he palmed at his cock, attempting to alleviate the throbs as much as possible, but it was only in vain. All he could do was finish suiting up and hope no one would notice any discomfort in the tone of his voice or the posture of his body.

[…]

Evening was worse. His bed was uncomfortable. So, so uncomfortable. In a fervent mood, he tossed the mattress off to the side and stormed out, only to ease at the sight of a serf bearing.. blankets. They were in the process of retrieving dirty linen and fabric from the rooms of currently deployed Astartes, as well as fabrics used for those recovering from surgery, and well, he couldn’t help but notice how delightfully tactile they appeared.

His pupils dilated at the thought of nesting with them, and he was quick to follow this serf with due diligence to avoid appearing suspicious to either them or anyone else in their vicinity.

The serf would approach a door attached to the wall, which opened upright with a strong tug. They would dispose of the dirty fabrics into this chute and tug open a neighboring metal door, which appeared to be the linens closet. They would enter, closing the door behind them, then leave shortly after with a little pushcart full of fabrics.

Titus, once he was sure he wouldn’t be noticed, slipped into what he felt was sacred ground. His eyes adjusted to the low light and he couldn’t resist touching and feeling and analyzing all of the textures and materials with the palms of his hands and pads of his fingers. He wish he could take as many as he wanted, but that would garner suspicion… so for now, he would take one pillow, and one blanket.

Once he had successfully “borrowed” these two items, he was quick to return his mattress to its rightful spot, incorporating the new pillow and blanket on its surface. He was back to doing the “pushing, turning, pushing” method of fixing up his bed, but it only took 7 rotations, not 8. He eventually found a comfortable position, and was quick to fall asleep.

[…]

Enter, you.

You were just a serf, doing whatever menial task that you were called upon. The task of today? Try and see if a particular Lieutenant would eat something. He was acting off, sure he’d do training and would willingly deploy in combat, but other than that, he was holed up in his room.

You sighed as you carried a tray of simple porridge (laden with nutritional sludge) with a piece of bread and a few bits of protein. Approaching the door to his quarters , you’d knock.

“Sir? I.. I brought you a meal. Others are worried you’re sick, with how you’re avoiding food.”

The door would crack open a bit. Instead of meeting his gaze, you’d notice he appeared to be low to the ground on the other side, so you’d match his posture. His room was rather dim, so you could just barely make out his stoic features. The tray would be taken, slid through the gap before he noiselessly pushed a small item through the gap.

“…? Wait-“ The door would click shut. You exhaled through your nose with slight annoyance at his aloof behavior, but would pluck this little item from the cold ground.

It appeared to be some sort of tooth, long and pointed at the end, with a slightly purplish base. An odd item to give but.. at least he was considerate enough to make a gift of it?

“…Thank you?”

That tooth would be pocketed as you pondered what to make with it. Perhaps a necklace, or some sort of charm for yourself.

[…]

This manner of giving him food and receiving little trinkets would go on for a little over a week. Eventually, when you were bringing him dinner for the day, you found the door to his quarters slightly ajar. Now you were curious.

“..Sir?” You nudged the door open with your foot, slipping through the gap. Immediately you were hit with the odor of.. musk? It was very pungent and enveloped your senses with how overpowering it was. Very earthy, hormonal and animalistic.

“Throne..” You cupped a hand over your nose, squinting in an effort to adjust to the low light level, before picking up on some sort of form in the corner of his room, atop the mess of his cot. Blankets, sheets and pillows were strewn about, but appeared to have some sort of purpose.. like he was trying to build a den. “Titus?”

“…”

He was panting, lowly, then dryly swallows back the thick wad of saliva pooling in his throat. “Sorry.. yes?”

“I brought you food, again… are you feeling alright?”

He took the tray and sniffed at it in a wolfish manner, before setting it on a nearby munitions box. “I.. could be better. I appreciate the meal.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Your hand stretched out to his figure, drawing a surprised grunt from him as he pulled away instinctively.

“Don’t- don’t.. don’t touch me.” He rasped. “I don’t want you to spark something or.. hhnghh..”

You were a little surprised by his demeanor. How he groaned lowly before trying to preen himself fervently, smoothing down his hair and adjusting the light robes he wore. Your eyes couldn’t resist the urge to wander southwards as he focused on his appearance… and they were greeted with the sight of his cock’s throbbing outline, full mast and almost twitching with anticipation.

Your gaze was quick to move back to his face as he settled with the preening, before presenting another gift. “Here.. part of the plate from a hormagaunt. Something I gathered for you.”

“For me?” You sputtered, why the hell he was giving you bits and bobs from his deployments. It was odd - Ultramarines weren’t known for being gift givers.

“I don’t know why but I feel this.. urge… to give you things. To hear your praise.”

“Well it’s a very.. thoughtful gift, Titus.”

That elicited a low.. purr? Maybe a growl. It was hard to tell but it was a positive sound in his seemingly sickly state. “oh.. Throne.. you should go.. I.. hngh.”

“Hey- hey.. it’s okay..” You grabbed him by the shoulder as he started curling back up on his little nest, panting from the burning need coursing through his large body. “I’m not leaving.”

With a low huff, he’d come to peer back up at you, eyes glinting with a predatory gleam. He’d lick his dry lips and, using his wide palm, would slam the door shut behind you.

“-!”

[…]

“I’m.. I’m in need, little one.”

He growled out weakly, coming to gingerly touch the side of your face and run his thumb over your lips.

“Please help me.”

That little voice was a pitiful mewl, a weak beg for some form of relief from this intense desire, this pooling need to claim something. You’d shakily nod, coming to slip from your robes and lock the door to his quarters. Now you knew he was definitely in some form of heat, and you wanted to provide relief.

He was so eager to undress as well that he essentially tore his robes into shreds, presenting his engorged member to you as he shifted to a low stance, eyes flickering with furious passion and deep desire that you’d never expect to see in an Ultramarine anywhere else but the battlefield. It was very attractive, knowing you were desired so strongly by this musky man, and you matched his eagerness as you entered his domain, feeling yourself grow wet with slick.

He propped you up so nicely on his little nest, coming to pull your legs apart with his thick hands on your slim thighs, before plunging himself into you. Your walls stretched to accommodate this girth as he roughly slid in and out, panting and drooling so profusely that it dribbled onto your bare stomach.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Oh throne you felt like you were going to explode with the building desire mounting in your lower belly. You tried to moan but he was quick to silence you with his fingers pressing down on your tongue, desperate to hide any indication that he was engaging in coitus from anybody who could be outside his room.

“Shh.. shh.. I’ll be finished soon..-“ His voice quivered as he gave a particularly rough thrust, drawing a muted squeak from your throat. Now his hands began to wander, feeling your sides, cupping your breasts, squeezing, pinching, examining you in a manner akin to how he felt and picked out those blankets weeks ago in the linen closet.

Your cervix was taking a pounding, and with a wet sounding squelch as he thrusted, he’d pump you full of hot, acrid cum. The scent of his own fluids and of his musk was suffocating but so, so arousing. His member quivered as he withdrew from your shaking form, coming to gaze upon your weak figure as it grasped at the nest.

“…”

He’d lean in and sniff at your features, before his coarse tongue flicked out and caressed your cheek. As Titus lowered his large form by your side, spooning you as he delivered his tender aftercare, you could only think about how he had ravished you so efficiently, made you finish repeatedly and now was cuddling you with the same hands that squeezed your thighs so harshly.

By the Throne, it made you yearn for more.

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bugsfanficfaves · 4 months ago

Note

Titus NSFW alphabet?

Exciting! This should be fun, beloved anon.

Warnings: Smut. Explicit stuff! He’s just freaky!

A = Aftercare:

• He’s going to be ALL over you after the devil’s tango.

• Lots of gentle caressing, faint kisses and sometimes licking to your neck and cheeks as apologies for possibly going too rough and hurting you.

• He’s very afraid of breaking his person, so he tries to make up for any bruising or battering with a delicate touch and a careful hold on your body. Also murmurs of praise (and apology).

B = Body Part:

• His favorite body part belonging to him are his hands. He likes their size and dexterity, how easily they can cup over your mouth to muffle your cries and mewls of pleasure. Also for restraint, splitting you open… there’s a lot of power in those paws of his.

• He also likes sticking his fingers in your mouth to watch you gag as your eyes water from the strain of his massive digits.

• His favorite part of yours is your collarbone/neck. So, so vulnerable and exposed. He loves seeing you shudder and flinch away at the touch of his hot breath against your bare flesh.

• It drives him wild but he keeps a stoic exterior as he sniffs, licks and nibbles at your tender neck, feeling the pulse point throb beneath his scarred lips.

C = Cum:

• He doesn’t quite like his own cum. He’s pretty hesitant about letting you taste it because of how.. chemically enhanced it is. It has a strong acrid odor and he will triple check to see if you really want to try it because he doesn’t want to make you feel disgusted.

• For being essentially sterile, he cums what feels like gallons of the stuff. If you let him use your holes, he is going to turn you into the 41st millennia equivalent of a Hostess Twinkie, bless him.

• His partner’s cum, however? He’s all over it. He loves the sensation of it o his face and skin, and he’s fond of the taste. In a way, he sees it as accepting a part of his partner in himself and finds it deeply romantic to have you bust in his mouth.

D = Dirty Secret:

• He wants you to stick your fingers in the ports belonging to his black carapace.

• Since they act as a method to connect him to his armor and they’re rooted to his nerves for the sake of better versatility and control over the armor, they’re almost an erogenous zone.

• Please finger his metal holes. Please please please-

E = Experience:

• This man is a tactician in the streets, then a rookie in the sheets.

• Learning about sex is something with no value to the Ultramarines. You can’t fault him for not knowing but he’s always asking questions and seeking reassurance that he’s doing the right thing.

• When he first makes you squeal, he’s scared. Obviously it’s masked beneath his stoic exterior but his eyes have that paranoid glint as he draws away. You have to console him that it was a good squeal, not a bad one, and that he didn’t hurt you.

• Even once he has the knowledge about sex and how to engage in the act, he is so painfully gentle and cautious it makes you beg and plead for him to go rougher, go hard, quit teasing etc.

F = Favourite Position:

• Rocking Horse.

• He likes the eye contact and the close connection. Sometimes he’ll pull you real close to sniff and lick at your neck affectionately as you mewl into his shoulder.

G = Goofy:

• Pretty serious. Sure he smiles, may laugh a little from certain bits of stimulation or your expressions, but he tries to maintain his stoicism due to how intimate it is.

• Also because he worries that if he gets too carried away and swept up in his emotions, he will harm you unintentionally.

H = Hair:

• Bush. He’s got a bush. Maybe a jungle down there. I don’t see him being the type to shave or maintain regular trimmings of his pubes.

• Same as his chest hair (cutscene aside) I feel like he’s just got luscious amounts of body hair in those areas and he keeps himself pretty clean… unless he comes back from active combat.

• Then that jungle is musky and ripe when he takes you, seeking your body after time away and not having any release.

I = Intimacy:

• He’s super attentive to your needs and is a very kissy, affectionate fellow. He’s not the type to say sweet nothings or use cheesy lines during the act, but he will ask you frequently if you’re alright, comfortable, if you like what he’s doing right now etc.

• This is all done with a very gentle expression and tone.

• ..Will probably call you ‘little one’, ‘small one’ and variations of such.

J = Jack Off:

• Slow and steady wins the race, both for himself and his partner.

• You could beg, whine, mewl for him to go faster but he’d probably keep a gentle, tantalizing pace that keeps you right on the edge.

• Lots of light strokes or gentle cranking, depending on the equipment you have. Will use his own spit as lubricant to avoid any discomfort from his calloused fingers and palms.

K = Kink:

• Odaxelagnia (the act of biting). Won’t draw blood but he gets this animalistic craving to plunge his teeth into your flesh and leave marks. Not done as a way to show off his claim on you, but since he loves your neck so much, you may need to try to cover it up as best as possible.

L = Location:

• His quarters. He likes the candlelight and the fact you have little room to move around on his cot. Not the most comfortable but he enjoys the close proximity.

M = Motivation:

• This man is turned on by your neck. Seeing you adjust your hair, your robe and reveal even the thinnest sliver of bare flesh makes his mouth water.

• Also, hormones. He loves it when you smell musky and natural. It makes him want to take you over a counter when you’re innocently tending to your duties (whether as a serf or a diplomat, anything goes).

N = NO:

• Shaving. He loves his rainforest pussy/dick.

O = Oral:

• Prefers to give, mainly because he knows his mutant transhuman dick is probably really hard to swallow. Also ties back to the chemical cum thing I mentioned earlier.

• Slow and methodical, his hands help provide stimulation to other holes to elevate the oral experience for the one who’s receiving. Lots of eye contact with his smoldering gaze peering up to make sure you’re doing okay.

• His tongue feels like sandpaper. It’s textural stimulation for the shaft or the clitoris and is sure to draw a lot of noise from the receiver

P = Pace:

• Slow. Not boringly slow but… slow because he’s afraid of causing pain. You’d need to beg him a lot to go quicker because he doesn’t want to break bones or bruise any sensitive inner walls.

Q = Quickie:

• Ideal for before he has to go into active combat. He’ll fight his way out of his body glove to stuff you before suiting back up for combat while you’re fucked out of your mind.

• He doesn’t see it being done frequently, only as a sort of urgent release… maybe a boost for morale ;)

R = Risk:

• Only if you ask. He’s not huge on taking risks or asking to do new things.

His little “finger-my-carapace-holes” thing is something he wants to ask you to do but is just a little too stoic/embarrassed to make such a request.

S = Stamina:

• Do I even need to fill this out?

• He’s a Primaris marine.

• If you weren’t just a little squishy human he’d do you for a week straight.

T = Toy:

• He’s not one for toys due to the size of his quarters and the fact he wouldn’t know where to stow them.

• His hands will suffice as handcuffs, plugs, source of stimulus etc.

U = Unfair:

• He teases a lot but it’s unintentional, just a consequence of his careful demeanor and methodical approach to sex.

V = Volume:

• He’s very grunty. Might pant a little but it’s hard to get him to be loud. On the other hand, it’s very easy for him to get YOU to be loud.

W = Wild Card:

• I imagine he goes in heat and it makes him a whiny, whimpery mess who begs and yearns and it leaves his loincloth marked with precum.

X = X-Ray:

• Like a tube of veiny ground beef. Probably close to 11-12 inches. Looks like a war club and you’d probably need to use both hands to have any hope of getting him off.

• DEFINITELY a shower, not a grower.

Y = Yearning:

• Pretty high. He’s like an animal but he’s usually good at masking his need unless he’s in his heat. Then you can tell by the desperation in his eyes and how musky he smells.

Z = ZZZ:

• Doesn’t normally fall asleep after the act, he likes to keep an eye out for you since you’re far weaker than he is. Just a part of his protective, cautious nature.

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bugsfanficfaves · 4 months ago

Text

Bully(ing) Cato Sicarius

Tension

Pursuit

Surprise

Protection

Adult Conversation

Blueberry Jam

Ask

Ritual Combat

Stern Talk

Old Scars

Sweet Dream?

Out of Quarantine

Rescue Titus

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bugsfanficfaves · 4 months ago

Text

Tension

Author's Note: The Cato Sicarius Mind Fleas have gotten to me. This is the first fic. This is NSFW and an 18+ fic, so if you are under 18, shoo! Next part.

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

warnings: Cato Sicarius Being Himself, masturbation

summary: Captain Sicarius wakes up with a hard problem, brought on by a certain tempting minx of a diplomat.

Cato Sicarius, captain of the second company of ultramarines, Knight-champion of Macragge glared up at the ceiling of his personal quarters, having been haunted with yet another dream nightmare that featured a certain beautiful annoying, witty vapid diplomat that his lord father more often than not saddled him with the frankly insulting duty of baby-sitting personally. Why did you rank so highly in the lord regent's esteem? Certainly, you had managed to sweet talk dozens of worlds into re-joining Ultramar, or to put down arms as Imperial forces swept through and dealt with the shoddy infrastructure and the deeply imbedded corruption and foolishness within many of those worlds… But you were a baseline human. There were uncounted quadrillions, why did you matter so much?

Why did you insist on haunting him, during the fistful of hours he had when he wasn't training or guarding you? The taunting vision he'd had of you while sleeping had left him frustrated and hard in his sleeping pants. Cato growled in frustration, glaring at his aching cock. He's tried taking a swift, cold shower when you plague him like this, but such things leave him in a worse mood and are wholly unsatisfying.

A low, irritated growl leaves him as he grabbed the small bottle of unscented lotion he uses when he needs to relieve himself like this having been scolded by an amused Apothecary as a scout when he'd used his hands dry and chafed himself something awful centuries ago. It was not a lecture he ever wanted to repeat - though with the way that you plagued his mind, he needed to be careful, lest he chafe himself with his own calloused hands… Again.

Your hands were soft, small and uncalloused. He'd seen them often enough. Fingers gripping onto data slates, wrapped around scrolls, occasionally holding wine glasses or eating utensils, depending on the situation that you were in and had dragged him to as one of your primary protectors. Cato would bet good money that despite your often coy and professional manner, you'd be fantastic at jerking him off. With your clever coquettish fingers rubbing little circles along the tip of his cock, the other hand slowly sliding down his shaft…

His own hands began to mimic what he imagine you'd do with his cock. You'd stare at his hard member, clearly startled at his impressive size. He would smell your uncertainty and arousal as you began to reach for his cock - your lovely aggravating voice shyly asking if you could touch him.

He'd smirk and gesture at his cock, ordering you to help him deal with his hard-on. After all, it was your fault he'd reacted like this. Perhaps he'd dragged you into one of the many supply closets on Macragge's Honor, so that you could tend to him so that he wouldn't be distracted.

One of your hands - delicate and small compared to his own, would immediately begin teasing the head of his cock - despite your attempt at shyness, there was no way that someone as gorgeous deliberately eye-catching as you hasn't had sexual encounters before. The other would begin to fondle his balls - likely unable to hold more than one of them at a time. Your touch would be feather light and tentative, your eyes constantly flicking between the cock twitching in your hands and his eyes.

Cato would be able to keep himself quiet, though depending on how skillful those slutty hands of yours really are, he'd likely need to keep his helmet on (making sure that his vox - squad and external - were off, to keep any groans from carrying further than between you and him. He'd order you to touch him like you meant it, and you'd become a bit more bold, perhaps a bit of mischief gleam in your alluring dull eyes as you lean over, bowing your head to lick at the very tip of his cock, provoking a low, pleasured growl from the illustrious Ultramarine captain.

You'd likely be impressed by how long it took for him to cum - not that he would give you much more than a pleased hum or growl in warning before he came all over your cute face and hands. You'd blush and stutter, trying desperately to keep the mess off of your clothing.

He'd watch you squirm for a couple of seconds before magnanimously giving you a handkerchief to clean yourself up with. Once you were clean and about to leave, he'd pick you up by the waist, pressing a knee between your legs, a low purr in his voice as he teased you at how hot and bothered he could see and smell you were. Cato knew he could be generous when he felt like it, and as he rubbed an armored knee against the thin fabric of your underwear, your liquid arousal would drop onto his well-maintained armor.

With a smug grin, he would deign to take off one of his gauntlets - not wanting to get them dirty before slipping one - maybe two - fingers deep into your core, as your walls clench needily around them.

The whorish noises you'd make as he teased you to completion might get him excited again, and as you come down from your first orgasm, he'd press into you.

You'd whine and splutter, protesting that there was no way that a cock of his length and girth would fit inside of you… But as you were well and truly trapped against the wall by his superior strength - and the needy whimper that'd leave your lips when he eases out of you a little… And the way your slutty, needy walls clench around his cock speak the truth.

He'd fuck you until he was satisfied - with you cumming multiple times on his cock, gasping and shuddering, trying desperately to keep your slutty noises from carrying far enough for any Brother or serf could hear, if they happened to walk by the closet where he'd decided to fuck you in was.

Cato grunted out your name as he came in his hands, blinking as he came back to himself from the vivid daydream you'd provoked. He used several tissues to clean himself up, silently wondering what you were up to. You were a temptation for him sent by Slaanesh themself, and he would make sure that you remembered that as a baseline human, your place was under him.

Figuratively speaking. He'd only fuck you if you begged him for it.

Please ask him to fuck you.

As a good and loyal Ultramarine, he needed to find wherever you were immediately.

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bugsfanficfaves · 4 months ago

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🔞 A Secret Held Tight (1/?)

────────── DEMETRIAN TITUS x F!READER x CATO SICARIUS ⚠️🔞 Explicit Sexual Content, Rough Sex, Drinking Weeks after a night of celebrations, you find yourself pregnant and ready to run, only to have your plans thwarted by Titus who vows to keep you safe. Now you must navigate the complexities of falling in love, and the scrutiny of Captain Cato Sicarius. a/n: A little smut to start things off.

You rise before dawn, when the air is chill and nips at your bones. It’s a new day, a relentless cycle of duty, where one day bleeds into the next. You hastily eat what you can for breakfast before you’re off.

The morning sun shining in from the windows keeps you warm as you scrub the stone floors. Ultramarines walk past, their voices low as they spoke in hushed conversation. You keep your head bowed until they move on.

Then you notice they’ve tracked dirt across the freshly cleaned floor, and you sigh. You can’t help but wonder if they notice they only make more work for their serfs. With a sigh, you resume cleaning, knowing the fortress needs to be clean for the celebration tonight.

The day passes in a blur in a whirlwind of chores and preparations. The fortress is abuzz with excitement — the main force is returning from another victorious campaign. Tonight, you’ll be able to indulge in good food and alcohol.

By evening, as the sun sets, the returning Ultramarines are greeted with cheers. Even in battle worn armor, the sight of them makes your heart swell with pride. The celebration begins, laughter and the smells of food fill the halls of the fortress. You join the other serfs in the feasting hall, and as the alcohol flows, the gap between you and the Ultramarines shrinks.

One marine in particular has caught your eye, and you’ve caught his. He’s stern faced, and holds himself in a commanding manner, even when he’s speaking with his brothers.

And you’re too drunk at this point to realize you’ve been making bedroom eyes at him all night. Your heart quickens when he excuses himself from the group and approaches you. The serfs you were with scatter, leaving you alone to face him.

He leans down, his hand heavy and possessive against the small of your back. “Come with me,” he whispers. The heat of his lips near your ear sends an electric shiver down your spine, and against your better judgment, you nod.

The sounds of the celebration fade into the background as he guides you through the halls of the fortress, his hand never leaving your back.

At last, he stops in front of a door and pushes you through it. It’s a serf’s room, but not yours, and whose you aren’t sure.

He drags you close, pulling your bodies flush together. The cold of his armor seeps through your clothes, chilling against your overheated flesh. He leans down and kisses you, hard and possessive. You whimper and cling to his armor as he devours your mouth, bullying his tongue into your mouth. His hands roam your body, groping and tearing at your clothes, tossing them aside to be forgotten.

The marine breaks the kiss and lifts you up with ease, carrying you over to the bed and throwing you down upon it. In your drunken haze, you laugh and give him your best sultry, come-hither look.

“Come, breed me, my lord,” you slur your words, obscenely spreading your legs wide for him. As if he would fit between them.

The marine growls. He fights with the codpiece of his armor and tosses it aside. It would take too long, be too much of a hassle to fully undress, and he needs to bury himself as deep as he can inside of you. You bit your lip as he reaches in the bodysuit, pulling out his stiff cock.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he demands, joining you on the bed. It creaks dangerously under his added weight. When you don’t move fast enough for him, he grabs you by the hip and rolls you over onto your stomach. You yelp and giggle when he raises your hips high, forcing you to lean up on your toes to accommodate him.

He slaps his cock against the wet slit of your cunt a few times before fitting the thick head against your entrance. There are no sweet words, no considerate ‘here I go’, nothing. The marine sinks himself into you, forcing your cunt to stretch around his girth.

For a moment, the pain of it all sobers you up faster than any hangover cure. You cry out, clawing at the bed beneath you as he thrusts shallowly against you, again and again, shoving himself deeper into you each time.

“Breathe girl,” he grumbles. “Keep squeezing like that and you’ll push me out.”

You take a deep, shaky breath and try to will your body to relax. He drives his cock harder into you this time, causing you to let out a squeal. Your body shakes in his grip as you cum, gushing and soaking his cock further with your fluids.

“That’s it,” he coos. “Such a well behaved mortal. I’ll give you what you want!”

He squeezes your hips tight enough that you’ll have bruises in the morning, and fucks you in earnest. Your desperate cries mingle with his grunts. The old bed squeaks and groans, the headboard bangs against the wall. It’s enough to push you quickly into a second orgasm. Your eyes roll back in your head, your cunt leaking and clenching around him.

The marine moans, slowing down as he enjoys the feel of your cunt fluttering around him. He thrusts one last time and groans, loud and deep. He holds himself deep inside of you, his cock throbbing as he floods your cunt with his seed.

Your head spins as his cock slips from your dripping cunt and you drop back onto the bed, panting hard. He leans back and slaps you hard on the ass; the sound echoing through the room. It stings and you yelp, raising your ass higher with a whine.

He chuckles and leans over you, guiding his cock into you again.

The night wears on, hours blending together as he claims you over and over. You lose track of how many times he’s made you cum, and the number of times he’s filled you with his seed. Even after the bed collapsed, he continues. He picks you up and tosses you onto the next available surface — be it a table, wall, or floor.

You tremble, overwhelmed and caught up in the frenzy of desire, and it takes its toll. Exhaustion claims you at some point, and you pass out. The next time you wake, it’s alone in the remnants of a broken bed. You’re disappointed he didn’t stay, more so that you can’t remember anything distinctive about him.

Your body protests as you try to rise and clean yourself up, his cum still marking your thighs. The memories of the previous night are hazy, and you hope you’ll see him again.

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bugsfanficfaves · 5 months ago

Text

Pass the Time

Kinktober Day 15: Praise Kink

warnings: AFAB!reader, vaginal fingering, fwb(?), dirty talk, smei-public sex, 18+ minors dni, inspired by @hanasnx's han dirty talk thoughts

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You sit in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon with your feet kicked up on the control panel in front of you. Han and Chewie sit in the seats closest to the windshield in similar positions.

You're bored out of your goddamn mind. Traveling from Tatooine to Dantooine takes forever, even in hyperspace. You're crossing the whole galaxy to get to the rebel base, but right now on the ship, you have nothing to do but wait.

You groan loudly and Han tilts his head back to glare at you. His arms are crossed over his chest and his eyes are half lidded like he was on the brink of sleep before you disturbed him.

"What's wrong?" Han asks, clearly annoyed.

"I'm bored," you say with a groan.

Han rolls his eyes while he sits up and spins around his chair to face you. He is slouched in the seat, legs spread obnoxiously wide.

"You can play cards with Chewie," he suggests, looking over at his furry friend. Chewie grunts in response. "Shut up, they don't cheat."

You narrow your eyes at the back of Chewie's head. If anyone cheats, it's him. "I don't wanna play cards."

"You could mop the floors." You cross your arms and give him an unimpressed look. "I don't know what to tell you, kid. I can't make this thing go any faster."

You groan again, leaning your head back against the chair. Han closes his eyes again, still facing you, trying to resume the sleep that you interrupted.

Making yourself busy is a difficult task on a ship full of nothing but nuts and bolts. You spun around in the chair for a while, considered taking a nap, and now you've taken to drumming a rhythm on the armrests of your seat.

"If you're gonna be a pain in my ass this whole time, you can wait in the cargo hold," he says, voice gruff.

His voice breaking the silence scared you but you quickly recover. "There's nothing to do on this rust bucket. What do you do to pass the time normally?"

Han stays silent but raises his eyebrows at you suggestively. Your face curls into an expression of disgust. "Not in my seat, I hope."

"Everywhere, sweetheart," he smirks.

Han turns back around and you're left to wait some more. Eventually Chewie retires to his bunk for a nap, and you take his spot next to Han.

The unending silence got you thinking, Maybe Han's way of passing the time wouldn't be so bad. Being bored does make you horny, and it's not a terrible way to kill some time, especially if you did it together. He's an attractive guy and it's always better with someone else, right? At the very least, you know he can please a woman based on the stories he tells when he's drunk.

"Han." His eyes flick over to you. "I have something we could try."

He stretches out his legs and turns to face you with a neutral expression. "What's that."

"We could..." he looks at you expectantly. Honestly, you thought he would pick up on your intention before you had to spell it out for him. Now you're not sure exactly what you want to ask for.

"We could, what?"

"You could help me... you know," you say, raising your eyebrows trying to signal to him your meaning.

"I'm not quite followin' you," he says, but the slight smirk on his lips makes you think he's playing dumb.

"You could help me get off," you blurt out.

A slow grin forms on Han's lips and he allows his thighs to part even further. "Well shit, kid, why didn't you just say so in the first place? Could've saved us all that time just then."

Han pats his thigh and you get up from your seat and step over to him. You perch yourself on his thigh and he wraps his arm around your middle to keep you stable.

Being close to Han like this should feel weird. You've been nothing but platonic up until now, but he's looking at you like this isn't the first time he's pictured you in his lap.

"You really wanna fuck me or are you just bored and horny?" he asks as his fingertips trace circles on your thigh.

"Will my answer change the outcome?" you ask.

"No," he smirks.

Han grabs your hips and positions you so you're straddling his thighs. His hands then drift down to your ass and he gropes you shamelessly, not caring when you roll your eyes in his face. He touches all over you and while his large, calloused hands feel nice, it isn't taking the edge off.

"I thought you were helping me get off," you say.

"I can't play with your pussy if your clothes are on, sweetie," he says smugly.

You stand up and begin to strip. You feel a little nervous under Han's gaze, but he's drinking you in like you're the best thing he's ever seen. You know that's far from the truth; he's fucked princesses and queens and every beautiful woman on every planet.

Before you have the chance to turn back around to face Han, he is pressed up against your back and walking you forward to the control panel.

His hand is splayed across your stomach and his chin tucked over your shoulder. "Always knew you had a nice ass," he says in your ear.

He slides his hand down your front to the apex of your thighs. His fingers tease along your mound, dipping low enough to get your heart racing but not enough to quell the rapidly building ache.

"You want it, pretty girl?" he asks. You nod, but apparently that's not enough for him. "Nah, you gotta use your words. If you can't be a big girl and tell me what you want then you don't deserve it."

You sigh and lean back against his chest. You can faintly see your reflection in the windshield, but it's hard to see with the bright lights of hyperspace behind the glass.

"I want you to make me cum."

You can feel Han smirk against your neck as his fingers slide down between your lips. "Shit, you're wet already. Have you been workin' yourself up over there this whole time or do I just do it for you?"

"Shut up," you breathe.

Han's finger makes contact with your clit and you gasp. Noticing that you're sensitive there, he avoids the area so he can save it for the grand finale. He touches every inch of your cunt, swiping his fingers through your wet folds and dragging the mess around.

"What's a good girl like you doin' with a needy pussy like this?" he asks. "'s enough to make me fall in love."

You elbow Han in the side but he only laughs. Mercifully, he dips his finger into your cunt and eases it inside, allowing you to get used to the stretch of his large finger. He groans into your ear like he's starring in some cheesy holo porn, but you can't deny that the rasp of his voice is hot.

"You don't love me," you say.

"Not yet. As soon as I get my dick in this cunt I'm gonna, though."

He fucks you with his finger slowly and the drag of it against your sweet spot makes you curl with pleasure. Even with one finger he has this much of an effect on you. You can't imagine what his dick would do to you.

He works you up to fitting a second finger inside, but it's a tight fit. You're cunt squeezes around his fingers as he tries to scissors them in an attempt to open you up.

"Tight as a fuckin' vice, aren't you, baby? You're not a virgin, are you?" You shake your head no and give a small whine in response. "Didn't think so, but what a fuckin' idea that is, huh? Pretty little girl saving herself for the smuggler who can show her a good time."

Han's lips attach to the skin underneath your ear, sucking a hickey shamelessly onto your skin. You squirm, but the arm around your waist keeps you from getting far.

"Don't run from me, sweetheart. I'm being good to you, don't you think?"

"Uhhuh," you reply.

"Damn, kid. Just a little fingering and you go dumb on me?" Han curls his fingers and rubs them against your g-spot while his thumb rubs circles over your clit.

You can feel your walls fluttering aroud his fingers and you know you're getting close. Han's hand grips your hip tightly and the possession and roughness he's displaying serves to bring you to the edge quicker.

"Han," you whine.

"Cum on my fingers, kid. Get 'em soaked like a good girl," he says. "Make Daddy proud."

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