#RUSS'S BEAUTIFUL FACE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mystsee · 1 year ago

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MESMERIZED ✦ KEEGAN P. RUSS

✦ about: keegan is mesmerized with you since he first met you ♡

✦ content: NSFW +18, virgin!reader, afab reader, blood, guns & death mentions, panic attacks, misogyny

✦ a.n: the boots i kinda imagined are the moonboots!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

in the sun-kissed landscapes of italy, you, with your captivating charm and surprising intelligence, was dealing with a meeting with very higher ups in the politic world, things were going so far so good.

that was until your boss, a figure whom you trusted very much, revealed to you the news. a deployment to russia as a military translator.

nervous feelings ran down your spine, not from the revelation of a new challenge, but from the anticipation of russia’s frigid embrace. most of the time, you were assigned to help translate in missions involving trafficking, drugs, dark stuff like that. and having to translate for the “bad guys” involved them being not so nice to you. mostly because they don’t like a woman all up on their dark buisness.

nevertheless, you knew you were going to be protected, and the military people have never treated you wrong.

you prepared your clothes, having to use a bigger backpack due to all the puffy jackets, scarfs, you know, all cold related things. which you do not protest! the colder the weather, the better you can dress.

right now you had a puffy black jacket, warm leggings with a thick skirt attached! it was 100x more comfortable because now your ass didn’t have to feel all the cold seats anymore. and of course your puffy boots, thick beige fur covering the boots. one thing about you is your feet were always cold, making you use like 3 layers of socks!

you arrived late night, making the cold even worse but you managed to cover the lower half of your face with your scarf, seriously the cold was so bad in here. as you disembarked from the helicopter, the biting russian cold embraced you, making you shiver involuntarily.

you were greeted warmly by your captain “nice to see you again over here” he smiled warmly “i’m glad too, really missed the artic” he laughed at that, how could he be out here with only a small jacekt?!

he noticed your shivering frame, you thought you were hiding it well, making him start leading you through the snow-covered landscape over to base.

upon entering, all eyes turned towards you – a mix of amazement and curiosity danced in the gaze of your new colleagues, you knew your boots were quite attention catching, probably why everyone kept staring at you.

to say you were pretty was little, it was obvious everyone in the room found you beautiful, but you didn’t pay it any mind, again thinking maybe your boots were standing out a bit too much, not the way your thighs looked so good with the skirt on top, but! they would need to get used to see your babies, they were your go-to in cold weather.

however, one pair of eyes stood out, belonging to keegan. he almost looked mesmerized with you. he watched you stride with an unyielding confidence, almost model like, the skirt making your hips move so so pretty, that it was making it hard for him to stop staring at you.

somehow your eyes found his, thanking the heavens you had your scarf covering your cheeks because you were blushing so hard rn, his gaze lingered, an admiring intensity in his eyes that you almost tripped.

only his eyes, a window to the unspoken thoughts within, were visible, making you curious. as his fellow soldier spoke, keegan’s attention remained freezed on you, his focus unyielding, and the words of his comrade fading into the background of his silent admiration.

the spell was broken as soon as the captain opened the door to his office, inviting you in to debrief the mission with you. you were going with keegan’s team to help them gather intel, they were trying to find a very big drug dealer, and you translating, would help them find him faster.

tomorrow morning would be your first mission with them, yet you still didn’t know who keegan was, making it intriguing whom you’d be working with.

captain showed you your room, it was a basic military room, a twin sized bed in the middle, small vanity to your left, a desk in the other size to the room, and a small window, last but not least, your own bathroom.

you pleaded your boss to give you your own bathroom, there was enough experiences a girl can have in a shared bathroom used by men.

you started investigating about who you were translating for tomorrow, loosing the track of time. by the time you finished it was 3 am, making you worry a little, you were leaving tomorrow at 6 am.

you were almost going to bed when your stomach rumbled, making you internally groan, you knew that if you didn’t sleep, insomnia would make its way to you.

rolling your eyes you went to the kitchen, you thought everyone was asleep rn, so you paid no mind yo your outfit, a small cropped sweatshirt, leggings and fluffy slippers.

you were about to eat your slice of bread with jam when a sudden voice made you drop it to the washer “can’t sleep?” “jesus fuck!” you swore you felt your heart stop for a second, you never saw anyone in here!

you turned around to see the same guy from before, keegan, who just stared at you, seated in a chair with a book in his hands, it almost looked like he was trying to contain his laugh.

“what’s wrong with you!” you said with a smile laughing, he probably saw your bread jump to the washer “me? nothing, was just asking” he said it so proud of himself “how do you even read with all the lights off?” by now you had turned to him, still by the counter “i wasn’t reading, i was drinking tea” “oh” you never saw the cup of tea beside the book silly you.

“just know you ruined my dinner” you said pouting “and you asked my what’s wrong with me” he said scoffing “oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t eat late at night” “no i do princess, just not a bread with jam at 3 in the morning” his nickname made you stop your breath for a second, deciding to pay no mind to it “but you do you princess” he was by your side now, putting his cup of tea in the washer, until you saw him freeze next to you, there was small light coming from outside, oh yea, you had no bra on.

he could see see your breasts, your nipples to be precise, under your sweatshirt, practically begging to be touched, your sweatshirt was so small it had ridden up just a tiny bit when you were making your dinner, making keegan see a small part of your under breast.

“princess” keegan suddenly moved closer to you, making you see his eyes better, revealing a captivating shade of blue, a mesmerizing hue that held a subtle warmth within its cool depths, caught your attention.

his gaze, unwavering in its intensity, sent a gentle warmth through you, leaving a blush on your cheeks again, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection forged in that shared moment.

“you still don’t know my name” which was true making you ask for it, when he said it, he saw the realization in your eyes “oh! i’m working with you in the next mission” you said a bit breathlessly “glad to have you with us” you could see the deep appreciation for you in his eyes.

keegan had heard about you, he knew of your well-regarded reputation as a translator, held a silent acknowledgment of the confidentiality that shrouded your professional endeavors.

in the subtle lines of his expression, you could see respect for the enigma that surrounded you, a recognition that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. “thank you” you said, he just nodded to you, he was so close to you now you could feel his chest, and his chest could feel your nipples. you just held your breath keeping eye contact with him “well, princess, you must get your sleep, i won’t keep you up” you were in a trance when he moved, snapping you out of it “goodnight keegan” you said in a small voice. keegan smiled behind his mask.

ever since then, a connection quietly unfolded between you and keegan. it initially started as him being a distant observer, he always kept his eyes on you everywhere you went, even more when you were speaking russian towards the males, you held such confidence with you he was deeply allured with you.

his presence evolved into a silent shield, a comforting assurance amidst the unfamiliarity of a foreign land. he may couldn’t understand russian, but he sure as hell could see the body language and the tones they were speaking to you.

everytime he could sense any sort of verbal assault at you, his steely gaze fixed upon the adversaries with an intensity that spoke volumes, as well as his hidden raised gun;), sensing the weight of his silent threat, they found themselves silenced. even though you had no idea he was threatening them behind you.

you always knew keegan had your back, and silently thanked him for it. as the time passed, you felt keegan more protective of you, and you more attentive of him, you two were almost all the time together.

there were moments, a shared smile in the midst of icy winds, or a wordless understanding in the chaos of a mission, that spoke louder than words. in these instances, his protective instinct manifested – a steady hand guiding you through the challenges, a silent assurance that you were not alone. metaphorically as well as physically.

his interactions evolved into a touch that carried a warmth beyond mere protection. his gestures, once purely professional, became tinged with an affectionate familiarity.

a guiding hand on the small of your back during a mission briefing or a reassuring touch on your shoulder in moments of uncertainty, each contact seemed to convey a connection that lingered beyond the realm of your relationship.

these touches carried a feeling of something more, a silent language of shared emotions between you and him. in the hushed moments when his hand lingered a second longer than necessary or the gentle squeeze that accompanied a reassuring smile.

in the dim glow of the base's common area, keegan’s touches continued to weave a tapestry of unspoken connection. a shared moment over a map had his fingers brushing against yours, the contact lingering for a heartbeat longer than required, it was practically normal for you to be blushing around him now.

during a particularly challenging mission, his arm found its way around your shoulders, a protective embrace in the face of caos. in that moment you just wanted to be beside him all the time, you felt safe around him.

there was also a time in which keegan was behind you, listening to what you would be doing, until he felt rather not okay with what you were supposed to do. he suddenly put his hand discreetly on your waist, and the other arm in front of your chest, his hand subtly telling “no”

“she’s with us, meaning we protect her, what you’re saying is risky for her, she won’t do it” you felt warmth on your chest. you have never experienced this, the other teams you had been were never this attentive with you. it was a weird emotion for you, you were used to always seek for yourself.

in the quiet of the nights, a shared gaze held more than words could express. keegan’s hand, a reassuring presence, sought yours across the table, fingers intertwining with yours, squeezing your fingers every now and then. he did that more times than you could count.

the line between friendship and something deeper became increasingly blurred, leaving both of you suspended in the uncharted territory of unspoken emotions.

the endearing term "princess" slipped from his lips almost all the time, a word you loved hearing from him even though you never tell him. it became a private language, whether in the midst of a mission or during quiet evenings, the endearment echoed, making you warm inside all the time.

keegan’s feelings had transcended the boundaries of friendship, evolving into a profound connection that bordered into almost being in love with you.

his gaze, once intense, now carried a softness that showed a deep admiration, a mesmerizing allure that held him captivated in your presence.

his eyes just seemed to follow you everywhere, absorbing every detail of you, every facet of your being, as if etching your essence into his soul.

the desire to be with you became a palpable force, an unspoken longing that lingered in the spaces between conversations. the way his fingers sought yours, the way he leaned in, just a fraction closer than necessary – each action seemed to fluster you more and more.

you too couldn’t deny it, you felt drawn to him, but even with the warmth of his company and shared moments, there was a bit of confusion.

your feelings were kind of mixed up, wanting to connect with him but also feeling unsure about it. it’s like a struggle between what your heart wants and what your head is thinking.

you just don’t know how to respond to him :(

figuring out your own feelings became a bit like wandering through a maze, with no clear destination.

being close to keegan made you feel good, but accepting his love brought its own set of uncertainties. you tried taking things one step at a time, trying to make sense of your own heart and the budding feelings between you two.

until you just couldn’t anymore

you were in a very heated meeting with keegan, as always, behind you, talking to a very dangerous person, in a very dangerous place, at any moment now something could happen, making you feel on edge all the time there. you felt keegan’s hand hold your shoulder softly, reminding you he is here with you.

in the middle of the conversation, you saw in less than a second the man’s eyes change, from angry, to weirdly happy, like he was going to be free from all this interrogation. you were confused, until you heard it.

bullets and bullets and more bullets echoed in the building, as well as some passing through the windows in the small office you were. in a second keegan had moved you, shielding you from any possible damage

you heard him speak to the captain, the captain said they were under attack, making difficult to get out of there. you were alone inside with keegan and the man, he was tied to the table though, so you weren’t worried he would escape.

keegan held you behind his back, opening the door and checking if it was safe to go out. he made a clear sign and went to the right side. you were shaking of fear, you could hear explosions all over the place, the shaking of the floor, bullets everywhere, it was crazy.

suddenly a man spawned out of nowhere pulling keegan and tried stabbing him.

the military gave you a gun before you left, you had basic military training, knew how to use a gun, yet never needed to. but seeing keegan almost being stabbed made you react on instinct, you pulled your gun in less than a second and shoot the bastard. keegan’s was free from the man’s arm and shot another bullet between his head.

you just stood there, the adrenaline was making it hard to process what just happened, but you could feel your body trembling with fear, you may have possibly just killed a man. you’ve never done that in your life.

keegan saw the fear in your eyes “princess, hey, i need you to focus on me” keegan’s grabbed your face, you stared at him, worry clear in your eyes “you saved me and you’re a fucking badass for that” keegan’s appreciation words dragged you out of the dark thoughts you were falling to.

you both heard footsteps approaching you, making keegan grab your hand, tight, and walked to the other direction, you moved faster than him, adrenaline was making you rushed now, until you were about to move to the other corner of the hallway and saw armed men looking for, you supposed, keegan and you.

you pushed keegan back, startling him for a second, until he could hear the voices. you had a door next to you, keegan opened it and dragged you both inside. it was small, very small, yet enough for hiding. keegan turned you so his back was to the door, always protecting you first.

you on the other hand, was shaking shitless again, you could understand what they were saying, they were here for you, obviously not happy at all that you knew about what they were doing.

keegan once again tried dragging you out of your starting panic attack, he said your name twice trying to get your attention. you looked at him, you were very much fucking scared.

“hey, you’re with me, i won’t let anything happen to you okay?” you felt one of keegan’s hand hold your head softly, the other went to your back. you then realized he was hugging you, you were so close to each other he didn’t even need to moved you closer. you moved your hands to hold his back too, resting your head on his shoulder.

in the middle of the chaotic circumstances, keegan emerged as your anchor, his presence became the grounding point that helped you survive this.

it was then when it hit you, the realization, the profound connection that resonated beyond words. attempting to utter his name, you found your voice stifled by anxiety, your very core trembling with fear.

keegan, ever perceptive, tightened his hold around you, a silent reassurance.

as the threat passed by your door, keeping your mouth shut became a necessity, not just for the mission at hand but also to guard the burgeoning emotions inside you.

after a few minutes, you could hear them muffled, meaning they were far. keegan opened the door, still holding you, and looked out, he saw that it was clear “let’s go princess”

the next few minutes was you and keegan trying to get out of here, it was almost like a maze, the explosions seemed to calm down as well as the bullets. but there was still people looking for you.

you were about to turn to your left when a hand grabbed you from your neck, choking you, you tried to scream, but the man was fast, he suddenly pushed you to the wall, punching you in the face, almost breaking your nose, but you moved just in time your face, hitting you in the cheek.

you suddenly remembered you had a gun, you pulled it out, raising it fast to the middle of his head and shot him quick.

it was ugly, scary, and it glued you to your spot, all his blood soaked you, yet his hold on you loosened, making the man fall to your shoulder, surely staining your coat.

you were so fucking scared you thanked the lord keegan grabbed the man and lunched him to the wall behind.

you were again almost in shock, but keegan was in front of you fast “come on baby, we need to leave this hell” keegan kept dragging you, your body fully trusting him, because you were going into shock now.

you saw light, and finally you were out, a few dead people scattered on the ground, not helping you at all.

it until you saw the familiar humvee you felt slight ease. everyone saw your state, blood soaking all your face, dripping all over your coat. quite a sight. keegan just shakes his head to his teammates, silently telling them that you needed space now.

the soldiers admired you, even cared for you after all this time, it was clear seeing you like this worried them, but they trusted keegan, and they know you trust keegan too.

keegan helped you up the humvee, sitting next to you, you felt him whispering beside you “you okay?” you just nodded taking a small ragged breath, wiping your nose. you felt disgusting, you could feel the man’s blood dripping down your nose, the need to shower was strong right now.

keegan just softly held your hand, squeezing it to help you ground yourself, but you just couldn’t, you were so bloody anxious right now you couldn’t stop moving your leg up and down.

keegan felt it, slightly worried about you, he knew you’ve never been in combat before, let alone kill someone. you felt his hand slowly let go of yours, and put it on top of your thigh, making you halt your movements.

he kept it there slightly above your knee, massaging a little, not daring to move his hand up higher.

the ride to base was just the captain talking to someone on the radio, other than that, it was silent.

as soon as you arrived to base, you hurried out of the humvee, and fast towards the barracks, feeling the weight of the mission on your shoulders. you desperately needed the shower.

keegan stayed by the humvee, not following you right away. he stood there, giving you room. he could understand the impact of what just happened, and knew letting you calm down first was a good idea.

the letting you calm down time meant maybe you would come out of your room later, but now, it was 11:45 pm, and keegan was more than worried about you now. he had no idea you were still in the shower, living the past event over and over in your head.

you just couldn’t erase the image from your brain, just seeing the man’s eyes go lifeless in front of you, it was such a crazy thing to look at, and you weren’t dealing with it very okay.

you felt dirty, even though you cleaned your body more than twice. you had lost the track of time, you were so inside your brain you forgot to eat something. your stomach begging for food now, making you feel nauseous.

you just put on a brown long sleeve sweatshirt with some random leggings. you knew it was last midnight now, making it easier for you, you didn’t want to see anyone right now.

keegan, on the verge of heading to your room, noticed you entering the kitchen. your eyes were red, and your nose was puffy – the signs of tears evident. the concern on his face deepened as he observed the aftermath of emotions that had washed over you. he paused, recognizing the fragility in your demeanor, reconsidering whether to approach and offer comfort in this vulnerable moment.

spotting keegan in the kitchen, you froze in place. your hair, still damp, added a chill to the atmosphere, and a subtle shiver ran through you. keegan stood there, his worry evident in his eyes. the unspoken concern made you feel a twinge of guilt for disappearing, realizing the impact it had on him.

feeling the wave of emotions crash over you once again, tears welled up, and sobs escaped despite your efforts. a whispered "i'm sorry" escaped your lips, muffled by your trembling hand pressed against your mouth. the vulnerability laid bare.

in an instant, keegan was by your side. dressed in a simple black sweatshirt and cargo pants, he became your anchor once again.

his chest against your trembling form, you held him tight, as if seeking solace in the warmth of his presence. his hands gently cradled your head and waist, offering a silent reassurance, “nothin’ to be sorry about princess” you could feel his deep voice rumble in his chest “it’s okay”

his hand now gently petting your hair as you clung to him. between sobs, you began to express the guilt weighing on your chest. "i feel so bad for leaving like that" you admitted, the words punctuated by shaky breaths.

the shock of your actions you did a while ago lingered, casting a shadow on your thoughts. the vulnerability in sharing your feelings with keegan felt both liberating and daunting. it was a bad habit of yours, disappear whenever you felt any emotion that wasn’t happiness. it was normal to you:( even if it’s been more than 12 hours since you last emerged from your room.

keegan’s voice, calm and reassuring, cut through the heaviness of the moment. "it's okay," he whispered, his hand still tenderly stroking your hair. "you're here now, and that's what matters."

a flicker of strength ignited within you, and you stood a little taller, you pressed a tender kiss on keegan’s cheek, your hand lingering on his face for a heartbeat. his eyes held an unspoken love, you could see it clearly now.

keegan’s question for the kiss hung in the air, a gentle curiosity evident in his gaze. you felt his mask close and his breaths deepen, you took a moment, meeting his intense eyes. "it’s a thank you," you said softly, "for always protecting me."

his response was a tightening of the embrace, bringing you even closer. his face, now near yours, held an intensity matched by the deep breaths he took. in a rough voice deep with emotion, he confessed, "you driving me fucking crazy." the admission hung in the air, your cheeks flushing furiously.

a playful challenge danced in your eyes as you maintained intense eye contact. "what if you show me how much I drive you crazy?" you suggested, your doe eyes locked onto his.

a groan escaped him as he dropped his head to your shoulder. laughter bubbled from you, but your breath hitched as keegan shifted, causing your sweatshirt to ride up slightly. the short length and absence of a bra made you almost flash him your right breast.

keegan could feel it, in fact, he could feel your nipples pressed on him since he hugged you, making his pants feel tighter.

you felt keegan’s hand move up, near your breast, starting to massage there, making you blush furiously “may i remind you were are still in public keegan” you didn’t want anyone walk in on keegan almost touching your breasts, in the middle of the kitchen.

startling you in a swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, his strong hold on your bum leaving you feeling both surprised and strangely like jelly inside, and before you could voice your concerns, he began walking towards your room.

you were silently screaming at him about the possibility of getting caught, but keegan just tightened his hold on you more like squeezing your booty, effectively silencing you.

the situation didn't seem to faze him as he navigated the corridors, your protests muted in the intensity of the moment. the world outside seemed to fade away as keegan carried you and opened your door, leaving behind a trail of laughter and a flutter of unspoken excitement.

you thought he was going to drop you now, but no! he just went to your bed, and dropped you, making you bounce and laugh at what he just did “such a romantic” keegan just held the back of your legs and dragged you near his cock.

that motion made your shirt roll up, now showing him your bare breasts. you widened your eyes a little, but keegan looked like he was more enamored by you now “what a fucking sight i have” he couldn't help but revel in the intimate view of you beneath him. your eyes, filled with affection, locked onto his, radiating a warmth that mirrored the depth of your connection.

the air thickened with tension, and keegan couldn't ignore the tightening in his pants, a physical response to the emotional intimacy and the allure of the moment. “look how you make me feel princess” you could feel it, near your cunt, his big cock, making a big tent in his pants.

you just couldn’t anymore, you rolled your hips up a little, the sensation almost made you cum on the spot, but keegan just made a noise of disapproval “nuh uh, let me have my time with my princess yeah?” you blushed even more when keegan took a hold of your hips, and slowly moved his hands up, dying to touch your breasts.

when his hands finally felt them, he was on cloud 9. they were so soft and moldeable in his hands he could feel precum leaking from his cock. keegan lowered himself close your breasts, rolled his mask up, and licked your nipple making you moan.

he started sucking on your nipple like a man starved, while the other hand groped your other breast, pinching your nipple and rolling it between his fingers. you were panting, his hands were god sent, as well as his mouth.

that’s when you felt the sudden urge to kiss him. and you couldn’t wait anymore. feeling the magnetic pull, you took charge, gently dragging his face upward to meet yours. in a bold move, your lips crashed against his, a collision of desire and longing.

a sound of contentment escaped keegan, emotions flowing between you like an electric current. the world outside the moment ceased to exist as the intensity of the kiss spoke volumes, an unspoken exchange of emotions and desires woven into the fabric of that stolen, passionate embrace.

keegan deepened the kiss even more, angling your head better, he was heaven sent. in the heat of the kiss, your hands, seemingly of their own accord, found their way to his mask. it became an unconscious exploration, a touch laden with curiosity. unexpectedly, keegan broke the kiss, startling you, and swiftly snatched away his mask.

in the soft glow of the small light, his face was revealed, and you found yourself enraptured by the sight of him.

"you’re so beautiful" the words slipped from your lips almost involuntarily. a deep resonance of satisfaction echoed in keegan’s chest, and without a moment's hesitation, he dragged you up. seated on his knees, you found yourself straddling him, his hands on your waist and bum, fondling with it making you whine, as your lips met again in a deep, intoxicating kiss, yet you felt needy.

involuntarily you moved your hips, grinding right on his cock, making him groan deeply “fuck baby, you’re going to make me cum” knowing he was as aroused as you made you feel even more needy, making you grind your hips even more.

keegan’s hand took a hold of your hips, making you stop your movements. you whined again, even surprising you, you’ve never met this side of you, so needy of someone.

keegan's touch on your face was soft, almost reverent. he spoke with a gentle intensity, "i want to worship you. let me." the request hung in the air, and you, captivated by the depth of his gaze, agreed with a simple nod.

with deliberate tenderness, keegan laid you back onto the bed, his hands moving to the fabric of your clothes. He began with your sweatshirt, each movement deliberate and unhurried, as if unraveling the layers of vulnerability and desire between you two. as he raised your sweatshirt up, his hands once again touched your breasts, making you moan lowly.

keegan just smirked, having removed your sweatshirt, he then proceeded to shed his own shirt. the unveiling of his toned body drew an involuntary blush to your cheeks. his eyes caught yours, and a playful smile graced his lips.

"like what you see?" he teased, the husky timbre of his voice adding a layer of seduction to the moment. the air hung heavy with anticipation as you met his gaze, your response a silent affirmation that echoed in the space between you two.

keegan, still holding your gaze with an intensity that spoke volumes, continued his deliberate exploration. his hands, deft and unhurried, moved to your leggings.

with tenderness, he peeled them away, revealing more of your vulnerability. the room seemed to pulse with shared desire as each layer of clothing fell away, creating an intimate tapestry of connection between you and Keegan.

you were only with your panties on now, and keegan with his grey boxers, not hiding anything, making you slightly anxious, he looked very big, and you’ve never done this before.

a sudden realization gripped you, and you couldn't help but say, "wait" keegan, on the verge of sliding your panties off, halted immediately, his expression shifting to one of concern.

nervously, you confessed, "i’ve never done this before." the vulnerability in your admission hung in the air, an unspoken plea for understanding and patience. the room, once charged with desire, now held a new layer of intimacy.

keegan, surprised by your revelation, felt a renewed sense of responsibility. he looked into your eyes, the desire tempered with understanding, and reassured you, "i’ll go slow. we’ll take it at your pace."

his words carried a gentle promise, a commitment to make you feel at ease in this intimate moment. keegan then slowly slide your panties off, your cunt now bare and displayed in front of him. keegan just stared at it for a second, absolutely beautiful he thought; all shiny with your slick, begging for some attention. and who was he to deny it.

one thing about keegan, he loved foreplay, and you, you liked it too, but he’s made you cum twice! fingers and tongue involved, you weren’t complaining, but you really wanted his cock now.

from where you were, you could see his boxer stained with precum, making you whine, you were past needy now “i need you keegan, please” keegan heard the whiny tone from you, making his cock even more hard.

“such a needy princess aren’t you” keegan swiftly removed his boxers down, his cock sprang free on his stomach. your mouth was watering just seeing it. it was big, veiny and thick.

you didn’t think it, you were on all 4s now, keegan was looking behind dropping his boxer when he felt your mouth on his cock, making him hiss loud as well as whined “fuck princess, what are you doing?” you could hear his voice strained, like he was containing himself.

you didn’t answer, it was your first time doing this, yet you felt confident when you swallowed almost his whole cock down your throat, making keegan’s hands grab your head, pushing you deeper, making his eyes roll back.

“who taught you this?” he was a panting mess now, you kept bobbing your head up and down, using your angelic hands to grab his balls, swollen with his cum, massaging them, making keegan go all over the edge.

he didn’t warn you, just grabbed your head dragging it all the way down, thrusting his big cock down your throat, moaning loud. you decided to look at him then, giving your best puppy eyes you could, making keegan mesmerized with you, you could see all his reactions from here, his stomach clenching, his mouth panting, and his eyes full of love.

“i’m gonna cum love” you felt keegan trying to move his cock out of your mouth, but you just grabbed his hips, pushed them to you, and moving your tongue around his veiny cock.

keegan cummed on the spot, thick white ropes of cum going all the way down your throat, you as the princess you are, swallowed it whole, keeping your hand on his balls, feeling them clench everytime he cummed.

you were sure keegan was about to pass out now, that was the hardest orgasm he’s ever felt.

his desire was evident in the intensity of his gaze, deciding to take charge. his hands gently grasped your head, lifting you slightly making you put your hands on his big muscular chest. a deep, intense kiss ensued, each meeting of your lips sending a shiver through your body.

keegan murmured a sweet praise, "you’re such a beautiful good girl aren’t you?" he was still in his post orgasmic state, making you laugh a little, but this man had a very strong stamina.

you could feel his cock hard again in between your stomach making you put your hand on top of his slit. he bucked his hips a little “come on now” he said with a strained voice “let me make you feel good” desire evident in his voice.

keegan laid you down on the bed, moving your thighs open, letting your cunt once open to him. keegan not waisting a second now, aligned his cock with your cunt, dragging it up and down your folds “stop teasing keegan” you said pouting.

it took you by surprise when you felt his tip in your entrance, making you stop your breath for a second, keegan was smirking now, how easy it was to shut your needy ass up.

“i’ll go slow yeah? you tell me if it too much princess” keegan started sliding his thick cock insided your virgin cunt, it felt weird, a slight burn everytime he slide deeper.

keegan on the other hand was in awe, he saw your cunt swallowing his cock inside, inch by inch, your puffy clit at view too. in a second keegan had his hand on your clit, slowly circling it, making you moan, allowing his cock to slide further.

once he bottomed, he stayed there, he was still on his knees, allowing him a beautiful view. you had your knees next to your breasts, his cock swallowed by your cunt, your face flushed.

he couldn’t wait anymore, keegan dropped his forearms next to your head, and started grinding his cock inside your cunt. you felt so full, and him grinding was almost hitting your womb, making you moan loudly. “keegan you’re so deep” you said frowning from pleasure, your nails were on his big muscular biceps, hanging on for dear life.

“does it feel good?” “very fucking good” you said moaning the last word, keegan had his head hidden on your neck, his pace now a bit faster, balls hitting your ass everytime he thrusted, the skin to skin slapping sound resonating all over your room, creating such an erotic scene.

keegan then raised his head and kissed you deeply, his hand holding your head softly, you could feel him even deeper now. he had you on a mating press, his chest squeezing your breasts making your nipples stand out even more “you feel so fucking good princess” “this cunt belongs to me yeah” “you’re all fucking mine”

keegan kept saying this small praises everytime he thrusted, but what made your orgasm come quick was when he said you were his. yes you were. you were his since you met him. he was there for you ever since then, always by his side, always his.

“y-yes i am” keegan’s intense gaze was on you now “i’m yours keegan, all yours” he hit a particular spot inside you that you saw stars, moaning loud “say that again princess” “i’m yours” keegan was about to cum just from hearing you say that.

“and you’re all mine” you kissed him hard when you said that. keegan never thought you were the possessive type, yet when he heard you say that, you could say he fell in love even deeper “you’re all fucking mine keegan” you started meeting his thrusts with your hips, your clit rubbing with his stomach making your orgasm come fast.

keegan could feel it, you were clenching stronger now, almost making him stop his movements “you cumming princess?” that goddamn nickname was going to be the death of you “i want to cum with you”

your needy voice made keegan tighten his hold on you, and thrust deeper, and slower. keegan grabbed your face and kissed you, his other hand rubbing your clit. making you cum hard.

keegan cummed in an instant too, feeling your cunt clenching around his cock too, your orgasm so hard you closed your eyes. he cummed inside you, sliding even further, letting all his cum coat your walls with him. only him.

he stayed there for a while, letting you come down from the high. you were breathing hard, his cock now softening inside you, yet you didn’t want him to come out yet.

you used your feet to hit him on the hips, making him slide a bit more “stay here for a while” keegan caught the message, you wanted to cuddle. with him still inside you.

you were a sucker for cuddles, and touch starved. so when keegan laid down, still inside you, and dragged you almost on top of him, you felt shivers down your spine.

as keegan’s arms enveloped you in a tender embrace, a warmth spread through you, reaching the neglected corners of your soul. the gentle cradle of his arms was a stark contrast to the void you hadn’t realized existed, a reminder of the absence of such intimate touch in your life.

his arms forming a protective cocoon around you, fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. the rise and fall of his chest against your back mirrored the rhythm of shared breaths, creating a serene melody.

it wasn't just the physical closeness; it was the profound sense of being seen and held, a silent promise that in his arms, you were cherished and safe.

a few minutes had passed when you felt keegan sitting up, you as well on his lap, making you pout “don’t make that face” he said condescending “i need to clean you up yeah?”

keegan carried you all the way down your bathroom, again, still inside you, and seated you on the counter. he took a really long look to your breasts. such beautiful breasts just sitting there, making him want to hold them again.

“enjoying the view” you said in a proud tone, keegan just moved his eyes to your face and laid a small kiss to your cheek. you started feeling how keegan slid his now soft cock out your cunt, once it was all out, he just stayed there, looking at both your cunt and his cock “look at the mess you made love”

his cock was full of his cum, and yours, you felt all his cum slide out of your cunt, now on the counter, the sight making keegan’s cock start hardening again, and you saw that as well.

you just stared at him, beautiful doe eyes, and grabbed his cock. “can’t get tired of this cock huh?” you just smiled, stood up, and dragged him to the shower. that was the best shower sex you’ve ever had.

after the shower, keegan was behind you like a lost puppy, just wanting to be near you, touching your waist, squishing it, as well as your bum, all while you were doing your small skin care.

and on bed? keegan was even more cuddly than you! he said, scratch that, obliged you to be the little spoon. now you had his beautiful face right next to you, his hand drawing small circles in your waist, going near your breasts to tease you, your legs tangled beneath the sheets. you could get used to this.

“so, for how long have i driven you crazy?” keegan heard the cheekiness in your voice, you probably knew keegan was head over heels for you, acting all dumb to torture him, making keegan groan behind you “i’m going to keep it with for a while”

you laughed, putting your hands on top of the one that was on your waist, dragging it near your lips, planting a soft kiss there. when you kissed his hand, an unexpected tenderness surged within him, like a flood of warmth.

in response, he hid his face against your neck, as if to shield himself from the cascade of emotions, laying a few kisses here and there. you really could get used to this.

♡

AHHHHHH the end ;’[ i love fluff, was deciding if splitting this into chapters but i got carried away and made it a one shot jiji

hope u liked it!

#keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #call of duty keegan #keegan russ smut #cod keegan #cod smut #call of duty #call of duty fic #keegan russ #keegan russ fic #keegan russ fluff #cod #call of duty smut #simon ghost riley #keegan smut #keegan russ x fic #keegan x reader

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forsworned · 3 months ago

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Something good can work ft. Keegan P. Russ

cw: noncon themes, pnv sex, afab reader

There is a strange feeling that twists in your stomach as you approach Keegan's room. The door is left ajar, and you push it open, allowing yourself in to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, cleaning his gun. His balaclava is off and laid out on his nightstand, worn and distressed from use. He glances up at you for a moment; his rifle is completely disassembled, and he's taken the liberty to maintain his equipment.

"Hey, kid." His voice sends a frisson up your spine. You freeze in place, eyeing his physique. His navy loose-fitted tee lightly outlines his toned body, and his tactical pants are tight and baggy in all the right places as he manspreads. Bore brush in hand, his taut fingers, stained black with carbon residue, work meticulously to clean out the chamber.

He looks up at you again, noticing your unchanged form and expression. "What's on your mind, kid?" He sets down the bristle and grabs a microfiber towel to clean his hands.

Your eyes flicker to meet his wintry hues, and the lump in your throat starts to dissolve. "Can I ask you something?"

He notices the change in your usual demeanor and nods. "’Course."

You step closer to him, and he watches you intently. Your gaze is intense, as if you're staring into his soul. The words that fall from your mouth make his heart drop.

"Would you fuck me if I asked you to?"

The military prepared Keegan for many things, but this was not one of them. A beautiful woman, his teammate, asking if he would fuck her? No, the Marine Corps did not train him for such circumstances.

He only observes as you close the space between you two. You place your hand gently on his sturdy shoulder, sliding it to cup his face.

"It's not exactly appropriate," he murmurs, but he doesn't shy away from your touch. It stirs feelings he suppressed when you first joined years ago.

His hand finds its way to your hip as you straddle him, pressing against his growing erection. "But?"

You inch closer, pushing your chest against his, hovering over his pale pink lips. Keegan can hear the blood pumping straight to his dick, silently transfixed on your next move.

"Uh huh," you brush your lips against his mouth, and his hand fists at the fabric of your pants.

"[Name]..." he breathes out, letting his head hit the headboard to create some space between you, but your fingers make quick work of his belt, swiftly unzipping it with ease.

He doesn't exactly protest, merely squirms under your touch as you play with his exposed happy trail.

"I think you'll like it," you swallow thickly with anticipation. The situation is wrong, but he can't find it in himself to stop you. The way your hand feels as it slips under the waistband of his briefs is tantalizing. The pleasant tingly feeling of blood surging to his dick at your euphoric touches, the way you thumb over the precum creaming out of his tip, makes his thick brows scrunch in pleasure.

You take a moment to lower your lips to the swollen, red tip, lapping up his arousal. A strangled huff escapes him, and your lashes flutter as you peer up at him, laying your tongue flat on his shaft before standing up to undo your own trousers and letting them fall to the ground.

His Adam's apple oscillates as he fixates on the sway of your hips when you approach him and take your place on his lap once again. His glacial eyes, now darkened, fall on your glistening pussy, which is mere millimeters away from his cock. He no longer hesitates when he reaches out to touch your sopping folds.

"Yeah, you definitely don't need any prep..."

You suck in your bottom lip but push away his hand. "I'm ready enough," you state, hovering over him and wanting nothing more than to let him sink into you.

You lean over the edge of the bed and retrieve the condom from your side pocket. Keegan slightly narrows his eyes at you. "Christ, you were that ready?"

"Always." You tear the condom foil with your teeth before rolling it onto his dick. He bucks his hips at your touch. You grin down at him, relishing in how pliant he is for you. Licking your lips, you align yourself with him, and his eyes alternate between looking at your pretty face and your pretty pussy.

"Fuck, your pussy is..." His voice melts into a moan as he throws his head back, bottoming out into you. You dig your nails into his tanned flesh.

"So what?" You demand an answer from him as you relentlessly rock your hips against him. The real feeling is unmatched, your imagination could never conjure up the sight of his mouth hanging open and his death grip on your hips as you grind on him. The exhilarating feeling of dominating your CO is unparalleled.

"So—fuck, [name]." He shudders, involuntarily bucking his hips as he thrusts into you. It’s nothing but primal instinct at this point as you both drive into each other, using one another for the gratification that has been bubbling in your lower bellies—a fire that has been burning for too long.

"...so pretty." He chokes out, but before he can say another word, he feels his orgasm approaching. "Gonna—cum."

"Me too." You cry out, bouncing on his dick. He didn't even need to rub your clit to make you climax because the girth and length of his dick were hitting your A-spot so deliciously, so perfectly. You reach your peak, and soon you feel a wave of pleasure overcome you. Your pulsating walls push Keegan over the edge, and he rides the tides of rapture alongside you.

Your spine arches involuntarily as you both cling to one another, gyrating your hips until your fulfillment reaches its peak. A shaky breath escapes his lips as you lift yourself off him, not bothering to remove the condom filled with his cum. You reach for your trousers and underwear, slipping them back on with ease, and tidy yourself in his full-length mirror.

As you turn to him, you notice he hasn't moved a single inch. He's lying there, chest heaving, as he eyes you up and down. You pad over to him, place a tender kiss on his forehead, and smile. "Thanks, Keegs."

With that, you happily tread out of his door, closing it behind you and ensuring you hear the click before you leave. He listens for the sound of your footsteps as they fade until he hears nothing but the buzz of the AC. To say he’s bewildered is an understatement.

He lets out a labored breath, running a hand through his short-cropped hair.

"Anytime..."

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callmemickey · 1 year ago

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Keegan Russ is a provider and you’re lying to yourself if you even think otherwise 👏 if he could make it to where you didn’t have to lift a finger for the rest of your life, he 100% would. That being said, I hope you love to be on the receiving end of oral! I genuinely believe this man will deep dive right on in there, and would stay there until you’re shaking, crying, and begging him to stop (to which he probably won’t).

Keegan Russ can be chatty when it’s just you two, and especially - you know where this is going - in bed. He loves praising you, but in such a gentle way (he also praises you day-to-day but this is nsfw hehe). If you get all shy, he will eat it tf up. imagine hearing these in his deep, gravelly, purr of a voice: “you’re so perfect and I’m so lucky you’re mine” “fuck, you look so beautiful riding my cock like that” “you wanna be a good girl for me, don’t you?” “how could I say no when you asked so nicely?” “ahh, that’s my girl.” “I love how your pretty little mouth feels.” I could literally write Keegan talking for like 6947950 years mmkay

Keegan Russ loves it when you initiate and/or take charge, even if he ends up doing the work. Ride him, sit on his face, swipe his nose like a credit card, suck his cock, for the love of god anything. Even though he absolutely loves performing acts of service, the moment you hop into action? Weak! This man is weak! just tell him it’s because he’s been so amazing, that you just wanna do this for him if that’s alright 🥺 you missed him sm and you just wanna make your baby feel good 🥺 is slobbering on his cock too much to ask for 🥺 if you’re doing this, you got him whipped

Keegan Russ might wear the mask in bed upon asking. I don’t think he has an issue with anonymity and his identity. I would honestly wait for some time to pass before asking. I like to imagine he’s kind of… confused at first? He puts it on (even does the face paint), and you’re barking and purring. He’s just like “why do they like this?” but when he realizes JUST how bad you want him? GOD!!! It’s basically just roleplaying and he eats that shit up, mama - he gets into it and it’s like… distant, anonymous, and it feels dirty: “show me how much you want me.” “with your mouth, just like that. good.” “that’s Sergeant/sir to you.” “that’s right, on your knees.” “oooh, look at you.” “did I say you could cum?” “louder.”

Keegan Russ has the sexiest morning voice in the world. The way he wakes up (shirtless, he’s usually shirtless), sighs, and rolls over to you. You know that half-spoon, half-on top moment? Yeah, THAT. you’re on your side and he’s kind of on top and pressed against you, kissing you on the neck as you feel his hands glide up the side of your thigh, his touch is so warm and gentle. “mornin’, sweetheart.” AAUUUGGggghhhhh and then you feel his morning wood pressed so hard against your ass- ok I can’t do this (not me scrambling to write morning sex with my husband keegs)

Keegan Russ is not a very rough or hardcore lover. Please don’t expect him to tie you up or do some crazy things cuz he probably won’t!! The most you’ll get with being “kinky” is him wearing the mask and praising you (kinda considered bdsm???), which, if you need anything more from him… can’t help ya there champ - besides, is he not enough??!?!? 🥺 don’t break his heart or i swear

Keegan Russ… I see him liking the spooning position a lot, or a variation where he fucks you from behind and cowgirl just please ride him. There’s something he finds soooooo erotic about leaning over your shoulder, saying things naughty things in your ear ahhh he knoooooows what his voice does to you, so he takes advantage of it anytime he can get! there was that time you two were making lunch on a weekend and he just bent you over the counter and it was just… “you’re so wet already - you been thinkin’ ‘bout this?” “you’re such a pleasure to use” “I’m so proud of you for taking my cock so well” “relax, baby, just hold on” “that’s it, just like that, ah, fuck” “you want me to make you cum again?” “there’s that happy little sigh”

Keegan Russ doesn’t put you in extreme sexual situations where you require extensive aftercare (or any if you’re down tbh), but he still makes sure your needs are taken care of!! wanna shower together? have a snack? oh! you’re out of water, he’ll grab you a glass! need him to snuggle you for a little bit? of course, he wouldn’t want to do anything else! Being with you and making sure you’re happy and taken care of???? His #1 priority 🙌

#ilu daddy #i just love him so much #keegan Russ #keegan p Russ #keegan X reader #keegan Russ X reader #keegan X you #keegan Russ X you #keegan p Russ smut #keegan Russ smut #cod ghosts #Keegan Russ headcanons #Keegan p Russ headcanons

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vyzz-undercover · 10 days ago

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RAAAGHHG QUICK HOLD THIS!!!

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(11,000ish words) (MAXED OUT SPACE LMFAO)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•no dubcon (growth!!!)

•hints of size kink

•references to masturbation

•oral [f receiving]

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions on contraception

•discussions on pregnancy

•breeding kink (finally someone admits it)

•mild violence [on reader]

•degrading language

•tumblr's horseshit concept of copy paste formating

———————————————————————————————————

WHATS UP???? IM ALIVE ENJOY THE FUCKING SHITSTORM OF CATO FINALLY ADMITTING HES A WIFE GUY BASICALLY!!!!! oh and here's the taglist ily all mwah mwah!!! @mothiir, @moodymisty, @bispecsual, @the-raven-lady, @thevoidscreams, @pluvio-tea, @lemon-russ, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @historitor-bookshelf, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond, @ma1dmer, @scriberye, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @undeaddream, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist, @sinistermojo, @vivacious-hyena, @grimdark-racoon!!!! if anyone wants on or off taglist lmk no pressure!!! enjoooooyyyy i love u alllllll :3

———————————————————————————————————

For all intents and purposes, everything is going swimmingly.

Cato is happier these days—and so are you, apparently.

So when he is called to the Command deck by his Primarch, he is somewhat unsure of what to make of the matter. Paranoia rises in his gullet like bile, but ever since the slip up in front of Guilliman, you've both been spotless.

Cato strides up the parapet and demagnetises the locking pins keeping his helm secure, tugging it off his head and letting it nest in the crook of his arm.

Slicking his hair into some semblance of order with a free hand, he sighs.

Ugh, he needs a haircut—it's starting to get in his eyes if he doesn't swipe it back. But he can't—because you seem to approve, and stubborn as he is, if keeping it this length means he receives dainty Ambassador fingers as a comb sometimes, then so be it.

It still pisses him off, though.

Regardless, Cato carries on his way—and the first face he sees upon entering the discussion area is the Chapter Master's, and two of his subordinate Victrix Guard hovering behind.

The Primarch's lesser-used vessel Dawn of Fire has been given to Calgar, and has been trailing behind the Macragge's Honour for a month and a half now; meaning the situation has granted a fair few more audiences than normal amongst them.

Nemus bows his head in unison with Lethro, the gesture familiar and practiced, while Calgar simply tips his chin down at him.

Cato reciprocates with a curt, martial bob and takes his place nearby his Primarch at the central control booth.

A few menials are fiddling with the specifications of the lithocast display before it flickers into life, the green-tinged projection juddering for a second before stabilising to a clear motion pict link.

Lo and behold, Severus Agemman's shiny bald head and pinched face.

The mere sight is enough to make Cato disinterested; and when he hears the First Captain speak his greetings to the Primarch, Cato abruptly considers himself deaf.

He turns away, looking aside, and finds you.

You're leaning on the railing of the raised observation deck while his Primarch gives feedback Cato doesn't heed.

You've dressed a little different than your usual ship-attire—clad in that same old blue robe but armed with a big navy shawl, and he suspects you've done so expecting the chill of the upper deck.

Cato's dark brow quirks as he gazes towards the high, arching, star-flecked windows. Throne, he feels like he's being hypnotised by the white shifting whorls—there is a humility to gazing up, every so often. A reminder of perspective. Cato has seen some objectively beautiful sights in the galaxy; stars and asteroids and planets untouched by Humanity, and Xenos, and Chaos alike; but none really compare to watching you stare up at the wide glass panels, absentmindedly connecting the dots between distant gas giants.

For a moment it feels like everything is unimportant.

He wants to stand beside you. Lean down and rest on the railing, and bask in the smile you'd shoot up at him.

He wants to ask which cluster of far off planets you think prettiest, perhaps if you recognise any—or if you'd like to see how the stars look glittering off the mighty oceans of his home-world—but it is not appropriate to behave that way with the current company, despite how it aches to deny himself the sentiment.

"No," Guilliman sharply answers a response Cato hadn't been listening to.

And only then does Cato realise himself, gaze and focus tearing back to reality and sticking to Guilliman's big, tired blue eyes, as he digresses, "No, no—the moment the Drukhari know we are onto them, they will butcher through the populace for sport—and the elites will cripple the dwarf planet to spite them. Farrim is a major port world, the set back of going off course, even temporarily, is worth the delay."

There are several billion inconsequential people on that rock. And all they have to thank for not being sentenced to slavery and death is the benefit of being close by.

The locale would surely not be high priority if not for the chance it is practically adjacent to Agemman, and he can simply scare off the assault with an extremely minor detour—and then obliterate the fleeing Xenos like chaff before the wind.

The only real problem is orchestrating how to go about it.

Bombard them into their base particles before they even get their hand in the jar? Or let them begin, and then close the trap to watch them squirm and suffer in it like salted leeches?

Cato knows he would chose the latter, but he's not about to dignify Severus with any sort of advice on such meagre matters.

Cato exists beyond the normal chain of discipline, as Commander of the Victrix Guard—which means felating Agemman is Sevastus Acheran's problem as Captain of the Second Company, now.

The planetary governance's reaction must be considered also—he knows of Farrim, vaguely. There are a series of vast docks in geosynchronous orbit, and that means they are host to all sorts of satellite criminal activities. It is surely a rat's nest rife with Rogue Traders returning from deep dives into hell; and that means heretical practices, like engaging in interspecies dealings; of tack, of weregild—of flesh.

Cato knows well the horrible desperation of the weak for some form of certitude in a galaxy run mad, even if the only certitude possible was that of complete degeneration. A greedy baseline would sell their kin to Xenos to eat another day. That is the reason for law. It is one of the reasons for Astartes. It is a basic truth. Because a cornered beast would sooner kill itself in the struggle of fleeing than face its pursuer—and humanity in masses are oft worse than if they were caged in a cramped pen with a starving Termagant.

But he hopes, beyond reason, that the moronic rulers that allowed the Drukhari so close would suffer far more than just the panic of the chase before succumbing to their vermin fear in such a way. Punishment would be harshly imposed, because treating with Xenos ever yielded foul results. Simply writhing in their own terror was not enough justice for their enactures, and Cato will gladly watch the meting out of greater judgement upon them soon.

Consequently, Cato had come to find almost all Aeldari are cunning, vapid, spineless rabid dogs. Naught but misery-merchants, worthless and parasitic enough to be slaughtered en masse without hesitation.

The Lord Primarch did not wholly agree with this, of course. But he had his own reasons for such beliefs, after having met with them himself. He said there are, allegedly, good and bad ones amongst the lot—then he went on to say one should ever be considerate of their fey, mercurial motives.

Cato knows a knife-eared witch had implored much of Guilliman, and his father is nothing if not a good listener.

But Guilliman is also a master tactician, and is more human than most of the Imperium is led to believe.

At times, he behaves more human than his gene-sons—but his Father was reared well, so he says. And maybe that's why he insists on assessing the uncouth. Like hearing out dribbling Xenos hierophants, or keeping you as a pupil pet.

Cato believes the Primarch favours you, truly.

He has projected his meagre hope of a kinder future on your success, against all the impossible odds.

Guilliman is a brilliant leader, and an even better teacher.

He is just, and personable—but stern.

Cato is the opposite.

He bites, and he always has.

Martinet to his core, Cato is ever succinct; almost to a sociopathic degree at times. He's never truly understood how to speak with his Father's finesse. But he can mimic it. He knows the gist of what to say, and when to say it. Largely by predicting the next words. As an Astartes, he is not inherently made to be a statesman, even if he is the Grand Duke of Talassar.

Nevermind the fact a vast majority of political dissidents opponents would sooner grant themselves the Emperor's mercy than try argue policy with him, an Ultramarine. He knows he is sullen and bad-tempered and easily aggravated in casual conversation, even amongst his Brothers—but he's not about to admit things like that out loud; and where he once sought out discourse—he's become despondent reclusive compared to his previous confidence.

He swallows down the harsh reality that he knows the exact tipping point.

He tries to forget that Damnos was the first pebble before the rockslide; the agonising strike of a Necron lord's war-scythe in his side, not to mention the sting of Severus Agemman's proverbial sabaton up his ass.

And, most importantly, he ignores the hint of tinnitus in his ears. The echoing across the decks of the Emperor's Will that sound like screa—

You yawn, and look over your shoulder to Guilliman with a weary curiosity.

You are everything Cato isn't, and he knows that now.

Perhaps that is the real allure of you, in the end; beyond the aspects of his lust, and your own affections.

Sweet, endearing—trusting to a fault, and... small.

He almost snorts to himself at that because, Throne, you really do look tiny amongst so many ceramite clad trans-humans.

The Primarch flashes you a soft glance and directs his gaze back to the lithocast.

You approach Guilliman with a preppy, yet cautious sort of diligence; standing beside him not a moment later as he listens to Agemman prattle on, and on—and on.

Agemman doesn't acknowledge your entrance in the slightest, hell, he doesn't even blink. He doesn't know you by face—but Cato knows you know him; because in Guilliman's quest to have you absorb as much information as possible, you've interacted by writing many times. But the First Captain clearly wrongly assumes the woman in his holo-field of view is a lowly attendant, not the Ambassador he's had several dissertation-long discussions with by note.

You're looking up at Agemman with a soft smile, like one would reserve for a friend—and he does not return it.

Seemingly aware of the fact your gesture is for naut, your expression withers to a sad little frown.

At that, Cato's eyebrows furrows harshly, embittered by seeing you suffer the rejection.

He ought to—

But then a bundle of data-slates are lifted off the hexagonal interface surrounding the projection system, held out to you in far, far larger gauntlets than Cato's own; and you take them into the cradle of your arms.

It's too many for you to comfortably hold, and Cato can tell solely because there's that familiar, tiny crease between your brows that only ever appears when you're unsure of something.

"I will be back en-route with the First as soon as the threat is cleared, and—" Agemman's raving wavers periodically, hologram gaze tilting down.

Cato winces a bit when the topmost slate slips out of your bundled arms and clatters to the deck loudly.

In response, the First Captain's hologram rakes you with a nigh appalled sneer that has Cato puffing up at the hackles like an angry carnodon.

"A-Apologies, my lords..." You shrink back, seeking an exit, in that frightened-mouse way of yours that Cato would've once delighted in long ago. But it's a grating, bastardised comparison when he knows Agemman's disgust is entirely, baselessly genuine unlike Cato's had been.

Another slate falls in your timid outburst, and Agemman snorts angrily at you.

More than willing to take the heat, Cato immediately steps forward into the threshold of the holo-cast's vision breadth and snorts back.

It's a standoffish moment where the First Captain becomes aware of him and turns his head.

"Cato," Agemman says sharply in that typical, dismissive tone; but his expression betrays a brooding aggravation.

He scowls, lips curling much like his fingers into a fist, "Severus."

He can play this game, because unlike prior altercations—he's not being held to a rapport of failure.

Cato answers to Calgar and Guilliman now, and yes, he's to heed Agemman—but he's not to abide orders like he'd had to during his Captaincy of the Second.

And neither Calgar nor Guilliman have stopped him as of yet for this outburst.

In fact, Calgar is apparently more interested in trying to rub away a speck of grime on his power-fist.

While the Primarch... well, the Primarch has currently shut his eyes, grimacing softly.

It appears Cato's simply keeping the peace.

And on the surface, to onlookers, it's not at all indicative of any ulterior reason aside from petty distaste for Agemman—even if Cato's real motive is possessive defensive, and solely intent on taking the attention off you.

"Enough," The Primarch grumbles at last, and opens his eyes as he leans down—his great height folding—dutifully collecting the two, small fallen objects with mild hassle. Guilliman sighs at you remorsefully as he sets the data-slates in a better position, unperturbed by your clumsiness. "The Ambassador has done me no insult, she was merely over encumbered. The galaxy as we know it has not imploded, as of yet."

Agemman blinks, "...Ambassador?" he mumbles—with the revelation, in a fraction of a second he's entirely placid and defanged, reigning himself back in and cringing slightly—unlike Cato, who returns to glaring murderously at him.

"That means you, too," Guilliman starts aloud, and he apparently knows he needn't clarify more.

Cato grinds his teeth and tears his gaze away, letting it fall aside as he unclenches his fists.

You take a step back, a pitiful sigh leaving you as you set about trying to balance with the data-slates. The Primarch finally realises that it's too much for you, just like Cato had to begin with.

"Sicarius," Guilliman says flatly, "Give her a hand."

A hand?

Oh, he's given you more than hand.

He feels himself bristle with want, an abrupt , mad rush of eager heat besieging his body as he sets his shoulders stubbornly.

In or out of armour, he's done it—and Cato is caught daft at the sudden eidetic memory of having you straining against his big forebrace shoved hard under you to keep you in place. Squirming frantically against as many fingers as he would deign allow you, drooling on his armour as you suffer a cleverly turned thumb; so wanton and pretty as you finally, finally give him his prize and cry out for—no—no, no—shut up, shut up.

At that, he tersely inhales; and remembers he's surrounded by other Astartes.

Nobody's noticed, thank fuck.

"Cato!" Guilliman snaps.

Cato blinks, "What—uh, pardon me, my lord?"

"You are utterly impossible," he half-chastises, half-laments, with little more than a sigh. "Help. Her."

Cato nods stiffly, silently panicking, and approaches you.

"Stop snivelling like a useless dog, and pull it together, woman, you're embarrassing yourself," he accosts loudly, overcompensating for his own screw-up, and it's cruel—he knows it is because you flinch a little, and one of the gathered high-ranking brothers behind you huffs in surprise at just how brutish he's acting—but he cannot show the comfort you wish of him under the circumstances.

You regard him with a profound sadness in your eyes, and he can't bear to meet your gaze; so he casts it aside.

And immediately meets the Primarch's eyes.

A strange, angered confusion has graced his Father's features. A sort of stunned disappointment—and Cato supposes that tracks, given the fact Guilliman though he'd gotten over his gripe with you.

"Check your anger, Commander Sicarius." Guilliman says with a cold discontent, and Cato immediately drops the act.

Cato holds out his helm, turned plume-down, the inside proffered up as a bucket.

The task of shovelling the data-slates in is tedious at best, but it's easy when he joins in.

When all's done, Cato practically dumps his helmet in your arms.

"It's alright, don't fret," Guilliman chuffs, smiling at you tiredly, trying to seem supportive. "Just be on your way, Ambassador."

You look back at the Primarch, stunned for a moment—who smiles at you again, and tips his chin to the exit hallway.

Nodding, you shakily curtsy at the gaggle of Astartes and stumble away with the heavy weight of Cato's helmet and it's new contents in your grasp.

Cato frowns at the entire display, and Guilliman seems to notice that too, because he immediately grits out, "Commander Sicarius, if the safety of your helmet worries you so, go make sure she doesn't drop anything else."

"Of course... yes, my Lord Primarch," He straightens up, surprised at the dismissal but certainly not about to argue.

in his mind, Guilliman is sending him to cool off. That much Cato is sure of, which works to his favour.

Promptly, he knocks his breastplate in respectful farewell and trails after you; now a little ways down the grand and lofty adjoining chamber hall.

Cato strides with his chin held high, but promptly drops it when he rounds the corner and is out of view of the Primarch a few moments after you.

You say nothing to him when Cato catches up and matches your slow march to your quarters.

Cato's practically drags his boots across the regal carpeting as he walks.

And when the carpet runs out, he scrapes his heels on steel like a petulant child.

He knows he's taken the charade too far.

Head hung low much like his, you don't look at him—and it eats away at what meagre actual backbone he's got left around you.

It continues for a while; you pass servitors, serfs, staff, and Astartes alike; not acknowledging anyone.

They acknowledge Cato of course, but he ignores any nods or salutes like he's got blinders on.

He knows the path you're taking well—it's a shortcut, but a tedious one with the load you're carrying. And when the passersby thin out to nothing eventually, you're still trudging along like a lobotomite.

You look appear much like a sullen little arming serf carrying his helmet as you are. The coarse broom-spread of his helm's Suzerain mane brushes the fabric atop your thighs—and Cato can tell it's annoying you, because you slow a little when it itches; trying to shimmy it up higher in your grasp to no avail.

Your breathing is heavy with strain, now a few paces behind him; and Cato groans when you both round a corner and he sees a flight of stairs ahead.

He pauses, and rounds about-face.

"Give it to me," he snaps.

You immediately sigh, "Why?"

"Because it's mine," Cato grumbles. "Now give it to me."

You pout, "I don't need help."

He scowls harshly, "I wasn't asking."

A gasp leaves you as you're suddenly being advanced on by an Astartes, stomping you down—and he catches the data-slate filled rim of his helmet with a gauntlet.

He's honestly surprised you hold on while he pulls it away from you.

"Let go," he hisses.

"No," you hiss back.

"Let go, now." Cato shakes the helmet around, trying to dislodge you; going so far as to lift it until you're dangling off the side.

"No," is all he receives again.

Tiny, stubborn, cunt of a waif.

He cannot sustain subtlety when he is rebutted on something. Not without pause. He's aggravated now, and it shows when he snarls, "Why are you acting like this?"

"No," you bark.

A very real temper is flaring as he says, "No, what? That's not an answer—"

"Fuck off, Cato!"

He's never heard that tone out of you directly. It stuns him for a second, because he's never actually made you genuinely angry. He can't explain why it makes him suddenly decide to play disciplinarian like you're an unruly Scout, but it does. And you're going to explain exactly why you thought to voice that opinion, Emperor help you.

"Enough of this groxshit," He tugs the helmet high, and you up with it, scooping a vambrace under your midsection to carry you like a keg under his arm; prying you and the helm apart.

"Put m-me down!" You kick out wildly behind him, snarling insults and slamming your fists back against his plate on his core, to no avail.

It's a good thing you're actually close to your quarters, because the scene you're making is more than enough to be flagged for gross insubordination if anyone saw. Striking an Astartes is of no meagre consequence. It'd be death, for anyone but you.

It takes him a try more than usual to input his locking override code, given your squirming—and him only being able to manage a pointer free on the hand holding his helm.

Your door slides open nonetheless, and Cato ducks in with you still secured, despite your tantrum; and in his seething, he fully calculates the effort it'd take to hog-tie you with your own robes.

You're hissing and carrying on as if you're a pissy little neophyte hopped up on stims for the first time, and Cato ignores you periodically to lock your door behind you both.

He empties his helm of the data-slates on the nearest pile of clothes, magnetises the bucket on his hip; and practically tosses you onto your bed.

You yelp at the rough handling and scramble to reach your nightstand.

Instead of scampering off like he honestly expects, you grab a book; and when he leans over the bed and reaches for you, you start to bat his armoured hand away with the hardcover front.

"Do you honestly think that will work?" Cato snarls, but despite himself, he recoils and starts eyeing you. "Are you that fucking dense, woman?"

You grumble sourly and hold the novel up, like it's an actual weapon.

"Fine, be that way," he rolls his eyes, and with trans-human speed, catches you by the ankle and reels you in.

You bleat out a warbling cry at being yanked, and manage to toss the book at his head in a lucky shot.

He cops the hit to the brow harmlessly, then it lands on the covers below him beside where he's dragged you under.

You freeze for a second as he brackets your arms upward above your head in one large gauntlet.

"Stop," he bites out, "Just stop struggling."

You start fighting him again regardless, legs kicking out—knocking the book sidelong into the headboard with a thud.

Cato glances at source of sound, and then he's suddenly fixated on the wall above it.

His dagger's been hung up.

It's a little crooked, but that's expected when the hooks the sheathe and blade are lodged against aren't actually drilled in place. It's done with adhesive—it's your doing.

Cato can't exactly name the feeling that washes over him as he stays staring at it, but it feels thick, and viscous in his chest. Like pain, almost—like he's hurt himself. His tongue feels leaden in his mouth. Every ounce of retaliatory anger at your earlier antics dissipates into nothingness.

The shackles his large mitt's made on your wrists falls away.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," He mumbles, before taking a deep breath—and his armour creaks at the gesture; servos humming as he settles into a crouch at your bedside, half strewn over the duvet—staring at you pinned under him.

The bed protests, because of course it does to that amount of bulk, but it still holds regardless.

You huff sourly, and suck your bottom lip into your mouth as you avert your gaze.

With a tired sigh, Cato leans close to you and frowns—straining to tuck his nose against your neck and scoop a vambrace under you to hold you close.

"I may have," he starts slowly as he smothers himself against you. "Overreacted."

A scoff escapes you, but you rest your cheek to his temple regardless.

You take a big breath in; and the politician in you jumps out—even if the politician is currently a little bit shaky.

"I-I am aware that... it's tedious to have me around given my bearing, amongst your kind," you stammer, gaze flittering to and fro from his eyes to his pauldron to the desk behind him. "I can take a snort and a scoff, but you made it worse, at the end—" your voice trails off, and you sit up; scrubbing your cheek with your palm, fussing. "It's easy to hear criticism from a stranger, but not—not from you. Not after... all of this, in a situation like that."

There was a time when Cato would've flat out turned his nose up at the prospect of apologising. He has done so to maybe ten baselines in his entire life, and he's including his parents in that number purely by an assumption—and Vedeah.

"Even in the moment," he says carefully, and tries not to think too hard about the wider implications of doing so, "I realised it was a cruelty, and I am sorry for it."

You simply hold onto him for a moment, and Cato buries his face closer; your hand combing across the side of his head.

"It's alright," you tut softly, "Seeing y-you... you getting all huffy about the First Captain for me was funny though... Throne, I feel so stupid sending him all those letters now."

"You weren't to know Agemman's a prick," he sniffs, laying a gauntlet on your thigh. "I've been on the receiving end of his sour judgment just as you, earlier."

"Were..." you start, voice hesitant. "Were you like that, when you were Captain of the Second?"

The question catches him off guard, which makes him harrumph.

Cato sets his jaw and leans back to look at you, frowning softly, "You would not have liked me in the slightest."

You look a little taken aback at his admission, and Cato feels the need to clarify before your habit of asking too many questions seizes you.

"I was..." Cato begins abruptly, cringing, "...reckless, and a lot more vain; always seeking victories at any cost despite the odds," he says, begrudgingly explaining himself and feeling a lot like his own Primarch was simply speaking through him, "I probably would have petitioned to have you tried for the simple crime of... being, despite my actual... ahem—predilection."

You eye him for a moment, and there's a familiar warmth in your gaze despite the fact he just admitted, out loud, he'd have you put to death for the crime of stirring his cock in another set of circumstances.

"Why do you think that?" You ask, curious.

Cato raises a brow, "I would have painted you a Slaaneshi temptress, like I had thought originally."

"You thought that? Really? I hadn't even—" You scoff, looking at him with a quizzical little grimace.

The deadpan expression on his own face answers you before you can even get it all out.

"Okay," you groan. "Okay, I get it."

He gives your leg a squeeze, and pulls back.

"Good," he hums and moves to stand.

"Wait, Cato—stay," you mumble, "Please."

At full height in your cramped room, he furrows his brows, "I cannot remain here, not tonight, not in this."

You sit yourself on the edge of the bed and look up at him, and Cato's forced to peer over his gorget to catch the full extent of the pleading, doe-eyes you're putting into action.

Cato has to fight back a dopey smile at the insistent, honeyed look you grace him with as you stare up at him.

So pretty, even when you're playing at guilt-tripping him.

It's risky, and quite frankly his dumbest, most thinking-with-his-cock moment; but he still offers it.

"You could accompany me, instead?" He dithers, and eventually acquiesces.

Your head cocks to the side excitedly, "...to where?"

"My quarters," Cato says matter-of-factly.

You're suddenly up and scrambling off the bed to stand beside him, and he hands you his helmet off his hip. You take it without complaint nor reason, even though Cato'd been prepared to give you an excuse.

Oh, it's an alibi, oh, it's this—it's that—it's the simple fact you looked irresistible amusing carrying his helm.

He unlocks your door, and shuffles out—with you tailing him eagerly.

Laterally, it's not too far from his quarters, but it is tedious given the levels between; and it has to be done quickly—if not for the fact if others see they will gossip, he'd throw you over his shoulder like a dead-weight and break into a run. So you need to keep up with his rush, given you wanted to follow.

He hastens down the corridor, and up a flight, and you keep pace, surprisingly.

Your breathing is a little heavy, but Cato attributes that to you having just scaled a fair amount of stairs, for a baseline.

He lingers at the top, in the elevator bay; and you bumble up to him and take the spot behind him.

Cato activates the lift and sighs as it begins to grind it's ascent into existence.

He's stunned to have not heard a peep out of you yet, and honestly that—hold on—there's a hand on his rear, and small fingers depressing the bodysuit over his left glute.

"Get off of there," he snaps, "We are in public."

"I'm just leaning to catch my breath," You huff, squeezing him a little.

Fifteen minutes ago you were sulking and seething, and now you're straight back to bothering him for entertainment.

"Don't start," he sighs, and takes a step aside from you—desperate to not dignify the heat crawling up his neck.

"What will you do?" You scoff, and he all but whips around at your snarky tone, "Snort and sneer me to death? I just fought you off with a book."

Cato rolls his eyes.

"I can and will use things against you," he says, a slight hint of a growl trailing his words.

You raise an eyebrow.

"Such as?"

"I know how easy it is to render you docile and silent, as you ought to be," Cato scowls harshly, putting some finesse into appearing menacing.

It does not work.

"You think I'm some animal to be scruffed?" Your laugh is painfully endearing, but—but he's firm in his rapport. At least, he's trying to be firm. One part of him certainly is firm and hard... and straining against his inners—stop.

"Much the same, seeing as you would preoccupy a single hand at most," he grits out flatly, but his temper wavers when he realises his own statement's double meaning—his cheeks feel a little warm, and it aggravates him that he reacts so easily.

You raise an eyebrow, staring at him, "Just your hand?"

He fights the urge to pout at the sheer cheek of you, and the lurid smugness you're letting show so brazenly.

It's a common situation now: you say something erring on insult, smile a tad, and then the brain in his cock takes the reigns from the one in his head. He thought he was past swooning starting at your antics by now; or at least he hoped to have become a lot more immune to it.

But no—despite being the belligerent, bitter bastard he is, you still manage to ferret out a weak spot for yourself in his hearts.

"I ought to take you over my knee," he says so softly it's practically an oath to himself.

Nonetheless, you apparently catch it—and blink dumbly up at him for a few seconds; a slow, creeping flush steadily finding it's place on your cheeks as you swallow so hard he hears the cartilage in your throat click.

The lift comes to a halt, and he all but harries you off it.

Thankfully, it is standard rest hours for the Victrix; that is to say those who aren't bedded down are likely on jaunts elsewhere in the ship.

It's the perfect opportunity to sneak you inside, in short.

The grand, carpeted corridor is empty, and you ogle it; and it's likely your first time having been near higher standard Astartes accomodation.

"I'll be back—" He opens the door in a quick input of numerals and ushers you in swiftly before huffing; "Don't open for anyone, not even Guilliman."

You nod and step inside, looking back at him a little sheepishly with his helm held to your chest; as the sliding mechanism activates, clicks shut, and promptly dead-locks behind you—while he quickly thumbs in his security code.

He breaks into a sprint to the nearest armour chamber, which is thankfully on this level; if not an eight minute jog at Astartes speed.

At first, Cato asks the mechanicum disarming staff to show some haste in doffing him from his panoply of ceramite—but he quickly loses patience and growls at the serfs who try to drag out the whole ordeal with longwinded rights and sermons while the adepts' machines hex-key open his vambraces. Part of the ordeal ends, war-gear shed, and Cato practically hisses at the gathered attendants when he starts to wrestle out of his body-glove and they try to smear him with unguents. He does, however, allow them to administer local numbing agents and analgesics for the more tedious, biological matters of unlinking from his interfacing.

They hose him down instead of scrubbing him at least, and Cato's glad that someone in that Void-damned room is listening to him.

He hurriedly lathers his arms and legs, dipping a cupped palm back into the presented urn of warm, fragranced oil to cover his neck and underarms—and bending, creasing points, as is typical.

He feels a little wobbly as he puts his sandals on at the hasty loss of the armour's weight—and in that aforementioned hurry, he trips a little while he tugs his tunic over his head and knocks over the servitor, who then knocks over one of the serfs, who then knocks over the tech adept.

It's not Cato's finest moment, surely, but he's in about as much of a rush to get moving as an Astartes can be in a non-combat environment.

He doesn't stop, because he has better things to do—more specifically, he has you to do.

He makes his way down the long winding halls, sprinting between the gaps in onlookers eyelines, stop-starting, like a fool. But damn, if he isn't on a mission with the thought of you waiting on him hanging over his head.

"Sicarius," the Chapter Master's voice abruptly greets curtly.

Cato swallows a scream and takes a step backwards, immediately entering grappling stance.

The aging Primaris seems to realise he's genuinely surprised him and raises a grey brow.

Cato rights himself with a forced cough and stumbles a little, "Lord Calgar?"

A huge power fist comes to rest on his tunic'd shoulder to steady him, "I did not intend to shock, but there is something you must hear of," Calgar says, manoeuvring to allow space for him to walk beside.

Cato matches the broader strides of the Chapter Master, although with him being a Primaris and Cato out of his war-gear—it's a tad more effort than normally required given the size disparity.

Marneus Calgar is typically a man of few words when he's not seized by his passion for monologuing... but he certainly has plenty words when he has gossip.

"I have a suspicion," Calgar huffs.

Cato swallows the lump in his throat, playing along, "And I assume you're not at all responsible for that suspicion travelling to other ears."

"Of course," The Chapter Master shoots him a downward, sidelong glance with his good eye. And if Cato didn't know any better, he'd have been amiss to the glimmer of amusement there.

Abruptly, Calgar pauses in step and quietly remarks, "One of our brothers is aberrant."

The metaphorical leaden brick that hits Cato in the temple works in his favour, because it makes it seem like he's in disbelief rather than panic.

"Corruption?" He hisses, eyes narrowing.

Calgar's grey brows furrow as he shakes his head, "Aberrant, Cato—not chaos-tainted, insofar as I am aware."

"How?" Cato snaps, and again, his bemusement that Calgar didn't equate the two for some reason surely works in his favour, making it look like a sincerely shocked reaction—but the problem remains that he, personally, would equate them. Throne, there—there must be a reason he's acted on his urges, there must be something he can blame.

Calgar purses his thin lips and sighs, "I have on good reason to believe there is a sort of... fraternisation is occurring."

"Really?" Cato huffs, he's simultaneously stunned and horrified that this conversation is even happening. Because if Marneus doesn't think it's the work of the Warp's wiles, then it can't surely have just been his own love partiality for you—that damnable, incessant yearning to have you close, and warm, and tucked against his side.

"And by that," Calgar starts, "I mean that one of them is engaging in baser ventures."

He tries very hard not to laugh out of sheer mortification, and the mental pict of Calgar clutching a string of pearls like a senile ecclesiarch.

"Are you certain?" Cato says, despite the looming dread.

The Chapter Master nods stoically, "I chanced upon an area reeking of Astartes sweat and... intercourse."

When every word may damn you, it is better to say nothing at all. And Throne, he can't bring himself to speak regardless of the fact; because his balls are in his throat. Even if it sounds as though Calgar's largely oblivious to the truth that the Astartes is him—Cato Sicarius—and although he is partially thankful he's in the clear; if Calgar's got your room identified as the source, you're in the hot seat. Every facet of your little existence would be so over for you it's almost unfathomable. Even if you escape the judgement of the Legionnes, you would be hunted down by the Assassinorum, in and beyond any Imperial system; fuck, he's going to have to smuggle you—

"I was sequestered elsewhere urgently, and I did not chance where it was coming from," Calgar continues, "But I know it occurred somewhere in the northeastern apartments."

Cato fights for his life not to sputter out a relieved sigh and buckle at the knees, boneless on the floor.

The ventilation systems must have dispersed the smell, which would have thrown off Calgar's vomeronasal organ.

He rejects most aspects regarding godhood placed upon the Master of Mankind ever since his agonising jaunt in the Warp, and from his conversations with Guilliman—but surely the Emperor must have leaned over on His throne and pelted a holy, righteous wrench at Calgar's big nose that morning.

The Emperor protects, albeit when He comedically feels like it.

"I will keep an eye out for... un-sanctioned behaviours."

"Report them to me, or Guilliman, should you find anything—no chaplains," Calgar says at last, and comes to a halt in a fork in the hallway. "Nonetheless, keep your wits about you—I must get going."

Cato blinks as Calgar rounds on his big heel, "Another vox-haling?"

"No," he sighs. "A meeting, for the next six hours."

"With the planetary governor?"

"No," Calgar says again, face completely dead-pan like a corpse, "With my cot—and if anyone needs me, tell them to piss off unless Guilliman's dying. Again."

Then he shoots him that wry, amused side-eye once more and stomps off down the adjacent passage.

Cato stands stunned in the hall for a brief time, genuinely flabbergasted.

Then he's a trans-human on a mission, thundering down the corridor—his mind immediately concocting several protocols to prevent the previous situation occurring again.

Firstly, the instant he gets to his quarters, he's going to stuff his incense burner into the ventilator grate.

Sound won't be an issue, he knows his chambers are proofed—surely not because he's woken screaming in that room without anyone saying anything. But that's besides the point, because the only screaming that's to be happening is his final plan of action; namely that, lastly, he's going to slide into you and have you crying his name—

Cato doesn't even consciously remember arriving at his door, nor coding in his numerals and doing the same behind him; but he's certainly in the present when he sees you.

Something in his chest lurches to a halt at the sight of you tucked in his sheets, the thundering of his twin heartbeats slowing and easing to a lulled calm.

There's less candles in his room than yours, but what little of your hair that peaks from beneath the blanket is bathed in flickering, warm light when he approaches.

His helm's lying against you atop the thin cover, and you're snoring softly.

Cato nears, and—with nobody to judge him, including you, simply stares.

Throne, he could live this scene out every day of his life and never tire of it—but matters need attending before he can bask in the domesticity.

Dutifully, he grabs his incense holder and follows through with his plan of action.

He doesn't intend it, but he wakes you at some point while jamming the vent back into place; and you groan softly, rubbing your eyes as you stretch and sit up.

The sheets over you slip away as you do, and he daftly fixes his haze at the drowsy, stark-naked Ambassador in his bed.

"...Cato?"

He swallow the proverbial bolt round lodged in his throat and grunts.

"When..." you pause to yawn, "When did you get in?"

It takes him a second to register the question with how intensely he's focused on ogling your tits, but eventually "...a few minutes," leaves him as an answer.

You blink lazily and harrumph, then slump back—and he's sure it's intentional, because the way your body curves with the motion is almost like you're presenting yourself. The sheets are low on your hips—not low enough that he can really take an eyeful, but the temptation of it raw and syrupy in his mind. What he can see is the warm, soft skin of your navel and stomach offered up to his roving gaze like a hunk of meat. It's bait, and it's obvious, and he's a slavering, starved dog in that instant.

He sits himself on the edge of the thin mattress, kicking off his sandals—and leans over you, breathing controlled but fast.

He splays a palm on your side, dragging it up, tracing.

You fuss a little, wanting.

He manoeuvres himself atop you, and you pout, as your elbow digs into the mattress.

He can tell in some fey way you're about to comment on the state of his bed—or rather, the lack of a real bed. Well, maybe not fey, it's mere prediction given your habit of complaining. You've probably been stewing on making a remark about it the entire time you've been dicking around in here. There's no headboard, no duvet. It's closer to a big, thin cushion on a fold out, bolted to a hinge on the wall at the top end.

You grumble, "This is the worst bed I've ever actually lain on," and there it is—the nagging, the backtalk.

"My mattress on Talassar is far nicer," he hums, nosing into the crook of your neck and sighing contently.

Your voice is barely a mumble as you say, "Well, we're not on Talassar—that's for sure."

"We could be," Cato mouths against your skin as he ventures lower.

"What?" You sit up a little and displace him enough that you can meet his gaze, and your eyes lock onto his in a hasty, focused manner—then Cato feels translucent again. As if you can see him for everything he is: prideful and doltish, disgustingly predictable—you've got him eating out of your hand.

"We... we could go to Talassar," he blurts out, one of your breasts against his chin. Then he ducks lower—planting a kiss just above your bellybutton. His voice comes out muffled against your skin, swallowing thickly, cotton-mouthed. "I'm sure I could... find an excuse, logistically."

The look you're giving him is just as flushed as his own face feels.

Cato Sicarius, High Suzerain of Ultramar, babbling—once again. Reduced to an illiterate, juddering wreck. His Astartesian dignity, honour and status petering to nothing. You have him swooning, on the back foot. Earnest and vulnerable—Throne, it makes him hot under the proverbial collar.

Cato stalls for a second, pursing his lips before digressing, "I could... I could petition an excursion to Glaudor to Guilliman, and then... arrange docking at Perusia."

Why does he feel so heated talking about this? Why is he, a several hundred year old, trans-human killing machine, flustering saying these things out loud?

"I don't actually know much about Talassar, aside from—well, aside from Guilliman's assigned readings on the Void Tridents, really."

Cato huffs, "I am distantly related to their Lord Commodore, Theodro Vethrus."

"Really? Huh..." you squint, trying to parse out his expression, "So do you... like him?"

Cato nods, "He's competent."

"High praise from you," you laugh softly, and wriggle yourself down—closer to eye level with him. "So what w-would we do? On Talassar, I mean..."

He breaks eye contact and stares at your lips instead, rearing up from you a little, "Well, there's a large hinterland that's quite nice in spring when it's not raining... and my Ancestral seat, on the coast. People sometimes swim and such, there—"

"I've never actually swam at a beach, before."

Cato harrumphs, "Really?"

"Never," you pout.

He smiles softly, "That can be remedied."

From the higher rooms of his duchy's fortress, you can get a good look at the long isthmus that sometimes peaks out from afore the sea walls when the waves calm down bi-yearly.

It's nicer on the other side where it's too small of a cove to support vessels, where the submerged canyon redirects the immense tidal forces sidelong.

You can swim in the carved rock lap pool, like he used to.

Because he's not about to run into the waves with his Tempest Blade should one of Talassar's less hospitable locals swim under the marine nets.

That, and to hell with picking the sealant-putty out of his interfacing ports. The annoyance of that is almost as bad as to be without it, and chock full of sand at exposed nerve points. With that mental deliberation settled, he lays both palms flat to the mattress supporting him either side of your shoulders, and raises a brow when your hand touches his chest.

Absentmindedly, he weighs the pros and cons or giving you the leeway to continue groping; it feels nice—but there's an aspect of mischief to your eyes he finds suspicious.

You start squeezing at his pectoral, fingers bearing down; watching the dense muscle contort and bulge.

"You really ought to bind these," you hum abruptly.

He scowls down at you, "I am not binding my chest."

"Why not?" You retort.

Cato sniffs derisively, "They are not breasts."

"Riiiight..." You drawl, dragging out the word still pawing at his left pectoral. "In my professional opinion, they seem pretty breast-like to me."

"They are not. Fucking. Breasts," Cato snarls, enunciating himself sharply while puffing up.

"No need to get defensive," you trail off, eyebrow quirking up slyly; laying the faux-pas down heavily, purposefully trying to irritate him by nipping at his metaphorical heels. "It's just that—well, even though they're hairier, they do feel simi—"

"That's enough talking out of you," he says, and promptly seizes you by the chin with his mitt, closing your mouth with his hand and effectively silencing you.

But stifling you had not wiped the smug, leering smile off your face. Yes, he can fucking feel it, you little bitch.

"You aren't funny," he hisses.

You grunt at him, huffing and puffing through your nose as you attempt speech even though your maw is held shut.

"Don't say something stupid," Cato frowns, and loosens his hold enough for you to get a few words out.

"I'd wager you could lactate w-wuh—with—" you race to say, thrashing as he quickly manages to shut you back up with his palm.

Cato tries not to grumble at the fact you're wheezing hysterically through your nose.

"Every time I think you are above something, you find a way to sink lower."

In response, you start thrashing, writhing enough in his grip to get four single words out from between his big fingers, "Sink—i-into your–cl—uh–eavage—" you manage to sputter, laughing behind his hand.

"I'll sink into you in a moment, if you do not stop," Cato growls openly.

You go still almost immediately, and whine against his palm.

"Really," he sneers, flabbergasted as he pulls his hand away and raises a brow, "Are you getting off on this, you degenerate?"

The comment clearly also stirs something in you, because then you're swatting at his face—missing, yes—but the effort still infuriates Cato to no end.

He rears back in avoidance, still keeping you nice and muzzled by his palm, but you manage to clap a hand around his mouth.

You push at him and squirm, fussing.

Then he inhales.

It's a little surprising his nose finds your fingers smell of molasses, and that means slick—the lingering hormonal melody of 'please?' is so blatant it's almost pathetic.

Cato raises an eyebrow and moves his hand from your face to ensnare the one you have on his, keeping it close.

"Is that why you're being such a scathing bitch? You're just impatient?" He scoffs, purposefully trying to taunt as he sniffs them again, just to be sure—and then licks across the underside of your pointer and middle, "Were these not big enough to entertain you while I was gone?"

You whine, flushed red with embarrassment, and try to wretch your hand away pointlessly.

A belated snort escapes him and he gives you a long, judgemental glare, letting you boil in your own shame.

"Don't start," you huff, petulant.

Cato huffs darkly, "I didn't say anything."

You frown knowingly—and his head descends, lower and lower.

You're all too willing to let him arrange you near his face.

Sure, you wriggle and flush and grumble at him as he makes sure to make a dramatic gesture of the act, but you're eager—and he knows it.

With an Ambassador's plump cunt to his mouth, Cato can't complain. But you certainly try to, despite the juddering thighs squeezing fruitlessly against the sides of his head. It's hopeless to try to fend off an Astartes, especially like this.

"C-Cato, just—"

He rolls his tongue over your clit again and again, delighting in the blissful hormone feedback lighting up his brain and the sounds you're making adding to it.

Some part of him'd be content lapping at your swollen nerve for hours, until you're a boneless mewling wreck. Tormenting you, letting you beg for him while he just roils in the simple goal of getting you to your end a dozen or so times.

"Please, just f-fuck—" you sob, squirming as he laughs against your sex at how toothless your frustration is. "Fuck m-me, Cato, stop being a-a—"

He drags over your clit again and feels your hamstrings tense, a fresh surge of slick wetting his chin.

"I'm—I c-can't," a shuddering whine leaves you, desperate.

The air practically vents out of your lungs like you're winded as he sucks; until you're so terribly close, all he'll need to do is bottom out in you to make you cum.

And that's exactly what he does.

He organises your legs off his shoulders and about his mid section as quickly as he can manage and then—

"F-f—fuh—uck," You writhe, head thrown back while you squirm at the heavy press of him rocking inside you, making your breathing stutter for a second. It's the familiar, obscene view of watching the massive slab of cock press into a cunt that's almost too small for him. But given the fact you take it so well, who's Cato to deny you? You love it, and that's the real thrill. A surge of pleasure sends you bucking; legs moving mindlessly where they're hooked over his hips, but he keeps still, simply letting you suffer your end on the thick length of him—all the while enjoying the feeling of being stuffed in you the whole ordeal.

It's only a quick orgasm, but damn if it isn't a hell of a show.

You're panting deliriously, trembling on his cock; and Cato's about to start drooling at the tightness he's being treated to.

When you stop trembling around him, you fight to steady your breathing—huffing out; "I—I ought-t-ah... squeeze you o-out."

"You'd need a dozen Dreadnauts to drag me loose right about now," he snorts and tips his head close, nudging his temple to yours a second later before smirking proudly.

The heavy swell of his balls sit flush against your ass, and you arch up, scrambling to pull him down into an embrace.

The small hands on his back are a nice counterpoint, and he moans when your fingers glide up to his shoulder; trailing the side of his neck before cupping his cheek. You pet him against the slightly grown out grain of his stubble with a skrrch skrrch, and he hums contently—and when that little hand rises to his pet his hair, it's sublime.

Your touch shifts away and he grumbles.

"I didn't tell you... to stop, damn it."

"So you are enjoying y-yourself, hm?" You smile, cupping his jaw and petting slowly.

"I don't... don't know what you're talking about, woman," he lies, nigh beside himself; pressing his bulk against you while pawing and groping at whatever he can.

He'd try for one of your tits in his mouth if the angle he's currently reaming you out at didn't make it impossible.

You work kisses across the high point of his cheek and down the heated column of his throat; seemingly emboldened by the dulcet, appreciative hums and rumbles that escape from Cato the entire time.

Doused in affection like this, he struggles to form sentences, damn it all.

He lets his head rest close, assailed with honest desperation.

"But, I..." he starts quickly, feeling a weight in his chest. His brain wants him to finish with a whole other word he refuses to even think of; because even if he's itching to say that he—he loves adores you—he's too stubborn to say it without sufficient prodding; but there's an arrow of longing lodged in his gullet and thankfully it doesn't dare to leave his mouth. "But, I do enjoy... you."

The prettiest whine escapes you in answer, and the flutter your tight cunt around him proves that for once, he's somehow said the right thing.

You swallow thickly and dither for a second, genuinely flustered but still able to get the words out, "I-I enjoy you, too."

A heady rush of heat fans across his face as he tries to properly process the information. The road travels both ways, and everything is serene, he's happy—you're happy, and that's all he ever needs. The duty and the honour, and the courage, seem inconsequential to it all in that moment.

He turns and kisses you swiftly, before leering away.

You rear up trying to close the distance again, but then Cato finally thrusts—and your eyes swim in their sockets, thighs shaking, mouth open with the heady gasp that leaves you.

So he nears, and gives you the other kiss you were eager for.

It's far messier than the former; his big tongue sticking in, dragging across yours and stifling you, saliva smearing down your chin as Cato practically laps the moans out of your mouth.

When he arches back at last, you're flushed and red at the lips, fluttering your lashes at him; eyes falling half-lidded under his gaze.

"C-Cato, move," You whine, imploring, and there's another eager clench around him when he obligingly ruts forward.

Cato can see the lurid glee on your face as your focus shifts suddenly to the point you both meet. Folded under him, it's given you a perfect vantage of the slab-of-meat that is his cock absolutely jammed down to the base in your guts.

You shimmy a bit and moan, "M-More?"

The scoff that leaves him is disbelieving, but he's well aware you're goading him to really set about fucking you insensible.

"If I fucked you as hard as you liked, you'd be getting augmetic hips tomorrow," he snarks, punctuating his point my pushing forward a little, so he's jammed riiiight against the soft ring of your cervix.

A soft gasp is all the receives for a second before you're suddenly grinning, "You're n-not that big."

It's so blatantly a lie he doesn't even dignify it with an answer. Instead, he shifts back a hint so only a third of himself stays inside you, letting you grow irate at the denial.

"I w–uh-was joking, Cato... please, don't s-stop," You whimper mournfully, raising yourself a little in attempt to coax him to slam in... and suddenly, there's a small hand on his flank.

Cato ignores it, focused on getting some much needed humility out of your darling mouth; then the hand claws at his rump.

"Needy bitc—" His would-be snarky sentence cuts short as he jumps a little, surprised, and clenches his rear; causing him to buck forward, sinking down to the hilt in you.

The thrilled gasp you make is priceless, and the shivering heat around his cock is sublime—but damn you for using that instinctive muscle reaction on him—you clever little bitch.

"Stop grabbing my ass," he grumbles, scowling down at you.

A crooked smile graces your lust-dumb features before it contorts into a flushed keen—surely not because Cato grinds deep to wipe the smirk off your face.

"This ought to keep your hands busy," He chides, rearing back and reaching sidelong for his discarded helmet on the far side of his cot.

You eagerly take it into your embrace, and Cato's impulse control violently derails seeing your tits sandwiched to the side panel; the white and red plume brushing your cheek—and you looking up at him with wanton lust.

Oh, Throne of Terra—that looks...

Cato swallows the saliva that suddenly over-accumulates in his mouth.

It's lecherous, and a glaring hypocrisy to everything the Legiones Astartes stands for—but there's something painfully enthralling about the visual that riles him up to strain at the bit like a warhorse.

Throne, he wishes he could fuck you in full-plate; just to see you drip and squirm, the adamantine of his thigh plating against your tender rear—the gooseflesh cold ceramite earns out of you to contrast the big hot slide of him into you. If only there was a way to keep the comfort of familiar war-gear upon him and the bliss of your soft skin on his simultaneously.

But he's got more than one round in him, and you've signed the warrant to be fucked to hysterics with all your insufferable antics earlier, no matter how cute you're acting now.

He's not going to last long.

Not like this.

Not with you so painfully eager, and pretty, and warm, and sweet.

He can't help acting on the urge to absolutely plough into you like his life depends on spilling inside.

"Ca–ah—to, Cato, C-Cato—" you drool, eyes shut tightly, fingers white with the exertion of keeping a grip on his helm's respirator. Each time you cry out his name it's followed by the sticky plap-plap-plap of his balls against your rear, and it's enthralling feeling you twitch and cramp on his length in rhythm with each stroke.

"Aren't you such a good little fucktoy," Cato pants, grinning when you nod on instinct. "Holding an Astartes' helm for him... while taking his cock."

A strangled 'y-yes' escapes you, breath fogging condensation against the cold steel of his helm.

"Perfect," he grunts, "My perfect... little whore," gritting his teeth, "You'll let me fill you, won't you?"

Another gorgeous few bleated notes of 'yes, y-yes, yes' meet him in answer.

"You want it here?" Cato hisses, breathlessly punctuating himself with a grind, "That's it... that's what you want?"

And that comment apparently does you in at last.

The pathetic little sob that pairs along with your frantic nodding makes him salivate like a rabid dog.

Your thighs judder as he pulls back to slam in, fruitlessly trying to lock at the ankles around the wide span of his hips; vainly attempting to keep him still—squeezing tighter and tighter as he keeps driving home into you—and the feeling is ecstasy, much like the view. You're so red across the cheeks it's almost the same colour as his plume, and you're hugging his helmet close, making the sweetest hiccuped sobs of pleasure against it.

He grits his teeth at the tightness that rewards him for pushing you to finish, helpless to it doing the same. Rutting into you, filling the eager hole he's sheathed in.

Cato slumps forward, shivering; careful to not squish you and his helm beneath his bulk despite the daze of him emptying a load in you—keeping pace even when the stimuli becomes unbearably tender and your heels dig into his flanks.

Heaving, he halts at last after the pleasure begins to really hurt, and meets your hazy gaze with a long, content sigh.

"C-Cato," you start softly, and nose against his cheek.

"Yes?" He begins in an airy tone, looming close to your ear and letting his exhale taper off into a long, curious hum.

"Your helm's d-digging into my ribs..." you cringe, and he immediately lifts himself away with a strong hand and pulls his helmet away and to the side.

Redness in the vague outline of the ceramite is imprinted on the soft skin of your side and he tuts, hand tracing the minor injury.

Kneading the area a little, you start to squirm, and Cato's suddenly hyperaware he's still inside you; and looks down.

He's fucked your combined fluids into a frothing mess.

With an air of unimpressed amusement, you snort at the show he makes of pulling out—he grabs you with a mitt on the underside of each thigh, functionally spreading you as inch after thick inch drags free so slowly it's almost jarring just how much of him you fit. The flushed head of his cock pops out, dripping a final fat rope of cum across your vulva; and then your overfilled insides start leaking more.

"Still got the implant?" Cato queries, using his thumb to pull your labia aside and eye just how deep he's emptied into you.

"Yes," you snicker weakly, "Y-Yes, I do—why?"

"It's a simple question," he tuts.

"I know w-what you're really asking, Cato."

He raises an eyebrow, "It's got nothing to do with the fact you're hard to avoid finishing inside."

A laugh leaves you like a bark, "You've never tried to a-avoid it."

"You'd throw a fit," he shoots back, and shuffles over to lie beside you on his back.

With a disgruntled huff you retort, "H-How would you know?"

"I remember your opinion on a certain... 'theoretical hypothetical scenario' quite well," Cato says slowly, and prides at the flustered smile you fight to hide in his peripheral vision.

"I... I stand by that statement," you sigh, still half-smirking.

He pouts, "You do, do you?"

"Yes," you huff, "Because now there's the t-temptation of leave to a seaside paradise on the proviso of being gravid," you say pointedly, and roll onto your side to face him—worming closer until your cheek rests on his pectoral. "Which becomes more tempting by the minute."

"You lazy little shit, I never said you had to be pregnant to get there," he scoffs, grinning, sitting up and resting his back to the wall. "Besides, I can assure you Guilliman's homework will find you even on a barren death world."

"I'm sure I can come up with something," you say, glaring at him with a conspiratorial smile. "And what was that about me not having to be knocked up to get this vacation?"

"The stipulation is I'd have you squirming on my lap daily," Cato rumbles, eyeing you arranging yourself to settle atop him. "Hourly, even; and the side effect of that may very well be a procreational one—"

"Such an egalitarian bargain," You snicker softly, saddling yourself on his hips instead of remaining prone—lifting your legs, straining to splay yourself wide enough to let him slot between them. "You're a better statesman than I thought, Commander Sicarius."

He rumbles a smooth subvocal sound of assent, and the big palms on your hips slide to cup the flesh atop your thighs.

The simple feeling of your warm skin pressed to him, and he is panting softly through his nose already. You kiss him then, with a tender sigh—more a sweet thing than a desperate scramble.

Cato stares when you pull away, keen eyes lingering on your own as you look up at him.

Something about that look plays havoc with his mind, and your next words double down on the heat in his blood, "Does the Grand Duke want for heirs so badly?"

"Fuck, yes—well, no—but... should one of your gene-stock occur by chance, who am I to object," he jumbles his words a tad when you reach down to hold his cock straight.

Throne, he wants it; he really does. Even if it's more likely considered a luxury well beyond anything he deserves, he wants you beside him in whatever way, shape, or form you'll allow.

"So," you snort, and the thick head of his length catches at the rim of your still-dripping cunt, "I'm to be an infant factorum?"

"Duchess," he groans, bristling at your soft lips against his cheek in unison with you sinking down, down, down to the hilt on him. "You're to be... a Grand Duchess, moron."

The languid sigh you make when he's buried in you is so content he's genuinely giddy as you ask, "I-Is that so, Cato?"

"You're going to adore every second of it," Cato rumbles softly, palming your ass. "Spoiled little heifer, that you are."

You make a strangled sound at the harsh grope of your rear and smile against his jaw, "...what's a heifer?"

"A female bovine that's never calved," he expects a slap for that—and yet it never comes.

You lean away, looking deeply unimpressed, and he sulks a little because it's not the reaction he was after. But it's a reaction nonetheless.

"Why do you, as an A-Astartes, even know that?"

"When Guilliman's mood ebbs to a trough, he lectures me on farming techniques," he says offhandedly, "He does so for hours."

Cato feels strange talking of his Father, the Lord Primarch, when his balls are currently smooshed against your perineum and his cock is playing whack-a-mole with your cervix.

"Would t-that make you a male bovine, then?"

Cato considers for a second before arching close to drag his tongue across your throat, grinning.

"So this i-is a breeding attempt b-by you?" You laugh with a daft, pleasured sort of delight and lift yourself a little, fucking yourself on him at your leisure.

"Yes," Cato pants, and rolls his hips upward—meeting you in the middle.

The contact makes a lewd plap along with a mixed combination of his moan and yours.

"W-Well," you sigh, "You're really trying—ah—aren't y-you, Cato?"

"For once," he rasps, mouthing a nice big bruise onto the soft skin on the side of your neck, "Keep talking."

"S-So, how m-many do—" you start meekly, stuttering a little with hesitation; your mouth to his ear. "How many do y-you want?"

The question makes Cato's head spin.

A sound that he can only assume is a braying moan escapes his gullet, because all his focus is cross-haired on the implication you've just given him on a platter.

"You're... you're going to get that implant removed next cycle," Cato pants, raring. "And," he bites out as he struggles not to just give in to the moan trapped in his throat and forsake words altogether. "You'll let me... let me breed this eager cunt of yours, won't you?"

The shaky gasp that leaves you in answer is divine, and Throne, aren't you the perfect little wife whore.

Then you nod, and that fucked-out smile is the most gorgeous thing Cato's ever seen.

It's conjecture, it's fantasy. Because Guilliman's going to skin him if anything like that ever gains actuality—and he may still very well be chemically sterile, after all of this; but it feels right to indulge in that impossible want at this instant. He'd take you as a bride, by the sea—in the high courtyards that look down at the great harbour. He'd have his pretty little wife, maybe a dozen bairns as stubborn as himself and as insufferable as you—and everything'd be perfect. He doubts you'd allow that many, but it's a discussion point. He'll barter—hell, who's he kidding. He'll take anything, even if it's just the two of you.

Whatever you'd ask he'd give; because in the end, he'd enjoy nothing more than to have you with him—and whatever boon might come from that conjunction—something made out of love, that he's not supposed to have.

He takes a firm hold of your hips on either side and bounces you, managing to steal a kiss on the up-lift and ripping a moan out of you on the down-pull—again and again; until you're squirming, slumping forward, squeezing on his cock as you're forced into a racketing orgasm.

Overwhelmed, you all but squeal, scrambling at the wide expanse of his shoulders in an effort to lock him closer, clawing at his deltoids.

It's the last push he needs.

Cato empties his balls right where you want it, groaning and heaving in desperate gulps of air as he slumps back against the wall; dragging you with him.

Your head rests limply against his shoulder and you wriggle, overstuffed—taking every drop.

He grits his teeth as each shudder milks him dry, arcs of pleasure lighting up his nerves.

It leaves him huffing and puffing into your nape, grumbling to himself.

"Perfect," he whispers, nuzzling against your neck. He can feel the sticky heat of his cum dripping out of you and onto his thighs and balls.

Cato supposes if this is what de-facto baseline marriage is like, it's not half bad.

#cato sicarius x reader #space marine x reader #reader insert #cato sicarius #warhammer 40k #ultramarines #warhammer 40k x reader #warhammer fanfic #writing #calgar omg hiii #oughgh theyre happy and cute and im going to hit cato with a steel chair after this #my little scrunkly #cato sicarius my favourite cringefail husband #giant asshole wife guy #if the breeding thing wasn't obvious enough by the fact he oogles his load EVERYTIME im EVERY CHAP LMFAOO #HES FINALLY ADMITTED ITTTTT #ambassador please do not let him he will make your kids duel endlessly

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blingblong55 · 11 months ago

Text

My kind of love -Keegan P. Russ

Based on a request:

Just a thought : Keegan strikes me as the guy who would hold wife! reader close to him when they sleep in their bed. Or he'd carry her when he finds her asleep on the couch. ---- F!Reader, fluff/romance, established!relationship, boyfriend!keegan, cuddling ----

A/N: thanking Bon Iver and Niall Horan for this fluff🙏

It's four in the morning, Keegan comes home after nearly ten months of deployment, his duffle bag placed on the floor. Steps soft to not wake you up, after all, he is meant to surprise you with his early arrival. As he was about to go and check on the dog, who slept by the sofa, he noticed a blanket, your blanket. He approaches you, his gaze softens the second he watches his beautiful sleeping. You look so peaceful, so calm and in this moment when things for months went so wrong, this view is all he can adore.

"My love, I'm home," Keegan whispers, in his arms, he carries you to bed. They say people have a certain amount of luck and you are proof of that. Maybe out there in the cruel world, he doesn't have much luck but in this place, a warm, cosy and safe place he calls home, he knows luck is there. No one can say they are lucky because they don't have you and he does. A million men can say your name, a million more can watch you but just one gets to come home to you. One man in a sea of billions gets to kiss you, to listen to your ramble about crazy theories, to listen to you hum a tune and to love you and be loved back.

That man is him and in this precise moment, he knows why he proudly waited day and night to hide that ring in his pocket. If he wasn't a romantic, he would propose to you right here right now but he wants that moment to be magical because his precious girl deserves it. "Keegan, it's you," your voice so soft. Fuck, why must you make his heart melt like this? Why must you- damn you! Why do you love him? Why do you see what others don't and why must you make him blush just from the sound of your voice? Couldn't you be any less cruel to his weakened heart? Oh but he loves it, he loves that voice, that touch and stare, he loves the kisses and the 'Did your job go well? Are you hurt? Did you miss me?' he loves it all.

"Of course, it's me, darling," he sets you down on the bed and covers you with the sheets. "I'll be back," his lips touched your soft skin before leaving to take a short shower. You lay in bed, not being able to sleep without him anymore, you wait for him. Once he snuggles to you, you can feel his fresh skin, how his embrace wraps you with love and with care. "Did everything go to plan?" you ask as you nuzzle your face on his chest, a low chuckle escapes his lips as he brushes your hair. "It did, which is surprising," he kisses the top of your head and drapes his leg over yours.

In a warm bed, you and he lie, legs intertwined like they are the perfect match. Your back to his chest, soft breathing filling the room. As you close your eyes, he finds himself admiring your beauty from his angle. His arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close for the rest of the night as the other arm caresses your head. His fingers brush through the hair, and slowly, they make their way to your forehead, where he slowly catches himself falling asleep.

Until morning and maybe even after being awake, he keeps you in his hold and under those warm bed sheets. "I love you to the moon and back- no, let's keep going beyond the moon," he whispers as he keeps holding you close. If only he dared to propose already and make you his missus. But only the brave wait for the exact right moment.

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ghostlythunderbird · 1 year ago

Text

"The Pack" Oneshots ~ Nesting Pains

Pairings: Alpha!König, Alpha!Simon “Ghost” Riley, Alpha!Keegan P. Russ X Omega!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Just some nest building! Fluff

Words: 1,026

Author's Notes: Just a cute little idea I had brewing for a while. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: You're having some trouble building your new nest; luckily, the boys swoop in to help out a bit.

No. No. NO

Why did this all feel so off? Was it because you were attempting to nest in a new home, with a new pack, with Mates this time? You had no idea what was going on; the discomfort was more than likely coming from your inner omega. The only thing is that your omega has yet to have this much influence on your actions. Huffing in frustration, you set down the sheet in your hands as you stared at the scattered pieces of nesting material on the ground.

Pieces were strung out, and the attempt to begin the shape of the nest lay there, quietly mocking you as you sat in the middle of your new room. When did nesting become so difficult for you? You couldn't stop the upsetting chirp that left your chest. You laid back on the floor and stared up at the ceiling; maybe all you needed was a break in quiet and staring up at the plain cream ceiling.

However, the quiet was disrupted by the sound of footfalls thundering up the stairs and coming to a stop at your door. The door swung open, and the gentle giant of an Austrian walked in only to stop at the state of the room. "(Y/N)! Omega, are you ok? I heard you chirp, is something wrong?"

He questioned as he stepped around the edge of the would-be nest, coming close to your head. Looking down, he saw the defeat that marred your beautiful features. You were silent, thinking over your words before looking the Apex in the eyes. "My nest, Nothing feels right about any of this. I don't know where to begin or how big to make it for everyone." You sighed. Bringing your hands up to your face, you allowed your hands to engulf your face. Your frustration soon returned while you mulled over the task of attempting to start back on the nest; however, with one of your Alphas watching, you couldn't bring yourself to even move, only allowing silent tears to fall from your eyes.

Your fingers gently wiped away tears that lingered under your eyes. Turning your head upwards again, you gazed upon him. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be so emotional." You said. The Apex above you let out a sigh of his own "Nonsense, Schatz, This is important to you, so it's ok to get frustrated." God, this man was planning on killing you from his tender-hearted nature. At least that's how it felt when he smiled at you. You looked up into his eyes again. "Is something else bothering you as well, Schatz?"

You thought for a long moment before responding, leaning up from the floor and turning your head away from the Apex. "It's just.....all of this is so different. I know you are all going to be my mates, but all of this is just a bit much for me, I guess." You murmured softly. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand your statement. Kneeling, the Apex gently grasped your hands before pulling you to stand with him. "I understand, but don't worry, we will all figure it out. Now what do you need from us?"

Looking up at the Apex, you couldn't help but give him a sheepish smile. "How willing do you think the other two might be to at least help with how big I need to make it?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not even 15 minutes later, you had all three alphas sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor. It was comical to see three massive alphas sitting around, perfectly still to not disrupt their omega's progress. Keegan and Ghost were on the outer edges, whereas König was in the middle as he was the biggest. As for you, you were laying nesting material along the sides of Keegan and Ghost, slowly building the edges of the nest. The room was quiet aside from your hums and small growls when a blanket or pillow wouldn't lay right.

"Soooo, how big is this thing gonna be?" Keegan whispered, leaning close to König. The Apex looked at Keegan before his eyes darted back to you for a split second. "As large as it needs to be," He whispered back. A light blush appeared on your cheeks at the idea of having such a giant nest; the other two alphas chuckled at the look on your face.

Having your alphas here was nice as you built the nest you would all share eventually. It was rather relaxing, not only that this was the longest you've been around Keegan and Ghost since you first got here. Looking back to the Alphas, you moved behind them before gently tugging on König's shirt. The large Apex looked back at you, confused. "Omega, what is it?" Once again, you pulled, slightly rougher this time, but finally, the Apex got the hint.

Laying down on his back, he watched as you placed a pillow just above his head before you moved to do the same at his feet. After that, you took a step back to look at the beginnings of your massive nest, this will have been the most enormous nest you've ever made, and it seemed to fit all three alphas snugly. Speaking of your alphas, they all seemed eager to move, yet they didn't until you allowed them to.

Letting out a high-pitched chirp after some time. "Ok, you guys need to get out." All three looked at each other before letting out an exasperated groan. "It'll be done when it's done!" You stated. König looked at you while the two alphas on the edges moved to get up. "But don't you want any-" Before he could finish his sentence, you had let out a growl; all three alphas took that as their sign that they needed to get out.

As they cleared your doorway into the hallway, you instantly shut the door behind them. All three stood in silence as they looked towards the door before looking between each other. But only Ghost had one thing to say after the whole ordeal.

"Did she just use us as fucking measuring tools?"

Tag List: @silentmel, @thisperspective, @thebestgirlever2, @ghostalina, @pascallllllll1, @jujitsuito2069, @hypernovaxx, @frazie99, @v1naco, @littlezarp, @thatoneautor0123, @credince--writes, @4ndjelij4, @alonelyteenagebroncinbuck, @alonelyteenagebroncinbuck, @random0lover, @wintersnnowie, @operatorinvestigatesco, @marytvirgin, @nightriver99, @l-lend, @kelpiesummer, @quietlyignoringyou, @teehee-47, @warrior-of-justice, @missbunnybunny, @maechanexe, @numberonemetalheadexpert, @littlemiss-nightshade, @lillianastuff, @iconfusemyselfalot, @crazy-phan-girl13, @nightriver99, @multitargaryen, @xaestheticalien, @rnangoes, @demonking-69, @

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #call of duty #konig cod #omegaverse #simon riley x reader #cod #simon riley #keegan russ x reader #konig #konig mw2 #konig x reader #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan russ

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lemon-russ · 1 month ago

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You know what ELSE no one asked for?

Space wolf orgy ✨ 180 from the earlier fluff. Because much like Wolf Mother, there are two wolves inside me-- dragged off by inquisitors

Two writings in one night? That's right I'm in such a fuckin mood and none of it is going towards work or asks 💖 (I'm sorry I will get to those lmao) Heavily inspired by @pluvio-tea 's magnum opus ❤️

Tags: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk, and thank you @squishyowl for the dividers as always ✨

Leman Russ (and more) X F!Reader

CW: Space wolf gangbang, piv, thigh fucking, the space wolves and Leman never do anything to each other but incest? Maybe? Straight up 1000% no plot smut, full on porb no stops

“L-Leman-!” You gasp, writhing in your husbands lap as you come again.

The Primarch growls an animalistic noise, palming your ass in his hands and bouncing you on his cock.

“Are- are you ready for another-?” He grunts. Your slicked pussy makes sticky noises as he pumps you onto him, stretching you to your limit.

“Yes-” you pant weakly. Your embarrassment is long dead, all your mind can grasp is the feeling of your cervix being bullied by the head of the Wolf King's dick.

He growls a happy noise, slowly raising you off him. Your body reluctantly separates from his, and his retreating cock is follwed by a gush of his seed.

You whimper, but you aren't left wanting long. One of the bloodclaws that have been watching the exchange, waiting patiently for their turn while their primarch warmed you up for them, takes you from Russ.

The handsome young spacewolf hasn't been in enough fights to have any scars on his face yet, a curiosity in the rowdy chapter. You don't have much time to think about it before he's grasping you under the arms and carefully lowering you onto his pulsing cock.

You mewl another noise as you're filled again- the bloodclaw is smaller than your husband, at least, and the stretch is a little less taxing on your poor overused hole.

He wastes no time, quickly bucking up into you, holding you with both hands completely circling your waist. He pants and grunts and growls, and it's almost jarring how quickly you're being thrust into. Your hands grasp the wolf's forearms to try and find balance.

Leman smiles a pleased look, watching his son use you. “Beautiful pup-” he grumbles happily, stroking his already recovering cock back to attention. “You are so good for the pack, you bring such calmness to the younger wolves.”

You can't respond through the gasping pants being ripped through you at the bloodclaw's violent thrusting. You're glad Leman warmed you up, or this may hurt.

Another bloodclaw whimpers and approaches, glancing at Russ for permission. The primarch nods with a fanged smile, and the bloodclaw decends on you. The first one is annoyed at the interruption, but when the new wolf seems content to press himself between your thighs, your bullride continues.

The new space wolf has a scarred slash across the bridge of his nose, which somehow makes him look cuter than otherwise. He curls around you, growling little noises of pleasure as you're pumped up and down by the first.

Your eyes roll back. The new bloodclaws cock pressed against your clit, causing the very fast thrusts of his compatriot to give your clit much needed attention. The shocks of pleasure make you whimper, and you feel your stomach curl as you're pushed towards another orgasm.

The first bloodclaw hilts suddenly. He pushes you forward, toppling you and the second wolf backwards. You end up laying on the stomach of the thigh fucking wolf with the one in your pussy suddenly slamming into you, holding you like a cocksleeve by the hips.

You cry out as you come weakly, body already so worn from Russ’ uses of you. You turn your head to see the primarch fisting his cock, eyes locked to yours with a pleased smile.

Your twitching orgasm is enough to push the bloodclaw over the edge, and he slams against your cervix as he pumps come into you.

You whimper as you feel it fill you again, and bury your face against the chest of the scarred wolf.

When the first bloodclaw finally pops out of your abused hole, the one you lay on takes the opportunity to push you upright. Confusingly, he doesn't have you mount him- instead, he puts his precum slick cock back between your thighs. You raise a brow as he positions your knees together and gets back to thrusting.

You moan again as the friction on your clit resumes, shaking from overstimulation. The bloodclaw pants, watching your face with a flushed face and mouth agape.

“I- just really like-” he grunts in a sweet but strained voice, “h-how your thighs look- in those d-dresses you wear, m-my Lady-”

Huh. Well, you can't argue with that, you suppose. Though you can”t argue with much as your mind blanks from the friction on your poor, swollen clit.

You're forced over the edge again, shaking weakly and groaning breathy noises as the space wolf paints both your stomachs in his cum.

He lets you rest, panting under you, and Leman scoots over to support your twitching body.

“How are you fairing, pup?” He asks huskily.

You make a meek noise, and he chuckles. He motions to one of the waiting bloodclaws, and they bring you a waterskin. Leman carefully helps you sip, picking you up and cradling you in his lap again.

“You're doing wonderful, love.” He praises, petting your hair as you gulp at the water.

You smile up at him, feeling the contented warm buzz through your body. “H-how… many more…?” You ask quietly.

He smiles so sweetly down at you. “Only 5 or 6 more to go now. You rest a moment, then we'll pick up where we left off.” He grumbles, voice thick with adoration. He kisses you on the brow and you sigh a bit.

“Well-” you chuckle tiredly, “better get back to it, then.”

#Leman russ x reader #leman russ x f!reader #wh40k fic #my work #I am in a mood today idk whats going on #Making that your problem

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lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar · 4 months ago

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#roger daltrey #one man band #the old grey whistle test #1973 #russ ballard #bob henrit #russ your hair and face are beautiful i love you

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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Hello! May I request a reader x Keegan drabble where the reader is an artist in secret?

Sure, they roam the wake of no mans land in a ravaging war, but in the moments they are not on missions they capture the scenery around them. Wether it be on rooftops, surrounding woods or abandoned shelters, the reader revels in the few moments of silence they have before another bombardment of bloodshed is thrown their way to remember places or things around them before they eventually move again

How would Keegan react, let alone if he caught reader sketching him?

Thank you for your time, have a good day :D

—Paint The Dawn; Paint My Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [In the midst of war and death, there's little time for pleasure. All you had was a ripped-up sketchbook to call your own, its contents littered with the rough face of your comrade.] ❞

The camp is quiet, and you are tired.

Looking out along the wreckage of this wasted world, there seems to be no end to the broken valleys or the craters of rock—this desolation remains as if an angry God had thrown a tantrum, and smashed the earth to bits. Trees grew sideways, wreckage that could be bits of houses or even remnants of bone breed in the little spaces under moss and bush; where the rest died, nature took back what was hers. Thus, the cycle continued.

What breathes, dies, and with that firm and undisputable reality, you find beauty in moments like these.

You blink down at what still breathes of the patchwork lungs of No Man’s Land, pencil in your hand still for but a moment of red-eyed concentration. The deer was down in the dip below the Ghosts’ quiet camp for the steadily growing night—white where it should be a tawny-blonde shade. Barely breathing, you watch with half of its albino form sketched out in short bursts of graphite on your sun-bleached possession.

A sketchbook, old, and worn to the very binding of its pages, and yet to you a more prized possession had never been held in your grip.

So focused on the deer and its white shadow; its lithe body as it grazes along the forest floor amidst a soft rustling of leaves, you don’t notice the man behind you—a man supposed to be sleeping.

It’s a minute of looking at your awe-filled face before Keegan clears his throat, speaking in a low grumble. “Not every day you see that, huh?”

You startle back so quickly that your pencil slips out of your hand, bouncing off your thighs before clattering to the flat rock that serves as your lookout platform. A clink of metal on stone is all it takes, the pencil falling down into the lower land and striking through greenery as you gasp and snap your eyes away. The flighty heart of the deer all at once sparked in a puff of air from its nostrils and a flair of a raised tail.

It disappears into the bushes and its white flash is seen until the thick foliage swallows it again. You look back just in time to grace your eyes with one last glimpse.

A deep disappointment blooms and you level out a sigh as Keegan clicks his tongue, guiltily rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

“Shit, Sweetheart,” he hums, “didn’t mean to…” Keegan tapers off with a low groan. “I’ll, uh, get you a new pencil when we’re back, yeah?”

You stare at the forest a moment longer before huffing out and shifting—you turn and glance at the Sergeant before grumbling out, “You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on people, Russ. I don’t like it when it’s me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, his body still in gear and armed just like yours. Even sleeping, Ghosts bore the fangs of the living. Keegan’s face is down a mask, though, so you’re privy to see his built jaw and strong features in the moonlight. Black hair like a void.

He sighs.

“Again, didn’t mean to. Thought you knew I was there.” Your eyes roll, but a small smirk snaps your lip.

“Of course you did.” Huffing and shaking his head, the man comes to lean against your rock.

“What ya workin’ on anyways? Seen you scribblin’ in that thing every chance you get. Got curious enough tonight to ask when I saw you up during Ajax’s watch.” He blinks at you, swirling with curiosity and dim intrigue. “You take over for him?”

You smile, shrugging. “Maybe.” Keegan stares and raises a dark brow as your form leans closer, presenting your object of patience and smudged graphite. “You gonna wake him up?”

The man takes the object and studies your half-finished work with an acute eye, taking in the lines and erased bits that indent the paper. He tilts his head at it and a moment later he grunts an answer, lost in thought.

“Depends.” Blue meets your vision in a slow sweep. “You tired?”

Face burning, you clear your throat and begin to stutter a negative before the worst moment of your life takes place.

Keegan grabs one page of your sketchbook and starts flipping. Heart lurching and eyes wrenching open to the size of dinner plates, your hand snatches at the old cover—but not before the damage is done.

The dead-gazed Sergeant locks onto a perfect image of his own sleeping body from hours earlier. Drawn face soft and calm in the gray of blended material that you’d had to use your finger to achieve, and limbs loose; he almost seemed to come off the page in an intensive display of detail.

Keegan pauses and feels his jaw slightly slacken, eyes going that bit wider before his brows lift in shocked pleasure. Your hand latches onto the top of your book and rips it from the man’s grasp easily.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through people’s things?!” Your heart is racing, palms going clammy. At your chest, you hold your belonging with a tight scoff of embarrassment.

Keegan’s lids move up and down three times in quick succession before he replies. A tease is so deep in his words you cringe with a burning face.

“Anyone tell you it’s rude to watch people sleep, Sweetheart?” Glaring, you have to look away.

It wasn’t exactly common knowledge to others that you liked the gruff man, but if anyone took one look into your sketchbook they’d know the truth. Pages were dedicated to finding the perfect slant of his eyes—that structure of his jaw and his broken-one-to-many-times nose.

His lips and how his skin looked when he smirked.

Shame tightens your face and you stare hard at the trees a few feet away; the sleeping forms of your comrades. Until a smooth chuckle leaves you breathless.

A puff of air spreads over your cheek but you don’t dare turn your head.

Keegan whispers to you slowly, that gravel in his tone and his lips brushing against your ear as he leans closer to you—arms crossed in front of him.

“If you wanted me to pose there, Doll, all you had to do was ask me. No use watchin’ from a distance…I’ll give you the full tour.”

He walks off back to his mat of leaves and grass and you’re left gaping and choking on your own thoughts; honied vision dripping shock.

Keegan calls easily over his shoulder as if his comment hadn’t made your pulse pound, “I’m waking up Ajax—go back to bed. Scenery’ll be the same come morning.”

You breathe in his sly quip, “trust me.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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narcoticv3nus · 26 days ago

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Blue is the Warmest Color ♥︎ Keegan P. Russ

Kinktober Day XIV: Panties & Lingerie

summary: it’s your baby’s birthday, why not get surprise him with something special? tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, oral sex (f!receiving), praise, p in v, fluff, fingering, cunnilingus wc: 2k a/n: i need to post more keegan content

MASTERLIST

Your eyes traveled down the expanse of your body, slow hands working their way down your chest, skimming over your waist before resting on your hips. You stared at yourself in the mirror before turning the opposite way, your head turning to the side, your hand planted in your ass as you looked yourself up and down.

The fabric was incredibly soft, almost like a gentle caress against your skin. The delicate lace adorned your body with a graceful elegance without causing any discomfort or itching. The fabric was a pretty shade of blue, Keegan’s favorite color. It beautifully complemented the natural tones of your hair and skin.

Right on time, just as you were lost in your thoughts, your phone began to ring. Glancing at the screen, you saw Keegan's name and picture flashing, filling you with excitement. With a wide grin, you eagerly brought the phone to your ear, savoring the anticipation as you answered, "Hello?”

“Hey, babe,” he answered. The distinctive rumble of the car engine in the background of the phone call made it clear that he was behind the wheel, driving while he spoke.

“Just wanted to let you know I was on my way home,” he said, his voice low and warm with a distinct sharp edge.

A smile spread across your face, your heart rate spiking at the sound of Keegan's voice. Your pulse raced, but your mind remained clear. This was your chance to put your plan into action.

"Hey, handsome," you replied, infusing your voice with a playful yet seductive undertone. "Just finished wrapping your present... it's a surprise, though." You could already imagine his curious expression, eyes narrowing slightly as his interest was piqued.

Your fingers traced the lacy pattern along the waistband of your lingerie, savoring the moment. "Can't wait for you to unwrap it tonight." You heard his sharp intake of breath followed by a pause.

"Sounds promising," Keegan chuckled. You could hear the smile in his voice. The engine's rumble grew quieter as he seemed to shift gears, possibly accelerating a little faster than usual now. His curiosity had been stoked, and you knew it wouldn't be long before you saw that familiar gleam in his pale blue eyes.

"Well, I better hurry up then. Don't want to keep my beautiful woman waiting," he added, a hint of eagerness in his voice.

After saying your goodbyes, you clicked the red ‘end call’ button before tossing your phone on your bed.

You nibbled on your lower lip, feeling a wave of shyness wash over you. You had never done this sort of display before. You were worried you might come off as awkward and unconfident. It doesn’t matter now, you thought as the distinctive sound of the car door thudding shut, resonating with a satisfying finality, followed by the sharp click of the locks engaging.

The front door swung open with a soft creak, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. You leaned against the cool wall, your heart racing in anticipation as you saw Keegan stepping inside. He kicked off his shoes with a casual flick, the thud hitting the floor breaking the stillness.

As he straightened up, his expression transformed. A radiant smile spread across his face, his eyes sparkling with delight as he spotted you. A warmth in his gaze made you feel like you were the only person in the world. The dim light cast gentle shadows around him, enhancing the moment as he stepped closer. The light exuded a sense of comfort and familiarity that enveloped you both.

“Hey there,” he greeted tentatively, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you hiding from me?” he chuckled, making his way over to you.

“No, I just…” you trailed off, your eyes downcasted, unable to meet his gaze. Keegan opened his mouth to speak before his words died on his tongue as he rounded the corner. He let out a low whistle, the sound causing heat to rise to your cheeks.

His eyes followed the delicate patterns, tracing over your skin as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, I wasn't expecting this," He said, his voice a mix of surprise and admiration. He took a step closer, reaching out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing softly against your skin.

"You look stunning," he murmured, his voice low and sincere. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face.

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled back, meeting your gaze with a steady, reassuring look. "You don't need to be nervous," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "This is perfect. You are perfect."

You smiled wide, wrapping your hands around his shoulders, pulling him towards you as his hands wandered down your body, cupping the plush skin of your ass as your lips pressed together, his tongue seeking yours as his large hands squeezed.

You let out a gasp before it morphed into a moan as he kissed you with a newfound hunger, thrusting his erection against your stomach before he broke away from the kiss to catch his breath, a spark of playful mischief lighting up his eyes. With a firm yet tender grasp, Keegan lifted you off your feet, eliciting another gasp from your lips. He carried you into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

As he laid you on the bed, Keegan carefully removed his jacket and shirt, tossing them aside and onto the floor, his eyes never leaving your form. He let his hands glide over the silken fabric of your lingerie, admiring the way it contrasted with your soft skin. He leaned forward, pressing feather-light kisses along your collarbone as he undid the front clasp.

His breath hitched slightly as he took in the sight of your breasts, his hands cupping them gently. He loved how you looked underneath him—vulnerable yet confident.

He moved his lips lower, capturing a nipple in his mouth, eliciting another moan from you. He sucked gently, feeling your body arch beneath him, before releasing it to lavish attention on the other side. His fingers trailed down your abdomen, teasing the edge of your lacy panties, and he could feel the heat radiating from between your legs.

He looked up at you, meeting your gaze, seeking permission to continue exploring. His thumbs hooked onto the fabric, pulling it to the side, revealing your pussy to his hungry eyes. Keegan took a moment to appreciate your beauty, his heart swelling with love and desire, before kissing your inner thigh.

Keegan's breathing grew heavier as he reveled in your reactions. He loved how you melted under his touch, surrendering to the moment. His thumbs brushed against your sensitive skin, eliciting another shiver from you. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering above your core, before he pressed a soft kiss to your center, his tongue following the path his fingers had traced earlier.

He took his time, savoring each gasp and moan, letting your reactions guide his movements. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting them slightly to give himself better access. He could feel your muscles tensing, your body readying itself for release. Pausing briefly, he looked up at you, studying your flushed features, the way your chest rose and fell rapidly with each shallow breath.

Keegan watched your reactions intensely, his eyes never leaving yours. He loved how you writhed under his touch, your body's unspoken language telling him precisely what you needed. He could feel the tension building within you, and it only served to heighten his arousal. As his tongue swirled and dipped with increased pressure, your moans grew louder, your hands gripping the sheets tightly.

He loved the taste of you, the sound of your pleasure—it all fed into his desire. Keegan's mind was wholly absorbed in the moment, his mind silencing as he gave in to pure instinct. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and valley as he continued his ministrations. He felt your thighs tighten around his head, your back arching off the bed—you were close. With one final flick of his tongue, you cried out, holding Keegan still by his hair as you ground into his mouth.

Keegan stayed where he was, savoring the moment as your body trembled and spasmed. Once your breathing had calmed, he crawled up your body, kissing every inch until he reached your lips. He smiled against your mouth, his heart swelling with affection.

Keegan hovered over you, his breath warm against your lips as he watched the pleasure recede from your eyes. As you smiled back at him, your eyes heavy with satisfaction, he couldn't help but lean in for another kiss.

His hands roamed your body tenderly, enjoying the feel of her soft skin against his roughened palms. His fingers trailed down your body before tapping against your mound, tracing lazy circles around your still-sensitive clit, eliciting another moan from your lips.

Keegan took a moment to enjoy the sight of you spread out before him—flushed and panting—before lowering his head again. He continued his attentions, teasing and tormenting you until you were writhing underneath him again. He loved how you reacted to him; your body was expressive and honest. Everything was clear—your needs, desires, and love for him.

Once you came again, he finally allowed himself to indulge in his needs. He quickly shed his clothes before settling between your legs, aligning himself with your entrance.

With a wolfish smile, Keegan watched as your eyes widened in anticipation. The scent of your arousal filled the air, further fueling his desire. He gripped the base of his hard length, guiding himself towards your entrance as his gaze never left yours.

Your eyes locked, and he slowly pushed inside you, savoring the tight heat that enveloped him. Keegan groaned low in his throat, the sensation sending ripples of pleasure through his body. Once fully seated, he paused momentarily, allowing you to adjust before moving with deliberate strokes. His thrusts were deep and measured, each one eliciting a moan from you that reverberated through his chest.

As he set a steady rhythm, Keegan's mind began to analyze your responses, instinctively adjusting his movements to maximize your pleasure. He noticed how you gripped the bedsheets when he hit just the right spot, the flush that spread across your cheeks when he picked up the pace, and the soft whimpers that escaped your lips when he changed angles.

Your bodies moved together in perfect sync, each thrust driving away the lingering stress of the day. Keegan let go of all his inhibitions, allowing himself to be consumed by the sensations coursing through him. He held onto your hips, driving into you with ferocity.

Keegan couldn't contain his admiration as he looked at you, your beauty illuminating the room in a way that brought a warm smile to his face. He gently traced a finger along your jawline, appreciating the softness of your skin. He leaned in for another kiss, savoring the taste of your lips and the feel of your body pressed against his.

"Beautiful," he murmured before lowering his head to capture your nipple between his lips. Keegan reveled in your sharp intake of breath and the way your body arched toward him, your hands tangling in his short, dark hair. He moved his mouth to your other breast, lavishing attention on it while his hand continued to tease your sensitive clit.

His hands roamed over your curves, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. When your breath hitched and your body began to tremble beneath him, Keegan knew you were close. He reached down to rub your clit in firm circles, his touch sending you over the edge. Your orgasm triggered his release, his hips jerking as he came hard inside you.

He collapsed onto you, his weight supported by his elbows, as you both struggled to catch your breath. Your bodies remained entwined as you rode out the aftershocks of your shared climax, Keegan's heart pounding against your chest. He softly kissed your forehead, murmuring, "Happy birthday to me."

main masterlist, rules

#tw:nsfw #tw:rough sex #keegan p russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan p. russ smut #keegan p. russ x reader #keegan russ #keegan russ x f!reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan smut #cod keegan #2024 kinktober #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #venus.cod #venus.keeganpruss

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moodymisty · 4 months ago

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You know what I think? Since most of the primachs are emotionally constipated along with their legions except Vulkan. I headcanon that gestures ( like hugs or Emperor forbid kissing(on the cheek) that might be acceptable amongst friends. Your primach lover/husband probably won't like or think every male other primachs will try to take u away. If it's a baseline human then depending on the primarch they're getting unalived. Or Peter Turbo will most likely throwing them of a balcony. Sanguinius on the other hand I see him being more lenient... on the surface. The angel will probably be a little pissed off.

Bobby G I see him nipping it in the bud and Konrad will probably just eat them or send em to the next chew toy of the Night lords.

I think depending on the legion they'll be offended for the genefather if a human tried to flirt with their Legion Mother. Plus it aint like they're gonna get another one. Not in this lifetime at least. ex Blood Angel's and Salmanders

The night lords would deal with the homewrecker immediately to prevent Konrad from going off the deep end and repeat the flesh statue incident

Lorgar would probably see it as sacrilegious for quote 'Attempting to separate the bond of him and his love, his soul mate, and goddess. You must perish for that.'

Since most of the legion and primarchs see humans as expendable except the Salmanders. I wonder how it'll go over if reader was a human from Terra whose heart goes out for the common man. Or reader tries to save her friend by pleading for her primarch to forgive the 'transgression'

Ps. I see that afterwards reader won't have many friends at least outside of the space marines. Or any friends she does have will distant themselves to avoid triggering a jealous Primarch

Sorry this is so long. Just wanted to know your thoughts

I agree with this a lot. It's easy to see how they would misinterpret friendly gestures, or allow love to turn into possession. And as for the legion, they are vehemently programmed to protect their primarch and in their mind their primarch's beloved eventually in a way becomes part of them, and is wrapped in that vehement protection, but being a baseline it's ever worse. People just trying to talk to her and show her respect get threatened until she has no one but her primarch and his men.

also yeah... sorry i vomited some writing here real quick.

-------------------

“Please, calm down!”

The Space wolf lieutenant largely ignores your plea, standing tall and intimidating the man who sits at the left end of the table. The other astartes of your retinue are similarly on guard, both in defense of their lieutenant. You are frozen in your seat thanks to a ceramite gauntlet holding you down, the marine attempting to push his body between you and their new target.

“Our Wolf Mother is betrothed to Primarch Russ. And you, some measly baseline, attempt to steal her?”

The man glances to you briefly as you try to argue on his behalf, standing up.

“Lieutenant! He was only being polite, stop this!”

Perhaps the man’s choice in words was a bit tackless, but he had clearly meant not much by it, however the Wolves take even the slightest thing so incredibly seriously.

"You are a beautiful and smart woman," His hand reached forward to gently touch yours over top of the papers you have stacked. "If only I had gotten to you before the Space Wolves did!"

Normally your men listen to you well; If Russ issues orders your husband will quite obviously rank above you, but they still take your opinion into a surprising amount of account. But for some reason during these past few months, as they've begun to call you Wolf Mother, they have shown their teeth and threatened anyone who so much as comes within grabbing distance of you.

"This is ridiculous, quit this!"

You look to the man who has lost all blood in his face, under the glare of a massive Space Wolf with braids decorating his hair. "I am so sorry, there's been a horrible misunderstanding and I-" You choke on your words as the instigating Space Wolf turns to you.

"There has been no misunderstanding, he-" You open your mouth and quickly speak, cutting him off. "No, there has been! The man was using hyperbole, he didn't actually mean what he said!"

The wolf looks down at you, and you see anger in his face slowly simmer down. You silently thank the Emperor and breath a sigh, putting your head in your hands.

This behavior keeps getting worse; You feel like you're stuck in a vice trap. So many people fallen from your life because they fear the snap of a Space Wolf's teeth, or worse, their Primarch's. You know Russ is instigating this behavior, encouraging it, is part of it, keeping you feeling so suffocated. You're so tired, you don't understand why they're acting like this.

Your head in your hands you let out a shaky breath, pressing down on the corners of your eyes so water doesn't leak from them. This is all too much. As you lean back up, the lieutenant sees the redness in your eyes and while stoic, is still noticeably concerned that you're about to cry.

"Wolf Mother… Are you well?" You take a deep breath and clear your throat.

"I'm fine. We should go." When you go to get up again, the gauntlet on your shoulder gives way and lets you rise up. You dip your head at the man who is starting to have color return to his face, now that he no longer is being threatened.

"I am so sorry, on behalf of everything. We'll be taking our leave."

You move to walk away, and your retinue follows close behind; Like a shadow.

#reply #misty's book club #leman russ x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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angronsjewelbeetle · 7 months ago

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Fuck it I'm tired I'm half delusional and I can regret it in the morning. Oh well.

Primarchs and their favourite places to kiss ~♡

This may (is likely to) be out of character, many apologies.

Lion: Back of your hand. It's a classic, it's sweet, and he's not all that much of a physically affectionate bloke at the start.

Fulgrim: Tip of your nose and then rests his forehead against yours. He says it's "so you can gaze into his beautiful eyes and admire them", but it's actually because his eyes are windows to his thoughts and having you see his love for you is far easier than saying it out loud.

Perturabo: Your temple. He can still focus on his work while you demand affection from him (you're not demanding, he kissed you totally unprompted as you were walking past. He's just a bitch about it)

Khan: Your jawline. He kisses all over it and then may bite your ear to tease you. Not always, because he does treasure genuine affection, but when he's in a mischievous mood...well, >:)

Russ: Your neck. Specifically your nape and pulse point, he kisses your nape as an everyday sort of thing, almost even a greeting, while your pulse point is a little more...personal. Most go for the neck when they aim to kill something, after all, and he just wants you to know that he's protecting you, rather than a threat.

Dorn: Your cheek. It's soft, it's meaningful and it's as close to your lips as he can get without actually kissing you on them. He's a bit self-concious of the fact that his mouth is like three times the size of yours and he doesn't particularly like sloppy kisses unless yknow. He's.. distracted 😏.

Konrad: Your jugular. He's pressing his teeth to it more than his lips - it's not necessarily a threat, he's just not a very good kisser. But sometimes it's soft, softer than the down from Sanguinius's wings, on a rare day where he remembers that he CAN be gentle.

Sanguinius: Your inner left wrist. Another pulse point kisser but like...extra romantic. He likes to feel your heartbeat against his face to truly remind him that you are here with him. It keeps him in the moment rather than his mind spiralling into the future.

Ferrus: Your hands. He kisses each of your knuckles and then the back of your hand. If you catch him on a very rare day, he'll pepper his kisses all the way up to your shoulder and then your cheek, Gomez Addams style.

Angron: Your shoulders. Specifically the backs of them, he feels the need to be as far from your face when he kisses you because he doesn't trust himself not to rip your face off with his teeth. If you want him to kiss your face, you'll have to initiate it.

Guilliman: Your forehead/hair. He likes to kiss here because it means you can sit on his lap while he works and he can give you affection while doing it. Multitasking 👍. Every time he leans down to check one of his documents, he kisses you.

Mortarion: Your eyelids. He kisses both of them and then your forehead. He doesn't really like physical contact and isn't used to it, and it's sort of like he's appreciating that you see him, you're aware of what he looks like and that you still manage to show him affection.

Magnus: Your forehead. Smack dab in the middle of it, near the crown of your hair. When he kisses it, it sort of feels like he's kissing something inside of you. HE IS. He's kissing your third eye. The sneaky psychic bitch is kissing your third eye.

Horus: Your lips. He's a good kisser and it's easy to wipe your mind of your worries when he's distracted you.

Lorgar: Your hands. He gives the most devoted kisses to your hands it almost makes your lips jealous. The complete and utter reverence he holds for you is obvious with the way he drops to his knees to press a featherlight kiss to your fingertips and then the palm of your hand.

Vulkan: Your palms. He likes to kiss your palms, specifically your Heart Line (palm reader vulkan anyone??) on your left hand, and sometimes he'll tell you something silly and sweet like "mm, says here you'll have three kids and a mansion on the beach" while tracing your Life Line with his pinkie with the biggest grin on his face.

Corvus: On your cheek directly under your eyes. Yes, his nose does poke you in the eye sometimes but you'll have to deal because Corvus Corax Nuzzles Your Cheek Before He Kisses It. Corvus noses at your cheeks like a bird preening and then kisses you.

Alpharius: Everywhere. It depends on the day, really, sometimes it's your cheek, other times your ear, and occasionally your lips. It's a sweet surprise every time!

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #warhammer x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer headcanon #i apologise to the horus lovers #Ferrus gives me gomez vibes for some reason let the man have fun sometimes

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 1 year ago

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#379

“Hey Ryan. I’m hearing all over town that your Pa found out that you are a faggot…. Don’t walk away from me boy! This ain’t some trap. I have no problem with you being a sperm burper. Look, your Pa was going to throw you out of your house. He was going to come by to pick you up from work and take you to the bus station and leave you with a hundred bucks. I talked him out of that. Now get your ass over here.

“Do you recognize me?... Kinda? I work for the same company as your Pa. We don’t interact with each other too much in what we do, maybe once or twice a month. But today at lunch he was asked by John Gilbert about you, and he got pissed. He was telling everyone there that he found you giving head to a guy from out of town, and that he was going to kick you out.

“When everyone sympathized with him and went on their way, I went up to him and told him that I can take help him with his problem. He looked at me funny… kinda how you are looking at me now.

“Faggot, we may not have interacted other than a glance or two in town or when you would drop in to see your Pa. I’ve known that you have been sucking dick for a few years now.

“Oh yeah. You know that man you were blowing when your Pa saw you? He’s a good bud of mine. When Russ comes through town, we usually hang together. I know he connects with you and has been for a few years. He tells me all about how he’ll tie you up, sit on your face, and smack you around before pile driving into your cunt. This visit, he barely had time to say hi to me and to get that infamous blow job from you.

“So yeah, I know about you and your predicament. Russ was telling me you are a major horndog. I can easily tell that by the sizeable bulge in your pants, your mouth hanging open, and you can’t stop staring at my chest. So you like what you see?...

“Of course, you do. I like that you instinctively address me as ‘Sir.’ Russ also mentioned your natural propensity to submitting to assertive men. Get closer. Go on, if you want to touch my chest go ahead.

“Atta boy. You are going to see a lot of my chest. Lick my nipples. You will find out that my tits are hard wired to my cock. Oh yeah! That feels good. I’m going to train you on how to worship my tits to give me the most pleasure.

“But first, get out of your work clothes. I want to see my new toys. Don’t fucking hesitate. I waited for everyone to leave; so no one is around. Don’t make me repeat myself…. Good. You can expect to be naked back at my farm all the time.

“Damn, you are big. Great muscles. You are definitely one of the cornfed beefy boys around here, not like the nelly fag property I get in Denver or Dallas. How tall are you? 6’3” and 275 pounds? Damn boy, how big is that dick? Eight inches? Thought so. Turn around and grab your ankles…. Oooh beautiful beefy ass. And look at that cunt. That cunt gets used doesn’t it?

“Besides Russ, who has been in here?...

“Russ can’t be the only one. There have to be other men to make those lips that puffy.… You use dildoes?... I knew it! You fucking horn dog. It’s hard to believe that this ass hasn’t been taken by other men, but then again we are six hours from Denver and six from Kansas City and you don’t have a vehicle.

“Stand up. When I heard your Pa talking shit about you today, I knew I had to own you thinking that you would require a lot of training. But you seem to have what I’ve been looking for, for a long time.

“I told your Pa that I would take you off his hands. As I said, he looked at me kinda strange. I told him that I would take you to my ranch and he won’t see you again, other than some casual passing by in town. He was going to tell me to fuck off, until I offered him some cash. If he took it, he knows he can’t make any waves. He thought about it and took the money. I told him that he needs to be gone from his home tomorrow, so we’ll get your shit out of his place.

“Yeah, I bought you. I don’t have boyfriends or lovers, I have property—always have. It makes ending the relationship easier when I get bored. But I think with you, you are going to last a while. I haven’t had a big beefy bitch boy before.

“Russ was right, I am going to enjoy using you. I did talk with him earlier today and asked if I could take you on. It didn’t feel right not to ask him as he found you first. He was fine with that as long as he gets to use you when he comes through town. That’s fine with me. He told me that you love to eat his ass once he showed you how to do it, that you beg him every time to tongue fuck him. That’s good because every morning, I set up my morning coffee on my deck. My property crawls underneath my custom-made rim chair and slurps on my shithole while I begin my day. And it is a full rimjob, not just licking on the surface.

“Look at your dick, you are leaking more than I have ever seen before by a faggot…. That’s a fucking beautiful sight. You want all this from me, don’t you?... Of course you do. Russ wasn’t giving me the full picture of you. He says you are a multiple cummer. I’d like to see that. In fact, get up in the bed of my truck.

“Damn, you look good up there. Step forward. I want to inspect that cock…. It’s like steel. This pre-cum of yours is amazing. Damn! I completely missed the size of your balls. They are huge…. You are every inch the bull Russ described. Let’s get these things drained.

“Over there under that tarp you will find my portable rimseat. You should also see some wrist and ankle cuffs. Put the cuffs on first. You will be secured on the drive home. All property is treated as cargo….

“Lie down with your head under the rim seat and start jacking off. Extend your legs to the corners…. A couple D clips and your legs are secure to the truck.

“I see you jack off left-handed. Give me your right…. That’s secured too. After you shoot, I’ll take care of the left.

“OK faggot. You are the first property I have encountered who hasn’t put up much resistance to becoming owned. I find that very intriguing.

“Cum for me. Shoot it all over your chest. I want to see the size of your load. I usually lock up my property’s peckers, but not yours. I have no desire to do that. I want that thing used often. The thing is that I want to know now how fast you recover.

“You are really going to town. Those balls are flopping all over the place. Here. Look up at me. You look natural under that rim seat. Normally I prefer property lying behind me for the ass eating, but for now, I want to watch you cum.

“Here comes my shithole. It is always to be referred to as such. Sticking your tongue deep inside. Oh fuck! Does that feel wonderful.

“Jesus! You are going to cum already? Go for it! Shoot that fucking load!... Holy shit!... That’s fucking amazing…. Oh shit, it keeps on cumming.

“Keep eating my shithole with the same energy you had a minute ago. Don’t stop eating it until I tell you. Give me your left hand. Gonna finish securing you to the truck.

“Your dick is still dribbling out cum. When was the last time you came? …This morning? And you produced that load. Jesus Christ. Normally I put a cock cage on my property, but there is no way I’m going to, or want to, restrain that beast.

“And those balls! I also castrate my property and replace what they had with fake balls twice the original size. Even those fake ones don’t compare to yours. I may check into augmenting your dick to keep it perpetually hard. I liked that idea. I will turn you into a mindless bull. I’ll take you to Denver or Dallas and watch you destroy fag after fag.

“The one thing I don’t like are your pubes. You are mostly smooth. You will look even bigger without that hair. I’ll have it removed. Until then…. Pubes yank out so nicely…. Faggot this isn’t going to be all fucking and jacking off for me. Property needs to know pain.

“It’s been a long time since I have done something new. When we get home, I’m going to fuck you good. But that’s after I see your next load and see if it matches this one in size. That’ll be the lube I use. After I dump in you, I’ll install you on the dildo machine.

“Oooh. Your tongue likes the thought of that. Do that again. Oh man! I’m going to give you an hour to continue to worship my shithole before we head home. When we get there, I’ll untie you from the truck’s bed.

“But until then, it’s going to be a nice day. I’m getting my shithole eaten by my newest property. I have a fresh bush to yank out one tuft after another to pass the time. Life doesn’t get any better than this.”

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the-raven-lady · 3 months ago

Text

(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 3]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Nocturnal Me - Echo & The Bunnymen [YouTube] [Spotify] “Do or die, what's done is done / True beauty lies on the blue horizon / Who or why? What's one is one / In pure disguise of vulgar sons / Oh, take me internally / Forever yours, nocturnal me.”

Warnings: Getting tattooed in detail (needles and pain), vomiting / emetophobia, illness and recovery, mentions of violence and gore, cannibalism, food (and lack thereof) talks, partially unreliable narrator?

Word Count: 3.3k

Author’s Note: Thank you everyone for being straight feral for this man. It makes writing for him far easier. Thank you @mothiir for keeping me company as I wrote and happy late birthday.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender @historitor-bookshelf

The needle digging into your skin alternates between a carpet burn and the drag of a razor blade as the apothecary packs black pigment into your nape. Vibrations electrify your entire nervous system and tingle deep into your bones, sending all of your systems haywire. You lost the ability to hold yourself upright through the pain a long time ago, your master having simply pivoted and shoved you face-first into his bed when the iron grip around your neck wasn’t enough to silence your incessant whimpering.

You ball your hands into fists and press them hard into your lap as an aggravated spinal nerve shoots lightning down your arm. The apothecary hisses in Nostraman, but the foreign words are lost to your pain-addled brain, too much blood whirring in your ears. The Contekar holding you steady digs his fingers into your jaw, the greater pain refocusing you and inadvertently soothing the ache in your clenched teeth. Your eyes blink open to his creased brow and tired eyes glaring at you in warning. You hadn’t even noticed the high pitched whimper leaving your throat with how focused you’d been trying to hold your breath, but it’s not a difficult leap in logic to realize that your tattoo artist was getting annoyed with the constant sound of a balloon leaking air.

The next time it happens is after you cry out from a stab to a particularly tender area above the spine, and both parties were substantially less polite about it. The apothecary lifts the needle from where it bore into you, and you don’t even have the time to catch your breath before someone kicks your chair and spins it round. The next thing you perceive is total darkness and the inability to take a full breath, as well as an immovable force preventing you from lifting your head back up. Your entire body tenses up as the needle once again makes contact and angry vibrations rattle down your spine.

Gentle wipes of a cold cloth against the entirety of your nape jarringly signaled the close of the session, temporarily calming the constant burn. What felt like an eternity had at most been three hours, but by the end your entire body was exhausted. You were dehydrated and nauseous, trembling from adrenaline and low blood sugar. Your limbs were torn between desperately needing to stretch out and being completely uncooperative.

On legs of jelly, you slowly stagger up out of the chair and lift your face off of the bed, firmly planting your hands into the soft mattress to stabilize yourself. Moisture from where you had been crying stains the blanket and your cheeks. Disorienting static buzzes within your head.

The apothecary is packing up his cart, tossing used supplies into a bag on the side and putting the used needles in a rigid case with an occasional clink, clink. You squint as you notice a scarlet ink cup on the tabletop, not remembering when that had been poured despite trying to pay attention at first. The terminator and apothecary exchange quiet words in their native tongue before the apothecary pulls a tub of… something from one of the cart’s many drawers. The terminator accepts it with a scoff, shaking his head in annoyance, and puts the object next to his ornate armor.

The back of your neck is lit up like a severe sunburn, curling around the edges of your traps and up behind your ears. Turning your head from side to side gives no glimpse of the new ink (but it does remind you of how stiff your body is). Whatever substance had been put on top of the tattoo is greasy and warm; you guess it must be there to protect the fresh wound.

The creak of the door opening and closing alerts you to the apothecary taking his leave, dragging the cart out behind him. The terminator gives the room a once over, then turns his black eyes to you. Your brain is too tired to react to the weight of his gaze at the moment, clouded by adrenal buzzing, and you feel the corners of your lips quirk up as you meet his stare. The slivers of white in the corners of his eyes make him look like an overgrown dog.

He huffs and looks away, sitting back against his table and grabbing the tub of whatever from earlier to read its label over. The way folds his arms over his broad chest conceals several of his larger chest ports, and you wonder why they’re placed along his body in each specific location. Questions for another day.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself moving in the direction of the bathroom. Each step is messy and uncoordinated, feet dragging, but you manage to not fall over as you push yourself off of support of the bed. Getting tattooed so close to the head must be making your brain do spirals. Head warm and floaty, vision dreamlike and unfocused. Everything simultaneously feels better than it ever has and dreadfully wrong, but you can’t find it within you to care. The world has never been so ethereal.

You jump as you recognize the face in front of you. When had you gotten to the mirror?

Craning your neck to the side, you catch sight of the red and black artwork wrapping around your neck. Inflammation has set in over the entire area, an angry flush from head to chest. The thick black outline of a bat wing curves down from behind your ear to the top of your shoulder, packed with crimson. Red waves and spirals flow along its webbing in cascades. You turn fully to your side and drag the skin of your shoulder down to see the rest of it.

Subtlety was not considered for this design.

A skull sits between the bat wings along your spine, perfectly aligned with where the vertebra of your neck meet those of your back. Above the skull sits two symbols you don’t recognize: one in the shape of a cross, and another like a rotated ‘F’. You’ve seen similar script on some of the older Night Lord’s armor, but you never inquired about their meaning before. Whatever they are, they likely serve some function beyond purely aesthetic.

A sudden warmth overtakes you. Your hand slips from its perch on the oversized sink basin, and you nearly topple over, just barely catching yourself in time as a wave of vertigo washes over you. Alarms ring in your ears, tinnitus deafening everything around you. The grey tiled floor begins to swirl, churning tides at your feet that double and triple. Dull throbbing pounds from the inside of your skull.

The only warning you get before the contents of your stomach paint the surface of the sink is a furious twist in your gut. You violently retch the remainder of your last meal, coughing and sputtering sour yellow chunks off of your tongue.

You meet your own bloodshot eyes in the mirror as your legs begin to give out, clutching weakly at the sink to keep yourself upright. A sheen of sweat coats your face, cheeks flushed despite a sudden pallor to the rest of you. Each breath you take is labored and intense, diaphragm screaming at you for oxygen you can’t seem to get.

What is happening–? You try to speak but the words won’t come out, tongue too large for your mouth. Am I dying–?

The slam of the door is the only thing that reaches your fogged brain, and you sluggishly turn your head to meet it. Shadows crawl in from the opening like licks of dark smoke.

Everything tunnels around you, and a sharp sting of blinding white floods your vision.

Soft. The surface is soft, warm.

You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so comfortable.

The heavy blanket around you anchors your sore body down, faux fur and minky sending little prickles up your arm as you brush your fingertips against the fabric. You must not be in your spot on the floor, unless your pillow had grown three sizes from the last time you checked.

Honestly, you couldn’t tell if it did or not. A heavenly glow basks the room around you, hazing the edges of your vision.

The tattoo had killed you— it must have, for why else would you be so at ease? This couldn’t be the Nightfall.

An angel walks into your view, a vast colossus of perfection. Its form radiates with light, grey eyes dotting along its body in random locations that all seem to stare right at you. You’d dare call it beautiful. Gingerly, you reach a hand out towards it, hoping to share in its magnificence.

The afterlife wasn’t so unwelcoming after all.

Elias swears if you grab his leg one more time he’s going to tie you to the chair and leave you outside for the vermin. For the tenth time he swats away your hand, trapping it against the edge of the bed. He pushes away the blanket covering you to check over your weeping tattoo as the apothecary instructed. His eyes hone in on the subtle beating of your heart, capillaries expanding and contracting as lymph tries desperately to carry away the astartes blood in the ink. You haven’t died yet, which is a positive; it would reflect poorly on his abilities and reputation otherwise.

Your frail little body treats him like an infection. Elias had heard you vomit from the bathroom and surged in just in time to watch your head slam into the metal sink as you collapsed. There’s still a yellowing bruise on your cheek from where it had impacted, but the deep purples and reds have dissipated. He couldn’t remember a time when he was so delicate, even as a human.

…however long ago it had been since then. The Night Haunter had only just been found by the Emperor and joined forces with the Imperium at the time Elias became a neophyte.

You give a pathetic whine at his touch, and it grates him. It’s as if Apothecarion Rathal had tattooed the intelligence straight out of you, reducing you to a groveling ape and no more. Your skin was perpetually damp and perspiration soaked into the fine linens of his bed sheets, which made them reek of you (did you not understand how difficult it had been to acquire those?). You moan and hyperventilate in your sleep, demanding his attention away from the responsibilities you had shirked in your illness.

And now it was his responsibility to care for you? Absurd. Still, the human medicae would surely do no better than he could. It was bad enough that he can’t even use his own bed during this extended downtime because you’re in it.

It isn’t as if he hasn’t tried, but it’s difficult to focus on his own activities when every few minutes a sick human is trying to clutch onto you like a child in need of comforting.

First, he had been attempting to clean off the plates of his armor while you were unable to do it for him. Elias sat over the edge of the bed to avoid getting any of the flakes on his expensive spread, when your needy little hands had snaked around his waist and pulled at him. “No,” he had scolded, pushing you off, but your foolishly feverish mind wouldn’t take that for an answer. You redoubled your efforts, forcing him to move to his far less comfortable chair to finish.

Second was after a brutal training session. Elias had worked himself nearly to collapse, pushing the limits of his underfed body. He returned to his quarters drenched in sweat and exhausted, ignoring your sleeping form as he walked past you to take a much needed shower— he didn’t subscribe to the filth of the rest of the Eighth, taking more pride in his image and heritage than the lowly degenerates that had recently populated it. Dried and clean, he pushed you as far to the side as he could before taking up his spot in bed, sinking into the soft mattress with a sigh.

Only to wake up to you snuggling against him.

His back had begun to ache from the amount of half-sleep spent in his chair to accommodate for your needs. If you had been any less diligent at your job, Elias would have already disposed of you like the rest.

The previous serfs he’d acquired had proven inadequate. Some would beg and cry to him for their freedom— freedom, as if he had not offered them a better life than they ever could have hoped for on this wretched ship. Others had damaged his armor or belongings, which infuriated him to no end. You at least seemed to know your place and understand the magnitude of the gifts he had given you, even if it had taken multiple days for you to use the pillow and sheet he provided for your floor spot at the foot of his bed.

He may not have kept you around at all if one of his useless younger brothers hadn’t been present in the armory he found you in.

Elias had just returned from a six month long campaign on a noncompliant feudal world, utterly ravenous and annoyed. The fleet had stopped supplying rations to the squads weeks prior as ‘encouragement’ for them to finish their mission faster. The casualty rate had shot up as a result of the ration cuts, each Night Lord left to fend for themselves. The civilians and guardsmen stood no chance.

Elias had already never been given proper portioning for his body size to begin with, being larger than the majority of his legion by a substantial margin. He left most meals hungry, but he learned how to make up for it in his own ways.

And there you had been, crying in the corner against a storage locker as his brother cornered you in while spewing ridiculous notions about gutting you. There had been two priorities on Elias’s mind at the time: have his armor refreshed so that he would stand out amongst his squad, and have his belly filled. How kind of his brother to so willingly volunteer for slaughter, getting in his way as he did. Elias had been craving such a protein-dense meal for ages.

You had done an admittedly excellent job cleaning his helmet as he ate. It brought him something akin to happiness that you were intelligent enough to shut up and just work, leaving him to his devices. He was almost grateful he wouldn’t have to devour you. The chances of finding a serf that didn’t question or cry about every little thing were slim.

Speaking since his lip had been torn a half-century ago brought Elias no short amount of annoyance. Sharp consonants like F’s, P’s, and S’s would catch on his lips, causing them to whistle and lisp. It was even worse in Gothic than his native dialect of Nostraman. Eloquent speeches and curt words were softened by the reality of their vocalizations, and over time Elias decided to speak only when necessary to avoid the stress.

He wasn’t ‘self-conscious’ about it. He doesn’t get self-conscious. That was only for the weak minded, and Elias is not weak.

The jar of antibiotic balm has gotten warm in his hand. Deftly unscrewing the lid and dropping it aside, he hooks a dollop onto his finger. The apothecary made it very clear that the tattoo had to be kept moisturized and coated to protect it and have it heal properly, and Elias wouldn’t settle for any imperfections in the design. He had overseen the entire process from start to finish to assure the outcome was as favorable to him as possible. The best tattoo artist, the finest supplies, the most reliable machine, everything. He wouldn’t skimp on the recovery process no matter how difficult you intended to make it.

The terminator kneels down on the bed and rolls your head to the side once more to apply the ointment, diligently spreading it over every exposed inch of the tattoo. The process would go so much more smoothly if you would stop nuzzling into the hand holding your head like a damned kitten. He needs to use both hands to lift the back of your collar up, but your complete inability to stay still and let him work stalls the process.

An annoyed grunt leaves him, and he sits back to glare down at you. Your eyes are half-lidded and unintelligent when they meet his, and you give him another useless smile. Never learning your lesson, you lean forward to rest your head against his knee, letting out a deep exhale at the contact. It’s ridiculous, the basal creature you’ve become.

But it also puts you in the perfect position for Elias to finish his work. He supposes this is fine if it means you’ll cooperate with him, and he allows himself to relax. He’s only taking advantage of your weakness.

He hooks a finger into your shirt and pulls it away, working the balm down under the fabric to make sure the entirety of the tattoo is coated, rolling it an inch farther out than necessary in all directions in the event you smudge it. He relinquishes your collar and stares down at the runes between the wings. On a whim, he scoops up another small dollop of the salve and focuses more attention to the area. He would prefer his claim on you be clear if nothing else, and no part of the tattoo was more important than his name.

Content, the Night Lord pulls the blanket back over the area and reaches for the lid of the jar to close it.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He stops at your words, returning his gaze to where your cheek rests on his thigh. Your eyes are cloudy and red, pupils dilated so large they nearly envelop your iris. The look is almost pathetic, so reliant on him for your needs.

You have been since he chose to keep you. Unable to stand up to any of his brothers and most other serfs before. You could not find your own clothes, find regular sleep, or find consistent food. Elias had so generously made up for that, providing you new garments and a safe place to sleep, and you still tried to leave at first. Perhaps if you had just spoken up about your needs, he would have known you were hungry sooner. Taking the finer foods the Imperium provided to the remembrancers had been tantamount to stealing from children. No one dared stop him from entering their hall and commandeering what he saw fit to nourish you.

He has now sacrificed his bed for you, but at least it is visible how grateful you are for it. It stirs an odd fluttering in his hearts that makes him grimace.

“Elias.”

Your eyebrows knit together as your obtuse brain thinks loud enough to hear each cog within whir. Are you always so transparent?

“Pardon me, my lord?” you reply, unable to piece it together yourself. Perhaps he has given you too much credit.

With a sigh, he responds, shaking his head. “My name is Elias.”

A light enters your eyes for the first time in a week, a modicum of intelligence coming back to you. The adoring smile on your face widens to a full fledged grin as if you have just been given all of your dreams in life. It would be impossible for another human to look more reverential than you do in the moment, face pressed against him like you’re venerating a god.

If you could purr, Elias swears you would be.

If he still could, he might be too.

And here's the tattoo you got. Hope you like Night Lord Tribal!

They say bold will hold for a reason. Unfortunately for most serfs, it doesn't have to hold very long. I overlayed it on top of some skin tones so you guys had a better idea of what it looks like on the skin.

I debated doing the entire Fenty Beauty shade range but the time sink was high, so here are 18 common shades. If your skin tone isn't on it, feel free to send me a picture and I'll throw the transparent tattoo on top of it :)

#night lord #night lords #night lord x reader #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #horus heresy #warhammer 40k x reader #wh 40k #oc: elias rushorik #raven lady writings

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