#space marine smut

[ma1dmer]

Warhammer - Garviel Loken NSFW

i was put in this fandom for nefarious purposes, this one is a bit boring and i might revisit it eventually because i know i can give my princess something better

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): he likes to sit with you and simply talk. face to face so you know he is listening to you, a hand on your back or on your thighs, if you let him he'll read to you until you fall asleep before he let's himself rest as well.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): he is as proud of his physique as any astartes. however he doesn't quite think of himself like that, he is a weapon, a tool of war meant to kill people as efficiently as possible, it's hard to separate that from his mind at first, but he grows really fond of the way you make him see himself and his body differently. feeling your touch long after you have left his room, tracing the phantom feel of your lips over his own, his neck, his shoulders and if he stands up a bit straighter next time he meets up with his battle brothers it doesn’t really have to mean anything.

on you he likes any softer part of you, your tits, your thighs, your ass, your stomach, anything he can firmly grab as he fucks you. he likes the contrast, he likes to feel how, human you are, how soft and maybe even fragile you are compared to him, makes him think about protecting you, it really motivates him to go out there and fight better, more carefully, finish that damn crusade so he can get back to you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): inside. he can’t quite explain the animal urge that takes hold of him when he is about to cum, but he always makes sure to bury himself as deep within you as possible, pulling your hips flush against his own, stilling almost abruptly as he finishes. he knows he is sterile, doesn’t know if he is happy with that fact or not considering how often he cums inside of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): this man has no secrets, let alone dirty ones. if he likes something he likes something and he straight up tells you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): none, zero, nothing, always looking to follow the rules, always prioritizing his legion, he obviously neglected such wants/needs if he even had any to begin with, he comes to you with only the clinical understanding of everything, but he is a quick study, smart and very conscious of your comfort and pleasure. he likes to hear you tell him what you like in the beginning, don't let him stumble around blindly. he takes his sweet time learning your body inside and out before he is fully ready in his mind to take you. you meet up multiple times where he just uses his fingers or mouth to get you off, before he finally let’s you escalate things, the wait is worth it for both of you though.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): laid flat down on your front, legs spread for him to fit between them. this way he can control things more easily, pull your legs up over his shoulders to eat you out from the back while grinding his cock down on the bed or push you down fully to lay over you pinning you against the covers or pull you to your hands and knees so he can mount you properly.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): on first glance he is an unreadable-unmovable block of ice, the perfect soldier, they don’t call him starch-arse for no reason, but thats just the first layer. it is very important that you are having fun with him, that you are relaxed and comfortable in his bed, he doesn't crack out jokes as easily as others but he is a bigger tease than you might expect.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): he isn't very hairy to begin with and whatever he has is very fair like the rest of him, fair and soft and curling at the base of his cock. no happy trail sadly.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): he isn't exactly romantic, he doesn't know how to do romance, but does it really matter at the end of the day? when he leans down to press his forehead against yours as he cums or when he reaches up to hold both your hands as he eats you out. he is very affectionate and very soft when it's the two of you beneath the sheets, he is always moving your hands so you are holding onto him/hugging him or taking the initiative to hold you himself.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): in the past he’d just ignore such a need, a cold shower, a quick round of training or sparring with someone, maybe some reading, but after joining the mournival and/or after meeting you he learns how much it helps him to unwind. on his bed, seated at the edge of it as if ready to stand up and run out of the room, not fully able to relax, his pants around his thighs, his hand on his cock, he doesn’t really drag it out, almost guilty about such indulgence, if he has any piece of your clothing, you bet your ass he is burying his face in it, inhaling and panting like a winded animal, when he is done he might still need that cold shower AND the round of sparring, he also has the decency to ask the serfs to wash said piece of clothing so he can give it back to you next time you meet.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): nothing special he is pretty vanilla on almost all aspects. you do find out later on he likes to have his hair pulled a bit, it shocks him as much as it shocks you, you are simply running your fingers through it feeling how long it has gotten since you two last met as he trails his lips down your neck when he sinks his teeth playfully in your shoulder. you yank instinctively and the lupine growl he lets out startles both of you.

also, fight this man, not seriously, but ask him to show you a fighting maneuvre, ask him to help you train a bit to get stronger, ask him for self defense tips, anything like that, there is a fifty fifty chance he gives you actual fighting tips, his priority always keeping you safe or he sends you off to his room to wait for him after one(1) grappling move.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): in his room, behind closed doors after he has made sure you won't be disturbed for the night.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): he'd like to say its after a battle or after a good sparring session, when his blood still runs hot, but in reality it's when you two simply get to sit quietly together, talking. i am gonna burn in hell for sure here he is talking about his poor dead mother and i can't stop wishing his hands were unbuttoning my dress vibes, he'll turn to you smile and thank you for listening to him before leaning down to kiss you asking you what are your plans for the night as he gently nips at your jawline, his hands already moving at the hem of your shirt, thumbing the fabric as if asking for permission to keep going.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): he will never bring whatever you are doing outside his bedroom, he takes his job too seriously to do so, his brothers might tease him and goad him on joking about him showing off his pretty little toy, letting them meet you, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut, so don't really expect any surprise sex outside the safety of his room.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): he is very very very dedicated to the task of pleasing you, let him bury his face between your legs and stay there the entire night, the size difference really works in his favour when he puts his mouth around you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): he has one consistent pace, he rarely falters from it, in and out of you like a machine, you don't even get to know when he is about to cum, he just suddenly stops deep inside of you and stays there for a good solid minute growling as he empties himself.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): they make him nervous, he needs to take his time, make sure he has handed over his vox for the night, called in a favor from someone to take over orders if he is called up and even when you are in his bed, he just can't rush it, he needs to prepare you, it's also very common for him to lose track of time with you after, quickies just don't work.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): following up from some of the things established above, he does not like calling in favors from his brothers, they always grin and give him knowing looks about what he has planned for the night, but he refuses to half ass anything and put you, himself or his position in the mournival at risk, he just sucks up the embarrassment with flushed cheeks and his tail tucked between his legs. needless to say he isn't very spontaneous or experimental.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): he tends to underestimate just how much you can handle. he paces himself to give you one good solid round and doesn't bother you after that even if you can see that he is ready to keep going.you really have to reassure him you can take more than that.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): he doesn’t care for them, in the beginning his pride definitely gets wounded at the thought of not being enough to satisfy you, once he thinks it over though, he understands the toys aren’t his enemies. he still doesn’t care much about bringing them in your bedroom but do tell him how you use them and how you were thinkng of him while he was gone.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he is a big tease, he surprises you with that, he knows your body, you know he knows your body, he can feel you, smell you, hear you, so when you feel yourself about to cum and he pulls back for the fifth time that night, in favor of kissing your trembling thighs or lazily pump his fingers inside of you, his other hand stopping you from wiggling your hips against his face, you know he is doing it on purpose. all you have to do is ask for him to stop teasing you and he will just act as if he wasn't even aware he was doing so while finally finally pushing inside of you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): he is quiet but he pants like an animal, it's not that he necessarily silences himself, but he is always so focused to the feel of everything, lost in pleasure or trying to keep his mind clear enough to make sure he isn't hurting you, that he just forgets he can ask you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): he loves kissing, once he gets the hang of it, he is a big kisser, stealing you away briefly to greet you with a quick peck to your lips or when he is about to leave a kiss to your forehead or when you are in his room on your sides lazily making out. he definitely has an oral fixation loves when you shove your fingers in his mouth as he is fucking you, he'll have you on your back and as you move to cup his face he'll turn his head to pull your fingers between his lips, it's instinctive.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): he has a very pretty cock, pale like the rest of him with a pink head you have to tug the foreskin back from, thicker towards the base

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): he is very straight forward, there is a bit of a learning curve, figuring out what exactly the emotions you stir within him are, then accepting them, maybe asking around about the possibilities, getting laughed at by torgaddon, and finally he simply comes to you. it’s one of those nights after a good battle, after a decisive victory against the imperium’s foes, with blood rushing to his face from excitement and his brothers laughing with him, he steals away a moment to ask you to talk. he has no real plan about it, but he won’t let himself get tormented by thoughts of you any longer. after that you are kind of left initiating, he never denies you, but if you leave it up to him it's rare that his mind will fully go there.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): he sleeps like a little freak, on his stomach, face mushed into his one(1) pillow, it makes you wonder if he can even breathe like that, he likes when you hold him, he won’t outright ask you, still making peace with the nature of your relationship but whenever you move away in the middle of the night he always lifts his head up to see what you are doing, the complaint evident in his grey eyes.

[mournivaldisco]

The Mournival discover porn

[ghcstpyre]

john wick x f!reader

cw: cis female reader, slight dom/sub dynamics, soft dom!jw, sub!reader, unprotected p in v, creampie, squirting, praise kink. MINORS BEGONE!

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i am in a Mood™️ and was inspired to try and write a quick piece. also yes I am procrastinating everything because of animal crossing so this is also to try and get back into the swing of writing lol. enjoy!

Your cheek squished against the flat, cool surface of the rich mahogany desk. Sometime after settling down in John's private library with your usual dark fantasy romance and John following not long after to have a nosey at what you'd been reading, you'd ended up bent over the nearest desk with your skirt yanked up and bunched around your waist and your panties pulled to the side. Thick fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, keeping your willing body right where he needed it. You were doing your best to be quiet, as per his orders, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with each delicious inch he pushed inside you.

“John…” You whined, wiggling your hips under his iron hold in an attempt to coax his cock further inside you.

This only had John doubling his grip on you. The fingers that held your hips dug in further, hard enough to bruise and leave little crimson crescent moons in your skin. The pain didn't deter you though. It only had that unsatisfied ache pulsing within your centre flaring up tenfold.

“Shush, baby,” John's voice was low and gravelly and sent a thrill rushing down your spine. Really, it was almost pathetic how much of an effect just his voice had on you. “I told you to be quiet. You sure you can do that for me?”

He leaned over, pressing his muscled slab of a body against your back to nip at your earlobe. You bit your lip in an attempt to stifle a whimper of need, just barely succeeding, and nodded.

“Good girl.”

John’s stubble grazed you and his long, dark hair tickled your skin as he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek and the weight of him lifted off of you. Whether it was out of mercy or pity - or both - John pushed the full length of his cock inside you in one swift motion. It took everything you had to not cry out in pleasure and pain as his tip kissed your cervix, filling you completely.

He watched as you struggled to keep any noises from escaping, his gaze heavy enough that you could practically feel it pinning you down to the desk just as effectively as his meaty hands. Seeing you in such a state of utter need while also being desperate to obey had his length throbbing inside you.

John set an unbearably slow pace, slow enough that it had you practically crawling out of your own skin. You so desperately wanted - no, needed him to to just fuck you, but instead it seemed he was determined to make sure you felt every vein and every inch, right up to the ridge where his swollen pink head met his shaft.

“Mmm, that's it, thaaaat's it.”

All you could do was lay there and take it without protest, however he wanted to give it to you. Your hands white knuckled the edge of the desk in front of you, serving as your anchor as you fought tooth and nail to keep any sounds of pleasure trapped behind your teeth. You knew that disobedience would result in punishment and you didn't really feel like being punished and degraded right now.

Right now, you wanted to be showered with praise. You wanted to be adored.

“You're being such a good girl for me. You want more?” He asked, relinquishing the vice grip he had on your hips in favour of smoothing those large, rough palms over the meat of your ass.

You didn't get a chance to nod. John was already parting your cheeks and chuckling deeply at the sight of his shaft, half buried in your soaking cunt and glistening with your slick arousal while the rest of it slowly dripped down your thighs.

“Look how wet you are for me. Of course you want more; you've already soaked my cock.”

With one hand he gripped one of your cheeks, while the other snaked up your spine to tangle in your hair. He pulled on the strands, forcing you to lift your head up and prop your upper body up on your elbows and forearms as his hips finally, finally picked up the pace.

If you weren't struggling to stay quiet before, you sure as hell were now. John knew how you liked to be rocked, what the perfect angle was to hit that sweet spot inside you that made you see stars. 

Tasting the tang of iron on your tongue you stopped biting your lip. You'd been so focused on keeping any noise at bay you hadn't even registered how hard your teeth were clamping down on the soft flesh while John pumped his huge cock in and out of you.

“You're doing so well for me baby, so well. Just a bit more and I'll - ngh - let you cum. I want to enjoy this sweet pussy a little longer.”

God, if his dick didn't push you over the edge then his words might just do it. Knowing that such a sweet, gentle man had the capacity to groan out words so filthy made that sick little part of you sing with glee.

The sounds of your rapid breaths mixed with his grunts of pleasure and skin slapping against skin bounced off the walls and echoed through the rows of bookcases filling John's library. Your legs began to shake as that familiar heat began coiling low in your abdomen. Sensing your building need, John let go of your hair and ass cheek to lean that glorious weight over you once again, propped up on one thick forearm while his other hand moved between your trembling legs to rub your neglected clit.

You keened into his heavenly touch and you couldn't stop a strangled little cry from escaping. You were quick to cut it off however, dropping your head to press your treacherous mouth into the inside of your elbow to muffle the noise. 

“That's my girl. You've been so good, do you want to cum? You want to cum for me? You want to be loud?” John's voice was practically dripping with honey as he whispered in your ear.

All you could do was lift your head again, look at him over your shoulder and nod pathetically while you rocked your hips back against him, meeting his thrusts.

“Cum.” He ordered, slamming into you with his fingers working relentlessly on your clit beneath you. “Cum on my cock baby. Scream for me.”

That was all the encouragement you needed.

Your cries and sobs of pleasure drowned out anything else as you came, your pussy gushing over his length and thighs and the wooden floor beneath your feet while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. John wasn't too far behind, pressing his chest flush against your back to suck a dark bruise into the crook of your neck while he thrusted into you one, two, three more times, and then filled you with his seed with a loud, long groan.

Both of you stayed like that for a short while, catching your breath and begging to sober up from the lust-addled haze you were in just moments ago. Eventually, John lifted his weight from you and pulled out, letting his cum leak from your entrance. He took a few moments to run his hands up and down your back, soothing you as you came down from the high.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice returning to its usual deep, gentle lilt.

Somehow you managed to stand up and turn around to face him on your shaky legs. John was quick to wrap his arms around you to keep you steady. You were all too grateful, immediately leaning your weight against him and letting out a content sigh.

“Yeah. More than okay, I feel amazing.” You smiled up at him, cheeks rosy with happiness, and then nuzzled your face into his broad chest.

John chuckled, the baritone sound rumbling from within. “Good.” With a swift motion he scooped you up into his arms to carry you bridal style towards the door to the library. “Because I've not quite had my fill of you just yet.”

divider by @/strangergraphics

[shellswritesstuff]

𓊆ᴅᴇᴍᴇᴛʀɪᴀɴ ᴛɪᴛᴜs X ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - general hc/drabble𓊇 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚(⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴. 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹. 𝘤𝘸: 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘯. 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴.

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜɪ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛᴀsᴛᴇ. sᴘᴀᴄᴇ ᴍᴀʀɪɴᴇ ɪɪ ʜᴀs ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʜᴏʟᴅ,, ɪᴍ ғᴀɪʀʟʏ ɴᴇᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ 𝟺𝟶ᴋ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ, sᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴇxᴄᴜsᴇ ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏʀᴇ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs!! ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴠᴀɢᴜᴇ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ. :𝟶 (under read more.)

Chivalry isn't dead; it's walking around in huge blue armor.

Titus is known for his strength on the battlefield. His hands have eviscerated countless enemies of the Imperium. You've seen him rip a Tryanid right down the middle... yikes.

So when the same bloodstained hands hold onto yours, why don't you feel scared?

There's something about him that's different. Gadriel would comment that it's unbefitting of a Space Marine.

The corners of his mouth lift upon seeing you, despite your wrought reaction to the viscera coating his skin.

You sigh, rolling your eyes at the juxtaposition of guts and such a disarming look.

And don't get you started on his size.

Holy Terra... the size difference between you two was almost heretic. (At least, the ideas it gave you.)

Even out of his armor, he dwarfed you.

You knew Titus would never bring you harm, despite his potential to. As his hand lays on your bare chest, you become starkly aware of how easy it would be. His palm encapsulated your breast, and partially your other. If he were to just...

"Are you still with me?" That gruff, familiar voice derailed whatever train of thought lingered.

You stuttered, apologizing. Being together like this was rare. A brief respite from the cosmos.

You were skin to skin, dressed as the day you were born. Fingers tracing Titus' countless scars, you dare not ask their origin.

There wasn't much to say; a quiet understanding that you're both happy to be alive and in the moment.

That is, until your mind inevitably wanders.

You'd make an attempt to straddle Titus' waist, but settle for a strong thigh instead. Your body comes alive as the flex of his muscles meet your wet core.

"It was a matter of time, then." Titus speaks softly, as to hide his equal lust.

For the night, you would be lovers. Unknowing of what the next day will bring.

[vyzz-undercover]

someone left my cage open quick

[cato/f!ambassador]

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

(8,800ish words) (holy fucking kill me mate)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•not dubcon? [omg they've grown guys]

•hints of size kink

•vaginal fingering [on herself]

•(so i guess) masturbation

•oral [m receiving]

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions on contraception

•discussions on pregnancy

•mild possessive behaviour

•hint of slapping (he deserves it)

•mild horror themes [warp ptsd]

•tumblr's cancerous fucking formatting as always

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hi guys :3 guess what i got you all good im not dead,,, the gods have let me live another fateful fortnight (fortnite) also i love you all so so so much pls enjoy!!!! @moodymisty, @lemon-russ, @bispecsual, @the-raven-lady, @egrets-not-regrets, @pluvio-tea, @kit-williams, @thevoidscreams, @mothiir, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sinistermojo, @beckyninja, @passionofthesith, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond, @allergymoose, @scriberye, @yestheantichrist, @ma1dmer, @cucunot!!! if anyone wants off or on taglist lmk!!! im more than happy to adjust this in post OK BYE ILY ALL AGAINNNN!!!

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There should be higher security in this wing, Cato notes.

But compared to the rest of the vessel, it's safe—as in, there's senior Admech's leaving their doors open while they buff out the scratches in their mechadendrites sort of safe. He bets seeing a mouse around here would cause a stir. Honestly, he can fully render the pict in his mind of some haughty Seneschal turning their nose up to his Primarch because of that.

Cato can imagine the exact following happening, 'eugh, why doesn't Lord Guilliman virus bomb the pipes? That's what I had done on my pissy little rowboat of a void ship!' in that nasally, all too predictable tone that every single bloody one of them seems to have bar maybe a few.

Cato grits his teeth at the thought alone.

But it is safe. You're safe, here. He trusts his Primarch to ensure that for you. Being so cozy to Guilliman as a baseline certainly has its benefits. This place is good for you, unlike the bowels of the ship—where even Cato avoids going.

Not for any risk to his persons, of course. But simply because of the tightness of the hallways. And the stink of baseline sweat and oil that practically sticks to his senses for days afterward.

It's most certainly not because the low lumen count sends his mind wandering. And the flickering—damn those flickering lights—they make him uneasy. The impossible chance they'll flicker out and reveal a reality awash with fleshed decking is completely unrealistic. But still, down in those depths, he feels like he's stuck in a dying vessel, cracked at the bottom like a broken vase, leaking. Adrift, on a storm laden sea with the blackness pouring in—where within that black there is a barely perceptible colour in infinite abundance, like the phosphenes behind closed eyes—and there are eyes in that ocean—so, so many eyes, fixed with the glowing, molten hues of the warp itself; their shades a melted tapestry, a solvent thing, ever-changing.

Eyes and screaming. It sometimes returns to Cato like a bad case of tinnitus, ringing and shrill—but the mind crafts horror that pale reality in comparison, and in that wretched plane of existence those mental horrors bore real talons, and real hooves and real thought—and the caterwauling of its victims—his brothers—ever came from maws heaving and frothing in agony.

Cato hears himself stumble and slam a palm into the side wall to steady himself, but doesn't feel it. He feels like he's in free-fall, as if the ground has opened up and swallowed him hale and whole.

All time in that abominable realm was rendered simply nonexistent, without matter nor meaning to behold to any living creature. Naught but the notion of being practically alone and how chilling it was spiralling down the depthless lake of energy remained. No resistance of air lent to the sensation of plummeting, but he was sure he was for reason beyond any form of tongue. The distance was irrelevant and utterly unmeasurable. But the warp had no edge, no limit; and as it lacked a limit, the depth of him sinking was surely unbounded—just as it was eerily silent. A merciless wall of mute, dark unknown which swallowed all whole under it's cresting wave of solitude. Mute except the wailing, like song—song of sheer coincidence, where so many voices in unison chances harmony by mathematics beyond comprehension.

The sour taste on his tongue drags him loose of the claws about his mind.

He blinks, and sees and feels steel.

Cold, unforgiving steel walling like a soothing downpour on his nerves.

Cato groans as he rights himself, shaking his head, and then rolls his tongue around his mouth; gagging a little at the bitter, acrid aftertaste of his Betcher's gland acting on instinct.

He'd thought himself largely past this now. It had been so long since it happened, and Cato tries, he tries so painfully hard not to imagine the same thing happening here, because he's okay, you're okay—nothing would try to take this ship.

The vile taste on his tongue annoys him, because he'd scrubbed his teeth raw in an effort to seem as polished as he could; and now his tongue probably stinks like an empty las cartridge.

He spits on the floor and straightens up, it's fine—at least that's what he tells himself. You're close, and you're safe and that's all the encouragement he needs to fall back into step.

Cato takes a few strides down the corridor towards your quarters before realising something rather important.

He reaches into the folds of his rest attire and practically yanks out a sheathed knife.

It'd be closer to a dagger to you, and he doubts you know how to use it, but—but—

He wants to give it to you.

It's what he'd like to receive, at least. After all, it is what he was given, once.

The smith on Talassar is long dead, from age or sickness, but it matters little. All that matters is that Cato had received it ages ago when he'd yet to make anything of himself and he wants your hands to know its weight. You never carry weapons to diplomatic ventures in the past, and you've told him as much, but he gathers it's because there's never been place for you to put them on your persons in those stupid outfits of yours.

It's a little bit brutish of a gift, yes, he's well aware. But there's no possibility of bringing any sort of cliche boon to your door, like flowers, or something of the sort. Or whatever those waifs of yore would demand as a courting gift.

He doesn't even realise he's continued walking until he's stopped and standing outside your chamber like a kicked hound.

Cato stuffs the dagger back against his breast.

He's not sure if he should knock.

Maybe barging in is a more logical approach.

He knows the universal override to all the input pads, but there's something seemingly rooting him to the spot.

The nervousness hesitation he feels regarding seeing you is a lingering problem—the longer he stays beyond the confides of your room only adds to the chances of being caught. And he's not about to wait for hours outside for a hint you're actually in there. He has right to suspect you are, but the possibility of a serf being there instead of you is unrealistic but present. Actually no, he's sure that a cleaning serf would not lock the door.

So, finally, he raps a knuckle against the door and sets his footing to a martial stance.

The door clicks, then slides open a minute later.

There's a clear surprise that paints across your face as he stares down at you, before it dissolves into a small, flustered smile.

His hands twitch where they hang by his sides, itching to reach for the dagger he wants to give you. He had planned how he'd do this on the way here. Thought it through and prepared, rolling it over and over in his head. And yet, actually having you before him throws any precedent out the nearest air-lock.

You're not in any sort of prim and proper way—you're in bedding clothes, more than anything: pants and a top.

The trousers are a light shade of cyan, loose around your calves but more form fitting around your thighs. Your hips seeming to be the only thing holding the pants up from showing the warm, smooth skin beneath; that, and a small thread tied in a crude bow. Your tunic is more of a inched stola, low necked enough that he can sort of see the top of your breasts.

"I didn't.. uh," you mumble. "I didn't expect you so soon."

He knows he's earlier than he promised, but he grunts in answer and looks over your shoulder.

You blink, "What?"

"Am I to wait out here all cycle, then?"

A small 'oh, right—sorry' from you is all he receives before you take a step back to allow him entrance.

When the door slides shut and locks behind him, Cato notes the lack on downlight activated. Everything is hazed in a moody, misty (hi) sort of warm, amber glow from the candles you've left burning. He thankfully wrestles down the urge to stand there scenting the air with his lip curled up like a beast. Trying not to linger on the abundant stink of you, you, you on everything, pervading every sense he has. Promising himself he won't smother into your pillows and start humping them like a rabid dog.

He distracts himself by cataloguing his surroundings. Cato has consistently focused on utilitarianism over all else, and it shows in his room. His room is accessorised in the style befitting of his many years and achievements; with walls lined with trophies and weaponry made by the best of the Imperium. It contains just the basic necessities required: a work area, a seat, a couple of lights, an agreeably Astartes-sized cot at the middle, and close to it, a dependable incense holder.

Your room is much smaller—but the ensuite appears the same, though. Which Cato doesn't know how to feel about. He surmises it was likely a converted Captain's quarters. It's not standard issue, and neither are the copious amounts of, for lack of a better word, trinkets. But he supposes being the Primarch's favourite little diplomat-bookkeeper-pet-thing is a title full of unseemly rewards. His Father has a strange, uncouth way of interacting with baselines, and he doesn't dare linger on the hypocrisy behind that thought coming from him standing in your private quarters.

Be as that may, he still feels enormous standing there in the cramped space between you, the bed, and the desk behind you, unimpressed at the amount of clothing bundled near his feet.

You stand in your own mess without any hint of shame. A silent Ambassador is typically a welcomed novelty, but a silent you makes Cato jumpy.

You near and try to urge him to lean down, clearly trying to coax a kiss from him.

"Water," he says abruptly.

You don't seem to be listening, just looking at him with a distracted sort of fascination—then the request clicks, and you stumble into the bathroom and run the tap.

He hears the glass he's to be drinking from clink with the hardware before it fills, and them you step out and close to him to hand it over.

He takes a big gulp and swishes it around his mouth before swallowing, and gladly the wretched sourness of lingering acid is gone.

With the threat of burning your little nagging trap gone—and you none the wiser to the fact he's an Ultramarine who can, in-fact, spit acid—he rears down and gives you what you'd sought.

A slow kiss, nice and sweet and gentle; and he closes his eyes this time, in preparation.

You grin against his mouth and pull back after, and he smiles a tiny bit at the way your lips are a little redder.

Cato huffs in satisfaction and straightens back up, going in for another draught of water.

"I am surprised you live in squalor, despite all the benefits of your station," he murmurs offhandedly, looking aside the rim at the room once more between sculling down the rest of the cup.

You frown, and glance about the room, "It's not that bad."

"It looks like a drop zone," Cato grumbles, holding out the empty glass—and you take it, while he's fixed on staring disapprovingly at the messy stacks of data-slates stacked and leaning like two great spires. "Have you no discipline? No self-respect?"

"Clearly not," you mumble and glare at him, eyeing him up, then down, then up again with a judgmental leer. Suddenly, something about the situation is amusing to you—and you snort.

Cato scowls, crossing his dense arms over his chest, "And what's that suppose to mean?"

"Nothing," you huff.

He glares back at you in silence as you turn and set the glass upon the desk—what little free space there is, in that shitstorm bundle of random work.

"I just think it's funny that you say that," you start again abruptly, rounding about to look at him. "Given the circumstances."

The scoff that leaves him is nigh a bark, "Exceptional circumstances."

You snort amusedly, "So where's your discipline and self-respect?"

"Somewhere between your thighs," he says, and prides in the begrudgingly fought-back smile he earns out of you with it.

He sits himself down on the side of the bed and continues priding to himself at the wit of the remark he made.

Cato relishes in the moment, simple as it is—you're oblivious to his own troubles and there's a sweet, lulling sense of comfort in that.

"You're a real class act," You pout, manoeuvring your rear up onto the desk inelegantly. Something tumbles to the floor to accommodate, but you're evidently unbothered. Your pants ride down at the change just enough that it put the part where your hip met leg on display. Just the temptation has him fiending off an insidious amount of lust.

He wonders if it'll hold up against an Astartes fucking you on it. But it's not bolted down, so he doubts that.

The bed will hold, though. And even if it doesn't, he'll still manage—he's sure he'll take every bit of you he can, on every surface he can manage. It's just a matter of time before he goes down the checklist, really.

Cato, understandably, groans long and low at the thought.

"Something the matter, Commander?" You intone with an annoyingly obvious faux-stupidity, crossing your legs and tilting your head a little.

"No," he rasps, and tears his gaze from your hip.

You eye him, "You look a little stiff."

He grumbles, and reaches into the breast of his robes.

The sheathed dagger looks flimsy in his muscle and callous laced palm, and when he holds it out to you, you look bemused.

Your brow arches up and you scowl a little, "What's that for?"

"You," he harrumphs, and turns away. Then Cato cannot, for the life of him, look back at your eyes—so he fixes his stare at your sandals set by one another at the door frame.

A little giddy huff leaves you as he watches you scoot off the desk top and reach for the weapon in his peripheral vision.

"You didn't have to," you coo, wrapping your small fingers around the hilt and freeing the blade from its casing. A little kiss hits his cheek and then he hears the gleam of it being loosed—he'd polished the time-dulled filigree to a mirror finish in preparation for gifting you, and even sharpened it back to a killing edge.

Your sweet hum of fascination as he sees the reflected candlelight dancing off the steel has him finally look back at you.

There's a big smile on your face, and your cheeks are a little red—and it's exactly the reaction he was after.

Cato tips his chin up, noble in his smugness, and smiles back.

"It's lovely, but—" you say, "I remember having told you before I can't wear weapons."

He pouts, and then he's sour again, "There's a belt loop on this one so that you can."

"I don't wear them for a reason," you digress.

"What reason?"

"Because it looks bad for a diplomat to do so."

Cato huffs petulantly, "That's not good enough."

"Yes, it is," you huff back.

"It's just one knife," He grunts, and gestures at you vaguely. "Why not put it on the inside of your thigh?"

And for some reason a few neurones misfire in his head at the thought of his dagger being so, so close to your—

"Do me a favour, Sicarius," you simper abruptly, as if there's a hidden punchline to the entire conversation he's yet to discover, "Look under the bed."

Cato scowls, but ultimately allows the request, putting one big palm on the duvet to leer down.

Oh, that's—that's a small fortune of ceremonial weaponry.

"Throne, woman," he starts, still looking and a bit stunned. "Why? Do you just collect all these? You don't hang them up, or anything?"

"I don't collect them willingly," you mumble, "They're just... handed to me, most of the time. Sometimes by dignitaries, a few by other Astartes. I don't understand it much, either."

Cato arches lower and reaches his free hand out to the gilded sheath of a curved sword, blue and gold and embossed with jewels. It's crusade-era levels of ancient—and Cato swears he'd seen it upon the lobby wall before the broad doors of Guilliman's chambers. That, and the hundreds of other favoured tools of war his Primarch so loved to display. Some hadn't been touched since the heresy, but still. Their nostalgic sentiments held strong. He supposes age does that to someone. Even for someone as noble and mindful as his Father.

Cato purses his lips as he lays a hand on the sword and tugs it free from the pile with ease.

He holds it up as he rights himself back on the bed and scowls, "This is—"

"I know," you sigh, and your hand braces against the side of your neck as you tut, "He insisted."

"He insisted?"

"He insisted," you grumble, and Cato tries hard not to find the embarrassed colour on your cheeks painfully endearing. "I said I wouldn't wear it, but he said it'd be a good thing to keep 'incase of emergencies', or something."

"Guilliman is right," Cato says sourly, placing the sword back on the ground and using his heel to shuck it backwards back under the bed. "You're easily assailable."

"You're the fifth Astartes to say that to me," Your face scrunches up, "I feel like it's an insult at this point."

"It's a valid observation," he shoots back. "You may as well be held together with silk and ribbons—like some spoilt little princess. You should expect the fanfare with that behaviour."

You leave his dagger on the desk behind you and take a few bold steps closer to him, crossing your arms over your chest; scowling as you say, "Oh, so you're the knight in shining armour here, then?"

Cato scoffs, "I always have been."

"And that is so terribly hard?"

He raises a brow and straightens up a bit, "Yes—yes, it is."

He likes the haughty attitude you get when you're subtly seething, he likes the little scowl you wear, and the tiny crease that forms on your nose. It gets his blood up, and warp damn him if he doesn't thrill at the slightest chance to have you gratifying his antics.

"Well, you got a pretty good reward for your troubles."

He frowns sourly, "What did I get?"

"Laid," you snark.

Cato huffs, "You were desperate for it."

Your brow quirks sourly, and you cross your arms over your chest.

"Groxshit," you grumble.

Ah, so it's time for lying now. You weren't desperate, no—you haven't ever raised your ass to let him mount you, you haven't groped his cock—you most certainly haven't ridden him like an unruly beast, taking your pleasure—letting him fuck your tight cunt full, time and time again.

He ought to remind you, he ought to get you flushed with the words—because he knows you'll squirm, dithering, bright red in the face and aching between the thighs.

Instead, he snorts loudly, "Shut up and come here."

"I don't think so," you laugh.

Cato growls and rolls his eyes, "Suit yourself."

Still sitting, he lifts the folds of his robes aside and works his arms out of the sleeves, baring himself aside from the underclothes hanging on his hips.

With another huff, Cato shuffles himself back up against the headboard, settling into the pillows. He locks his fingers together, raising them above his head, stretching tall and taut; huge chest bulging as a strained groan slips free from his throat, earning a chain of muted cracks from his back in reward of his efforts.

Your eyes trace his torso where you stand aside the bed. Studying the ports and ancient scars that draw up from his hips in mirrored pathways, linear and geometrically precise—utterly surgical. Their routes turned up the sides of his ribs, stopping high on his serratus anterior, dodging his pectorals and wrapping around to his deltoids; where your gaze stayed—eyeing the tattoo of an inverted omega he had gotten so very, very long ago. It's faded a little, but the upside down Ω is still well defined.

He's got your attention now.

You shuffle forward, half on the edge of the bed; and lean close, flickering your eyes up to his—as if seeking some sort of allowance.

"Disgustingly predictable," He scoffs, cocking his head and relaxing a bit.

Seeing an Astartes out of their armour always was something to behold for baselines. Ever eye-catching even to those who'd seen it a thousand times over. It garnered awe and fear; but that was the reason the Emperor made them so large in the first place. Aside from the practical benefits of throwing their weight around, their presence alone was intended to be physically intimidating as a means to dissuade the uncooperative from resisting and to scare off contest.

To you though, his bared form is a source of lust. The stink of it in the air has him toey and eager.

But it is, afterall, the first time you've had a good, close look at him in his entirety.

Cato preens at the flush he earns when he smirks at you.

"I won't stop you, you know."

"I hope not," You muse and lay a hand on his sternum, kneeling onto the bed and scooting close as your fingers graze over the dark spread of hair dusting across his chest.

You scan from the tops of his broad shoulders down the definition of muscle to the interfaces on his fused ribs; your eyes trailing for a brief second to his dense abdomen where the hair went even lower. Arrowing down his under-cloth. His entire body was marked with brutal scars of every kind. Some raised and old, others raw and sunken.

He'd indulge a question or two about their origins if asked—or well, if asked nicely.

Oh, that meagre cicatrix below his left pectoral? That was a Carnifex he had fought. It was five of them all at once single handedly, actually—and he only had his great Talassarian Tempest blade. It was a lucky mark from the beast. It died seconds later. He's just that good—he's Cato Sicarius, afterall. You made the right choice letting him have you, please tell him that he's the right choice.

Instead, you sink down against him and lie against his side, tracing the ports on his chest.

Arguably, this is just as satisfying to Cato as gloating waxing on and on about his many successes. Your warm little body tucked against his like a perfect fit, and the feel of your fingers around the thinner skin rimming his interfacing ports isn't bad, either. It feels strange, yes, but it's a different sort of sensation. It's acutely sensitive. He almost feels like he's about to shiver at it.

But then your attention shifts to raking against the grain of the hair on his chest.

"I usually have it burned away," he says abruptly, because he's somewhat bemused by your fascination. Still, he puffs his chest out a little. "To allow greater synergy with my body-glove."

"Really?" You laugh, and it's a prettier sound than carillon bells to Cato's ears—all the while pawing at a thick hunk of his pectoral, "They toast you?"

"Only a single passing," Cato admits, "It doesn't hurt—stinks though. And then it's all hosed off."

You hum in acknowledgement and let your hand wander down his middle, following the trail of fluffy, coarse hair.

"Interesting," you hum, fingers tracing the path, stopping only when you're grazing just shy of the top wrap of his undercloth. "You feel a bit like a fur rug here."

Cato breathes in slowly, "Don't test your luck."

"It's an entirely valid statement, how am I testing my luck?" You grumble, glowering at him as you pull away.

"You ought to be reprimanded for insubordination," He says with a steely, disciplinary intonation, but the threat's hollow and you're seemingly well aware of that. He leans in and pulls you close again as his touch sweeps down your legs. His nose buries into your hair, big hands appraising groping.

You set about kissing his cheek, smothering yourself against him.

The airy gasp that leaves you when he squeezes your ass makes you bold, apparently, because the next words you choose to say are; "Do you accept bribes?"

Cato's immediate theoretical response is a snarky 'No,' but then the heel of your palm is sliding up the side of his cock through the wrapped linen.

So, pointedly, he eagerly groans out, "Yes."

You simper up at him, before fussing with the fabric. Exposing the dense plain of his hip, tugging and un-pleating a little more until he's bared from the navel down.

His cock's so hard it nearly bats you across the cheek as it springs free. To which Cato snorts, not even trying to hide his amusement.

You flinch a little in surprise, a hint flustered, and eye the hard length of him as if it's personally affronted you.

He sits a little more upright, thighs spreading, presenting himself. Offering his big, sturdy quads as a cushion to lean on as you slowly pump him in a steady motion.

"Well?" Cato snarks, "Get on with the bribery then."

You pout at him, glancing back—and huff, "You smell like an apothecarium."

Cato grumbles to himself, slow to gather his words as he watches you ogle him, "If I had... known that you wanted to get that damn snout of yours so close, I wouldn't've used such harsh soaps."

You raise an eyebrow and pout, "Wonder if they're toxic to ingest."

"I doubt it," he starts, "But I guess there's only one way to find out."

Your fingers glide over his big thighs, dodging his ports and smoothing upwards to trace the old paths of his surgeries.

And even with all his stoic, anally neurotic merit, Cato can't stifle the small subvocal hum that escapes him as you flatten your tongue, licking a warm stripe up the side of his cock.

The feeling of it is staggeringly new, and he's absolutely elated at the view. It's half the appeal, even if there's no way you're getting anywhere near as much cock in you as your cunt allows.

You wrap your lips around the fat tip, keeping it in your mouth as you stroke the thick base of him with a grip that can't even meet around the width; balancing yourself better on your knees by putting the other hand on his thigh—the sleeve of your top slipping down your arm.

"This may be a better use for your mouth than diplomacy," He says as he lets out a low sigh, hips jerking forward with shallow movements in time to the bobbing of your mouth.

When you pull off to swipe away the glaze of spit and pre-cum accumulating on your chin, you lap your bottom lip and huff, "You are a prick, you know that?"

Despite being enamoured by the sight of you disheveled, he grumbles petulantly and says, "And you had to take your tongue off mine to say that."

You frown at him, then acquiesce with a petulant little grunt.

Then your mouth descends on him once more, rocking back and forth, letting gravity angle him in. All Cato can do is relish in the sensation, finding no room in his brain for anything else. Just the feeling of the wet heat of your mouth swallowing around him, and the swirling counterpoint of your tongue—eagerness in your gaze as it flicks up to find his again—Throne, that makes him groan straight away.

You hum around his length in response, the vibrations ricocheting through his nerves and up his spine blindingly. His other palm is suddenly against his forehead, a bit stunned from the bombardment of new pleasure.

Your little fingers dig fruitlessly into his thigh, making him hyperaware, sending him grinding forward a bit only to be rewarded with another lurching buzz of ecstasy. The hand pumping the base of him shifts away, and then small nails rake across his navel, then his hip, tracing a port; and he buries his face into the crook of his elbow to stifle a heavy moan. They're only meagre claws, yet the pressure is strangely comforting as you lap at the blood flushed underside of his glans.

Cato's aware his voice catches as he keens aloud, pulling his arm away from his face to rest his forearm on his hairline. He's simply just enjoying the soft, hot drag your mouth around his tip again.

But a reedy little whine snags his attention, catching him unaware that he had even closed his eyes in the first place.

When he finally opens them, he swoons. Hard. Your cheeks are a stunning maroon, and your previously focused gaze now looks hazy and desperate, utterly lost in the act. He hadn't been cognisant he'd put his hand on your head, either. But watching you sink down around him again and again is intoxicating. How your pink tongue peeks out to lathe over a raised vein when you pull off for air has him dizzy. Your other hand's drifted down your pants and between your thighs at some point when he'd been lost in his own pleasure, fingers curling inside yourself. A deep inhale makes it clear you're absolutely soaking. And he's well aware that it is a meagre substitute—still, the eagerness of you is adorable lurid.

Distantly, he wonders just how many times you've had that hand there in this bed. It's the scene of the crime, really. You'd already admitted to it—and he ought to make sure you're full of his fingers to keep yours where there should be. That is, if he could move. He can't find the will to even sit up higher, let alone move the hand he's been using to keep your head steady. But, he does have the mind to comb his fingers through your tresses, at least.

You seem to realise he's realised what you're doing and you whine again, forcing yourself to take his cock further.

Cato lets out an approving moan and hisses out a feckless string of curses, thighs tensing sharply as his senses stagger at the heat that suffuses his belly.

The sick temptation to spend himself in your sweet vile maw is nigh all consuming, but it's nothing compared to the fact he's far more convinced on dumping it in your womb. Anywhere else feels like an injustice to the fact he's able to fill you—because just like some fang-toothed warp-spawn abomination, you've opened the door and invited him in, so he can make as much of a wreck of you as he likes, or as much as you like.

He yanks you off him by the reigns he's made of your hair and you choke a little.

The small groan at the messy handling of the situation is a testament to how badly you're after his end, "Wh-why...?" you rasp, the efforts having made your voice a little rough; the mix of your drool and his precum giving your chin and lips a wet, glossy sheen.

"Because—" he starts, and he's surprised by how ragged he sounds to his own ears. "Because, there's better holes to empty it in."

The little disappointed sigh that escapes you as you lick your slick bottom lip makes him immediately change his mind.

"Have it your way then," he heaves, and shoves your head back down—instinctively chasing the rising tide and rocking forward into your quickly opening mouth.

His hand is tight in your hair now, fist tangling the strands in his grip as you let him thrust freely. Your own hand grabs the side of his hip as his tempo stutters. By the Emperor, his father would kill him if he could see this. But, damn—the sight of you like this is sin. He's so much bigger than you it looks obscene with you servicing him like this. You're a mess, gagging and tearing up, but making no attempt to pull away. It's depraved, but if you're so desperate for a load down your throat, who's Cato to say no? He's more than happy to give you exactly that—and just on time, he feels his balls tighten up—static rising out up his spine as a groan tears from his throat. Caught daft not a millisecond later by a bodily shudder blinding him in a hot rush.

Cato pants as the shivers subside in heavy throbs, filling your mouth. He pets your head as you swallow, at first—and then the pockets of your cheeks puff out. And suddenly you're cringing and scrambling off of him and into the ensuite. The tap starts up, then you do, and all he hears spitting and sputtering.

You stumble out looking like you'd eaten something sour, swiping your hand across your lips before saying, "That tasted horrible."

"You wanted it," Cato growls.

A bright, wry smile plasters itself on your features, "And?"

"And, if you want more," he begins, eyeing you. "You'll have to lose the rags, woman."

You straighten, eager—and promptly start to wrestle your top over your head, just to throw it at his face.

Cato grumbles at the rudeness periodically, before he starts sniffing the article. Vomeronasal organ having a momentary frenzy. It smells of warm you, and a little bit of sleep. Like an embrace, and—fuck, his spent cock twitches back to life. He really shouldn't behave like this. It makes him assume he looks savage. Even he feels strange. So he wretches your top off himself and tosses it somewhere to the left.

Watching you suddenly appear on the bed, fighting your way out of your pants is much more entertaining.

He likes the way you shimmy onto your back and fuss yourself free; and the way you practically lunge back close to him when you're finally bare.

You lean over him and grin, and Cato appreciatively drags a hand down your back, palming your ass.

Promptly, he rolls himself and drags you along. He groans theatrically as if you're fifty times the effort to move than you are, simply because he can. And the shifting of his bulk makes the bed shake enough that the stack of slates on the table across the room falter, and tumble to the floor in a loud clatter of sound.

On your back under him, he preens at the flushed surprise on your face.

"That was too loud—you're too loud," you heave.

"I'm too loud?" He grumbles, pinning your far smaller shape down. "Says you."

That stirs a groan out of you, at least, squirming while Cato drags his tongue up the side of your neck.

"Someone can still pass by and hear," you whine, "We shouldn't make that much—"

"I doubt it," he grunts, cutting you off as he slides off the mattress and drags you to the lip of it. "We have a bed all to ourselves. Your bed—in your quarters, with six inches of steel in the way, might I add. They'd have to stand at the door to listen."

He flips you over, pressing you front down—slumping against you on his knees to grant a rough grind or two to make sure you're hyperaware of his thick erection plastered against your ass. Your legs kick out and you wriggle, a series of ragged gasps leaving you as you endure the onslaught. A small lick here, a small lick there—huffing and panting to stir an empathic response. Winding you up to writhe and flush as he groans next to your ear, only to start chuffing out mean spirited laughter when you moan back.

"See, you don't really care about anyone hearing, do you?" He rasps out against your throat before sucking the skin over a thudding little artery. "You're not sworn to chastity. They might just think, 'oh, the Ambassador's found another poor soul to suck the semen out of, shame,' or the likes."

"I don't know how you do it," You scoff, breathing hard into the covers as he pulls away and grabs you by the hips to hoist your rear up into that perfect taunting arch he remembers so well from the cabin. Aptly presenting yourself on your knees at mounting-height while he stands.

"Do what?"

You laugh, "Manage to find the worst possible thing to say every time."

Cato sneers haughtily, "Decades of practice."

Taking himself in hand, he angles the tip of his cock to kiss the soft rim of your entrance. And Throne, Cato's ecstatic. He finally gets to fill in the gaps of what he should've seen back in the cabin the first time. The theatrics you'd hidden under rags and your own embarrassment.

He hears the cartilage in your gullet click when you swallow dryly and grumble, "Fine then, but don't say I didn't—"

You're rudely interrupted by your own shuddering moan when he starts sliding into you, and Cato's never been happier to shut you up.

He bottoms out in you in one smooth thrust, and the sound you make next is a stellar thing. An eager, warbling 'Sicarius–' as his cockhead jars right up against your cervix. Warm, fluttering muscles around his length and the mewling of a whorish little Ambassador are ever a perfect combination.

But he wants to be closer—so, so much closer; he wants you pressed to his front, so he can absolutely smother himself against you. He wants to burn the feeling of you and him into his edict memory, so nothing can untangle it from him.

Cato has to bend himself at an awkward angle to manage it, but he's well aware of the fact he can manage a free hand to draw lethargic circles on your belly.

"And if they can hear, it's not like anyone will believe them," he pants, a little chuff of laughter chasing his words, looking down at your face buried in the sheets. "They'll think you're a busted piston, or maybe a whining pipe."

"You're such a—" you start as his hand slides slowly down your navel, and your voice tapers off, "You're a-ah..." he dips his fingers between your thighs, and you moan, "Thro—oh—ne..."

His pointer and ring finger spread the hooded peak of your folds, then the middle moves in and rolls over your clit again and again and again. Your smaller, folded body strains back from the new attention. Mewling at the stretch, and the hot, heavy press of trans-human dick inside you. It's just how he likes it. He's got you all to himself, his bulky hips flush to your ass, and his pleased rumbling beside your head. He's genuinely content, if not for the constant paranoia—but content is a feeling he never really appreciated before the warp everything went to shit. But that paranoia is inconsequential compared to the sheer amount of joy he feels with you near and receptive to his affections marauding.

"That's it," he rasps, and he has to swallow down how much he's raring to just blindly rut into you like a savage. "Now, be a good little whore—and say 'Cato, harder please,' for me."

The request falls on deaf... or rather, cock-drunk ears. You simply moan in answer and squeeze, over-eager for him to keep practically putting a dent your womb. It catches Cato by surprise when you climax all too suddenly, high-strung, and fuck, everything in that moment is absolutely perfect—Cato would gladly suffer for an eternity to stay, just like this, for as long as the accursed galaxy will allow. Your body reduced to a juddering wreck, arching forwards and suffering even more touch to your abused clit; your insides twitching in time around him with each passing graze of his finger over that sensitive nerve.

Rearing back isn't a safe choice either, because you end up getting even more of him in your cunt—unable to escape his efforts to hound you over the edge as soon as possible again.

"I c-can't, I-I—" you whine, and in response, like any reasonable Astartes, he keeps pounding until you're compliant.

"Say it," he pants.

"Ca—ah–Cato, h-harder, please—" you start crying as you shake underneath him.

His ears practically perk up at you finally using his first name; it was only quick and garbled, but he's so glad to hear it—he's already addicted to it, impropriety damned, because fuck does it sound good. It's always been Commander, and only recently had it been Sicarius—but now you're finally giving him the validation of crying out for Cato—for him, just him.

You can be louder, and clearer than smothered against the covers. So Cato acts on the brilliant idea to hoist you upright on your knees while he slams into you.

You're struggling erratically against the big hands holding you up, making the sound of a dying animal, now.

He fucks you right through your struggles, one hand keeping your head up under your jaw so he can arch down to tuck his chin on your shoulder. The mixed sound of your little rear making contact with his hips is a rushed, degenerate beat—Throne, the poor headboard of your cot against the wall too, it's almost like sabatons on steel, a rhythmic clank clank clank. And oh, then you make the sweetest little overstuffed sob, isn't that cute. Aren't you adorable.

He's only just started again and he's already liable to empty himself in you.

Suddenly, there's a scream of his name—and a quick, warm-wet splash from you that drips down his balls. Then you've apparently been struck daft and limp in his hold, sniffling out a wrecked little cry as you slacken. It's an entirely new phenomenon. It seems to be a good thing, seeing as you're squeezing on him like it's another orgasm—so he takes it at face value.

He keeps you upright and lets you cinch down around him, staying still—riding out the aftershocks of your finish and keeping his cock nice and warm and snug.

Cato is honestly surprised when you regain enough sense to weakly buck backwards and fuck yourself on him.

"Please... p-please," you slur, and it seems like all you needed was the incitement to be reduced to begging now; "Cato, in me, i-in me..."

Cato's completely enthralled, and he's never been more willing to follow an order faster. He'd walk right into an orbital barrage if you asked, right now.

He shifts his weight into the next thrust and meets your meagre attempts to get him to rut into you.

The loud, wet plap of him bucking forward is almost deafening.

His eyes roll back at the searing burr of pleasure that chases up his spine, panting through a clenched jaw, "So eager to be f-full of Astartes cum, huh?"

"Please, C-Cato—" You can barely even get the sentence around the pace of him practically rearranging your uterus into your stomach.

Fuck, he knows he's so beyond defective it's not even arguable, because he's practically feral for any hint of validation you'll give. And if you want to have your insides painted so badly, why should he deny you?

"I know," he pants, "I-I know."

You whine, well beyond words.

He's about as robbed of verbal sense as you are now, and he groans, your cries becoming hiccups.

He swears he almost blacks out for a moment when he actually finishes. His arrhythmic, choppy sighs chase each thrust. So suddenly seized by his end he slumps forward, pushing you with him, feeling half-dead and gritting his teeth as shudder after shudder wracks him. Persisting, his hips still keep pumping without a hint of respite, pinning you with his bulk while emptying himself inside you, just how you wanted. The subsequent leaking of his spend from you turns the pace of him still rutting into an even stickier cacophony of lewd wet sound. Hand splayed out beside your head supporting his weight, huffing and puffing to himself like a pissed-off bull as he works himself into overstimulation.

He stops at last with a long, trying sigh and pulls his slick and spent-wet fingers out from between your legs; dragging them across the sheets somewhere to the right before letting his palm splay on your hip, dry.

You're bent ass up under him, with your cunt still full of his cock, plus a thick load; moaning so lowly and continuously it's almost a purr.

Cato groans tiredly, rocking his hips a little for good measure despite the ache of it. "Does having me finish inside you feel that good to your little animal brain?"

Your voice is a fucked-out mumble as you say, "Well... 's not like... y'going to get me pregnant or anything."

Cato stays quiet, considering.

And that quiet seemingly sends you asking, "Are—are A-Astartes... sterile?"

"I'm actually not too sure," Cato huffs, and finally grows the spine to pull himself out.

Your gasp at his exit and subsequent little exhuasted 'hmm' is curiously without any hint of fear-smell.

He scowls, "And you're not at all concerned by that?"

A soft groan from you answers, "Got an i-implant... after the first t-time, just incase."

He doesn't have the balls energy to even begin to comment on the fact you'd correctly anticipated him trying after you again. Is he that predictable?

Cato rears back and makes an affirmative sound, groping at your ass, big thumb pulling one of your labia aside to ogle the fat pearls of cum dripping from you. You'd take another load, too. And if you ask him nicely enough, he might do just that right now—or have your mouth again. But he likes spending himself in your warm cunt far more. The way you squirm and squeeze on him when he's in you is intoxicating. Maybe later, given your exhaustion. You both have all cycle—or at least, whatever remains of his rest hours. Regardless, it's a genuine wonder the device hasn't succumbed to the stress of stonewalling an Astartes' draining his balls in you so many times these last few months.

He makes a soft tutting sound as his big palm smooths down your sides; his warm breath dancing across your inner thighs.

No better than some slavering beast, Cato gives into the urge sent by his hindbrain and licks a wide band from clit to taint in one smooth motion, and pulls away, seemingly briefly appeased.

Your squeal is priceless, but—eugh, his cum does taste foul. Nutrient gruel be damned, he needs to fix that somehow.

Sputtering as quietly as he can to avoid dignifying your similar reaction earlier, he grumbles to himself—still pawing and groping at your ass.

"You've ruined m-my sheets," you manage to say.

Cato grunts, "You're the one who decided to piss on them."

He says that, but knows it wasn't. It didn't smell like it—it smelt like satisfaction, and slick, and 'harder, please—please, Cato, harder.'

The sudden shiver that runs up his spine thinking about it surely isn't born of a vaguely possessive thrill.

Abruptly you roll onto your back and sit up, grimacing at him.

"That's n-not what that was," you hiss, flustered enough that you're stammering. "T-That was..."

Cato raises an eyebrow, "What was it, hm?"

Hook, line, sinker—

You dither, red in the face as you mumble, "It–it was nothing."

—and ta-da, he reels in an Ambassador.

"Oh, that's right," he grins and leans over you, "It was you finishing so hard you screamed my name."

Something bold rears it's head in you then, eyeing him petulantly; because you start swatting at him—and Cato's never had you actively physically retaliate for any jabs—so he just freezes, bemused.

They're barely even pats to his sturdy form, and it amuses him to no end that you're so small but still trying to annoy him.

So, he acquiesces; and starts using his own strength on you. He keeps it in check, of course; because you're still a twig of a baseline, even as grating as you are. He's practically tossing you around on the bed with minimal actual effort. Big hands stroking and kneading, rolling you around, pinning you beneath him and trying to annoy you back.

The efforts yield an entirely different result. You're laughing, hyperventilating, and every rough grope earns him a shrill little keen of excitement.

"Throne, you're a degenerate," Cato hums, giving you a wry look before reeling you back under him. "Getting off on being tossed around, are you?"

And with a yelp, you're made to watch him maraud his way up your body again.

You start grinning then, and it's not the typical sweet, coy smile of you luring him in; rather, it's one of a mad thing, feral and giddy.

You snigger sharply, a little breathless from struggling. "You say that like t-there's any downsides."

Cato scoffs, and rolls onto his back, pouting. "So anything that can rough you up will do, then?"

"I, unfortunately, have a very singular preference," you chuff, and snuggle up against him; tucking your chin against his neck, humming softly to yourself.

"Is that so?" He grunts, "And what would that be?"

The kiss to his jaw is heartachingly soft, and you snort a little when he turns to look down at you and your cheek is grated by his stubble.

Your big eyes are locked on his, half-lidded and lazy, and there's that familiar, honeyed look in them again. The soft, heady fixation of focused affection.

Cato feels like he's about to start weeping out of sheer joy. You're all his, your time, your gaze, your adoration—everything.

He's practically vibrating from elation.

"Despite your profession, you are terrible at hiding your emotions," he snarls, despite himself.

"Look at the time—aren't you expected somewhere, Commander Sicarius?" You ask sourly, but the warmth in your eyes stays the same.

Cato wonders if his expression betrays any of that sort of softness. If there's any residual capacity to show affection left in his face after all he's been through. He's sure there's something going on there that's got you looking at him with that sweet gaze. Or maybe you've gotten a good read on what's going on in his head now. He certainly feels as if he's been figured out. As if you've got him pried and nailed open like a xenos corpse in some creaking admech's lair. The prospect isn't anywhere near as daunting as it should be.

Still, he plays along.

"Probably, but you don't seem to really be complaining, Lady Ambassador," Cato quips low in his throat as he leans in close, only to pull away and sneer. Your lips part slightly as you swallow your words instead of speaking, clearly captivated. That said, he is also still a little breathless from teasing you so it was no surprise you seem dazed at his own attempt.

"No, I am—you've just more muscle than brain," you bite out with a flash of snark a second late, taunting him further by sticking your tongue out.

Retaliating immediately, he snares your mouth against his own; sliding his own tongue with yours and drinking in the soft moan that slips free. You nip his bottom lip vengefully, making him stifle a growl and lean away as he hisses, "Don't tempt me for a third."

It's no lie, because fuck, he probably could go for one more. Especially with the treatment he's receiving now.

"Why not?" you say in a tone that's so sweet one of his hearts aches.

"You want more already?" He drawls as he licks your jaw, your throat, everywhere and anywhere his mouth can reach. Tasting the salt of your sweat, and practically suffocating himself in the smell of you. Basking in his victory—Cato makes a sound like a great big feline, somewhere between a chuff and a growl against your neck; lazily entertaining himself by mouthing a bevy of bruises there. You almost immediately let him do as he pleases, your mouth hanging open, eyes half lidded and face flushed. Cato tries—and fails—to restrain the sudden amusement edging his tone at how easily you fall to your lusts. "You're going to overload that implant and end up gravid, woman."

"Throne, yes—" You slur, wriggling against him as he lathes his tongue across the top of one of your tits.

"What?" Cato barks.

Your face reddens, "What?"

Cato glares at you, and raises a brow. You're pretending you hadn't said anything and he's stunned you think he's stupid enough to miss it, "Baseline ducal protocol likely dictates... I would have to carry you off to be wed if that happened," he says, rushed. "Or... something of the likes, I suppose."

"R-Right," You fake a cough and avert your eyes, and you're breathing a little heavy.

"Within the context, of..." Cato backpedals, suddenly hyperaware of himself. "Of... that theoretical scenario."

You harrumph meekly, and then mumble, "Oh, of course... I agree, in that hypothetical situation."

He blinks, flabbergasted, "...really?"

You clear your throat and nod stuffily, only to tuck closer against him.

There's an entire subsector's worth of unpacking those statements need; you agree, but is that you saying it's a distant assurance? That you'd let him, one day, or is it merely conjecture? The primitive satisfaction of that base biological imperative is a heady one. Dangerous, too. If there is a chance of knocking you up, it would require significant subterfuge to keep hidden. Astartes can smell that sort of thing—and fuck, a Primarch could probably tell who's it was when given a source sample. He's got no litmus test for how easy you both would be caught. Maybe if you're suddenly on leave, for say, nine-months? That's one solution.

But where would you go—oh, Throne, he's thinking about Talassar again, and you in a pretty little slip, or in his rest robes, lying next to him notating; maybe resting against his chest in the crook of his arm—the fantasy is mundane, and domestic, and anathema to his status as High Suzerain of Ultramar, but still his cock throbs and his cheeks heat at the idea of calling you Lady Sicarius.

Your hands card through his hair abruptly, combing and petting him, and hm... that's nice, why are you looking at him like that—

"What do you think you've doing?" He growls, ever the hypocrite—his face doesn't feel hot at all, shut up.

You harrumph, "Stop pretending you don't like it."

"Whatever," Cato scoffs, and leans into your touch—not before mumbling; "Cunt."

Self-admittedly, he entirely deserves the feisty little smack he cops to the snout the very next second.

"Don't call me that," you pout.

The laugh it earns from him is just as genuine.

He's having you a third time just because of that, for sure.

[kit-williams]

Once this is all over

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog @remembrancer-of-heresy @felinisnoctis

Ferrus removes the metal from his arms.

This is Yan Ferrus and the reader is the one he put in the forever box.

This is also to make up for the noncon fic I had recently wrote with something nicer

The scarring on his arms and hands were going away as it was a long time coming... the Great Crusade was over and he could finally remove the metal from his hands. She had been in recovery for some time as long cyro takes some time to have the body return to normal. But their reunion was what he had hoped for... to feel her hands slowly glide over his arms. Gently touching where there was still a seam in his arms but just one where the metal once was but that did not matter.

What mattered was the sensation of her fingertips gliding along the pale skin. In time it would match the same tan as the rest of him but he could feel the minute way her fingers pulled on the skin of his arms. His face gave no impression of the arousal he was in as his cock was pressed into his thigh throbbing angrily as she babbled but his superhuman mind was focused on her hands touching his naked arms.

Tiny fingers gently press against the veins in his wrist as she is not as talkative as she once was... he knows he is partially to blame as he was selfish and took her but he also knows she is still recovering... but he wants to feel her body now and watch her writhe with pleasure as his hands move over her flushed form just as he did the last time he held her.

Her hands touch his palms again as she once more chirps about the lines in his hand... but he isn't paying attention as he feels his cock jump each time she moves her fingers over his palm, feeling the way she cups his hand. She looks confused for a moment as his ring finger just touches her lips... he doesn't know why he touched but his face heats up and he pants hard as he watches her wrap her mouth around his finger. The way her cheeks hollow and how her tongue moves against the skin.

He bites the inside of his cheek as he needs just a bit more but he's so close. He can spy her eyes looking down at the bulge against his thigh and when again her tiny hands just put pressure against the bulge he cums. He won't apologize... he breathes heavy as he comes down from the high... he wont apologize for anything as his hands cup her face delicately as he can feel her warmth through his hands no metal between them.

"When you recover..."

"Yes Ferrus I'll gladly join you in bed though... I can still join you now."

Hardly a beat passes between them, "I'll have you moved in right away."

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: A very lecherous gift for you authors and readers.

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You have been tricked into believing one of your bonded’s needed your help, and they do, but it turns out it was much more. Way much more.

𝕬𝖉𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘: Hura, Darsas & Blasius are bonded to the reader only for this despicable story. This is not canon.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams(It is almost exhausting to wright for 4 characters. How did you do your lovely Raven bois?), @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝐒𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐂’𝐬: Hura by @/gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan & Darsas by @/sleepyfan-blog.

TW // Smut, Foursome, Breeding, Boobies, Marking, Overstimulation, Tentacles.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

Oh, how you should have known better than to trust one of your fellow friends that had called for you. Telling you that one of your lovers, mates, spouses, bonded has not been feeling well. Especially Hura, an Astartes of great strength and mystery to him as well as an Apothecary: A Astartes skilled in medicine.

So, the Astartes medic should have been alright, right? Though, by being a loving spouse. You choose to be ignorant of how your friend said those warning words to you. All full of snarkiness and hidden amusement, and yet… You continued on to see how your lover was doing, checking up on him. Fearing no one would help him despite being a well known Astartes.

Oh, how you should have known from the start.

“Hura!” You cry, arching your back into the bed as the Apothecary has his hand positioned lightly on the back of your head, pushing you down and keeping you pinned into his mattress. His huffing, hot breaths painting across that back of your neck as you can feel how his cock twitched inside of you, spilling his warm seed deep into your womb. His lips then nibbling; biting at the back of your neck.

“So sweet, little mouse.” Hura purrs down at you, gently into your ear. Sending a shiver down your spine. His form thrusting a few times when you do, gaining that little bit of extra friction while he groans. Pumping more of his seed into you. “Coming to my aid.”

“Perhaps, I shall call for you more often?” The Death Guard Apothecary thinks to himself. His breath tickling your neck as he started up again, slowly thrusting in and out of your marked walls. Your body completely melting underneath him as you bite into the sheets, muffly moaning into them. Not really expecting him to go at it again after a round or two, maybe more? “You seem so willing, so pretty…”

Hura doesn’t seem that he is quite done with you. Not at all actually… He can finally breed you with almost reckless abandon while you were just trying to help him with his situation after all. Walking into him at the wrong time. A time where most would prioritize this certain situation and should take a leave for it.

Admitly, you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into at first, but with a couple well played coos, praises and soft words towards you. You eventually inch closer to him, and he had you right where he wanted you. Nude and willing to provide relief for him.

The Apothecary can feel you withering underneath him, moaning and crying out for him, biting into the sheets below you. Pleasured tears running from your eyes as you didn’t expect such intense of an intercourse from a gentle Apothecary like Hura himself. It was not many times he would be so sexually driven to the point where he was rough and deep like he were to… like he was trying to breed you. Yet here he was, going at you once more, again and again. Driving your mind numb with your only thoughts about being him and only him.

Oh, such a sweet thing you are. You should know their breeding times. He has taught you all this before. Some have these… primal, sexual desires; the need to breed while others were more… normal as they can be. Telling you how overwhelming it can be for a baseline human like you. How most do not stop until they are satisfied with how well they stuff you with their mark, their kin and Hura the Apothecary was no exception to these delicious whims.

Soon as you entered through the doors of his quarters he doesn’t hesitate to lure you over. Cooing and talking to you softly, getting you ever closer to him before he snags you. Bringing you into a very intoxicating kiss. A kiss that has you buckling your knees and falling right into his hands. If you were to refuse the kiss, (which you didn’t.) He would have let you go, let himself suffer the primal drive of an aching cock. Though, he could always ask the other bonds to see if they can provide him the relief he craves for…

He groans again, pressing himself up against you more, squishing you lightly into his sheets. His own armored chest pressing gently up against your back, completely covering you in him: his scent, his mark, his body. Enjoying how well you taste on his rotting tongue as he continually nibbles and kitten licks all over your skin, pleasing his senses well.

“You are like the nectar out of the Garden of Decay.” He rumbles, his chest vibrating through his armor. His tongue giving you a lick at the back of your neck before returning to his mouth, savoring your taste with a hum. His nose coming in to nuzzle into the side of your neck, inhaling your scent. Comforting him that you wouldn’t leave him any time soon. That you would be stuck with him until he is finished with you.

“Rightfully sweet and savory.” He mumbles, purring into your skin. Shifting a bit against your back so you cannot wiggle without him allowing you to do so. One of his hands grasping at your hips while the other holds him from absolutely squishing you beneath his armor and weight. “I wonder if you taste just as good from the inside just as you do out?”

He knows the answer to that one, but he can’t help question it over and over again, like he almost forgets your taste, and by Nurgle he will swear that he won’t. It’s why he has to come back for more. To feel you move and rut into his face while his tongue explores the depths of your baseline anatomy. Drinking up anything your body can give him.

His body shivers as he climaxes again, nuzzling into you more. His hand on your hip keeping you in place as he can feel you shiver and whine; whimpering into the sheets. His cock twitching and stilling all the way inside of you, keeping you full of him.

Tucking his head into your neck. He snuggles on top of you all while keeping track of how much you can take from him. If you need any water or snacks for him to provide you with… your more fragile body. Listening to your stuttering breaths and slobbering moans you voice through his sheets as he purrs lightly at you, comforting you.

“You are doing so well for me, little mouse.” He praises, raising up a little from your body to look down at you properly on his bed. Keenly observing how your body was pinned tightly beneath him and how you were shaking slightly. His Apothecary side coming out just a bit. “Do you need any water, any food? Would you like to continue?”

“N-no, just want you.” It takes you a moment to respond considering his cock was still inside of you practically cockwarming you, and he had just railed you like… three times or more? “Always want you.”

“Oh, such sweet words my little mouse.” He can’t help but purr down at you. Placing his gauntlets on your ass and giving it a little squeeze. “Don’t let Blasius hear you say that.”

“Don’t let Blasius hear what?” Another, masculine voice comes out of nowhere. A figure of armor walking into the room and closing the door behind them. Restricting access to those who were not permitted in Huras quarters.

“Ah, Darsas…” The Apothecary coos at him, not at all bothered by his sudden appearance. In fact, it pleases him more to know that his other bond was doing okay. “How are you?”

“I knew I felt something… primal going on here.” Darsas comments, either ignoring Huras question or too enraptured with that was going on in this room. His form kneeling down on the side of the bed; next to you. His gauntlet coming up to gently pat you on the head.

“Should have told me you were in your season, Hura. I would have also provided you.” Darsas states to him, looking up to the Apothecary while still patting your head. “I know how you are during your time of… need.”

“I would have summoned you, but it seems little mouse had wanted to aid me…” Hura responds, gently squeezing your ass again. Thrusting a little bit inside of you. Hearing you whine out and push up against Darsas gauntlet on your head.

“Is that so?” The Psyker hums, looking down at you. Inching a bit closer so he can caress your head, going from your scalp to your jawline; gently hooking your chin with his armored finger, making you look up at him. His dark brown, almost black eyes taking in your hazy, blissed out ones from beneath his helmet.

A tiny crack sounds out from Darsas while his helmet spits where his mouth would be. Not splitting up into different sections of a mouth, simply just like taking off a piece of his helmet. Showing his mouth littered with needle sharp teeth, and a long tongue escaping his mouth, rolling like a snake before slowly drags it up your cheek, tasting you. His saliva staining your skin with his smell.

“Such a sweet little mouse, isn’t she?” Hura asks Dursas, gently massaging your ass as he thrusts slowly inside of you. Groaning a bit as he can feel you tighten around him.

“Hmmm, very sweet.” Darsas agrees with a hum, moving his tongue along your face. Going from your cheek, jawline, chin then your lips. Prodding at them, asking you to open up. Purring at you when you do. His tongue evading your mouth, taking it over. Swirling around your own, trapping it. His saliva mixing with yours, and it is a bit more thicker and hotter.

You try and recuperate with them, but it hard when you have a medic in his cycle behind you that has railed you multiple times already, and you can’t remember how many times. Then, you have the Psyker in front of you, making your mouth his. Tasting you for all your worth, making sure not to leave anything untouched.

“Darsas…” You manage to moan out, muffled by his tongue. Your shaky hands coming up to grasp tightly at his helmet. Unsure if you wanted to push them both away because of their intensity or not… They were being so soft with you, going slow and letting you recover before starting up again. It was almost like they had found an infinite cycle to fuck you at a rewarding pace.

“Yes, little flower?” He purrs, pulling his tongue out of your mouth and licking the excess saliva from your lips, making sure you stay clean. Knowing how Hura can be…

“I— hah! Fuck…” You curse and shiver, grasping onto his helmet more harshly, tucking him into the top of your chest. Another wave of bliss over coming over you while your body shivers and melts into him. A thick warm feeling going through your nerves and womb as Hura coos down at you. Leaning over again to nip at your shoulders.

“Pretty little mouse.” The Apothecary praises in your ear, giving you a couple more thrusts, making you rock into Darsas as the Psyker rumbles lightly at you. His gauntlets gently coming up to rest on the sides of your torso, liking the feeling of your naked breasts being pressed up against his helmet. “So helpful, so tasteful, all ours…”

Darsas purrs into your chest. Once again agreeing with Hura, shaking his head a little bit. His tongue coming back out to slot right between your breasts, lapping at you slowly and curling around the curves of your chest. His gauntlets squeezing your sides lightly as he can feel your breath stutter at his sudden actions to feast on you.

The Apothecary breeding you chuckles, leaning back up to trace the spine of your back. Pressing his armored fingers gently into your back, up and down. Watching how you keen into his touch, very sensitive to both of them. He wonders how much longer you can take before you need to take a very needed, and rewarding break; in other means, grateful aftercare.

Hura attention snaps up to Darsas as the Psyker suddenly whines. His Apothecary senses going wild that something may have happened when he released that Blasius had somehow came into his room. The more… animalistic Death guard pulling Darsas back gently from their little mouses’ chest, rumbling deeply down at him, giving the Psyker a gentle nuzzle to the side of his helmet.

How did Hura not notice the other Death Guard, his other bond come in? He was sure he would have noticed him, but he supposes not. The cycles does tend to make some oblivious to their surroundings, but very aware of the bonds.

Either way, he is strangely happy that he had all his bonds around him. A content purr coming out of him as he watches the two other Death Guards nuzzle on one another. Though, he not one to leave out his little mouse. His gauntlet coming down to grasp at her waist and pull her back into him.

She gives him a little whine at the sudden movement. Her hands coming to grasp back at him. Nuzzling into his vambrace when he wraps his arms around her front, keeping her up against him as he was still inside of her walls, cockwarming her. His nose nuzzling the top of her head before kissing her neck.

“Look what you have done, little mouse.” Hura coos into her ear, making her shiver on his cock. His gauntlets slowly tracing her front up and down. “Made us all eager.”

“Can you go one more round, little mouse? Hmmm?” He asks, still aware that you were just a human. He didn’t want t break you, and that would leave a heavy mark on him if he did. He was an Apothecary, not so much of a killer… unless he had to be.

You not sure if you could go another around. Sure, you loved the sex, but it can go on for too long and put a strain on your body. Plus, you know better to but upfront with all your Death Guard’s. Especially, with Hura. No one ever plays with the medic unless he wants to himself.

“I-I’m not sure.” You stammer tiredly, but still buzzing with almost numb pleasure while you glance at Blasius and Drasas. Both of them getting into a bit of a power struggle with their tentacles. Trying to see who would fold first, and with Blasius having more tentacles than Drasas… it is an unfortunate advantage for Blasius as he uses them to wrap around Drasas own and under the poor Psyker armor. A surprised sound coming out of Drasas then a heavy gasp when Blasius uses everything in his advantage to dominate. One of other tentacles coming out to go under Darsas helmet and drag along where his hair would be. Knowing just what makes any of his bonds, partners tick.

If he wants to breed, he’ll make it happen with all the best advances. Using everything out of a book or a… specialist is such matters. Though, the whole room is a bit lucky Blasius is not in such a mood, not they wouldn’t finding it rather exciting…

“That’s alright, little mouse.” Hura hums into her ear, nuzzling just right below her earlobe. Glad that she wasn’t going to try and push herself, even with him in such a… “horny” state. Learning such a word from a peculiar Emperor child. “We always have tomorrow.”

“T-tomorrow?” You hesitate to even recite that word back to him. Your mind trying to comprehend doing such heavy acts again tomorrow. Your walls tightening around him at the thought…

Hura laughs lightly at you then rumbles when he feels you tighten around him. His body shifting a bit to hit your g-spot in return in a teasing manner. “Yes, tomorrow. You are not leaving my quarters untill I dismiss you.”

You can’t help but groan at his words, leaning back into him more. Sometimes, you hate Apothecaries like any other normal person and Astartes alike… So bossy… “You’re going to have to give me a doctor’s notice…”

The Apothecary laughs at you again, nuzzling into your neck before he slowly lifts you off his hard cock that was going to be that way for a few weeks… His hands adjusting you carefully up against his armor and heading for his bathroom. “Of course, little mouse. Let’s leave these too to… explore for themselves.”

You nod at that, grateful that Hura is always so caring. Your body snuggling up into his arms as you catch a brief glance of the Blasius and Darsas. Their armor shifting as Blasius hisses at the Psyker to stay still. He is just trying to tease the hell out of his second most sensitive lover. :(

[ladymirdan]

I finished up a story ivee had in my WIP for over a year.

Some Calgar/Tigurius. Calgar is such a badass and he deserves more love:

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

You know I might as well post this now...

Severe Miscalculation

Tw: misunderstanding (kinda), pretty intense descriptors of kissing and coupling. NSFW we having a literal roll in the hay!

Tag: @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @bleedingichorhearts @barn-anon @bispecsual @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams

Based on the slight discourse about 40k space marines in fandom vs Canon and if they experience...the desire for physical intimacy. And what happens when you mistakenly think the Majority of space marines don't have any interest in the stuff.

Edit! I've decided to connect this story to this other drabble I did. So if you'd like more context to the overarching story, here's the prequel.

I know it looks like I'm linking to the same story but I promise it Is a different drabble.

It was evening but not dark yet, the combined boon of daylight savings and a fresh spring rain making things humid, but not unbearably hot.

You wandered your neighbor's property in the normal fashion. Normal in such that your neighbor was absent, on a trip to visit her mother in another state.

And had left you, with the task of appearing twice a day to check on things and complete the few simple chores she had lying around. For a fair compensation mind you.

The tasks weren't even that hard, but it was more work on your already tight and physically taxing schedule.

As much as you appreciated your neighbor, you couldn't deny you'd been feeling the burnout recently, and not just from the weather bandying cheerfully back and forth between drenching rains and muggy, sweaty heat.

Honestly you needed a reset. Something to just Erase all that stress you'd been feeling. But given how tight your schedule had to be to just make ends meet, you doubted you'd get the chance to say...seek out a partner to help with such things.

Perhaps you should've look into getting something more mechanical in nature to help you.

Maybe throw a wink at the next random Noise Marine you saw. Unbonded ones supposedly had a proclivity for the naughty side of things.

Which made them an odd exception as Space Marines as a whole were thought to not have much sex drive. Or even be sex repulsed.

No shame to them. You often bounced between moments of desiring absolute carnality and vulnerability, then a few days later feeling like being touched would make you break out in hives.

"The wonders of the human mind~" You sighed with mock humor. Oh well, once you were done here you could go shower, curl up in your bed and hope your currently thrumming sexual frustration could shut the fuck up for a bit.

You strode through the open barn door.

CRASH!

"The FUCK!?"

"The FUCk!? The FuCK!? tTthHeEee FfUuucK!?!? -K-k-k!?!?"

An electronic parody of your own shriek came back to you, as the large looming shape with dark blue armor nearly doubled over, clearly finding your terror hilarious.

"FUCKING Dammit Khopesh!"

"FfFuUcCkKINg Da-Da-Da-DamMit KOoOopeSHhhhhh."

Normally you tolerated your neighbor's Nightlord, even found his shenanigans funny on occasion.

After all rolling with the punches or ignoring him generally made him lose interest. But you were hot, sweaty, tired and Not in the way you desperately wanted to be right now.

Honestly, you'd had preferred if he'd left with your neighbor on her trip, but...apparently he wasn't...quite bonded to her?

It was an odd situation, with your neighbors treating him more like an adopted son. And he...seemed to appreciate them too. Like genuinely, maybe he had a partial bond with both? Meaning when your neighbor left he preferred to stay with her husband and home as it needed defending?

It was sweet, but your care of your neighbors creatures had come LONG Before he arrived. And you sometimes felt like he pushed your buttons as a show of his resentment at your longer status is your neighbor's lives.

And the fact they still payed You to do the chores over trusting him with them.

You could understand some pettiness taking seed from that.

Maybe You could be petty back...

It Was said that Astartes, and Nightlords especially, could become overwhelmed when humans approached them too eagerly.

Hmm...

You straightened your back, took a deep breath as the big blue bastard was still modulating your voice at you, and Clearly enjoying it too much.

"Khopesh~" You cooed, the change in your voice catching his attention.

You, sauntered up to the big fella, putting a sway in your hips and calling on your still present sexual frustration to aid you in making this convincing.

"You know...that voice trick of yours is pretty nifty..." You stated, now close enough to touch him.

While mostly inscrutable behind his helmet, you could tell his demeanor had changed. He was standing mostly straight, looking down at you as you came closer, nearly touching but not quite.

"I'll even admit, you got me good with that scare..." You admitted, opening your mouth Just enough so he could see your tongue run over your teeth. "But...If you Really wanted to hear me Scream~ We could explore...other ideas..."

You smoothly undid the top button on your shirt, to emphasize your point.

'Your move Nightlord.' You thought, smiling smugly with your hands on your hips.

Khopesh responded by Not moving an inch. In fact, dare you say you thought him...

'Dumbfounded,' Not entirely the idea you wanted, him flusteredly retreating would've been Peak comedy to you. But this was fun too.

"Ah well...you don't seem interested?" You shrugged, still proud of yourself for rebuffing his childish prank. "It IS a rather abrupt thing to ask for, I don't blame you for chickening out." You assured with a mock sympathy.

You turned on your heel. One benefit to wearing jeans year round (the leg protection trumping the overheating) was the definition they gave your legs and...your other assets.

And by the throne you were putting that enticing sway back in your hips as you made your exit. You couldn't resist throwing one more light jab. "But, if you're ever interested in making me scream for real, just gimme a call-Oof!"

Well that was a shock. Your sauntering exit was interrupted by an arm clad in ceremite. And the Nightlord it was attached to must have moved at ungodly speed in order to block your path.

Well this was unexpected. "Uhh...what."

You were cut off by Khopesh's lowered arm coming up to firmly (but surprisingly gently) grasp your chin. As his other hand raised to the underside of his helmet.

Click, hiss

With a quick motion he removed his headgear, and dropped it without ceremony. Another surprise the back of your mind cataloged while the forefront was taken up with watching the way his midnight dark hair fell around his gaunt but handsome face.

And those eyes, those Eyes. Like pools of ink, disturbing but alluring all at once.

You'd seen his face before, but up close like this you're reminded of when you'd let his features be used in your private fantasys.

Especially his hair, touching it, stroking it, tugging it, brushing and washing it with the soft kind of intimacy your heart craved.

"Hmmm..." Khopesh took a deep satisfying inhale, as he smiled that wicked sharp toothed grin that drove you crazy.

"I can smell your thoughts..."

What.

Well again you were thrown off because your very literal coded mind could not understand what he meant by-

"They smell...mouthwatering~" He growled, wrapping his free arm around your torso and lifting you so you were nestled up against him, and one of his armored legs brushed right against your core.

The shiver that ran through you at the contact was not missed by either of you.

Ooooh...

Oh shit.

"I accept, your offer human..." Khopesh chuckled. "Unless you wish to...chicken out? As you said."

Oh. Oh that bitch.

You know what! Screw it! You were an adult, you were clean, you were on birth control, and you'd been flustered and frustrated for Far Too Long.

And this interdimensional level Bastard thinks he's going to get the best of you?

Fuck that noise.

You squared your shoulders, rose up (as best you could), grabbed the sides of Khopesh's face and planted a kiss right on his scarred, sharp tooth mouth.

His slight confusion over your shift was quickly forgotten as the Nightlord let out an absolutely Sinful sound as he shifted his own hands to pull you closer.

Your initiative payed off as you ran your tongue over the contours of his fangs, then sucked his upper lip between your own teeth. Giving it a light nip, before soothing with your tongue, and another kiss.

Khopesh was surprised by your boldness, excited by it too! But he wouldn't be outdone!

He used his shear size to over power, so he could explore your mouth the same way. Pulling back only slightly so he could nibble and suck at your lips before diving back in.

You caved for air first, of course you did, the bastard had three lungs and you only had two.

You panted for breath as a very smug Khopesh smiled before trailing his kisses up to your earlobe, and again marking and sucking spots that made you feel weak.

You should still answer with words, you thought, one of the few thoughts that could make it through your aroused haze at the moment. "I hope, you're nh! You're satisfied! With my answer...ah!"

The Nightlord chuckled, before replying. "I understand you Perfectly, my sweet little lullaby..." He hummed, before returning to his task of marking up your neck.

"But I don't think I will be Satisfied, for a while yet..."

You swallowed your nerves...because hot damn you don't think you've wanted anything more in your life!

"Bring it!"

...

"K-khopesh!" You plead as the Nightlord ravaged you, as he had been for the past two hours.

In hindsight, losing to him in the kissing stamina was probably the first sign of things to come. But your dumb horny brain had gotten you into this, and now you were pinned here.

Literally and figuratively.

He cackled, holding you up as he drove himself deep inside your sopping walls again and again. "Oooh, but my sweet little lullaby! I thought you wanted me to 'Bring It' I'm only doing as! you! asked!"

"Mm! Ulp! S-shut up!" You groaned as every thrust rocked your whole body, and though you were sore already you were still desperate for more.

"Awww...and here I thought you Liked my voice. I could smell your arousal every time you heard me speak after all~" He cooed, not losing rhythm despite his focus on taunting you. He lowered his face to your ear. "And every time you saw my face~ Your blushing, the scent of your wetness, it drove me to near madness!"

Wait he'd wanted you that much?

Khopesh continued unimpeded. "Not being able to touch you! To ravish you! To claim you! I- Mmm!"

The warmth you felt knowing he desired you compelled you to pull him into another kiss, wrapping your hand around his head and caressing his hair.

It was still carnal, but more than that it was filled with a tender sweetness. One that seemed to sooth the Nightlord's frenzy for a moment.

His movements slowed, and eventually stopped.

"Khopesh," You cooed, continuing to kiss him between words, playing and stroking his hair gently. It was a bit wiry, your fantasy of treating him to a hair spa day coming to mind.

But that was for later. There was something else on your mind right now. "Turn me around," You requested softly. "I want to hold you."

This seemed to take the Nightlord by surprise, but he acquiesced. Lifting you easily, before a different idea came to mind.

"Actually, could you lay back, I want to try something."

He was clearly still confused, "Very well,"

But if he got another kiss like the one you just gave him he'd do just about anything.

As he settled his back on the straw floor of the hay stall, you in turn settled above his hips. He kept one hand on you as you did so, partially to help with balance, and partially as reassurance that he could snag you easily should you leave again.

But your focus was clearly completely on Him, and oh did that send a shiver of delight through him. Almost as pleasurable as when you took him in hand and aligned him properly once more.

The stretch, the warmth, the closeness and even the slight sting as your Nightlord and you were once again joined.

You trembled with your own delight as you slid inch by inch and felt the warmth burrow deeper into your soft wetness. And the comfort and Pride you swelled with upon meeting your hips with his own.

But onto the main event. You began rotating your hips, sliding back and forth, never allowing him to slip completely from you. And of course squeezing with your inner muscles in a rhythm with your movements.

Khopesh groaned as the pleasure of coupling returned. He'd been staving off his own end to pleasure you, but laid back like this, seeing you not just accept him but Eagerly take part in this act. He found himself growing close.

"Mm, hmm! I, quite enjoy, this...something." He struggled to find the words, and struggled as he wanted You to reach one more peak before he did.

You chuckled at that, a genuine thing that actually made Khopesh blush. "I'M! G-glad! I wouldn't m-mind doing this with you...again."

Again? A bit of Khopesh's wicked grin came back. He gripped to his lullaby's hips and began picking up that savage pace from before.

"K-khopesh! Ah!" You yelped feeling your next peak approaching fast as he hammered your throbbing core.

"I! Have No! INTENTION! Of letting you slip away! My sweet Lullaby~" He growled as he finally let his full desire reach its peak!

"You! Are! Mine!" He hissed bringing his arms around your form and pulling you into a nearly suffocating embrace as he felt the incredible buildup finally release.

"Khope-aAaaahhh-!" You trembled as that bursting firework of tension finally crescendo ed for you as well. Leaving you trembling and clenching as Khopesh let his milky warmth fill you.

"Mine!.. mine...mine...min..e," He panted, his pace slowly reducing as he rode out those Wonderful aftershocks inside you, letting you both share in the pleasure as it faded.

You remained like that for a bit. Sticky, hot, tired, sweaty, but Satisfied. Just bringing your breathing back to normal and feeling the burn in your muscles the arousal had kept at bay.

You glanced at the Nightlord, not nearly as winded as you, but he had worked up a sweat, and his beautiful dark hair was tangled with stray bits of hay.

It was a comedic sight.

Khopesh found himself stirred by another of your adorable giggles, though he was confused by its source.

His confused face just made him look Cuter. But you stifled your laughter so you could explain.

"You've ah...you've got some barn glitter up here." You reached up to his dark hair and gently removed some to show him.

Khopesh actually snorted and grumbled, pawing at the other pieces to remove them. Again you found yourself amused.

"Here, let me help you." You offered sweetly.

You used your smaller hands and delicate touch to remove what pieces you could, and as you did Khopesh stared at your cute face that was set in a positive, but focused expression.

Your seriousness at such a simple task was endearing.

He wanted to keep you So Badly.

"Done," You stated cheerfully. "Well as much as I can, I think your hair will need a wash to get the smallest stuff out." You recommended. "I'll probably need a wash myself."

You were probably correct, though part of him loathed the idea of letting you go.

"I guess...since we both need one...we could shower together at my place...you know, to save water?" You gave him a wink.

Now it was his turn for his more literal thoughts to misunderstand. Would showering together reduce the amount of water needed for them to wash that drastically-

"Op! Looks like I missed a bit of barn glitter."

"What? Where?"

"Mwah!" You kissed him on the very tip of his slightly crooked nose.

Oh

OOOOOOH!

Ooooh~

He smiled that wicked smile, and he saw your blush erupt once more as you realized he understood your intention.

He Loved your boldness.

He was Definitely keeping you.

Edit: Hey this has a sequel now! Found here!

[egrets-not-regrets]

Perfume: "Infatuation" for Big Cats (2)

Lenora assists a colleague in big cat research with some interesting results. When the new Emperor’s Children “Infatuation” brand of perfume was said to be even better at attracting big cats than the human “Obsession” perfume, Lenora was expecting to attract actual big cats like cougars, not her own Astartes. 

Author's Note: Part One. This is part two.

Warning: SMUT. OVERSTIMULATION. CUNNILINGUS. Also, Erriox feasting on Lenora like a big cat on his prey. Yeah, he’s a service top. 

Dialogue in the Gothic language is italicized and bolded.

Lenora’s nickname for Erriox is “Mountain Lion”.  

@kit-williams inspired this pheromone perfume smutfic. It’s been a wip for a long time.

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog , @bispecsual , @c-u-c-koo-4-40k , @ms--lobotomy , @whorety-k

@gra93fruit-blog , @i-am-a-dragon34 , @felinisnoctis, @thevoidscreams

In the back of his mind, Erriox knew he should get rid of the perfume to lessen some of that pervasive scent that was affecting them both. He’ll need to let his brothers know about this perfume and it’s… heavily distracting effects. He filed the reminder away in his mind, turning towards more immediate issues… such as the sight of Lenora unknowingly presenting herself to him, ass up, face down, as she was stretching. Erriox wasn’t done with her yet, not by far; not until Lenora had fallen to him completely and utterly, like the ruins of the enemy fortress after a siege. 

“Why is it not going away?” Lenora groaned, still bothered by the pressing need to fill the aching emptiness between her legs. 

She felt the hard metal ports on Erriox’s chest as he pushed her down onto her front on the mattress. 

“Erriox?” A whining gasp. She grabbed his arm when he reached under and pressed against her lower lips, stroking and teasing, trying to coax more slick from her already messy cunt. Lenora shuddered, tightly closing her legs together, trapping hIs hand.

“Mmmnnerriox… sto-a-ah…” Lenora bit her lip, one hand trying to grab his hand and stop him. Despite that, his fingers continued their teasing, dipping in and out of her core. His other hand pinched and pulled her sensitive nipples. Lenora shook her head, whining, desperately trying not to fall into the temptation of pleasure to piece together a thought she had. 

“Relax Lenora. Let yourself feel it.” He purred as he started to rut against her, making sure she felt his thick length against her back. 

“Erriox… the perfume… it’s driving me crazy.” She whined as she could feel his love bites and kisses along the back of her neck. The effects of the perfume were still strong and Lenora could still smell it. 

But the perfume wasn’t in this room… 

Her train of thought was sharply cut off when Erriox flipped her over and pinned her back to the bed. Purring, he bit her hardened nipple, soothing and swirling around it with his tongue, then biting harder and pulling on it. Lenora growled at him to stop but it came across as a wet needy mewl instead. 

He chuckled then switched to suckle from her other nipple. Lenora whimpered as her cunt pulsed with need. she clenched her thighs together, feeling the build up of slick between her legs. 

“Open your legs Lenora, I could smell your arousal. You’re not fooling anyone here.” He growled deeply as he gave her nipple one last hard suck before nipping and kissing his way down to her pussy. He growled as he easily pushed apart her thighs and delved his tongue inside her slit again. Himself rutting against the edge of her bed. 

“Erriox…” she tugged his hair insistently to get him to stop, “Please stop. Just wait a moment! I need…!” pleading. 

“What do you need, Lenora?” He glanced at her briefly, not stopping his feast, smirking when Lenora’s hips bucked against his face. 

“Aaugh… My clothes. They’re covered…mmm… in perfume. In the laundry basket… ah… I need to throw them into the washer?” her breath shortened with each suck, each lick, “Hah… At least get rid of the scent from here…mnngh…” tears squeezed out from the corners of her eyes, she couldn’t stop rutting against his face. Her hands clawed into his hair, “Please… pleasepleaseplease… mnn… sto-haaah… Nnnnghh!!!.” Lenora cried out as she came, back arching, thighs squeezing tightly around her Astartes’ head, him not stopping his relentless devouring, as if trying to suck her cunt dry. Erriox grunted as he spilled his seed onto her bedsheet. After catching her breath, she weakly tried to push herself away to get off the bed, “I need…”

“Relax, Lenora. I’ll take care of it.” Erriox gave her a quick kiss, pushed her down onto the bed again, then stood up. He grabbed her clothes basket and went to dump its contents in the washing machine. Remembering the perfume bottle and her clothes still on the table, he went over and double bagged the perfume bottle and put it in a sealed container then gathered their clothing. He sniffed the bundle of clothes deeply, his cock hardening again as his brain registered the heavy scents of both their sweat and arousal heightened by the pheromones of the perfume. Erriox purred. He was about to bring them to wash when he decided to pull out Lenora’s torn shirt and her cum-covered panties and tossed them into his room before throwing the rest of the clothes in the washing machine. She won’t miss them anyways...

The Iron Warrior smirked when he returned to his beloved’s room. His tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, tasting the heavy scent of his beloved’s arousal in the air. He could hear her quiet whimpers as she moved up and down, grinding on the bunched blankets with a hand between her legs. He could see the goosebumps rising over her skin. 

“Lenora…” Erriox's deep voice drawled as he watched her from the doorway. 

Lenora stopped, face flushed, noticing his hungry stare. Erriox’s pupils were blown out as if the perfume hadn’t dissipated from his system at all. His erect cock hanging stiff with anticipation. 

“Erriox… I…” She froze as he stalked closer, licking her lips nervously. 

Sitting down on her bed with his back against the pillows, Erriox pulled her into his lap, “You haven’t had enough?” he chuckled as he pulled Lenora into his lap, her back against his chest. 

She gasped as his hands slid over body to tease her open and massage her breast, “Erriox…” she let out a breathy sigh and reached back to stroke his hardened dick, “Same goes for you.” grinning when she heard a soft growl.

“Tease.” Erriox nipped her ear and bucked against her, making Lenora lose focus and let go as his finger suddenly dug deeper into her core. 

Swallowing the building drool, Lenora’s fluttered closed, panting softly as she focused on the building pleasure between her thighs as she rocked against her Astartes’ fingers. She keened when a second finger sunk in to join the first inside her. 

“You’re so desperate, holding my hand for you to rut on like a whore in heat. Do my fingers feel that good, Lenora?” Erriox chuckled into her ear. 

Her lower half clenched at his words, her body flushed with embarrassment, “Shut up!” She hissed. 

“You… nnmmgh!!” Whatever further reply she had was cut short when Erriox curled his fingers in her, pressing into that spongy spot that short-circuited her brain. Her pussy gushed as she came on his hand. He purred as he thrust his fingers several repeatedly, feeling her wet channel tighten around them and more moisture leak down his hand. 

“Please. Erriox.” Lenora begged, delirious as the heat in her belly started building again, “Please. I need you inside me.”

He decided to be a little cruel and continued to finger her cunt, keeping his heavy hand pressed hard onto her swollen clit, making her whine each time her clit rubbed against his calloused palm as she rocked against him, “I am inside you.” He purred as he nipped her ear. 

Lenora leaned back against him, her hands gripping his… her hips still rutting against his right hand… body bowed to press more of her soft breast tissue into his left, determined to chase that delicious friction, “Stop teasing me…” she mewled. 

His voice was rough and sultry, “Tell me what you want. In Gothic.” Even though it was obvious from the way her juices covered his hand and leaked down the inside of her thighs. 

“I want…” her voice hitched, feeling his cock head tease open her slit, gathering her fluids. Up and down. In and out.

“I want…” her mind blanking as his hand squeezed her breast. Lenora realized she didn’t know the word for “fuck” in Gothic. She let out a breathy moan, feeling him slide his thick length against her bottom lips repeatedly, spreading more of their mixed fluids along it. 

“I want you to fuck me. Repeat it.” Erriox growled, the vibration sending shivers down her spine. Losing his patience, he pushed Lenora onto her hands and knees and shoved his cock into her, his cockhead forcing its way past her hole and into her slick channel again. 

Erriox groaned, “Lenora…fuck. Lenora…you’re still so tight.” almost losing focus. She was so hot and wet, so ready and breedable, and her cunt constricted his cock in just the right way. He didn’t know if his hand could ever replicate the same feeling. 

Lenora moaned as he started moving, “Mmmm… I want… oh… you… ah… to fuck… ahngh… fuck me... hah… Please.” Each gasp punctuated by a push of his hips as he thrust his dick deeper and deeper into her cunt. 

Her sinfully lustful moans and pleas almost made him lose control. It was incredibly tempting to dick her down with wild abandon, but he wanted to savour her, to claim her fully in body and mind. Erriox set a steady pace, fucking her with powerful strokes. He could hear Lenora whine and mewl like a cat in heat beneath him, her hips moving back to meet his thrusts, desperate to quell the burning desire rising in her. 

“Erriox… More... Hah… Need you. Please… Erriox!” The squelching sounds her wet sex made with each thrust only urged him to fuck her harder. 

He could feel her cunt tighten even more around his cock. She teetered on the edge of cumming, he could feel it. Chuckling quietly, he slowed down. 

Lenora tried to push her hips back into him, but turned her head to him, looking confused and hurt when he trapped her moving hips in his arm. 

“Why….?” She whined. Her sex pulsed around the length of his dick as he sawed in and out of her at a torturously slow pace. 

“Again. I want to hear you say it again. Tell me what you want me to do.” Erriox rumbled next to  her ear. 

She looked at him with a dazed and heated expression, pleading nonsensically, trying to push and wiggle in his grip; looking rather pathetic with how much she craved her orgasm, “Nnghnoo… I… I want you… hah… I…want…please… aaah… Eek!” 

Lenora squealed as Erriox smacked her ass, the impact heavy enough to leave a red mark. 

“Focus!” He sneered, “Or is your mind too fucked dumb to understand what I am saying?” 

She let out a strangled moan when he slapped her ass again. 

“Or is getting slapped around like a whore is what you want…” he commented dryly. He had felt the way Lenora’s cunt strangled his cock when he spanked her, felt the way her juices leaked from her slit shortly after. Erriox caressed her ass, slipping his hand between her legs and pulled it out, coated in her arousal. His eyes pinned onto her form, watching Lenora moaning at her own taste as she sucked on his fingers that he stuffed her mouth.

She had no idea what her Iron Warrior just said. All she knew was that she needed him to dick her down again. Punish her if he had to. “Please fuck me.” She begged when he removed his fingers. 

“In Gothic, Lenora. I want you to fuck me.” He growled. 

“Erriox… please… please… I want you to fuck MEEE!!!” 

‘“Good girl.” was all Lenora heard before the end of her sentence dissolved into a high pitched quail at the same time as Erriox slammed his hips against her ass, spearing his cock deep inside and started to fuck her again, rough and deep. Lenora came  hard, back arching, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. 

The Iron Warrior grunted at the feeling of her warmth fluttering around his cock, “You feel so fucking good around me, Lenora, like you were made for me.”

“Erriox… nngh! Erri… Erriox… hah… please more… aahn…” Lenora moaned his name repeatedly in a blissed, fucked out state, beyond listening or trying to understand what her Astartes just said. Her face planted into the bed as her arms lost all strength to brace her body against his thrusting. She could feel his girthy cock carving its shape into her.

Lenora babbled, words in English and Gothic tumbling out of her mouth, “Erriox… oh god…mmm… so good… yes… all mine… Erriox!”

“All for me. All mine. I will ruin you for any other man.” He growled possessively as his thrusting got  faster, more frantic, more rough. Lenora keened, her insides clenching at her Astartes’ dark possessive growl. 

“Tell me who you belong to!” He snarled

“Erriox! You! I’m yours! All yours…” she moaned loudly. 

He suddenly flipped them both over so that Lenora was sitting in his lap. Startled, Lenora planted her feet onto the mattress, pushing her hips up to keep her balance. Erriox snarled and pushed her down onto the base of his cock. Lenora squealed, her cunt fluttering around his dick as it tried to accommodate the sudden deep intrusion. Her trembling legs were spread wide over his legs. Erriox's large hands gripped the soft flesh of her cum-smeared thighs, grunting as he bucked into her from underneath. His breath stuttered, listening to her whimper as he could feel her cunt strangling his cock. His balls twitched, he was close to cumming as well. 

Erriox moved one hand over her pelvis and pressed against where his cock was carving into her vagina, “You feel that? You cunt, moulding and shaping around me?” he growled breathily into her ear, “You’re only ever mine, so be good for me and cum on my cock.” 

Acutely feeling the pressure of his thick cock pressed into her walls, Lenora let out a loud broken moan, drool leaking out of the corner of her mouth as another powerful buck of her Astartes’ hips and the rush of liquid heat into her womb ripped one final orgasm from her. She gripped tightly onto Erriox’s hand that was placed over her lower abdomen, her juices squirting all over his lap, further spoiling the bed sheets underneath, as her body shook from the rush of high running through her system. Lenora collapsed back against his chest, boneless and panting from exhaustion, her cunt still twitching around his dick, their mixed fluids slowly leaking out between them. She whined as Erriox slowly pulled out her, feeling the rest of their cum spilling out of her pussy. 

Erriox gently gathered her into his arms so that she was facing him, and licked her tears away, pressing his forehead against hers, “Are you alright?” he asked, a concerned look in his eyes. 

Lenora had an exhausted, but fond smile as she shakily reached up to caress his face, her smile growing bigger as he leaned into her touch. Her fingers tenderly traced over the scars decorating his face, reassuring him, “Tired, but I’m good. The effects of the perfume are gone… I think. I don’t feel the heat anymore. So thank you.” She reached up to kiss his lips. 

Erriox purred as he pushed into her kiss. “You are beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, brushing away her sweat-drenched hair plastered to her face. 

Lenora blinked at his sudden comment and blushed, then giggled shyly, “Thank you for the compliment. You are rather handsome yourself.” 

He chuckled as she kissed him again. 

They stayed cuddled together for a while when Lenora had something to ask him. 

“Mountain Lion…”

“Yes, Love?” 

She smiled at the term of endearment. Lenora relaxed into Erriox’s embrace, coveting the heat emanating from his body. 

“We should get rid of that perfume bottle.”

“Mmm… Maybe.”

She lightly smacked his chest, “Erriox!” 

[barn-anon]

Just imagine on the night of your 5th husband’s funeral, you’re in your bedroom playing the role of the grieving widow when your space marine comes in. He’s purring, in his hands a jewellery box containing a necklace your late husband never got to gift you.

He helped picked it for you, of course he did. He knows you better than any of your late husbands. Eyes watch as you put it on, deep rumbles as his hands grip the short sleeves of your dress. Pulling them down.

He’s worked hard for this latest one, shouldn’t you reward him?

He’s gentle, gentler than your late husband by far. Of course he is, he knows that you’re sensitive, that you deserve only the most tender and gentle of touches. Hot kisses along your skin, not once does he bite down even though he wishes more than anything to leave some sort of visible claim on you.

It wouldn’t be right for you to be seen with lovebites all over your neck so soon after your late husband’s untimely death. He knows the rules. Though you? You dig your manicured nails into his back and rake them down, leaving red lines. He purrs, if he can’t leave his mark, you at least can leave yours.

Large calloused hands touch your soft skin, trailing down your arm as he pulls the sleeves down, unravelling his prize. Oh? Nothing under? He growls, pleased. Imagine what your late husband's family would've thought if they knew.

Picked up, you wrap your legs around his waist the best you can given how much bigger he is. A hand grip tightly on your upper thigh and one on your butt. Something cold is suddenly pressed up against your back. You realize he has you up against the window and he's quick to stop your protests with a hard kiss.

It has been 2 agonizing years of watching you getting courted and eventually wed that useless man. 1 year of having to listen to you fake your pleasure when that worthless man tries to grow his family. The original plan was 5 years but fuck that, he cannot bear to listen to that good for nothing man prattle on about how lucky he is to have such a youthful and beautiful wife.

Gasping when large fingers brush against your folds, checking if you're ready for him. Of course you are. You whimper and dig your nails into his arms, leaving crescent indents on his skin, unable to control yourself. One finger, then two. You bite your lip, trying desperately to stifle your sounds.

Your husband may be dead but the household staff are not.

Your Space Marine smirks in the dim light and his fingers withdraw from your wet heat. Replaced by something larger. He leans in, capturing your lips and muffling your moans when he sheathes himself within your tight heat. His human, his perfect jewel. All his to claim.

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts

This is entirely Kit’s idea and depending on how the poll goes, it may or may not be considered canon. Also first time writing this kind of stuff so <.<

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

A Good Princess

Author's Note: More of Husbandry AU with Hura and his Bonded

Summary: Hura and his Bonded fuck nasty.

Warnings: Smut. Let me know if I need to add anything else.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

His cock hardens as he watches his little mouse on her knees. His sitting in a comfortable chair as she crawls over to him on her hands and knees.

She's wearing a gorgeous sexy outfit. A green leather collar, and his left hand holds the leash which is attached to the collar that wraps around her neck.

She's wearing a green and black leather outfit that accentuates her curves and titillates the senses. She crawls over and leans against his leg and peers up at him with large doe eyes.

His right hand is out of his gauntlet and he gently brushes some of the hair out of her faces and she nuzzles his hand, pressing kisses to the palm of his hand.

He can smell her arousal and lightly strokes chin with his thumb before he lightly presses the digit against her lips. She opens her mouth and starts to bob her head as she sucks and licks his thumb.

He curls two of is fingers closest to her face and lightly strokes her chin as he tilts up her face as he watches her suck his thumb diligently as his cock gets harder.

"Good girl," Hura purrs in pleasure at that. He gently tugs her chin and she moves at his silent command as she climbs into his lap, still sucking his thumb as he uses his other hand to play with her pretty cunt and the smell of her arousal and slick becomes stronger and she whines a little in pleasure at the stretch of his fingers.

[felinisnoctis]

Chaos Prime: Fucking Around

The chaos trio meets @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan's Emperor's Child and Slaaneshi disaster marine, Zaarius

CW: Smut, blood, mechadendrites and various other appendages... look it's chaos space marine porn, you have been warned.

Tags: @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams

“I did say I’d introduce you to some of the other regulars at the base here,” Hura explained to the three primaris newcomers following him around the chaos base.  “This is Zaarius, who despite his occasional dramatics is a very good chemist.”

“Well hello there handsome.”  Zaarius smirked at the younger marine, giving his usual somewhat flirtatious greeting.  Sure the last young primaris he’d used that on had nearly strangled him, but this one didn’t look quite as jumpy.  Then again it was hard to get jumpier than a young Black Templar.

The former ultramarine looked Zaarius up and down for a long moment.  “You look like you’d snap in half if you followed up on that thought.”  Zaarius grinned back at him “I assure you I’m stronger than I look, young one.”  Hura managed to glare at both of them.

“So you’re the one who makes those little candies.  Hoping to put that theory to the test?”

“I make delicious goods that others Desire and Crave. Care to have a bite?”  New customers were always good, even if he wasn’t supposed to be promoting addictions or whatever.

“Sure, but I think Hura might actually vomit if I gave you one here.” Oh.  

“If you are going to continue please do so somewhere in private.”  By this point Zaarius had learned that particular smooth tone meant Hura was getting slightly irritated.  Felix meanwhile had a very shark-like grin going.  “Oh, but I need to call my brothers in first!”

“Wait-wait-wait, how many brothers are we talking here?”

“There's two more to our little band here. You sure you don't break, my dear little firstborn?”

“Three?  Ok, just be gentle.”  The cheeky smile was back.

Hura put his hand to his face before looking at Zaarius.  “If they kill you, I want your organs for research purposes.”  He turned back to Felix “I do actually need this idiot alive and intact and able to do his chemist duties.  He does have use and value to me, despite his..tendencies.  That means all limbs and brain matter intact.  Also read these before you do anything too stupid.”  He handed Felix a couple of pamphlets.  The top one was entitled Safe Pleasure and Gifts from the Gods.  Underneath another bore the title Protecting your Partners from Slaaneshi Poisons and Nurglite STDs.  The last one was Safe, Sane, and Consensual - Boundary Negotiations for Unusual Physiology and Psychology.  “There’s also a stockpile of assorted condoms and other coverings for different appendages in the hall closet.”

Felix slipped the pamphlets into a combat pouch.  “We’ll look over them, I promise.”  Hura simply glared meaningfully at both of the marines.  Felix started to protest and changed course.  “I’ll look them over while I wait for my brothers.”

Hura glared at him one more time.  “Please do.  And please take any further slaaneshi nonsense somewhere private.”

Zaarius grinned up at the pair.  “Want to take it to one of the practice rooms, big boy?”  Hura gave an exasperated sigh and walked off.  A minute later Felix and Zaarius headed down to the practice rooms, his two brothers finding him and falling in behind him.

“You didn’t mention you had a techmarine,” Zaarius commented, seeing Mic’s mechadendrites come into view.

“That a problem?” Mic queried, one camera scanning up and down the firstborn’s body.

“Not at all, darling.  Specialists are so rare these days though, I didn’t know we had a new one in town!  And so well endowed.” Zaarius gestured at the variety of mixed flesh and machine mechadendrites sprouting from the techmarine’s back.

“Usually people ask about Batsy’s wings,” Mic grunted, looking up at his towering bat-winged companion.

“They are very nice wings.  And very large.”  Batsy’s wings twitched at the commentary as they entered the sparring chamber.  All three primaris looked like they were ready for a fight in full armor.  Zaaruis’s smaller size was enhanced by his chemist’s garb of a bright pink scrub top covered with images of small heart shaped candies, and matching purple scrub pants.

“Quick ground rules before we get started.  Hands only and be gentle on restraints, pain is ok but don’t take it too far, got it boys?”

The three nodded assent.  Mic added on “Mind the claws.  Poison.”  Felix added in response “And stay away from Batsy’s fangs, you’ll get sick.”  Zaarius nodded in his turn in response, then blew a kiss at Felix as the other two finished leafing through the provided pamphlets.  “Ready to go yet?”

“Nah, I think I’ll wait a little.” The ultramarine crossed his arms over his chest and gave a small signal to the other two, grinning at the firstborn.  Batsy reached in to grab under Zaarius’s arms, pulling him down and back against the bulk of the large primaris.  “Gotta enjoy the show after all,” Felix finished.

Mic reached a couple of mechadendrites in, deftly slicing through the seat of his pants.  One mechadendrite, thick with oil, began to tease him open as others finished tearing his pants apart and ran bites up and down his thighs.  A delicate little manipulator mechadendrite flicked pieces of fabric away and wrapped around his cock with a small whirr.

“You’re so pretty” Batsy whispered into his ear as he cut a line across Zaarius’s hand and pressed the wound to his mouth.  Small hot pink dams covered his fangs, keeping the poison away, as he licked the blood from the wound.  “You taste so sweet too, it’s like having cake for dinner.”

Zaarius leaned into the armored chest behind him.  The armor felt oddly soft, likely fusing and merging with the skin of the occupant within it, as was common in chaos marines.  Batsy’s gauntlets were off though, and one hand rubbed small circles on Zaarius’s shoulder through his shirt.  “Aww you're sweet.  And very good at shoulder rubs too.  Mmm”.  Felix was, so far, standing off to the side observing, arms folded across his chest.  Zaarius grinned over at him.  “Enjoying the show, big boy?”

Felix just looked at Zaarius, before slowly pulling a bag of chocolates out of one of his combat pouches.  Specifically a bag of Zaarius’s excessive delights.  “Hey, where did you get those?” Zaarius demanded.  Felix didn’t respond, just very slowly pulled his helmet off.  “You know those have slaaneshi poison in them right?  Highly addictive drugs?”  Felix grinned at him before opening the bag and popping one of the chocolates into his mouth.

Zaarius looked back at the ultramarine.  “Suit yours….oh” his statement was interrupted as the other two lifted his hips up and pushed him back onto Batsy’s lap.  The primaris marine had his codpiece off and his cock already pressing into Zaarius’s back.  “Ready, beautiful?”  Zaarius wiggled his hips back in response, still giving a cheeky grin at Felix.  “Of course, handsome,” he murmured back at Batsy behind him.

Batsy’s hands guided Zaarius’s hips slowly down onto his erection, nuzzling at his neck and running his tongue over the pulse points.  Another of Mic’s mechadenrites wrapped around Zaarius’s cock, squeezing it as he rocked back onto the cock pressing inside of him.  “Fuck.” He leaned back as his orgasm left white cum over the mechadendrites.  “That all you boys got?”

“Hmph, mouthy little bitch aren’t ya?” Felix growled at him from the sidelines, smooshing a second chocolate in one of his hands.

“You gonna do something about it, big boy?”  Mic’s mechadendrites pulled back as Batsy’s arms and wings wrapped around Zaarius, holding the firstborn marine to his chest while working his way deeper inside him.

Felix rolled his eyes and pulled the codpiece off his armor in response, wrapping a chocolate covered gauntlet in Zaarius’s hair with one hand and unzipping himself and pressing his half-hard cock into Zaarius’s mouth with the other.  Zaarius licked at it teasingly, arching his eyebrows and murmuring something that was probably rude but not intelligible enough to confirm.

“There, that’s a better use of that whore mouth of yours” Felix’s hand dropped down to rest under Zaarius’s chin, stroking a finger along his windpipe.  “I’m going to make sure by the end of this you can’t do anything but whimper onto someone’s dick.”  Zaarius made a somewhat obscene gesture in response.  Felix pushed himself in deeper in lieu of a reply, closing his eyes as Zaarius continued attending to the cock in his mouth as the bat-winged marine underneath him pressed deeper inside, hands crossing over Zaarius’s chest and lingering around his nipples, holding him still for each thrust inside his ass.  “Mmph, good” Batsy mouthed into Zaarius’s shoulder, pulling Zaarius closer into his chest as he climaxed inside the emperor’s child.  Zaarius’s own wings fluttered lightly at the sensation.

Felix cuffed one of his ears lightly.  “Focus, slut.  We’re not done with you yet.”  The ultramarine was close himself, the poison in the chocolates speeding his reactions.  He pulled away just as he finished his own orgasm, suddenly picking Zaarius up and carrying him over to one of the benches before laying the firstborn across his lap.  “In fact, we’re just getting started.  I’m going to make you beg, you little slaaneshi whore.”

“Aww, you’re such a tease” Zaarius wiggled himself into a more comfortable position, propping his head up in his hands on the bench.  Batsy came over and sat down by his head, a bright colored condom contrasting nicely with the yellow-gold of his armor.  Very carefully he reached out and ran one finger along Zaarius’s wing, drawing out a shiver from him as Felix pressed down on his hips.

  “Mouthy whore at that,” the pinning ultramarine faux-grumbled at his captive.  “Oh, but I’m your whore for tonight, boy,” Zaarius snarked back, reaching a hand out to tease at Felix.

“Hmph, ought to teach you some manners.”  A primaris-sized gauntlet smacked down onto Zaarius’s ass, driving the breath out of him for a moment.  “Should’ve brought a whip.”

“Maybe…next…time…darling”, Zaarius managed to choke out between hits.  Batsy knelt down beside the bench and started running his tongue up the edge of a wing, causing the diaphonous wing to vibrate in excitement.  Felix shifted his approach as well, cold metal gloves tracing lines along Zaarius’s ass and thighs and ever so briefly brushing over his dick.  One gauntleted finger worked its way slowly inside his ass as a large claw protruding from one of Batsy’s wings wrapped around Zaarius’s wrists.  Zaarius kicked a little at the sensations, pulling him back towards the edge without ever quite letting him reach it.  Mic ambled over and wrapped large hands around his ankles to still the motion, mechadendrites flicking up against Zarrius’s bruised thighs.

“Oooo.  Meanie.”  Zaarius whined at the trio.  “True sons of chaos, torturing your prisoners.  I shan’t beg for mercy though.”  He did his best to stick his nose in the air in a dignified manner, given the position.  A thin mechanical tendril flicked up against his cock.  “Mmmph.”  His voice started to be come breathless.  “Still no.”

Felix and Batsy pulled back from him, leaving just the sensation of being pinned down as a toothed mechadendrite nipped into the very top of his thigh.  That was going to leave a mark.  Zaarius whimpered a little at being pulled back from so close to his climax.  “Fine, fine.  Please?”  He made the saddest puppy dog eyes he could manage at the trio as Batsy leaned in and cut a long line across his shoulder, lapping up the oozing blood hungrily.

“Mic, shut him up,” Felix ordered.  The codpiece on Mic’s armor hinged open as he stepped back and pulled out a part-metal dick, somehow already covered in a specially reinforced condom.  “Here!” He pressed himself into Zaarius’s open mouth as Felix straddled the marine on the bench.  “Naughty little slut,” he mocked as he inserted himself into Zaarius’s ass.  Zaarius raised one hand with the middle finger extended in reply.  Such a charming gesture that he’d learned from the baseline humans around here.  He keened as Batsy returned the attention to his wings as well, bringing him up to a shuddering finish under the combined unwavering attention of all three primaris and leaving him moaning as they continued until their energy was expended as well.

As they finished, Batsy scooped Zaarius up in his wings, enclosing the smaller marine entirely in the warm skin.  “Aw, we’ve gotten your clothes all ripped up,” he crooned as he settled down against the wall with Zaarius in his lap.

“It’s fine, love,” Zaarius crooned back as Batsy started to comb out Zaarius’s long silver hair.  “Can someone get some shorts from my quarters?  The sparkly purple ones, I think.”  He leaned back against the wing behind him, tired and slightly woozy from blood loss.  Somewhere off to the side, Mic pressed a glass of orange juice into his hand.  “Drink,” the techmarine commanded as he picked clothing scraps and discarded protection up from around the area.

“Thank you dear,” Zaarius said as he slowly drank the juice down, endeavoring to keep his head still as Batsy began to braid his hair and tie it in place with ribbons.  “You’re quite creative, Batsy,” he said between sips.  “Aww, thanks,” the lamenter sounded almost shy in his response.

Felix returned with the requested pair of hot pants and a primaris-sized t-shirt, which draped over Zaarius’s body, leaving a trail of bite marks and bruises running up his legs and a healing cut and several more visible through the wide neck.  “Well then darlings, are you going to buy me dinner after all that?”  After a second of thought, Felix burst out laughing as Batsy scooped Zaarius up in his arms and carried him up the stairs.

Somewhere in the medical wing, Apothecary Hura felt an unexplained headache coming on.

[kit-williams]

Anrir Husbandry

Husbandry tags: @egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@ms--lobotomy @nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @the-raven-lady

@bispecsual

Edit: forgot to thank @justahuman1757 for help with some of the translations and other help

Song on repeat: Cradles by Sub Urban (also most of the remixes for this SLAP)

tw: smut, yandere, obsessive behavior, manipulation

Anrir cooed at the little human in his arms finishing up singing them back to sleep знішчыць.... знішчыць... His voice carried low and softly. It was naptime... they needed to sleep as it was good for them of course they didn't seem to realize that. His long back hair was tied back into a slightly messy bun as his nearly completely black eyes dart around the pastel colored room just looking for anything wrong. His Dragă wanted to work with children in childcare and perhaps it took a couple of years to get here since he had first found her.

She was so much happier since he had first found her... happy about their bond... no more worry in her eyes... no more stress making her hands tremble or her loosing sleep... no more worrying about her next meal or if her car were to break... no more crying... well no more senseless crying. He puts the child down looking around at the sleeping forms but he cant help but grin as this really was all possible because of him, Anrir purrs softly at the satisfaction of how well he has done his job... and how he has covered his trail...

5 years prior

Anrir was a drifter... he drifted around as he had yet to find his own bonded, which given how some legions seemed to be more inclined to get a bond; with Night Lords being one of the ones with very few "feral" Astartes it was only a matter of time before Anrir would find his. But Anrir in all definitions was a feral Astartes having been unbonded since he arrived forty years ago. However, it was fine as Anrir hadn't spent that time just moping about he spent a majority of his time politicking and reuniting with other Terran Night Lords long dead and of course reuniting with those who were under his knife when they were aspirants and scouts which he affectionately called them his kids.

He was also using this time to take a break, a forced break, from running his warband; not that he could run it right now anyway. But he would mull over plans for when he returned back to his time period... if he did was another thought. His eyes moved up to the sky as he could smell the water gathering in the air. Which meant that the group he was with would start a debate on if they were going to settle down or continue on despite the weather. He did not care too much and decided to wander off to look around at where they were.

He walked out of the tree covering that the group was skulking through as he looked at the abandoned parking lot he had walked out into. It was rotting away neglected and abandoned as the painted lines were faded and practically gone, the pavement was cracked with plants growing through cracks; with the asphalt under his feet turning to gravel as plants come to reclaim this section of human infrastructure. And Anrir... he savored this reclamation of nature and decay of it all. Compared to the prison pit he was born into on the other side of the globe; he had already made his pilgrimage to the eventual site of his birth... a town full of people whose existence was never known as a great chasm of the guilty was there.

But that dark pit in the ground was not there now... there were no babies being born in that dark hellhole... his neck tattoo had a phantom itch as he is reminded why it was put on his neck... as he is reminded that at some point he was truly innocent... he is reminded of the hand gently petting his head... the soft voice cooing at him telling him how brave he was being... as he remembers having tears in his eyes as the ink is shoved into his skin... he gently starts to suffocate the memories of a child long gone and a woman paradoxically long dead and yet had yet to be born. His eyes flick to the far side of the quiet parking lot as a car just sits in the dark. The only other thing in this lot, far from the flickering road light... he could hear the annoying buzz of the light as it flickered... the flick... flick... flick... as it finally goes out. He moves with soft steps towards the vehicle as the summer insects scream their sonorous songs it was almost overstimulating for some of his brothers with how alive this planet felt with no foe to focus down on. Anrir felt his gums itch like he craved an oral inhalant and the way the hair on the back of his neck rose as he wandered closer not giving into the craving.

Anrir had seen many homeless humans both back in his own time and here. His eyes looked through the windows of the car seeing how it was lived in, he could hear the soft breathing akin to how someone was asleep... the slow beat of a heart was barely audible to him as the insects continued to scream their songs. There was nothing special about what he saw as it was a baseline female just buried under an assortment of clothes, a towel, a jacket, and some blanket... a bucket with a strainer lid to collect the impending rain... he chuckled at the cleverness but he understood the need to just survive. He turned to walk back to the others but something rooted him in place. He could practically taste the misery mixing with the rain. His throat tightened as it silently moved in foreign ways but he knew what he was trying to do... to mimic the noises they make at humans.

He lets out a dark chuckle as they were right... it really was something that he would know when it happened. Worry soon festered in his gut as his eyes roamed over her vehicle and while he hardly knew about how it worked he could see the signs of disrepair. His nose wrinkled for a moment as he unclipped his helmet from his hip, slipping it over his head as the rain finally let loose. He listened to the rain slap against the metal roof of the car, the way she moved inside her comfortable cocoon for a moment, and the way water was gathering in the bucket... Anrir had to do something.

You did your best to ignore the Night Lord that was hanging around. Affectionate bastards you were told as you remember those videos of just them being friendly. You shiver at the memory of that one gang member who thought he was so big... being homeless you quickly learned how sleeping near warbands meant that you had to ignore certain things... certain sounds especially at night. Astartes always scared you... you couldn't point to any incident that had happened involving them just that you got bad feelings from them... a certain type of dread. So it wasn't exactly like a fear of dogs but the way they looked and acted they were so human... why were they here... you make yourself look smaller as the Night Lord with what looked like a metal spider on his back sat next to you.

You hear him coo and trill at you trying to get your attention, his head tilting slightly as you could hear the slightly distorted trill to his voice from his helmet, and you did your best to ignore him. Eventually he did leave you alone and you had hoped that would be the last you saw him. But, every day for the next week he kept finding you... he would click and coo at you beckoning you closer with those armored claws of his. It was the last day in the week that you broke and approached him as you chose to fill your car with gas over eating and he had shown up with food. You feel tears gather with each bite as he trills down at you and you feel him hold you close... you hear his purr... you've seen this display online it was a bonding display. You do your best to not choak on the hot food as you can feel tears gather in the corner of your eyes, really the last thing you want is an Astartes bonding to you.

You feel the Astartis petting your head as you eat, trilling at you and you're certain if he wasn't in armor he would be purring. When you look up at him miserably he coos at you trying to sooth the clear distress you were in. His hands flexing each time you try to pull away from him, "You don't want me to be your bonded buddy," You finally speak up and that just breaks something in you and you feel those heavy tears roll down your cheeks even as you try to use the heel of your palm to rub your eyes clean they still fall, "I can't give you anything." Your voice cracks as you admit that.

Anrir sat there silently as you tried to reject the bond… he could feel it fraying at the edges like a lighter had been taken to it. But Anrir was calm even as his entire existence seemed to reel on its axis as you try to push it away. Your voice cracking gave way to the tears that ran down your face, his black eyes darting over your face as baselines crying was familiar to him given what he was but it felt so different… so wrong. Why are you letting her cry Anrir? A soft voice in the back of his mind seems to say. He could feel it fray more and more… but Anrir was aware that when a bond frays… it never attaches back normally. There was also a small high for him as would this be how he tasted death? Not after millennia of being alive just some mortal woman would be the death of him? He would have laughed if it actually broke but he pulled her against him and you did not make the effort to pull away… and so the bond repairs wrong. He did not need anything from you except you. 

How you lean against him trying to hide away. So he was okay if you couldn’t give him anything now. He didn’t expect you to give him anything in the first place… but a wicked thought plants itself in his mind. Perhaps it was old fashioned… after all he watched the radical social changes in a mere 40 years and yet like always the Astartes remained unchanged. But… why couldn’t he provide for you? Anrir was a capable Astartes and he did not survive this long by chance but memories flicker by of how generous others were towards their humans. He grinned darkly as he could recognize the signs now… oh… he had intensely bonded to you… he had read the manuals and grimoires both in person and on the noosphere… he had helped write some of those too… so he knew what to look for in terms of side effects and was filing away mental notes about his deviances. And as much as he wanted to act on those feelings Anrir was patient, he was an Apothacarion after all, and his Dragă needed to be taken care of. He purrs and chirps at her to calm her down and gets her to finish her meal.

Thrones, credits, souls, cash… it was annoying dealing with baselines as most societies revolved around needing a good or currency for things and this was not their reality or time period where refusing an Astartes was suicidal. He noted his lack of desire to skin the man yelling at his Dragă to get him to stop “loitering”. But he, like most Astartes, relied on each other and the complex network and ecosystem they built like a parasite on the infrastructure of what was already there or was it the other way around? The Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists would say they laid out efficient infrastructure… but he found resources; since it was no longer allowed to simply take humans as serfs anymore and just have them live in a base full time… not that the Night Lords had one yet. It would be a few more years till the base was operational and that would be a mustering point for most Night Lords in the area. But Anrir noted how jumpy his precious Dragă got at the idea of getting help from Salamanders or staying in a shelter; he was fine with her choice. He wrinkled his nose as her car was falling apart and he couldn’t fit in it and him being a Night Lord did not help his goal of getting money. However, Anrir had a long reputation having worked in the Consortium with Bile too being a prominent figure in his legion’s hierarchy, no matter how much he tried to stay out of the politicking, so when the Alpharii approached him he wasn’t too surprised. 

There were treaties and edicts that any Astartes had to agree to if they wanted to stay near the humans. Besides the obvious of not killing any humans; which before Anrir was bonded was a surprisingly hard ask, but they were not allowed to mettle with them. Technology was to be kept away from them at all costs, no extending their life spans, no augmetics beyond simple necessary prosthetics, and a few others. It all made sense as it was clear they were not ready at all for the horrors of the wider galaxy… no they would not play a hand into accidentally smothering humanity in the cradle because they helped them reach the stars earlier than they were ready for. But just like how human killers existed… and Night Lord trafficker Hunts happened… there was always some bending and breaking of these rules.

The Alpharii couldn’t help mettle in the affairs of the baselines, it was their legion’s expertise, they were information brokers and information hiders… they modified records to hide the sudden birth of a child from a woman and a Astartes… to all the way of covering up when forbidden technology falls into the hands of baselines and there needs to be a raid. They had their fingers in many pies as the saying goes… and Anrir could not play the moral high ground for their request. They weren’t supposed to extend the baselines lives… there was the crude method of giving them a transfusion of Astartes blood and hope they survive all the way to getting the chemicals and components needed for rejuvenation treatments. The latter took time to get what they needed as they could only synthesis so much being limited to what was only on this one planet; and it was hard to keep the Iron Hands from getting eager in “helping” them be able to colonize the Sol system. 

But… Anrir looked down at the old corrupt man. Such greedy creatures humans could be and Anrir could never be like his kin who were able to see themselves as being above humanity… Anrir was far too aware of his own humanity and also his own lack of humanity too. “How do I know it will work?” The old man interrupts Anrir’s explanation of what he will be doing in transplanting his heart, “You could be some… con artist.” He says with malice in his frail voice.

Anrir never liked nobles… and he was always surprised at how… self important they could be. His smooth voice answers the question before one of the Alpharii can speak, “My reputation,” He had asked the Alpharii before this and he was not bonded to any of them… he was very much a pawn that the Alpharii weren’t ready to loose yet, “your… companions wouldn’t have gotten me if they doubted my skills. The heart is made for you so there is no chance of rejection.” He says truthfully as it was child's play growing the organ for him.

Anrir voxes one of the Alpharii, “As for my payment for this?” He hisses letting his displeasure bleed through as how dare he speak to Anrir in such a way.

“Everything is set up in ways that won’t tip off the government officials to the sudden influx of wealth. And conveniently set up so that if you choose to help us again…” 

Anrir waved his armored hand over his shoulder as his medical mechadendrites unfolded like a spider on his back, “Yes yes you lot have me for several surgeries,” He goes through the process of setting everything for fine movements and working on humans, “But please be aware should anything go wrong in the payments that I can be quite spiteful.” He threatens and enjoys the place of power he is able to come from given how specialists are in such short supplies here and he is certain there is only one other Consortium member on the planet… he knows his expertise is invaluable he is certain he is on many lists to be kept alive.

“Of course Anrir.” Is all one says and that was good enough as Anrir headed into the prepared room.

You were happy that Anrir returned as he did keep you safe and maybe you were feeling those good vibes that people always say they get around Astartes. But now? You looked at what was holding out to you with apprehension. You’re sure that it was a thousand dollars in his hand and you felt hesitant to take it from him as no one just gives people money and not expecting something back… your spine crawls at a memory… He just sighs looking at you passively and perhaps a little annoyed, “Dragă. Go get your car looked at and get it fixed.” He says and you take the money from him as your AC had died and you’re certain that also meant your heating was gone… “Unless,” Your eyes returned to his face as your eyes picked up the bit of white at the roots of his sideburns, “You want to get a bigger vehicle?”

“But I can’t-” You start.

“Don’t worry about money for a second Dragă.” He says putting his hands on your shoulders.

You squirm under his gaze as you considered rejecting it as Anrir gave you such feelings that there was something else he was after… then again you never felt truly comfortable around Astartes… always a lingering sense of dread but… “Maybe… maybe we get something you can fit in as well. Wouldn’t that be nice?” You say softly as you’re certain those cars are far beyond what you can afford and from what you heard basically never break down. 

You hold your breath for a moment as Anrir cups your face, you could hear him trill at you, as he grinned down at you with a smile that you’re certain the devil himself would envy, “What a thoughtful Dragă.” Was all he cooed at you.

After that, with much fussing from him, he made you use the money to stay in a motel for a week and you don’t remember when the last time you ate so much food. Anrir in the meanwhile took care of things. You were torn on letting him do such as wasn’t this the reason you had a fallout with your family? Your hands shake at the memories… he ruined your life. Yet while you’re certain Anrir is doing the same thing… it feels different. Anrir only suggested what you use the money for never using it to tell you what to do… Anrir confused you but you took comfort in the thought that he wanted something from you that he could get at your absolute lowest… everyone says bonds are precious things so maybe you should trust him more.

Anrir makes sure he always has enough money on him as he was making sure that there was a positive association in your mind that he was able to provide for you. The fuss you made when he got the car customized so that you could live out of it as long as you wanted, he hopped it wouldn’t be much longer, but it was your choice and all he could do was nudge his Dragă. The excitement he felt rush up his spine when he heard you say “Anrir” in a specific tone… a tone he associated with his Dragă needing something… Dragă needed him to provide. Sometimes you were like a skittish animal only staying for the exchange but sometimes you lingered like an animal and he could get what he wanted from you too. He felt that dopamine rush as you tolerated his touches, the joy he felt when you let him cup your face, how loudly he purred as you let him nuzzle you, petting your head, or rubbing your back. He could still see the hesitation in your eyes… he could tell you weren’t as (warp blind) (bond blind) as other humans were and Anrir is fine with that in fact it made this all the more enjoyable for him.

Winter always comes too soon and once again Anrir brings up places you can stay over the colder months and as hard as you try you still can’t get rid of the feelings that if you acquiesce he will want something. Anrir himself is disappointed that you wont ask him for much more; he does use winter to get something he does want. He finally gets to hold you for as long as he wants, usually your whole sleep cycle. He’s slept in far worse spots and just being a little cramped is hardly anywhere near the list of worst rests he has had. He purrs loudly as you’re glued to his side or his chest at night. Cooing to you as you drift off each night with a full belly in his arms. Its hard not to drift off with how he purrs and the rhythmic beating of his twin hearts… this feels like it’s going to be an easy winter for once so of course you get sick as a dog.

“Poor Dragă.” Anrir’s voice breaks you through your sick haze as the chills don’t help but Anrir being so warm helps. “I know you won’t like this suggestion but as a health specialist I do recommend that perhaps it is time for you to live inside more regularly again?” You can barely hear the quiet engine over the Heater going, Anrir not allowing you to fuss about anything right now once more saying he had it under control, “Arata mizerabil... (Miserable looking…)” He says in Nostroman letting his tongue click as you bury yourself closer to his chest, feeling those ports dig into your skin, “At least something temporary, yes?” He says sounding a little worried, “Wouldn’t that be nice? A temporary place to stay till you find what you want to do?”

“Daycare.” You croak out.

“Hmm?” Anrir looks down at you cocking his head to the side surprised you answered him. 

“I want to take care of kids. I like taking care of kids. Don’t know why… so I want to start a daycare.” You say but you soon get weepy, “But who is going to let me do that. Look at me! I’m living in my car running away from my family and I can’t -” You stop your distressed rant as you cough and your nose plugs up again making it hard for you to breath and you can’t help but squirm in Anrir’s grip.

“Shh Dragă, I’ll take care of  you.” Anrir says softly a uncharacteristic gentleness in his voice you weren’t expecting from a Night Lord, “You don’t need to worry anymore, Dragă.” Again it’s a soft and warmth to his voice you didn’t know he could have, “Do you trust me?” He asks in a tone you have trouble reading. 

Bonds are supposed to be good things… that’s what everyone says… you have a companion for life… and you can tell that they get so much out of what we give them as they were clearly made for something far more violent. But… did you trust Anrir. No… you did not trust him as that feeling never goes away… “What do you want Anrir?” You finally say after a minute of silence.

“You, Dragă.” Anrir says quickly breathlessly.

Again you lay there silently thinking… you didn’t know what he wanted… was it really just being with you? You’ve been with him for months at this point and you couldn’t figure out what he wanted. You did research on bonds from what little you could find and everything kept coming back to just wanting to keep their bonded alive and safe. You were scared to let someone in your safe little world but you were so tired of keeping everything so tight to your chest. Maybe it was because you were sick but you nod and let out a heavy sigh softly saying, “I trust you Anrir.”

His reaction was immediate as he pressed his cheek to yours and you could feel the purring in your teeth as it was so loud, your finger bones felt like they were vibrating, but you didn’t feel the quick kisses that he leaves on your skin. You whimper at the sudden affection. It was anrir’s quirk as he was odd with his affection as whenever you would seek him out for affection he would smother you in his affection but you were okay with it because it was on your terms… your gut wouldn’t stop at the feeling that sometimes it was on his terms luring you in… He presses a kiss to your forehead trilling, his accent thick, “I don’t want you to worry any more my Dragă. I will take care of everything.” His black eyes seem to glitter in delight as he makes his declaration. And you just let go of that tension a bit more.

You don’t know how Anrir found this place, it had a horribly short lease but you knew that it was just to get you out of the weather… you’re certain this place wasn’t built for Astartes in mind so usually that meant they weren’t allowed. You guessed that the landlord looked the other way if said Astartes was paying in cash. It was small and cramped... but it was warm and you could store more than just a bit of food. You were sitting in the tub as Anrir sat on the side shirtless as his hands were massaging shampoo into your hair. You didn't need help with your hair but that didn't stop you from leaning into his hands as he helped you feel clean.

Anrir chuckled at your gentle groaning and moaning as it was clear you were enjoying yourself. He enjoyed helping you feel this way helping you clean and take care of you in this small way... he shivered as he was cleaning his Dragă... he wrapped his Dragă in a nice fluffy towel... he carried his Dragă to the bedroom and savored the laugh that left your mouth as he just tossed you onto the bed with a bounce.

You just laid there, eyes closed, enjoying yourself... sure there was only one bed which was fine as you had spent most of the winter snuggling up to Anrir in the car, it was not the most comfortable mattress in the world... the apartment was quiet...no it was never quiet not with the thin walls... but Anrir was quiet. You became aware of how you were just laying naked on the bed... alarms were going off in your head as you feel his smooth hands run over your knees, feeling his thumbs push into the side as he spreads your legs open slowly. This wasn't normal... and yet this felt like what everything was building up too... but you were always told that bonds were selfless things, right?

Your skin trembles as his hands move over your drying flesh, your breathing shivers, you can feel the bed shift as Anrir climbs onto it. Your throat bobs as you swallow the nervous energy but your eyes open as you feel the bare skin of his legs as he had divested himself of his pants. Anrir's silent still as he presses his scarred lips against your cheek, his body leaning over yours as he settles between your legs, and you feel his hand move to your chin to slowly turn you to meet him. His lips dragging against your flesh as the scarred flesh presses against your own lips. You were close enough that you could tell that his eyes were not fully black... you could see the dark blue of his iris darting with micromovements as he took in your face. But, you could see the predator in his eyes... but it was something more the term hyper-predator comes to mind because what monsters would someone like Anrir need to hunt?

Anrir presses his mouth to yours more and you close your eyes allowing the kiss to deepen. Anrir had been nothing but good to you... but you worry... would he use this against you? You desperately hope that he wouldn't. "Mina..." His voice rumbles like thunder as his hands drag across your flesh in a way that feels dominant and possessive. You can't stop the shuddering moan that leaves your mouth as his mouth moves against the front of your neck, licking the way your throat moves in its swallowing motion. "Toate ale mele… (All mine...)" He says whispering to you in a language that you don't know, "Fiecare parte din tine… toată a mea… trupul și sufletul tău. (Every part of you... all mine... your body and your soul.)" He says again as Anrir presses his cock against your entrance. His mouth continuing its worship of your neck and chin as you open your eyes slightly and just watch Anrir with lidded eyes. He cups your face as his tongue presses hard on your lower lip before pushing his tongue back into your mouth just kissing you hard.

You knew you had fringe thoughts about Astartes... Anrir was just proving to you one thing... that they were far too human to ignore. Far too human and far too predatory... you could never get that feel good emotion from Anrir... from any Astartes really. They were all predators... they were man made monsters made to fight monsters that you didn't know would exist beyond the silver screen of Hollywood or the writings of horror writers. He pulls his mouth away trilling at you and pausing when he sees the look on your face. You were looking at a predator looking at prey a malicious looking thing that tried to play the part of a friendly thing... a wolf playing the role of a dog. "Anrir."

"Yes Dragă." He says as a hand cups your face.

"What do you want?" You again ask... because... you don't think he's lying about the bond but this wasn't normal? You felt everything rushing anxiously to a point.

"You, Dragă." He says devotedly.

You were tired... so tired of being on your own for years before Anrir came. Oh how much Anrir had helped beyond just the money he gave you and the food... just being here... even if it was wrong... even if... you were so tired. You pull Anrir into a kiss as you didn't want to think anymore! You didn't want to worry any more... you whimper as Anrir just purrs loudly as you decide to let Anrir take care of it... take care of you... just for today you tell yourself as you melt into the embrace.

You feel the slight discomforting sensation of your walls spreading open as his cock slowly pushes in. When it becomes too much your hand or foot pushes against his chest which makes him stop till your brow stops furrowing and you for him to continue. This continues until his hips are flush with yours and Anrir hisses in delight, "Atât de strâns atât de bine cu mine… draga mea… a mea. (So tight so good to me... my dear... mine.)" You once more don't understand him but you decide to not worry about it as he starts moving. Your thighs burn slightly at the stretch to have them spread open wide for Anrir to thrust into you. Your eyes close as you focus on the feeling and enjoy that he doesn't ask you to look at him but that doesn't stop him from talking, "Mă simți fată frumoasă? (Do you feel me pretty girl?)" He trills in that unknown tongue, "Te concentrezi pe penisul meu din interiorul tău? (Are you focused on my cock inside of you?)" He asks something else perhaps not realizing or caring that you don't understand him.

He picks up the pace as he pants down at you and you just yowl and moan in pleasure. Porn making everything feel so fake when real sex sounds so unsexy at times but you had no need to make things sound sexy or be perfect. You could hear Anrir chuckle at an unflattering noise you make as he slams his hips into yours again making you repeat it. Eventually things feel tighter and more anxious as Anrir tilts you slightly so his cock pushes into you at a downward angle and you just laugh at the unflattering squeak and squawk that you make. Anrir laughs with you at all those weird and all those distinctively you vocalizations but you just don't care as no one is telling you that you're being unappealing... you throw your head back and arch up as you earned the right to not worry. You moan loudly moaning his name as you feel so good! You earned this reward! You deserve this... you deserve to just let go... you orgasm with little fan fair... just a simple gasp.

You feel so good... everything feels so good as Anrir continues to chase his release, the feeling of a bed against your back, the fuzzy climbdown from an orgasm, the oily drop of sweat from Anrir that lands on your shoulder, and the comforting stutter from him that stutter causes you to open your eyes to watch his brow furrow and you watch how surprisingly expressive he gets as he cums.

The apartment is mostly quiet... as quiet as you can get with thin walls... you lay there with him not thinking about anything... not thinking as you feel his cock softening against your inner thigh. He lets out a loud breath as he lays back in bed in his spot as you meanwhile are pushing away the worry about the consequences of sleeping with Anrir. You cuddle against his side, his arm wrapping around you, you feel the cum ooze out of you ... you're still tired of thinking... you're so tired of it... so tired of worrying why and what Anrir was doing for money... You put your head against his chest over his hearts ignoring the discomfort of the ports against your face... you just listen to the way his hearts beat.

Present day

You were in a much better spot than when you were a couple of years ago... you actually came into money, no it wasn't a rich distant relative dying but it was another person you had camped with when you were homeless. They had actually won the lottery and were being smart with it, which you think was more so their Ultramarine had helped in making smart choices. Though you had your suspicions... the Alpharii... a few seem to come by every few months some to coo at the kids, eager to find a bonded, and some to talk with Anrir as you watched them take containers from your home. But being given money you sudden just kept finding yourself with more money and it was stupid how much money you got after investing some of it... you didn't want to question it and Anrir was very good at distracting you.

Oh speaking of Anrir... he got you so many gifts. He would still give you random bouts of cash but he was finally acting more and more like how a bonded Astartis is supposed to act. You also were seeing how talented he was with his hands as besides his occupation you discovered his macabre hobby that all Night Lords seem to have... bone scrimshawing and taxidermy. You could point out all the time that he acted like a normal bonded Astartis and yet at the same time... how many gestures were more. You got outfits, jewelry, wines, your current house, and hell even your job you know he had a hand in financing... it spiraled out of control with his gifts that your friends noticed and asked who your 'sugar daddy' was or rather if he had any friends.

You smile warmly and wave goodbye as the last child finally gets picked up. You head back inside letting out a soft exhale and start picking up the room not getting very far into cleaning up when Anrir wraps his arms around you and purrs into your shoulder... purring into where he tattooed you years ago. You feel him give a playful tug onto the choker collar that he made for you, expensive thing and you know he liked you wearing it. You were lucky that no one asked you what Anrir was... everyone just assumed he was a Raven Guard...

"I can smell your worry Dragă." He says nipping your earlobe.

"I'm just tired Anrir."

"Then lets go home." He kisses your cheek.

"But I have stuff to pick up-"

"And this is why we hire others to clean," He says gentle cocking his head to the side, "You're worried about something." Anrir takes the toy from your hands as you pick at the seams.

You let out a heavy sigh bringing your thumb to your lips, "I'm just scared everything is about to go wrong." Anrir takes your hand to stop you from biting your nails.

"And if it does... I will take care of it." Anrir says with such certainty and authority that makes you believe him.

The breath in your chest you let out with a heavy sigh, "Okay." You nod.

He tugs on your choker bringing you close for a kiss as he trills softly, "I will always take care of you my frumoasă dragă (beautiful darling)." And you chose to believe it.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕾𝖊𝖙 𝖁𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖞

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: What if I combined them all into one, for maximum efficiency? I blame this one, @kit-williams and this one, @barn-anon for this.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // SMUT/NSFW, NonCon and Dubcon, Baby Trapping, Drug, Yandere Themes, Death, Body Horror, Cannibalism.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Chapter II}

Blasius slowly turns his head to the side from his crouched position. His mouth opening for a better scent thread as he sniffs the air heavily and chuffs.

So soon? He shakes his head, rising from his crouched position. Casting a shadow over the broken body below him. Such an eager little mate.

Glancing back down at the mauled body. Blasius brings forth an main appendage between his armor plates and licks the warm crimson staining his gauntlet. Savoring how rotten it tasted. Something he had almost forgotten about. How atrocious some could be, hopeless and decaying.

Something his little mate was not. Unlike this waste of flesh below him, unable to bring his little mate what she wanted. What she craved for. He can see it in her eyes, in her scent. How could this one not?

He was ignorant of course, too witless to acknowledge her effort. Too endorsed in his time running away from the nest and coming back smelling like another. His little mate was distressed when she figured out what he was doing. Yet, she still believed that he had some “good” left in him. Putting more of her dedication to prove that she was the worthy mate, when it was the other way around.

This false male was the unworthy one of breathing in the same air as his little mate. Undeserving of her attention, her love, her gifts and lingering touches of her commission of fidelity. It drove him crazy that she wasn’t paying attention to him as she poured her devotion into this male who uses her as a side trophy.

He wanted to give his little mate all that he had to offer. He wanted to return that love and attention she put on that failure of a human. He wanted to gift her all the things she found an interest in, but never acted upon it. Craving for that male to gift it to her, to acknowledge her. He wanted to provide what the male would not, could not.

It was no secret this man was a disappointment to any female that he encounters. He can hear the difference between the real and the fake moan’s his little mate does when they are coupled together or how his little mate has to take care of herself afterwards. Having yet to climax herself, but the male was also a disappointment by being infertile. Not that his little mate knows of that.

It is one of the reasons she has gotten a toy however, to sedate her ever growing desires. To finally have something to finish her off and at first, he wanted to rip the toy to shreds. Watch it decay beneath his fingertips, but he stops mid-way of finding the silicone c*ck in her closet. Realizing this singular tool has had a lot more to it than just for making his little mate climax on it.

So, he puts it back in its place where he found it. Leaving it to his little mates next use.

Blasius hums deeply as the appendix of the open body below him bursts, a quiet wheeze coming out of the mouth of the body as it splatters against his greaves. A mix of puss and blood inching down his armor to his sabatons. Another appendage coming out between his plating near his knee to clean up the mess the weak, organic body had made. 

He uses another main appendage to reach inside the cut opening in the males body, pushing underneath his sternum and ribs, providing wet sounds and a squelch each time the appendage slips underneath another rib. Reaching the top of the body’s rib cage, he digs the appendage downwards between the lungs and wraps around the windpipe and tugs. A sickening squelch-like pop sounding out. 

Pulling his appendage back to him. He wraps the rest of his appendage around the organ and lifts it up to his face, observing it. Sniffing it before he rumbles lowly in refusal. Whipping the rotten lung away with his appendage. Hearing it splat somewhere else.

That was not something he would preferably eat. Healthy organs are the better route of eating, they taste better. Saccharine even. They envelop the tongue like thick wine. Not that he found eating humans was a satisfactory, just a tasteful treat. He found far better sweets in this world to sedate his hunger than he would in his own world, but that rotted lung wouldn't give him the treat he was looking for.

Perhaps, his liver would work better? They were always far cleaner than the rest of the body’s he’s taken a snack on before. Maybe a little bitter with their alcohol consumption, but that doesn't deter him, he’s had worse before. If anything, that marinates more flavor into the organ.

Sliding his appendage between the body’s ribs and organs again. Wet sounds followed while he wraps his appendage around the liver twice. Pushing the other organs aside and over the opening of his torso and stomach. Feeling how the male's organs still pulsed with life. His dull eyes still staring up at his figure. A mule this one was.

With a particularly harsh tug, the body’s liver popped out with a sickening crack of his rips flying apart. His sternum breaking in half as bone shards littered inside and outside of the blood spewing body. The dirt drinking up the body’s lifeline like desert sands would do to water.

Blasius purrs quietly, approving of this body’s liver as he sniffs it. His mouth opening to wrap his tongue around the organ and lay it in his mouth before squeezing it with his tongue. Feeling it pop in his mouth and splatter before he chews, savoring the taste and the memory’s it came with it.

At least, the memories with his little mate in them. Ranging from how sweet his little mate was and how remarkable she was. Offering her food, her home to this male. Never blowing up on him when she clearly wanted to. Some of the many things that he hates the male for, but that was not a matter anymore.

Nurgle, and the intercourses with her. He knows he could have done way better than this male, but to envision her nude and submissive before him? His appendages began to salivate, including his mouth.

The things he would love to do to her.

Her scent wafts over him as he swallows hard. Shivering as his appendages become eager, desiring, and aching. Pushing up against his armor almost painfully. Telling him he wasn’t actually envisioning her scent of her arousal at all. This was real.

He takes a step away from the mutated body, not looking back as his appendages inside of him twitch in anticipation. Those wild packs of wolves that roam around here should eat the rest of the body up like nothing by tomorrow's dusk. Leaving absolutely no trace of him to be found.

Blasius uses his appendages to clean the rest of his armor off to temporarily relieve their eagerness to come out while he slowly follows his little mates arousal back to her nest. He knows has some time to get there before she climaxes and he must be presentable to his little mate after all. He knows how… unnerving he could look.

He hears her soft moans before he even enters into the nest. His senses heightened to seek her out through her strong arousal that begged him to fill his little mate as he inhales deeply, leaning down through the front door.

Nurgle, he is here little mate. He is here to provide. Let him provide for you.

He hears her cry out in ecstasy and that makes him move a bit faster through the house. Holding his breath as he moves swiftly between furniture. Quickly, opening the door and lean down through it to his little mates nesting spot.

The first thing he sees is her riding the false c*ck up and down into her core at a fast pace. Her skin glistening with sweat at all the effort to make herself climax. Her heated breaths staining her own skin as she moans out again, closing her eyes and throwing her head back.

He rumbles quietly and takes side steps into the grounds of his little mates nest. Watching as she chased that high. Kneeling down to the ground in front of her bed. Observing how her folds fluttered around the c*ck. Her muscles constricting around it as she cried out. Her juices leaking down the c*ck.

Yet, she doesn’t turn on the toy? Isn’t that what it was for? To fill her up her womb? Isn’t that what she wanted?

So, he turns on the toy instead, a gasp escaping his little mate as the toy pumps his c*m into her. Selection by selection, until there was nothing left in the toy.

Unfortunate, no worries. He has more to provide.

She makes a move to get up from the false c*ck, but he growls. His appendages coming out, spooking his little mate as he takes her by the hip and pushes her back down on the fake c*ck. Watching as she squirms on it, his c*m leaking around the edges from her hole and down the false c*ck.

He didn’t get drug from that questionable Ultramarine for no reason.

She whines at him, and as much as he would love to hear her cry out to him. He sticks an enthusiastic appendage down her throat. Silencing her cry’s as he shoves moves her shifting hips back down onto the false c*ck again.

Shhh, little mate. Let me take care of you. Your… partner won’t be around anytime soon to please your needs like I will. To caress your skin like I will. To protect you like I will. To provide to you like I will.

To have yours and mine procreation.

[ma1dmer]

how would we feel about......mournival....nsfw....alphabets? loken...torgaddon...i am thinking about them........