#Lord Commissar

[cursed-40k-thoughts]

Command Squadron With Lord Commissar

[shieldsnspears]

Her key stat is Coersion >:з

[wh40kartwork]

We Have Come Four You

by Konstantin Void

[clea-dessendre]

arbitrator drip is goooooood 👌👌👌

[thatzombiecat]

Lord Captain Lilith von Valancius

Hive Worlder origin Commissar Character portrait in the Disco Elysium style for dearest @maggotknight💜

And a lil' extra piece under the cut!

Lilith and my oc Vincy being best frenemies (and Felix being a goodest boi fetching doughnuts eee)

[moodymisty]

just throwing in a last minute request for anything angsty, fluffy or smutty with dorn (bonus points if you can roll all three into one aha) :3 💕

Author's note: I like Dorn :) Heavily inspired by Pluvio's newest Dorn fic. Relationships: Rogal Dorn/Fem!Reader Warnings: NSFW flashback, and some posh gossip

You've forgotten the amount of times someone has asked you about Dorn. Both this evening and in general.

They always ask about how lonely it must be. Wife of the Praetorian. Wife of 'The Wall', less tactful men tend to say, commissars who have served just enough time around him to know his personality but yet still feel bold enough to gossip.

Sometimes people will lean inward and raise their eyebrows, curl their shoulders forward, wondering if they can get a hint. If you are displeased with your marriage; If you perhaps have another for when those weeks turn to months, and Dorn continues to place you at the bottom of his duties.

"Well, I do hope it doesn't get too cold out on Inwit alone."

A quaint lady and her lord spin glasses of wine, wanting to dig into the juicy innards of your relationship after the pleasantries about the construction of your gown were finished.

A delightful thing it was; Gold, of course. You'd wear scant nothing else in terms of color other than Gold and Imperial Fist yellow at such formal events, but it didn't matter in the end. Talking to the Lady Dorn of the Imperial Fists was a rare treat, and tidbits were oh so tempting. You rarely attend these sorts of things, your husband and his men even less.

You think he's only even been to a few, and Dorn usually keeps to himself when he does. His men are usually posted around the entrances- or the food. They are quite fond of when these events have large stacks of meat, but find little joy in anything else. Once the table has been cleared of anything they find delectable, they usually stomp back to the various points of entry and post there until they are allowed to leave.

However you are far less intimidating than your Lord Husband's men in the eyes of fellow baselines, and closer to the Praetorian in ways they find intriguing, so they pry and pry for more and more- looking for less so military secrets and more quaint gossip. Not to say they don't try for any of the former, however.

A moment before this the lady had made the slightest hint towards you being unsatisfied with your husband leaving you aside for so long, and your mind quickly wandered off into recent memory.

The furs were so warm against your skin; Soft, in contrast to the wall of unyielding muscle that held you firmly in place. Your face laid against the pelts while your ass was positioned upward, as high as it would go. Back swept in such a sharp angle you body laid completely helpless, at mercy to Dorn's ruthlessness.

Drool dribbled from your mouth and stained those furs, matting one of the many of them you had. Your chambers on Inwit were lined with them; Your chambers on The Phalanx had even more. As a baseline, your ability to withstand the harsh colds of Inwit was vastly lower than Dorn and his men, and so blankets and cloaks were one of the things your lord husband would often requisition for you.

The bed creaked under the weight of a primarch, and the room was filled with the sounds of moans and whimpers, the slapping of skin on skin, and heavy, quiet grunts.

Dorn rarely ever made a noise during such things, not more than a strenuous grunt as his hips piston forward, or a heavy, quiet groan when he would first shove himself into your tight heat.

His cock drove into you deep enough that it felt like he was pushing into your stomach, balls slapping against your clit. Everything felt so hot, your heart pounded in your chest with your heavy breathes as each time his cock dragged against your inner walls it brought you that much closer to your peak.

One of his hands wrapped around your waist- the sheer size of it covered so much he didn't need the other. That one held his body up by pressing into the bed beside you, trapping you in a cage of body heat. Your skin felt hot, and each time Dorn hammered into you and made a mess of your cunt just a bit more, you skin felt like it got even hotter. You couldn't even speak, it had been months and the two of you were content to simply keep the room to nothing but noises. Dorn could be poetic at times, surprisingly so, but not always.

Because in a way, during these rare moments he perhaps has more in common with the beasts he had hunted and skinned for you, than anything else. But once he's done, the only way you'll be able to tell that his exterior cracked for a moment is the aches and pains he leaves behind.

Dorn is very much like Inwit's vast mountains of ice; Stiff and emotionless.

He will never hold your hand so daintily, never guide you down a flight of stairs, never bequeath to you a million pet names. In some ways, he doesn't feel like a husband at all. But behind the safety of complete privacy, you see just enough. You don't need all of it. At least that's what you tell yourself. Maybe one day the gilded palace he keeps you in won't be enough, but for now, it's just fine.

You remember the lady had asked you a question, and wave her off.

"Oh no, it's not too cold at all, actually."

[titanomancy]

If anything, that roadmap Krieg tease undersold how much the Death Korps would be getting in the new year. Between the existing tanks and Veteran Guardsmen, this is at least as much of an army as any of the old pewter regiments had in the '90s. Arguably more.

Starting from the top, Lord Marshal Dreir is a great alternative to the Lord Solar for the role of, "general on horse mount," and stands in his stead among any of the classic regimental heroes.

And if your gonna have one guy on a horse mount, you really ought to have an entire cavalry charge. I think they might have gone a little ham on the Krieg steeds' claws, though - I liked them better a more like goat hooves, so that they look nearly like horses be not quite. Somebody at the studio clearly decided that's insufficiently brutal.

Combat engineers are another adaptation of an existing Forge World kit that looks great. Loving the little screw drive remote mine, although it looks like it's about twice as big as it ought to be to read better on the tabletop.

Artillery emplacements are big Krieg energy and these new heavy guns certainly deliver. The quad mortar is back again, as are two flavors of cannon and a rocket battery. Wouldn't look at all out of place alongside the classic Basilisk platforms (which, who knows, may still make their way to plastic), or the next entry in the new lineup.

Classic heavy weapon carriages, once again in the 2nd Edition style. These are all a little bit more in tune with the nostalgic approach to Imperial Guard than the more modern take on the concept found in the Cadian Field Ordnance Battery, and I think helps them to fill a unique niche from the standard heavy weapons teams.

Rounding things out are a brand new command squad featuring not one but two Commissars (Lord and cadet), vox, standard and chemyst. I think adapting the quartermaster would have probably been a better pull but they seem to be leaning hard into the harsh environment specialists aspect. That combat accountancy servo skull goes hard, though.

Overall, solid. Very happy to see, and when taken alongside the many Solar Auxilia tanks now or soon to be available, represents one of the most comprehensive updates to a range yet seen.

[lordcaptains]

rogue trader player character names by origin -

astra militarum commander:

commissar:

crime lord:

ministorum priest:

navy officer:

noble:

sanctioned psyker:

[rulernogard156]

"I am the Fabricator General"

(To the tune of Modern Major General from The Pirates of Penzance)

I was inspired when I first heard of the Fabricator General, i always made the joke, but now I've committed.

\*Note I am not a songwriter nor a particularly good singer/musician, so i apologize if this is rough. But i gave it a try.

"I am the very model of a Fabricator General,

I've information Mechanical, Imperial, Heretical,

I know the Lords of Terra, and I quote the fights' historical

From Cthonia to Ullanor, in order categorical;

I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical,

I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical,

About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news;

With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.

I'm very good at integral and differential calculus;

I know the scientific names of beings animalculous:

In short, in matters Mechanical, Imperial, Heretical,

I am the very model of a Fabricator General.

I know our mythic history, The Emperor and the Sigillite’s;

I calculate hard quadratics, I've a subroutine for running parabytes,

I quote in elegiacs all the heresy of Belisarius,

In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous;

I can tell undoubted Paladius from Imingo Sahr and Cambrius,

I know the croaking cogs of *Drop pods* from Forge World Lucius!

Then I run over ten hundred analysi of weapons never seen afore;

And recall all the STCs to build my own Imperator.

Then I can write pneumatic fragmented Necronian,

And tell you how to travel safe throughout the Empyrean:

So in matters Mechanical, Imperial, Heretical,

I am the very model of a Fabricator General.

In fact, when I decode technology both Necron and Aldarian

When I know which genetic marker identifies a Fenrisian

When i have to command my legions in crusade through the stars

That is when i know how to motivate like the commissars

When I’ve burnt the Hereteks for using advancement and ingenuity

When I know more holy rights than a sister of the ecclesiarchy

Thus concludes my symphony of informative paradigms

You’ll say a Fabricator General never had better rhymes.

I’ve vast stores of knowledge, though only known in binary

Its limited only by the wars of the 40th century:

But still, in matters Mechanical, Imperial, Heretical,

I am the very model of a Fabricator General."

[taryn40k]

... They can explain-

"Why are your clothes all ripped up?" "How about we stop talking for a little while-"

[revivisection]

companion piece to @vossn's crime lord zlatko. meet originswap cosmas, aka commissar emmot hyde.

you should pull them up side by side, they're mirrored :)

ramble under the cut. will make a lot more sense if you're already familiar with cosmas lore lol

kept the outfit pretty close to the commissar outfit in game, but i made two decisions that made it still feel like cosmas. the belt goes under the coat rather than over so it doesn't cinch the waist, and the collar is opened up a bit to frame his neck augment (though you can't really see cause it's covered by his hand). i still wanted him to have his mouth scars, but he would've gotten them some other way so i thought it'd be cute if they looked different, arcing down from the corners of his mouth rather than going directly up. he does also still have his metal fingers, but they're covered by his gloves. all his augments look different :)

he lived a different life, he found a different name. the big divergence point is that instead of being thrown into the underhive, he joined the imperial guard in hopes of something better--or maybe he just really wanted to kill things with guns (state-sanctioned style). i think he ends up being a pretty good sniper.

he never would have been able to become a commissar as a regular grunt, so how did he do it? identity theft. he seized an opportunity to better his status by impersonating a dead commissar. he stole his name, stole his title, stole his deeds. stole his gender too. he didn't steal his life in the sense that he was the one who killed the og emmot, but he stole it in another sense of the word.

emmot's life since then has been a constant performance. it's a lie, but it's the kind he's lived so thoroughly it's become true. for all intents and purposes, he is commissar hyde. he's had to think fast and play it extremely careful. instead of cosmas' constant need to prove himself, emmot's existence depends on convincing others.

emmot doesn't have the same freedom as cosmas. where cosmas shaped himself in the chaos of gang wars and shifting allegiances, emmot lives in a rigid hierarchical structure. he's a servant of the imperium, carrying out the emperor's will. he has to conform, he has to follow orders, he has to be a lot more stealth about a lot more things. he's modeled his behaviour after hardass military types rather than criminals, but at his heart he's still a rulebreaker, he's a liar, and he's scum. he just hides it well.

when it came to naming him i wanted something kinda punchy like gaunt and hark's names. going to be repping gaunt's ghosts forever btw. 2 syllable first name, 1 syllable last name, something with a t or a k at the end. i ended up choosing hyde because it was funnyyyyy, like, yeah, guy with something to hide, guy with some strange things going on with his identity, lol. emmot stuck cause i really liked the mouthfeel, it has the hard ending while not being that harsh in sound, and i like the slight letter change from a more common name, very fitting for the setting i think. emmett (possibly) means "truth" lmao. my very trustworthy commissar named truth hider who has never lied to me. i also think emmot still sounds close enough to cosmas, since it keeps the o and the m, while still being distinct.

if you've made it this far. here's the black & white version

[shieldsnspears]

Actually here's another art of my Lord Captain Esther + a few steps. I believe that's the official Commissar uniform design from the Owlcat concept artworks that I borrowed.

Just mostly reposting stuff from my other platforms for now, didn't get to paint anything fresh but I hope I will sometime soon!

[wh40kartwork]

Lord Castellan Ursula Creed / Commissar Deckler / Minka Lensk

by Israel Llona

[lazywriter-artist]

Chapter Four

Gilded Stories

Slowly the trio made their way down the halls of the massive palace, still ruminating on their interaction with the commissar. This silence that followed while they walked was heavy, thick in the air with a near-choking weight about it. The trip had been strange and tense overall really, with little cracks that left the three brothers with even more things to think about than before. Now you see, none of the brothers were the best at idle chatter, especially not in these conditions, so they had walked in silence for some time now. That was until the silence became too suffocating and Magnus was the first to crack. He fluffed his big feathery wings and cleared his throat as he walked behind Dorn and Guilliman, trying to draw some attention to himself and began to speak.

“So-“ he managed to gain the attention he’d wanted as the other two adjusted their paces to match Magnus’s, That way they could walk shoulder to shoulder to hear. “What have you both- ah— been up two?” It seemed to be the wrong question, a look of exhaustion and boredom crossed Guilliman’s face as Dorn’s resting bitch face seemed to tip over into a strange amalgamation of annoyed apathy. “Picking up the pieces of the imperium…trying to put them back together again.” Quietly groaned Robotue, as if the mere words manifested him back at his desk with the mountains of redundant paperwork he knew awaited him. “The high lords don’t let anything go easily, and father has yet to crawl from his hermit shell to aid me.” Magnus never thought he would hear such cruel (for Roboute anyway-) words towards father from the emperor’s avenging son but such a sentiment lifted a strange weight off of Magnus’s mind…Dorn however wasn’t too keen on offering up as much detail. Unfortunately for the praetorian his mannerism had changed very little in the last millennium! Magnus could tell whatever it had been bothering his brother greatly for it to show so…vividly, so he gently brushed a wing over Dorn to gain his attention “and what about you brother? Last I had heard you had perished in glorious battle!” The sorcerer king would fluff his wings some for dramatic effect rolling back his shoulders and fluffing his chest and mane, a bit of sarcasm to the action but he merely hoped to lighten the mood for his brother, even if it meant Dorn criticizing him some for his silly actions, sadly the attempt seemed unsuccessful. His wings sort of drooped as Dorn spared him only a short passing glance, was it truly that bad? Magnus held his tongue for a moment as he truly pondered the implications of Dorn being presumed dead. He slowed his pace as he retreated back to his brother’s sides. Magnus certainly hadn’t had the greatest go of things either, but it made him hurt to see just how much worse off his brothers were doing since his own reformation. Lowering himself some he looked between his brothers, gently taking their hands to have some form of connection with them in his attempt at tenderness. “I had not realized things were so—“

It was hard to even parse the sentiment he had begun to form as he suddenly felt an overpowering sensation. It made his head ache, not of pain necessarily but with some familiar pressing weight of a sensation he hadn’t felt in years, not like this. Carefully letting go of his brothers, he would slowly turn to see before him a vision he’d only ever witnessed in dreams these days. A massive golden door, capped by a custodes diligently on either side, bathing the hall in golden light of a strange near warp-like nature. Magnus could feel the confidence he had built up within himself begin to shiver, slowly slipping from his desperate grasp as he watched those mighty doors. Just beyond their gold inlaid casings sat his father. Magnus could feel the aura radiating from those doors, the energy coursing through his body and charging him in ways he only thought of with fading memories. He could feel him, just beyond those doors…

The god emperor of mankind…

Master post || Chapter Select || Chapter Five ||

[primarchslut]

DRIP OR DIE ⮟

lord captain - commissars command.

❝ Commissars of the Officio Prefectus are ruthless officers charged with maintaining the morale, discipline, and fighting spirit of their Astra Militarum regiment. You used to be one of these faithful servants of the God-Emperor, a living symbol of Imperium authority, regarded with a mix of fear and awe by their subordinates. ❞

[moodymisty]

Please please please PLEASE produce some nsfw with female reader Alexis Polux Propaganda. I need some Imperial Fist content.

Author's note: HMNGNGNGGGGG POLUX TIME

Relationships: Alexis Polux/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Size difference, Praise kink, Polux is a good boy™, Rough-ish sex

"I'm surprised to see someone so young here,"

A voice speaks, and you don't entirely realize they're talking to you until they come up on your left side with an expectant look on their face.

"You look a bit too well dressed to be someones servant," You aren't quite a fan of the way he seems to examine you like a painting, but you assume he just isn't familiar with social gatherings. Many of the people in these circles are always examining for weaknesses, valuable information, so the feeling isn't entirely new. You just aren't used to it.

With a soft smile you nod to say hello despite him not giving you the same courtesy, holding your parchment close to your chest.

Your drawings had been going well, documenting the progress of the Palace has been no small feat, and the few picts you've taken will go along will with the various sketches you've been working on.

"Well, I'm usually not on Terra, But right now I'm here on business. Imp-"

The man cuts you off, letting out a noise. You're not sure if he's a commissar out of his regalia or a lord, not that it matters in the end.

"Ohhh! That's surprising."

You wonder why he thinks that.

"You don't seem like a young lady who would be part of the fortifications of the Sol system," It takes a lot in you to keep your place- to not roll your eyes - and just smile and nod.

"Well, looks are deceiving sometimes."

The man smiles and nods, seemingly amused your answer.

"Indeed they are."

You look away from him and over the massive and ornate railing at the view below you, spires and twisting paths of gold weaved between endless construction. Your primarch has been hard at work, and the pict you decide to take will serve as a useful thing to add to your ever growing documentation.

The man looks at you amusingly as you do it, but oddly enough doesn't ask why.

"How long have you been out here all alone?" He looks at you curiously, his chin tilted upward just slightly as he casually crosses his arms.

You think on it for a moment. You aren't meant to be here for the current meeting, it just happens to be going on in tandem to your arrival. You also haven't been alone for most of it, though your guardian- you can't think of any other word to call him, even if guardian doesn't quite fit - has been absent as he left to give orders briefly.

"No more than an hour, I think." The man throws out a hand, gesturing it vaguely in your direction.

"An hour out here? how about you come and get a drink with me? At least take a break and warm up before you come back out here." You politely shake your head and take a step back, still holding your parchments close to your chest.

"Oh, no thank you, I don't have the time to take a break, I'm quite busy."

He waves off your refusal. "Nonsense, have you even been to a Terran gathering? There's plenty of things I'm sure you've never seen before. Have you tried wine?"

You haven't, but your interest to do so is nonexistent under this context. Desires aside, you have work to do; Dorn and his men hold your work to a high bar and won't be fond to see you slacking off.

"I haven't but I really need to get back to my work, or my Pri-"

The man reaches for you hand and while he grasps it gently, the gesture is unwelcome.

You notice two Imperial Fists passing by as you tug your hand out of his own and back away, scowling at him. The closer Fist that passes you by looks at you, and moments later you hear the distinctive crackle of the vox device in his helmet turning on as he continues by. It's a soft sound you've gotten used to, in your time close to astartes.

"Surely your work isn't important enough to not enjoy some company. I am far too bored of the people who only seem to chat because they want something."

Despite his lament seemingly authentic he seems to want something from you, hence his forcefulness. he reaches forward once again to put a hand on your arm and you back away, but you accidentally back yourself between him and the railing- cornering yourself.

"I told you, I am here on business and I am really not interested in-"

You hear something to your left, the thundering of heavy footsteps - and the both of you turn to see the source.

A wide surface of bright yellow armor is what you see, spanning far wider than you and far taller, as well. It makes you overjoyed, you know who he is- while the man looses all the blood in his face at once.

“Let go of her.”

Polux doesn’t need to do much more than speak and the man removes his hand, as now it's suddenly as if you're on fire.

Polux stands in the same realm as the primarchs in height in his armor, and even someone used to being around space marines would find themself more than a bit intimidated by him by just his presence, let alone being the object of his displeasure.

You know he's far kinder than his off-putting visage implies, but both you and Polux are fine with not letting anyone know about it.

"Thank you, Polux."

The man seems surprised by you saying the marine's name so casually, and the way he looks down at you. He looks at you as if he knows you, which given how rare it is for astartes to interact with baseline humans, is more than a bit unusual. His short, cropped blonde hair is stuck to his head in weird ways, after so long underneath his helmet.

You turn to him, fingers flexing around your notebook as you take one side step in Polux's direction.

"I was trying to say I am here on Imperial Fist business. I am one of the remembrancers for The Fists documenting their fortification of Terra." Polux stares at the man, and his neutral face accidentally serves to frighten him more. Despite you knowing the astartes is almost what you would dare consider shy, his stalwart, wrinkled face does not imply that in the slightest.

"And I am quite busy doing so."

The man swallows, playing with his teeth while shifting his jaw nervously.

"Oh I am, so so sorry. I never meant to intrude on Fists business, I was only trying to offer a nice lady a d-" Polux ignores the man; Looking down at you.

"Are you alright?"

You know if you say you aren't Polux will more than likely drag the man somewhere to be punished for his misdeeds. But you're fine, and find the whole idea a bit too time consuming to deal with. It's not as if he did anything horrific, besides being far too pushy and irritating. Given your status as remembrancer mouthing off to someone who might possibly be a high lord wasn't something you can do either, less you risk getting your head rent from your shoulders.

"Yes, I'm ok. Just a little handsy."

Polux only needs to take one look in his direction and gesture, almost as if the man is a wild animal, to dismiss him, and he walks off with a briskness in his step.

Now alone with Polux you soften significantly; While he doesn't do the same visibly, you can tell in his tone of voice and eyes that he is somewhat less aggravated.

You give him a sweet smile, ignoring the chilly breeze penetrating your clothes. He must've gotten the vox that the Fist sent when he walked by, probably knowing a fight was brewing. He looks down at you with that stoic but soft expression.

Even as battle hardened and massive as he is, something about Polux is almost, gentle.

"Thank you so much for saving me, Polux. I needed that."

His face changes just the slightest bit. You don't know why, and you can only assume he finds your thank you thoughtful. You don't imagine he hears the words that often.

Reaching forward he grasps your shoulder with his wide gauntlet, and starts to push you along. You nearly stumble over with how much ground he expects you to cover in one step, almost loosing hold of your parchments.

"We should return to the Eternal Crusader."

When you returned to the ship, it had taken Polux 45 minutes to remove himself from his armor.

Record time; Given his size he wears custom armor that takes more effort- and thus time - to remove.

It had taken only fifteen more to return to his quarters, dragging you along. Once you got there, there was only roughly 40 seconds before the sound of the door locking, and Polux picking you up, and throwing you onto his cot.

Your clothes didn’t survive the minutes after- they became tattered ribbons on the floor as Polux made a strategic path to his target.

He had such a logistical way about it; his bred traits cause him to treat every scenario with stoic and almost taciturn attitude.

He thrusts into you, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with an embarrassing loudness.

“Thank you for saving me, Alexis,”

The sentence goads him on hitting a deep part of him, and you feel the way he drives his cock even deeper into you. He’s pressing you into the cot, laying on your stomach back arched to present yourself to him. Polux is almost uncomfortably wide at his hips and torso, you can barely spread your thighs enough to allow him close enough, unless he puts your knees by your ears.

“Why must you find yourself in trouble every time I turn away from you,”

You let out a sharp moan as he drives himself into your particularly deep, and the thick base of his cock stretches you even wider.

“It just finds me, I don’t know what I’d do without you,”

He lets out a soft groan and you swear your feel his cock throb inside of you at the praise.

Polux has always had trouble recognizing his own skill among the other Imperial Fists. His skill is never enough, and he always doubts his place as belonging to his late brother. Your words fan a fire inside of him that only fuels with the acknowledgement that he has done his duty to the utmost of perfectionism, and never once faltered.

“More, please more,”

He grunts with effort as his massive forearms cage your body, his hips slapping against your ass. You know you're going to be covered in bruises that you'll have to cover, find excuses for, but you couldn't care less. You nearly squeal as the head of his cock bullies his way deeper inside of you, feeling like it’s at your belly button. His cot isn’t meant for this kind of abuse and creaks unhappily, threatening to crumble under the weight and strength of nearly 400 kilos of muscle and fat.

Why did you have to pick the biggest Imperial Fist that’s ever lived? Polux swallows your entire body in his shadow, and the overwhelming heat he exudes stifles the air with the hot smell of sweat and sex, combined with the odd chemical smell of an Astartes.

In an odd way it’s begun to stir something in you, and at times you at the way your body betrays you and begins to get hot at the worst of times.

Your hands desperately attempt to reach for anything to hold on to, one gripping his forearm and feeling his hair on your palm. You can feel the almost painful tightness in your lower stomach as you get closer and closer, gritting your teeth.

You have to be loud enough that it can be heard in the halls. You dread the idea of the serfs hearing their newest, brightest and shiniest remembrancer getting getting absolutely fucked out of her mind by one of the Imperial Fist's most stalwart and immovable men. But you can’t find the ability to be quiet- not when the Astartes is trying to force his cock impossibly deeper with each thrust as his balls slap against your cunt.

His brow furrows tight as he fucks you like it’s a singular goal, giving no mercy or gentleness.

The painful twisting vice in your stomach finally snaps when you cum, what little strength you had to keep your hips tilted upwards fails. You go nearly limp, and Polux is forced to move a hand to grab your hip and hold you up to continue trying to drive himself closer and closer to your cervix.

The way your soft walls clench around him almost stops the marine dead, and you can hear the hiss he lets out through his teeth.

This is only the third time he’s fucked you, and the first time he’s initiated it. The feeling of nerves and neurons unused being stimulated in such a way is almost overwhelming to him, and he isn’t sure if he enjoys the way his body almost takes control from him in that desperate, primal effort to finish.

He grips your hip tighter and fucks you harder with little regard to your limp and well fucked body, cumming inside of you not a few moments later. Buried to the hilt you feel the hot pooling of cum inside of you, and the way his cock twitches with each spurt.

When he pulls out, you whimper at the feeling of your abused cunt fluttering around nothing, and beads of his cum leaking from you.

You feel the back of your thighs ache in pain, and you’re sure they’ll be bruised wonderfully in a few hours.

“…Are you well?”

Polux says with an almost out of place concern as you lay limp on his cot. You nod and try to turn on your side beneath him.

“I’ll, I’ll be ok.” You don’t know if you will be right away; Your lower stomach aches as your cunt tries to recover from his abuse, and you’re sure sitting down or doing anything strenuous is going to be painful the next few days.

Polux furrows his brow, shifting his thin lips.

“I, do not like how unclear my mind gets during my… time, with you.”

You wish you could explain to him that’s normal, but to a man who’s known nothing but the machinations of a crusade, of standing stalwart and logical in the face of unknowns- desireless - you don’t know if you ever could.

“Do you want me to leave?” You look up at him, and he shakes his head.

“No.”

You attempt to adjust, but the motion puts tension on your aching muscles and causes you to grimace.

“You’re hurt? You lied?” Polux looks at you sternly, and you shake your head.

“I’m just really, sore. And bruised.” Polux shifts and moves to stand, further motivated when you hiss in pain again.

“You need the Medicae.” You quickly speak up. “Would you like to explain to them how you, an Astartes, fucked me so hard I can’t walk, or should I?”

Polux stares at you stone faced, a thinking expression that would be funny, if not for the embarrassment you implied.

“I… I will go to the apothecary and say you injured yourself and need salve.” Polux shifts his jaw, and you can see some of his more shy personality come through. “I will, forgo the details.”

You can’t help but smile a bit before he leaves, watching as the man storms off task at hand, and leaves you to wait.