i am crawling on hand and foot, scratching at the door, mewling and whining and begging you to PLEASE WRITE THE MOURNIVAL KINK HEADCANON
sorry for making you wait ◡̈
i try to make these g/n but one implies you can lactate. wink.
nsfw 18+ of course!! a whole load of other astartes coming up soon. if you're not into it, don't read it, as usual.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
abbadon: dacryphilia. he never wanted to see you cry. he'd have done anything to protect you and keep you from harm, being so precious to him. yet, when you were lying beneath him, when his entire being consumed you, he couldn't help but enjoy the way you cried for him. he brings his thumb to your cheek, swiping away your tears that covered your pretty skin. it's okay, he'd tell you, worried at first he'd done something wrong. when you shake your head, beg him to carry on, to fuck you harder, to feel more of him, he'd feel himself twitch inside you. he had to make sure. you're crying because... of how good i make you feel? his ego would never recover. he'd make a silent competition with himself, knowing each time he had you, he wanted to see you cry, whimper, sob over him. he'd make it his goal to overwhelm you, make you feel so good it hurts. maybe he likes being praised in that way, knowing you really can't hold yourself back. either way, he thinks you're so pretty with your lashes wet, eyes glassy, and body exhausted - and he'd do just about anything to see it.
aximand: lactophilia. his fingers were twitching at his side. he hated himself for the thoughts he had. oh how badly he wanted to take your nipple into his mouth, have his warm lips wrap around the bud and suck. he hates it. but his hands still pawed at your waist as you approached him, his breath shuddering as offer your chest to him. he turns his head, yet steals another glance. hates it. he doesn't move as you lean into him, guide the back of his head down to your chest gently. you tell him it's okay, he can take what he wants. he still hates it. I can't... he'd tell you, his voice barely breaking a whisper. he tries to ignore the ache, tries to resist your temptation, but its all futile. just a taste, he'd tell you, latching onto your nipple, his hand on your back to hold you closer to him as his mouth caressed your full breast. he shouldn't want to have you riding his cock as he did this. he shouldn't want this all to himself. yet, as he presses his forehead against your chest for the shortest break, sinks his other hand into your hips to hold you steady as his groans, he still hates himself, but he'd never be able to live without this.
torgaddon: crurophilia. you'd been laying on your stomach, your legs fully bare. he'd never really been able to resist you, but he always found your legs incredibly beautiful. he'd run his fingers up your calves to your thighs, he'd press his lips the whole way up them too, he'd leave bruises across them, he'd sink his teeth into your soft flesh whenever he lost the smallest bit of attention. at first he'd turned you over, used his mouth to please you and pushed your thighs around his head, wanting to feel you tremble, wanting you to squeeze your thighs against him as you chase your high. feel your calf drag press against his back so you could have more of him in your most sensitive areas. but when he looked up to you, and caught your eyes, he'd stopped. i need to feel them, he'd tell you, unlacing your fingers from the bedsheets, kissing you roughly as he turned you back over. been thinking about doing this for a while, sweetheart. usually it was enough to have your legs around his waist or over his shoulders. wonder how it would feel to fuck those beautiful thighs, he'd say outloud, amused by how quickly you'd tense beneath him.
loken: authority. he strove to be better. to be the best even. it consumed him, sometimes, just as it was when he reached gently for you. i want... his hesitant words were so uncommon for someone in his position, but when you encouraged him to continue, he'd find the strength to admit his biggest secret to you. i need to be good for you. he wanted you to teach him to be everything you needed. he wanted you to hum in approval with everything you liked that he did, or deny him if he ever put a foot wrong. i'll do better next time, he'd promise you, his own mind going crazy over the thought of letting you down. his most favourite thing was when you told him no. he'd never beg you for more, he'd never demand what he wasn't rewarded with. he'd be patient, he'd sit with the desperate ache of having you tell him to be good, to wait. because it contradicted him so perfectly, didn't it? no one would ever know how desperate he was to have you say how well he did. that he needed to have you stroke his hair softly and let him lay his head on your chest. that a single word of praise could break him mentally and make you entirely his.
