coolestork

[coolestork]

The whole gang is here

[coolestork]

"Oh you had a plague? Come back to us when you had a World War, brand new unconventional weapons, and a new international order."

[coolestork]

Has this been done yet?

[coolestork]

You know that time a couple invited the Queen of England to their wedding and she actually showed up? Imagine someone kinda jokingly inviting a Primarch or even Big E Himself and to their shock (and likely horror) they rsvp

Fucking hilarious. Big E could technically shapeshift into a less recognizable form but where's the fun in that? He arrives as he is, with Malcador as his plus one.

[coolestork]

Emperror’s kiss

[coolestork]

may delete later

cropped preview of smth i MIGHT upload to my twt within the week

[coolestork]

fanfiction truly being the savior for everyones sanity

[coolestork]

*writes two paragraphs after months of literally nothing and it took three hours*

[coolestork]

it's been nice staying on this side of the fence

[coolestork]

Requests still open?

Anything with Dorn first time with his beloved with Dorn still being vaugely ashamed of his desires like in that painglove horny fic. Love how that was written.

#Egh... I don't really know what I'm doing.

#This might be a sequel to pain glove fic, or not, I don't know. I haven't written about him for a long time. I don't know what I'm doing, again.

#Rogal Dorn x F!Reader

#NSFW

Terra’s Praetor sat at his massive desk, staring blankly at the tactical reports spread before him. His face was a mask of stern concentration, but his mind was far from the dry statistics and battle plans. Instead, it kept drifting back to the events of the previous night, replaying them in vivid, intoxicating detail.

He could still feel the ghost of your touch on his skin, your small hands exploring the vast expanse of his muscled chest. The memory sent a shiver down his spine, his cock twitching to life within the confines of his armor. Dorn shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on the task at hand, but it was a losing battle.

His eyes scanned the same paragraph for the fifth time, but the words blurred together, replaced by images of your lithe body writhing beneath him. He remembered how you had gasped when he first entered you, your tight pussy stretching to accommodate his massive girth.

Dorn's hand clenched around his stylus, threatening to snap it in two. He forced himself to relax, taking a deep breath to steady his racing double hearts. But even that simple action brought back memories of burying his face in your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent as he pounded into you relentlessly

He remembered the way you had clung to him, your nails raking down his broad back as you moaned in ecstasy. Your legs, so slender and but so strong, had wrapped around his, urging him deeper. Dorn had lost himself in the sensation, marveling at how perfectly you fit against him despite your petite body.

The Primarch's free hand unconsciously drifted to his lips, and suddenly he was transported back to the moment he had first tasted your kiss. Your mouth had been so soft, so yielding, yet there was a hunger in you that matched his own. He had devoured your lips, drinking in your moans of pleasure as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth

Dorn's cock throbbed painfully, straining against his armor. He shifted again, trying to alleviate the pressure, but it was futile. Every movement only served to remind him of how it felt to be buried deep inside your tight heat.

He closed his eyes, willing the memories away, but they only intensified. He saw your face contorted in pleasure, your back arching as you came undone beneath him. He felt the exquisite tightness of your pussy clenching around him, milking his cock as his release.

The sound of a dataslate clattering to the floor snapped Dorn back to reality. He realized he had been gripping the edge of his desk so tightly that he had inadvertently knocked some items off. He bent to retrieve the fallen objects, but even this simple action brought fresh torment.

As he reached down, he remembered how he had lifted you effortlessly, positioning you atop his massive cock. You had been so light in his arms, so delicate, but you had taken him with a strength that belied your size. The memory of you sinking down onto him, inch by agonizing inch, nearly undid him then and there.

Dorn straightened, his face flushed despite his best efforts to maintain composure. He glanced at the chronometer, dismayed to realize how much time had passed while he had been lost in his lustful reverie. He needed to focus, to be the leader his men expected him to be. But how could he concentrate when every fiber of his being yearned to be with you again?

He tried to redirect his thoughts to the upcoming campaign, to the lives that depended on his strategic brilliance. But even as he pored over the battle maps, his mind kept conjuring images of your body. He saw you sprawled across the tactical table, your skin a stark contrast to the dark metal. In his mind's eye, he swept the maps and reports aside, laying you out like a feast before him.

Dorn's hand twitched, longing to reach out and caress that imaginary form. He could almost feel the softness of your skin, the warmth of your flesh. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, remembering how he had tasted every inch of you. From the delicate hollow of your throat to the sensitive flesh between your thighs, he had explored you thoroughly with lips and tongue.

He groaned softly, the sound barely audible even in the quiet of his chambers. He was achingly hard now, his cock a throbbing presence that demanded attention. But he refused to give in, to soil himself with self-gratification like some undisciplined neophyte. Instead, he embraced the discomfort, using it to fuel his frustration and desire.

Would you come to him again? Or had last night been a fleeting moment of weakness for you both? The uncertainty gnawed at him, mixing with the constant undercurrent of lust that had plagued him all day.

This obsession, this all-consuming desire, this is not him. It was a weakness, a chink in his impenetrable armor. But he longs for the moment when fantasy would once again become reality.

What had he gotten himself into?

[coolestork]

Hey kid you want a job?

Great get online and go to a job board. Indeed, Linkedin whatever. Now you're gonna search for a role that's in your city, fits your qualifications, and doesn't seem like a bad time.

See that easy apply button? Don't hit it they just throw those in the trash. Now you're gonna want to go to the company's website and check their careers page.

Oh? That job doesn't exist anymore. Cool go back to the job board and find another one.

Great you found another job, you're on the company's career page and the job exists!! So you're going to need to make an account on the career page website. They're using Workday, the same site as the last job you applied for? Who cares? You need to make another account for THIS job's workday page.

Now you're going to upload your resume. That'll autopopulate about 15 boxes with everything on your resume, except formatted wrong and with tons of errors. So just go through and painstakingly check the dates on all of that and rewrite everything you already laid out in an aesthetically pleasing format on your resume.

Ok time for the cover letter, explain why this specific job and company are deeply important to you. You love their mission statement and wouldn't even laugh if their ceo was gunned down in the street. You'll really want to reiterate the things you just spent the last 20 minutes filling out on the resume section

(Remember to include language from the job description, people who work in HR are lower than dogs and they need patterns or they get confused.) Write about a page, but hey don't sound too desperate or robotic this is where they judge your character!

Maybe add your portfolio site at the end here, who knows if that helps no one has ever clicked mine haha.

Anywayyy time to hit apply! Congrats! You'll see that confirmation email come in and you should be getting the rejection letter in about 2 weeks. Unfortunately your resume didn't have the right buzzwords and the AI auto rejected you :(

Time to start again and try not to kill yourself!

[coolestork]

Emotional Support

A/N: Hiii everyone, this is my first kinda work for Warhammer and I’m very excited. This is just a funny intro I came up with in my head with more to come about each legion. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none

Are you, citizen of our great Imperium, craving a change in career? Or are you otherwise unemployed and seeking stable employment? Well, we here at Imperium of Man Inc. have just the career for you!

After years and years of research, it’s come to the attention of everyone involved that we humans are communal by nature and crave intimate relationships with other humans and have a great need for those deep fulfilling bonds (platonic, romantic, or otherwise). This also rings true for your local Space Marine Chapter. Therefore, we here at Imperium of Man inc. have a bunch of emotionally stunted Space Marines desiring people with whom they can essentially imprint on and we need the serfs to be able to do their jobs…Either way, this gap in the market has prompted us here to roll out the first of many programs designed to keep the Empire’s finest in tip top shape. We’d like to introduce to you, Imperial citizen, our newest career path - Emotional Support Human!

That’s right! Today, you could be one of a select few chosen after a series of tests to be placed with your local space marine chapter to be their Emotional Support Human and help support the Emperor’s Angels in a variety of ways.

Qualifications:

-Passing all Imperial Temperament Tests

-Excellent communication skills (verbal, written, etc)

-Happy, Courteous, Enthusiastic, Attentive and Empathetic

-Meets mobility requirements

-Proficient in the Imperial and High Gothic (High Gothic lessons available after employment)

-Ability to multitask

-Work under pressure and at a fast pace

-Willing to learn and understand complex military terminology and strategies

-Able to cope with sudden changes in elevation and being carried around

-Able to perform deep pressure therapy

-Able to cope with hearing complex trauma and lend support as needed

-Able to wield a basic knife and fire a weapon with decent accuracy (training provided if skills not already acquired)

-The mental fortitude to see eldritch horrors beyond comprehension and not go insane

-Comply with imperial policy

-First aid may be required based on legion policy

Benefits:

-competitive salary

-A clean room to sleep in (may share with other emotional support humans based on legion policy)

-At least three meals a day

-free visits to the legion Apothecary

Being an Emotional Support Human HCs:

- You were basically snatched off the street by Imperial employees with little grace. Let’s be honest here, it’s the Imperium.

- The whole time you’re convinced that they’re about to turn you into a servitor. You’re not stupid, you’ve heard the stories of people being yanked of the streets and going missing all to end up as servitors

- You just hope they lobotomize you quickly.

- To say you’re confused when they just stick you in a random room and congratulate you on being selected as a potential candidate for their newest program is an understatement and you’re even more confused when they tell you that they are about to administer their new test for you.

- Do you have to take a test to become a servitor now? You thought the only requirement was a mostly functioning brain?

- You comply (not that you have much choice with the two armed guards staring you down) and take the test, a little unnerved the whole time as the proctor administers the test, but oh well.

- Next thing you know, you’ve passed and they congratulate you on your new job - a Space Marine Emotional Support Human (SMESH/ESH but smesh is just funnier-)

- Anyway, you have no idea wtf that is, but you’re apparently not becoming a servitor and that’s about enough to get you to do anything.

- Plus, a free room and three meals a day were apart of the benefits package and they had you at that.

- You’re moved into another room with about 20 other people, all of you looking equally as confused.

- An Imperial employee gets up in front of you and congratulates you on being the first batch and trial run of the Imperium’s newest hare brained scheme (your words not theirs) - the Space Marine Emotional Support Human program.

- Your new job? Becoming your local space marine legion’s new in-house therapist/stress toy/state sponsored best friend

- Out of everyone that was tested, 21 people passed, and the lot of you were the 20 selected to be in the program (one person per legion). You think 21 people passing the stupid test is ridiculously low but whatever. (Turns out, being able to tolerate your now line of work takes a pretty optimistic and mentally sturdy person that’s not all that common)

- You’re given your new uniform and basically shunted off to your new forever home and to the people the Imperium would love for you to bond with…what could go wrong?

[coolestork]

Of Darkness and Danger

Konrad Curze x Reader (Filthy FILTHY Smut)

-

Description: You offer yourself to darkness, not knowing fully what it entails.

Note: First smut eveeeeer, hopefully it's dirty enough. Leave a comment if you'd like to be fed more porn. ʕ •̀ω•́ ʔ✧

-

You sought him out, knowing full well that this could be your ruin. Not for power, not for survival, but for the raw feeling of surrender—to let the abyss swallow you whole and make you feel something real, no matter how dangerous. It was madness, perhaps, but it was your madness.

The halls leading to his chamber had been silent but oppressive, as though the stone itself recoiled from his presence. Each step closer had pulled your breath thinner, your heart racing faster. And when you reached the threshold, standing before the heavy iron door, you hesitated only for a moment.

You were offering yourself to the monster, hoping that in the consumption, something of you might finally feel whole.

The room was suffocatingly dark, lit only by faint, flickering luminors casting jagged shadows across the cold stone walls. You couldn’t see him, not at first—but you could feel him. His presence was oppressive, a suffocating weight that made your skin crawl. The air crackled with a predatory charge, and you knew he was watching you, his piercing, cold gaze slicing through the darkness.

“You shouldn’t be here,” came his voice, low and venomous, dripping with malice and a hint of amusement. “And yet, here you are, trembling like a cornered lamb. Tell me, little one—did you come here to beg? To tempt the monster in the shadows?”

Before you could answer, he was there, his towering frame materializing out of the darkness. Konrad Curze loomed over you, a living nightmare cloaked in obsidian armor etched with screaming faces. His pale, deathly face twisted into a cruel smirk as he reached out, his gauntleted hand gripping your jaw with enough force to make you gasp.

“You cower,” he hissed, leaning in close, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “Is it fear… or something darker?” His sharp, elongated teeth caught the dim light as he grinned, his blackened eyes narrowing. “You’re scared of me, aren’t you? I can smell it on you—the way your body betrays you.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He never would. Konrad’s massive hands tore at your clothing with calculated cruelty, the fabric shredding under his talons like paper. His claws scraped against your skin, just enough to sting but not to draw blood—yet. “Look at you,” he growled, tilting his head as though inspecting prey. “So fragile. So breakable. It would be so easy…”

His hand slipped lower, wrapping around your throat, his claws pressing lightly against your skin. He didn’t squeeze—he didn’t have to. The sheer size of his hand, the icy grip of his fingers, was enough to make you shudder. “You like this,” he murmured darkly, his voice a low, mocking purr. “You like the danger, the pain. You want to be consumed by the darkness, don’t you?”

When he finally pushed you onto the cold stone floor, his massive frame pinned you down, his armored weight pressing into you.

“You’re so small,” he sneered, his massive hands gripping your hips and dragging you into position as though you weighed nothing. “So weak. And yet, you dare to offer yourself to me? Foolish little thing.”

Standing up, Curze disarmed with eerie grace, each motion deliberate and predatory. The hiss of depressurizing seals echoed as he released his collar, shadows dancing over the midnight blue of his warplate. Plates shifted and fell away, revealing scarred, sinewy flesh pale as death itself.

Gauntlets clattered to the floor, his bare, clawed fingers flexing—no less lethal without their armor. The chestplate followed, exposing a lean, scarred torso carved by violence and hardship. Each breath pulled taut against his ribs, his body a grim testament to survival.

Piece by piece, the greaves and thigh plates followed, his movements slow and methodical. Dark, sweat-matted hair clung to his temples, framing a gaunt face with hollowed cheekbones and eyes that burned with unsettling intensity.

Stripped of his warplate, he was no less menacing, dangerous even when bared to the bone.

His cock was enormous, the sheer size of it making you gasp in both fear and anticipation. He laughed, a low, guttural sound that sent chills down your spine. “Do you see it?” he taunted, running the blunt head along your entrance. “Do you realize what you’ve begged for? What it will do to you?”

He didn’t ease into you—there was no patience, no tenderness. He forced himself inside you with a savage growl, reveling in the way your body struggled to accommodate him. The stretch was immediate and brutal. “Look at you,” he snarled, his hands bruising your hips as he began to thrust.

Each thrust was punishing, his pace relentless as he drove deeper, his cock stretching you so completely that you couldn’t form words, only broken gasps and cries. He leaned down, his sharp teeth grazing your throat as he whispered, “Scream for me, girl.”

Konrad's breath was hot against your ear, the edges of his voice sharp with cruelty. "How shameful," he rasped darkly, each brutal thrust drawing out a sharp gasp from your lips. "Taking me so well… stretched open and ruined, as it is meant to be."

He chuckled lowly, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "What’s the matter?" he taunted softly. "Can't even speak? Good. All I want to hear are those broken little sounds."

His pace was merciless, every snap of his hips deliberate and punishing. "Do you feel it?" he whispered, voice thick with sadistic pleasure, a twisted purr. "How full you are? I can feel how tight you're clenching around me... trying to keep every bit of it inside."

A guttural snarl broke free as he slammed deep, his body shuddering violently. "That's it," he breathed against your trembling skin.

His release hit like a dam breaking, a torrent of molten heat flooding your insides with brutal, unrelenting force. His cock throbbed violently, each pulse sending another thick surge deep into you, filling you until you swore you could feel it spilling into places it shouldn’t reach. The sheer size of him, combined with the relentless ache of his brutal pace, left you stretched beyond reason, and yet he buried himself deeper still, grinding his hips against yours to keep every drop inside. His growl reverberated through your body, low and guttural, as if dragged from the depths of his twisted soul, a sound of victory, of possession.

The slick, obscene mess of it was inescapable, seeping out around the thick base of his cock even as he refused to pull out. He pressed down on your stomach with a clawed hand, his palm rough and unyielding as though savoring the way his seed filled you to the brim. “Feel that?” he rasped, his voice dark and low, as if speaking to himself more than to you. “That’s me. All of me.” His claws scraped along the skin of your hips, leaving faint, bloody trails as he held you in place. The wet, filthy squelch of him inside you was obscene, every twitch and grind forcing another involuntary clench around him, dragging a cruel laugh from his lips.

It didn’t stop—he didn’t stop. Even as his release slowed, it came in smaller, possessive spurts, as though his body refused to let you go until he’d marked every inch of you from the inside out. His hips rolled lazily now, pushing his cum deeper, ensuring that nothing went to waste. “You’ll feel me for days,” he hissed, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. “Every step, every breath—you’ll know what I’ve done to you.” His claws trailed down, gathering the slick mix of your fluids from where it leaked out around him, smearing it deliberately along your thighs, your stomach, as though marking you was an extension of his claim.

When he finally pulled out, it was slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way your body clung to him, reluctant to release him despite the stretch and ache. His cock dragged against your raw, oversensitive walls, and as he slipped free, a thick gush of his cum followed, spilling out of you in sticky rivulets. His eyes narrowed in satisfaction, watching as the mess coated your thighs and the ground beneath you. He dragged two fingers through the mess, spreading it across your skin with deliberate cruelty before shoving his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to taste the aftermath of his debauchery. “Swallow,” he commanded, his voice a venomous whisper. “Know your place. Know me.”

-

Note: a lil sum sum for you corrupted souls. ILY.

[coolestork]

what we don’t talk about enough is the fact that at least some of the primarchs first response to having a crush would be “welp got to kill that mortal wench”

[coolestork]

My dealer: got some straight gas 🔥😛 this strain is called "Night Haunter Zaza Blast" 😳 you'll be zonked out of your gourd 💯

Me: yeah whatever. I don't feel shit.

5 minutes later: dude I swear I just saw some vision of a terrible future i am doomed to fulfill

My buddy Talos pacing: the warmaster is lying to us

[coolestork]

Hope I’m not late! Could be any primarch/space marine either before or after corruption.May I ask about the raping of some serf that had fallen asleep near the chambers? And due to loneliness and being fucking pent up they grope her and after some quite while suddenly are balls deep, with her still asleep. Cut to the a year later, ship’s full of rumours. Well, serfs giving birth isn’t exatcly something weird. The child just becomes like their mother later on...but this child is just weird and growing abnormaly. The fate of them both is also yours to decide...to be either unrealistic taking the serf in due to regretable night or more plausable execution of a newborn due to them being a mutant❤️

#Why did I choose TS? I don't know, random.org said so.

#Unnamed Thousand Sons x F!Reader

#Rape, noncon, NSFW, somnophilia, there is a description of pregnancy,...

#I'm bad with summary so I won't do anything with it.

You won't wake up soon.

The sorcerer stares down at your sleeping form. His mind trick has you trapped in a deep slumber, completely at his mercy. 

He's not sure why he did it, casting that subtle hypnosis when he spotted you drifting off alone in this dusty hab-room. Maybe it was the warp's dark desires, twisting his thoughts to sinister temptation. Or maybe it was just the primal, feral urges every Astartes struggles to contain.

All he knows is seeing your exhausted body sprawled out there, so soft and vulnerable, awakened something... wrong inside him. Something that made his double-hearts feel way too confining.

This was wrong. Profane, even. You were just a lowly serf, an insignificant mortal whose only purpose was servitude. But those thoughts couldn't stop the Astartes from reaching out with his gauntlets and roughly gathering you into his embrace.

He wraps his huge arms around you, pulling you into his embrace effortlessly. Your body feels so tiny and delicate compared to his towering transhuman bulk. Just a fragile little mortal sack of flesh and bone, a helpless mortal compared to his might.

You were so light, so fragile in his arms. Your head lolled back, mouth parting slightly as you remained trapped in that unnatural slumber. He nuzzled his face against the warm, soft skin of your throat and inhaled deeply. Your warmth and sweet scent quickly enflames his senses with fresh desire.

Holding you tightly against his huge chest, he slowly ran his tongue along the delicate seam of your lips. No resistance, not even a flutter of awakening as your breath was stolen away. He tasted you greedily, feeling your chest rise and fall with panicked panting, but you didn't wake. How deliciously helpless you were in this state...

His massive hands slide down to squeeze and palm your tender, yielding curves as he grinds his hips against you forcefully.

"Such a little mortal" he growls in a deep tone. He could crush you without even trying... but why he should do that?

As the sorcerer pulls your limp, sleeping form against the throbbing heat of his crotch. He basks in the psionic feedback of your peacefully dreaming mind, aroused by its blissful innocence even as he feeds his corrupting taint into your subconscious.

His long tongue slithers out of his fanged maw, coiling between your parted lips to plunder the sweet recesses of your mouth. Deeper and deeper it plunges as he steals your breath away. What little air remains gets crushed from your lungs as he smashes his body against yours in an embrace.

But despite all of that, the mind-trick holds your consciousness fast. You remain completely unaware, slumbering on as a helpless dreamer in this waking nightmare.

"Exquisite..." The sorcerer's graveled whispers drip with heady arousal as he drags his rough calloused palms over every inch of your exposed skin.

With one overpowered tug, he rips away the flimsy rags covering your body. Now you lay nude and exposed, your most intimate places to his gaze. He feasts upon the glorious, forbidden vista with  eyes wide and shimmering with unholy ecstasy.

You're perfect. Every sumptuous curve and swell crafted with such artful elegance. Those ripe breasts, those sculpted feminine ridges and valleys, all brought into sharp relief by the Astartes' deeply lurid perception.

He trails his rough, calloused finger-pads over each exquisite inch of your prone flesh, drunk on the maddening sensory feedback. The texture, the warmth, the softness… like spun silk and liquid fire all at once.

His fanged maw gapes open in a silent moan as his grip grows more forceful and possessive. You remain dead to the world, locked away in his psychic trance.

A burning ache blossomed in his loins as he imagined all the things he could do. He could take his cock out and rut against your limp body right here, smearing your pretty face and tattered robes with ropy strands of hot semen. He could spread your thighs and shove himself into your vulnerable, unmapped entrance while you slept on, blissfully unaware.  

The thought made him shudder with blasphemous, warp-spawned ecstasy. He could defile you completely, utterly take possession of your mortal body for his own cravings. And you wouldn't remember a thing when the spell was lifted. Unless... he wanted you to.

Spurred on by this lack of resistance, the sorcerer's remaining inhibitions start to crumble like papyrus in a bonfire. His hands grow ever bolder and more rapacious, groping and mauling with shameless entitlement now. He sneers with sadistic glee as pale blue-purple bruises begin blossoming across your skin under his crushing grip.

You shift in his crushing grip, legs parting unconsciously as the psyker starts grinding his growing erection against your hips.

Your limp head lolls bonelessly, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted in a way that makes his cock throb. Groaning, he pulls your face against the sweaty cables of his neck and just breathes you in. Hands roaming, groping at the soft flesh of your rear and inner thighs. He hooks his fingers into the waistline of your skirt and briefs, tugging them down with a single, impatient yank.

Feverishly, he undoes his undercarriage, letting his huge, throbbing erection spring free in all its purplish, vein-laced glory. He groaned as his calloused palm wrapped around the swollen shaft, working the sensitive tip in slow, teasing strokes. Ropes of clear pre-seed immediately wept from his slit, painting your bare thigh in sticky trails. You didn't even flinch, totally enslaved in your sleep.

The psyker aimed his bloated cockhead at your exposed slit. He roughly shoving two fingers into your silken depths. You were drenched but still incredibly tight, an irresistible combination that made his cock jump needily.

With a feral grunt, he lined up the broad tip of his manhood and started pushing forward. Inch by deliciously snug inch, you were forced to accommodate his girth. Your body stretched around the invading member, your petals straining wide yet somehow accepting every last vein-ridged inch within.

The sorcerer gasped as your molten sheath swallowed him to the hilt.... you're so wet, so tight. He'd never experienced anything like the heavenly friction clenching down on his cock.

Unable to restrain himself a second longer, he pulled back until just his flared tip remained, then slammed home again. And again. His massive hips quickly worked up to a merciless piston, tramming his full length inside you over and over with a force.

All you could do was weakly squirm and whimper, mouth gaping in a silent scream as your womb was ruthlessly battered. But in your mind, you were drifting through shifting dreamscapes completely unaware of the blessed rapture rocking your mortal body.

So small, so damnably fragile... But taking every vein-slathered inch of a psyker's cock like it was nothing. He moaning, slamming you with each powerful thrust. His hands burned blistered prints into your delicate skin from how tightly he gripped your thighs.

The pistoning echoed loudly in the vaulted chamber. The sorcerer's amplified endurance and stamina meant he could have taken you for hours on end before feeling the need to peak. But the sleek, molten friction on his cock and the view of your helpless body quickly proved too much.

His growling breaths grew more labored as he chased his climax. His balls drew up tight, swollen with a massive backup of pent-up seed just waiting for release.

With a few more strokes, the psyker growl as he reached his limit. His jaw strained wide open in blissful torment as his cock spasmed violently, erupting thick ropes of burning issue straight into your waiting womb.

He hilted balls deep, trapped there in ecstasy as his cock throbbed and pulsed, absolutely flooding your depths with endless waves. It pumped into you in such massive quantities that his seed had nowhere to go, squirting back around his buried shaft in a hot, sticky rush.

The torrent of seed utterly stuffed your belly, rounding it into an obscene bulge until excess streamed down your thighs in ropy trails. He groaned gutturally, never having unleashed such a ferocious explosion of relief before.

Eventually, the last few weak spurts oozed from his tip. But still he didn't withdraw, hips remaining flush so his cock could marinate in that sloppy mess of frothing nectar and cream. He cradled you close, uncaring for the sticky mess as you laid bonelessly against his.

Your bruised, cum-stuffed body draped so perfectly over his own. Your soft, shallow breaths tickling his cheek as he nuzzled into the crook of your throat. He nipped at the sweat-pearled flesh there affectionately, fangs grazing without breaking skin as his hands roamed over your pleasantly rounded curves in reverent strokes.

What was this emotion settling over him? It wasn't lust or hunger driving him to use you l anymore. Those intense urges had been scratched, at least for the time being. No, this felt... more?

Like he wanted to do more for you. He wanted to protect you, care for you in a deeper sense. Keep you close by his side. He wanted you to feel comfort and pleasure, not just to provide your own.

Is this what being a "lover" felt like? Of course, he knew the definition of "lover" by heart. But....

Some profound emotional bond he may have sacrificed the ability to feel when he gave himself wholly to his new life. But looking at your marked, debased body somehow made him almost... wistful. As if he once knew something warm and beautiful that had been shorn away, leaving only this raw desire behind.

Maybe if it was him in the past, he could understand. He could not recall that ghost of his former self, no matter how his battered soul scraped those old wounds... but the longing remained all the same.

With a shuddery sigh, the psyker merely pulled you tighter against his. His corrupted flesh could no longer feel such superficial things like warmth or softness, yet he still clung to you with desperate fierceness. He would sate his lusts over and over again on your lush form until the next battle urged his abilities forth once more.

And until then... just maybe he could pretend, for a few fleeting moments at least, you were something more than that. Maybe you are his 'lover'

Just wait until you wake up…

****

The halls of the Immaterium were a formless void of madness and eternity. A place outside the constraints of linear time where even the most stalwart minds could be swallowed whole by the hellish tides of Chaos.

How long had he been adrift within that nightmarish un-reality? He'd lost all sense of self, allowing his immortal essence to fray and fragment amidst frenzies of eldritch horrors. Just another hollowed husk withering amongst the psychic howls echoing from distant, unknown dimensions.

Until... he felt it. A familiar spark amidst the madness, drawing his frenzied consciousness like a beacon in the abyssal murk.  

A soul - small, achingly mortal, yet blazing with the warm light of life he'd all but forgotten existed beyond the immortal pollution of the Immaterium. He instinctively anchored himself there, clawing his way back into the corporeal plane to coalesce around that guttering ember of temporal existence.

Reality bled back into shrieking focus all at once. The sorcerer gasped, feeling the first touch of atmosphere scorching his lungs after an endless sojourn breathing naught but howling insanity. His eyes snapped open, revealing a blasted cityscape that stank of death and plasmic fire.

Wails of anguish echoed all around him as refugees fled the ruins in panicked droves. Overhead, the roar of engines and explosions painted the smog-choked skyline in crimson and gold. He stood in the middle of a ruined crossroads, his armor thrumming with barely-leashed arcane might.

And there... huddled in the bombed-out remains of what may have been a domicile, he saw you. His anchor, his tether to sanity in this mortal realm. Clutching a tiny, frail thing to your breast and shaking with terror that etched lines of exhaustion into your face.

A child. Your child, he realized through the haze of recognition clouding his enhanced mind. So young, its life newly-kindled... but somehow already stamped with his brand. Intrinsically linked to his.

He remember it...

He came back for you.

He extended one taloned gauntlet, feeling ethereal tendrils of energy reaching out to the two terrified souls before him...

[coolestork]

Perturabo killing his spouse right at the start of the Heresy to spare them the knowledge of what he's about to do. He knew that they would never agree with it and that it would destroy them so he did what he thought was the kindest thing and killed them before they knew he had turned traitor. It was a really, really hard decision but Perturabo convinces himself that it was for the best. This way, there won't be any distractions.

Of course, those feelings don't last. As the Heresy progresses, as more and more people die and Perturabo witnesses his brothers fall deeper into depravity and Chaos he starts to feel... doubt. And with that doubt comes regret. Because this is not what he wanted, not what he intended. He was going to do something great, something he could show his spouse and- His spouse. That's right. They are dead. He killed them. Because he was going to change the Imperium to something greater and he couldn't allow them to cause him to doubt. But here he is, without them and still doubting. So why did he kill them? Why did he decide that he would be stronger without them?

When Perturabo first killed his spouse, he didn't mourn, did not allow himself to do so. It was a necessary action, the kindest thing to do. But now he's starting to doubt and the regret is catching up to him and he can no longer hold off his mourning. Because he loved them. Damn it all to hell, he really did love them. Perturabo killed his beloved for a cause he no longer believes in and he can't blame anyone but himself because it was his decision. And he can't go back. He can't do anything but go on, to go through with his plans and fight this pointless war because he's got nothing left.