shiyorin

[shiyorin]

I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT YOUR MERMAN AU PLEASE!

I honestly don’t have much solid info about the merman AU, I basically just wrote it out as it came to me, so the details are still pretty patchy. But if you’re interested, here’s what I’ve got so far.

The Emperor began as a normal coral polyp transformed through radiation and symbiosis into a massive living reef of ocean floor. This coral entity developed sentience gradually, with neural patterns eventually mimicking a human brain. The Emperor's consciousness exists partially outside normal space-time, allowing him to predict evolutionary patterns centuries in advance. He communicates through chemical signatures in the water and can extend coral as temporary appendages when needed. His form slowly expanding toward land in a deliberate evolutionary trajectory.

The primarchs represent one of Emperor 's attempts at creating mermen, he initially designed to help clean dying coral reefs. The ultimate goal involves establishing land colonies, with each primarch specifically engineered to thrive in different environments and eventually evolve beyond his original design. This explains why primarchs were created with redundant organ systems and the capacity to surpass their creator.

All current mermen are technically male because the Emperor only had access to Y chromosomes during their creation.

Primarchs and their species

Lion: Lionfish

Fulgrim: Sea snake (sea serpent?)

Perturabo: Horseshoe crab

Jaghatai: Stingray

Leman: Wolfish

Rogal: Hermit crab

Konrad: ???

Sanguinius: Angelfish

Ferrus: ???

Angron: Great white shark (has a little pufferfish genes?)

Roboute: Swordfish

Mortarion: Glass squid (I'm not sure, I just want him to have a transparent tail where you can see the bones)

Magnus: Giant squid with one eyes that can see into other dimensions (Cthulhu???)

Horus: ???

Lorgal: ???

Vulkan: Axolotl

Corvus: Black scabbardfish

Alpharius Omegon: Twin eels (if you know what I mean)

Some useless fact

Some mermen can temporarily modify their appearance to blend with humans.

The Horus Heresy in this world was a massive underwater civil war that humans misinterpreted as tsunamis.

The Emperor can take human form but finds it uncomfortable for extended periods.

The Emperor keeps a massive collection of human shipwrecks as historical archives.

Mating season occurs once annually but can be triggered prematurely by compatible potential mates.

Mermen can determine genetic compatibility through taste receptors in their skin.

'Reader' is considered uniquely compatible due to a rare genetic mutation humans rarely possess.

'Reader' scent contains pheromone patterns eerily similar to ideal merman mates.

Human-merman offspring are theoretically possible but extremely rare.

Fertilized eggs left too long without proper care develop into feral, primitive mermen.

Unfertilized eggs provide valuable nutrients when reabsorbed, giving mermen extra energy.

[shiyorin]

I know it's a big ask but can you make a part 4 of the rogal dorn and imperial fists slice of life fic where they now have a construction company?

Slice of life with Rogal Dorn (and Imperial Fists)

It's a sequel to this one. Of course I'm too lazy to write it seriously, but here's basically what happens next if you're curious.

I used the biggest Deus ex machina 乁⁠[⁠ ⁠◕⁠ ⁠ᴥ⁠ ⁠◕⁠ ⁠]⁠ㄏ

Summary: A strange encounter solved 99% your problems

You dragged your feet up the concrete steps to the county administrative building, a manila folder of hopeless paperwork clutched in your hand. The morning sun beat down mercilessly, matching your mood as you prepared for another futile battle with bureaucracy. Three months of housing five enormous amnesiac men with a fortress-building obsession had drained not just your bank account but your spirit.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you approached the counter labeled "Permits and Zoning." The same clerk who'd rejected your paperwork twice before glanced up, recognition and something like pity crossing his face.

"You again?"

You nodded, sliding your folder across the counter. "I've filled out the retroactive permit applications. Again."

The clerk - Barry, according to his name tag, thumbed through the documents with the weariness of someone who'd seen it all. "You're still missing the structural engineering certification. And these contractor credentials…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"They're legitimate," you lied, knowing full well that Vladimir had drawn up the credentials himself using design software and a printer at the local library.

Barry didn't even bother arguing. "Look, between us, you should probably just hire a lawyer at this point. The fines are only going to increase, and with the property tax reassessment."

"I know," you interrupted, not wanting to hear it again. The numbers kept you awake at night, an ever-growing mountain of debt that threatened to consume everything.

Barry was about to say something else when his eyes focused on something behind you, widening slightly. You turned to see what had caught his attention.

A man stood in the center of the government building lobby, radiating an authority that seemed to bend the very air around him. He was tall, taller than Rogal, and imposing, with broad shoulders and a face that somehow appeared both youthful and ancient simultaneously. His hair was dark, long with a high forehead, and his eyes… there was something about his eyes that made it difficult to maintain eye contact.

More striking than the man himself was his entourage, at least six men of extraordinary size, large as Rogal and his companions. They wore fitted dark suits that barely contained their muscular frames, standing at attention with military precision, scanning the room continuously like bodyguards.

"Who's that?" you whispered to Barry, whose mouth had fallen slightly open.

"No idea," he murmured. "But the big guys with him just walked past security without anyone stopping them."

The mysterious man's gaze swept the lobby, pausing briefly on each occupant before moving on. When his eyes met yours, a jolt ran through you, like static electricity but deeper, resonating somewhere behind your breastbone. His expression changed, surprise, then interest, then something like amusement.

He began walking directly toward you.

You resisted the urge to flee as the man approached, his entourage moving with him in perfect formation. Up close, his presence was even more overwhelming, like standing next to a high-voltage power line.

"You," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle for someone so imposing, "are experiencing an unusual housing situation."

It wasn't a question. You blinked, momentarily speechless.

"Me what?" you finally managed.

The man smiled, the expression transforming his severe features into something almost warm. "My apologies. That was abrupt. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Neoth. And you, residing at that quaint suburban home, are currently hosting five rather distinctive individuals with a penchant for unauthorized construction."

Barry was staring openly now, paperwork forgotten. You felt a cold sweat breaking out along your spine.

"How do you know that?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Neoth made a dismissive gesture. "Information is easy to acquire when one knows where to look. Your situation has created quite the administrative ripple. Building code violations, HOA complaints, tax reassessments." He glanced at the folder on the counter. "And now, desperate attempts to legitimize what cannot be easily explained."

One of the suited giants leaned down to whisper something in Neoth's ear. He nodded slightly before returning his attention to you.

"I believe we should continue this conversation somewhere more private. Would you join me for coffee?"

Every warning bell in your mind was ringing. This man knew too much, appeared too suddenly, and radiated too much unnatural charisma. But curiosity, and the faint hope that somehow this stranger might offer a solution to your impossible situation, overrode your caution.

"Fine," you agreed, gathering your useless paperwork. "But just coffee."

Barry watched with wide eyes as you left with the mysterious man and his intimidating entourage.

The coffee shop across from the administrative building emptied quickly after Neoth and his companions entered. The six massive bodyguards positioned themselves strategically around the space, their presence making the small café feel even more cramped. You sat across from Neoth at a corner table, cradling a latte you hadn't ordered but which somehow contained exactly the right amount of caramel.

"I'll be direct," Neoth said, not touching his own coffee. "I can solve your problems with your houseguests."

You narrowed your eyes. "What problems?"

"Please," Neoth smiled again, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "The five enormous men living in your home without legal identity. The unauthorized fortifications they've constructed. The mounting fines and tax burdens. The 'Imperial Fists Construction' enterprise operating without proper licensing."

You felt the blood drain from your face. He knew everything, details you hadn't shared with anyone.

"What are you? FBI? Immigration?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Neoth laughed, a sound like distant thunder. "Nothing so mundane. Let's say I'm a private citizen with particular interests and abundant resources."

"And why would you be interested in my situation?"

"Those men," Neoth leaned forward slightly, "are important to me. Their presence here is… unexpected, but not unwelcome."

Your fingers tightened around your coffee cup. "You know who they are."

It wasn't a question, but Neoth nodded anyway. "I do. And I can provide what they need, legal identity, citizenship documentation, resolution of all outstanding fines and tax issues. I can even provide legitimate business credentials for their construction enterprise."

"In exchange for what?" you asked, suspicion heavy in your voice. "Free cheese only exists in mousetraps."

Something like respect flickered in Neoth's ancient-young eyes. "Perceptive. I merely wish to… reconnect with them. To ensure their wellbeing."

"That's it?" You didn't bother hiding your disbelief. "You'll pay thousands in fines and taxes, create legal identities for five men who don't exist, and set up a legitimate business, just to 'reconnect' with them?"

"The financial considerations are trivial to me," Neoth said with casual arrogance that suggested it was true. "As for the documentation, I have connections that can expedite such matters."

One of the bodyguards shifted slightly, drawing your attention. The man was enormous, golden-haired and impossibly broad-shouldered, his suit custom-tailored to his inhuman physique. There was something familiar about him, about all of them, really, that nagged at your consciousness.

"Why not approach them directly?" you asked, returning your attention to Neoth. "Why come to me?"

Neoth's expression became unreadable. "Our last… interaction was complicated. I believe a mediator would be beneficial."

You sat back, studying the man across from you. Everything about this screamed danger, mysterious benefactors offering too-good-to-be-true solutions always did. But you were drowning in fines and legal threats, with no viable way out.

"Let's say I believe you," you said slowly. "What exactly would this 'reconnection' involve?"

"A meeting. Nothing more." Neoth spread his hands, the gesture somehow both humble and imperial simultaneously. "I would like you to introduce me. To prepare them for my arrival."

"And if they don't want to meet you?"

Something dangerous flashed behind Neoth's eyes, there and gone so quickly you weren't sure you'd seen it at all. "That is their choice. My offer of assistance stands regardless."

The conversation felt surreal, like something from a dream or a particularly strange movie. You found yourself nodding, not quite believing you were agreeing to anything, but unable to see another option.

"Fine. I'll talk to them."

Neoth smiled, satisfied. "Excellent. My associates will handle the paperwork immediately." He produced a business card from nowhere, sliding it across the table. It was blank except for a phone number embossed in gold. "Call this number when you've spoken with them."

As you reached for the card, Neoth's fingers brushed against yours. Another jolt of that strange energy passed between you, stronger this time, leaving you momentarily disoriented.

"One of my men will escort you home," Neoth said, rising from the table. "I look forward to our next meeting."

Before you could protest that you had your own car, one of the giant bodyguards was at your side, gesturing toward the door where a sleek black SUV had appeared at the curb.

The ride home was silent and distinctly uncomfortable. The massive man beside you in the backseat didn't speak, staring straight ahead with military rigidity. You clutched your purse, the strange business card burning a hole in your pocket, wondering if you'd just made a catastrophic mistake.

As you turned onto your street, you noticed the changes immediately. The "observation post" that had caused so much trouble with the HOA was gone, not dismantled, but completely absent, as if it had never existed. The reinforced fence had been replaced by a normal-looking boundary that somehow still radiated sturdiness.

"What happened to…." you began, but stopped as you pulled into your driveway.

Your house looked… normal. The obvious fortifications were gone, replaced by tasteful architectural elements that disguised their defensive nature. It was still recognizably your home, but now it appeared to be an upscale renovation rather than a military installation.

"When did this happen?" you asked the silent bodyguard, who merely opened your door in response.

As you stepped out of the vehicle, you noticed your neighbors across the street watching from their window, expressions curious rather than disapproving for the first time in months. The SUV pulled away as soon as you closed the door, leaving you standing in your driveway, staring at your transformed home.

The house was empty when you entered, the usual sounds of construction and strategic planning absent. A note in Rogal's precise handwriting sat on the kitchen counter: "Searching for you. Communications unanswered. Will return by 18:00."

You checked your phone, finding several missed calls and increasingly concerned text messages from a number you recognized as the prepaid phone you'd given Rogal for emergencies. With a pang of guilt, you realized what had happened, from their perspective, you'd disappeared without explanation, your car still at the county building, no word of your whereabouts.

What had felt like a strange meeting and uncomfortable car ride to you must have seemed like a kidnapping to them.

You sent a quick text: "I'm home. Safe. Long story. See you at 6."

The response was immediate: "Returning now."

You wandered through your house, noting all the subtle changes. The reinforced door frames remained, but now looked like attractive molding. The concrete bunker in the basement had been disguised as a wine cellar. Even the surveillance systems had been integrated so seamlessly into the architecture that they were nearly invisible.

You were still trying to process these changes when the front door burst open with such force that you nearly jumped out of your skin. Rogal entered first, his massive frame filling the doorway, his expression a mixture of relief and lingering concern. Behind him came Sigismund, his hand instinctively resting where a weapon would be if they had any. Alexis and Vladimir followed, both scanning the room with tactical precision, while Halbrecht brought up the rear, closing the door with far more care than Rogal had shown opening it.

"You are unharmed," Rogal stated, though the slight question in his tone betrayed his uncertainty.

"I'm fine," you assured him, suddenly emotional at the realization that these five giant men had been genuinely worried about you. "But something really weird happened today."

"We were concerned when your communications ceased," Sigismund said, his voice tight with what might have been suppressed anxiety. "Your vehicle remained at the administrative building."

"We initiated search patterns," Vladimir added, his massive arms crossed over his chest. "Divided the city into quadrants."

"Systematically," Alexis agreed. "Though with limited success."

"Halbrecht was preparing to access the local surveillance network," Rogal concluded, which explained why the normally reserved giant was carrying a laptop under one arm.

"You were going to hack into security cameras to find me?" you asked, torn between being touched and horrified.

"Technically, it would have been more of a passive monitoring integration," Halbrecht corrected, setting the laptop down. "But yes."

You gestured for them to sit, which they did with their usual careful movements, the furniture creaking slightly under their combined weight. "I need to tell you about what happened, and it's… complicated."

For the next hour, you recounted everything in detail, the meeting with Neoth, his strange offer, the SUV ride home, and the unexplained changes to the house. You described his imposing presence, the way he seemed both young and ancient simultaneously, his bodyguards who reminded you somewhat of them, and the casual way he spoke about resolving problems that had been keeping you awake at night for months.

"He knew everything about us," you emphasized, pacing back and forth in front of them. "Not just the obvious stuff anyone could see from outside, but details nobody should know. He talked about you like he knew you personally."

As you spoke, you noticed their expressions changing. Alexis and Vladimir exchanged meaningful glances, a silent communication passing between them. Sigismund's perpetual frown deepened, his right hand clenching and unclenching rhythmically. Halbrecht grew unusually still, his eyes focused on some middle distance. But it was Rogal's reaction that was most striking, his stoic features shifted through confusion, recognition, and something that might have been awe.

"He gave me this," you continued, pulling out the business card with its golden embossed number. "Said to call when I'd talked to you. And get this, he said all the financial problems are already being handled. The fines, the taxes, everything."

"Father?" Rogal murmured, the word barely audible.

"What?" you asked, startled by the non sequitur.

Rogal didn't elaborate, his gaze distant as if accessing long-buried memories. The others watched him, their own expressions suggesting similar internal struggles.

"The man you described," Sigismund said slowly, "and his… associates. They are familiar."

"You know them?" you pressed, stopping your pacing to stare at each of them in turn.

"Not know," Vladimir corrected "Remember. Partially. Like reflections in disturbed water."

"The modifications to the dwelling," Alexis noted, looking around at the changed interior. "They are consistent with his methods. Elegant solutions that achieve multiple objectives simultaneously."

"Methods?" you repeated. "So you do know him? Is his name really Neoth? And what did you mean by 'Father,' Rogal?"

The five men exchanged glances again, a silent conference you couldn't interpret. Finally, Rogal spoke, his deep voice measured.

"There are… fragments of memory. Unclear. Inconsistent. But his description matches someone of great significance to us."

"He said he wanted to reconnect with you," you told them, remembering Neoth's exact words. "Said your last 'interaction' was complicated."

Another silent exchange of glances. Then, to your surprise, Sigismund rose from his seat and dropped to one knee in front of Rogal, his head bowed.

"If it is him, I will follow your lead, lord," he said formally.

Vladimir and Alexis nodded in agreement, while Halbrecht watched Rogal with intense focus.

"We will meet him," Rogal decided after a moment. "But with caution."

You looked between them, bewildered by this sudden shift in dynamics. "Okay, what the hell is going on? You're acting like this guy is royalty or something."

"Or something," Alexis agreed cryptically.

You sighed in frustration, picking up the business card. "Fine. Keep your secrets. I'll make the call."

The voice that answered was not Neoth's, but it carried the same subtle authority. Arrangements were made for a meeting the following evening. As you hung up, you noticed that Rogal had moved to the window, staring out at the modified exterior of the house.

"The defensive capabilities remain," he observed. "Disguised but not diminished. Perhaps even enhanced."

"Is that good?" you asked.

Rogal nodded slowly. "It suggests genuine understanding of our priorities, adapted to function within local parameters."

The following day passed in a haze of nervous anticipation. You distracted yourself by checking your online banking, gasping aloud when you discovered that all outstanding property tax payments had been made, along with what appeared to be an advance on future assessments. The HOA fines had vanished from their online portal, replaced by a notice of "compliance achieved."

Most shocking of all was the email from the county building department, confirming that all necessary permits had been retroactively approved and the code enforcement case closed. Attached were copies of the permits themselves, bearing official signatures and stamps that looked perfectly legitimate.

"He really did it," you murmured, showing the others. "Everything he promised, at least on paper."

"A demonstration of capabilities," Sigismund noted. "Or a gesture of good faith."

"Or both," Rogal added.

Precisely at 7 PM, a convoy of black vehicles pulled up outside. You watched from the window as Neoth emerged from the center car, flanked by his enormous bodyguards. They moved with coordinated precision, forming a loose perimeter as Neoth approached the front door.

You opened it before he could knock, finding yourself once again in the unsettling presence of this man who radiated authority and ancient wisdom.

He greeted you with a slight nod. "Thank you for arranging this meeting."

"They're waiting in the living room," you replied, stepping aside to let him enter.

Neoth crossed the threshold, his bodyguards remaining outside at a gesture from his hand. He paused in the entryway, surveying the interior modifications with what appeared to be approval.

"Efficient adaptations," he murmured. "Creative use of limited resources."

Then his gaze fixed on the living room entrance, where Rogal now stood, his massive frame nearly filling the doorway. For a long moment, the two men stared at each other, an almost tangible energy crackling between them.

"Rogal Dorn." Neoth said softly, the name carrying weight and history.

"Father." Rogal responded, the word both a statement and a question.

Neoth smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his severe features. "You remember."

"Fragments only," Rogal admitted. "But your presence… stimulates recall."

Neoth nodded, unsurprised. "The same is true for the others?"

"Yes," came Sigismund's voice from within the living room. "Though the memories are… incomplete."

You watched this exchange with growing bewilderment and unease. Father? What did that mean? Neoth appeared younger than Rogal, though something about his eyes suggested far greater age. The air in the room felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.

"May I?" Neoth gestured toward the living room.

Rogal stepped aside, allowing him to pass. You followed, curiosity overcoming your caution, though your heart was hammering in your chest.

Inside, the other four men had arranged themselves in what you now recognized as a formal reception formation. As Neoth entered, Sigismund, Vladimir, Alexis and Halbrecht each dropped to one knee, heads bowed in a gesture of unmistakable fealty. 

The display sent a chill down your spine. These five men, who had never shown deference to anyone in all the time you'd known them, were treating this stranger like visiting royalty. Only Rogal maintained his usual bearing, though even he seemed more formal than usual.

Neoth regarded each of them in turn, something like fondness in his expression. "Sigismund. Alexis Polux. Vladimir Pugh. Halbrecht." He named them without hesitation. "My son's most dedicated warriors."

"Your son?" you blurted, unable to contain yourself. "But you're…"

"Older than I appear," Neoth finished for you, amusement in his voice. "Though our relationship is not biological in the traditional sense."

You looked between Neoth and Rogal, suddenly noticing the similarities that had escaped you before, not physical resemblance, but something in their bearing, their presence, the way they occupied space. It was deeply unsettling, like watching pieces of a puzzle rearrange themselves into a picture you couldn't quite grasp.

"I don't understand what's happening," you admitted, your voice smaller than you intended.

"Few would," Neoth assured you. "The full explanation would strain credibility. Suffice it to say that these men are important to me, and their unexpected appearance in your reality is a matter of significant interest."

"Our reality?" you repeated, catching the strange phrasing. A cold knot formed in your stomach.

Neoth smiled enigmatically but didn't elaborate. The kneeling men rose at a subtle gesture from him, arranging themselves around the room with military precision.

"I've taken the liberty of establishing legitimate identities for each of you," Neoth continued, turning his attention back to the five giants. "Citizenship, documentation, all necessary legal frameworks."

He removed a leather portfolio from inside his jacket, handing it to Rogal. "Everything you need is here, including business credentials for 'Imperial Fists Construction & Engineering, LLC.'"

Rogal accepted the portfolio, opening it to reveal meticulously organized documents, passports, Social Security cards, birth certificates, all appearing completely legitimate.

"This seems excessive," Rogal noted, though his tone suggested approval rather than suspicion.

"Hardly," Neoth replied. "It's the minimum required to function effectively in this environment. I've also arranged for proper business licensing, insurance, and contractual templates. The company is fully operational, effective immediately."

"And what do you want in return?" you asked, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, your unease growing by the minute.

Neoth turned to you, those ancient eyes seeing too much. "As I said before, a reconnection. And perhaps, occasionally, access to their particular skills for projects of my own."

"What sort of projects?" You asked, speaking the question clearly on all your minds.

"Nothing that would violate your principles," Neoth assured them. "Primarily construction and security consulting. I have numerous properties that would benefit from your expertise."

It sounded reasonable, but you couldn't shake the feeling that there was much more to this story than anyone was telling you. The strange references to "your reality," the way these men recognized each other despite fragmentary memories, the inexplicable resources Neoth commanded, it all pointed to something far beyond your understanding.

"The company headquarters," Neoth continued, gesturing around him, "can remain here for the time being. I've ensured the zoning permits allow for a home-based business operation. As your enterprise grows, more suitable accommodations can be arranged."

"You have considered all contingencies," Rogal observed.

"It's what I do," Neoth replied simply.

The conversation continued, delving into details of the business structure, potential contracts already lined up (all from Neoth's mysterious associates), and the legal frameworks now protecting both the company and your property. Throughout it all, you felt increasingly disoriented, like you were watching a play where everyone knew their lines except you.

The atmosphere in the room was charged with unspoken significance. Sigismund, Vladimir, Alexis and Halbrecht maintained a formal respect toward Neoth that bordered on reverence. Rogal alone seemed able to engage with Neoth as something approaching an equal, though even he showed deference in subtle ways.

You found yourself retreating to the corner of your own living room, feeling like an intruder in a reunion of beings from another world. Which, based on Neoth's cryptic comments, might not be far from the truth.

As the evening drew to a close, Neoth prepared to leave, his bodyguards still waiting patiently outside. He paused at the door, turning to address them all one final time.

"Your first official contract," he said, handing Rogal a sealed envelope, "requires absolute discretion. The specifics are contained within."

"We will evaluate and execute accordingly." Rogal confirmed, accepting the envelope with his customary seriousness.

Neoth nodded, satisfied, then turned to you. "Thank you for your hospitality, and for providing shelter to my son and his men when they needed it most."

Before you could respond, he was gone, his entourage folding around him as they returned to their vehicles.

"So…." you said into the silence that followed, your voice slightly shaky, "that was weird."

Vladimir actually laughed, a rare sound from the usually stoic giant. "Indeed."

"He called you his son," you said to Rogal, who was examining the envelope with typical thoroughness.

"He did," Rogal confirmed without elaboration.

"And that means…?"

"It means," Sigismund interjected, "that our situation has become simultaneously more clear and more complex."

"Helpful." you muttered.

Alexis approached, holding one of the newly-issued passports. "These appear legitimate in every detail. As do the business credentials."

"So we're official now?" you asked. "Just like that?"

"Apparently so," Halbrecht confirmed, examining the business license with something like pride.

"And our first client is… your father?" you looked at Rogal, still struggling with the concept.

"It would appear so," Rogal agreed, opening the envelope Neoth had given him. His expression shifted as he examined its contents, becoming unreadable even to you, who had grown somewhat accustomed to his subtle moods.

"What is it?" you asked, trying to peek at the documents.

Rogal handed the papers to Sigismund, who studied them briefly before passing them to the others. Each man's reaction was similar, a momentary stillness, followed by an exchange of meaningful glances.

"This is…" Vladimir began.

"Significant," Alexis finished.

"Can I see?" you asked, reaching for the papers.

Rogal hesitated, then handed you a single sheet that appeared to be architectural specifications. You stared at it, baffled. The document was filled with symbols and notations you didn't recognize, interspersed with what looked like mathematical formulas of extraordinary complexity.

"What am I looking at?" you asked, turning the page sideways as if that might help.

"A project of exceptional importance," Rogal said solemnly.

You flipped the page over, finding what appeared to be a location and a handwritten note: "Top Priority. Maximum Security. Absolute Discretion Required."

"This looks like… gibberish," you admitted, handing the paper back. "Is it in code or something?"

"Of a sort." Halbrecht acknowledged. "The specifications are clear to us, however."

"So what is it? A bunker? A bridge? What are we building?"

The five men exchanged glances again, that silent communication that excluded you.

"The nature of the project must remain confidential," Rogal finally said. "Even from you, for the present."

"Wait, what?" you protested. "I'm supposed to be the CEO of this company, according to those papers. How can I not know what we're building?"

"A precaution," Sigismund explained, not unkindly. "Knowledge carries risk."

"Great." you sighed. "A secret project from a mysterious client who might be from another reality, and I don't even get to know what it is. Perfect."

"Your role remains essential," Rogal assured you. "The administrative and logistical functions will require your expertise."

"So I'm just the front person? The one who signs the papers and deals with the bank?"

"For this specific project, yes," Alexis confirmed. "Future contracts will likely be less… sensitive."

You shook your head, trying to process the surreal turn your life had taken. "So we're really doing this? Running a construction company with giant men who might be from another reality, backed by a mysterious benefactor who calls himself your father, building something so secret I'm not allowed to know what it is?"

"An accurate summary," Rogal agreed without irony.

"Perfect," you sighed again. "Just when I thought my life couldn't get any weirder."

Alexis was already examining the business documentation. "The corporate structure lists you as CEO." he noted.

"Yeah, CEO without clearance for our first project," you pointed out. "Some CEO I am."

"You know about functioning in this society," Sigismund pointed out reasonably. "We do not."

"Great. CEO of a company I never asked for, working for a client who might be some kind of interdimensional being, building something I'm not allowed to know about." You laughed despite yourself. "My business degree is finally paying off."

Rogal placed a massive hand on your shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle. "We build. We adapt. We fortify. It is what we do."

Looking around at these five impossible men who had crashed into your life and completely upended it, you felt an unexpected surge of affection mixed with exasperation. They were strange, obsessive, and frequently infuriating, but they were also loyal, dedicated, and in their own way, caring.

"Fine." you conceded. "But you'd better not be building a doomsday device or something in my backyard."

The five men exchanged yet another of those meaningful glances.

"Wait," you said, suddenly alarmed. "You're not actually building a doomsday device, are you?"

"No," Rogal assured you, though the slight hesitation before he spoke did nothing for your peace of mind.

"The specifications are for a defensive structure," Vladimir added, which wasn't nearly as reassuring as he seemed to think.

"With certain… unique properties," Halbrecht said, which was even less comforting.

"I don't want to know," you decided, raising your hands in surrender. "Just don't get us arrested or invaded by the military or whatever."

"Operational security is our highest priority," Sigismund promised solemnly.

Imperial Fists Construction & Engineering, LLC, headquartered in your suburban living room, staffed by giants with fragmentary memories, backed by a man who radiated power like a nuclear reactor and had just casually erased thousands in debt with a wave of his hand, now apparently building something so secret and important that even the company CEO wasn't allowed to know what it was.

[shiyorin]

Hello, I just want to ask. Have you ever considered writing mermen au? I delulu you wrote mermen au but it turns out you didn't. Can I have mermen Dorn? (⁠´⁠；⁠ω⁠；⁠｀⁠)

You don't delulu because I actually wrote about mermen au and then deleted it because I didn't really like it ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ ⁠ᴥ⁠•̥⁠`⁠ʔ

But anyway

#Mermen au. Rogal Dorn x F!Reader

#These follow my Mermen AU setting

#Summary: Rogal Dorn is a hermit crab-merman. Rogal Dorn in heat. Rogal Dorn meets you. It is love at first sight. It is just romcom

Rogal Dorn adjusted the elaborate shell structure on his back, ensuring the reinforced load-bearing struts maintained proper alignment. The shell, a massive, spiraling fortress of calcium carbonate and other minerals he'd painstakingly assembled, was his pride. Unlike other hermit crab mermen who simply occupied abandoned shells, Dorn built his own, fortifying it with layer upon layer of meticulously placed materials.

The mating season had arrived, as it did every year, and Dorn acknowledged the biological imperatives coursing through his body with the same stoicism he applied to everything else. His gonads were swollen with unfertilized eggs, creating a constant pressure in his lower abdomen. His genital opening, normally sealed tightly against his amber-gold tail, had begun to loosen in preparation for spawning.

These were simply facts. Uncomfortable facts, perhaps, but hardly worth emotional distress.

Dorn swam through the deeper waters off the coast, his powerful arms cutting through the currents with practiced efficiency. His inspection of the eastern reef fortifications was complete, and he found them adequate, though several support columns would require reinforcement before the next storm season.

He had no particular destination in mind. The urge to mate was present but manageable. Unlike Fulgrim, who became insufferable during mating season, or Angron, who became even more violent than usual, Dorn prided himself on maintaining control. If a suitable mate presented himself, Dorn would consider the proposition. If not, he would handle the matter privately, as he had for the past several seasons.

A flash of movement above caught his attention, something breaking the surface. Curious, Dorn altered his course, ascending toward the shallower waters. His practical mind analyzed possibilities: perhaps a feeding dolphin, or a human vessel requiring inspection for potential threats to merman security.

What he found instead was you, swimming alone in a secluded cove.

Dorn kept his distance, observing from behind a formation of rocks. You moved with surprising competence for a land dweller, your strokes efficient if not particularly powerful. Your body was small, tiny compared to a merman, with curves that differed significantly from male anatomy. Your hair streamed behind you, trailing like smoke in the water.

Something stirred within Dorn, and it wasn't merely the pressure of his egg sac.

He frowned, annoyed at his body's reaction. You were a human female. Not merely of a different species, but an entirely different biological category. There was no logical reason for his mating hormones to respond to you.

And yet…

You dove beneath the surface, your eyes open despite the salt water. For a heart-stopping moment, you looked directly at Dorn's hiding place. He remained perfectly still, his shell blending with the rocky surroundings.

Then you surfaced, sputtering slightly, and swam to the shore where a small pile of belongings waited. You emerged from the water, water streaming from your small form, and Dorn felt his genital opening pulse with interest.

"Illogical," he muttered to himself, the word emerging as bubbles in the water.

Still, he didn't leave. He watched as you dried yourself with a cloth and donned additional coverings, humans were so vulnerable without their artificial skins. You were speaking to yourself, though Dorn was too far away to hear the words. Something about your movements suggested frustration or annoyance.

Dorn had no experience with human females. His knowledge came primarily from strategic briefings about surface dwellers and their potential threats to merman security. He knew you were physically weaker than even the smallest merman, with fragile bones and limited aquatic capability. You required constant access to air and couldn't tolerate extended periods in deep water.

Objectively, you were completely unsuitable as a mate for a merman, particularly one of Dorn's status as a Primarch.

You finished gathering your belongings and began walking along the shore, occasionally stopping to pick up objects, shells or stones, perhaps. Even from this distance, Dorn could see your face clearly. You were… expressive. Your features shifted constantly, reactions playing across them without restraint or discipline.

Dorn found himself swimming parallel to your path, keeping pace as you walked along the beach. It was merely reconnaissance, he told himself. Understanding the patterns of human behavior in merman territories was strategically sound.

It was not because something about your wild hair and animated face fascinated him.

Without warning, you veered toward a rocky outcropping that extended into the water. Dorn quickly retreated into deeper water, wary of being spotted. You clambered onto the rocks with surprising agility for a human, then settled on a flat surface, dangling your feet in the water.

From his new vantage point, Dorn could hear you speaking. Not to yourself, as he'd initially assumed, but into a small device, a communication tool humans used.

"Yeah, I'm at the beach again," you were saying, your voice carrying over the water. "No, not that one. The secret one I found. No assholes with speedboats here."

You paused, presumably listening to a response.

"Because I needed space to think," you continued. "Been cooped up writing all week and my brain's about to explode."

You paused again.

"I'm fine, just needed some fresh air and ocean therapy. You know how it is when I get stuck on a chapter. Swimming helps clear my head."

Dorn watched with interest. You were a writer? This explained your presence in such an isolated location. Creative humans often sought solitude for their work.

"Yeah, I'll head back soon," you continued, laughing at whatever the person on the other end said. "Don't worry, I won't stay out too late. Just needed some me-time."

You tucked the device away and leaned back on your hands, face tilted toward the sun. Dorn studied you more carefully now. You were indeed small, with none of the impressive musculature of a merman. Your skin was lighter where it wasn't reddened by the sun. Your face was pleasing enough, he supposed, with a mouth that seemed perpetually curled at the edges, as if you found humor in everything.

You were the complete opposite of what Dorn valued: discipline, strength, fortitude. You were soft where mermen were hard, curved where they were angular, fragile where they were resilient.

So why couldn't he look away?

More concerning still, why was he imagining how you would look in the dwelling chamber of his shell, curled amidst cushions of sea silk, surrounded by the fortifications he'd built?

You stretched your arms above your head. The movement pulled your covering tight against your chest, emphasizing the rounded protrusions there. Breasts, Dorn recalled from biological texts. Mammary glands for feeding young.

Mermen didn't have them. Their eggs developed externally after fertilization.

Would you want his eggs? The thought materialized unbidden. Would you appreciate the careful craftsmanship of his nesting chamber? Would you admire the structural integrity of his shell, the perfect alignment of its defensive capabilities?

Dorn shook his head sharply, annoyed with himself. These thoughts were pointless. You were a surface dweller, completely unsuited to life in the ocean depths. Even if he were interested, which he certainly was not a relationship would be impractical at best, impossible at worst.

And yet, as you sat there, occasionally trailing your feet through the water, Dorn couldn't help but imagine. He would build you a dwelling unlike any other, not merely a shell for protection, but an entire underwater domain. He would reinforce the walls against pressure, install air pockets for your breathing, create a perfect environment where you would want for nothing.

He would defend you against all threats. He would provide for your every need. He would deposit his eggs carefully in the chamber he'd prepared, watching over them until they were ready to hatch.

Foolishness. Complete foolishness.

Dorn was about to depart when you suddenly stiffened, then lost your balance. You toppled from the rock with a surprised yelp, hitting the water with a splash.

He was moving before he consciously decided to, powerful tail propelling him toward you. You surfaced quickly, sputtering and cursing, but Dorn saw the problem immediately, blood clouded the water around your leg where it had struck a sharp rock during your fall.

"Motherfucking piece of shit rock!" you snarled, trying to swim one-handed back to shore while keeping the injured leg elevated. "This is why I can't have nice things!"

Dorn hesitated only briefly before surfacing beside you. "You are injured," he stated flatly.

You yelped again, nearly going under in surprise. "Jesus fucking Christ! Where did you come from?"

Dorn didn't see the relevance of the question. "You are bleeding. The scent will attract predators. You require assistance."

You stared at him, water dripping from your face. Your eyes widened as they took in his massive form, the elaborate shell structure on his back, the distinctive amber coloration of his tail.

"Holy shit," you finally managed. "You're a… you're a merman."

Dorn nodded once. "I am Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists. You are losing blood. Allow me to transport you to shore where your wound can be properly treated."

You regarded him suspiciously for a moment, then winced as a wave jostled your injured leg. "Fine," you said. "But no funny business. I've seen 'The Shape of Water.' I know how these things can go."

Without waiting for further discussion, Dorn scooped you into his arms. You weighed almost nothing, a disconcerting reminder of human fragility. He swam to shore with smooth, powerful strokes, careful not to jostle you.

"So," you said as he carried you through the shallows toward your belongings. "You're Rogal Dorn, huh? I didn't know mermen had names. Or titles. What's a Primarch?"

"A Primarch is a leader among mermen," Dorn explained, depositing you gently on the sand near your cloth and other items. "I command the Imperial Fists, responsible for construction and fortification of merman territories."

"You build things underwater? That's pretty cool." You rummaged through your bag, producing a small white box. "I'm…., by the way. Thanks for the save."

Your name suited you somehow, sharp yet melodic.

"First aid kit," you explained, opening the box. "Never leave home without one when you're as clumsy as me."

You extracted various items, cleaning substances, adhesive bandages. Dorn watched with interest as you efficiently cleaned the cut on your calf. It wasn't deep, but it bled freely, a long scrape rather than a puncture.

"So, were you just hanging around watching me, or do you regularly patrol this area?" you asked, not looking up from your task.

"I was conducting a routine inspection of the reef fortifications," Dorn answered truthfully. "I observed you swimming and deemed it prudent to maintain surveillance."

"Surveillance?" You looked up then, eyes narrowing. "You were spying on me?"

"I was assessing potential security implications," Dorn corrected. "Humans rarely swim in this location."

You snorted. "Yeah, because everyone thinks there are dangerous currents here. It's actually perfectly safe, which makes it ideal for when I need some alone time."

Dorn considered this information. "The currents in this area are indeed minimal. The belief in their danger is erroneous."

"Exactly!" you said, gesturing with a bandage. "That's what I kept telling people, but no one believes me. They all think I'm going to get swept out to sea or something."

You finished bandaging your leg and began packing away the supplies. "That's some impressive architecture you've got there," you added, gesturing to his shell. "Did you build it yourself?"

"Yes," Dorn confirmed. "As a Primarch, I construct my own dwellings to precise specifications. This shell contains seventeen chambers, triple-reinforced supporting walls, and defensive capabilities sufficient to withstand attacks from all known ocean predators."

"Seventeen chambers? In that thing?" You looked skeptical. "It doesn't look big enough."

"It employs principles of dimensional efficiency not immediately apparent to the untrained eye," Dorn said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice despite his best efforts. "The primary living chamber alone is sufficient to accommodate three mermen comfortably."

Or one merman and one small human female, his mind supplied unhelpfully.

You were looking at him with renewed interest. "So you basically carry your house on your back? That's actually pretty cool. Must be convenient, never having to worry about paying rent."

Dorn didn't understand the reference to "rent," but he nodded anyway. "It provides security and shelter regardless of location. A practical solution to the vagaries of ocean currents and territorial disputes."

"Practical indeed," you agreed, then winced as you tried to stand. "Shit, that stings."

Dorn moved forward instinctively, steadying you with one large hand. Even standing, the top of your head barely reached his chest. "You should not walk on the injury. It will introduce sand into the wound and increase the risk of infection."

"Well, I can't exactly sit here all day," you retorted. "I need to get back to the house eventually."

"I could transport you," Dorn offered before he could consider the wisdom of the suggestion.

You raised an eyebrow. "What, carry me all the way back? It's like two miles along the beach."

"That distance is negligible," Dorn assured you. "Your weight presents no impediment."

You studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not? Just let me get my stuff." You gathered your belongings into the bag and slung it over your shoulder. "Okay, fish taxi, I'm ready when you are."

Dorn scooped you up again, cradling you carefully against his chest. Your bare skin was warm from the sun, and you smelled of salt and something sweeter, some human product, perhaps. He waded back into the water, where his powerful tail could better support their movement.

"So," you said as they began traveling parallel to the shore, "what's with the shell? Are you like a hermit crab? Do all mermen have those?"

"No," Dorn replied. "I am of the hermit crab subtype. Most mermen possess only a tail. Hermit crab mermen develop shells as both dwelling and protection."

"Huh." You seemed genuinely interested. "And can you like, switch shells if you find a better one? Or are you stuck with what you've got?"

"Lesser hermit crab mermen sometimes occupy abandoned shells," Dorn explained. "I construct my own to precise specifications."

"Of course you do," you said with a small laugh. "You strike me as the type who'd never be satisfied with someone else's work. Gotta build it yourself to make sure it's up to standards, right?"

Dorn inclined his head. "Precisely. Most available shells are woefully inadequate in terms of structural integrity and defensive capabilities."

You laughed again. "I love how serious you are about this. It's kind of adorable, actually."

Dorn frowned slightly. He had never been described as "adorable" before and was unsure how to respond to such an assessment.

"Are there female hermit crab mermen?" you asked, changing the subject. "Or I guess they'd be mermaids? Though that seems weirdly gendered when we're talking about fish people."

"All mermen are male," Dorn stated. "It is a biological fact of our species."

"Wait, all of you? Then how do you… you know, make more mermen? Don't you need, uh, female parts for reproduction somewhere in the equation?"

"Our reproductive system differs significantly from humans," Dorn explained, finding himself strangely comfortable discussing such matters with you. "Hermit crab mermen produce eggs which are then fertilized by their chosen partner. The fertilized eggs are maintained in a specialized chamber within the shell until they hatch."

Your eyes widened. "Hold up. You guys lay eggs? Like, actual eggs? And you keep them in your shell-house until they hatch into baby mermen?"

"That is essentially correct, yes."

"Wow." You seemed to be processing this information. "So right now, during mating season, you're… what? Looking for someone to fertilize your eggs?"

Dorn shifted slightly, the pressure in his egg sac suddenly more noticeable. "That is the biological purpose of the mating season, yes."

"And if you don't find anyone? What happens to the eggs?"

"They are reabsorbed into my body at the conclusion of the mating season," Dorn explained.

"Reabsorbed? That sounds uncomfortable."

"It is… not pleasant," Dorn admitted. "But it is a natural process."

You seemed to consider this information carefully. "So all you hermit crab guys are swimming around with bellies full of eggs, looking for someone to fertilize them? That's gotta be awkward at parties."

Despite himself, Dorn felt his lips twitch slightly. "Social gatherings during mating season are indeed… tense."

You laughed, the sound bright and unreserved. "I bet! Do you all just stand around eyeing each other's shells, trying to decide who's got the best baby apartment?"

"The quality of one's shell is indeed a factor in mate selection," Dorn confirmed seriously. "A well-constructed dwelling demonstrates the ability to provide for and protect offspring."

"So it's like peacock feathers, but useful," you mused. "That actually makes a lot of sense. Better than human men flashing their expensive cars around, anyway."

They continued along the shore, you asking increasingly detailed questions about hermit crab merman reproduction, and Dorn finding himself answering with more candor than he would have expected. Something about your direct approach bypassed his usual reticence.

"So basically, you're full of eggs right now, but nobody's caught your fancy this season?" you summarized after he explained the reproductive cycle.

"That is essentially correct," Dorn acknowledged. "I have not encountered a compatible mate."

You tilted your head, studying him. "Must be lonely, being so picky. Or is it that no one meets your high standards?"

Dorn considered the question seriously. "I do not experience loneliness as others seem to. My work provides sufficient purpose. As for standards… it is not a matter of arbitrary requirements, but of finding a mate whose strengths complement my own."

"And what strengths would those be?" you asked. "What are you looking for in a baby daddy?"

Dorn frowned at the crude terminology but answered nonetheless. "Intelligence. Resilience. The ability to appreciate practical solutions to complex problems."

"Hmm." You seemed to be fighting a smile. "Sounds like you've given this some thought."

They had reached a point where the beach curved around a small promontory. You pointed to a path leading up from the shore to a modest dwelling set back among trees.

"That's me, up there," you said. "You can let me off at the bottom of the path. I can hobble the rest of the way."

Dorn studied the incline critically. "The gradient is suboptimal for someone with a leg injury. I will convey you to the dwelling."

"Uh, that's really not-"

But Dorn was already moving up the path, his powerful legs easily navigating the slope despite the weight of his shell. You sighed and relaxed in his arms, apparently recognizing the futility of argument.

Your dwelling was simple but strategically positioned, with good sightlines in all directions. Dorn approved of the location, even as he mentally cataloged the structural deficiencies of the building itself. The supporting posts of the deck were inadequately reinforced, the roof lacked proper bracing for high winds, and the windows were insufficiently sealed against moisture.

He could fix all of that, of course. A few days' work at most.

"This is me," you said as they reached the deck. "Thanks for the lift. You can set me down here."

Dorn carefully placed you on your feet, noting how you tested your weight gingerly on the injured leg. "The bandage appears to be holding adequately," he observed.

"Yeah, it's not too bad." You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, then looked up at him with curiosity in your eyes. "So, do you live nearby? In the ocean, I mean."

"My primary territory is approximately three nautical miles offshore," Dorn replied. "Though I patrol much wider areas."

"Cool." You seemed to hesitate, then added, "Listen, I don't know if this is weird or breaks some kind of merman code, but… would you want to come back sometime? Maybe when I'm not bleeding all over the place? I've got a ton of questions about underwater architecture, and you seem like the guy with answers."

Dorn blinked, surprised by the invitation. "You wish to discuss construction techniques?"

"Among other things," you said with a small smile. "I'm a writer. I'm working on a fantasy novel with underwater civilizations, and talking to an actual expert would be amazing. If you're willing, that is."

Dorn considered the request. There were no specific prohibitions against sharing knowledge with humans, provided no critical defense information was revealed. And he found your direct questioning approach refreshing compared to the often obfuscated communication style of his fellow mermen.

"That would be acceptable," he said finally. "I could provide insights on practical underwater construction methods."

Your smile widened. "Great! How about tomorrow? Same beach, around noon? I promise not to fall off any more rocks."

"Tomorrow at noon," Dorn confirmed with a nod. "I will bring diagrams of basic support structures suitable for various depth pressures."

"Perfect." Your eyes twinkled with amusement. "It's a date. I mean, not a 'date' date, obviously. Just a… professional consultation."

Dorn frowned slightly at the clarification, unsure why it produced an unexpected sensation of disappointment. "I understand. A knowledge exchange."

"Exactly," you agreed, though your smile suggested you found something about the situation amusing. "Thanks again for the rescue and the ride. I'll see you tomorrow, Rogal."

The use of his given name, without title or rank, was unusual. Yet Dorn found he did not mind. "Until tomorrow."

As he made his way back to the ocean, his mind was unusually active with possibilities. The diagrams he'd promised were simple enough to prepare. But perhaps he should also bring examples of different building materials commonly used in underwater construction. And a scaled model of a basic pressure-resistant dwelling might be helpful to illustrate certain concepts.

He would need to ensure the model was sufficiently detailed to demonstrate the key structural principles. Perhaps with working airlocks to show how human-breathable spaces could be maintained underwater. And possibly a miniature version of a nesting chamber, just for completeness.

Dorn adjusted his shell, feeling the familiar pressure of his unfertilized eggs inside him. For the first time in many mating seasons, he found himself hoping they would not be reabsorbed.

After all, it was simply practical to consider all potential outcomes, however unlikely they might seem.

[shiyorin]

So cute

Just some sweet.Little office worker Loken x female kitten reader.

[shiyorin]

Two huskies!!!!

꒰^ↀωↀ^꒱

Thor x you x Leman

Two golden hari vikings..

[shiyorin]

All heretic, come here now!!!!

╭(°A°`)╮I post my futa Magnus design and some other heretic art in my popiku,if you are interested then here↓

warning:futa female primarch and some heretic kink

[shiyorin]

finished my mornivals design

[shiyorin]

It's not the fight, it's the reward

stupid meme remake by me

Leman x female reader

original meme in p2

[shiyorin]

Author's note: Come from my private au, has so many settings I am never said before but I think it is funny, must post.

Tumblr formatting sucks so I had to change it like this.

EXPOSED: 133 SPICY SECRETS THE IMPERIUM DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW — WHAT THE PRIMARCHS REALLY DO AFTER DARK!

From kink collections to bedroom blunders - the juiciest, weirdest, and most heretical habits of the Emperor’s golden boys. You won’t believe #26… and #90? Absolutely illegal in 7 systems!

The Lion maintains absolute discipline even during climax, barely changes expression.

Has a secret passionate side that only emerges with you.

Silent hunter in the streets, vocal beast in the sheets.

Despite his serious demeanor, he makes cat noises when he comes. Not sexy growls, literal "meow" sounds.

Has never discussed his intimate life with anyone, total compartmentalization.

Possesses surprisingly detailed knowledge of ancient Terran tantric practices.

Watch you like prey before making a move, intense predatory stare.

Has a ritual of knightly "service" that leaves you breathless.

Fulgrim has tried literally every sexual practice in Imperial records.

Can delay his climax indefinitely through perfect muscular control.

His perfectionism extends to sexual performance, practices techniques alone.

Has a mirror positioned above his bed, claiming it's "for technique refinement."

Keeps a detailed journal rating every sexual encounter on multiple criteria.

Always smells like different exotic perfumes depending on his mood.

Perturabo pproaches pleasure like an engineering problem to be solved with precision.

Records biometric data during encounters to analyze optimal techniques.

His jealousy issues manifest as possessiveness in relationship.

He has body image issues despite being built like a Greek god. When you started calling his stretch marks "triumph lines" and his response was to short-circuit emotionally.

Surprisingly responsive to praise during intimate moments.

Despite his gruff exterior, he cries during his refractory period. Every time.

Has trust issues that translate to control dynamics in bed.

Jaghatai's speed isn't just for the battlefield, it can vibrate certain body parts.

Never stays in one position for long, constant motion and rhythm.

Has a thing for outdoor sex.

Braids his hair specially for intimate occasions, pulls it out after.

Makes a distinctive sound during climax that's become legendary.

Knows pleasure techniques from dozens of different cultures.

Sometimes recites war poems during particularly intense moments.

Leman's heightened sense of smell means he can detect arousal from across a room.

Growls during climax, not metaphorically, actually growls.

Has fucked in every environment imaginable, including in blizzards.

Gets rough during full moons without even realizing it.

His beard provides unexpected sensations that drive you wild.

His dirty talk is surprisingly poetic, often in ancient Fenrisian dialects.

Has a thing for biting, leaves marks that last for weeks.

Dorn approaches sex with the same directness as everything else, tells you exactly what he wants.

Has incredible endurance, can maintain the same position for hours without tiring.

He speaks exclusively in literal terms during sex. "I am now going to insert my penis into your vagina" is his idea of dirty talk. When you asked him to talk dirty, he told you about soil composition and drainage issues. Somehow, still hot.

He has never once lied, which made "how was it for you?" a terrifying question until you learned to be more specific.

Never exaggerates or falsifies his reactions, 100% authentic responses.

Has an unexpected thing for bondage, loves testing the strength of different restraints.

Always keeps his word on promised pleasures, reliability is his hallmark.

If you want to peg him, he will provide a detailed structural analysis of your technique, complete with suggestions for improved angle of entry.

Konrad can see your deepest desires through his precognitive abilities.

Only has sex in complete darkness, says the shadows "speak to him" then.

Has a thing for fear, gets aroused when you are slightly afraid.

Never makes a sound during sex, total silence except for breathing.

Sometimes whispers your future to you during climax, usually disturbing stuff.

He's a little spoon who needs to be the big spoon until he falls asleep, then immediately reverts to little.

He keeps a "justice journal" where he ranks everyone's crimes and appropriate punishments. Apparently, your crime is "excessive smugness" and your punishment is "thorough pleasure correction."

Sanguinius's wings are erogenous zones, extremely sensitive to touch.

His beauty isn't just physical, emits a pheromone that intensifies attraction.

Blood rushes to his wings during arousal, making them flush visibly.

His enhanced hearing means he can detect the slightest changes in heartbeat and breathing.

You can feel a euphoric blood rush in his presence, possibly psychic.

Has a tragic fear of hurting you, requires absolute trust.

He looks like an angel but fucks like a demon. The dichotomy is disorienting.

He apologizes after dirty talk. "You're a filthy cockslut-I'm sorry, that was disrespectful.”

Despite Ferrus's gruff exterior, whispers surprisingly tender things during intimate moments.

Temperature of his hands can be adjusted for different sensations.

Always checks in verbally throughout, consent is non-negotiable.

Can go for multiple rounds with zero recovery time.

Has a thing for hands, loves both giving and receiving hand pleasure.

Contrary to expectations, Angron is extremely controlled in bed, afraid of hurting you.

His rage translates to intense passion when properly channeled.

The Butcher's Nails make his pleasure/pain responses unpredictable.

Requires specialized reinforced beds, has broken dozens.

Gets emotional after particularly intense sessions, sometimes even cries.

Prefers if you aren’t intimidated by his size or reputation.

His heart rate during sex would kill a normal human.

Guilliman approaches sex with tactical precision, maps erogenous zones like campaign targets.

Keeps a detailed spreadsheet analyzing performance and your satisfaction.

Actually wrote a private codex on sexual techniques, 500 pages, fully illustrated.

Always showers immediately before and after.

Has a thing for authority figure, ironic given his own position.

Surprisingly imaginative once he trusts you enough to relax.

Asks for performance reviews afterward, genuinely wants to improve.

Despite his appearance, Mortarion is unexpectedly gentle and attentive.

Has a breathing kink, loves controlled breath play.

His body temperature runs cold, creating interesting sensations for you.

Surprisingly flexible.

Has never been naked in front of anyone, always keeps something on.

His scarred skin is extremely sensitive, especially along his back.

Silent during sex except for carefully controlled breathing.

Prefers total darkness, claims it "equalizes the experience."

Magnus can psychically enhance your pleasure, making you feel everything he feels.

His eye glows brighter during arousal.

Can maintain an erection for days through psychic control.

Know exactly what you want before you do, mind reading has its benefits.

Has invented several positions that would be physically impossible without telekinesis.

Sometimes accidentally projects his orgasms psychically, causing everyone nearby to feel it.

His extensive library includes the galaxy's largest collection of erotic literature.

Has had sex while simultaneously reading a book.

Horus has a thing for power dynamics, he loves when you challenge his authority before ultimately submitting to him.

His stamina is legendary, often going for hours without breaks.

Gets incredibly turned on when called "Warmaster" in bed.

Has a secret collection of handcuffs from every world he's conquered.

That scar on his body? Extremely sensitive to touch, instant arousal trigger.

Secretly recorded himself with you, keeps the videos in a hidden vault.

Has a thing for doing it in war rooms, especially on strategic tables.

Lorgar treats sex like a religious experience, complete with rituals and chanting.

Has written erotic poetry that would make experienced courtesans blush.

Takes his time, foreplay can last hours as he "worships" every inch.

His voice alone can bring you to the edge, has studied sonic stimulation.

Maintains eye contact throughout, intensely spiritual connection.

Has a thing for confession scenarios, wants to hear your darkest desires.

Always burns special incense that heightens sensitivity.

Has sacred words tattooed in places only you discover.

Vulkan's body temperature runs extremely hot, like making love to a furnace.

Gives the best post-sex cuddles in the Imperium, like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

Has a surprising affinity for sensual massage, can work out knots you didn't know you had.

Laughs during sex, finds joy in physical connection.

Always focuses on your pleasure before his own.

His heartbeat is audible and hypnotic during intimate moments.

Corax can literally turn into shadows during particularly intense moments.

Has a thing for heights, loves balconies, rooftops, and flying vehicles.

So quiet during sex you sometimes forget he's there until he touches you.

Can see perfectly in darkness, knows exactly where to touch.

Sometimes sprouts shadow-wings during climax, startling the unprepared.

His voice drops to hypnotic registers during dirty talk.

Enjoys watching from the shadows before joining in.

You're never sure which twin you're actually with, sometimes they switch mid-session.

Can perfectly mimic the sexual techniques of anyone they've observed.

Keep a network of informants reporting on the sexual preferences of your.

Have developed secret pleasure points unknown to standard anatomy.

Sometimes speak in unison during threesomes, eerily synchronized.

Have been known to disguise themselves as servants to spy on people's sexual habits.

One likes to be on top, one likes to be on bottom, but they never specify which is which.

The Emperor's psychic presence intensifies pleasure to godlike levels.

Can appear differently to different, manifests as your ideal lover.

Time seems to stretch in his presence, moments of pleasure can feel like eternities.

His golden aura becomes blinding during moments of passion.

The Primarchs' various quirks are genetic echoes of the Emperor's own preferences, each inherited different aspects.

*******

You stared at the crumpled list in your hands, blinking rapidly as you processed what you were reading. The paper had been slipped under your door sometime during the night, the handwriting alternating between several different styles as if multiple people had contributed to it.

"What the fuck," you whispered, scanning the detailed, disturbingly detailed, descriptions of the Primarchs' supposed sexual habits.

This had to be retaliation for your artwork. Ever since you'd been caught sketching that sexual piece featuring Horus and Sanguinius in a rather compromising position, things had escalated into a bizarre war of increasingly sexual content between you and the Emperor's sons.

Your data-slate pinged with an incoming message. Seventeen new commission requests from seventeen different encrypted sources, all requesting artwork based on items from the list. Each offering payment that would make an Imperial Governor blush.

"Oh, it's fucking on," You cracking your knuckles as you reached for your stylus.

********

The first anatomical "reference session" was scheduled for that afternoon. Magnus had requested a private meeting in the Librarium after hours, claiming he needed to discuss "important tactical matters" with the remembrance.

When you arrived, you found the crimson Primarch sitting rigidly at a massive wooden table, surrounded by ancient tomes and scrolls that definitely weren't tactical in nature.

"I received your list," you said without preamble, dropping the crumpled paper onto the table between them.

"What list?" Magnus asked, his single eye widening with what appeared to be genuine confusion.

"The 133 sexual facts about you and your brothers," you clarified, watching his face carefully. "Rather detailed information about your... preferences."

Magnus's crimson skin darkened further as he snatched up the paper and scanned it rapidly. "This is...I didn't-" he sputtered, then paused, his eye narrowing. "Number Eighty-eight is accurate, though."

"Which one was-" you started to ask before catching yourself. "Not the point. Did you and your brothers create this as some kind of joke? Retaliation for my artwork?"

"I assure you, I had nothing to do with this," Magnus said, still reading the list with increasing distress. "Though I suspect Fulgrim or perhaps the twins..." His voice trailed off as he reached the section about himself. "That's... uncomfortably specific."

"So these are accurate?" you couldn't help asking, professional curiosity getting the better of you.

"I neither confirm nor deny," Magnus replied automatically, though his continued deepening complexion suggested otherwise.

"Right," you nodded, retrieving the list and tucking it away. "Well, regardless of its origin, I've received seventeen commission requests based on it. Including yours about psychic pleasure enhancement."

Magnus choked on nothing. "I didn't-"

"The request came from 'definitely_not_magnus@librarium.imp,'" you interrupted dryly. "Very subtle."

"That could be anyone," Magnus protested weakly.

"It was written in Prosperine hieroglyphics," you countered. "With annotations in a language that doesn't technically exist yet."

Magnus slumped in defeat. "Fine. I may have sent a... hypothetical inquiry."

"About whether I could accurately depict psychic pleasure transference in artistic form," you completed. "For which you'd need to demonstrate the technique. For accuracy."

"Precisely," Magnus nodded, scholarly demeanor returning. "It's a complex psychic phenomenon that requires direct observation to properly capture."

"Uh-huh," you said skeptically. "And this has nothing to do with item ninety-one on the list about you accidentally broadcasting your orgasms psychically?"

Magnus's eye darted away. "A preposterous exaggeration."

"So that didn't happen during the Ullanor campaign? Because I heard an entire regiment of Imperial Army suddenly collapsed in ecstasy during your private meditation time."

"A coincidence," Magnus insisted. "Mass hysteria."

"Right," you grinned. "So about this commission..."

********

The next morning found you in the training cages, ostensibly observing combat techniques for "assassinorum purposes" but actually gathering reference material for the flood of commissions that had arrived overnight.

Jaghatai and Leman were sparring, stripped to the waist, their compression leggings leaving little to the imagination as they grappled and threw each other around the cage. A small crowd had gathered to watch the Primarchs train, but you had managed to secure a front-row position with your sketchbook.

"Enjoying the view?" Torgaddon asked, sliding up beside you.

"Research," you replied without looking up from your rapid sketching. "Anatomical references for commission work."

"Uh-huh," Torgaddon nodded skeptically. "And the fact that you're focusing on their glutes and crotches is purely professional."

"The gluteal muscles are key to understanding proper movement dynamics," you explained with mock seriousness. "Also, item twenty-three indicates Jaghatai 'never stays in one position for long, constant motion and rhythm.' I need to capture that accurately."

"You actually believe that list?" Torgaddon asked incredulously.

"I'm verifying it empirically," you corrected. "Scientific method and all that."

Just then, Jaghatai executed a particularly impressive takedown that left Leman pinned beneath him, both Primarchs breathing heavily and glistening with sweat. They held the position a beat too long, eyes darting to where you sat sketching, before Leman growled something and they separated.

"They're showing off for you," Torgaddon observed.

"Of course they are," you agreed, adding detailing to your sketch. "And I'm getting excellent reference material because of it. Win-win."

"This is going to end badly," Torgaddon predicted.

"This is going to end profitably," you corrected. "I've made more money in the past week than in my last three assassination missions combined."

"Speaking of which," Torgaddon lowered your voice, "there's a rumor that the Emperor himself has commissioned you for something."

Your stylus paused momentarily. "Where did you hear that?"

"So it's true!" Torgaddon’s eyes widened.

"Neither confirm nor deny," you muttered, returning to your sketching. "Client confidentiality."

"By the Throne," Torgaddon breathed. "What did he ask for?"

"If, and I stress if, such a commission existed," you said carefully, "it would be for a classical portrait. Nothing more."

"Classical as in...?"

"Classical as in Ancient Terran style. Renaissance era."

"Nude?" Torgaddon pressed.

"Artistically draped," you corrected primly.

"The Emperor wants you to draw him like one of your Terran girls," Torgaddon marveled. "The actual Emperor of Mankind."

"This conversation isn't happening," you insisted, focusing intently on your sketching as Ferrus Manus entered the training cage, also stripped to the waist, his metal arms gleaming under the lights.

"Your pupils just dilated," Torgaddon noted.

"Lighting change," you dismissed, though your increased sketching speed suggested otherwise.

"Right," Torgaddon drawled. "Well, while you're conducting your 'research,' you might want to know that father is looking for you. Something about providing 'detailed references' for his triple-self commission."

"Already scheduled," you replied without looking up. "After the war council. He's bringing reference materials."

"What kind of reference materials could father possibly-" Torgaddon started to ask, then shook his head. "Actually, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"Wise decision," you agreed, flipping to a new page as Ferrus began demonstrating a series of strikes that showcased his impressive torso musculature. "Very wise indeed."

********

The Emperor's private gallery was unlike anything you had ever seen, a vast chamber filled with artwork spanning human history, from primitive cave paintings to hololithic masterpieces that seemed to shift and move as you walked past them.

And here you were, presenting your completed commission to the Master of Mankind himself.

"The brushwork is exquisite," the Emperor commented, examining the large canvas you had delivered. "You've captured the classical style perfectly."

"Thank you," you replied, trying to maintain your professional demeanor despite standing before the most powerful being in the galaxy, discussing what was essentially an erotic portrait.

"The musculature is anatomically precise," he continued, "yet idealized in the classical tradition. Your understanding of chiaroscuro is impressive."

"I studied the ancient masters extensively," you explained, which was true, you'd spent three days in the Imperial archives researching Renaissance techniques for this commission.

"And the draped fabric creates just the right balance between revelation and mystery," the Emperor noted, his golden eyes studying the painting with the intensity of a sun. "Excellent work."

The painting depicted the Emperor in a classical pose reminiscent of ancient Terran deity portrayals, strategically draped fabric preserving modesty while suggesting the perfection beneath. It was tasteful yet undeniably sensual, exactly what he had requested.

"I'm pleased it meets your expectations," you said, feeling oddly nervous despite your training.

"More than meets them," the Emperor assured you. "I shall add it to my private collection immediately." He gestured to a section of the gallery that appeared to be accessible only through a psychically locked doorway. "Your compensation has been transferred to your accounts, with a substantial bonus."

"You're too generous," you began, but the Emperor raised a hand.

"I reward excellence appropriately," he stated simply. "And I understand you've been providing similar services to my sons."

You froze, unsure how to respond. "I-"

"No need for concern," the Emperor assured you, his perfect lips curving into a slight smile. "Creative expression takes many forms. And frankly, they've been more focused on their duties since your commissions began. Less... tension among them."

"I'm... glad to hear that," you managed, processing the fact that the Emperor of Mankind was essentially approving your pornographic side business.

"I would, however, suggest discretion regarding the list that has been circulating," the Emperor added, his golden eyes twinkling with amusement. "Some of those items hit rather close to home."

"You've seen the list?" you blurted before you could stop yourself.

"I see everything eventually," the Emperor replied enigmatically. "Though I suspect Malcador had a hand in its creation. He always did have a peculiar sense of humor."

Before you could process this revelation, the Emperor gestured toward the exit. "I look forward to seeing your future work, Remembrance. Perhaps we might discuss another commission at a later date."

Taking the dismissal for what it was, you bowed slightly and turned to leave. As you reached the doorway, the Emperor's voice stopped you.

"Oh, also? Item One-hundred-and-thirty-two is entirely accurate."

Your mind raced to recall the item in question, something about his golden aura becoming blinding during passion. By the time you turned back to respond, the Emperor had vanished, leaving you alone in the gallery with the distinct impression you'd just been teased by the Master of Mankind himself.

"What even is my life right now?" You muttered, making your way back to your quarters where seventeen more commissions awaited your attention.

[shiyorin]

It is so cute

still morden au Kharn x female reader you,just sweet couple(*/ω＼*)

[shiyorin]

#Meat in breakfast

#Malewife Kharn au. Malewife Kharn x F!Reader. All settings as usual

#Just meat, wholesome meat. NSFW

#For my dear sister @roroco316

The soft patter of bare feet on kitchen tiles barely registered over the sizzle of bacon and the gurgle of percolating coffee. Kharn stood with his back to the doorway, massive frame hunched slightly over the stove as he flipped pancakes with surprising dexterity for hands so large. The early morning sunlight filtered through half-drawn blinds, casting golden stripes across his scarred back and the worn pants hanging low on his hips.

Behind him, you emerged from the bedroom hallway, hair tousled and eyes still heavy with sleep. You wore only that threadbare nightgown, the pale pink one with the frayed hem that barely reached mid-thigh. The thin fabric did nothing to hide the heavy sway of your breasts or the dark circles of your nipples pressing against the material with each step.

Kharn hadn't heard you approach, too focused on not burning their breakfast. The first indication of your presence was the sudden press of warm, soft flesh against his back and slender arms snaking around his waist. Your fingers splayed across his abs before creeping upward, finding his nipples and giving them a playful pinch.

"Mmmmm," you hummed against his skin, voice still husky from sleep. "Smells fuckin' amazing."

Kharn grunted, his body tensing briefly before relaxing into your touch. Your breasts crushed against his back, nipples hardening to stiff points that dragged against his skin as you pressed closer. He could feel the heat of your body through the thin nightgown, the absence of underwear becoming immediately apparent as you ground your hips against his ass.

"Breakfast'll be ready in five," he rumbled, flipping another pancake while trying to ignore how your fingers were now circling his nipples, sending jolts of electricity straight to his rapidly hardening cock.

Your hands drifted lower, tracing the defined ridges of his abdomen before slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Your fingertips brushed against the coarse hair there, teasing but not quite reaching what was now straining against the fabric.

"I'm hungry now though," you whined, voice dripping with need as you nipped at his shoulder blade. Your fingers traced maddening circles just above where he wanted your touch most.

With a growl, Kharn turned off the burner and spun around, his massive hands gripping your waist. In one fluid motion, he lifted you onto the countertop beside the stove, pushing apart your thighs to stand between them. The nightgown rode up, exposing the glistening pink flesh between your legs.

"Maybe I got somethin' to tide you over," he grunted, dropping to his knees with surprising grace for a man his size.

You gasped as his rough hands pushed your thighs further apart, exposing you completely. You were already wet, your pussy lips swollen and flushed with arousal. Kharn breathed in deeply, savoring your musky scent before leaning forward.

The first touch of his tongue against your folds drew a keening whimper from your throat. He started slowly, broad strokes from your entrance up to your clit, gathering your wetness on his tongue. The taste of you, tangy and sweet, made his cock throb painfully against his sweatpants.

"Fuck, baby," you moaned, one hand gripping the edge of the counter while the other tangled in his short hair.

Kharn growled against your sensitive flesh, the vibrations making you shudder. His massive hands gripped your thighs, holding them open as he began to devour you in earnest. His tongue circled your entrance, dipping shallowly inside before retreating to flick against your clit. Each pass made your hips buck against his face, smearing your juices across his lips and chin.

He worked methodically, paying attention to how you responded to different pressures and rhythms. When he sucked your clit between his lips and flicked it rapidly with his tongue, your thighs clamped around his head and you cried out. When he pushed his tongue deep inside you, curling it to reach that sensitive spot along your front wall, your back arched off the counter.

"God, right there," you panted, grinding against his face shamelessly. "Don't fucking stop."

Kharn had no intention of stopping. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue and sucking on your clit, occasionally pulling back to admire how your pussy glistened with his saliva and your own wetness. Your entrance clenched and fluttered each time he pulled away, practically begging for more.

Adding a new element to your pleasure, he brought one hand up and slowly pushed his thick middle finger inside you. The tight heat of your pussy gripped him, walls clenching as he curled his finger to stroke that rough patch inside. Your reaction was immediate, a strangled cry and your hips jerking upward.

"Another," you demanded breathlessly. "Give me another finger."

He obliged, working his index finger in alongside the first, stretching you deliciously. The tight fit made him imagine how it would feel to sink his cock into that wet heat, but he pushed the thought aside. Right now was about your pleasure.

With two fingers pumping steadily in and out of your dripping cunt, he focused his oral attention entirely on your clit. He sucked it between his lips, flicking it rapidly with his tongue while his fingers fucked you with increasing intensity. The wet sounds of your arousal filled the kitchen, accompanied by your increasingly desperate moans.

Your hand tightened in his hair, pulling almost painfully as your thighs began to tremble. "I'm gonna cum," you warned, voice tight with approaching release. "Fuck, Kharn, I'm gonna cum all over your face."

He doubled his efforts, fingers fucking into you faster while his tongue worked your clit relentlessly. He could feel your walls beginning to clench rhythmically around his fingers, your body tensing as you approached the edge.

When you came, it was with a hoarse scream that echoed off the kitchen tiles. Your pussy spasmed around his fingers, gushing wetness that dripped down his wrist and chin. He didn't let up, continuing to stroke that spot inside you while gently sucking your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you were shaking and pushing his head away, suddenly too sensitive.

Kharn finally pulled back, his face gleaming with your release. He looked up at you from between your thighs, taking in the sight of your flushed face and heaving chest. The thin nightgown was pushed up around your waist, your breasts straining against the fabric with each panting breath.

"Still hungry?" he asked, voice rough with arousal as he licked his lips, savoring the taste of you.

"Starving," you managed between breaths, eyes fixed on the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. "But I think it's your turn to be fed."

With a grin, Kharn rose to his feet, his massive frame towering over you even as you sat on the countertop. He gripped the bottom of your nightgown and pulled it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you completely naked before him.

Your breasts bounced free, heavy and full with rosy nipples puckered tight. Kharn's rough palms immediately cupped their weight, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks and drawing a shuddering gasp from your lips.

"Gonna fill you up so good," he promised, voice a gravelly rumble as he leaned down to capture one nipple between his lips. "Gonna pump you so full you'll look pregnant with my cum."

You moaned at his words, your still-sensitive pussy clenching around nothing. Your hands pushed at his sweatpants, desperate to free his cock. When the fabric finally dropped to his ankles, his erection sprang free, thick, veined, and already leaking precum from the swollen head.

"Need you inside me," you breathed, wrapping your fingers around his girth. You could barely close your hand around him, and the thought of him stretching your pussy made you whimper with anticipation.

Kharn kicked his pants aside and positioned himself between your spread thighs. He took his cock in hand, guiding the head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness. The blunt tip nudged against your entrance, stretching you just with that initial pressure.

"Look at you," he growled, watching where their bodies were about to join. "So fuckin' wet for me. Gonna slide right in this tight little cunt."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, using your heels against his ass to urge him forward. Kharn resisted, preferring to tease you by rubbing his cockhead against your clit, making you squirm and whine.

"Please," you begged, trying to tilt your hips to capture him. "Stop teasing and fuck me already."

With a satisfied smirk, Kharn finally began to push forward, the thick head of his cock breaching your entrance. Despite how wet you were, the stretch was intense. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he worked himself deeper, inch by agonizing inch.

"So. Fucking. Tight," he grunted, gripping your hips to hold you steady as he continued his relentless advance.

By the time he was fully seated inside you, you were trembling, your inner walls fluttering around his massive intrusion. He held still, giving you time to adjust, his thumbs drawing soothing circles on your hipbones.

"You good?" he asked, the concern in his voice belying his rough exterior.

You nodded, unable to form words as you adjusted to the fullness. After a moment, you experimentally clenched around him, drawing a harsh curse from his lips.

"Move," you finally managed. "Need you to move."

Kharn didn't need to be told twice. He withdrew until just the head remained inside, then thrust forward in one smooth motion that had you sliding back on the counter. He caught you, large hands keeping you in place as he established a steady rhythm.

Each thrust pushed you closer to the edge again, his cock hitting spots inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The kitchen filled with the sounds of your coupling, skin slapping against skin, your wet pussy taking his cock, your mingled groans and curses.

"Touch yourself," Kharn commanded, watching your face contort with pleasure. "Wanna see you play with those tits while I fuck you."

You complied eagerly, hands coming up to cup your breasts. You pinched and rolled your nipples between your fingers, the added stimulation making you clench tighter around his thrusting cock.

"Fuck, that's hot," he growled, pace increasing as he watched you pleasure yourself. "Gonna fill these tits with milk someday. Would you like that? Getting knocked up and having these gorgeous tits swell even bigger?"

The dirty talk sent unexpected heat coursing through you. You'd never considered it before, but the image he painted, your belly swollen with his child, breasts heavy with milk, made your pussy clench hard around him.

"You'd look so fucking beautiful," he continued, one hand sliding from your hip to press against your lower belly, right where you could feel his cock pushing against your insides. "Gonna fill you so full right now, might just happen."

His thrusts became more erratic, the telltale sign he was getting close. You could feel another orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure wound deep in your core. You moved one hand from your breast down to your clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.

"Gonna cum again," you warned, voice high and breathless. "Fuck, you're gonna make me cum so hard."

Kharn leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss as he pounded into you. When he pulled back, he moved to your neck, then lower, latching onto one bouncing breast. His teeth grazed your nipple before sucking it hard into his mouth.

The combined sensations pushed you over the edge. Your second orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your pussy clamping down on his cock in rhythmic pulses. You cried out his name, body arching off the counter as pleasure radiated from your core.

Feeling you come undone was all it took to trigger Kharn's own release. With a roar, he slammed deep inside you and held there, cock pulsing as he emptied himself. Rope after rope of hot cum flooded your insides, so much that you could feel it seeping out around where you were joined despite how tightly he filled you.

"Fuck," he panted against your breast, hips still making small, instinctive thrusts as he milked the last of his orgasm. "So fucking good, baby."

You hummed in agreement, too blissed out to form words. Your hands stroked lazily up and down his sweat-slicked back as you both caught your breath.

After a moment, Kharn carefully pulled out, both of you groaning at the sensation. His cum immediately began to leak from your well-used pussy, dripping onto the counter beneath you. The sight made his spent cock twitch with renewed interest.

"Look at that," he said with satisfaction, dragging two fingers through the mess before pushing them back inside you. "Filled you up good, didn't I?"

You moaned as he fingered his cum back into you, sensitive walls fluttering around the intrusion. "You always do," you sighed, then glanced over at the abandoned pancakes and bacon. "What about breakfast though?"

Kharn chuckled, withdrawing his fingers to suck them clean. "Might need to make a fresh batch," he admitted, looking at the now-cold food. "But I think we both already got a taste of what we wanted most."

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down for a tender kiss. "True. Though I am actually starving now."

"Give me five minutes," he promised, helping you down from the counter. Your legs wobbled slightly, making him smirk with male pride.

As you turned toward the bathroom, you slapped his ass playfully. "I'm gonna clean up a bit. Don't burn anything while I'm gone."

Watching you walk away, cum still trickling down your thighs, Kharn felt a surge of possessive satisfaction. The pancakes could wait another five minutes. He had a sudden urge to follow you into the shower and see if he could make you cum a third time before breakfast.

The bacon would keep. And he was suddenly very, very hungry again.

[shiyorin]

Too sweet, must eat

my morden au malewife Kharn x female reader

for my dear friend @shiyorin

just some sweet candy(. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

[shiyorin]

If u want to write a story about a character that’s just you but hotter with a dark twisted backstory and magical powers and a pet falcon or something, I think u should just go ahead and do that. Who’s gonna stop you? The government?? Fuck the police.

[shiyorin]

Thank you @roroco316 for the gift, all is so beautiful and cute ♪⁠ ⁠\⁠(⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠\⁠ ⁠)

[shiyorin]

Slice of life with Rogal Dorn (and Imperial Fists)

It's a sequel to this one. Of course I'm too lazy to write it seriously, but here's basically what happens next if you're curious.

There are a lot of tax mistakes even though I tried to understand them, I don't live in America so I'm not too clear on everything.

If anyone has a way to solve the taxes problem and continue the story, please help me ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ ⁠ᴥ⁠•̥⁠`⁠ʔ

Summary: You and your boys deal with taxes and things go wrong.

The envelope sat on your kitchen counter like a bomb waiting to detonate. The official HOA letterhead glared up at you, its officious tone evident even through the unopened paper. You'd been avoiding it all morning, busying yourself with coffee and scrolling through your phone. But the letter remained, undeniable.

Rogal entered the kitchen, ducking slightly to clear the doorframe despite the modifications he'd made to raise it. "You appear troubled." he stated, his keen eyes noting your tense posture.

You nodded toward the envelope. "Homeowners Association. They're not happy about the 'unauthorized structural modifications' to your property."

Rogal frowned, the expression deepening the already stern lines of his face. He picked up the envelope with his one massive hand, open it. His eyes scanned the document, narrowing slightly with each line.

"This is… bureaucratic harassment." he finally declared, setting the letter down. "These 'covenants' are tactical restrictions designed to weaken defensive capacity."

"They're rules I agreed to when I bought the house." you sighed, taking a long sip of coffee. "We need permits for structural changes, and there are restrictions on height, materials, and aesthetic choices."

"Aesthetic… choices?" Rogal repeated, as if the concept were entirely foreign.

"Yes, Rogal. Not everything is about structural integrity and defensive capabilities." You rubbed your temples. "They're especially upset about the watchtower."

Alexis chose that moment to enter, his massive frame practically filling the doorway. "The observation post is essential for monitoring approach vectors. Removing it would create a blind spot in our security perimeter."

"Tell that to Carol from three doors down." you muttered. "She says it's 'an eyesore that's reducing property values.'"

The three of you stood in silence, contemplating the letter. Outside, the sounds of hammering indicated that Vladimir and Halbrecht were continuing work on their latest project, a reinforced storage shed that looked suspiciously like a bunker.

"What are the consequences for non-compliance?" Rogal finally asked.

"Fines. Legal action. Potentially a lien on my property." Your stomach tightened at the thought. Your savings were already stretched thin supporting five enormous men with appetites to match.

"Then we must comply with these regulations." Rogal decided, though his tone suggested he found the entire concept strategically unsound. "We will obtain these 'permits.'"

You laughed, a short, humorless sound. "It's not that simple. We'd need architectural plans, inspections, approval from the city planning department… not to mention explaining why five enormous men with no identification or legal existence are living here and doing construction."

Rogal processed this, his expression unchanging but something calculating in his eyes. "A tactical challenge, then."

"You could say that."

Sigismund entered, his severe face even more grim than usual. "The neighbors have been observing our activities. The female dwelling in the blue structure has been documenting the observation post with a pict-capture device."

"Mrs. Peterson with her phone." you translated. "Great."

"We should eliminate the surveillance." Sigismund suggested, his hand drifting unconsciously to where his sword would normally hang.

"No!" you snapped, momentarily forgetting your usual quiet demeanor. "Nobody is 'eliminating' anything. These are my neighbors, not enemies."

"The distinction is not always clear." Sigismund replied seriously.

Your phone chirped with a notification. You glanced at it and groaned. "And now I've been summoned to a special HOA meeting to 'discuss the unauthorized modifications to the property’"

Rogal straightened, his head nearly brushing the ceiling despite his modifications. "I will accompany you to this tactical briefing."

"That's really not necessary."

"It is decided." he stated, in a tone that suggested the matter was closed.

******

The community center meeting room fell silent as you entered with Rogal at your side. The folding chairs seemed absurdly small as the giant man surveyed the room with the calculated gaze of a battlefield commander.

Carol Anderson, HOA president and self-appointed neighborhood watchdog, gaped momentarily before recovering her composure. "Ma’am, we didn't expect you to bring… guests."

"This is my… consultant." you said weakly. "Roger… Donald."

Rogal looked at you curiously but didn't contradict the hasty alias.

"Well." Carol continued, shuffling her papers officiously, "we've called this meeting to address the numerous violations occurring at your property. We have photographic evidence of unauthorized construction, including what appears to be some sort of… guard tower?"

Murmurs rippled through the assembled neighbors. You felt your face heating up.

"Observation post." Rogal corrected automatically.

"Excuse me?"

"The proper tactical designation is 'observation post,' not 'guard tower,'" he elaborated, his deep voice resonating through the small room. "It provides elevated surveillance capabilities for early threat detection."

Carol blinked rapidly. "Threats? This is not a military installation."

"I'm aware." you said through gritted teeth. "We'll take it down."

"There's also the matter of the reinforced perimeter fencing, the concrete bunker in your backyard—"

"Storage shed." you interjected.

"—and the extensive modifications to your home's exterior, all without permits or HOA approval."

Rogal leaned forward, his massive frame making the folding chair beneath him creak ominously. "Your defensive protocols are inadequate. The entire neighborhood lacks basic fortification against concentrated assault."

The meeting room fell silent again, neighbors exchanging concerned glances.

"Ma’am." Carol said slowly, "your… consultant seems to be under some misapprehensions about the purpose of our community guidelines."

"He's European." you offered weakly. "They do things differently there."

"Regardless, you have thirty days to remove the unauthorized structures and restore your property to compliance with HOA guidelines, or we'll be forced to begin issuing fines and potentially pursue legal action."

Rogal's face darkened. "This is tactically unsound."

"Nevertheless." Carol continued, ignoring him, "those are the rules you agreed to when you purchased your home."

The drive back was silent, Rogal's massive frame making your sedan look like a clown car. His expression was thunderous, though he said nothing until you pulled into the driveway.

"These administrative restrictions are worse than facing an ork horde." he finally stated.

"I don't know what that means, but I agree it's a nightmare." you sighed, turning off the engine. "And this is just the beginning. The city inspector will be here next week about the property taxes."

"Property… taxes?"

"Yeah, all the 'improvements' you guys have made? They increase the assessed value of my house, which means higher taxes."

Rogal absorbed this with his usual stoicism, though a muscle twitched in his jaw. "We have made you a target for financial warfare."

"That's one way of putting it."

Inside, you found the others gathered around the kitchen table, which Alexis had reinforced to support their combined weight. Sigismund looked up as you entered, his fierce eyes noting your expressions.

"The administrative engagement was unsuccessful." he observed.

"That's putting it mildly." you dropped your purse on the counter and slumped into a chair. "We have to remove everything or face fines we can't afford to pay."

Vladimir frowned. "The defense perimeter is essential for security."

"The watchtower is literally what neighbors see first." you muttered, to no one in particular.

"Perhaps." Sigismund began slowly, "What we require is assistance of a different nature. In the Chapter, when facing insurmountable bureaucratic obstacles, we would sometimes employ the services of… psykers."

The kitchen fell silent. Rogal's expression grew even more severe, if that were possible.

"You suggest warp-craft?" he asked, his tone suggesting deep disapproval.

"I detest the practice as much as any son of Dorn." Sigismund replied stiffly. "But a targeted mental manipulation could resolve our difficulties with these… HOA enforcers."

"What are you guys talking about?" you asked, looking between them in confusion.

Halbrecht, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "Psykers. Those with the ability to manipulate the immaterium, what you might call 'magic.' They could alter the perceptions of your neighbors, make them overlook our fortifications."

"That's not a real thing." you said flatly.

"It is." Vladimir insisted. "Though accessing such powers here may be problematic."

Rogal shook his head firmly. "The warp does not exist in this reality. I have sensed no trace of it since our arrival. No immaterium means no psykers."

"Then how do you explain our presence here?" Sigismund challenged. "We were clearly transported by some warp phenomenon."

"I cannot explain it." Rogal admitted. "But I know what I sense. There is no warp here."

You looked between them, increasingly lost. "What's a warp?"

The five men exchanged glances, a rare moment of uncertainty passing between them.

"It is… difficult to explain." Rogal finally said. "A parallel dimension of psychic energy that underlies reality in our… previous existence."

"Right." you said slowly. "Magic. Got it."

"Not magic." Alexis corrected firmly. "A natural force, like gravity or electromagnetism, but operating on different principles."

You raised your hands in surrender. "Whatever. The point is, we can't use mind control on the HOA, so we need another solution."

"We could eliminate them." Sigismund suggested again, though with less conviction than before.

"Still no." You sighed.

******

The city inspector arrived precisely at 9 AM the following Tuesday, clipboard in hand and an expression of bureaucratic determination on his face. His name tag read "Johnson, Property Assessment."

You met him at the door, having spent the previous evening coaching your houseguests to remain out of sight. Naturally, this lasted approximately thirty seconds into the inspection.

"These additions are quite extensive." Johnson noted, scribbling on his clipboard as he examined the reinforced door frame. "I don't see any permits on file for this work."

"It's just some minor repairs." you tried.

Johnson gave you a look that said he wasn't born yesterday. "Ma'am, your door frame is reinforced with what appears to be aerospace-grade titanium alloy. That's not 'minor repairs.'"

Before you could respond, Rogal emerged from the hallway, his imposing presence immediately filling the entryway. "The reinforcement is necessary for baseline security protocols."

Johnson startled visibly, looking up… and up at the giant before him. "And you are…?"

"He's my contractor." you interjected quickly.

"I'll need to see his license and the permits for this work." Johnson replied, recovering his composure.

"The bureaucratic restrictions in this jurisdiction are tactically unsound." Rogal stated flatly. "In the Imperial—"

"In the Imperial Fists Construction Company." you cut in desperately. "They do things differently. European standards."

Johnson's eyes narrowed. "I'm not familiar with that firm. And regardless of European standards, county building codes still apply."

The inspection deteriorated from there. Despite your best efforts, all five men eventually made appearances, each more disturbing to the inspector than the last. By the time Sigismund emerged from the basement (where he'd been installing what he called a "rudimentary defense bunker"), Johnson was scribbling furiously on his clipboard, his earlier professional demeanor replaced with barely concealed alarm.

"Ma’am." he said as they concluded the inspection, "based on my preliminary assessment, your property improvements have increased your assessed value by approximately sixty percent. You'll be receiving a revised tax statement reflecting these changes."

You felt the blood drain from your face. "Sixty percent?"

"Additionally, I'm obligated to report the unpermitted construction to the county code enforcement office. You can expect to hear from them within ten business days regarding the necessary permits and potential penalties."

After Johnson departed, looking relieved to escape, you collapsed onto your reinforced sofa, head in your hands. The five giants stood or sat around your living room, their expressions varying from Rogal's stoic contemplation to Sigismund's barely suppressed frustration.

"This administrative warfare is dishonorable." Halbrecht declared. "They attack with papers instead of facing us directly."

"That's government for you." You muttered.

"We have made your situation worse." Rogal observed, stating the obvious with his characteristic bluntness.

"I can't afford a sixty percent increase in property taxes." you admitted, the reality of your situation sinking in. "Not to mention fines from the county and the HOA."

The room fell silent, each occupant contemplating the dilemma from their own perspective. It was Vladimir who finally broke the silence.

"We must generate resources." he stated. "Currency."

Alexis nodded slowly. "Agreed. We have consumed your supplies without adequate compensation. This imbalance must be corrected."

"How?" you asked, looking up at them. "You guys don't exist on paper. No Social Security numbers, no IDs, no work permits. You can't exactly walk into a job interview."

"We possess skills." Rogal pointed out. "Construction. Engineering. Strategic planning."

"Great skills." you agreed. "But you need documentation to use them legally."

Sigismund's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Perhaps not. In times of war, informal economies often arise. Services provided without official sanction."

"You're talking about working under the table." you translated. "That's technically illegal."

"As is our very existence here." Halbrecht pointed out reasonably. "We are already operating outside your legal framework simply by being present."

You couldn't argue with that logic. You thought about your mounting financial problems, the increased taxes, the potential fines, the ordinary expenses of housing and feeding five enormous men with metabolisms that defied explanation.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" you finally asked.

"We establish a construction enterprise." Rogal stated, as if it were the most obvious solution. "Unofficial, but effective. We build. We reinforce. We improve. We generate currency."

"A construction company." you said slowly. "Run by five giant men with no legal identity, no contractor's license, and a tendency to build everything like it's going to be under siege."

"Exactly." Rogal confirmed, missing or ignoring your sarcasm.

"That's… actually not the worst idea." you admitted after a moment's thought. "There's always demand for handymen who work cheap, especially for cash jobs."

"We do not require substantial compensation." Alexis added. "Merely enough to offset the administrative warfare being waged against you."

"But we'd need to be subtle." you warned. "No watchtowers. No bunkers. Just normal home repairs and improvements."

"Disguising defensive fortifications as aesthetic improvements is standard protocol in urban warfare." Vladimir noted, as if this were common knowledge.

"And we'd need to keep a low profile with the authorities." you continued, warming to the idea despite yourself. "Small jobs, word of mouth only."

Sigismund nodded approvingly. "Guerrilla economics. Attack the problem indirectly rather than facing bureaucratic forces head-on."

"I still find these restrictions tactically unsound." Rogal stated, his perpetual frown deepening. "A society that prioritizes appearance over function invites weakness."

"Welcome to modern society." you sighed.

******

A few days later, you sat at your kitchen table, now reinforced but still looking like an ordinary table, reviewing a handwritten list of potential clients and jobs. The "Imperial Fists Construction" enterprise, as your houseguests insisted on calling it, was still more concept than reality. The bureaucratic obstacles seemed insurmountable.

"We require business credentials." Rogal stated, looming over the table. "Without documentation, our tactical options remain limited."

"I know." you sighed, looking at the papers spread before you. The increased property tax notice had arrived that morning, the numbers even worse than you'd feared. "But getting documentation for you guys is practically impossible without existing identification."

Alexis entered the kitchen, ducking through the doorway. "The neighbor three dwellings south has requested assistance with a collapsing deck structure. I provided a preliminary assessment."

"Mrs. Abernathy?" you asked. "How does she even know about you guys?"

"Word spreads." Vladimir commented from where he was methodically organizing tools. "Tactical information always finds channels."

You massaged your temples, feeling the beginnings of what had become a familiar headache. "We can't just start taking jobs without any kind of legal structure. We'd be risking fines on top of the taxes and HOA penalties we're already facing."

"Administrative warfare requires administrative countermeasures." Sigismund declared, his severe expression suggesting he found this type of battle more challenging than physical combat.

Halbrecht, who had been quietly examining your laptop, looked up. "There exist entities that provide documentation services. Not entirely within legal parameters, but functional."

You stared at him. "Are you suggesting we get fake IDs?"

"Tactical documentation." he corrected. "For emergency deployment situations."

"That's a whole new level of illegal." you pointed out, though you couldn't help considering it. Your financial situation was becoming desperate.

Rogal studied the tax notice with his characteristic intensity. "The system is designed to prevent outsiders from operating within it. A deliberate exclusionary tactic."

"That's one way of looking at bureaucracy." you muttered.

Outside, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across your increasingly fortified yard. The "observation post" had been partially dismantled following the HOA meeting, but much of their other work remained, reinforced fencing disguised as decorative borders, concrete supports hidden beneath garden features, surveillance systems camouflaged as outdoor lighting.

The five men had been trying, in their own bizarre way, to help. They'd reduced their food consumption, though their massive frames still required substantial calories. They'd begun patrolling the neighborhood at night, identifying potential jobs and clients. They'd even attempted to create rudimentary business cards, though Sigismund's design featuring fist and an eagle motif had seemed a bit too militant for suburban handyman work.

"Perhaps." Rogal began slowly, "a more direct approach is required."

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"We approach this Carol Anderson. Present our case directly. Offer our services in exchange for HOA compliance."

You blinked, surprised by the suggestion. "You want to negotiate with the HOA president?"

"Tactical dialogue." Rogal confirmed. "Identify mutual benefits. Establish parameters for coexistence."

"That's… actually not a bad idea." you admitted. "Though getting HOA to agree to anything might be challenging."

"All fortifications have weak points." Sigismund observed cryptically.

You glanced at the stack of bills, the tax notice, the HOA warning. Your savings were dwindling, your options limited. Five enormous men with impossible skills and no legal existence sat in your kitchen, earnestly trying to solve a problem they had largely created.

It was absurd. Impossible. Yet somehow, you found yourself considering Rogal's suggestion. What did you have to lose?

"Alright." you said finally. "Let's try diplomacy. But if Sigismund suggests 'eliminating' anyone again, we're going back to plan A."

"Which was?" Vladimir asked.

"Panic and hope for a miracle." you replied dryly.

Rogal nodded, "The fortress will stand."

[shiyorin]

my morden au Leman design

[shiyorin]

Okay I’m silly I sent the sanguínus or fulgrim request but then I read your request rules like an idiot, so uh…. Yandere?? Something about being hunted down (lovingly) before never being seen again 🙏🏻🙏🏻 would sell you my organs for either of them

I don't think this is yandere because it feels more like romcom but anyway. Also there is an easter egg here, good luck to whoever finds it I realized that writing yandere, smut, and all that... is such a damn good stress reliever.

#Yandere au. Sanguinius x F!Reader (Reader is Sanguinius' childhood friend ????)

#Don't ask, I just want to cook it.

#Warning: Yandere, dark, a little gore,....

The sands of Baal were unkind. They scoured flesh from bone, polished rock into glassy monuments, and buried the weak beneath dunes. Sanguinius walked among them, wings folded tight against the burning wind, his shadow stretching long and alien across the wastes. The tribes called him angel, but their reverence stank of fear. They knelt as he passed, pressing their faces into the dust, whispering prayers to a being they could not comprehend. All but one.

You moved differently.

You were small where he was vast, dark where he gleamed, your hair braided with shards of obsidian that caught the light like fractured stars. You did not kneel so deeply as the others. Your forehead never quite touched the ground. When the elders chanted hymns to his glory, your lips moved a heartbeat late, your voice a murmur lost beneath the fervor of true believers. He noticed. How could he not? In a world of prostrate forms, your subtle resistance was a flame in the void.

He watched.

At first, it was accidental, a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision as you slipped away from the feast honoring his latest miracle. Later, it became deliberate. He tracked you through the labyrinth of sandstone huts, past the cisterns where women drew water with ropes of braided sinew, to the edge of the settlement where the desert began its endless hunger. You stood there often, arms crossed, staring into the horizon as if waiting for something even the sands could not devour.

Your fear of him was precise. Not the gibbering terror of those who thought him a demon, nor the awestruck paralysis of those who deemed him divine. You feared him as one fears a storm, inevitable, lethal, but natural. It fascinated him. When he approached, you lowered your eyes but not your chin. When he spoke, you answered in syllables sharp enough to draw blood.

"Why do you linger here?"  he asked once, wings mantled to shield you from the sun’s wrath.

"The view, my lord." you said, and said no more.

He learned your rhythms. At dawn, you gathered bitterroot from the fissures where night’s chill still lingered. At midday, you wove baskets from reeds that grew along the salt flats, your fingers dancing in patterns. At dusk, you climbed to the highest ridge and sat with your knees drawn to your chest, watching the sky bleed into darkness. He joined you there, once. You did not flee, but your body coiled like a serpent prepared to strike.

"You grow quickly." you remarked, your gaze on the distant dunes.

"Too quickly?"

You shrugged. "All things here either adapt or die."

He wanted to ask what you saw when you looked at him, angel or aberration, but the words dissolved on his tongue. Instead, he unfurled a wing, just enough to cast a sliver of shade over you. You did not thank him.

The visions came as they always did, in shards of light and screams. He saw you broken on a battlefield that did not yet exist, your throat slit by a blade he would one day wield. He saw you laughing in a garden of roses, your hands stained with nectar. He saw you aging, withering, dying in a bed of threadbare linens while he remained untouched by time.

Eternity, he realized, is a cage.

He began to linger at the edges of your life. When you drew water, he ensured the bucket did not scrape your palms. When you slept, he stands in front of your hut's doo, wings curled against the cold, and listened to the rhythm of your breath. Once, when a sandstorm threatened to peel the flesh from your bones, he carried you to the deepest caves and shielded you with his body until the winds died. You did not tremble. You did not speak. But your eyes, when they met his, held a question he dared not answer.

The tribe whispered. They saw his favor and resented it. Gifts appeared at your threshold, carved bone charms, strings of desert pearls, a cloak lined with the fur of some animals. You left them untouched. When elders pressed you to accept your role as his chosen, you smiled thinly and said nothing.

"You shame us." The elders hissed one night, the words slithering through the hut’s thin walls. "He is a god."

"He is a child." you replied.

Sanguinius, listening in the dark, felt something primal uncoil in his chest.

******

The Angel took you that night.

Not with violence, but with silence. While the tribe slept, he gathered you, sleeping form, parted lips, hands curled into fists even in rest, and carried you into the sky. You woke screaming, your nails carving furrows down his chest. He did not release you.

The desert shrank below you, its horrors reduced to patterns in the sand. You struggled until your strength faded, until your breaths came in ragged sobs, until you pressed your face to his neck and bit down hard. He let you.

When dawn broke, your anger stops, he took you to the highest peak. The air was thin here, the sky a riot of dying stars. You shivered in your thin shift, but refused his cloak.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the horizon where the first ships breached the atmosphere. Fire rained in their wake.

“Our future.” The Angel said.

He cupped your face, his thumb smearing ash across your cheek. “Come with me.”

“To war?”

“To eternity.”

You closed your eyes. As the first ships soared by, he wrapped his wings around you and prayed to a god he did not believe in.

Let you live. Let you hate him. Let you belong to him.

******

The ships came as he knew it would, giants of iron and fire, its hull etched with sigils of eagles and lightning. The strangers called him son, primarch, hope. They offered him stars.

He asked for a single chamber, sealed and windowless, lined with soft things. They obliged.

You raged. You clawed at the walls, at him, at the servants who brought food you refused to eat. You called him tyrant, coward, thief. He absorbed your fury like the desert absorbed blood.

At night, when your screams subsided to whimpers, he slipped into your room and watched you sleep. Sometimes, he brushed the hair from your face. Sometimes, he counted your breaths. Always, he remembered the vision, your body broken, his hands stained, and knew he would raze eternity itself to keep you whole.

You will love me, he told your still form. In time.

The future still haunted him. But now, when he dreamt of chains and blades, he also dreamt of this, your breath against his neck, your weight in his arms, your heartbeat syncing with his.

A different kind of eternity.