#shiyorin's writer

[shiyorin]

#Happy Sanguinala, time to meet the Great Angel

#Chaos Sanguinius x Female Reader

#Yep, four of them

#Warning: NSFW, rape, non-con, Chaos Sanguinius, there is a lot of sensitive content,....

Khorne Sanguinius 

The Great Angel, his once-white wings now stained crimson with the blood of a thousand worlds. His noble features are still beautifully but twisted with rage, eyes glowing red with murderous intent. The Blood God's chosen champion, Khorne Sanguinius leads his Legion on a never-ending crusade of slaughter.

Gone is the compassion that once defined him. In its place, a burning thirst for violence that can never be quenched. His laughter is a terrifying sound that sends even hardened warriors fleeing in terror. 

The Blood Angels, once noble defenders of humanity, are now rabid berserkers. Their gene-seed, already tainted by the Red Thirst, has been twisted further. Now, they fall into a permanent state of uncontrollable bloodlust, barely distinguishable from mindless beasts.

The chamber reeked of blood, sweat and sex, a fitting shrine to Khorne's newest champion. Sanguinius loomed over your petite form, his massive frame dwarfing yours entirely. His once-white wings, now stained crimson, twitched with barely restrained violence as he thrust savagely into your tight heat.

Your body shook with each brutal impact, tears streaming down your face from the intensity. But Sanguinius saw only beauty in your pain. He leaned down, his tongue gently lapping at the salty trails on your cheeks.

"So good." he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "You take me so well, my dearest."

The tenderness of the words contrasted sharply with the relentless pounding of his hips. 

Your only response was a defiant glare, your eyes burning with a mixture of hatred and unwanted arousal. Sanguinius smiled, a touch of arrogance curling his lips. He knew you would never admit it, but your body betrayed you. The way you clenched around his massive cock, the breathless moans you tried so hard to suppress - you wanted this as much as he did.

His tongue trailed lower, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw before finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. You shivered involuntarily, and Sanguinius chuckled gently.

"That's it," he purred. "Let go. Give yourself to me."

He nipped at your earlobe, then began working his way down your neck. His lips and tongue moved with exquisite gentleness, a stark contrast to the brutal pace of his thrusts. It was as if he was trying to soothe away the pain even as he inflicted more.

Sanguinius paused at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. He laved the spot with his tongue, the sensation almost numbing. You tensed, knowing what was coming.

With a growl of pure lust, Sanguinius sank his fangs into your flesh. The coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth, and he roared in ecstasy. His hips jerked erratically as he came, pumping load after load of scalding seed deep into your womb.

The world went white around the edges as pleasure unlike anything he'd ever known coursed through him. It was better than any battle-high, more intoxicating than the sweetest victory. In that moment, Sanguinius understood why chaos held such sway over mortals and Astartes alike.

But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

Even as the aftershocks of his orgasm still rippled through him, Sanguinius felt his cock hardening again. The blessings of Khorne and his Primarch physiology ensured he could go for hours, days even, without respite.

He pulled back slightly, admiring the livid bite mark on your neck. A possessive thrill ran through him at the sight. You were his now, marked and claimed in the most primal way possible.

Sanguinius leaned down, his tongue gently lapping at the wound. He could feel your pulse fluttering beneath his lips, the rush of blood calling to the predator within him. But he held back, content for now to simply taste and savor.

"I can give you more.” he said, your answer didn't matter, he would take what he wanted regardless. 

Sanguinius began to move again, setting a pace that had you gasping and clawing at his back. Your nails dig so deep left bloody furrows in his skin, but he feels no pain, only pleasure. He reveled in it, just as Blood God had taught him to revel in all sensations.

Blood and pleasure, pain and ecstasy, it was all the same in the end.

After all, they had all the time in the world. And he had so much more love to give.

Tzeentch Sanguinius

The Ever-Changing Angel. His once-majestic form shifts constantly, his wings are now covered in dozens of ever-watching eyes. These orbs constantly swivel and blink, granting the angel omniscient awareness of his surroundings. The feathers have become iridescent, shimmering with impossible colors that hurt mortal minds to perceive.

His mind, already sharp, has expanded beyond mortal comprehension. He sees all possible futures simultaneously, playing out grand schemes that span millennia. 

Sanguinius speaks in riddles and prophecies, his words carrying multiple layers of meaning. He delights in manipulating events from afar, setting up elaborate dominoes of fate that topple empires and birth new galaxies.

The Ever-Changing Angel’s wings unfurled and shimmering with impossible colors. Each feather held a lidless eye that gazed hungrily at the little mortal bent before him. Your face burned crimson, turned away in a futile attempt to hide your embarrassment from the Chaos Primarch's all-seeing gaze.

The corrupted Angel of Baal gripped your hips, his enormous hands nearly encircling your waist entirely. He pulled you back onto his monstrous cock, stretching your tight pussy to its absolute limit. You bit your lip to stifle a cry, your body trembling as it struggled to accommodate Sanguinius' inhuman size.

Sanguinius began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. He savored the exquisite friction, reveling in your warmth and the way your inner walls clenched around him. His mind raced with possibilities, a thousand potential futures unfolding before his Warp-touched eyes.

In one, he saw you swollen with his seed, your belly distended as you prepared to birth his heir. In another, your body was remade in his image, wings sprouting from your back as you ascended. Still more visions flickered through his consciousness.

You whimpered softly as Sanguinius picked up the pace, your small frame rocking with the force of his thrusts. You felt utterly overwhelmed, filled to the brim with the Primarch's massive member. Despite your training, you found yourself lost in the maelstrom of sensations assaulting your body.

Sanguinius leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back as he enveloped you with his wings. The feathered appendages caressed your skin, each touch sending jolts of unnatural pleasure coursing through your nerves. The eyes adorning his plumage blinked and shifted, drinking in every detail of your face.

As his orgasm approached, Sanguinius' mind fixated on one particular future - you, your belly swollen with eggs, utterly dependent on him for survival. The image sent a thrill of excitement through him, and he growled low in his throat.

"Perhaps." he purred, his voice a discordant symphony of whispers "we should see how well you lay eggs."

With those words, Sanguinius hilted himself fully inside you, his seed flooding your womb as reality itself bent to his will.

Nurgle Sanguinius

The Plague Father's embrace has transformed the Great Angel. Now Sanguinius' wings drip with putrid ichor, his flesh a canvas of lesions that birth new diseases with every breath.

But in this form, the Angel has found a perverse kind of peace. He spreads Nurgle's "gifts" with the same zeal he once showed in defending the Imperium.

He sees beauty in decay, marveling at the complex ecosystem of bacteria and parasites that call his garden home. He nurtures them lovingly, crooning lullabies as he unleashes them upon unsuspecting worlds.

Pale, fungal flowers exhaled spores that danced in the air like glittering dust. The fallen Angel reclined on a bed of writhing vines, his skin now alabaster and crisscrossed with livid scars. 

Underneath him lay you, your petite form dwarfed by the Primarch's massive bulk. Your belly swelled obscenely, stretched taut with the unholy life growing within. Sanguinius gazed upon you with adoration, misinterpreting your revolted expression as one of tender affection.

"My love," he crooned, voice thick with emotion. "How beautiful you are, heavy with our child."

His massive hand splayed across your distended abdomen, caressing the taut skin with surprising gentleness. Beneath his palm, something twisted and writhed, pushing against its fleshy prison. The angel smiled gently, imagining the perfect being they had created together.

You bit back a whimper of disgust as the fallen Primarch's fingers gently caressed across your skin. You remembered all too well the endless, agonizing hours of their coupling, he rutting into you with tireless stamina, his seed flooding your womb again and again until it finally took root.

Now you were trapped, your body no longer your own as it nurtured the abomination growing inside you. You longed for the sweet release of death, but knew that even that escape was denied you. Nurgle's "gifts" ensured you would endure, no matter how your body and mind might break.

Oblivious to your inner turmoil, Sanguinius continued his tender explorations. His hand drifted higher, cupping one of your swollen breasts. They had grown heavy with milk, preparing to nourish the child you carried. 

"So beautiful” he murmured, kneading the soft flesh. A drop of pearlescent fluid beaded at your nipple, and Sanguinius licked his lips in anticipation. Soon, he would taste the sweet nectar of their love.

Leaning down, he took your nipple into his mouth, suckling gently. The warm milk flooded his mouth, and he groaned in ecstasy. It was sweeter than the finest ambrosia, carrying hints of the love that now coursed through your veins. 

You stared blankly at the canopy of fungal growths above, desperately trying to disconnect from the sensation of his mouth on your breast. You focused on the sweet scent of decay that permeated the air, on the squelching sounds of nameless things moving through the underbrush. Anything to distract from the horror of your situation.

But there was no true escape. As Sanguinius' arousal grew, you felt the massive bulge of his cock pressing against your thigh. You knew what was coming, and a small sob escaped your lips. 

The fallen Primarch misinterpreted your cry as one of desire. With aching tenderness, he positioned himself between your legs, his engorged member throbbing with anticipation. 

"I love you," he whispered as he pushed inside you. 

You bit your lip until you tasted blood, refusing to give voice to your pain as Sanguinius stretched you far beyond your limits. His girth was monstrous, and even after countless couplings, your body struggled to accommodate him.

The angel set a languid pace, savoring every sensation as he made love to his bride. His hands roamed over your body reverently, marveling at how small and delicate you were compared to his massive frame. 

In his twisted mind, this was the ultimate expression of their love. Every thrust brought them closer to the glorious future he envisioned, a family bound by devotion and Nurgle's blessings. Their child would be perfect, a living testament to the power of their union.

The angel gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his broad chest. 

"My love" he murmured, stroking your hair. "Our family will be complete soon."

Slaneesh Sanguinius 

The Prince of Pleasure has molded Sanguinius into its ultimate champion. The pleasure angel is a being of otherworldly beauty and horrific excess. His wings shimmer with impossible colors, each feather a gateway to mind-shattering sensations.

Gone is the noble restraint that once defined him. Now, the angel pursues every fleeting whim and desire to its ultimate conclusion. He leads his Legion on endless crusades, leaving worlds drained of all sensation in their wake.

No longer content with mere blood, now he feast on emotions, memories, and souls, always hungry for new experiences to stave off the gnawing emptiness within.

Sanguinius' voice is a weapon in itself, capable of reducing the strongest-willed beings to quivering addicts with a single whispered promise. He revels in corrupting the pure, seeing how far he can push beings before they break.

The pleasure angel stood before the ornate mirror, admiring his transcendent form. His wings shimmered with impossible hues, each feather a gateway to mind-shattering sensations. The Primarch's perfectly sculpted body was a masterpiece of hedonistic excess, every inch designed to evoke desire.

But perfection was fleeting in the realm of the Prince of Pleasure. There was always a new threshold of beauty to cross, another exquisite sensation to explore. Sanguinius' lips curled into a smile as he contemplated his latest adornments.

With delicate precision, he slid a gleaming golden ring through his left nipple. The cool metal sent shivers of delight coursing through his body. He savored the subtle ache, knowing it would heighten every touch, every caress.

Sanguinius traced his fingers along the intricate patterns inked into his alabaster skin. The tattoos shifted and swirled, hypnotic designs that seemed to move of their own accord. They were a map of pleasure, each line and curve attuned to elicit maximum sensation.

His thoughts turned to you, his only lover, chained to his bed. You were so fierce and independent, now trembled at his merest touch. Sanguinius felt a surge of pride mixed with insatiable hunger. No matter how many times he claimed you, it was never enough.

He recalled the way you writhed beneath him, your small form struggling to accommodate his huge cock. The delicious contrast of your petite body against his towering frame never failed to arouse him. Sanguinius' member swelled at the memory, already aching to be buried in your tight heat once more.

With a thought, he summoned wisps of warp energy to caress his skin. The ethereal tendrils danced along his flesh, leaving trails of tingling pleasure in their wake. Sanguinius groaned, imagining your reaction to this new trick. Would you gasp in awe? Whimper in desperate need? The possibilities were intoxicating.

He selected a vial of shimmering oil, specially crafted to heighten sensitivity. Sanguinius poured a generous amount into his palm, then began to massage it into his chiseled abs and powerful thighs. The oil seemed to sink into his very being, setting every nerve ending aflame with exquisite sensation.

His cock throbbed insistently, demanding attention. Sanguinius wrapped his hand around the massive shaft, stroking languidly. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, and he smeared it over the head, hissing at the intensity of the feeling. He imagined your lips wrapped around him, your throat struggling to take his full length...

With effort, Sanguinius released his grip. No, he would save his release for you. The anticipation would only make it sweeter.

He adorned himself with jewelry crafted from precious metals and soul-stones. Each piece was a work of art, designed to accentuate his godlike physique. Rings glittered on his fingers, and chains draped artfully across his broad chest.

Satisfied with his preparations, Sanguinius turned toward the door that separated him from his lover. His enhanced senses could already detect your rapid heartbeat, the sweet musk of your arousal. You might pretend to resist, might curse his name even as you came undone beneath him. But Sanguinius knew the truth, you were utterly, hopelessly addicted to the pleasures only he could provide.

He pushed open the door, drinking in the sight of you bound and waiting. Today, he would introduce you to new heights of ecstasy. Today, he would make you scream his name loud enough to shake the very foundations of reality.

Sanguinius smiled, a gentle smile about to devour his lover. He loves you and it's never enough.

[shiyorin]

#Horny Ferrus in your area 

#Ferrus Manus x F!Reader

#All is his delulu

#NSFW, Horny Heresy, Delulu, from poipiku...

Ferrus Manus sighed heavily as he facepalmed, the iron-hard plates of his hands making an echoing clang against his brow ridges. Once again, he found himself utterly consumed by the most disgraceful thoughts and impulses.

He cast a sidelong glance at the anatomically precise... accessory he had painstakingly crafted for his own indulgence. It lay before him, a rendered facsimile of your own intimate petals fashioned with the most advanced printing technologies the Imperium could provide. Every crease and fold, each subtlety of texture and suppleness meticulously recreated to serve as the most exquisite self-pleasuring aid imaginable.

Just the sight of it caused his already stiffening arousal to throb with need. He could so vividly envision hilting himself to the root within that snug, yielding embrace. Sheathing his aching length in the sumptuous slick heat, snugly enveloped... savoring every undulating flex and silken ripple as he drove relentlessly into the clinging depths...

A low, ragged growl vibrated from deep within his chest. Slowly, as if drawn by an irresistible current, he reached down to curl one iron fist around his rapidly engorging girth. Just a few rough strokes of his calloused grasp was all it took for him to thicken and harden to his fullest, most excruciatingly swollen state.

Molten lust blazed through his veins as the first pearly droplets welled forth from the cock. His jaw clenched as he finally surrendered to temptation, snatching up the lifelike 'toy' to hover the open, flushed entrance just a hairsbreadth away from his quivering tip.

A harsh sound caught between a grunt and a groan tore from his throat as he began to ease forward, breaching the sleek, dewy lips with his ponderous girth. They parted in a deliciously bloom to accept his invasion with eager welcome, flowery folds stretching taut as satin around his engorged crown.

Bolt after agonizing bolt of electric rapture speared up his spine as inch after delicious inch was slowly engulfed in heavenly, suctioning friction. He could feel every last microscopic detail wringing blissful sensation from him, the sumptuous swirl of rippling texture, the incredible heated clutch fluttering and convulsing with each shallow thrust...

Ferrus braced his stance and gripped the quivering toy with both hands before beginning to hammer forward in a blur of piston-like thrusts. The sharp crack of flesh meeting fake flesh punctuated each slick, squelching impact as he rapidly built up.

A guttural moan split the air as he surrendered to the slipstream of rapture, hips pistoning forward with pile-driver force. The graphic sounds of his own lusty despoilment washed over him in a tide of shameful bliss. Scorching jets of semen forth to slick his throbbing, plunging cock with every fresh vulgar thrust.

But... something was unmistakably, achingly absent. 

For all the craftsmanship, the exacting detail and attention lavished to create this sleek, perfect imitation... it remained merely a lewd copy of the true awaiting him. As skilled as his maker's touch had been in rendering it, the piece ultimately failed to capture that most crucial, most profoundly transcendent aspect he truly craved.

Those lithe, limbs that could coil about his bulk with tantalizing grace, beckoning and beseeching. Your soft hair to tangle his hand within as he hilted himself fully, plunging to the root through the untold bliss of your silken depths. Your serene, flushed countenance shattering with unconstrained rapture as moaning of pleasure rent the air while he claimed you with all the unchecked of his primarch stature.

Even as his own motions grew more frantic and the inexorable crest built within him, Ferrus knew the ultimate rapture eluded him. He imagined your voice in his mind, soft like smoky as you urged him on with cries of enraptured abandon. The idea alone of your surrender, of being the one to undo that imperturbable composure while you came undone beneath him drove him ever closer to the edge.

He arched his back and began to harder his hips with more force. It was so good, so sublime... but it was not enough. Never enough. It could never capture what he truly hungered for. Not mere flesh and texture and sensation... but the soul-rending, and primal ecstasy of truly becoming one.

With a harsh moaning, he finally crested release and felt the scalding flood erupt forth from his core. His hips snapped forward with brutal force, ramming to the root once, twice, three times more as pulse after pulse of hot, thick seed erupted in gushing torrents from his juddering cock.

As the final ebb washed over him, he slumped forward. A deep sound somewhere between a growl and a weary sigh gusted from his lips. His hips offered only shallow, weakening motions as he coasted through the aftershocks. Hot ropes dangled obscenely linking his pulsing erection with the dripping toy.

He glanced down to see his cock still remained at half-mast despite his recent exertions, flushed and heavy with the first smoldering embers of rekindled lust.

A harsh sound caught between a gutting and a groan tore from his throat as he ground one unyielding fist against the aching swell. It would not be long before the fever consumed him once more…

[shiyorin]

Hope I'm not too late for the NSFW request. I just want you to write about Guilliman's yearning, please. Maybe when he gets horny thinking about the reader but can only masturbate. We can't let the primarchs get everything they want anyway ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

#Horny Guilliman in your area.

#Guilliman x F!Reader (Reader is Imperial Agent)

#All is just Guilliman's delulu so yeah, it still fine

#NSFW, Horny Heresy, Delulu, I don't have summary....

Guilliman sighed as he glowered over the latest rounds of logistical reports from the various Administratum functionaries. Honestly, the rank incompetence displayed in some of these projections and inventories was staggering. How in the Emperor's name had the Imperium managed to keep stumbling along for ten millennia with such crippling inefficiency?

But then, he supposed that was precisely why he resurrected, to restore some semblance of organization and purpose to the monumental bureaucracy and martial apparatus that had continued to decay in his absence. The task was utterly hopeless, of course... but he was a Primarch. It was his essence to struggle eternally against the inevitable ruin through sheer force of will.

Sighing, he sat back and ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, trying to massage away the tension knotting his brow. All around him, the echoing grandeur of the Fortress of Hera stood in mute testament to the folly of misplaced ambition writ cosmic in scale. A distillation of humanity's proclivity for turning inward upon itself, for laboring across eons and light-years towards ends that ultimately crumbled into irrelevance and waste.

Perhaps that was why one of the few true sources of light in his world had become the presence of you, the agent. An embodiment of lethal, peerless focus and self-possession... A being seemingly without flaw, ambiguity or irresolution to impair your duties. While everything else surrounding him seemed mired in grandiose failure, yours existed as a bladelike flensing of harsh efficiency amidst the futile sprawl of the Imperium he had reawakened to.

Guilliman shifted in his throne, tugging absently at the collar of his toga as he felt a familiar ache stirring in his loins. Despite himself, his thoughts had turned to the lithe, deadly form of you. Not for the first time, his mind's eye conjured vivid phantasms of your grace, that cool serenity masking a core of coiled menace...

A bead of sweat rolled down his brow as he squeezed his enormous cock. He stroked the heated, veined length slowly, dragging a groan from his lips as need lanced through him. But his calloused palm, slicked with oils, was a pale imitation of what he truly craved.

Your face swam before his mind's eye, delicate features hardened by an ever-present edge of danger, like a beautifully wrought blade. Those full lips slightly parted, smoky eyes heavy-lidded with rapture as you sank to your knees before the throne in supplication.  

"My lord..." You would murmur huskily, reaching out with hands far smaller than his own to grasp his pulsing girth. 

He groaned raggedly, hips jerking of the own accord as he imagined the satin caress of your fingers trailing up and down his throbbing length. Guilliman hungered to see your hands wrapped around his cock's furious girth, dwarfed and engulfed by his sheer immensity.

He stroked harder, revealing the slick, purpled head of his member. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, serving only to ease the passage of his fist along the red-hot steel of his erection. But even that scant wetness taunted him with thoughts of what your mouth would feel like, soft and searing and so perfectly snug around his achingly swollen prick.

A low growl of need rumbled up from his chest as he imagined you kneeling before him and looking up at him through heavy lashes with an expression of molten sensuality. He could see the tip of your tongue peeking out to wet those full lips in blatant invitation, all pretenses of innocence cast aside in the face of pure, ravenous hunger.

"Let me pleasure you, my lord," You would purr, reaching out to run your hands up the flexed columns of his thighs before boldly grasping the base of his member. Your gaze would smolder up at him with heavy-lidded lust as you leaned in close, planting feather-light kisses along his straining length. Your toned arms would likely ache within moments, struggling to contain his bulk, so absurdly outmatched in size yet persisting through sheer determination.

Muscles rippling and bunched with tension, Guilliman rutted into his encircling fist as the torrid fantasy played out in his mind's eye. He could practically hear your soft, panting breaths ghosting over his fevered flesh as you lavished worshipful kisses upon the blunt crown of his cock's head. A long, insistent lick up the underside of his shaft, finishing with a swirl of your devilish tongue into the weeping slit to savor his musky essence...

"Damn...." he growled through gritted teeth, redoubling his strokes and causing obscene, wet sounds to slap through the room. Your face contorted with determination as you finally parted those smoldering lips, your mouth stretching wide to accommodate his outrageous girth. Just the sight of your delicate features utterly overwhelmed by his flared cockhead, lips distended and clinging snugly to his pulsing, vein-wreathed length...

His other hand impacted the armrest of his throne hard enough to crack the stone, knuckles whitening as you began to take him deeper into that heavenly furnace of your mouth. Your breasts would sway enticingly as you bobbed along his slick, turgid length with agonizing slowness. The streaks of glistening spit and pre-cum would escape the corners of your cheeks, dribbling down to coat the flexed root of his cock. He longed to bury his fingers in your silken hair, yanking your head forward until your lush lips met the root of his cock so he might feel your throat convulse around his pistoning girth.

A hitched, guttural moan shuddered through him and Guilliman arched sharply, muscles cording as he worked his dick furiously with hand. Squeezed and stroked the base and main length, attended to the swollen cockhead with quick, frenzied twists and pulls of his thumb and forefinger around the sensitive crown. Slick, audible squelches of effort sounded through the room as his calloused palms glided with desperate urgency over the tumescent steel of his fleshy tower.

He was close, so punishingly close. Every nerve ending in his body screamed for release, demanding the blessed catharsis that only the ultimate climax could provide. He grunted harshly, abdominals clenching as his loins gathered themselves for that final, explosive eruption.

There kneeling before his throne, worshiping every pulsing inch of his cock with your mouth agape and gaze glazed with ecstasy. Your petite form is dwarfed by his bulk yet accepting of his sheer magnitude. Guilliman snarled incoherently as the fantasy reached its zenith, hips snapping forward to jackhammer his cockhead against your lush lips while your tiny hands...

"Nnnnngh ...!" he ground out in rapturous surrender, throwing his head back as the dam finally burst. His entire body went rigid, cords of muscle standing out in sharp relief and backlit by the guttering candlelight. Great plumes of steaming semen lanced from the flared tip of his cock, spattering out in his hand before him in whipping, gouting arcs of creamy seed. Pulse after pulse, driven by shuddering convulsions of his hips and loins until his very essence pooled in sloppy puddles. Only when the final pearlescent spurts dribbled over his fists did the tension gradually start to uncoil from his frame.

Panting harshly with exertion, Guilliman slumped forward, forearms draped over his quivering thighs as the hot, acrid musk of his release filled the chamber. He felt wrung out, hollowed, yet bearing a sense of fleeting peace in the aftermath of such feverish indulgence.

But despite the sweetness of release, pangs of shame were already taking root within him. The thought coiled in his loins like a slithering serpent, rebirthing his smoldering embers of desire into a rekindled flame, one eternally damned to burn even when physically spent.

The thought should disturb him, but it only makes his cock throb harder.

[shiyorin]

#Modern au (with MILF reader)

#Magnus x MILF reader

#Happy meal for my dearest @roroco316

The bustling halls of the Elementary School echoed with the usual cacophony of children's laughter and teachers' admonitions. Amidst this chaos, your striking figure strode through the corridors, your midnight tresses swaying with each determined step. You, a young single mother whose beauty belied the steel in your spine, had been summoned to the school yet again to deal with your daughter's latest misadventure.

As you approached the classroom, muffled sounds of struggle reached your ears. Your brow furrowed, a mixture of exasperation and concern etched across your features. With a deep breath, you pushed open the door, unprepared for the sight that greeted you.

There, in the center of the room, stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with an eye patch, struggling to contain a squirming bundle of energy. It took you a moment to realize that the writhing mass was, in fact, your own daughter. The little girl's pigtails bounced wildly as she thrashed in the man's arms, her face scrunched up in a determined pout.

The man, his one good eye twitching with barely contained frustration, held the child at arm's length as if she were a ticking bomb. His usually impeccable appearance, tailored tweed jacket and neatly pressed slacks, now disheveled from the struggle. A few errant strands of his fiery red hair had escaped the confines of his neat ponytail, adding to his harried look.

"What?" you exclaimed, your voice a mixture of surprise and resignation.

Little girl's head whipped around at the sound of your voice. "I don't want to go to tutoring class!" she wailed, redoubling her efforts to escape.

The man holding her let out a grunt of frustration. "Can you stop!" he demanded, his deep voice tinged with exasperation.

Your eyes narrowed as you took in the scene before you. The man holding your daughter was undeniably handsome, despite the eye patch that covered his left eye. His remaining eye was a startling shade of violet, currently filled with a mixture of annoyance and something else you couldn't quite place.

"Magnus?" you asked, recognition dawning. "What are you doing here?"

The man – Magnus – looked up, his eye widening slightly as he met your gaze. A faint flush crept up his neck "Miss," he breathed, momentarily forgetting the squirming child in his arms.

Your daughter took advantage of his distraction, nearly wriggling free before Magnus tightened his grip once more. "Nice to see you again," he managed, his voice strained as he struggled to maintain his hold on the little girl.

You stepped forward, your arms crossed over your chest. "You still haven't answered my question. What's a Harvard professor doing in an elementary school classroom?"

Magnus cleared his throat, clearly flustered. "I, uh, I've been volunteering here. Tutoring some of the students who need extra help."

You raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Your daughter, sensing an opportunity, renewed her struggles. "I don't need help!" she protested. "I don't want to go to tutoring!"

Magnus sighed, finally setting the girl down but keeping a firm hand on her shoulder to prevent her from bolting. "Young lady," he said, his voice softening, "your test scores suggest otherwise. I was just explaining to your mother that I think some extra tutoring sessions could be very beneficial."

Your eyes narrowed. "And you took it upon yourself to make this decision?"

Magnus had the grace to look sheepish. "I... I thought it would be best to discuss it with you first, of course. I just wanted to present the option."

She stomped her foot, her lower lip jutting out in a fierce pout. "I don't want a nerd for a tutor!" she declared. "And I definitely don't want one for a dad!"

Magnus's face flushed a deep crimson, his eye darting between little girl and you. You felt a twinge of sympathy for the man, despite your irritation at his presumption.

"Young lady," you said, your voice stern. "That's enough. Apologize to Professor Magnus right now."

The little girl crossed her arms, stubbornly refusing to meet anyone's gaze. "Sorry," she muttered, clearly not meaning it.

You sighed "I'm sorry about this, Magnus. She can be... a handful."

Magnus's expression softened as he looked at you, a warmth in his eye that you failed to notice. "It's alright," he said. "She's spirited. That's not a bad thing."

You snorted. "You say that now. Try dealing with her every day."

A small smile tugged at Magnus's lips. "I wouldn't mind," he said softly, then quickly added, "I mean, as her tutor. If you decide that's what you want."

You studied him for a moment, taking in his earnest expression and the way he fidgeted slightly under your gaze. There was something about him that intrigued you, though you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

"Let me think about it," you said finally. "I appreciate the offer, but I need to consider what's best for my daughter."

Magnus nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. "Of course. Take all the time you need."

As you turned to leave, ushering a still-grumbling daughter out of the classroom, you failed to notice the way Magnus's gaze lingered on your retreating form. His eye traced the curve of your back, the sway of your hips, and he let out a soft sigh of longing.

*****

The penthouse door swings open, revealing an opulent interior that makes your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Magnus stands there, a nervous smile playing on his lips as he ushers you inside. Your little girl, still pouting from being forced to attend tutoring, trudges in reluctantly.

"Welcome," Magnus says, his voice carrying a hint of excitement he can't quite suppress. "I hope you'll find the space conducive to learning."

You taking in the sleek modern furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. "Thanks you for helping, your home is beautiful."

Magnus flushes, fumbling with his words. "Oh, well, you know... family money and some wise investments." He clears his throat, gesturing towards a door. "The library's through there. I've set up everything we'll need."

As you enter the library, your little girl's eyes widen at the sight of three plush stuffed animals arranged on the desk - Chikawa, Hachiware, and Usagi. "For me?" she squeals, momentarily forgetting her grudge against tutoring.

Magnus nods, a genuine smile breaking through his nervousness. "I thought they might make our sessions more enjoyable."

Your girl hugs the stuffed Usagi tightly. "I like you!" she declares, before spotting the stack of practice test books beside the animals. Her face falls. "I hate you," she grumbles.

You sigh. "Dear. Remember why we're here."

For the next hour, Magnus attempts to guide your reluctant child through basic math concepts. His expertise in advanced theoretical physics does little to help him explain simple addition to a squirming seven-year-old more interested in making her stuffed animals dance than learning.

You observe from a nearby armchair, alternating between amusement at Magnus's struggles and frustration at your daughter's lack of focus. You can't help but notice the furtive glances Magnus keeps throwing your way, his good eye darting to your face before quickly looking away whenever you catch him.

As the tutoring session drags on, it becomes clear that for all his intelligence, Magnus is a terrible teacher, at least when it comes to children. His explanations are too complex, his patience wearing thin as your little girl's attention span dwindles to nothing.

"Let's take a break," you finally suggest, seeing both Magnus and your daughter on the verge of a meltdown. "Sweetie, why don't you stay here and play with your new friends for a bit? Mommy needs to talk to Professor Magnus."

Your girl nods eagerly, already engrossed in her phone game with Usagi propped up beside her. You lead Magnus out to the living room, closing the library door behind you.

"Well," you say, leaning against the back of a sleek leather sofa, "that was... something."

Magnus runs a hand through his hair, disheveling the neat ponytail. "I'm sorry," he begins, "I thought I was prepared, but-"

"But teaching quantum physics to grad students doesn't exactly translate to basic math for second graders?" you finish for him, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

He nods, shoulders slumping in defeat. "I just wanted to help. Your daughter has so much potential, if only-"

"If only she cared about anything other than becoming a giant yellow bunny?" You sigh. "Yeah, welcome to my world."

As you talk, Magnus can't help but notice what you're wearing - a form-fitting business dress that hugs every curve of your lithe body. The hemline rides up slightly as you lean back, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of toned thigh. He swallows hard, trying to force his gaze back to your face.

You, oblivious to the effect you're having on him, continue talking about your daughter's academic struggles. But Magnus finds himself lost in the way your lips move, the slight furrow of concentration between your brows, the way a stray lock of midnight hair falls across your cheek.

His mind wanders, imagining what it would be like to close the distance between you, to press you against that leather sofa and claim those full lips with his own. His hands itch to explore the curves so tantalizingly displayed by that dress, to peel away the fabric and reveal the smooth skin beneath.

Magnus shifts uncomfortably, acutely aware of the growing tightness in his trousers. He silently thanks whatever deity might be listening that his loose-fitting slacks hide his body's reaction to your proximity.

As you gesticulate, emphasizing a point about your daughter's latest report card, Magnus finds his gaze drawn to the swell of your breasts, the neckline of your dress offering a teasing glimpse of cleavage. He imagines burying his face there, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your perfume mixed with the natural musk of your skin.

His mind conjures vivid fantasies - pushing that dress up around your waist, his hands sliding along silky thighs to discover what lay beneath. Would you wear lace? Something practical? Nothing at all? The possibilities make his mouth go dry.

In his mind's eye, he sees himself lifting you onto the kitchen island, scattering papers and books to the floor as he claims you right there. He imagines the taste of your skin, the sound of your moans as he worships every inch of your body with lips and tongue and teeth.

The fantasy grows more intense - your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails raking down his back as he thrusts into you. The imagined sensation is so vivid he has to stifle a groan, shifting again in a futile attempt to ease the ache in his groin.

"Magnus? Are you even listening to me?"

Your voice cuts through the fog of lust, snapping Magnus back to reality. He blinks, realizing he's been staring at you like a lovesick puppy for who knows how long.

"I'm sorry," he stammers, face flushing crimson. "I was just... thinking about potential teaching strategies."

You stood up from the plush armchair, stretching your lithe body as you made your way towards the library door. Your daughter had been quiet for a while now, and you wanted to check on her progress. As your hand reached for the doorknob, a warm presence materialized behind you, sending a shiver down your spine.

[Tyranid eat this part. Read more in poipiku]

[shiyorin]

Halloween Sandwich 

#Modern au

#Trick or treat with Ferrus and Fulgrim

#NSFW, 3p, noncon, reader is female...

#Happy Halloween with @roroco316

You had been so proud of your Halloween costume idea this year. Nothing too flashy or elaborate - just a classic ghost get-up that you could easily throw together from some old fabric layer. The pale, diaphanous draping perfectly complimented your lithe figure while offering an air of eerie mystery that you thought was deliciously spooky.

At least, that's what you assumed until the first trick-or-treaters showed up. 

An insistent rapping at your front door drew your grinning steps, already clutching at an overflowing basket with all the sugary loot. Surely these kiddies would get a thrill at seeing your haunting visage lurking behind the threshold! Tossing the sheet's tattered hem up to better obscure your face, you creaked the door open with an ominous groan.

"Oooooh, which tiny monsters come calling at my house?"

With a dramatic flourish, you flung aside the covering only to freeze in utter stupefaction. Because the sight that greeted you on the other side was anything but childish innocence.

Framed in the flickering glow of your porch lights stood two towering, impossibly statuesque figures grinning down at you. Both were clad in... well, outfits that could barely be considered proper costumes—leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The first was some sort of bejeweled, leather get-up that looked like it belonged in a particularly porno. Amethyst silken scarves swirling around his chiseled physique scarcely concealed perky nipples and an absolutely thunderous package bisecting his leather thong with obscene definition. His angular features had even been meticulously highlighted with eyeliner and artfully feathered bangs that framed his smoldering gaze with practiced allure.  

And keeping him casual company was a positively rippling monolith of a man, dressed in...strategically wrapped bandages? His array of taut linen strips allowed tantalizing glimpses of sheened musculature and a deeply corrugated pelvis.

"What—?" Your voice came out in a strangled rasp, your diminutive form utterly dwarfed between these men You instinctively clutched your voluminous ghost sheet tight around your frame in self-consciousness, swallowing audibly. "Uh… hey… guys?" 

"Why hellooo there, sexy little ghost," purred the first one, presumably Fulgrim by the voice with a serpentine undulation, his eyes practically smoldering like lava flows. "And just what brings you out haunting the streets on a night like this, hmm?"

They were hitting on you. You went completely rigid, your jaw doing its best impression of a gasping halibut as you processed the situation.

"You… gotta be kidding me...! How old are you two supposed to be exactly? Because I'm certainly not—"

"This old, dear” Fulgrim cooed in a lilting baritone, lifting a single finger to trace the curve of your chin.  

Thankfully, the other man, Ferrus, elected to save his buddy from a well-deserved throat-punting by clearing his throat.

"Ah, don't mind my friend's poor manners, my little lady. The question still stands though..." His gaze lasered between your parted thighs like twin X rays, hefting a plastic pumpkin full of treats. "We've been… very good boys going door to door. So… are we due for some rewards… or does this evening demand a few tricks instead...?"

It took you a few seconds to process his insinuations before you physically recoiled, spine snapping rigid with incredulity.  

"Wha—You... you've gotta be joking right now, you perverts! That's it, I'm not in the mood to deal with demented horndogs on Halloween!"

Your threat was sharply cut off as Fulgrim abruptly stepped in closer, effectively caging you against the doorframe with one palm slammed against the surface. You swallowed thickly at his proximity, the former's musky sandalwood cologne flooding your senses with intoxicating potency as he loomed overhead like an avalanche.

"Now, now...surely my stunning treat isn't asking for any...unpleasantries?" Fulgrim purred, tilting his head. "After all, I simply must insist on having my cake... and eating it too..."

His free hand brazenly snaked through the tattered concealing drape of your costume, fingers nimbly finding and tweaking your cloth-obscured nipple. You jolted with a yelping gasp at the sudden violation, only for Ferrus' tree-trunk-thick arms to wrap around you from behind and pin your flailing against his.

"Easy there, my little lady… ee can do this the easy way..." he growled against the back of your ear, the delicious heat of his breath already leaving you in a dizzy spiral. 

Between their twin enormities compressing against your front and back, your head spun dizzily, fingers scrabbling for any leverage as you thrashed in weak protest. But every struggle only served to grind your vulnerable form against the solid bulwarks of their rippling muscles and swelling codpieces...

With a frustrated mewl, you finally wilted between your captors like a rag doll, eyelids fluttering as you stared up helplessly at Fulgrim's razor-carved jawline and gleaming smirk.

"F-Fine… you giant… freaks..." you rasped in meek capitulation. "I-I'll...give you your stupid Halloween treat this year..."  

Because let's be honest here. Some tricks simply don't require costumes to be properly appreciated…

*****

Tyranid eat this part

*****

Somehow managing a shaky smirk through your dazed panting, you mustered a glare up at them both. Your voice was raspy but defiant.

"F..fuck you..." The words earned matching barks of lewd laughter from them both as they leaned in closer.

"Yeah..." Ferrus grinned. "Fuck me. All night long, little lady…”

[shiyorin]

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

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

#Unnamed Thousand Sons x F!Reader

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

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

You won't wake up soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just wait until you wake up…

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He remember it...

He came back for you.

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

[shiyorin]

Bunny Horus ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Just an ideas I share with @roroco316

And look at that art!!!

Summary: Horus wear bunny suit

TW: NSFW, size difference, dub-con, primarch x reader, reader is female...

You bite your lip to suppress a fit of giggles as you enter Warmaster' private chambers... only to freeze at the sight before you.

The Warmaster himself stands facing the mirror in full regalia, if one could even call it that. A shiny black leather bunny outfit clings to every glorious curve of his primarch physique. The plunging neckline barely contains his heaving pectorals, muscled cleavage all but spilling free.

The corseted waist cincher impossibly tight before fanning out to a ridiculously tiny skirt, putting Horus' tree trunk quads and rippling calves on blatant display. Matching thigh-high boots accentuate the raw power contained in those godly limbs.

And at the back.... Oh by the Throne! Twin globes of Wasmaster' legendary backside bulge from the skintight leather, jiggling in unabashedly profane opulence with each subtle shift of his stance. You swear you see one perfectly sculpted asscheek peeking out from the hem in a delicious tease.

"Forgive me, Lord Horus..." You manage through a haze of semi-hysterical laughter, waving the data-slate still gripped uselessly in your hand. "I merely came to deliver the requested document bundle..."

Your breath catches in your throat as Horus turns to face you fully, making no attempt to hide or be ashamed of his provocative attire. In fact, he appears to revel in the attention, drinking in your gaze and knowing grin. 

Those smoldering eyes smolder with amusement, only further stoking the fluttery heat pooling between your thighs. Because standing before you in all his ludicrous revealing glory, the very last thing you expected to see was the burgeoning swell of Horus' arousal pressing obscenely against the tight leather...

"Like what you see, my dear?" A rich baritone chuckle rolls from the Primarch, all sin and arrogance as he saunters towards you.

You swallows thickly, mouth suddenly dry as bone from the sheer bestial magnetism radiating from the barely-dressed demi-god. Those eyes positively drink in the delicious flush creeping across your features.

"I have to admit, you cut quite the... tempting figure in that little number, my lord." you draw a steadying breath, pushing aside your initial shock. "Though I must know, Why did this happen?"

You let your tongue dart playfully across your full lips, unable to resist milking the primarch's prideful ego.

Horus chuckles again, deep and husky like rolling thunder before a bone-splitting lightning strike. "You wound me, my dear. Could I not simply indulge your... appreciation for the male form from time to time?"

That impossibly wide chest swells with exaggerated bravado, every flex and twitch of those pectorals and shredded abs rippling in tantalizing slow motion.  

"Or I could have lost a bit of a gamble with my brothers over who could stay focused longest while clad in..." his rich voice lowers to a smoky growl, "...distracting attire."

The fires burning in his gaze rake over you in a languorous visual caress that leaves her utterly powerless. Invisible tendrils of Horus' blistering charisma ensnare your mind, entrapping you like a hypnotized prey animal before a voracious predator.

"Now then, where were we, my dear?" 

The bulge at the apex of Horus' thighs grows more pronounced by the moment, swelling more turgidly erect with each heated breath. A shadow of glistening precum stains the taut leather in defiance of decorum.

You know you should leave, you feel the dull plasteel thud of the data-slate slipping through your suddenly leaden fingers as it clatters forgotten to the floor.

"Oh, it seems..." Those hips grind forward, grinding his bestial bulge against the flimsy scrap of skirt. "...You've become rather... flustered by all this, haven't you?"

With a panicked gulp, you avert your gaze, though your eyes keep roving back to the grotesquely large bulge with a mix of primal terror and curious attraction.

"Eep! Erm...you know what, m-my lord? I just remembered I had a... uhh... an appointment to get to! Very urgent. Perhaps we can reconnoiter these briefs, uhh, reports later!" 

You can't mask the slight quaver in your voice as you gather the scattered datasheets with clammy fingers. You scamper for the exit, doing your best not to take one last incredulous gaze at the seismic distension in Horus' pants.

But before you can make your escape, the Warmaster's massive palm clamps down on the back of your neck, pinning you in place as easily as swatting a gnat.

"Not so fast, my dearest one." He pulls you in close, bending down so that his thick, cloying breath, tinged with gunsmoke and crushed pearl, washes over your delicate features.

"I still need to discuss these requisitions. In detail..." A bead of sweat rolls down Horus' chiseled jawline. "Unless you think you can distract me some other way?"

All of your poise and self-confidence melts away in that stare. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly very dry as you look up at the ultimate representation of male carnality looming over you.

"I...I didn't mean...that is to say, I would never..."

He drags his free palm slowly, purposefully down your waist, coming to rest on the sinuous curve of your pert backside. You squirms helplessly in his steely grasp.

"So why don't you be a good little one?" Horus murmurs, simultaneously dangerous and seductive. "And show some proper respect to your lord Primarch...?"

The hand on your rump squeezes possessively as he pulls you flush against the still-swelling latex bulge, leaving zero doubt of his intentions.

Your usually cool composure finally cracks like fragile porcelain. Your lips part, frantic breaths sawing in and out while pupils blow wide with panic, shock... and undeniable want.

Warmaster hauls you up by the hips, not even needing to support your negligible weight in his arms. With a shrug, he sends the scattered reports and data-slates scattering every which way. Then Horus turns and marches you towards the nearest wall, simultaneously prying you firm thighs apart against your feeble struggles.

As you are effortlessly pinned and stripped in one fluid motion, the Warmaster smiles.

"Logistics can wait, I have far more pressing matters to attend to right now..."

His words trail off into a rumbling chuckle as the first guttural cries of strained ecstasy begin echoing through the palatial chamber.

With a groan, Horus reaches down to unzip the pant, finally freeing his monstrously engorged cock.

The primarch's member, impossibly thick and veiny, springs forth with a heavy thump against your abdomen. Pre-cum already beads along the bulging ridge, leaving sticky trails across your trembling belly.  

"Time to inspect me more... thoroughly." Horus' voice is a guttural growl of pure carnal hunger.

Your eyes go round as saucers watching that gigantic erection sway mere inches from your exposed pussy. 

With one brawny hand splayed across your chest, the Warmaster pins you in place while guiding the bloated cockhead towards your slick entrance. The first few inches spear inwards with obscene ease, molten hot flesh stretching around his girth.

But soon your tight velvet walls clamp down, resisting the intrusion. A strangled whimper escapes your lips as inch after agonizing inch of primarch cock is crammed into your helpless body.

Eyes screwed shut with the overwhelming burn, you feel hot tears streak down your flushed cheeks. Horus merely chuckles before dipping his head to swipe a wet tongue over the salty beads.

"Do not fear, my dearest. Once this goes through, the torment will pass..."

By now over two thirds of his towering erection is stuffed inside your pussy, glistening and distending your belly with its bulbous outline. 

Your fingers dig helplessly at Horus' giant shoulders, seeking an anchor against the ruthlessly spreading pressure. Each ragged breath is a high keening whine, choked off by the relentless stuffing of your violated cunt.

"Don't fight it..." The Warmaster smirks as he licks another tear from the corner of your eye. "Just let it all the way into your core." 

With that, he rams his hips forward in a relentless pushing grind. Your body is lifted, mouth contorted in a perfect O of mixed agony and indescribable rapture as the final inches breach your entrance with a wet squelch.

You bucks and writhes feebly, inside completely full of primarch cock. But instead of soothing euphoria, fresh gales of tear-streaked groaning pour from your grimacing features. Once again Horus leans in to tenderly catch the salty beads on his tongue.

"Shhhhh, my sweet little one. I promise you will love that..."

Sure enough, as the primarch's hips begin languidly grinding and sawing, the pain seems to gradually give way to hazy shocks of pleasure spiking through your core. Your wails become muffled pants and mewls of depravity. Your eyes flutter back open to glare furiously up at the immense warrior defiling you so ruthlessly.

"F-fuck you, asshol--OOOHHH..." All pretenses at anger or resistance collapse as another deep thrust buries that unholy slab of mutra-genic flesh impossibly deeper.  

Your muscles go taught, fruitlessly trying to clench down on the monolith reaming you inside to a ruin. But your cunt simply stretches around its colossal invader, forced to conform and accommodate Horus' lewd rearrangement of your very anatomy.

For his part, the Warmaster merely laughs indulgently at your impotent rage, continuing to grind, twist and churn his oversized prick through every exquisitely tight inch of pussy. A satisfied grin splits his features as you writhe and moans in ecstatic torment beneath his bulk.

"There there, my little one... no need for such rancor." He leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. "

In a sudden, spiteful motion, you lurches upwards to sink your teeth deep into the Warmaster's pectoral muscle. Horus doesn't even flinch, letting you chomp and slobber before reaching down to playfully pat your head.

"Yes, yes...vent all the frustration you want, my dearest. Bite me, claw me, scream and curse..." His grin widens as the broad shaft crammed to the hilt inside your throbbing pussy begins to swell further in preparation for eruption. 

With force, the first boiling ropes of primarch seed erupt from the slit of his bloated cock-head deep within your cunt. Your entire body convulses as if struck by lightning as the thick, viscous emissions surge through your straining. A hoarse wailing cry is ripped from your throat.

Horus merely grunts with deep fulfillment, savoring your exquisite anguish while continuing to grind and churn his erupting tower of flesh through the spasming pussy. More and more demigod seed geysers forth, flooding your womb with its genetics. 

You writhe in frantic, overwhelmed release, legs kicking wildly as your body arches into an impossibly contorted bow. Drool and screams pour from you in equal measure while you're pumped with what feels like gallons of searing cum... and still the primarch's shaft keeps unloading its seemingly infinite payload.

At last the torrent begins to subside, leaving you a ruined, cum-drenched mess. Horus finally releases your limp, gasping body with a satisfied grunt, allowing it to flop loosely amidst the sodden cushions.

Leaning down, he places a series of surprisingly tender kisses against your forehead and cheeks. His lips brush your ear where a husky whisper rumbles out.

"Well done, my dearest. You did very well..."

Your empty eyes roll back in their sockets as one last pitiful groan wheezes from your throat, too drained to respond.  But there's no rest or respite to be had as you feel that rippling primarch shaft, somehow still granite hard, stretching your insides once more.

"D-did you really think...a single would be sufficient to sate my needs?" The Warmaster's teeth flash in a grin as he hooks his gargantuan arms beneath your knees to tilt your pelvis upwards.  His hips begin slamming with savage force once more, burying inch after inch deep within you.

He pauses for emphasis, smirking down at the limp form now bouncing helplessly from his ruthless drilling.

"My dearest, do you know that bunnies are always in heat?"

Those final words seem to jolt a spark of clarity back into your vacant eyes. They dilate to panic as your lips shape around a hoarse syllable of disbelieving protest.  But Horus swiftly leans over to seal your mouth in a deep kiss, thrusting his tongue past your gasping shock just as he continues spearing that immense impossibly deeper into your womb.

All you can muster is a defeated, bubbling moan into the sloppy lip-lock as you resign yourself to this fresh onslaught of primarch rutting.

[shiyorin]

#When you play dumb or your primarchs are just *ahem* horny :v

#I don't know what I wrote. I just do as requested :v

#Roll the dice and it said this time's menu is: Horus Lupercal and Roboute Guilliman.

#This is request from my dearest heretic anon.

#Primarchs x Reader, Reader is Imperial Agent. Malcador is proud of you (is he?)

#A little NSFW.

Horus Lupercal

You sighed listlessly as you wandered the ship, seeking diversion in your boredom. A familiar presence drew you eye, and you spied Horus upon a balcony overlooking the training cages below.

The training cages were alive with activity as Horus observed his Astartes sharpening their skills in mock combat. Though focused on their form, his thoughts drifted elsewhere, preparations for the coming Crusade weighed heavy. He gazed down from the viewing platform, assessing their progress, when soft footsteps alerted him to another's presence.

Horus appeared lost in thought, no doubt pondering weighty matters of strategy and conquest. You crept stealthily across the chamber, the feet making nary a sound upon the plush rugs. Coming up behind the Warmaster unnoticed was no mean feat, but your skills remained as sharp as the blade at your hip.

Finally within reach, you drew a deep breath and exhaled softly upon Horus's neck. A sudden warmth ghosted his ear, followed by a sultry whisper caressed his ear. "Boo..."

He whirled with a start to find your smiling face mere inches from his own, eyes dancing with mischief. Before you could retreat, Horus flashed into action, seizing your arm in an unbreakable grip.

With a grunt he hoisted your form against his chest, pinning your effortlessly as your legs kicked in vain. "Little one." he chuckled, though tension still lingered at the corners of his eyes. "One of these days you will be the death of mine, I fear."

Your eyes dancing with mirth. You laughed breathlessly. "You are no fun, my Warmaster."

"It seems you don't consider me worthy of respect, little one," he sighed, effortlessly maintaining your struggling form. "Sneaking up on your Warmaster, bold, but foolish."

You squirmed halfheartedly, delighting in the feel of his powerful physique caging you in. "And what would the great Warmaster do to earn it, I wonder?"

A gleam entered his eyes, dark promise in every contour of his sculpted features. "Oh, I can think of a few...persuasive methods."

Below, the Astartes fought on, oblivious to the true battle raging within their midst. Horus took his captive agent and you were limp and sated in his arms, marking you thoroughly as his. Only then did he release your, satisfied your pride had been tamed.

Horus smiled down at the dazed your in his arms. "Convinced, my dear?" He purred, nuzzling your satiated cheek. You could only sigh dreamily in reply. It seemed doubts of his prowess were well and truly laid to rest...

Roboute Guilliman

Guilliman reclined upon crisp sheets, body aching from battles past. His scowls only deepened your frown, but still you droned on, casualty reports, supply requisitions, missives from a thousand worlds.

"Do you hear me, my lord?" you pressed, quill scratching relentlessly. He sighed, weary unto his soul.

"Do you think I want to hear what you have to say, agent? I am wounded and wish only silence." His tone brooked no argument, yet still you persisted like the plague.

"You are the Primarch," you said, eyes aglow with righteous fervor. "You must overcome such things for the billions of people of the Imperium. Their hopes and dreams rest upon your shoulders."

Guilliman scrubbed a hand down his face. "I am Primarch, not invincible. Must I sacrifice even my healing for duty's never-ending demands?"

Your look softened, but still you would not yield. "That is not something you can decide, my lord. As were mine." 

The Primarch knew well you spoke truth, bitter though it was. With a grunt he waved your on, closing his eyes against the rising tide of reports.

Guilliman continued to sigh, weariness seeping into his bones. Your report droned on, an endless litany of numbers and names. His mind drifted as you spoke, seeking escape however brief. Your voice took on a new texture in his imagination, breathy sighs and wanton gasps replacing dour droning.

One hand tangled in your locks, tugging your mouth to his in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. The other grasped that ass, fingers dimpling soft flesh as he thrust up to meet each bounce with abandon as reports fluttered forgotten to the floor. And you will chant his name like a prayer, a litany more rousing than any duty....

By the Throne, was he some green boy still in need of release? Shame warred with lingering heat, desire too long denied by duty's demands. He yearn for soft curves yielding beneath his palms, the taste of your skin, your cries of rapture as he took what was his by right.

You'd whimper and writhe, begging wordlessly for what they both craved. At the first penetration your walls would clutch him like a vice, pulling him deeper, deeper into scalding flesh made solely for his pleasure. He'd pound into your without mercy, relishing each gasp and moan, each slap of flesh on flesh. Only when he'd spent himself fully within your willing sheath would he grant surcease, collapsing in a sweat-soaked tangle of limbs.

By the Throne, how he longed to make that vision reality...

Guilliman blinked, flushing at the path his mind had wandered. But you remained oblivious, quill scratching as reports spilled forth. Little did you know the effect you had, and the fantasies your voice inspired in your lord's lonely chamber...

[shiyorin]

Omake 1

Just some ideas me and @roroco316 have. And please look at this art, so beautiful, so horny, so Aiwbfskakwoodjdd.

Read full on poipiku

#Malewife Kharn

#Kharn x F!Reader. Modern au

#Aftercare

By the time your senses fully rebooted, the first sensation to filter through your consciousness was the blissful heat of steaming bathwater enveloping your limp form. 

Cracking one eye open revealed the hazy, moisture-beaded walls of washroom enclosure surrounding them, along with the solidifying recollection that you and him both staggered in here in an unceremonious heap immediately following the feverish.

Sluggishly reassessing your positioning, you next became aware of the muscular contours of Kharn's torso pressed snugly against the back of your head and shoulders. His thickly-corded arms encircled your midsection from behind in a secure brace as the rest of his hulking physique provided a sturdy backrest from below the bathwater's surface.

To further accentuate intimate entanglement, Kharn's knees were splayed wide in an open on either side of your slender hips, allowing you to slump fully into the protective cradle of his lap. You luxuriated there for an indeterminate spell, simply basking shared warmth and skin-on-skin contact while the residual tingles of euphoria ebbed from your battered form.

At some point though, one of his calloused palms sluiced up from where it had been idly stroking the sumptuous swell of your breast. Those broad fingertips trailed down your waist, dipping below the muddied waters to insistently probe and spread the swollen petals of your womanhood.

You inhaled sharply at the uninvited stimulation, cheek instinctually tipping back to rest against Kharn's collarbone as his fingers plumbed the saturated depths of your pussy. You could already sense the bloated reservoir of their recently spent seed slowly draining out and dissipating in tendrilled streams amid the bathwater churned by your wiggling hips.

But rather than politely withdrawing once his intended cleaning objective was complete, those invading digits only seemed further emboldened in your sluicing tunnel. Kharn's forefinger effortlessly hooked inside your sensitive channel to continue probing and scouring, his palm grinding purposefully against the swollen nub of your clit.

"Nnhh...K-Kharn..." Your low moan quickly blossomed into a tremulous whine as your hips unconsciously squirmed against his insistent touch, legs splaying wide to better accommodate the intrusion. 

Between the hot caress of the bathwater and Kharn's massage of your over-sensitized nethers, it didn't take much more exertion before another molten coil of tension began winding in the pit of your stomach.

You bit down on your lower lip in an ineffectual bid to muffle the wanton sounds now spilling past, body jerking and writhing against the rigid bulwark of Kharn's torso. The obscenely lewd squelches and sluices of their coupling added an even more lascivious percussion to the steamy bathroom enclosure as his calloused digits pummeled relentlessly at your puffy lower lips.

When your thunderous orgasm finally crested that evening, you were essentially delirious with overstimulation, back arched in a punishing bow away from Kharn's chiseled abdomen as your internal walls fluttered and convulsed. A strained mewl escaped your parted lips as the white-hot rapture detonated through every nerve ending, scattering any coherent thoughts like sparks on an open wind.

At some point during your insensate delirium, you became vaguely aware of something warm and unyielding catching between your teeth. Glancing down confirmed you'd unconsciously sunk your teeth into the dense, scarred musculature of Kharn's impressive arm, but the man himself didn't seem bothered at all by the involuntary gnawing.

Those eyes simply bored into you with obvious relish as you slowly regained lucidity, lips quirking in that familiar cocksure smirk.

"Someone sure has one hell of an appetite this evening..." He rumbled in obvious amusement once their gazes locked again. "Even after all that, you still seem to be panting for more like a starving pup, dear."

You managed to summon just enough energy to rasp out a few breathless words.

"You... mmmnh... idiot. Neither of us have even had dinner yet..."

There was a momentary pause before Kharn's gravelly chuckle reverberated through his entire frame, jostling you loose against those cabled sinews.

"Hmph. True enough..." One of his hands scooped up to palm the underside of your jaw, tilting your face towards his with blatant possession. "So... does that mean you're still hungry for a little late-night snack, dear?"

You could only manage the faintest roll of your eyes before Kharn's mouth descended over your again in ravenous fervor, swallowing any further cheeky retorts you might have marshaled...

[shiyorin]

Do Dreadnoughts dream of taking a bath?

#Inspired by PowerWash x Warhammer 40K and Roco.

#I love Dreadnought.

"Do Dreadnoughts dream?"

That is a question with no certain answer. On one hand, a Dreadnought is more machine than man, neural implants fuse mind to machine in ways bizarre to comprehend. Their armored carapace shelters only remnants of flesh, sustained through bionic might alone. By all rights, their cerebral cortex should have decayed long ago.

By such logic, one could argue conscious thought ends where flesh yields to steel. Sleep and its dreamscapes are biological realities, are they not? With only trace humanity remaining, why expect mental functions of slumber? But integrated into their armored shells are enough enhanced organs and neural implants to sustain bioniorganic functions far beyond mere biological viability. Isn't the nature of dream itself stems from biological instincts overwritten.

The pain was a dull ache, easily ignored after centuries entombed. But a new irritation assailed him now, crawling itches across flesh long denied sensation. Confusion, this body felt change, though it had lain inert as worlds turned. Deeper still came the oppression, lungs seizing as if drowning once more in bloody. 

What trickery was this? Diagnostics reported stasis, all systems firing true. Yet the discomforts grew, phlegmy coughs racking the half-machine beast. Panic swelled, animal instincts long dormant rising within the eternal tomb. Then light, piercing the darkness behind closing lids. Sweet air rushed into ruined lungs, this labor easing at last. 

His eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar realm. No armored bulk rose before him but limbs scoured by shrapnel and burned by virus-bombs. His original form, given once more against all reason, a gift or curse, he knew not. Unfettered he stood, wounds healed to bare scars across taut flesh. This was a dream, or something. 

An uncertainty gripped him. What madness was this? To be returned to old flesh but feel no urge to battle, no call to crusade? A different impulse arose, foreign but ingrained, cleansing ritual performed eons past in youth. He walked uncertain, waters calling him to rites unseen by any in aeons untold. 

Ribs still bore flecks of ceramite and plasteel patched within living shell. He paused before the waters, studying form that had known only warfare. Scars told their own tales, each etched upon memories kept alive through aeons in stasis. With care he entered in that, waters lapping old wounds as if in benediction. 

There he lingered, letting cares and pains wash freely away. Muscles long locked in adamantium relaxed, tension fleeing in steam rising. For the first time in memory untold, no demands of duty or flesh assailed him. A feeling swelled within him, emotion locked beyond reach of mortal sensation. Peace, serenity swept over ancient minds as waters sloughed away cares of ages...

Pain pulsed through his battered form as consciousness returned. The fleeting peace of dreams melted away, centuries of enforced half-life onboard the Dreadnought crashing back upon ancient shoulders. Systems booted sluggishly, sensors recalibrating after solaris of monotony disturbed. 

A hum escaped grille as servos whirred back to their duties securing crumpled flesh deeper than mortal sight could pierce. Outside clangs and grinding announced the diligent ministrations of tech-priests ensuring their perpetual charge clung yet to shadow of function. One voice carried clearly through armored carapace:

"Vitals stabilize in sector C-12 Magos. Neural links firing within tolerances." The Tech-priest's voice rang through microphones.

"Understood. Continue maintenance protocols and monitor for anomalies. This relic has served faithfully many centuries. Pray for the Omnissiah." The Magos's bionics buzzed in compliance. They ensured history marched on, whatever hulls preserved that march.

With effort, aged vox-grille creaked open. "Brother, I was dreaming." Static laced speech imparted by cobbled augmetics mere palliates for ravaged throat too ruined for basic sounds. The Techmarine's etheric sensors detected words nonetheless.

A static pause preceded Techmarine's reply. "Dreaming? Impossible, your neural engrams show only baseline activity."

Mirthless chuckle issued from loudspeakers. "Impossible, yes, But I dream... I'm taking a bath." 

Silence answered as Techmarine puzzled over the incomprehensible scene. "The priests scrub your plating clean as monthly rite. Perhaps some synapse misfired."

Silence reigned for moments uncounted as ritual continued outside. Then, a final whisper from within. "Indeed. A... nice dream." 

With that, consciousness fell back into lowest-level rest as painkillers suffused systems. The Techmarine watched monitors return to quiescent patterns, then signaled to close the Dreadnought once more. Its machine spirit's notions were beyond his. The armored tomb closed, and darkness reigned once more.

[shiyorin]

I was quite surprised when someone sent me a warhammer request on marshmallow, but here we go.

#Modern au. You are a designer who oftens works from home.

#Just a normal morning with primarchs

#Menu: Imperial Secundus

#I promise it only has romcom

Lion El’Jonson

Lion's eyes fluttered open. The alarm blared, jarring him from a dreamless sleep. He groggily fumbled along the nightstand, groping in vain until his palm struck the clock itself, knocking it to the floor. Finally, blessed silence.

He rolled over with a grunt, hugging the blanket tighter and started to drift back under. But a relentless pounding on his door shattered the tranquil haze.

"Lion!! Wake up!! You told me to wake you up early today!" came your insistent voice from the door.

Ugh, did he say that? Of course, he must have, you never would have disturbed his rest otherwise. Lion pulled the covers over his head, letting out a petulant growl. He'd finally gotten some leave time, intended to sleep it away after months of grueling deployments. But apparently obligation called once more.

There was an important PR ceremony today, some ribbons and handshakes to help soothe the civvie politicians. A necessary, but not how he wished to spend his brief repose. For a treacherous moment, the stubborn soldier considered ignoring your wake-up call.

But no. You would only escalate your reminders, and he cringed at the thought of what inventive method you might employ next time. Best to acquiesce... for now.

Lion threw off the sheets with a resigned sigh and swung his feet to the floor. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he padded into the bathroom, glaring at the haggard reflection in the mirror. His beard had grown considerably during his absence, an unruly rug framing the sharp angles of his jaw and cheeks.

He grabbed his trimmer and set to taming the wilderness, meticulously shaping it back into a crisp military cut. Freshly groomed, he tugs on the crisp dress uniform laid out the prior evening. Drab olive tones that do nothing for tired but befit the solemn occasion.

One last lingering look in the mirror confirms his stone-faced professionalism. No one would ever suspect the churning sea of doubts and regrets that dwell behind those cold eyes.

With a resigned sigh, he steps out into the living room. Immediately he's greeted by an unexpectedly enticing sight, you lounging on the sofa in minimal loungewear.

You were sprawled on one end of the sofa, some oversize tee and cotton shorts clinging to your languid form. A tablet danced in your delicate fingers, your face a mask of fierce concentration for whatever design you worked on. Lion couldn't help his treacherous eyes from tracing your curves, taking in expanse of naked legs on a sumptuous display.

On impulse, he crept closer behind your perch, locking onto that elegant neck arching so invitingly. He bent low, baring his teeth ever so slightly as a humid breath rolled across your flesh...

"What are you doing?!" 

You flinched bodily, whipping around with wide eyes. Lion recoiled slightly, caught like a schoolboy playing mischief. But your shocked expression melted into an exasperated look as he feigned innocence with lofty indifference.

"Nothing."

Lion cleared his throat.

"You know, you could go outside once in a while. A little sun might be beneficial."

You shot him an icy scowl over the edge of your screen before shrugging elaborately. "I get plenty of Vitamin D, thank you."

He snorted inwardly at the subtle double entendre. Of course you did. Drawing near with an exaggerated sigh, Lion jerked his chin down in clear expectation. You dutifully rose without comment and began smartly knotting his tie, making a few last tidy adjustments before stepping back to appraise your work.

Your bright eyes raked over his crisply-attired form, sparkling with unreadable thoughts before giving a slight nod of approval. "Very handsome. I'm sure they will like it."

"If only..." Lion muttered "I'll be counting the hours until I get cut loose from these."

His gaze subconsciously drifted to the framed awards and photos lining the shelves, stark reminders of his true calling, a life of struggle and valor amidst the echoing guns. And here, he felt like a caged beast, bored, aimless and shackled.

"Speaking of eating..." He turned back to you "What say we go out for a nice steak dinner tonight? I should be done with this whole circus by mid afternoon."

You cocked one shapely eyebrow, unmistakably intrigued. "A prime rib does sound tempting... and you're paying of course?"

"Better than tofu and kale, right?" Lion's eyes crinkled at the corners, indulging his rare playful side. "We could even get a nice bottle of Cabernet to go with it." 

You said with a smirk "Wait... Is this a date, sir?"

A delicate flush colored his cheeks for just a moment as he turned away dismissively. "Well, I'd say it's just dinner."

You chuckled "Alright sir, it's time to go.."

He shot you an incredulous look as you give him a wink.

"As if you're one to lecture anyone on getting out more..." He muttered under his breath once the door clicked shut.

But a smile played across his lips as he grabbed his keys and cover, already counting down the hours himself.

Sanguinius

Sanguinius slowly peels open his eyes as the first rays of dawn filter through the bedroom window.

Despite being a morning person in theory, his body protests at the early hour, muscles tight and eyelids heavy from a restless sleep. He drags himself out of the tangled sheets, padding wearily to the bathroom.

The hot shower does little to shake the lingering weariness. It clings to him like cobwebs as he towels off and slips into a plush silk robe, a small indulgence. He catches a glimpse of himself in the foggy mirror, pausing for a beat. His chiseled features and athletic physique betray no hint of the pain that gnaws at his insides lately.

Pushing those nagging thoughts aside for now, Sanguinius drifts out to the kitchen. He uncorks a deep Cabernet Sauvignon decanter to pour himself a generous glassful. Not exactly the most typical breakfast beverage, but he's long past caring about societal conventions.

When he turns to join you at the dinette table, he's greeted by the sight of his disheveled roommate cradle-hugging a steaming coffee mug. You're barely awake yourself, straggles of hair framing your bleary eyes. Despite your almost comical morning disarray, you're still the most gorgeous thing Sanguinius has ever seen.

Instinctively he opens his arms for an embrace, a silent good morning routine. You merely stare at him through slitted lids before downing the last of your coffee. Then, with neither word nor warning, you thrust the empty cup into his hands and turn to go.

Sanguinius is left bemused for only a heartbeat before chuckling softly. He rinses the mug out, refilling it with the last of the coffee and offering the fresh cup which you accept with a grateful nod. You vanish into the living room, curled up on the sofa mere moments later. Your bright LED monitor casts a blue glow across those striking, angular features, already immersed in rendering textures for another character model no doubt.

Padding over, Sanguinius gingerly retrieves his portfolio from beside the armchair. He sinks back into the plush cushions, leafing through page after page of Renaissance and Baroque masterpieces. Yet he can't seem to focus on the brushwork or chiaroscuro artistry today.

He finds his gaze drifting from the pages time and again, stealing glances at the beauty, studying the delicate shape of your lips, the color of your eyes, the effortless fluidity with which your graceful fingers fly across the keyboard.

"Don't stare at your phone and eat at the same time," He chides warmly as you start scrolling through work emails with one hand. "You'll choke."

"Fair point, from the man sipping wine at 7 AM."

You arches one shapely eyebrow but doesn't deign to reply further. Sanguinius drains his own goblet and rises to clean up. He takes his time, puttering about the loft tidying this and straightening that, all while keeping you in his sights through stolen glimpses.

Once finished with his little chores, he finds himself drifting over to your place without even thinking about it. You don't seem to notice or mind as he leans over the back of the sofa, studying your latest creation in-progress.

"Impressive," Sanguinius murmurs, genuinely awestruck by the master-level craftsmanship. "Truly remarkable."

You pause for a beat, gracing him with the faintest of smiles before turning back to the grindstone, lost in your creative zone once again. He remains looming over you for a long moment, close enough to catch the faint scent of your hair's jasmine essence and feel the soft warmth of your body heat.

Then, finally, Sanguinius straightens up with a heavy, wistful sigh. He pads across to collect his folio and jacket from the armchair.

"Well then, I should get going. I've got a gallery walk-through this afternoon for the new exhibition."

On impulse he leans down, throwing his arms around your shoulders to pull you into a tight embrace from behind. You stiffens for the briefest heartbeat before your body seems to melt and settle into him. He nuzzles his nose into your fragrant tresses for one fleeting, delicious breath.

"I'll see you this evening."

*****

Sanguinius sighs heavily, doing his best to focus on the massive abstract canvases arrayed before him. But despite the confrontational slashes of color and impassioned brush strokes, his mind keeps wandering.

Wandering to thoughts of your legs and hair as wild and as unkempt as the paintings themselves. To the smirking cupid's bow of full lips perpetually pursed in sardonic amusement at his romanticized notions.

A shiver runs down Sanguinius' spine as he recalls their very first encounter in vivid detail...

Perhaps today he might finally dare to put brush to canvas, crafting the masterpiece that's been swirling in his mind for months now. 

It may very well be the only art that truly matters in this life.

Roboute Guilliman

The pre-dawn stillness hung heavy over the apartment as Roboute Guilliman stirred awake. His body clock was precisely punctual, never requiring an alarm. But it had become a morning ritual nonetheless.

Rolling over, he lay motionless in the darkness, his soft breathing was the only sound. Exactly four minutes before the jarring beep of the alarm was due, Guilliman's hand shot out and silenced it. 

With a quiet sigh, the politician slipped from the bedsheets, feet touching down soundlessly on the carpet. As the sheets were tucked with crisp military corners, he pulled the curtain across the bedroom before retreating.

Down the hallway, he rapped his knuckles firmly on your bedroom door in passing. Just a simple courtesy to avoid catching you if you happened to be awake and roaming.

A low grumbling seeped out from behind the door. Apparently his roommate was still very much entombed in slumber at this hour.  

He shook his head with a sigh as he made for the apartment's main living area. You could easily sleep till noon if permitted. But you needed to get on a decent schedule, your deadline for that game company's new character model was rapidly approaching.

Guilliman shrugged into his robe and settled into his daily routine. First a pot of strong coffee set to brew while he goes out to the lobby for the morning paper. The brisk chill of the morning air roused his senses fully. 

As the newscasters on the television in the living room prattled about yesterday's legislative victories and this morning's planned protests, Guilliman flipped through the paper's headlines. A frown creased his brow as his eyes scanned snippets:

*...divisive new social policies expected to be blocked yet again as party ties remain locked in stalemate...*

*...public trust in elected officials is at all time low amidst deluge of corruption scandals...*

He shook his head with a weary sigh. The political realities of governance had proven far more vexing than any military campaign ever faced back in his service days. Compromise and incremental change seemed the agonizing order of the day, no matter how dire the situation.

The timer's shrill beep indicated the coffee was ready. Muscle memory took over as Guilliman retrieved the carafe, split the hot brew into two mugs, then poured in the respective milk and sugars to each's preferred taste.

Almost on cue, a sleep-tousled you shuffled into the dining room with a jaw-cracking yawn. Your silk robe hung open, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the matching negligee beneath. 

"Mmmmmorning..." you mumbled groggily, bare feet padding across the linoleum.

Guilliman turned at the exact moment you wrapped your lithe arms around his midsection from behind with a contented sigh. Your cheek nuzzled against the flat planes of his back as he stiffened self-consciously.

"What's for breakfast, hmm?" Your voice was blissfully sleepy, still thick with half-dreams and warmth.

Clearing his throat, Guilliman gestured to the set table with a prim nod. "Belgian waffles and seasonal fresh fruit compote, as requested. With the coffee you prefer."

Your answering hum of delight vibrated through his robe pleasantly. "Love you."

Guilliman felt his face grow warm as you giggled, returning to slather the unappetizing bread-slab with sugary condiments. Best to ignore such needling - especially when you have a point. He couldn't help but spoil you.

… Besides, how many other politicians were roomies with a character model designer? He couldn't be too harsh.

Before he could react further, you released your lingering embrace and flopped bonelessly into your seat. Guilliman blinked, momentarily flushed, before joining you at their customary places across the small table.

They ate in a relaxed quiet broken only by the newscasters' prattling drone. Guilliman couldn't help noticing the elegant,delicate way your lips pursed around each forkful...

A loud slam from their neighbor's door shattered the reverie, making them both jump slightly. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a shake of his head. "Honestly, can people not control themselves for five minutes..."

You reached over to give his clenched fist a reassuring squeeze. "Any luck with the proposed housing reforms? I saw it was on the docket again this week..."

Swallowing hard, he mustered a tight smile. "Well, progress remains...incremental." His eyes flicked to the  mobs of irate citizens wielding placards and crude banners on television screens. "The special interests dig their heels in deeper every time."

"Just give it time." Your tone was soothing even through your usual wry inflection. You sipped your coffee thoughtfully, ruby lips leaving a perfect imprint on the porcelain mug. "They're going to feel awfully silly someday for not listening to you."

"I certainly hope--"

Guilliman glanced down at the time on his portable cogitator, eyes widening. "Blast! I'd best get moving if I'm on time for the morning session."

He rose swiftly, tucking in his chair and gathering the dishes in one practiced movement as you watched with bemused detachment. Within moments he was already depositing the load in the sonic dishwasher, suit cuffs neatly buttoned. 

At the door, he hesitated with one hand on the knob. Glancing back, Guilliman called over his shoulder, "I may be late this evening. There are deliberations scheduled on--"

"I know, I know." You waved him off with a little smile, one foot tucked under your thigh as you sipped your coffee. "More stuffy old men yelling and accomplishing nothing, as usual."

Lips pursing tightly, Guilliman simply grunted before slipping out into the corridor. Your teasing was affectionate but still stung just a bit.

Carefully straightening the crisp lapels of his suit, Guilliman cleared his throat. "Do try and not bury yourself in laptop too deeply today, yes? Your health is as important as any project deadline."

You waved an airy hand, taking an uncouth slurp of your coffee. "Yeah yeah, mom, I know the drill. Now get going before you're late for all your super important senatorial meetings."

Pausing at the door for one final longing look at that adorably disheveled figure, Guilliman repressed a smile. He truly was a lucky man, even if his roommate could be his pain at times.

As the oaken portal swung closed and his strides carried him off to another long, grueling day of civic responsibilities, the statesman couldn't help but look forward to returning home this evening.

[shiyorin]

I just want to preface this request with the information that these are not two separate requests. I just wanted to give you some options to choose from so that you could choose the one that most interesting to you and seems like it would be fun to write about

Now my understanding is limited as I’ve only had the wiki as a source of information, but I tried to come up with some interesting ideas for these character with what I was working with. Because of what little I’ve read and seen of them they are great characters.

So there are two ideas, one for Thiel and one for Gavriel

So for the first one, Thiel. Thiel gets a lot of admonishments from his superiors for his way of doing things and it cause his self esteem to sink a little bit. So maybe a loving session with a female partner who lavishes him in praise is exactly what he needs.

Secondly, Gavriel. Now Gavriel isn’t very aware about the effect his body has on other people, as evidenced by him letting a female remebrancer into his room while scantily claded and not understanding why she was so flustered.

So maybe him interacting with a chapter serf or scribe who becomes increasingly red in the face due to his state of undress and with her explanation why she so flustered around him eventually culminating in sexy times.

#Aeonid Thiel x F!Reader

#Thiel is the best boy!

#PwP, NSFW, comfort sex because he need that, a little femdom!

#Again, I don't have summary.

Aeonid Thiel's chest rises and falls with labored breaths, his muscular frame tense from the rigors of today's battles. Through the dim chamber light, beads of sweat glisten across his physique. As his hardened eyes stare distantly at the ceiling, your petite form drapes atop him, your curves molding to the ridges of his torso.

You nuzzle your cheek against the warm, unyielding plates of his neck, your unruly locks spilling over his skin. Exhaling a stuttered sigh, Thiel relaxes almost imperceptibly under your soothing weight and gentle caresses. Your delicate fingers trace idle patterns along the grooved expanse of his chest, nails lightly raking across the scarred terrain.  

Your hushed murmurs of praise intermingle with the ragged cadence of his breathing. "You are brave today, my sergeant..." You plant a reverent kiss against the column of his throat. "The Emperor himself would be honored by your nobility and valor."

A gruff rumble stirs deep in Thiel's broad chest as your words find their mark. Though his stoic exterior rarely falters, the validation from you holds unfathomable sway over his psyche and body. As if by instinct, his hips give an upward twitch, the thick ridge of his growing arousal grazing your inner thigh.

You let out the faintest moan, grinding yourself against the scorching hardness straining beneath the coarse material of his fatigues. With aching tenderness, your fingers trail down the ridged musculature of his abdomen towards the prodigious bulge, so immense it could likely stint your tiny wrists.

"You deserve more  than that..." You coos against the fevered skin of his neck, your hot breath sending delicious shivers cascading down Thiel's body. 

Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his trousers, you tug them lower with deliberation until his gargantuan cock springs free in all its pulsing glory. A pearlescent bead of pre-seed glistens at the slit of the flared head.

Unable to fully encircle the monstrous girth with your petite digits, you settle for skimming your palms over the searing hot length with featherlight caresses. Thiel can't stifle the guttural groan that wrenches itself from somewhere primal and untamed within his core.

"Shhh..." You murmur against Thiel's navel as he starts, a guttural groan rumbling through his chest. "That's my good boy. I've got you."

You engulf the first few inches in your hands, feeling the ravenous heat radiating from that titanic shaft. Slowly you begin pumping in languid, twisting strokes, coaxing more of that slick nectar from its woefully neglected depths.

Thiel's breath hitches, ribs swelling against your body as you glide along that slippery, pulsing flesh. Try as he might, his self-control is a corded sinew stretched far too taut...

With a strangled gasp, his hips stutter and that huge cock erupts in your pumping caresses. Thick ropes of viscous seed come gushing forth, scalding jets that paint your hands and arms with lurid stripes of cream. Spurt after spurt, Thiel's long-withheld climax crashes over him in thunderous waves of ecstasy.

Abruptly, you can feel him tense in a paroxysm of embarrassment, his face flushing as he recoils from the aftermath of his rapture.

"No no, my love." You soothe, slick palms cradling his cheeks. "This pleasure is yours to indulge, without shame..." 

Trailing glistening fingers down his heaving torso, you gather more of the still-oozing pearls dribbling from his tip.

"You are doing your best..."

With those words, you smear the fresh offering of his essence across Thiel's lips, leaving them slick and glistening with his own spend.

"Breathe into it, take your rapture into yourself. That's it..." You said, watching his eyes flutter at the musky taste. "Good boy... now relax... and let everything for me."

[shiyorin]

The Inquisitor knows about yandere astartes, it won't end well

Inquisitor [REDACTED] report on yandere Astartes (????)

+++ CLASSIFICATION: [LOCK]

+++ CLEARANCE: Obsidian

+++ ENCRYPTION: [LOCK]

+++ DATE: 327.M38

+++ AUTHOR: Inquisitor [REDACTED], Ordo Malleus 

+++ SUBJECT: INVESTIGATION INTO SUSPECTED GENEFLAW AFFECTING ADEPTUS ASTARTES SUBJECTS ACROSS ALL CHAPTERS AND FOUNDINGS

+++ EYES ONLY HIGHEST TRANCHESINQUISITORIAL CASE FILE [EXCISED]

Summary of Findings:

Initial reports of this suspected "Geneflaw" first reached my conclave several terran years ago. Astartes assets deployed to war zones began exhibiting highly erratic behaviors and perverse compulsions unbecoming of the Emperor's finest warriors.

Behavioral divergences included:

Unnatural emotional outbursts and loss of emotional mastery

Uncontrollable sexual urges and deviant acts

Possessive, clingy behaviors violating sacred chains of command

Irrational self-destructive and anti-imperial actions driven by object fixations

At first, these cases seemed sporadic and isolated across different Chapters. However, as more deplorable incidents piled up, a clear pattern emerged. Something grievous had gone wrong on a fundamental level.

Excerpted examples of documented cases:

[REDACTED] - BLOOD ANGELS CHAPTER Audio log of Sanguinary Priest [REDACTED]

"Some dark curse has been visited upon our Chapter. A growing number of my battle-brothers have become… afflicted with wanton hungers. No mere physical needs, but all-consuming fixations on certain mortals within our care."

"They will stop at nothing to "claim" these individuals for themselves, body and soul. Any attempt at intervention results in unthinkable acts of disobedience and violence…"

[SAMPLE ENDS]

[REDACTED] - BLACK TEMPLARS CHAPTER Thought downloading from captured Chaplain [REDACTED] upon interrogation

"The time for restraint is at an end. I can bear this throbbing in my soul no longer! She must know the depth of my unfettered desire, the fever pitch of my infatuation. If she does not return these longings, I shall shatter worlds until the God-Emperor take pity!"

*Interrogator's Note: [NEUTRALIZE]

[REDACTED] - EXCORIATOR CHAPTER Recorded pict-captures from helm-cams during incursion on [REDACTED]

-Extreme Battlefield Fraternization between crusaders and human auxiliaries -Acts of exhibitionism and self-mutilation by crusaders -Systematic execution of any battle-brother expressing disgust at above actions -Final pict: [REDACTED]

The list of astartes goes on. Worse, there appear to be no patterns in age, founding, homeworld or even primarch genealogy. These repulsive behaviors are emerging across every Adeptus Astartes chapter at random. The Imperium teeters on the brink of an catastrophic, gene-coded crisis.

Research into potential countermeasures and remedies continues. However, my conclusions thus far firmly advocate an extreme response to contain this threat.

RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:

1) Immediate executions for any Astartes subject exhibiting Geneflawed behaviors. No exceptions.

2) Full and systematic extinction-level viral bombings against all potentially compromised Chapters and fleets.

3) Pre-emptive destruction of all Astartes gene-seed repositories, along with any Adeptus Mechanicus factions and forge worlds implicating in its creation or study.

Only through the complete erasure of this genetic stock can the essence of the Adeptus Astartes be preserved for the inevitable darkness yet to come.

The Emperor's work must be done, no matter how abominable the means required.

I await your tribunal's final judgment on this matter.

Thought for the Day: "There is nothing to be gained through mercy, only fleeting weakness and eventual damnation."

-Inquisitor [REDACTED]

[shiyorin]

I'm just wondering how the High Lords of Terra will react to the Inquisitor's report on Yandere Astartes

Sure it won't end well but they know what to do.

+++ HIGHEST SEAL - HIGH LORDS OF TERRA

+++ SUBJECT: RE - INVESTIGATION INTO SUSPECTED ADEPTUS ASTARTES GENEFLAW

FROM THE THRONES OF THE HIGH LORDS OF TERRA:

Let the record reflect that Inquisitor [REDACTED]'s findings have been received and carefully analyzed by this most esteemed conclave. We commend your diligence in identifying this supposed "Geneflaw" affecting our vaunted transhuman warriors.

However, we must respectfully disagree with the Inquisitor's dire assessments and recommendations. To advocate the systematic extermination of countless Astartes Chapters, and thus weaken our Imperium at so tenuous a juncture, would be unforgivably shortsighted.

Instead, we propose an alternative stratagem to weaponize and harness these new "urges" infecting the Adeptus Astartes.

Based on the documented cases, it is now clear these divergent behaviors all stem from overpowering obsessions and perverse fixations towards certain unaugmented humans. Whether driven by abhorrent lust, deranged infatuation or utter self-destructive piety, the underlying essence seems a primal, animalistic drive to "possess" these individuals.

We must accept this metamorphosis as an opportunity, not a flaw. Just imagine the vast strategic potential of such unwavering, all-consuming devotion!

If provided "regulated doses" of these subjects, we could conceivably drive entire companies of Astartes into suicidal frenzies of zeal and ferocious protectiveness. Their battle-disciplines would be reinforced through the biological imperative to defend their "Obsessions" from harm.

A theoretical approach is outlined below:

1) Identify and indoctrinate vast stocks of psycho-bombinally suitable mortal humans to serve as "Fixation Targets"

2) Embed these "Fixation Units" within key Astartes deployments as "Distress Bait"

3) When Astartes succumb to these new gene-coded hungers, allow "bonding" under highly regulated circumstances

4) Closely monitor Astartes unit efficiency and combat fervency, providing "Fixation Targets" on a reward-basis

5) Deploy newly dedicated hunter-killer Astartes squads to priority war zones reinforce as needed with replenished "Fixation Units"

Properly implemented, this "Obsession Doctrine" would transform our Astartes into perfect weapon of fanatical, borderline psychotic intensity.

Casualties from "casualties of passion" would be relatively minor compared to the renewed slaughter they could inflict upon our foes. Even if entire Astartes assets are spent in the process, their sacrifices would be accepted as the highest honors.

This is the price of victory. The tormented spirits of these unaugmented mortals are a small cost to bear for the future dominance of Holy Imperium.

[ATTACHED: Proposal for funding "Fixation Unit" indoctrination camps on feral, non-compliant worlds. Methods for triggering and reinforcing selected psychosis strains…]

Let the Imperium's enemies fear the consequences of our newly unfettered wrath.

For the Emperor, no sacrifice is too unthinkable.

The High Lords of Terra shall catalogue your counsel under the highest seal.

Thought for the Day: "The path of virtue is narrow and sown with graven thorns. It is our eternal struggle to walk its bloody miles."

-High Lord of Terra

[shiyorin]

#Fulgrim x Reader

#I don't know what else to say but it's just Fulgrim and the way he appreciates your beauty.

#TW: Foot fetish :v

"Hold still." Fulgrim murmured, his voice reverberating with the faintest undercurrent of reverent focus.

You didn't pay his gentle admonition any heed. You lounged indolently upon the sleekly curved divan, hair disheveled and spilling. One shapely leg kicked out at an indolent angle, sole flexing as though to dislodge the embroidered confection of ribbons and organza puddling about your ankles.

Pursing his lips, the Phoenician found himself reaching out to steady that recalcitrant limb, chiding his guest. "My dearest, you must remain composed if I'm to properly attire you."

Your eyes slitted open at that, glinting with indolent amusement. "Must I?" You reply, somehow infusing even those two simple words with silken intimations. "And why should I?"

Had it been anyone addressing him in that tone, Fulgrim might have dismissed them from his presence then and there. But not you. No, toward you he could only sigh with a mixture of exasperation and sublime fascination, conflicting psycho-sculpted vectors tugging him in myriad directions at once.

"Because this night's very important," he explained for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. And for perhaps the hundredth time as well, Fulgrim found his gaze drifting downward over the perfection of your form. From the artful tumble of shimmering tresses to the exquisite hollow of throat and collarbones, all the way down to the ... full swell of...

"You need not demean yourself so, my lord."

Your low, throaty voice rippled as the primarch of the Emperor's Children knelt before your form. Still, you made no move to halt his ministrations or avert your shapely limbs from his attentions.

"Nonsense," the Phoenician throwing you a smile that could disarm worlds. "It is no indignity to bask in sublime beauty and assist in rendering it transcendent."

A delicate smile at that polished retort. "I had expected you of all the primarchs to disdain such... posturing."

If your words landed true, Fulgrim gave no indication. He continued deftly clasping the delicate chains braided from liquid shadow composite to your mirrsilk bodysuit. Each glinting loop spilled outward like baroque silvered vines from the highly articulated armor plates protecting your ankles.

"Posturing?" The primarch arched one perfect, sculpted eyebrow in an aristocratic moue of surprise. "My dear, assisting you in accentuating your exquisite conformation is art of the highest caliber."

Fulgrim paused in trailing his masterful fingertips along the lush, flawless contours of your calf muscle. For a fleeting moment, his noble visage flickered barely perceptible acknowledgment that you had scored a glancing blow with your provocations. Just as quickly, however, that momentary pique faded beneath the Phoenician's typical aura of unshakable poise.

"I don't merely endeavor to enhance your sublime beauty out of empty ritual." he clarified, steadily working the umbrahyde ribbons further up your leg. "Rather, I seek to elevate it to the masterwork it deserves."

The primarch shook his head minutely, allowing several perfectly-coiffed strands of silken platinum to fall charmingly across his brow. He hadn't summoned his entire coterie of beautifiers and augmenated ordators for this affair, only his most trusted serfs. Adorning true, living art required focus and reverence beyond what most anyone could muster.

Pick up the ankle-length indigo striders with the same reverence as handling sanctified gene-wrought. Chemos worked every rivet and nanosynthesized composite fiber with their most skillful arts. Even on the field of apotheosis, no detail was too insignificant nor craftsmanship not elevated into a breathtaking masterpiece.

But compared to the transcendent fleshwork that would soon grace these accoutrements, their beauty paled into vapid obscurity. 

Slowly, reverently, with each appreciative caress and brush of finely wrought material over sacrosanct dermis, he felt himself descending into a blissful rapture few mortals had ever experienced.

Through of his eyes, details of imperfection normally invisible to visual spectra alone burned in blinding clarity through his primogenoid senses. Not the slightest defect escaped his adoring scrutiny as your sculpted perfection unveiled itself in achingly slow ceremony.

First the ankles, those deceptively delicate articulation nodes sutured by intricate hyper-density musculature. How he lavished upon them, worshiping every curve while his psyche greedily drank in their elegant sublimity. Then the calves, wherein bulged and beauty beyond mere human comprehension. Fulgrim's hands roamed across each subtly undulating contour and veinridge.

Next came the magnificence of your thighs, a masterwork of helice and kinesis that stole both breath and soul with its supreme proportions. Such gracious lines and mesmerizing flexion, profiles carved by a billion recursive movements and honed into perfect design.

These were the idealized aesthetics for which any crudely-conceived "masterpieces" could only ever remain a pale imitation. Your body constituted a living canvas of sacred and perfection resonating at the exalted wavelengths of universal beauty....

"You're staring again."

Your voice sliced through the contemplative silence like a razor-edged sibilance. Fulgrim blinked, only just realizing his thought.

"Apologies." the noble primarch offered with an elegant dip of his perfect features. "You'll have to forgive an artist's momentary rapture when confronted with such a breathtaking subject."

Then, with a courtly flourish utterly at odds with his preceding transformation, the Lord of the Third raised your fingers to his full, sensuous lips. Jeweled irises of amethyst glowed with inner luminescence as he pressed a kiss to your silk glove.

"Come." he urged. "They await an introduction..."

[shiyorin]

#Primarchs x reader but it is modern au

#Well, actually here are some drabbles I wrote for challenge modern au with my friends. I almost forgot I wrote it

#Romcom but actually one is a rom and one is a com.

#Menu: Sanguinius and Roboute Guilliman

Sanguinius

You sighed, gazing idly at the latest abstract sculptures on display. How you had been convinced to come to this event, you did not know. Curiosity, perhaps. Or a desire for something different, however fleeting.

You wandered from piece to piece, managing polite smiles and vague comments when addressed. The other patrons were a study in extravagance, jewel-toned gowns, colognes that announced wealth and status with every spray. You felt woefully out of place in your modest attire, there to observe from the sidelines.

Making to leave, you turned, and found yourself face to face with Sanguinius himself.

He smiled gently, warmly, in a manner that made your ensuing frown seem all the harsher. "I thought that might be you," he said. "I'm glad you decided to come."

What could you say? That you had no interest in his efforts, his wealth, his world of aesthetics and social climbing? Somehow you doubted even your harshest words could dampen that gentle smile.

Instead, you said. "The artwork is…interesting."

Sanguinius chuckled. "You despise it."

You clenched your jaw. Were you that transparent? But before you could retort, Sanguinius continued.

"That's alright. Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, as they say." He held your gaze steadily, openly. "If you'll allow me, I think I see a kind of beauty in you that transcends all this."

You blinked, taken aback. This was not the response you had anticipated. Before you could gather your thoughts, Sanguinius bowed his head. "Forgive me. I overstep." And with that, he was gone, lost amidst the crowd.

You stood still for a long moment, pondering this strange encounter. A part of your wished to dismiss it, leave this foreign world behind once more. And yet, something intrigued you about him.

With a sigh, you left the gallery. But your thoughts lingered still on Sanguinius.

*****

Sanguinius sighed, staring out the window of his studio with unseeing eyes. His mind replayed the brief encounter with you at the gallery over and over, cataloging every awkward beat and missed opportunity.

"You despise it." He had said, and he had chuckled, played it cool. As if his heart wasn't pounding at finally being face to face with this enigmatic who held his thoughts captive.

He should have said something clever, charming. Asked your favorite flowers, favorite wine. Instead he offered vague platitudes and retreated like a coward, leaving you in there.

Sanguinius cringed. Had all those years playing the beloved artist prince addled his silver tongue beyond repair?

Pushing away from the window, he began to pace. He could have told you about the time he sprained his wrist painting your likeness from memory. Or how every sculpture he crafted seemed an effort to capture some fleeting trace of your grace. Or how -

"Ridiculous," he muttered to the empty room. You clearly wanted nothing to do with his affections. And well you should! What had he to offer beyond annoy you?

Still, the memory of your averted gaze and tightly crossed arms stung him.

"Next time," he vowed to the mirror, "Next time, I just need one more."

With a sigh, Sanguinius turned back to his workbench, and began to sketch. Ideas for new pieces taking shape, works that might one day, somehow, win the regard of your heart.

Roboute Guilliman

Guilliman jogged up the stairs to your loft, dread pooling in his gut. The half-coherent slurring over the phone signaled trouble, as usual. 

Upon entering, he sighed at the all-too-familiar sight awaiting - you sprawled gracelessly across the couch, bottle of vodka dangling precariously from limp fingers as you brow furrowed intensely at your laptop on the floor.

"What did we talk about this?" Guilliman sighed, bending to retrieve the laptop. He knew before even booting it up what he'd find. 

"I'm verrrrry fine and for sure not drunk!" You protested, flailing an arm wildly. "Why would I need to be drunk, nothing was wrrrong at all. The vodkaaaaa? Naw, that's just...that's just morrrrrral suppppppppport!" 

Guilliman pinched the bridge of his nose, opening the laptop. Yep, there was your popular anonymous venting forum, your anonymous profile clearly hammered as usual. 

"You need to stop getting on the internet when you're drunk, or stop getting drunk when you're on the internet," he lectured wearily. "Jeez, this is...ugh."

You barked a harsh laugh. "You're one to taaaaaaaalk! At leassssst I don't write angry tweets to Landlord Association Presidents about proper...proper ventilation codes when I'm trasheeeeeeed!" 

Guilliman flushed, fishing out his phone. Sure enough, several draft angry tweets awaited deletion in the morning. He coughed. "Regardless, you're dealing with the consequences of your actions this time." 

You groaned as he scrolled. "I say one little thing about Angron's anger issues suddenly meaning he can't handle a puppy and everyone loses their minds!" 

Guilliman read the fiery thread questioning Angron's prospective puppy adoption. Yikes. At least you hadn't doxxed anyone in your drunken ranting this time. Small miracles. 

"Lucky for you, I cleaned it up," he reassured, sparing your the drama. "Now, let's get you hydrated before round two of the vomiting begins."

You scowled but obediently sipped the electrolyte drink he handed your. "You're no fun, Roboute. How am I supposed to vent my frustrations creatively without liquid inspiration?" 

"You could try a journal, or healthy coping skills." he suggested blandly, though they both knew that was pointless. This was who you was - passionate, impulsive, and mysteriously charming even wasted. 

"Ugh, soooo boring. Maybe I'll just start an anonymous YouTube venting channel. What could go wrong?" You mused, raking a hand through tangled hair. 

Guilliman groaned. "Please don't give the internet any more of your drunken thoughts. For now, focus on keeping what's left of your dinner down and get some rest. I'll be here making sure you don't do anything too regrettable offline too."

You flipped him a rude gesture but burrowed underneath the blankets obediently. He chuckled, settling in for the long night watch as usual. Another crisis averted, for now at least. You sniffled miserably from beneath the blanket mound as Guilliman scrolled through the aftermath of your drunken posting. 

"Oh god, you thought about it, didn't you?" he sighed knowingly. Last year's intoxicated vent had sparked such a vicious flame war that his still shuddered at the memory. 

That seemed to be the tipping point as you burst into tears. "I'm trying to change, this shit, people from the outside don't get how much bullshit we gotta put up with, and if lucky hate it, and, and-" 

"Okay, alright, you need to sleep this off," Guilliman soothed, setting the laptop aside. "Come on, up you get."

But you only cried louder, curling in on yourself tighter. Guilliman sighed, recognizing the onset of a full-blown anxiety attack. 

"Look, you know why you're not supposed to use Twitter, yeah?" He asked gently. You nodded miserably into the couch. 

"Because I get like this."

Resigned to damage control, Guilliman retrieved the laptop once more. Glancing at your drunken thread, he frowned. "Ugh..."

You peeked out with red-rimmed eyes. "Is it that bad?"

Guilliman hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. The thread had devolved into the usual vitriol and trash talk, with more than a few personal insults directed at you yourself sprinkled in.

"Well...maybe we should ask Alpharius and Omegon to solve it." he suggested, only half joking. The twin did have an uncanny knack for scrubbing digital messes unseen. 

You hiccuped a watery giggle at the idea of unleashing the secret agents on your trolls. Your panic seemed to ease slightly.

Guilliman couldn't help a small smile in return before launching into maximum distraction mode. "Alright, you've had your fun crying for tonight. Now it's time to plot our revenge against the haters!"

You sniffled but nodded, anticipation gleaming through your swollen eyes. "What did you have in mind...?"

"Well first, we gather blackmail on the worst offenders..." Guilliman began deviously, launching into an absurdly convoluted revenge scheme.