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loki-cees-all · 3 months

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Ch. 4 - Hope Against Hope {Against All Odds - TVA!Loki x Female Reader Longfic}

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Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : After you and Loki do the deed, Loki does a little soul-searching.

W/c : 4.7k words

Content / Warnings : Smut (p-in-v), angst (knife-in-heart), mentions of a future addiction for the reader (nothing specific is mentioned, and no actual use of illicit substances ever takes place), and Loki rifling through all of your stuff. It's fine, though! He has a good reason!

Author's Note : Apologies this is so late! It really, really got away from me, and I was absolutely struggling to get it done. But, it turns out I was just trying to do too much in one chapter, so once I cut it off at what was the halfway point, it became much more manageable. (Major shoutout to @infinitystoner for helping me with that. I love you!) Anyway, happy reading!

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : June 26th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

Throughout his thousand years of existence, Loki had witnessed a great deal of beautiful things. The golden shine of the palace he’d grown up in was the first; its light reflected brighter than the birth of a newborn star, shining down with a brilliance unrivaled to anything short of divine intervention.

Every morning, he’d awake in awe of its splendor, and every night, when he laid his head upon his pillow, he’d wonder if anyone else ever noticed the terrible irony of such a gorgeous place containing the harshest of people.

The exquisite gardens of Asgard had always been his favorite place to be. Carefully tended to and guided by his mother’s loving hand, they contained every species of flower from each of the Nine Realms - meticulously organized by the shade of their petals, and perpetually in bloom thanks to her seidr.

It was the perfect place for reflection; he had spent many late nights in those gardens, wandering up and down the rows, taking in the sweet aroma of the flowers and pondering his lot in life. And during the worst of Thanos’ many tortures, he’d often imagine he was back there inside Frigga’s gardens - shielded and protected, and lost in majesty instead of in pain.

And the stunning destruction of the Bifrost would haunt him for the rest of his days. The explosion’s light caught the shards of the Rainbow Bridge and almost blinded him, illuminating nothing but his many failures in the most glorious of ways as he fell into its wake. The Bifrost had faded into golden dust, and clouds of sapphire and ultramarine had swirled together beneath him, and it was so magnificent that he almost forgot about the look of sheer disappointment upon his father’s face.

But none of those things, not a single one of them, could ever compare to the sight of you coming undone beneath his devoted tongue.

Loki continued working, his mouth and eyes eagerly taking in the evidence of your pleasure. His hands gripped your waist tight, as if to squeeze out every ounce of it that he could, while his lips and tongue lavished your clit. He’d never tasted something so divine, and he never wanted your pleasure to end.

You cried out his name like the holiest of prayers, and Loki moaned its accompaniment. He could almost see the light radiating off your skin as your back arched off the bed, and the blood in his veins surged with want as your thighs trembled against his ears. He desperately needed more, to keep you sated and satisfied in euphoria for as long as he could - but he also needed to be careful.

Because as far as you knew, Loki was just another simple mortal - one that had a job, and a family, and paid taxes. A human man, one that played rugby on the weekends, someone who was going to die in about forty years - when he was actually the furthest from anything that even resembledbanality.

Ordinarily, in situations like this, Loki’s seidr would be on full display - to set the mood by lighting the fire in the hearth and the candles on the nightstand. To keep the wine flowing in their glasses, and the sheets warm against your bare skin. To remove his clothing in a flash of green light, just so he could bury himself inside you the exact second he wanted to.

And Gods, how he helplessly wanted to be inside you again.

Loki hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since the night in the alleyway. It had been feral and hurried, dangerous and reckless, to take you against that wall and in public, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t the best he’d ever had. And it was so foolish of himself to think he could get by with only having you once, and so incredibly selfish to take you again while knowing what he knew about your future…

But even still, Loki’s cock ached underneath his trousers, throbbing in sync with every single beat of his heart. Desire coursed violently throughout his veins, mixing with both heat and adrenaline as he continued ravishing between your legs. He could feel you clenching rhythmically, your fingers tangling in his hair and your hips grinding upwards, and he could never deny you what you wanted.

You were just past the height of ecstasy when Loki began to crawl up your body, following behind his lips as they worshiped your skin. He kissed his way up your belly, gazing up at your ethereal expression as your head lolled back and forth on the pillow. Aftershocks washed over you, one by one, and your lips parted with desperate breath and pleasured murmurs. It was beautiful, and perfect, and of nothing but sheer divinity.

Loki kept his gaze locked on your face as he slowly kissed along your ribs, and your feet flexed, pressing into his hips as yours continued writhing. Your fingers curled tighter around his hair, a silent plea to urge him on, and he couldn’t believe that even after all of this, even while completely lost in the throes of ecstasy, you still wanted more of him.

His initial plan had been to take you as slowly as possible - to savor, and to idolize you. He’d never been wanted like this before, and he didn’t know if this would be the last time he’d get to experience it. A lifetime of neglect had taught him affection was ever fleeting, and he should always relish it whenever it came. What little patience he had was quickly disappearing by the second, soon to be nothing but a distant memory of the time before he was whole again.

Your eyes stayed closed as his name tumbled from your lips, and Loki knew this was the moment. He kept one hand clutched tight around your hip, and brought the other down to his belt, unbuckling it just enough to make a sound before his seidr dissolved the remaining clothing from his body and transported them to the floor, as if they’d been tossed aside in a hurry.

He moved upwards again, and when he reached your nipple and pulled it into his mouth, you whimpered in pleasure and dragged your nails across his scalp. A deep groan rumbled in his throat and he began to suck harder, flicking his tongue wildly against the stiffening peak. This time you let out a sharp gasp, and your feet planted on the mattress to arch your back even more and press your hips against something, anything, of his.

Loki graciously slid his thigh up to soothe the ache between your quivering legs, and you eagerly locked on to it, grinding your swollen clit against his taut muscles. You had been more than wet when he had gone down on you before, but now you were positively drenched with arousal, and Loki loved that about you. He’d never been so hard in his life, precum dripping onto your belly from the head of his glistening cock as the musk of sex filled the room.

Your head tilted back into the pillow and your thighs trembled violently, supported only by your tiptoes and your upper back as another orgasm ripped through you. Loki cupped your other breast, his thumb circling its nipple as he sucked even harder on the first, trying desperately to hold back his own ecstasy until he was buried deep inside you.

But that battle was becoming more and more difficult to win, and his equanimity was dissipating with each and every one of your breathless moans and whimpers. Loki moved his hands to carefully guide your feet flat, and then massaged your calves and thighs into relaxing as he carefully pulled his lips away from your nipple.

As he moved closer, your hands shifted to cling to his neck, his shoulders, his arms. Anything you could read, everything about him that was solid and real. He wanted so badly to assure you that he was, to shout it from the rooftops that he wasn’t just real, that he was - in fact - yours, and that was the only real thing that mattered.

Loki’s lips were on your collarbone when he finally coaxed your legs into position, relaxed but open for him. You were making unintelligible noises and your body continued trembling, but your hips kept rolling as he slowly settled his weight onto you and pressed his hips against yours.

“Loki…oh my, God, Loki…” you gasped breathlessly, sliding your hands up along his neck to his hair, to tangle in the mess of matted and sweaty curls against his scalp.

His breath shuddered as he gazed upon you, eyelids fluttering open and shut, and pupils dilated so wide to take him all in. His lips hovered just a touch above yours, inhaling as you exhaled, leaning in as you pulled him closer. He wasn’t running or cowering away, there was no fleeing or escaping. For the first time since the Tesseract had slid to his feet in the lobby of Stark Tower, Loki was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Yes, my darling…I’m here, just breathe…” he whispered, dragging his nose along the edge of yours. His voice shifted into a groan as you wrapped your legs around his waist; the soft skin of your thighs burned against him, branding a reminder into his flesh that this was where he belonged, and the soaked heat between your legs beckoned him back home.

The two of you were as naked as the day you were born - one born on Earth, and one born on Jotunheim. Dark green and satin sheets lay beneath you, twisted and tangled upon your bed. The air inside your room was almost overwhelming, a delicious mixture of heat and musk, and despite the very early morning hour, the city of London still bustled just outside your window, cruelly unaware of the magic that was about to happen above them.

Your lips met again, and even though the kiss was just as hungry as that night in the alleyway, there was something else now with it - a touch of familiarity, of knowing and acceptance even though it couldn’t really be - not with all the lies he’d been telling, and the truth he’d been withholding. Loki kissed you harder, trying to push those thoughts out of his brain, and you happily reciprocated.

As you introduced your tongue to the kiss, Loki cupped the back of your skull with one hand, and brought the other between your hips as he began to rock against you, dragging himself against your entrance and teasing you both into oblivion. Neither of you needed any further teasing, but he did it anyway, just to add the final touch of urgency. You whimpered and opened your hips even further, and on the next push, he was inside you again.

Suddenly, everything made perfect sense as the entire universe opened up before him. Loki let out the hoarsest of groans as he pushed deeper, and your lower back arched even more beneath him. Your fingers curled even tighter around his hair, your lips fell from his to moan his name again, and you were so wet and warm and safe that he felt like nothing could ever hurt him again.

All he ever wanted was to feel like this, and he slowly pulled himself out, just short of all the way, before sinking himself back inside. Your hips writhed uncontrollably as he did that a few more times, and Loki realized that you also needed the reminder that even if he pulled away or left completely, he would always come back to you. That he would never not be thinking of you, or of this.

Loki was already ruined before he began thrusting even faster, and there was absolutely nothing that could have ever stopped him. He buried his face against your neck and arched his back more harshly, pulling all the way out before pumping back inside. Your muscles squeezed around him, and your voice was nothing but breathless and incoherent gasps and moans as you took him in over and over again.

He snaked one arm around your back and the other around your waist as he moved faster, grunting and groaning against your skin as your fingertips scratched at his scalp. His muscles tensed as yours did, and he could tell by the sound of your voice that you were getting close already. His own orgasm was just seconds away, coiling around in his belly, stretching and yearning to break free as he drove himself harder, faster, deeper.

The tension broke simultaneously, and you cried out together, curling tightly around each other’s bodies, clinging for dear life as you came together. Endorphins and hormones coursed through Loki’s veins as the universe came into being, with stars exploding and dust swirling to form the galaxies and planets and realms that could stretch longer and further than anyone would ever know.

You clung so tightly to him during it all, as if you could see what he saw, but somehow he was the only thing that mattered. How could that be, that while an entire universe was being born, that the goddess of a mortal underneath could only look up at him?

Loki didn’t understand it one bit, but he didn’t need to, because all he could feel and see and smell was you. His hips continued rocking, shallower now that he was absolutely spent, and his sighs were heavy in the crook of your neck. He was in total and complete bliss when you let out a choked sob against his ear, and it instantly brought him back to reality.

“Darling…darling, what’s wrong?” he murmured, kissing your neck and squeezing you tighter. Had he done something wrong? Had he unintentionally hurt you in some way while lost in his own pleasure?

He could feel you shake your head, even as another sob escaped you. He could feel the tears streaming down your face and coating his own cheek, but your limbs still wrapped harder around him. Slowly, Loki lifted his head even though he was terrified of what he might see upon your face. His heavy eyelids fluttered open, his blurred vision effortlessly obscuring the tangled limbs and sweaty skin you both shared.

But when your face finally came into view, there was a smile beneath the tears on your cheeks. Your messy hair framed your face like an untidy halo - disconnected from, but still beautiful and fitting for the angel who wore it. Loki would never forget that smile and its tears, so happy and yet so sad all at the same time.

“I don’t know why, Loki…but I’ll be fine, I promise…” you answered in a voice that was so floating and breathless and light.

He could tell you meant it, and it should have reassured him, but it didn’t. The image of that newspaper from 1983 suddenly flashed before his eyes, and Loki remembered the initial reason he had come home with you last night.

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : June 27th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

Loki wasn’t exactly sure what he was searching for, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.

The sun was just beginning to encroach over the horizon, sending its rays over the city and into the bay windows of your high-rise flat. He padded cautiously into your living room, thankful for the plush white carpets between his toes to mute his exhausted steps.

There was nothing he wanted more than to slip back into bed with you and sleep the day away, but he had to take this opportunity while he still had the chance.

Loki could still see you, sleeping soundly in the arms of the duplicate he’d casted so as to not rouse any suspicion while he snooped. It felt so wrong to be doing this now, so soon after the night you’d just shared together, but the guilt of your future was driving him forward, egging him on and eating him away so badly he wouldn’t be able to have another decent rest even if he tried.

And it was odd, feeling jealous of something he’d conjured to keep you distracted, and in bed. It was, technically-speaking, him…but it wasn’t him- and he was the one who desperately needed the rest. Loki hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since well before Thanos’ capture, since he had lived in the palace on Asgard, and he had no idea when he’d be able to have it again…

Nevertheless, Loki shook his head and rolled it back and forth between his shoulders. His joints popped and cracked as he stretched his arms up over head, extending and pulling and desperately willing his limbs to fully awaken for the task at hand. He opened his eyes wider to take in more light, and he filled his lungs with as much oxygen as he could muster, held it for as long as he could, and released it slowly through his nose.

If anyone else could see him, they’d say he was stalling. Deception ordinarily came easy to him - Odin had taken advantage of that many times - but this was different; in fact, this was much, much worse. And he knew he wasn’t going to like what he found, but it needed to be seen anyway. He had to know if he was the cause of your future addiction, or if had already started before you’d even met.

Loki began his search in the kitchen, opening up the cupboards and pantries, quietly sliding items aside so he could see any possible illicit substances hidden in the back. He checked on top of the refrigerator and deep inside the freezer for excessive quantities of alcohol. He even looked through the drawers of silverware and utensils, the mail on top of the counter, the pockets of your coats hung by the front door for something, anything, that hinted at your painful future.

But he found nothing, just like he was afraid of. And it wasn’t because he wanted you to have an addiction, to be suffering silently and hiding your pain away from the world - he didn’t want that to happen to you at all, ever. But the more he searched, the more it became apparent that he would be the eventual cause of it.

And if he did manage to find something, he could offer you the help you needed. He could take care of you, instead of hurting you. He could be of use for something good, instead of the destruction he normally was.

From the kitchen, he returned to the living room, shoving his hands between the couch cushions and underneath the sofas. He flipped through the magazines stacked on the coffee table, and pulled the books off the bookshelves. All the while, trying so hard not to think about how he was going to eventually make addiction a reality for you.

Loki could tell you were eager to learn more about him, to know him more than just as a man who kept you company at night, and it was getting harder to dodge your questions. He knew you would have more when you awoke, and it wasn’t that you didn’t deserve to hear the answers, because of course you did. You deserved everything happy and safe and beautiful there could ever be, and Loki truly wanted to be the one to give all of that to you.

But Loki didn’t know what to tell you, because that had never been the truth of his reality. So what was he supposed to tell you? That he was the monster that parents told their children about at night?

That he’s an alien being from another realm, who could travel through time and space? That there were different versions of every single person living within multiple universes, and that in 35 years his past self would try to lead an alien army to violently take over New York City?

At best, you wouldn’t believe him at all, and at worse, you’d absolutely hate him for it…even if doing that is exactly what brought him to you in the first place.

After the last book was slid back into place, Loki sighed and turned his attention to the living room as a whole. Everything was clean and organized, everything had a specific place to be and was already there, and absolutely nothing was amiss. Nothing and everything was wrong, all at the same time, and the realization almost brought him to his knees.

Loki was going to ruin your life eventually; the only question now was how he was going to do it, and when he was going to hammer that final nail inside your coffin. Was it going to be as soon as you woke up? Was it going to be because he finally told you the truth?

His fingers pressed into his eye sockets as he collapsed onto the sofa, rubbing away furiously as he pondered his options. Truthfully speaking, how much time did you two have left together? The Loom was still on the verge of total destruction back at the TVA; his friends were back there right now, working tirelessly on a solution while he selfishly snuck away to see you again. To coddle his own emotions and guilt, when none of that would matter if they were unable to save the timelines at all.

And what was he supposed to do if they managed to prevent the Loom’s destruction? Keep sneaking away to come see you like a long-distance lover? Make up a pretend job for himself, never tell you the truth, and force you to perpetually linger in the liminal space between his crafted persona and who he actually was?

Not even he could keep a lie that massive forever. You would eventually discover the truth, or perhaps you would realize that there even was a truth different from the one he was selling you. Maybe what the truth was actually didn’t matter; maybe what mattered was that you couldn’t keep living a lie, and that was all it took to break you.

Loki leaned forward on the sofa, his elbows digging into his knees while dragging his fingertips down his cheeks and over his mouth. His palms pressed together in a silent prayer as his eyes roamed over the room. His eyes filled with tears as he realized this would have to be the last time he ever looked upon it. He would have to leave you, before either of you fell too hard - and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to save you more than it would destroy him.

His expression was solemn as he stood back up from the sofa. He hoped he’d been overthinking your expression in the alleyway a week ago, in the club the night before, in your bed as you’d come together. His heart broke as he prayed that you didn’t actually care about him as much as he already cared about you, that this would actually be easy for you. That you still had the strength to pick up the pieces and carry on with your life.

As Loki turned to leave the living room, to start the long journey back to your bedroom and kiss you goodbye, his eyes caught the painting above your dining room table. His frown shifted into a smile, although his eyes were as distraught and disillusioned as ever. He stepped closer and pressed his fingertips across the frame, thinking about all the stories this single painting told.

You were so unbelievably talented; every brush stroke had been as carefully placed as the belongings inside your flat. How he wished he could see this tree that you loved so much, and how he longed to feel the same kind of permanent comfort that it seemed to bring you even now. He’d never felt such everlasting solace in his entire life, and he’d even happily settle for being able to provide that kind of love for you some day.

But it just wasn’t meant to be. And for now, all Loki could hope for was that your father or your friends could help you still move on.

He reluctantly pulled away and returned down the hallway, training his eyes straight ahead to avoid the beautiful and happy photographs plastered all over the walls. He tried desperately not to look at the candelabrum on the narrow bookshelf. But of course, the morning light caught it, reflecting off the polished brass and right into his anguished gaze.

Loki couldn’t help but pause in front of it, right outside the doorway to your bedroom. He could hear you breathing in your bed, slowly and peacefully, in the arms of his duplicate. You were so close, and yet so far, because he couldn’t tear himself away from the hall and its haunted reminder of his past life.

He’d seen that candelabrum before, but he didn’t know how it had found its way here. Surely, it had to be a coincidence, right? That the asymmetrically curved pieces swung upright to form the horns of the golden headpiece he used to wear before the TVA had taken him away?

Devil’s horns, the enemies of Asgard used to call them. The Dökkláfar of Alfheim had considered them omens of death, but it wasn’t in the same way they had feared Odin’s power, or his brother’s hammer. Those items could always be seen before striking down their enemies; their power was out in the open, demanding to be witnessed, and punishing for their disobedience to the throne.

But by the time an enemy ever saw Loki’s horns, it was already too late. The damage was already done, secretly in the shadows and hidden upon layers and layers of deceptions and lies. His enemies were already dead by the time Loki finally revealed himself and his Devil’s horns, and their last few seconds were usually spent wondering which trick it was that struck the final blow.

So what were they doing here, in this young woman’s flat? In London, in 1977, where he’d never been before and surely would never return to again? Surely there was no way you knew what they actually represented. No, it had to just be an unhappy coincidence.

Back on Asgard, Loki had been repeatedly regulated to operating within the shadows. In his younger years, he had believed it was simply because that was where he excelled. But then he knew better; he knew that Odin had kept him in the shadows intentionally, that he was fit to exist in the light. And now, he was being forced to recede into the shadows yet again, to be nothing but a hopefully wistful and fond memory of yours.

He had only just found you. He had only just come to know the caring touch of peace, and already he was having to give it back up.

Another tear rolled down Loki’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. He let out a sharp breath, steeled his jaw, and stepped back inside your bedroom, not at all ready to do the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

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ladymirdan · 9 days

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There’s a dumbass 4chan thing being shared in groups I’m in where Amazon is supposedly forcing GW to make female custodes bc they want them in the show and HC might walk and ruin GW’s stock and other stupid shit. I know it’s dumb but it’s triggering my anxiety really badly and I can’t get the thought out of my head, especially because these groups are normally a space I feel safe in but there’s been one or two idiots ever since the announcement that has been toxic and it’s hard to enjoy 40k now

I understand, and I'm sorry. I wish these people could be reasoned with, but they cant, because they dont really care about Warhammer, they care about “the issue”. Pointing out things like “the authors of Black Library has fought for this for years” is like water on a duck.

The thing I usually do when I come across those people is try to not engage (difficult, I know, and I fail a lot of times), log off social media for a moment, and go to my local Warhammer store (the offical ones are the best at this).

Seeing the energy from people actually playing the game is so diffrent and sobering. I made a roadtrip across yourube last summer and made a point to visit every GW store along the way, and every single one had happy, excited staff and customers. And it always fills me with that hope and joy again.

I dont do Reddit that much, because its home to some chronically online people that just manages to bait me every time. I like Tumblr the most because its is 99% people to share their hobby experiences (and two angry guys screaming into a bucket).

That being said, the show might be cancelled, it might suck, but Warhammer will survive. It's not like it hasn't had shitty shows before. My favourite one is that Ultramarine movie, which is so bad that it becomes good again.

But you are also right, I have been giving these idiots too much of a platform they dont usually have. And I will be returning to my regular content again, which is geeking out about Ultramarines, Iron Warriors, Emperors Children, Nightlords, or some other flavour of the week (right now Aeldari,)I have been putting off building for a while since my hobby space is a bit messy, but I will clean it up and post more lovely pictures of mini butts.

This will blow over, it always does.

#40k #warhammer 40k #warhammer #I do love this community

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kit-williams · 2 months

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Picnic

Male Lead: Tulio Female Lead: Psychi Universe/AU: Warhammer 40k/Yandere Space Marine Canon Status: Set after when she gets traded/sold to his buddy and Tulio has started courting... yes its canon until I say otherwise

note: it was a real close race that ended with Tulio, Sirus, and Arkyn/Nakht. Sirus pulling ahead of sweet boy Arkyn at the very end. But I was also informed that I've created one of those super ultramarines the ones with plot armor.

Psychi was doing her best to settle in with her new master... in this new standing. She could tell that there isn't much need of her around which makes her nervous as it makes her wonder why she was bought. She is thankful that she gets to see Lord Tulio far more as she still must think of a way to pay him back for saving her life. Yet every attempt has been thwarted and foiled leaving her more and more nervous as to how she can pay the astarte back.

The grass green eyes that meet her own eyes as she bites her bottom lip... there's been a suspect lack of things for her to do today and what little she can find to do then here comes Tulio. She's far from some young maiden who shirks her duties to go romp around with other youths... "I don't-" Psychi starts.

"And I can get you out of any trouble you would get into." He croons at her softly as he picks her up and steals her away during the early morning rays and she can't help but let out the softest giggle as he spins her in his arms as she looks at the bag of food.

"What's this Tulio?" She asks softly.

"Lunch!" He says happily, "And I have a gift for you!" He says with such a smile in his eyes as she looks up at him with expectations, "Close your eyes." He purrs into her ear and she can't help but shiver at the hot breathe rolling over the shell of her ear. She could feel the weight of something upon her neck and then the tightness of a choker.

She opens her eyes as she rubs her throat feeling the small smooth stone around her neck. "I got you an amber choker! It looks so pretty on you!" She feels her cheeks heat up as she is surprised about the fact that he had gotten such a gift.

"Are you alright?" Tulio says with some concern in his voice.

"Yes I'm just... flustered by the gift. I wasn't expecting such... such a gift." She manages to say.

She yelps once again as she is picked up as he walks to where he wants to spend the day with her. The grassy hill by the stream is a wonderfully warm yet close to shaded spot as Psychi is placed down and their picnic can begin.

Sweet figs and honey mixed with meats and cheeses. Tulio for his part regaled her with poetry and prose... watching her wade into the stream to cool off as the two of them also watch the fish swim by.. and even Tulio catching two for something a bit later as the two of them continue to stay out until the stars start to come out as she and Tulio eat the fish and the remainder of the food that Tulio had brought for them.

She leans against his arm just looking up at the stars as he is talking about the different constellations and also the different campaigns in certain sectors. He pulls her close as she tells him what she knows about the stars, very limited, and stories and tales of what she knows passed down orally as she feels his hands pet her form and her head.

Psychi doesn't even realize she drifts off against Tulio smiling as she listens to his voice drone on and on about something she can't quiet remember but it hardly matters as she feels wanted in this brief moment and once more she hopes she can make it up to him someday.

Fluffuary Tag List: @bispecsual @the-californicationist @egrets-not-regrets @libraryshadow @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

#warhammer 40k #yandere space marine #space marine #yandere ultramarine #ultramarine #ultrahusband #OC: Tulio #psychi #tulio x psychi #x reader #space marine x reader #fluffuary #fluffuary2024

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cerberusxt · 10 months

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How I Paint Things - Part 2

Part 1, all about working in subassemblies, is available here.

Priming minis can seem somewhat easy at first glance. You just spray, and you are done, right ?

Right ?

But any miniature painter with even a small bit of experience can tell you that things can go wrong real bad, real fast. And f-ing up your mini from step 1 is more frustrating than not finding the keys of a chastity belt !

Fortunately, there are quite a few tips, tricks, and good habits you can follow to mitigate that kind of bad experience. So let’s go over it.

Why prime to begin with ?

Priming can seem like a bother, but try painting over bare plastic, and you will understand real fast how not enjoyable an experience that is. It also makes for a less durable paint job overall, so don’t cheapen on that crucial part !

With which color should I prime ?

A surefire way to start a heated debate between miniature painters is to ask which color is best for priming (and if you want to start a century long war, ask chuds which color is best for priming female space marines!). Since I’m not here to settle any of those questions, I will simply list the pros and cons of each available options. That way, you can choose which fits you best.

There are basically 4 options :

Black primer :

Advantage : Even if you forgot to paint some parts of your mini, with a black primer, it will just look like the missing part is in the shadows. It’s especially useful on minis with some hard to reach parts, like inside of capes. With black primer, you can just prime and forget.

Disadvantage : If your scheme uses bright or pale colors, you will have a harder time basecoating and will need more layers to reach full opacity.

White primer :

Advantage : Perfect for bright or pale colors or with paint that cover like ass (yellow, some pink, some dark green, etc.). You will basically cut the basecoating time of those colors in half.

Disadvantage : Contrary to the black primer, if you forget to basecoat some hard to reach parts of your mini, it will stick like a sore thumb. Another disadvantage to keep in mind is that acrylic white paints in general are pretty finicky (it’s due to the white pigment being is « bigger » than other pigments, from what I understand), and there are more horror stories of botched white primer than black primer (texture when the primer dries, etc.), so it’s not the safest option.

Grey primer :

Advantage : Almost like white but less capricious or prone to bad texture.

Disadvantage : Slightly less drastic than with white paint, it can still stick out a bit if you forget part of your mini.

Specific colors primer :

By that, I’m talking about the primers dedicated to a particular color scheme, like Ultramarine blue if you paint smurfs.

Advantage : If you intend to paint loads of minis with a similar color scheme, those kinds of primers can be a real time saver, even if the hue isn’t exactly the one you want in the end.

Disadvantage : Same as for white and grey, with the caveat that it will look less jarring by being the same color as the dominant color of your color scheme.

Since that series is title « how i paint thing », I must say that personally, I prime almost every single one of my minis black, even when I paint bright or pale colors. Overall, I find the white primer making parts you forgot to basecoat stick out more of a pain than having to paint a few more layers over black to reach opacity. I would advise you to try both the black and white primer to experience it for yourself, you might have a different impression though

I won’t go over the zenithal priming method, I personally don’t use it, but basically you prime white and then spray some white primer from the top. Never found that method useful since I never use any contrast type paint.

Spray can or brush-on primer ?

Both are fine. A spray can is faster to apply than by brush, but by brush, you aren’t bound to the weather anytime you want to prime your minis, and you are almost guarantee to not have to deal with weird textures.

I personally mainly use the Chaos Black primer from Citadel which, while more costly than other brands, never got all weird on me.

As for the brush on primer, I use the one from Vallejo. It even comes in black, white, and grey !

Overall, I tend to use both spray cans and brush on primer in tandem. What I mean by that is that I try not to over prime my minis with the spray can to avoid speckles and weird textures, meaning some parts of my minis are sometimes not primed enough. I then simply correct things by brushing on additional and localized primer. That overall process isn’t very long and guarantee speed and effectiveness.

How-to use brush-on primer ?

Like standard paint, you apply a few coats. Two is generally more than enough with black primer, you don’t need to reach full opacity, what matters is having primer over every surface, even if it’s a bit thin. Then, let your primer cure 24h in a dry room before painting.

You can also use those primer in an airbrush (basically they are made exactly for that purpose to begin with) and you get all the advantages of the spray primer without most of the inconvenient. You still need to clean the airbrush though.

How-to use a spray can primer ?

It might seem pretty easy at first glance, but it’s probably the trickiest part of that whole priming process, seeing how finicky those spray cans can be.

Here are the key things to keep in mind to have the best chance of not messing up :

One, don’t cheapen on the shaking ! When the label says you must shake the can for 2mn, it’s for a reason. So work those arms and count the seconds sloooowly. When in doubt, shake a bit more. That way, you will both have a great priming experience AND huge biceps !

Two, always prime outside, not in your garage, even if it’s well ventilated, otherwise, you run the risk of intoxicating yourself with the fumes. Those are no joke, and the best way to mess up priming a mini is going into a coma.

Three, never prime when it rains. I will later explain a way you can circumvent humid and cold weather, but rain can truly mess up your work, so don’t even try (obvious, I know, but hey).

Four, always apply a first squeeze of the spray can on some piece of cardboard before doing it on your mini. That way, if the spray can do something weird (it can happen when the muzzle dry badly), you will know right away and won’t damage your precious minis.

Five, prime your minis in short bursts, not too close (15/20cm) and try to slowly rotate them (or move your hand) to catch all angles. Don’t forget to prime from the top and the bottom, it’s often the angles that get forgotten.

Six, don’t overprime ! A slight bit of grey isn’t a problem, as long as you have some « dust » of primer over it. It’s always easier to fix not enough primer than too much anyway.

(What too much priming does to a mofo !)

Seven, when you’ve finished priming, put your spray can upside down and squeeze the muzzle until no more paint comes out. That way, you will clean the muzzle and avoid having paint dry in it, making the spray can unusable.

Eight, always let your freshly primed mini dry in the driest room in your house. Humidity at that stage can mess with the priming. Ideally 24h.

Additional tips and tricks, especially if you want to prime when it freezes outside !

Probably the best tip I regularly use, and one that can allow you to prime with a spray can even in the dead of winter :

When cold outside, put the butt of your spray can into a bit of warm water (not hot, it should be around 25°C/30°C at most) for 10 minutes. It should put your spray can at it’s ideal temperature. Then, shake the can while staying indoors before rushing outside, priming as fast as you can, and going back inside. It works like a charm every time !

And one last bonus tip : beware almost finished spray cans ! 95% of my priming problems came during the last leg of one of my spray cans (speckles, or other textures). So, nowadays, I keep my almost finished spray can exclusively to prime bases (those tend to be more accepting of a bit of texture) and use as new a spray can as possible for the minis themselves.

Next part will be all about basecoating !

#miniature painting #warhammer 40k #warhammercommunity #miniatures #tips and tricks #tutorial

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casualevan · 3 months

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I put a Star Wars character head on an Ultramarine. I'm sure this will go over well and be loved by both fan bases

#warhammer #wh40k #space marines #ultramarines #female space marines #star wars legion #star wars rebels #sabine wren

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 9 months

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...the unholy flames of ♥kink!week♥ burn brightly... (don't know what kink week is? click here!)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

∼ the unholy week nears its end, and today we venture into the murky waters of dubious consent — what monsters await us there? ∼

∼ day six brings us our beloved villain ♥ Captain Phasma ♥ ∼

∼ tags and the fic are under the cut ∼

♥ i've worked very hard on this series — it was a huge project to undertake and i would very much appreciate if you left me comments with your thoughts and impressions — you already know they make my heart sing ♥ (AO3 link — i prefer it to tumblr vastly)

tags: #rape/non-con elements #tentacle rape #tentacles #tentacle sex #tentacle monsters #dubious consent #extremely dubious consent #face-fucking #triple penetration #double penetration #anal sex #power dynamics #power struggle #choking #fainting #dom/sub #forced submission #rape #multiple orgasms #kink!week

easy prey (clicking on the title will lead you to ao3)

Captain Phasma sometimes manages to catch a breath in-between missions. Sometimes, she has a night off, and sometimes, on such nights, she lets herself blow off some steam — always, she does it by picking up a pretty thing, usually at a bar, and having some fun with her. She has a type she usually goes for — she prefers a pretty, human(oid) female that appreciates a firm hand.

She isn’t too picky, however, after weeks spent aboard a stuffy spaceship.

She’d never been to this bar — nor this planet. She doesn’t know much about this part of the galaxy, nor does she care to learn. Her plan for tonight is to hang out by the bar, get reasonably tipsy, and see if there’s a pretty girl she could have a good time with.

It doesn’t take long to spot her.

She’s gorgeous. Long, wavy hair down to her waist, dark, glowing skin so smooth it doesn’t look real, full lips that are made to appear ever plumper with glittery lipgloss, broad shoulders, skimpy bright blue dress that looks almost neon against her skin tone and barely covers anything. She’s just the right balance between muscular and soft. She dances alone with a drink in hand, paying no attention to the swarm of people trying to approach her and talk to her. She firmly pushes away anyone who tries to grind against her or gets too handsy.

Phasma needs to have her.

She waits until the girl gets bored of dancing and goes to the bar to buy another drink. The girl leans on the bar as she waits, her bare, toned back partially turned to Phasma.

“Not interested in a good time?” Phasma asks.

The girl turns towards her. Phasma is immediately struck by how unnaturally — how beautifully — blue her eyes are. If Phasma knew — or cared — about particular colour shades, she’d call them ultramarine blue. They are accentuated by glittery eyeshadow, and seem to shine in a way that’s just slightly unnerving and uncanny, indicating she might not be quite human, despite appearing so — but Phasma doesn’t care to analyse her genealogy. The girl seems human enough for activities that Phasma has in mind.

The girl smiles. “Not with those desperate bastards over there, that’s for sure.”

Her teeth are pearly white and shiny, and perhaps a bit sharper than Phasma had expected — but her voice is smooth, melodious and lilting, and Phasma forgets all about the teeth. She wants to hear more of that voice, wants to make this girl moan her name — or, preferably, her title.

“If you’re tired of desperate bastards groping you on the dance floor, you could sit here with me — have a nice chat.”

The girl eyes Phasma up and down, lingering on her muscular arms before looking her in the eye and smiling even brighter. Her blue eyes and her sharp teeth seem to shine in the dim light — the visual is a bit eerie. Phasma feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she doesn’t think anything of it, distracted by lust and the pleasant fuzziness from all the alcohol she’d already had.

“And I suppose you’ll only grope me if I ask nicely?” the girl asks, sitting down on the stool next to Phasma.

“Ah, see? We already understand each other very well.”

The girl laughs. Her laugh is like a babbling brook, bright and melodious.

“I might ask you that later — but first, I’d like a name.”

Phasma isn’t keen on giving her actual name to one-night-stands.

“You may call me Captain,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.

“And are you a captain?” the girl asks with an amused glint in her eye, shifting on her chair.

It is in that moment her drink arrives. Before the girl can react, Phasma pulls out a crisp bill from her pocket and pays for the drink. She never breaks eye contact.

“I am.”

The girl takes a sip of her drink — some sort of sugary concoction that’s probably stronger than it looks. She nibbles on the pink, neon straw. “I could believe that.”

“And what should I call you?” Phasma asks.

The girl grins mischievously, straw in her mouth. “You could call me Lucy, but you could also call me something else, if you prefer.”

“Lucy is a lovely name.”

There is no way in hell her name is Lucy — but then again, Phasma’s name isn’t exactly Captain, either. She can understand the desire to keep one’s identity private, and she can appreciate a girl with a brain — even if the dumb ones are way easier to bed.

This one will probably be way more fun, though.

“So, Captain,” she purrs, raising her hand to caress Phasma’s bicep. “Wanna continue this pleasant conversation somewhere more private?”

Phasma is a bit taken aback by how eager the girl seems to be all of a sudden, especially since she seemed so disinterested in physical contact on the dance floor. Usually it takes a bit more flirting, and usually Phasma is the one to suggest going somewhere quieter — no girl wants to seem easy, after all.

Phasma doesn’t need to be asked twice, though.

She towers over Lucy as they walk through the crowd, enjoying how much smaller the girl is compared to her. She puts her hand on the small of her back — her skin is smooth like marble, but way hotter.

As soon as they exit the bar and step onto the dark alleyway, Phasma pins her against the wall and kisses her. Lucy nips on her lip with her sharp teeth and draws blood. Phasma enjoys it.

Easy prey, she thinks as they head towards Lucy’s residence.

It never crosses her mind that Lucy might be thinking the same thing.

Something about Lucy isn’t quite right — and Phasma, unfortunately, only becomes aware of that once they’re making out on Lucy’s couch.

Phasma is straddling her, pinning her wrists down with one hand, and the other one she runs over her throat before lightly squeezing. Lucy whimpers.

“Like being choked like a filthy slut, hm?” Phasma asks. Lucy shakes her head. “No? You’re out of luck then, pretty girl, because I enjoy that very much.”

She squeezes again — not too hard, but enough to let her know who’s in charge. She feels herself getting wet at the sight of Lucy squirming underneath her. The straps of her skimpy dress slid down and one of her nipples is exposed — it’s dark and pretty and perfect. Phasma can’t wait to put it in her mouth. Oh, she’ll love fucking this pretty thing.

Lucy is noticeably smaller than her, and a head shorter — she shouldn’t be able to throw Phasma off of her like she weighs nothing — nor climb on top of her and pin her down so she can’t move an inch — and not for the lack of trying.

And yet.

“Had enough of your little power trip?” Lucy says, smiling, and her teeth somehow seem sharper than before. Her blue eyes are glowing. She gives Phasma a look that makes all the hairs on her body stand up — predatory, lecherous, hungry.

She holds Phasma’s wrists down in the same fashion Phasma held hers moments ago, her long hair tickling Phasma’s neck. Phasma tries to throw her off of herself, but finds that she can’t — Lucy’s grip is iron. She keeps squirming, but Lucy doesn’t even break a sweat as she holds her down.

“You can’t escape, handsome thing,” Lucy purrs. Phasma stares at the glitter on her lips — remnants of her now smudged lipgloss.

“Fuck,” she says, giving up on trying to escape Lucy’s grip. There isn’t much else to say.

“Yes, that’s what I’m about to do,” Lucy chuckles, then surges forward and pushes her tongue into Phasma’s mouth. Phasma makes a guttural noise as Lucy kisses her and assaults her mouth with her tongue — a tongue that, now that Phasma thinks about it, feels a bit too smooth, and is perhaps just a bit too long. The girl isn’t human, that much is clear, but Phasma has no idea what she is.

“Like being choked, Captain?” Lucy purrs, breaking the kiss, her breath hot in Phasma’s mouth.

Before Phasma can react in any way there is a tentacle wrapped around her neck.

For a couple of seconds, Phasma can’t breathe. The tentacle feels smooth and slimy and slick, with little suction cups latching onto the skin of her neck hard enough to bruise. Her eyes widen in horror when she sees more of them appear above her. They seem to be sprouting from Lucy’s back, eight of them — thick, dark blue and glistening, with pink, fleshy suction cups.

Lucy releases the hold on Phasma’s neck, and Phasma gasps for air. The suckers painfully tug on her skin as Lucy removes the tentacle. It feels like getting a dozen hickeys all at once. Phasma hisses in pain.

“I love dominant women,” Lucy whispers in Phasma’s ear. “I love how helpless they look as I fuck them, and I love it even more when they realise they fucking love it.”

She licks Phasma’s neck, cleans up the slick left on it from the tentacle. Phasma actually enjoys the sensation, and would perhaps enjoy it even more if she wasn’t distracted by the fleshy blue and pink tentacles wiggling around her. She stares at them, wrists pinned down, frozen, as Lucy kisses her neck.

“Like them?” Lucy asks. Phasma can feel her grin into her neck.

They are horrifying, gross and slimy, but there is something mesmerising about the way they move — and they are attached to the most beautiful creature Phasma’s ever seen — that certainly makes a difference.

“Feel them,” Lucy purrs and pulls on Phasma’s wrists, bringing them behind her back. Phasma tries pulling back, but Lucy’s grip on her wrists is too strong. She guides Phasma’s hands to slide along the tentacles. Phasma’s entire body tenses up. “Mmm, that feels really good, you know,” Lucy murmurs into her ear, licking and placing lazy kisses onto it.

The slick tentacles and the sticky, bulbous suckers are unlike anything she’s ever touched. They feel weird, but not unpleasant — and mixed with Lucy’s hot kisses on her ear and her soft body pressed against Phasma’s, it’s… it’s…

Phasma settles on confusing.

“You must have thought I’d be such easy prey,” Lucy whispers as she grinds her hips into Phasma’s and slams her arms back onto the couch. “Pretty girl you could throw around a bit, get some frustration out on, hm? Have a quick, dirty orgasm while you choke me. And if you accidentally squeezed too hard, who’d know?”

“I wouldn’t kill you,” Phasma says, trying to keep her voice level, not wanting it to show how much she’s affected by Lucy grinding on her, the feeling of Lucy’s tits against her own, Lucy’s tongue on her ear. It’s not exactly a lie — she wouldn't kill her on purpose. If it happened accidentally, however…

Well — she wouldn’t dwell on the life of a pretty whore from a bar.

“How generous. Perhaps I won’t kill you either, then. It would ruin the mood just a little bit.” She takes Phasma’s lower lip between her teeth and bites on it, drawing blood. Phasma sucks in a sharp breath. “I’d much prefer to fuck and humiliate you. It’ll be super hot. I promise you’ll love it.”

Phasma feels both relieved that she probably won’t get killed tonight and completely horrified at the prospect of what this girl — this creature — might do to her instead. She wistfully thinks of her blaster, left by the door as they entered the apartment. Oh, what a fool she was to think she wouldn’t need it in a makeout session with a pretty alien.

Lucy seems to notice the dread in Phasma’s eyes, because she laughs, showing all of her sharp teeth. Her laugh is lovely sound — one that Phasma still finds charming. She wonders if the girl is some sort of siren-like creature.

Lucy caresses Phasma’s cheek — not with her hand, as she is still pinning Phasma’s wrists down — but with one of her tentacles. Phasma shivers at the feeling of the slimy, slick limb on her face leaving a wet trail of sludge.

“Afraid, hm?”

“No,” Phasma spits out. She’d rather die than admit to fear.

Lucy chuckles. “I can tell you’re a crazy bitch. And you know what?” She leans in closer. “It takes one to know one,” she whispers, and then laughs — it send chills down Phasma’s spine.

“I’d say you happened to meet your match, but I could eat you for breakfast without even blinking. Now, my advice for you would be to try to relax and enjoy yourself. It hurts more if you’re all tight,” she purrs and crashes her lips into Phasma’s again, forcing her tongue into Phasma’s mouth. It’s definitely too long for a human tongue, and she sticks it so far down Phasma’s throat that she gags.

“Aww, not a good gag reflex?” Lucy coos, breaking the kiss. “Poor thing. Let me give you a little treat as a reward.”

She sits up on Phasma’s lap, and before Phasma can use the fact that her wrists aren’t being held down anymore, Lucy replaces her hands with tentacles. Two wrap around her wrists, and two slide under her shirt, groping her tits over her sports-bra, wetting the fabric and leaving a disgusting trail of sludge on it. The suckers latch onto her skin — it feels bizarre — but she doesn’t dwell on the sensation too long. Her attention is taken by Lucy making a show of removing her dress, slowly sliding the straps down her shoulders. One of her nipples is already out from all the grinding and wrestling on the couch, but the other she reveals slowly — painfully slowly — letting the silky fabric slide down her perfect, round tit. Phasma watches her, mesmerised. Lucy is the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

Lucy maintains eye contact with her as she undresses, ultramarine eyes sparkling in the dark apartment, plump lips curled into a wicked smirk. There’s glitter on her face from all the smudged makeup, and her long, wavy hair falls onto her shoulders in beautiful, fluffy tresses. Her dress now pools around her soft belly, and rides up her thighs. She isn’t wearing anything underneath, and Phasma can catch a glimpse of dark hair between her legs. She can feel the heat radiating from there against her own pelvis.

Lucy lazily starts rolling her hips into Phasma’s. Phasma’s eyes wonder up towards Lucy’s exposed tits that are lightly bouncing up and down as she grinds against her — perfect, round, soft tits, with small, dark nipples that she wants — needs — to have in her mouth. She watches, spellbound, mouth agape.

There is, however, a disturbing addition to the otherwise very arousing visual — the tentacles — slick, thick, deep blue and soft pink limbs that sprout from Lucy’s back and sides, four of them floating around her, and four pinning Phasma down and groping her over her bra. Phasma is only able to feel so much over the thick fabric strapping her tits down tight, but it still feels surprisingly good — better than Phasma would like to admit. And as she watches the alien goddess grind her hips on top of her, slimy tentacles surrounding her like a halo, tits bouncing, plump lips parted and smirking, she can’t deny it.

It turns her on.

She feels the wetness pool between her own thighs, and she's frustrated that she can’t do anything about it. She isn’t used to being helpless — or pinned down. She squirms underneath Lucy, unsure of what she’s really trying to do — escape, get some friction between her legs, or gain some semblance of control.

“Poor baby,” Lucy says, smiling wickedly. “Craving some attention, hm?”

Phasma is pissed. Nobody dares talk down at her like that — and if they do, she makes sure they never talk again. She squirms some more, exasperated, trying to sit up, and she almost manages — but then the tentacles slam her down into the couch, and she realises she was only able to get up even a little because Lucy let her. She’s fuming — Lucy is toying with her like a cat with its prey. Phasma tries kicking her legs, but that does precisely nothing.

“Fuck,” she grunts in frustration, and Lucy laughs. That bitch is laughing at her. Phasma thinks about blowing her head up with her blaster, and then each of the tentacles. She imagines how they’d twitch and fall down, limp and lifeless.

“You’re so cute when you can’t get what you want,” Lucy chuckles, then rips her dress from her torso in one swift move, throwing it on the floor. Phasma is so mad she doesn’t even register the fact that Lucy is now naked on top of her. She’s seething with rage, her vision blurring.

“You fucking bitch,” Phasma says through her teeth, “I’ll fucking kill you—”

“Ah-ah,” Lucy interrupts her. “You might wanna keep your pretty mouth shut, Captain. I’m the one who could kill you, after all.”

Phasma cries out in frustration, but then there’s a slimy, thick tentacle in her mouth. She almost gags on it. She tries to scream, but the only thing coming out of her mouth are muffled groans. She throws her head left and right, trying to get the thing out of her mouth, but there’s no way she can manage that. Tears fill her eyes. The sensation of sludgy, sticky suckers latching onto her tongue disgusts her. She tries screaming and squirming some more, but to no avail. Finally, she stills, realising her defeat. She’s breathing heavily, trying not to gag.

“All done with your little tantrum?”

Phasma just stares at those stunning, glowing, blue orbs mocking her, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

“Good. Now, stay still while I undress you,” she says, as if Phasma could do anything other than obey.

Phasma stays as still as she can, but she’s shaking, unable to help herself. She feels her cheeks burn with shame and disgust for her own helplessness.

Lucy undresses her almost gently — using her hands, thankfully. First she removes Phasma’s boots, then she undoes her belt.

“Lift,” she says, and Phasma lifts her hips. Lucy pulls down her pants, then her underwear. Phasma trembles the entire time.

“Awww, don’t be scared, pretty captain.” She kisses Phasma’s knees, then up her thighs, strokes her legs and hips almost reassuringly. “You’re gonna get fucked so well — you’ll love it.”

Phasma just stares at her, hyperaware of the slimy tentacle in her mouth. Dread weighs down her stomach. She’s unable to do or say anything.

“I’ll free your mouth to remove your shirt now, hm? And if you’re good and stay quiet I won’t gag you again. Nod if you understand.”

Phasma nods. She tries not to think about the tentacle shifting in her mouth as she does so.

“Good girl,” Lucy says, and Phasma somehow manages to refrain from recoiling at the phrase.

The suckers tug painfully onto her tongue, releasing with little pops as Lucy pulls out the tentacle. Phasma lets out a throaty whimper and furrows her brows in pain. Once the limb is out of her mouth, she moves her jaw and winces at the sludge it left behind — not enough to spit out, but enough to be gross. She swallows bits of it. It’s salty.

“Like that, hm?” Lucy taunts her as she hooks her fingers under Phasma’s shirt. “Up.”

Phasma sits up and Lucy pulls the shirt over her head. “Stay.” She removes Phasma’s bra.

Phasma is fuming with rage at being talked to like a dog, but she says nothing — just closes her eyes and inhales deeply, trying to calm down. She is completely naked now. She can’t remember the last time she felt so exposed, so vulnerable.

“Open your eyes, Captain. Look at me.”

Phasma does as she’s told. She gives Lucy a look full of hate.

“So easily provoked,” Lucy chuckles. “Come ‘ere.”

She kisses Phasma — surprisingly gently. She nibbles on her lip, caresses her neck and runs her fingers over the short hair at the back of Phasma’s head. She presses herself flush against Phasma and wraps her legs around Phasma’s hips. Her breasts feel soft against’s Phasma’s own as she slowly grinds against her.

They make out for a while, and it almost feels normal, as if they’re just two naked women kissing instead of an alien and a war criminal playing a sick power game — with one side most definitely winning.

After a couple of minutes, Phasma slowly starts to relax into Lucy’s touch. She can’t resist her soft curves — she runs her hands over her breasts, grabs her hips — firmly, but not too hard, aware she’s not the one in control here. She’s very careful not to touch the tentacles.

Lucy, however, doesn’t hold back from exploring Phasma’s body — and Phasma must admit it feels nice. She usually isn’t very keen on letting people pleasure her, as it requires giving up too much control — but since any semblance of control she may have felt in this situation is long gone, she finds that she enjoys being touched for once. Lucy drags her fingernails across Phasma’s back, fondles and squeezes her tits, her hips, her legs, her ass, runs her hands over Phasma’s muscular arms and taut stomach. She seems to really like Phasma’s muscles, and Phasma can’t help but feel just a little bit smug about that.

Lucy quickly catches onto the fact that Phasma enjoys a bit of pain — she tortures and teases her by digging her nails into Phasma’s skin, biting her neck and her tits, leaving painful hickeys, slapping her face, tits and ass. Phasma feels herself go red with humiliation when Lucy spanks her really hard as she's kissing her, making her let out an embarrassing, needy whimper into her mouth.

“You’re just a needy whore, aren’t you? You just need someone to spank and fuck you properly,” Lucy murmurs and Phasma’s hand flies towards Lucy’s neck on instinct, anger and humiliation filling her, but Lucy just laughs and catches her wrist, bringing it down. “You could use those in a more productive way,” she says, smirking, and guides Phasma’s hands towards her tentacles, making her caress the place where the sludgy limbs sprout from her skin.

“Mmm, yes, do that,” Lucy purrs.

Phasma hasn’t really got a choice, so she does as she’s told. She massages the tentacles, runs her hands over Lucy’s waist and back, sludge coating her fingers, and Lucy stars producing sinful moans that make Phasma grow instantly wet — not that the previous activities haven’t already riled her up. Much to her horror, she realises she doesn’t find touching the tentacles that gross — not when it makes Lucy moan like that.

Lucy grinds her hips into Phasma’s, her movements growing more urgent and desperate by the second, and Phasma does the same. They dryhump on the couch, both moaning and grunting and groping each other, not concerned with being gentle.

Phasma craves Lucy’s pretty tits in her mouth, and she decides to grant herself that wish — Lucy lets her. Phasma sucks and bites on her nipples, moans at the feeling of the soft, heavy tit in her mouth. However, when she tries sliding her hand between Lucy’s thighs, Lucy slaps it away.

“I think we’ve had enough foreplay,” she says and roughly pushes Phasma down onto the couch.

Phasma is almost okay with Lucy fucking her at this point — she’s wet and turned on and Lucy is so attractive Phasma could forgive her most things. She even feels herself growing excited by the idea of Lucy’s fingers inside of her.

However, when instead of Lucy’s hands she feels Lucy’s tentacles on her body — wrapping around her arms and torso, spreading her legs apart, grabbing her tits, squeezing and latching onto her skin — a horrifying realisation hits her.

Lucy won’t use her hands to fuck her.

Lucy is sitting on the couch, back prettily arched, hand between her legs. She’s a beautiful and terrifying vision — the most alluring monster. Her smooth, dark skin glistens with sludge and sweat, her lips are parted, and her face and neck are full of makeup glitter. Her piercing blue eyes glow in the dark, and her round tits and soft belly look enticing enough to bite. Blue and pink tentacles wiggle around her — horrid, thick, disgusting, sludgy limbs.

The tentacles wrap around Phasma’s tits and squeeze — Phasma suppresses a moan . They caress her torso, her neck, latch onto her skin, give her painful hickeys. They keep her legs spread and hold her arms firmly in place. One of the tentacles slowly makes its way up Phasma’s legs.

The tentacle touches the inside of her thigh. Phasma would recoil if she could move — instead, her stomach muscles spasm. “No,” she says, as the tentacle slides up her thigh. “No, no, no—”

The tentacle touches her vulva. Sticky suckers latch onto Phasma’s skin, onto her clit, and she cries out in pleasure, pain and horror. “Fuck,” she cries through gritted teeth.

“Feels good, hm?” Lucy asks, voice breathy and gaze hooded as she touches herself. “My handsome captain. I’m gonna fuck you so well.”

She slides the tentacle down towards Phasma’s entrance. Phasma wonders if that thing can even fit inside of her. She squeezes her eyes shut and braces herself for the pain of being stretched out — but the tentacle slides further down, over her pussy lips and towards her ass — and then she feels it probe around a much tighter hole.

“No,” Phasma says, squirming as the tentacle pushes against her muscles. “No, stop — stop! Stop!”

She knows there’s no stopping what’s about to happen, but she fights it anyway, squirming and screaming. She tenses up when she feels the tip of the tentacle push inside of her. The thing is sludgy and slick enough that it doesn’t burn and sting too badly — but it still hurts.

“My advice would be to relax, Captain. It’ll hurt much more if you’re tense,” Lucy says, voice thick and breathy, as she rubs her own clit. “Fuck, you look so pretty like this.”

Phasma hates to admit she’s right — the smartest thing would be to relax as much as she can, if she doesn’t want it to hurt much more than it needs to. Taking a deep breath, she does her best to unclench her muscles. She feels the tentacle slide a bit further in and she grimaces, but doesn’t tense up again, instead letting it slowly fill her. It stings, and it feels wrong — but then the tentacle touches a good spot and she moans. It starts slowly sliding in and out of her. She’s breathing heavily, trying not to make any more embarrassing sounds — but then it suddenly picks up the pace and starts pounding into her, and she cries out in pleasure and pain.

Before she can get used to the feeling of being fucked, another tentacle slides into her pussy without warning, filling her and painfully stretching her. “Fuck!” she cries.

She’s being fucked in both holes — it hurts and it burns, and she can feel the two tentacles touch over her inner walls. The slimy suckers provide a different sensation than the smooth, slick part of the tentacle, and Phasma hates how good the different texture feels. One of the suckers latches onto her clit, and then Phasma can’t hold back her moans anymore. With each thrust she lets out a puff of air and a whine. Her cheeks and chest burn in shame — but then Lucy fucks her harder and the suckers latch onto her nipples, and she forgets all about shame. Delicious pleasure overwhelms her.

Lucy continues to touch herself as she watches her. The air is filled with moans and cries and wet noise of tentacles pounding into Phasma, as well as the slick sound of Lucy rubbing her own pussy.

“Does it feel good, hm?” Lucy asks, her voice breathy. “Tell me.”

Phasma doesn’t have it in her to form a coherent sentence — she just whines as the both tentacles keep hitting the right spots. That, combined with the sucking on her clit and nipples, makes her unable to think about anything else except the orgasm that is starting to build deep inside her belly. She’s never experienced anything quite like this. Tears are streaming down her face and she’s producing sounds she never thought she was capable of making. Her entire body tingles with pleasure.

Then, Lucy stops.

Phasma is breathing heavily, frustrated by not getting enough stimulation to keep the delicious pleasure building. She still, however, considers herself above begging. She avoids looking Lucy in the eyes, her shame too deep — but Lucy will have none of that. A tentacle grabs Phasma’s chin and forces her head towards Lucy. Phasma closes her eyes.

“Look at me.”

Phasma slowly opens her eyes and meets Lucy’s bright blue ones that are shining with lust. She looks absolutely beautiful, and somehow ethereal — she’s almost glowing in the dark room.

“Wanna come?” she asks her. Phasma is silent. “Tell me, slut.”

Phasma makes a quick and practical decision in about a couple of seconds — she figures that since she’s already completely and utterly humiliated, she could at least get an orgasm out of it.

It still isn’t easy to say it.

“Yes,” she manages to utter. She doesn’t recognise her own desperate and raspy voice.

“Then beg.”

They stare each other down for a moment. Phasma knows she’s lost — she disregards the last bits of dignity left in her and begs.

“Please,” she breathes out, barely audible.

“Louder.”

Phasma averts her gaze. “Ah-ah, look at me.”

Phasma obeys and begs again, this time louder. “Please.”

“Say, I need you to fuck me like a filthy slut.”

Phasma takes in a shaky breath. She struggles to maintain eye contact, but forces herself to do it nonetheless. “I—I need you to… fuck me…. like a filthy slut,” she utters, her voice breaking. Her cheeks burn and her stomach twists with humiliation.

Phasma will never admit it to anyone — you could hold her at gunpoint and she’d deny it — but there’s something erotic about giving up control — about letting yourself be somebody you aren’t, somebody who begs to be treated like a filthy slut. She’s never been fucked like this before, and she didn’t think she’d enjoy it — she’s never craved it, never fantasised about anything of the sort.

And yet.

Lucy grins, and it’s downright evil. “Well — since you’re begging, Captain.”

Without further warning, Lucy starts fucking her harder than before. Tentacles slide in and out of her, suckers latch onto her body, her clit, her nipples. She whines and moans, unable to help herself, but then a tentacle is forced into her mouth again and it muffles her desperate sounds. Phasma is almost grateful for it — she can’t bear listening to her own embarrassing cries.

Lucy rubs her own clit, brows furrowed in pleasure, beads of sweat dripping down her face and chest. She lets out quiet little huffs as she works herself towards her own release. Phasma watches her, and feels an orgasm build in her belly again, deep and potent. She gags on the tentacle, completely helpless as it fucks her mouth relentlessly. She feels the burning sting of her holes being stretched, revels in the delicious pleasure of her clit and nipples being sucked. She can’t move, she can’t scream — she can only watch Lucy cry out and come around her own fingers, before she herself tips over the edge of ecstasy.

The orgasm washes over her like a wave. She would scream if she could, but instead she just grunts and convulses, her eyes rolling back in her head. She shakes and trembles, and Lucy doesn’t stop — instead she fucks her into another orgasm.

Phasma is vaguely aware of a sticky tentacle wrapping around her neck and squeezing — she can’t breathe for a couple of seconds, and then she can again — and then she comes even harder than before. Somewhere around her third orgasm Lucy squeezes onto her neck a bit too hard and too long, and Phasma loses consciousness.

When she comes to, she doesn’t know where she is. She’s in pain, her head is throbbing, and she feels nauseous.

She lies on the floor for a while, fighting the urge to throw up. She rolls onto her side, pressing her aching body against the hard concrete and hissing in pain. She blinks furiously, trying to stay conscious and clear her vision.

A neon sign catches her attention, and she blinks some more to try and read it. She quickly realises it’s the sign in front of the bar in which all of this started. It’s not the dead of the night anymore, however — dawn is breaking.

She somehow manages to lift herself from the floor and not throw up. Her head is pounding, every muscle in her body hurts, and she can barely walk. She’s sore from the fucking. She’s relieved to see she’s in the clothes she came here in, even if they’re wrinkled and dirty and have dried tentacle slime on it.

And she’s, of course, also relieved that she’s still alive — she figured the girl wouldn't kill her, but she couldn't tell for sure. What a stupid way to go it would have been.

She looks at her wrists. They have disturbing looking hickeys on them — rows of purple dots in the shape of tentacle suckers — she figures the rest of her body probably looks similar. There’s also makeup glitter on her hands. She shudders.

Somehow she manages to get back to the ship. Nobody dares ask questions.

She spends the entirety of that day in a hot bath, fuming with rage, grunting in pain, trying to fully remove makeup glitter from her skin with little success, and thinking about the best orgasms of her life.

A year later, she’s on the same planet again — and yet again, she has some free time before a mission. Before she can overthink it, she finds herself in the same bar.

She doesn’t know why she does it. There’s no way that thing will be here again.

When she catches Lucy’s gaze in the crowd, her belly tingles with excitement.

“Missed me, Captain?” she purrs as they dance, bodies pressed flush against each other.

Phasma grabs her face and kisses her.

She comes several times that night. When she wakes up unconscious in the alleyway again, she swears not to do this ever again.

And she doesn’t.

...

Not until the next time she comes to town.

big thanks to lovely @opheliauniverse for editing <3

taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed!): @dumbasslesbi @bychrissi @scream-queenlover @muffintopxs @bigolgay @gwenslucifer @weemswife @yourhauntedhead @carnivorousflowers @i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper @softshrimpy @willowshadenox @syrenacrainn @weemssapphic @dianneking @imprincipalweemspet @kimiinou @ninelesbien @i-love-nerdy-stuff @eveymay @myzzjolanda @pluied-ete @brienneswife @gwenzone @principal-weems09 @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @gela123 @emilynissangtr @gwendolinechristieiscute @h-doodles @winterfireblond @alexusonfire @larissaoftarthweems @a-queen-and-her-throne @bikergurl5 @salems-spaghettios @theflashesoflove @catechristiesstuff @vendocrap8008 @billiedeansbitch @coffeemelko @lilfartbox1 @amateurwritescm @daydream-cement @kaymariesworld @sicklygrlsicklygrl @wh0re4women @rippersz

#kink!week #7 days of kink #captain phasma #captain phasma x original female character #gwendoline christie #i will produce my own garbage and also consume it #star wars sequel trilogy

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library-whale · 5 months

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Probably should've made this post sooner, but for a little more than a year now I've been working on Blaseball team fandragons! (I was gonna send them to all the sidecords, but the Breath Mints no longer have theirs...)

In order: Charleston Shoe Thieves - Ridgeback, Male Pose | Yellow Pinstripe/Lemon Noxtide/Caribbean Underbelly/Lightning Bright Moab Hellmouth Sunbeams - Aberration, Female Pose | Flaxen Diamond/Yellow Weaver/White Fangs/Light Multi-Gaze Kansas City Breath Mints - Obelisk, Female Pose | Spearmint Pinstripe/Jade Breakup/White Underbelly/Nature Glowing LA Unlimited Tacos - Spiral, Male Pose | Amethyst Boulder/Banana Patchwork/Black Underbelly/Arcane Bright (i wish there were a better gene for the team colors than patchwork lol) Alaskan Immortals - Gaoler, Male Pose | Lapis Shaggy/Ultramarine Flair/Gold Sparkle/Ice Uncommon

(I have one more Pre-History I dragon, but I'm waiting until I get another team to post it.)

#flight rising #blaseball #scopophobia #(for the sunbeams. that's a lotta eyes!#lmk if i need to tag body horror as well)#charleston shoe thieves #hellmouth sunbeams #kansas city breath mints #la unlimited tacos #alaskan immortals

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2lim3rz · 1 year

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FILLED LIKE A TAX RETURN (Roboute Gulliman X Female Reader) (NSFW)

So, like, I was going to only make this a list of headcanons because you thirsty gremlins wanted Yearning Gulliman but the more I brainstormed about it, the more this ended up as a Post-Heresy Gulliman instead of Pre-Heresy as planned

Listen, all I'm saying is that Post-Heresy Gulliman needs some outlet for stress. Congrats! You're that outlet! Now ignore the suspicious amount of information he knows about you!!

Also yeah this ended up much longer than I though

You were always something that lurked in the background. A nobody even amongst nobodies. An errand runner on better days, someone who made sure the pipes in your 'room' didn't leak on other days. Yet there were benefits to being no one. The prime of those being you were closer to things that many in the galaxy killed to have a privilege of even beholding.

And yours was Roboute Gulliman; the Avenging Son, the Azure Angel. Your personal title towards him was 'The Most Terrifying Being to Exist'. Shortly before his rise, you had only been vaguely near the Ultramarines.. which in of themselves froze you in your tracks. Made you feel smaller than ever before. Made you feel made of glass.

Yet the Primarch himself? Stole your breath away. Made something deep within you rush away or freeze entirely to only sob at the magnificent fear of him. The absolute terror that his word was life or death. Still, you were in the shadows. Divine coincidence or simply conflicting events sending you both opposite ways any time you came barely close to each other.

Until your errand was to take something to him. At first you began to simply leave it outside the doors, but that was unsafe. And when the guards in the front (equally terrifying and obscenely huge.. though that could have been your cowardly slouch) of the doors allowed you passage.. no one was luckily in the grandiose (yet.. simple? dare you thought) office.

In fact, you had just sat down the package upon the desk when you heard heavy steps; your heart plummeted as you turned around.. and there he was. Looming leagues above you and staring at you with.. a conflicting expression?

His eyebrows went from aggravated-but-neutral to furrowed. His mouth twisting as though he ate a bitter fruit. Suddenly his regal posture soured even as he stood stiffly. You remained where you where because what else were you supposed to do? You were a rat caught in daylight. Everything in you screamed insignificance to the voice of the Imperium and yet-

"Get out." his voice was terse, for a moment all you did was quiver violently before throwing yourself forward hard enough you simply floundered and fell. Scraping your elbows and knees upon the flooring, scrabbling with your hands, and finally scrambling away.

You were ignorant to how he turned and stared at you. Yet you still knew in your gut that he was doing.. something.

After that single experience of the Primarch seeing you for the first time, you were very content with that being the last. Perfectly content and yet after two days had passed, your supervisor all but had you dragged to his office where two Ultramarines stood. Only one, shorter than the other by a whole foot and yet still towering over you, had his helmet off. He held it under one arm, at his side was a massive gun you'd personally label as a hand-held heavy bolter. His face.. was as handsome as it was uncanny. As if Roboute Gulliman himself suddenly sprouted borderline-brown hair and had green eyes.

"Ah, you've finally arrived," his voice was lighter than you initially thought and you felt dread heavy in your gut as he said your name "Lord Gulliman has requested-"

The rest of his words were nonsense noise as you stared at him.

Gulliman requested you.

Roboute fucking Gulliman had requested for you.

You didn't even realize they were escorting you out until a ceramite coated hand was nudging your shoulder and you were limping forward with them. Thanking the fact that your blessing of adrenaline had given you the ability to walk more-or-less normally.

Your mind wandered the entire walk, even when it began to click in your mind that the two space marines weren't going to let you have a break. Were you to be executed? No, they'd have done that already. What if was something worse though? What if-what if-what if- what if?!

By the time to arrived to that damned office (clearly this was meant to be a private affair) you were shaking in your boots and choking back gross sobs. It didn't stop the tears and the wild eyed panicked stare you gave everything. All you knew was that you didn't want to die.

..You swore the moment you stepped into the office, that his face grew darker. Instantly drawing all over your body as if seeking something before turning the daggers towards his Ultramarines. One of his large hands was a coiled fist. You'd have searched for more details but truthfully, you were beginning to bawl uncontrollably and gibber out pleads for your life.

"Get out. Close the doors and guard them. As for you, silence your crying."

His voice was directed at you, powerful and shuddering into your core. Trembling where you stood (borderline squatting on the floor in fact) you stared up and frantically tried to swipe the tears away. Watching in terrified silence as he stood and, you swore personally, prowled towards you.

Looming above you, a giant statue of perfection contrasting to your meek and pitiful mortal frame. When he raised his hand, you flinched. He could squish you like one squashed a fly. No pain nor death greeted you.. instead his warm hand gingerly touched your chin. Almost as if he was afraid of breaking something delicate.. and he tilted your head upwards.

"When did you get those wounds,?" It only made sense he knew your name, but you shivered again. Staring wordlessly into his enchanting blue eyes. They were mystifying as much as they were studious. "...When.. you.. when you told me to get out.." your whispered voice cracked.

Please let go. Please do something! Your mental voice whined. You just wanted to curl up on the transit tracks and perish forever, a number amongst untold many.

"Hm." was his only response as he tilted your head this way and that.

Which was about the same time the questions began. Simple ones like family and friends. To.. odder ones. Had strangers given you food? (The cafeterium was full of strangers.) Had you been near people of oddities? (You had two legal mutants in your work sector but no) All the way down to more personal specifics such as how many times did you sit down yesterday (Which you couldn't answer because you were reeling over Gulliman even looking at you.)

Finally, Gulliman let go of your head and turned away. Pacing in front of his desk after picking up a notebook and pen (how archaic and expensive!). A tense animal is what he was as he occasionally glanced your way, scribbling notes upon notes. You decided to test the waters.

"May.. I.. go.. my lord?" at once he froze. Staring down upon you. Gritting his jaw and flaring his nostrils. There was something conflicting in that gaze of his.

"You may. Gorerus, Sullo, lead my personal guest to her new chambers."

Opening the doors, a bit hesitantly you supposed, the two space marines from earlier stood and clearly waited when it dawned on you. Turning about, it was your turn to furrow your eyebrows and stare.

"..Chambers..? My-" you stopped as those icy eyes- no.. they weren't cold in the slightest. They were very much the opposite, burning and.. not glaring but that was the only word you had to describe how fiery he stared at you.

You felt a strange feeling in your stomach. Wiggling and squirming and all warm all over. In that instant you swore you saw the primarch before you do a doubletake before waving a dismissive hand.

"Gorerus and Sullo will bring you tomorrow morning. Be ready by then."

You relented then, taking stumbling step after stumbling step. The two space marines weren't leading you at a grueling pace but at yours. Feeling awkward about the odd dynamics at play, you sped yours up.. if only to get away from..Gorus and Sully??

"So.. Gor..Gory-" you were looking at the taller of the two when the borderline-Roboute clone cleared his through, giving you an awkward look. "Maevius Gorerus." he at once interrupted "Continue on-" "If I may introduce myself as well, I am Casmaius Sullo. And if your questions relate to your.. sudden promotion and interest of our Lord Regent, Roboute Gulliman, then we do not have answers." as Casmaius spoke, you gave a smile that certainly indicated your impending breakdown to the harsh glare Maevius gave to his taller counterpart. Great. You were in between two space marines that clearly had not-so-good comradery with each other.

Abruptly, they would stop in front of a pair of doors, causing you to backstep a few times and stare. Of course they were elaborately gilded in gold but.. no.. surely these weren't yours.. You gave a fearful look to your.. guardians? Overseers? The only response you had gotten was an annoyed grumble from Casmaius and.. a look of pity from Maevius?

Maevius gently opened one of the doors for you, remaining outside and closing it behind you. Considering you heard absolutely no retreating loud footsteps from the armored duo.. you knew they stood guard at the doors.

So you indulged yourself. Exploring the massive rooms that qualified as your temporary home-away-from-home. Of course the first thing you took advantage of was the bathroom and the whole pool-sized bathtub. All your life you had only taken the shortest and brutally cold of showers but.. this?

It was overwhelming. The choices of soaps and all that. You could almost enjoy being.. a weird prisoner or whatever you were. You didn't even have to care about putting on your grimy sweat-stained clothes. There were already some there! It wouldn't have concerned you at all if they didn't fit right, they were clean! And smelled good and-

You stood. Staring into a massive mirror at how.. just right it fitted on you. It was terrifying. As if someone got all of your measurements while you slept.. Or was a massive superhuman that could know anything from a single look.

You did your best to ignore your unease as you worked your way around the room, staring with wide eyes as a servant did as you normally would for a prestigious guest.. albeit more in the background.

You were served food. Past the open doors, you could see the two Ultramarines standing guard. You wanted answers you wouldn't be given so you relented to enjoying your last night, you supposed it was anyhow. And completely pigged out. Stuffing yourself with foods that made you moan from how good it was. The most savory of sweet things and utterly delicious meats.

After all that, you finally slept.. and woke up to loud knocking at a time that was definitely before you'd ever wake up.. and before the sun even rose. So.. it wasn't morning as in regular people time.. but morning as in Gulliman time. Oh well, you could handle it as much as you floundered and settled on a sort of odd blue and gold dress.. in fact all of the outfits were dresses compared to your favored (and only) jumpsuit uniforms. And while you felt pretty looking at yourself in the mirror.. you felt like a fraud and..

Weird. Very weird.

At least until Casmaius stepped in and announced that it was time to leave. Your initial unease and fear resurfaced as you stepped between them and were lead to the office once again. Forced to grip the fabric of the swishy dress around you in your hands to avoid tripping.

Stepping into his office was.. a whole other rodeo though. The moment you beheld him and he beheld you.. the Roboute Gulliman's face was redder than blood before he looked away and cleared his throat. You chose the smart option of remaining silent.

Even if it was hard to remain that way given how he wasn't wearing his usual armor. In fact, it was some sort of shimmery elaborately embroidered cloth that draped over him. It wasn't like the suits or other outfits you had seen many wear, but more.. one-piece and blanket like? You could only guess that it was native-wear. You knew of some foreign workers that liked to wear their planet's native dress on off time and the (extremely rare) holiday time off.

Neither of you spoke for what felt to be eons. You only shook where you stood and watched his large finger go tap-tap-tap on the desk covered in books, dataslates, and files of all sorts, a good chunk of them appearing to be reports of tithes and planetary taxation.

"Why are you afraid of me?" finally he broke the ice and you were left confused. Flabbergasted even as he asked you why you were.. scared of him? It felt like a trap. It must be a trap. "You're.. the Lord Commander?" it felt obvious. Who wouldn't be afraid of the power he held? "I don't.. want to lose my post or-or die because I did something wrong, my lord- Am I in trouble?"

The words trembled out of you before you could stop them. Staring down at you.. he stood. You hated the conflicting feelings you had since the day before. As if something within you was forcing you to notice things you wouldn't. The rippling muscles of his arms and chest as he simply stood. The way you knew those arms could turn you into paste, yet you knew the infinite gentleness they could have..

Once again Gulliman was frozen in his tracks. You heard the desk's wood fibers groan momentarily as he gripped it. His body gave a single tremble before he abruptly straightened and stood in front of you; looming and ominous. "What do you feel in this moment?"

What..?

Stunned, you blinked up at the Primarch as he waited patiently. Suddenly forced to acknowledge how much you warred within yourself. "I.. feel.. afraid. And confused...my lord" And confusingly warm all over and in areas you'd rather not. As if the treacherous thought was insistent of beating you, you felt your face grow warm and the temptation to look at the ground.

You wished he wasn't so tall. It was making a conversation (one sided as it was) very awkward. Once more as you felt your body go flush, you saw that predatory look in his eyes. The flare of his nose and stiff stance when it dawned on you.

Was.. he.. able to smell you?

The horrified pit in your stomach was confirmed as he brought a hand up to clear his throat into when he turned away. No! Surely the red face he had was from something else! The Roboute Gulliman before you couldn't- You were insignificant! A no one! A nothing! A lowly worker beneath-

His gentle hands, worn from eons of working and fighting touched your chin once more as he lowered himself. You didn't realize you were shaking until you felt your breathing hitched.

What the fuck? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the absolute Emperor-Blessed fuck?!

Your thoughts barked and bayed in the cacophony of chaos that was your mind as you felt his lips brush yours. You were stunned, shocked, absolutely decimated as you stared dimly back at him. You swore you felt his hand tremble.

"You may call me Roboute instead." his voice was low, patiently gauging your reaction. Testing the waters as it were. "Am.. I.. in trouble?" you knew of cruel lords, surely the glowing jewel of the galaxy wasn't one of them- Your mind short-circuited as his thumb brushed your cheek. "No. There are very few ways you would be in trouble in this moment." those words weren't so comforting when you saw how clearly conflicted he was. What was going on? You weren't being told something but thinking was hard to do with how suddenly intimate this had gotten.

"Roboute.." Suddenly going fuck it was appealing. If you were on impending death-row you figured you may as well go out with a bang. Raising a hesitating hand, you placed it over Gulliman- Roboute's hand and paused before you leaned into it. Testing the waters slowly as he watched you.. as though he wanted to see what you would do next.

You kissed him. Not some short peck as he had done, but a full proper kiss. With a squeak of surprise, he immediately pulled you in closer turning your show of bravado into a dominating display in a kiss that lasted forever in the most pleasant way. His invading tongue was the sweetest part of it all. Washing your worries away in an instant as he devoured you.

The moment he pulled away? It was as if you flipped a switch, or more properly, unleashed a monster upon yourself. His lips drawing from your face to your exposed throat. His hands groping for your body through the dress, and while you felt nervous, at the same time you were curious.

So.. so horribly curious to see what this regal man would do to you. Squealing as he settled on ripping the dress from you. Your hands felt for his own clothes, though the word 'stop' began on your lips (even if you swore they were already bruised). That one word, that single word you prayed would put some sort of pause was torn away in a squeal as he hoisted you into the air. Pressing your back against the cold wall and kissed your breast. Giving each side of you small kisses before scraping his teeth over your nipples.

Your back arched, you wiggled in his hold and choked out a moan. You had expected anything except the way his eager mouth went lower and lower and- On instinct your hands went to his hair. Gripping him roughly as you tried to squeeze your spread thighs. He so easily held you, not a single quiver except for excitement.

And that groan.. that groan he gave as he tasted- no- truly devoured you. Learning all of your sweet spots in seconds and absolutely abusing them. And how much you whined as soon as his tongue left you.. and how much you moaned right after as soon as his finger began to take its place. Thick in all the right ways and absolutely too much as his tongue circled your clit.

You hadn't even realize you were violently coming on the primarch's masterful mouth until you felt his satisfied noise. You only wished he stopped, even just a moment as his finger thrusted into you. Squirming upon him as you felt yourself stretching more when he added another. Arching back and gritting your teeth with a long groan. The way you bucked your hips for more.

"Rob-Roboute, please- Oh- oh it's too much- It's all-" "Good." his breath was hot and yet blisteringly cold against your wet heat. The world was a dizzying blur as he drove you to your brink. Until you were struggling to push away his head because if he had to make you come undone a second (or was it third?) time, you'd be left sobbing. Even if you so conflictingly began wailing his name.

And so blessedly.. he did. Pulling away and his fingers leaving you. Forcing a needy whimper from you even though your eyes were beginning to tear up. Why, why did you feel so.. yearning and empty? Gazing into those beautiful blue eyes that threatened to consume you further.

Your breathing was a heavy pant as you watch him lick his lips. How he raised the fingers that were previously pushing all your buttons in the best of ways to his mouth.. and sucked on them. Refusing for you to break eye contact the whole while. Only to be lowered and consumed once again in a ravishing kiss. Digging your fingers into his hair and on his neck. Tasting the mixed flavors of his saliva and your own wetness on his lips.

Abruptly, he pulled himself away and gently lowered you. Pulling one of the outer wrappings from around himself to drape them around you. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and.. looking ashamed?

"Pardon.. me.." he hesitated. Staring away from you before turning away completely "We will discuss matters.. at a later time when my head is calmer."

What was wrong? He seemed more than overjoyed to be ripping your dress off and devouring you just seconds ago and now he suddenly wanted to be formal?

Disappointment and hurt were blatant on your face as you wrapped the too-big fabric around you tighter and stumbled to the doors. Looking over your shoulder as Gulliman flipped through some pages on that notebook from earlier.

And very much ignoring the suspicious gaze of Sullo.. and the more concerned eyebrow raise of uncanny Gorerus as they escorted you back to the opulent chambers that you supposed was your temporary home.

You were only relieved you could soak in those hot waters for as long as you wanted after all of that.

#volatile hearts au #VHA #roboute gulliman x reader #roboute gulliman #OC #because sullo + gorerus are my SONS #warhammer 40k #x reader #definitely will be a part 2 i swear

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