#shiyorin's writer
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Do Dreadnoughts dream of taking a bath?
#Inspired by PowerWash x Warhammer 40K and Roco.
#I love Dreadnought.
"Do Dreadnoughts dream?"
That is a question with no certain answer. On one hand, a Dreadnought is more machine than man, neural implants fuse mind to machine in ways bizarre to comprehend. Their armored carapace shelters only remnants of flesh, sustained through bionic might alone. By all rights, their cerebral cortex should have decayed long ago.
By such logic, one could argue conscious thought ends where flesh yields to steel. Sleep and its dreamscapes are biological realities, are they not? With only trace humanity remaining, why expect mental functions of slumber? But integrated into their armored shells are enough enhanced organs and neural implants to sustain bioniorganic functions far beyond mere biological viability. Isn't the nature of dream itself stems from biological instincts overwritten.
The pain was a dull ache, easily ignored after centuries entombed. But a new irritation assailed him now, crawling itches across flesh long denied sensation. Confusion, this body felt change, though it had lain inert as worlds turned. Deeper still came the oppression, lungs seizing as if drowning once more in bloody.
What trickery was this? Diagnostics reported stasis, all systems firing true. Yet the discomforts grew, phlegmy coughs racking the half-machine beast. Panic swelled, animal instincts long dormant rising within the eternal tomb. Then light, piercing the darkness behind closing lids. Sweet air rushed into ruined lungs, this labor easing at last.
His eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar realm. No armored bulk rose before him but limbs scoured by shrapnel and burned by virus-bombs. His original form, given once more against all reason, a gift or curse, he knew not. Unfettered he stood, wounds healed to bare scars across taut flesh. This was a dream, or something.
An uncertainty gripped him. What madness was this? To be returned to old flesh but feel no urge to battle, no call to crusade? A different impulse arose, foreign but ingrained, cleansing ritual performed eons past in youth. He walked uncertain, waters calling him to rites unseen by any in aeons untold.
Ribs still bore flecks of ceramite and plasteel patched within living shell. He paused before the waters, studying form that had known only warfare. Scars told their own tales, each etched upon memories kept alive through aeons in stasis. With care he entered in that, waters lapping old wounds as if in benediction.
There he lingered, letting cares and pains wash freely away. Muscles long locked in adamantium relaxed, tension fleeing in steam rising. For the first time in memory untold, no demands of duty or flesh assailed him. A feeling swelled within him, emotion locked beyond reach of mortal sensation. Peace, serenity swept over ancient minds as waters sloughed away cares of ages...
Pain pulsed through his battered form as consciousness returned. The fleeting peace of dreams melted away, centuries of enforced half-life onboard the Dreadnought crashing back upon ancient shoulders. Systems booted sluggishly, sensors recalibrating after solaris of monotony disturbed.
A hum escaped grille as servos whirred back to their duties securing crumpled flesh deeper than mortal sight could pierce. Outside clangs and grinding announced the diligent ministrations of tech-priests ensuring their perpetual charge clung yet to shadow of function. One voice carried clearly through armored carapace:
"Vitals stabilize in sector C-12 Magos. Neural links firing within tolerances." The Tech-priest's voice rang through microphones.
"Understood. Continue maintenance protocols and monitor for anomalies. This relic has served faithfully many centuries. Pray for the Omnissiah." The Magos's bionics buzzed in compliance. They ensured history marched on, whatever hulls preserved that march.
With effort, aged vox-grille creaked open. "Brother, I was dreaming." Static laced speech imparted by cobbled augmetics mere palliates for ravaged throat too ruined for basic sounds. The Techmarine's etheric sensors detected words nonetheless.
A static pause preceded Techmarine's reply. "Dreaming? Impossible, your neural engrams show only baseline activity."
Mirthless chuckle issued from loudspeakers. "Impossible, yes, But I dream... I'm taking a bath."
Silence answered as Techmarine puzzled over the incomprehensible scene. "The priests scrub your plating clean as monthly rite. Perhaps some synapse misfired."
Silence reigned for moments uncounted as ritual continued outside. Then, a final whisper from within. "Indeed. A... nice dream."
With that, consciousness fell back into lowest-level rest as painkillers suffused systems. The Techmarine watched monitors return to quiescent patterns, then signaled to close the Dreadnought once more. Its machine spirit's notions were beyond his. The armored tomb closed, and darkness reigned once more.
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The Inquisitor knows about yandere astartes, it won't end well
Inquisitor [REDACTED] report on yandere Astartes (????)
+++ CLASSIFICATION: [LOCK]
+++ CLEARANCE: Obsidian
+++ ENCRYPTION: [LOCK]
+++ DATE: 327.M38
+++ AUTHOR: Inquisitor [REDACTED], Ordo Malleus
+++ SUBJECT: INVESTIGATION INTO SUSPECTED GENEFLAW AFFECTING ADEPTUS ASTARTES SUBJECTS ACROSS ALL CHAPTERS AND FOUNDINGS
+++ EYES ONLY HIGHEST TRANCHESINQUISITORIAL CASE FILE [EXCISED]
Summary of Findings:
Initial reports of this suspected "Geneflaw" first reached my conclave several terran years ago. Astartes assets deployed to war zones began exhibiting highly erratic behaviors and perverse compulsions unbecoming of the Emperor's finest warriors.
Behavioral divergences included:
Unnatural emotional outbursts and loss of emotional mastery
Uncontrollable sexual urges and deviant acts
Possessive, clingy behaviors violating sacred chains of command
Irrational self-destructive and anti-imperial actions driven by object fixations
At first, these cases seemed sporadic and isolated across different Chapters. However, as more deplorable incidents piled up, a clear pattern emerged. Something grievous had gone wrong on a fundamental level.
Excerpted examples of documented cases:
[REDACTED] - BLOOD ANGELS CHAPTER
Audio log of Sanguinary Priest [REDACTED]
"Some dark curse has been visited upon our Chapter. A growing number of my battle-brothers have become… afflicted with wanton hungers. No mere physical needs, but all-consuming fixations on certain mortals within our care."
"They will stop at nothing to "claim" these individuals for themselves, body and soul. Any attempt at intervention results in unthinkable acts of disobedience and violence…"
[SAMPLE ENDS]
[REDACTED] - BLACK TEMPLARS CHAPTER
Thought downloading from captured Chaplain [REDACTED] upon interrogation
"The time for restraint is at an end. I can bear this throbbing in my soul no longer! She must know the depth of my unfettered desire, the fever pitch of my infatuation. If she does not return these longings, I shall shatter worlds until the God-Emperor take pity!"
*Interrogator's Note: [NEUTRALIZE]
[REDACTED] - EXCORIATOR CHAPTER
Recorded pict-captures from helm-cams during incursion on [REDACTED]
-Extreme Battlefield Fraternization between crusaders and human auxiliaries
-Acts of exhibitionism and self-mutilation by crusaders
-Systematic execution of any battle-brother expressing disgust at above actions
-Final pict: [REDACTED]
The list of astartes goes on. Worse, there appear to be no patterns in age, founding, homeworld or even primarch genealogy. These repulsive behaviors are emerging across every Adeptus Astartes chapter at random. The Imperium teeters on the brink of an catastrophic, gene-coded crisis.
Research into potential countermeasures and remedies continues. However, my conclusions thus far firmly advocate an extreme response to contain this threat.
RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:
1) Immediate executions for any Astartes subject exhibiting Geneflawed behaviors. No exceptions.
2) Full and systematic extinction-level viral bombings against all potentially compromised Chapters and fleets.
3) Pre-emptive destruction of all Astartes gene-seed repositories, along with any Adeptus Mechanicus factions and forge worlds implicating in its creation or study.
Only through the complete erasure of this genetic stock can the essence of the Adeptus Astartes be preserved for the inevitable darkness yet to come.
The Emperor's work must be done, no matter how abominable the means required.
I await your tribunal's final judgment on this matter.
Thought for the Day: "There is nothing to be gained through mercy, only fleeting weakness and eventual damnation."
-Inquisitor [REDACTED]
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#When you play dumb or your primarchs are just *ahem* horny :v
#I don't know what I wrote. I just do as requested :v
#Roll the dice and it said this time's menu is: Horus Lupercal and Roboute Guilliman.
#This is request from my dearest heretic anon.
#Primarchs x Reader, Reader is Imperial Agent. Malcador is proud of you (is he?)
#A little NSFW.
Horus Lupercal
You sighed listlessly as you wandered the ship, seeking diversion in your boredom. A familiar presence drew you eye, and you spied Horus upon a balcony overlooking the training cages below.
The training cages were alive with activity as Horus observed his Astartes sharpening their skills in mock combat. Though focused on their form, his thoughts drifted elsewhere, preparations for the coming Crusade weighed heavy. He gazed down from the viewing platform, assessing their progress, when soft footsteps alerted him to another's presence.
Horus appeared lost in thought, no doubt pondering weighty matters of strategy and conquest. You crept stealthily across the chamber, the feet making nary a sound upon the plush rugs. Coming up behind the Warmaster unnoticed was no mean feat, but your skills remained as sharp as the blade at your hip.
Finally within reach, you drew a deep breath and exhaled softly upon Horus's neck. A sudden warmth ghosted his ear, followed by a sultry whisper caressed his ear. "Boo..."
He whirled with a start to find your smiling face mere inches from his own, eyes dancing with mischief. Before you could retreat, Horus flashed into action, seizing your arm in an unbreakable grip.
With a grunt he hoisted your form against his chest, pinning your effortlessly as your legs kicked in vain. "Little one." he chuckled, though tension still lingered at the corners of his eyes. "One of these days you will be the death of mine, I fear."
Your eyes dancing with mirth. You laughed breathlessly. "You are no fun, my Warmaster."
"It seems you don't consider me worthy of respect, little one," he sighed, effortlessly maintaining your struggling form. "Sneaking up on your Warmaster, bold, but foolish."
You squirmed halfheartedly, delighting in the feel of his powerful physique caging you in. "And what would the great Warmaster do to earn it, I wonder?"
A gleam entered his eyes, dark promise in every contour of his sculpted features. "Oh, I can think of a few...persuasive methods."
Below, the Astartes fought on, oblivious to the true battle raging within their midst. Horus took his captive agent and you were limp and sated in his arms, marking you thoroughly as his. Only then did he release your, satisfied your pride had been tamed.
Horus smiled down at the dazed your in his arms. "Convinced, my dear?" He purred, nuzzling your satiated cheek. You could only sigh dreamily in reply. It seemed doubts of his prowess were well and truly laid to rest...
Roboute Guilliman
Guilliman reclined upon crisp sheets, body aching from battles past. His scowls only deepened your frown, but still you droned on, casualty reports, supply requisitions, missives from a thousand worlds.
"Do you hear me, my lord?" you pressed, quill scratching relentlessly. He sighed, weary unto his soul.
"Do you think I want to hear what you have to say, agent? I am wounded and wish only silence." His tone brooked no argument, yet still you persisted like the plague.
"You are the Primarch," you said, eyes aglow with righteous fervor. "You must overcome such things for the billions of people of the Imperium. Their hopes and dreams rest upon your shoulders."
Guilliman scrubbed a hand down his face. "I am Primarch, not invincible. Must I sacrifice even my healing for duty's never-ending demands?"
Your look softened, but still you would not yield. "That is not something you can decide, my lord. As were mine."
The Primarch knew well you spoke truth, bitter though it was. With a grunt he waved your on, closing his eyes against the rising tide of reports.
Guilliman continued to sigh, weariness seeping into his bones. Your report droned on, an endless litany of numbers and names. His mind drifted as you spoke, seeking escape however brief. Your voice took on a new texture in his imagination, breathy sighs and wanton gasps replacing dour droning.
One hand tangled in your locks, tugging your mouth to his in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. The other grasped that ass, fingers dimpling soft flesh as he thrust up to meet each bounce with abandon as reports fluttered forgotten to the floor. And you will chant his name like a prayer, a litany more rousing than any duty....
By the Throne, was he some green boy still in need of release? Shame warred with lingering heat, desire too long denied by duty's demands. He yearn for soft curves yielding beneath his palms, the taste of your skin, your cries of rapture as he took what was his by right.
You'd whimper and writhe, begging wordlessly for what they both craved. At the first penetration your walls would clutch him like a vice, pulling him deeper, deeper into scalding flesh made solely for his pleasure. He'd pound into your without mercy, relishing each gasp and moan, each slap of flesh on flesh. Only when he'd spent himself fully within your willing sheath would he grant surcease, collapsing in a sweat-soaked tangle of limbs.
By the Throne, how he longed to make that vision reality...
Guilliman blinked, flushing at the path his mind had wandered. But you remained oblivious, quill scratching as reports spilled forth. Little did you know the effect you had, and the fantasies your voice inspired in your lord's lonely chamber...
#shiyorin's writer#wh40crack#warhammer 40k x reader#primarch x reader#reader insert#lol#romantic stuff in 40k#actually i don't think it's romantic
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I'm just wondering how the High Lords of Terra will react to the Inquisitor's report on Yandere Astartes
Sure it won't end well but they know what to do.
+++ HIGHEST SEAL - HIGH LORDS OF TERRA
+++ SUBJECT: RE - INVESTIGATION INTO SUSPECTED ADEPTUS ASTARTES GENEFLAW
FROM THE THRONES OF THE HIGH LORDS OF TERRA:
Let the record reflect that Inquisitor [REDACTED]'s findings have been received and carefully analyzed by this most esteemed conclave. We commend your diligence in identifying this supposed "Geneflaw" affecting our vaunted transhuman warriors.
However, we must respectfully disagree with the Inquisitor's dire assessments and recommendations. To advocate the systematic extermination of countless Astartes Chapters, and thus weaken our Imperium at so tenuous a juncture, would be unforgivably shortsighted.
Instead, we propose an alternative stratagem to weaponize and harness these new "urges" infecting the Adeptus Astartes.
Based on the documented cases, it is now clear these divergent behaviors all stem from overpowering obsessions and perverse fixations towards certain unaugmented humans. Whether driven by abhorrent lust, deranged infatuation or utter self-destructive piety, the underlying essence seems a primal, animalistic drive to "possess" these individuals.
We must accept this metamorphosis as an opportunity, not a flaw. Just imagine the vast strategic potential of such unwavering, all-consuming devotion!
If provided "regulated doses" of these subjects, we could conceivably drive entire companies of Astartes into suicidal frenzies of zeal and ferocious protectiveness. Their battle-disciplines would be reinforced through the biological imperative to defend their "Obsessions" from harm.
A theoretical approach is outlined below:
1) Identify and indoctrinate vast stocks of psycho-bombinally suitable mortal humans to serve as "Fixation Targets"
2) Embed these "Fixation Units" within key Astartes deployments as "Distress Bait"
3) When Astartes succumb to these new gene-coded hungers, allow "bonding" under highly regulated circumstances
4) Closely monitor Astartes unit efficiency and combat fervency, providing "Fixation Targets" on a reward-basis
5) Deploy newly dedicated hunter-killer Astartes squads to priority war zones reinforce as needed with replenished "Fixation Units"
Properly implemented, this "Obsession Doctrine" would transform our Astartes into perfect weapon of fanatical, borderline psychotic intensity.
Casualties from "casualties of passion" would be relatively minor compared to the renewed slaughter they could inflict upon our foes. Even if entire Astartes assets are spent in the process, their sacrifices would be accepted as the highest honors.
This is the price of victory. The tormented spirits of these unaugmented mortals are a small cost to bear for the future dominance of Holy Imperium.
[ATTACHED: Proposal for funding "Fixation Unit" indoctrination camps on feral, non-compliant worlds. Methods for triggering and reinforcing selected psychosis strains…]
Let the Imperium's enemies fear the consequences of our newly unfettered wrath.
For the Emperor, no sacrifice is too unthinkable.
The High Lords of Terra shall catalogue your counsel under the highest seal.
Thought for the Day: "The path of virtue is narrow and sown with graven thorns. It is our eternal struggle to walk its bloody miles."
-High Lord of Terra
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#Fulgrim x Reader
#I don't know what else to say but it's just Fulgrim and the way he appreciates your beauty.
#TW: Foot fetish :v
"Hold still." Fulgrim murmured, his voice reverberating with the faintest undercurrent of reverent focus.
You didn't pay his gentle admonition any heed. You lounged indolently upon the sleekly curved divan, hair disheveled and spilling. One shapely leg kicked out at an indolent angle, sole flexing as though to dislodge the embroidered confection of ribbons and organza puddling about your ankles.
Pursing his lips, the Phoenician found himself reaching out to steady that recalcitrant limb, chiding his guest. "My dearest, you must remain composed if I'm to properly attire you."
Your eyes slitted open at that, glinting with indolent amusement. "Must I?" You reply, somehow infusing even those two simple words with silken intimations. "And why should I?"
Had it been anyone addressing him in that tone, Fulgrim might have dismissed them from his presence then and there. But not you. No, toward you he could only sigh with a mixture of exasperation and sublime fascination, conflicting psycho-sculpted vectors tugging him in myriad directions at once.
"Because this night's very important," he explained for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. And for perhaps the hundredth time as well, Fulgrim found his gaze drifting downward over the perfection of your form. From the artful tumble of shimmering tresses to the exquisite hollow of throat and collarbones, all the way down to the ... full swell of...
"You need not demean yourself so, my lord."
Your low, throaty voice rippled as the primarch of the Emperor's Children knelt before your form. Still, you made no move to halt his ministrations or avert your shapely limbs from his attentions.
"Nonsense," the Phoenician throwing you a smile that could disarm worlds. "It is no indignity to bask in sublime beauty and assist in rendering it transcendent."
A delicate smile at that polished retort. "I had expected you of all the primarchs to disdain such... posturing."
If your words landed true, Fulgrim gave no indication. He continued deftly clasping the delicate chains braided from liquid shadow composite to your mirrsilk bodysuit. Each glinting loop spilled outward like baroque silvered vines from the highly articulated armor plates protecting your ankles.
"Posturing?" The primarch arched one perfect, sculpted eyebrow in an aristocratic moue of surprise. "My dear, assisting you in accentuating your exquisite conformation is art of the highest caliber."
Fulgrim paused in trailing his masterful fingertips along the lush, flawless contours of your calf muscle. For a fleeting moment, his noble visage flickered barely perceptible acknowledgment that you had scored a glancing blow with your provocations. Just as quickly, however, that momentary pique faded beneath the Phoenician's typical aura of unshakable poise.
"I don't merely endeavor to enhance your sublime beauty out of empty ritual." he clarified, steadily working the umbrahyde ribbons further up your leg. "Rather, I seek to elevate it to the masterwork it deserves."
The primarch shook his head minutely, allowing several perfectly-coiffed strands of silken platinum to fall charmingly across his brow. He hadn't summoned his entire coterie of beautifiers and augmenated ordators for this affair, only his most trusted serfs. Adorning true, living art required focus and reverence beyond what most anyone could muster.
Pick up the ankle-length indigo striders with the same reverence as handling sanctified gene-wrought. Chemos worked every rivet and nanosynthesized composite fiber with their most skillful arts. Even on the field of apotheosis, no detail was too insignificant nor craftsmanship not elevated into a breathtaking masterpiece.
But compared to the transcendent fleshwork that would soon grace these accoutrements, their beauty paled into vapid obscurity.
Slowly, reverently, with each appreciative caress and brush of finely wrought material over sacrosanct dermis, he felt himself descending into a blissful rapture few mortals had ever experienced.
Through of his eyes, details of imperfection normally invisible to visual spectra alone burned in blinding clarity through his primogenoid senses. Not the slightest defect escaped his adoring scrutiny as your sculpted perfection unveiled itself in achingly slow ceremony.
First the ankles, those deceptively delicate articulation nodes sutured by intricate hyper-density musculature. How he lavished upon them, worshiping every curve while his psyche greedily drank in their elegant sublimity. Then the calves, wherein bulged and beauty beyond mere human comprehension. Fulgrim's hands roamed across each subtly undulating contour and veinridge.
Next came the magnificence of your thighs, a masterwork of helice and kinesis that stole both breath and soul with its supreme proportions. Such gracious lines and mesmerizing flexion, profiles carved by a billion recursive movements and honed into perfect design.
These were the idealized aesthetics for which any crudely-conceived "masterpieces" could only ever remain a pale imitation. Your body constituted a living canvas of sacred and perfection resonating at the exalted wavelengths of universal beauty....
"You're staring again."
Your voice sliced through the contemplative silence like a razor-edged sibilance. Fulgrim blinked, only just realizing his thought.
"Apologies." the noble primarch offered with an elegant dip of his perfect features. "You'll have to forgive an artist's momentary rapture when confronted with such a breathtaking subject."
Then, with a courtly flourish utterly at odds with his preceding transformation, the Lord of the Third raised your fingers to his full, sensuous lips. Jeweled irises of amethyst glowed with inner luminescence as he pressed a kiss to your silk glove.
"Come." he urged. "They await an introduction..."
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#Princess and the frog? No, it is Reader and the Primarchs frog... I mean 25cm doll :v
#Big E: I should have known dolls worked better than frogs sooner.
#Today's menu: Konrad and Sanguinius.
#Just a romcom story. No one ask but I still do it for funny :v
You tossed fitfully, dreaming strange dreams in the depths of night. When awareness surfaced, you found yourself in a moonlit glade, sparkling with an ethereal glow.
A rustling came from the treeline, and out stepped a being so bizarre you wondered if still dreaming. Clad head to toe in fluttery silks of spun gold, gossamer wings fluttered serenely upon a back too broad for any bird or insect.
"Fear not, mortal!" came an undeniably masculine though lilting voice. "I am your Fairy Godmother, here to aid you in this dark hour."
You stared, speechless. Was this truly Him? "Uh...right. Nice dress?"
The Emperor swooned theatrically. "Why thank you dear! Now, down to business - you seek handsome princes, no?"
"Not particularly-"
"Excellent! For I have just the task." With a blinding flash, many fat toads appeared amid flickering lights. Wait...those bulging eyes seemed awfully familiar...
"Alas, these poor souls were cursed. A kiss from beauty's lips alone can break the spell!" announced Fairy Godmother Emperor.
You eyed the frogs warily. "And what if their infectious diseases jump from mouth to mouth upon such contact?"
Fairy Emperor pouted, wings drooping. "Fear not harm, my dear! True love conquers all impediments. Now, chop chop - kiss them and claim your men!"
With that he shoved you none-too-gently towards the waiting amphibians. You dug in your heels stubbornly. "Absolutely not! I'll catch some plague for certain, kissing frogs willy-nilly."
Unfortunately, the frogs had other ideas. They began hopping toward you, croaking plaintively as only amphibians can. You shrieked and ran, the army of frogs gaining swiftly. Diving into the woods, you dashed wildly as frog gave chase.
Crashing through brambles with amphibious entourage in relentless pursuit, you fled breathlessly until-
You woke with a start, entangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Many pairs of bulging eyes stared down at you, and you realized with dread - the frogs had infiltrated your very dreams! Screaming, you swatted them away, bolting upright just in time to see...
Nothing. Only empty room greeted your wide eyes. It had only been a nightmare after all. You sighed shakily, scrubbing your face rigorously as if to purge all memory of Fairy Emperor's nonsensical demands.
From now, you vowed never to sample strange foods before bedtime again.
Konrad Curze
You returned wearily to your chambers after a long shift, eager to collapse into comforting silks. But stopping short, a glint of silver caught your eye amid folds in bed.
Approaching cautiously, you peeled back layers to reveal a stuffed doll nestled innocently within. It was fashioned to resemble a certain Night Haunter, down to each rasping spike and curl of thread-hair.
Though only 25cm tall, its button eyes seemed eerily familiar, bearing the Primarch's unnerving gleam. You scooped it up suspiciously, turning the toy this way and that.
Who would leave such a thing, and why model it after Konrad Curze of all beings? You wondered if it was some joke, yet detected no hint of tampering. Likely one of the Emperor's strange gifts that simply...appeared sometimes.
Resolving to ponder mysteries later, you shrugged and nestled your new companion. "Well little doll, it's true your original is far from cuddly. But you're rather cute yourself!"
Burying your face in soft felt, you swore you felt tiny muscles tensing as the doll seemed almost...desperate to escape your hold. You paid it no mind, merely tightening your grasp with a contented sigh. Because that was surely impossible!
Observe button eyes pleading silently, On a strange impulse, you pressed a fleeting kiss to the doll's stitched mouth, stilling its squirms.
At once a tremendous plume of dark smoke erupted, swallowing the room in choking fumes. You fell back coughing, but through the haze saw a towering silhouette emerge like a vengeful wraith.
When smoke cleared, a fully formed Konrad Curze stood before you - all ten feet of primal fury barely contained within smoldering armor. Yet his usual scowl seemed almost... bashful? His pale skin flushed to a sallow stain across razor-thin cheeks. And were those dark eyes widening in dread?
He grasped desperately for some semblance of composure, snarling to mask inner turmoil. “Explain yourself, mortal, before I flay you where you stand!”
You gaped, struggling to process this abrupt transformation. “I, uh...kissed your doll?”
Realization dawned in widening dark orbs. “The visions spoke true. I....”
Your mind is reeling. What in the Emperor's name had just occurred?! "My... My Lord... So... you were the toy all along?"
A curt nod, gaze darting fitfully about as if seeking escape. Clearly the Night Haunter wished to be anywhere but here, pressed into vulnerability by his bizarre enchantment's end.
He backed slowly into a shadowed corner, hoping its folds might swallow him whole. Never had Konrad felt so exposed, so embarrassed, and at the hands of a mere mortal, no less!
"The Emperor deemed a...lesson was in order..." His whisper was ragged, commanding. Yet undercurrents of shyness shone through crackling anger and pride. "This humiliation is beyond enduring."
You couldn’t help but smile, endeared by his fluster. But why? You should be scared and terrified when facing a Primarch! But no, you find him... cute? Your taste in men is terrible and you should die for that. You smile wryly "There now, it can't have been that horrible a kiss to transform you so."
A mighty gauntlet shot out to capture your wrist before you could continue your word. Konrad gripped just tightly enough to emphasize his immense strength without harm, glaring daggers through slitted gaze slits.
"You shall tell no soul of this humiliation, mortal," he growled, low and menacing. Yet the effect was ruined somewhat by a pink flush darkening to fuschia across his cheek plates. You merely grinned wider. You know you are playing with fire and would die.
"Oh, I don't know. Your reaction seems payment enough for that." you mused slyly, tapping his knuckles with your free hand. "Maybe another kiss, hmm?"
Thought Konrad surely imagined eviscerating the audacious creature where you stood, lingering embarrassment gave way to begrudging intrigue instead. Leaning down, he brushed your cheek in a facsimile of affection, warmth echoing through plating. Lips brushed softly in the embrace's sheltering shadow, kindling sparks that may blossom yet into something beautiful, unexpected…
Sanguinius
You groaned, rubbing gritty eyes as reports swam blurrily before your. 11 hours straight hammering away in this suffocating medicae vault had pushed even your limit.
"Enough!" you snarled, flinging down your datapad in frustration. The neverending bureaucracy would be the death of them all at this rate. Glaring about at mountains yet unscaled, you longed for sweet oblivion's embrace.
A flash of silvery white caught your weary gaze. On the floor beside your chair lay a small stuffed toy, a perfect miniature Sanguinius in all his golden glory. You blinked slowly, wondering if exhaustion had driven you mad at last.
"Great, Now I'm hallucinating." you muttered, scooping up the 25cm high Primarch doll. Its fabric wings extended invitingly and you couldn't help but nestle it against your cheek with a bone-deep sigh. The toy smelled faintly of plumage and night-blooming blossoms, soothing your frayed nerves.
But as you sagged against the barricade of unfinished records, even hallucinations could not stave off sleep's implacable tide. You curled around the tiny angel and surrendered, visions fading to blankness at long last...
Light caressed your face some untold time later, lingering there as if loath to disturb. You grumbled and would have rolled away, but something held you securely yet gently in place.
Bleary eyes blinked open to confusion. You lay slumped across your desk still, but a soft blanket had been draped protectively over slender form. And those weren't feathers caught in your hair, were they?
You sat up abruptly, dislodging more downy intruders.
"But...how...?" you protested weakly. Only the teasing morning breeze answered through open ceiling panels, rippling records abandoned by your side.
No footprints marred the dust-coated floor, and the door remained bolted fast. You hugged yourself, feathers floating free on invisible currents as mind chased circling mysteries endlessly.
You eyed the tiny doll warily, half convinced you still dreamt amid paperwork piles. Gently poking its downy cheek elicited no response, yet the craftsmanship seemed uncannily lifelike.
"Weird..." you muttered, though found yourself drawn again to those embroidered features so serenely angelic. On a whim, you pressed a featherlight kiss to its head, chuckling at your own folly.
Smoke billowed where the doll had sat, forcing your back with a gasp. Two massive wings materialized amidst swirling mist, great plumes showering silvery motes as they stretched to their full span. Before you coalesced a giant finding you with a patient smile.
"Lord Sanguinius!" You shrieked, recoiling instinctively from this new impossibility. Your hands fumbled panic-stricken for the door behind, scrabbling at locked metal in desperation.
"Your reaction… quite far from what I expected," came his soft voice behind. You froze at the gentle jest, relief warring with confusion and not a little dread.
Wings rustled and a warm presence appeared at your back, blocking escape. "Am I truly so terrifying, mortal?" Sanguinius asked, hurt faint yet unmistakable.
You dared a look over your shoulder into his earnest face. Gods, those earnest faces would be your undoing one day...Cheeks burning, you stammered, "M-my apologies, Angel. You just surprised me, that's all."
His beam could have lit the darkest void. "No harm done. Now, reward my efforts properly. Does a kiss still await?"
Heat scalded your further. Kiss??? But those hopeful eyes would accept no refusal, and truly, he deserved reward...
Slowly turning, you gazed up into sapphire orbs aglow with boundless compassion. Steeling your nerve, you leaned close and touched your lips to his gently.
Feathers as soft as velvet caressed your cheek in answer. When at last you broke away, light-headed and heartsore, Sanguinius grinned triumphantly. "See? No peril nor perilous acts to earn beauty's favor."
#shiyorin's writer#wh40crack#primarch x reader#reader insert#romantic stuff in 40k#lol#actually i don't think it's romantic#warhammer 40k x reader
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#Primarchs x reader but it is modern au
#Well, actually here are some drabbles I wrote for challenge modern au with my friends. I almost forgot I wrote it
#Romcom but actually one is a rom and one is a com.
#Menu: Sanguinius and Roboute Guilliman
Sanguinius
You sighed, gazing idly at the latest abstract sculptures on display. How you had been convinced to come to this event, you did not know. Curiosity, perhaps. Or a desire for something different, however fleeting.
You wandered from piece to piece, managing polite smiles and vague comments when addressed. The other patrons were a study in extravagance, jewel-toned gowns, colognes that announced wealth and status with every spray. You felt woefully out of place in your modest attire, there to observe from the sidelines.
Making to leave, you turned, and found yourself face to face with Sanguinius himself.
He smiled gently, warmly, in a manner that made your ensuing frown seem all the harsher. "I thought that might be you," he said. "I'm glad you decided to come."
What could you say? That you had no interest in his efforts, his wealth, his world of aesthetics and social climbing? Somehow you doubted even your harshest words could dampen that gentle smile.
Instead, you said. "The artwork is…interesting."
Sanguinius chuckled. "You despise it."
You clenched your jaw. Were you that transparent? But before you could retort, Sanguinius continued.
"That's alright. Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, as they say." He held your gaze steadily, openly. "If you'll allow me, I think I see a kind of beauty in you that transcends all this."
You blinked, taken aback. This was not the response you had anticipated. Before you could gather your thoughts, Sanguinius bowed his head. "Forgive me. I overstep." And with that, he was gone, lost amidst the crowd.
You stood still for a long moment, pondering this strange encounter. A part of your wished to dismiss it, leave this foreign world behind once more. And yet, something intrigued you about him.
With a sigh, you left the gallery. But your thoughts lingered still on Sanguinius.
*****
Sanguinius sighed, staring out the window of his studio with unseeing eyes. His mind replayed the brief encounter with you at the gallery over and over, cataloging every awkward beat and missed opportunity.
"You despise it." He had said, and he had chuckled, played it cool. As if his heart wasn't pounding at finally being face to face with this enigmatic who held his thoughts captive.
He should have said something clever, charming. Asked your favorite flowers, favorite wine. Instead he offered vague platitudes and retreated like a coward, leaving you in there.
Sanguinius cringed. Had all those years playing the beloved artist prince addled his silver tongue beyond repair?
Pushing away from the window, he began to pace. He could have told you about the time he sprained his wrist painting your likeness from memory. Or how every sculpture he crafted seemed an effort to capture some fleeting trace of your grace. Or how -
"Ridiculous," he muttered to the empty room. You clearly wanted nothing to do with his affections. And well you should! What had he to offer beyond annoy you?
Still, the memory of your averted gaze and tightly crossed arms stung him.
"Next time," he vowed to the mirror, "Next time, I just need one more."
With a sigh, Sanguinius turned back to his workbench, and began to sketch. Ideas for new pieces taking shape, works that might one day, somehow, win the regard of your heart.
Roboute Guilliman
Guilliman jogged up the stairs to your loft, dread pooling in his gut. The half-coherent slurring over the phone signaled trouble, as usual.
Upon entering, he sighed at the all-too-familiar sight awaiting - you sprawled gracelessly across the couch, bottle of vodka dangling precariously from limp fingers as you brow furrowed intensely at your laptop on the floor.
"What did we talk about this?" Guilliman sighed, bending to retrieve the laptop. He knew before even booting it up what he'd find.
"I'm verrrrry fine and for sure not drunk!" You protested, flailing an arm wildly. "Why would I need to be drunk, nothing was wrrrong at all. The vodkaaaaa? Naw, that's just...that's just morrrrrral suppppppppport!"
Guilliman pinched the bridge of his nose, opening the laptop. Yep, there was your popular anonymous venting forum, your anonymous profile clearly hammered as usual.
"You need to stop getting on the internet when you're drunk, or stop getting drunk when you're on the internet," he lectured wearily. "Jeez, this is...ugh."
You barked a harsh laugh. "You're one to taaaaaaaalk! At leassssst I don't write angry tweets to Landlord Association Presidents about proper...proper ventilation codes when I'm trasheeeeeeed!"
Guilliman flushed, fishing out his phone. Sure enough, several draft angry tweets awaited deletion in the morning. He coughed. "Regardless, you're dealing with the consequences of your actions this time."
You groaned as he scrolled. "I say one little thing about Angron's anger issues suddenly meaning he can't handle a puppy and everyone loses their minds!"
Guilliman read the fiery thread questioning Angron's prospective puppy adoption. Yikes. At least you hadn't doxxed anyone in your drunken ranting this time. Small miracles.
"Lucky for you, I cleaned it up," he reassured, sparing your the drama. "Now, let's get you hydrated before round two of the vomiting begins."
You scowled but obediently sipped the electrolyte drink he handed your. "You're no fun, Roboute. How am I supposed to vent my frustrations creatively without liquid inspiration?"
"You could try a journal, or healthy coping skills." he suggested blandly, though they both knew that was pointless. This was who you was - passionate, impulsive, and mysteriously charming even wasted.
"Ugh, soooo boring. Maybe I'll just start an anonymous YouTube venting channel. What could go wrong?" You mused, raking a hand through tangled hair.
Guilliman groaned. "Please don't give the internet any more of your drunken thoughts. For now, focus on keeping what's left of your dinner down and get some rest. I'll be here making sure you don't do anything too regrettable offline too."
You flipped him a rude gesture but burrowed underneath the blankets obediently. He chuckled, settling in for the long night watch as usual. Another crisis averted, for now at least. You sniffled miserably from beneath the blanket mound as Guilliman scrolled through the aftermath of your drunken posting.
"Oh god, you thought about it, didn't you?" he sighed knowingly. Last year's intoxicated vent had sparked such a vicious flame war that his still shuddered at the memory.
That seemed to be the tipping point as you burst into tears. "I'm trying to change, this shit, people from the outside don't get how much bullshit we gotta put up with, and if lucky hate it, and, and-"
"Okay, alright, you need to sleep this off," Guilliman soothed, setting the laptop aside. "Come on, up you get."
But you only cried louder, curling in on yourself tighter. Guilliman sighed, recognizing the onset of a full-blown anxiety attack.
"Look, you know why you're not supposed to use Twitter, yeah?" He asked gently. You nodded miserably into the couch.
"Because I get like this."
Resigned to damage control, Guilliman retrieved the laptop once more. Glancing at your drunken thread, he frowned. "Ugh..."
You peeked out with red-rimmed eyes. "Is it that bad?"
Guilliman hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. The thread had devolved into the usual vitriol and trash talk, with more than a few personal insults directed at you yourself sprinkled in.
"Well...maybe we should ask Alpharius and Omegon to solve it." he suggested, only half joking. The twin did have an uncanny knack for scrubbing digital messes unseen.
You hiccuped a watery giggle at the idea of unleashing the secret agents on your trolls. Your panic seemed to ease slightly.
Guilliman couldn't help a small smile in return before launching into maximum distraction mode. "Alright, you've had your fun crying for tonight. Now it's time to plot our revenge against the haters!"
You sniffled but nodded, anticipation gleaming through your swollen eyes. "What did you have in mind...?"
"Well first, we gather blackmail on the worst offenders..." Guilliman began deviously, launching into an absurdly convoluted revenge scheme.
#shiyorin's writer#wh40crack#warhammer 40k x reader#primarch x reader#reader insert#modern au#Does anyone want to send a request for modern au?#lol
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#A wholesome story about Magnus and Reader
#Just Magnus and his sleepy Reader
#Cheesy
Magnus sighed wearily as he perused yet another tome by candlelight, seeking insight to bolster his crusade. Knowledge was power in this grim age, and he spared no effort in amassing armaments of the mind.
A sound disturbed his study, the faint slip of parchment against parchment. Curious, Magnus rose to investigate, rounding towering shelves to glimpse a curious sight. You lay curled amidst scattered missives, having finally surrendered to exhaustion's sweet call.
Even in slumber's embrace you retained elegance, cheek pillowed upon folded arms as silken strands fanned delicate features. Magnus smiled inwardly at your dedication, forgetting all but ensuring your rest remained undisturbed.
Gently he scooped your form into cradling arms, holding you close but carefully as not to rouse. You sighed softly but did not stir, surrendering completely to his protection even unconscious. Magnus treasured this, guiding your weightless form from the archives.
Through twisting corridors he bore his precious burden, footsteps muffled as not to disturb your rest. At chamber doors he passed through wards with whispering thought alone, sheltering you from prying eyes or ears within walls.
Laying you upon canopied silks, Magnus gazed upon you. A lock had fallen across your forehead. On impulse he dared brush it back, tracing feather-light the curve of cheek and jaw afterwards in adoration.
You stirred at his touch, dark lashes flickering open to reveal hazy. Recognition slowly took hold as sleep receded, finding yourself not at toil but in Magnus's chamber. But you seemed unperturbed, content to simply regard him through half-lidded eyes.
"Rest, my dearest" Magnus soothed, loath to break this respite. "You've earned repose from cares of duty." You shifted slightly, raising a delicate hand to clasp his fingers lingering against cheek.
"My thanks, lord primarch." You replied softly. Eyes gleamed with invitation as you drew his trembling fingers down, pressing a fleeting kiss to scarred knuckles in benediction.
Magnus enfolded your fingers within his own massive palm, bending to kiss silk-soft skin. Eyes meeting, no words were needed at that moment.
Lips met gently in the moonlit alcove, the night is still long.
Extra:
Magnus: Did you know the human brain has an erogenous zone directly to learning new things?
Reader:......
#shiyorin's writer#primarch x reader#reader insert#warhammer 40k x reader#romantic stuff in 40k#wh40crack
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This came from a joke between me and my friend. And it is heretic :v
#Yandere chapter space marines? Yeah….
#Blood Angels, Flesh Tearers and Lamenters.
#Don't ask me, I don't know what I'm doing.
Blood Angels
You awoke with a start, heart pounding. Another nightmare, yet this one lingered behind closed lids, elusive yet unsettling. Rubbing sleep from eyes, moonlight filtering through stained glass recalled where you lay, guest of the Blood Angels once more.
Rising, soft slippers padded silent halls as restless feet sought solace. Marble gleamed ethereal, statuesque giants flanking your passage like solemn sentinels. A turn, and shadows shifted, was that movement ahead?
"You should not wander so late, mortal." Brother Varrael's rich timbre sent shivers down spine, lips curving a lover's smile yet eyes hooded, intent. "These halls hold memories better left undisturbed."
His massive hand enclosed your smaller one with surprising gentleness, leading unresisting to familiar chambers. "Rest, and I will stand guard over you." Lingering kiss upon brow held an edge of desperation you dared not know.
Days passed in diligent company, recording heroic epics for future generations. Yet unease grew, visions' shadows slipping between waking and dreams. Hands grasped where none should be, voices crooned foreign desires in loved tones warped.
Heart seizing, you fled, only to collide with Varrael's towering form emerging from shadows. His strong arms imprisoned your struggling form against massive chest as velvet words whispered of dark devotion no lips should know. Livid scars criss-crossing pale flesh spoke of daemons conquering will through flesh alone.
Days blurred into restless nightmares, reality twisting beyond recognition. Every interaction held veiled intimations too intimate to comprehend, too blasphemous to accept. Yet denying the truth invited madness.
His helm obscured his features, but you'd know Varrael's scent anywhere. Hot breath whispered your name against your ear as his other hand pinned your waist possessively. You shivered, seeing not fury but desperation in his stance.
"Varrael, please..." Your plea was lost in a needy kiss, tastes of blood and longing upon his tortured lips.
His mind swam in a crimson sea, torn between devotion and rage's call. Your light soothed the beast within, yet each parting fed its hunger for your touch alone. When next you stood together on the field of battle, survival instinct blurred with a need to shield, claim, destroy.
Days passed in blissful torment, stolen moments reaffirmed devotion, yet bloodlust simmered nearer the surface for him. Try as he might, control was fleeting against the curse's tide. And when passion overcame his iron will whilst lost in your embrace, fangs slipping to graze your throat in ecstasy.
Flesh Tearers
You knew accepting this assignment with the Flesh Tearers meant danger, yet how could you refuse such a historic opportunity? Now you regretted agreeing as the Astartes' unhinged nature was laid bare.
The Astartes spared you no glance. Except one, Tahareil especially unsettled you, his ice blue eyes tracking your every move with disturbing intensity. When allies fell in battle, his enraged howls shook the very foundation, an unearthly sound that raised primal fears.
In coming weeks, your recordings captured noble Astartes in acts of valor against xenos and heretic alike. All performed duties with grim resolve. And Tahareil, who revelled in slaughter's ecstasy with abandon that chilled your soul. His thirst for blood appeared unquenchable, beyond duty's call.
"Be at ease, mortal." he rumbled softly. "No enemies shall reach you whilst I stand vigil."
His protective claim should have reassured, but an undercurrent chilled your blood. When had a simple recording become so fraught with subtext unspoken?
When battle was done, you worked alone editing recordings in sequestered chamber provided. Yet lingering unease persisted you were not alone. Sometimes catching fleeting glimpse of shadow beyond the chamber's edge, scent of musk and iron lingering where none walked. Paranoia's creeping fingers closed about your mind, were you truly an observer here, or had another thing found you?
One night exhaustion took hold, dropping guard enough to drift to fitful dreams.There terror's form coalesced, hulking figure looming over helpless prey pinned trembling in grasping claws. Feral grin split nightmare's maw as it dipped to sample sweetness on quivering flesh, revelling in lifeblood's rich perfume.
A gasp tore your throat awake, soaked in cold sweat upon rumpled pallet. But no, the nightmare lingered still, a shadow stirred beyond veil, eyes glinting some primal madness barely leashed.
"Pretty little thing, almost forgot your scent..." Tahareil's rasp caressed your fears incarnate, large hand capturing trembling wrist to draw you against him. "Tell me mortal, did you use your witchery on me?"
He inhaled your racing pulse, claws tracing your quaking form with possessive. Lips parted to protest yet words died, transfixed by the scare blazing beneath visored dark.
"Let me taste it." his growl reverberated, "See what witchery makes me like this."
His grip was iron, struggling futilely. Gauntleted claws rent flesh baring pulsing artery, raging beat filling bestial senses. Jagged fangs plunged deep, agonizing ecstasy flooding nerves as blood flooded.
Lamenters
You awake with a start, the shadows of another nightmare slowly slipping away. As consciousness returns, you become aware of a light pressure around your wrists and ankles. Panic rises in your throat as your eyes adjust to the dim light of phosphor stones.
That's when you see him, sitting vigil at your bedside. Chapter master Malakim Phoros of the Lamenters looks exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes a sharp contrast to his pallid skin. But his gaze, as it falls upon you, holds only concern.
"Forgive me," he rasps, voice rough from disuse. "The others thought it best until you'd rested. They mean no harm, only to keep you safe."
You struggle to calm your racing heart. Abductions were not unknown, with the Lamenters' curse of ill fortune. But Malakim had always watched over you with a devoted, tender care unlike the others.
His guilt-wracked smile is gentle as he administers sips of water through a straw. "The night terrors will find you. We could not risk you wandering in such a state.”
You nod weakly, the adrenaline fading. His haunted eyes hold only relief at your return to lucidity. His love for you is palpable, yet shaded by a darkness borne of endless suffering and self-loathing.
In time your bonds are removed, though Malakim remains at your side. His brothers drift past your cell-like chamber, gaunt faces lighting momentarily at glimpses within. They meant only protection, you know, but their shattered minds leave little room for trust beyond their brethren.
And you, their one ray of light in an ocean of gloom. Their luck, as Malakim whispers reverently whilst stroking your hair, sent to lift their cursed spirits from the depths of madness and despair. A blessing too precious to abandon to fate's cruelty, whatever the cost.
#shiyorin's writer#wh40crack#tw: yandere#cw: yandere#yandere au#warhammer 40k x reader#reader insert#space marine x reader#Heretic but I think it fun :v
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Animal instincts
#Just romcom in 40K
#Today's menu: Leman Russ and Lion El'Jonson
#Primarchs x Reader, Reader is Imperial Agent
#Late Christmas gift and early New Year gift
Leman Russ
The endless snows of Fenris stretched as far as the eye could see, blanketing mountains and wilds alike under pristine powder. You found yourself overwhelmed at the awe-inspiring landscape, so different from your world upbringing.
But greatest curiosity lay with one who called these frigid wastes home - Leman Russ, Primarch of the Space Wolves. You observed him now, surrounded by his warriors yet apart, a lone towering figure contemplating the white void.
His austere features seemed carved from the very stone and ice encasing this planet, immovable yet holding untold depth and power beneath granite exterior. Thick fur-lined armor and coarse pelt draped his massive frame, like the predators ruling these inhospitable wastes.
But as Russ turned toward some comment, face transforming with gruff laughter at his pack's roughhousing, you saw not an impervious demigod but something familiar. Great shoulders shook in mirth like immense boulders slipping loose, blue eyes alive with warmth despite frigid surroundings. An involuntary thought slipped through, that in this moment, he resembled not conqueror but some canines, mighty and playful.
Shaking off fanciful musings, you continued observant tasks, keeping distance respectful between yourself and the lords of this domain. But later as briefings commenced, Russ stopped his gigantic form before you, breath curling like frost wolves from a mouth curled in question.
You blinked up into eyes keen yet gentle, all rational thought scattering like snow on gale winds. Impulse surged before discipline could rein it, and you found hands rising of their own accord to Russ' massive brow, carding gloved fingers through coarse hair as one might a trusted hound.
Silence descended, thick as the powdery drifts. Russ' features slackened in blank shock, pale eyes blinking owlishly. "Lass..." he rumbled, uncomprehending.
You started as if slapped, jerking hands back so swiftly your wrist protested. "My lord, I..." Words fled, face aflame to your hairline. What folly had possessed you so?!
Yet to your surprise, Russ laughed, a booming, resonant sound like glaciers calving. "By Fenris's ball, lass, yer got the spirit!"
His tone held no anger, merely bemusement. But when you swallowed apologies, you glimpsed what may have been wistfulness flickering through feral eyes, gone as swift as the thought that spawned it. Had his invisible tail genuinely twitched to wag? Definitely you are crazy or something.
"Aye, lass. Well, if the fur satisfies yer hands, s'pose I'll oblige."
To your shock, he leaned nearer once more, an unmistakable invitation dancing in blue eyes. Hypnotized, you carded soft locks obediently, finding they are softer than you think. Russ sighed, almost seeming to lean into your touch. An absurd image flickered of an immense wolf nuzzling against your hand, tail wagging invisible yet content. Smiling softly, you traced strong jaw and was rewarded with a look of such warmth and longing, all of your rational thought dissolved.
Lion El'Jonson
Your survey of the growing threat in Caliban's wilds brought you regularly to the Lion's tower, poring over maps and missives seeking the root of corruption's spread. This eve found you and him yet at work as dusk deepened, twin flames bending over parchment and discourse.
A lull arose as analysis hit dead ends once more, frustration mounting. You sighed and stretched tired limbs, risking a sidelong glance at your lord. The Lion remained absorbed, strong brows furrowed, stroking his trim beard absently as strategic mind raced.
A strange thought struck then, in this dim shuttered space, with dusk masking Caliban's savage beauty, did he not seem every inch a great cat himself? Powerful yet graceful, thinking moves ahead with predatory cunning, alone yet bound to wilder instincts doubtless few witnessed.
Before rational thought could intervene, curiosity overruled. Stepping softly, your hands found scratching points along Lion's bearded jaw and throat. Beneath your ministries his eyes slid shut, muscles unwinding with a contented sigh. Success! Like any feline such attentions soothed.
Encouraged, your nails lightly raked his scalp, eliciting a startling response, a primal rumbling purr trembled his massive frame. His relaxation vanished in an instant, eyes flying open to stare at your in wild-eyed alarm.
You stumbled back several paces, own eyes round as moons. Had Lion just...purred? Like some overgrown house tabby? Your mind reeled, seeking logical explanations amongst unfathomable strangeness unfolding.
Lion's pupils elongated before your gaze, resembling nought cat-like slits in green eyes gone feral-bright. His confusion melted into predatory stillness, fixing you with an eerie stare that raised all hairs standing on end. What strangeness possessed them?
For long moments you and him remained suspended, breathing halted, shock and unnamed sparks passing between hands dropped limp to sides once more. Then all broke at once, your stammered excuses and the Lion retreating to the shadows of his tower, retreating from… what?
That night, your sleep proved fitful, your mind restless with possibilities. Had you gone too far when crossed a line with Lion that afternoon, awakening forces better left slumbering?
Morning comes, dread coiled cold and heavy in your gut. Open the tower's door with trepidation, you froze at the grisly sight awaiting just beyond threshold. A massive deer carcass lay splayed, crimson pool already attracting swarms of flies.
Your breath caught in horror, had Lion's frustrations boiled over in vengeance? Was this brutal warning of what further torments awaited should your act overstep once more? Shaking, you backed hurriedly inside, thoughts whirling.
Meanwhile across Caliban's wilderness, Lion admired graceful flickers weaving between ancient trees, oblivious to turmoil sown. Inhaling your lingering scent lost to the mists. Pride swelled that his token gained your notice, for what better way to proclaim your worth and pique your interest further?
He would await your next visit, gifting further demonstrations of prowess to stoke your regard. In time, you would see none matched his prowess for providing and protecting what he deemed most worthy.
Extra:
Russ: Pat me, pat me, woof woof!
Lion: If I give a bigger prey, will the agent love me more?
#shiyorin's writer#wh40crack#primarch x reader#reader insert#warhammer 40k x reader#romantic stuff in 40k
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Time to silly headcanon
Primarchs but they are in Hogwarts Au
Because everyone need Hogwarts au :v
Lion El'Jonson
Top marks in everything but has a resting bitch face
Secretly a big softie but acts aloof
Skips class to nap in the forest
Once stupefied a professor but claims it was an accident
They think he is Slytherin but he is Gryffindor
Fulgrim
Slytherin prefect, always flawlessly styled hair and robes
Always changing hair and outfit more than Luna Lovegood
Hosts lavish potions parties in the Room of Requirement
Already opened a beauty salon in Hogsmeade on weekends
Perturabo
Ravenclaw but always in detention for arguing with teachers
Could single handedly build a new Hogwarts over summer
Always scribbling dark fortress designs instead of notes
Enchanted the suits of armor to attack people who irritate him
Jaghatai Khan
Always late to class because racing brooms in the halls
Sends letters via hawk instead of owl
Hufflepuff seeker, fastest broom in the game
Enchanted his motorcycle to fly
Leman Russ
Gryffindor team captain, chill dude until someone mentions Slytherin
Parties in the Forbidden Forest weekly
On a first name basis with the giant squid
Sneaks hip flask of firewhiskey into class
Rogal Dorn
Hufflepuff prefect, stickler for the rules
Enchanted the suits of armor as a personal army
Constructed multiple secret bases around campus
Reported Peeves to the headmistress at least weekly
Konrad Curze
Not actually a student, caretaker is convinced he's a ghost
Lurks in shadows muttering about "justice"
Won't stop leaving creepy notes in people's bags
Has never been seen in daylight
Sanguinius
Gryffindor seeker and favorite student of professors
Runs free tutoring for anyone struggling in class
Tries to help everyone even if they’re mean to him
Secretly a vampire but hasn't told anyone yet
Ferrus Manus
Technically should be in Ravenclaw but hangs with Gryffindors
Top of the Transfiguration class
Always transfigures things by accident when angry
Stockpiles spare parts in the Room of Requirement
Angron
Kicked out of every class for flying into homicidal rages
Secretly takes care of magical creatures in the forest
Pranks people by putting curses on bludgers
Weekly visits to St. Mungo's due to "outbursts"
Why is he Hufflepuff???
Roboute Guilliman
Head Boy and Ravenclaw prefect patrols the halls excessively
Top marks in every class and pays attention except Prophesy
Binds rule books to smack people who break curfew
Daily schedules include color-coded classes and chores
Mortarion
Constantly skipping herbology to smoke strange plants out back
This Slytherin always smells like a wet grave and fungi
Hoards Doxys and bowtruckles in the damper closets
Enchanted his robes to be self-cleaning but they’re still grimy
Magnus the Red
Runs the wizard chess club and gobstones club
Has a psychic duel with Professor Trelawney weekly
Secretly teaching advanced magic to other houses in the Room of Requirement
Uses crystal balls to gaze into the future of quidditch matches
Somehow became the most hated Ravenclaw
Horus Lupercal
Charismatic Gryffindor prefect and heir to Dumbeldore
Talented chaser who carries the quidditch cups every year
Top marks but still finds time for partying with Slytherins
Already has several Hogsmeade businesses lined up for after graduation
Lorgar Aurelian
Runs Slytherin religious cult meetings in the Forbidden Forest
Always gets plucked from class for excessive proselytizing
Has enchanted murals all over the school of super holy scenes
Constantly blessing other students whether they want it or not
Vulkan
Hufflepuff chaser, always lets the snitch go
Best at Care of Magical Creatures, even the dangerous ones love him
Secretly bakes the best cookies in the kitchens
Constantly in the hospital wing due to "potions accidents"
Corvus Corax
Introverted Ravenclaw, knows all the hidden passages
Best student in Defense Against the Dark Arts
Skips classes to research advanced transfiguration
Owl delivery? Nah he climbs in your window
Alpharius/Omegon
No one knows if they're the same person or twins
Always seen disappearing around corners and through secret passages
Top marks in Potions but no one knows which one is which
Pranks people by polyjuicing as other students
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#Sanguinius is angel outside, devil inside
#Just a romcom drabble I did for request
#Sanguinius x reader. Reader is female.
#BGM: Kiss everywhere
Sanguinius leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh, glancing over at where you lounged across the room. His sharp eyes noted how your gaze lingered on him now and then when you thought he wasn't looking. A small smile played about his lips.
It had become something of a private amusement, watching you struggle to muster the courage to act on whatever fluttery feelings plagued your turbulent heart. For all your fearlessness facing armies or boarding enemy ships single-handed, intimacy of another kind clearly discomfited the fearsome agent.
And so Sanguinius took pity, deciding to spare you the trial of another clumsy overture. He rose smoothly from his chair, noting how you stiffened in surprise as he crossed the room in a few long strides. Though your expression remained neutral, a faint blush stained your pale cheeks.
"My thanks for keeping me company this evening, my dear," Sanguinius murmured, bending to press a lingering kiss to those rosy lips.
You froze, rigid as a statue, lips pressed against his in puzzled petrification. Sanguinius suppressed a chuckle, deepening the kiss gently to coax some response. After a long moment your lips relaxed, moving clumsily against his in hesitant experiment. He kept the pace leisurely yet passionate, hoping repetition would improve your inexperienced technique.
When at last he drew back, you stared up at him with wide eyes, panting slightly. A flush bloomed across your décolletage. "That was-"
Sanguinius smiled tenderly. "Far more enjoyable when I take the lead, I think. You've much to learn still, my dear one, but I'll guide your lessons gladly."
You spluttered indignantly, though your blush intensified. "I didn't ask for kissing lessons, my lord!"
Sanguinius grinned. "No, but you seemed to enjoy that one well enough. Shall I give you another to improve upon?"
Before you could protest he had swooped down once more, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss that left your dizzy and breathless when he finally released you.
You glared up at him, lips kiss-bruised and trembling. "You - insufferable - "
Your attempts at scolding melted into a soft gasp as his mouth traced the line of your jaw. "I simply wish to ensure my lady's technique is flawless," Sanguinius purred into her skin. "Shall we continue your instruction?"
You could only nod weakly, yielding willingly to his gentle tutelage as his lips trailed lower.
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#A story about Fulgrim and his dear agent
#Reader is Imperial Agent
#Maybe cheesy, I don't know
Celebration raged within the Pride of the Emperor, lauding some recent victory you cared little for. But revelry meant relaxed protocols, a rare chance for reprieve from duty's rigors. And you partook freely, allowing carefree pleasures seldom indulged. Wine flowed rich and heady, loosening inhibitions with each quaff. Laughter came easier as night deepened, lashing you lighter and looser till worries dissolved on fermented tides.
A passing servant refilled your goblet unbidden, bearing a flagon of rare vintages from a paradise world. You sipped appreciatively, tension seeping from tightly-wound muscles under alcohol's warm caress. Drink flowed freely and you eagerly partook, letting wine-soaked revelry carry worries downstream. Hours passed in a haze, surroundings blurring yet warmth spreading through weary limbs. All too soon had bottles emptied, head spinning pleasantly as body sighed surrender.
Rising unsteady, you wandered in search of new diversion. Gaze drifted haphazard across boisterous crowds, latching upon lush plumage amid a flock of preening nobles. Your primarch, lord Perfect stood resplendent, holding court through honeyed words and flashing smiles that once stirred heartstrings.
"Bah, empty flatterers a lot." you grumbled, eyeing Fulgrim's patience enviously.
Memory floated vaguely, had you always found him so striking? Of course. He is lord primarch of III legion. Fulgrim the Perfect. Mind drifted as legs carried you ambling path ever closer, drawn as moth to glorious flame. Fulgrim noticed the approach, bidding flock disperse with practiced grace to spare privacy for he and you.
Fulgrim wrapping you in a steadying arm, concern lit amethyst eyes scanning for injury.
"My agent, have you been drinking again?" he sighed, exasperation battling amusement seeing you wobbling grin.
"My lord, you looked like you needed rescuing," you whispered. "From these swollen head simpletons with their incessant bleating!"
A flash of mischief lit Fulgrim's eyes, eagerly joining any plot to unsettle pomposity. "Indeed, though it seems I must rescue you now!"
Sweeping you up unceremoniously, he deposited you upon his massive arm, smirking at your unnoble like sprawl. You sagged against him, awash in heady scents of exotic perfumes. But then you began wriggling restlessly, limbs flailing with drunken kittenish abandon.
Fulgrim grunted, fighting to maintain balance beneath your inebriated writhing. "My dearest, do cease your fussing or I'll drop you amongst these peacocks!"
You merely giggled uncontrollably, squirming ceaselessly in his chest, nuzzling into it as warmth spread through chilled form. An itch arose beneath the skin, demanding satisfaction. You writhed against him, kneading clawed grip along sculpted arm. A purr rose in your chest, desire demanding release something.
Fulgrim sighed, resigning himself to an undignified struggle until balance prevailed once more.
At last you stilled, slumping bonelessly against Fulgrim's chest. He peered down into your flushed. His fingers stroking your spine in a manner at once soothing yet stirring ominous lusts within.
"Never a dull moment with you, my dearest. Come, let us away before you cause more trouble."
Scooping you close once more, Fulgrim departed. Your laughter is fading into the distance still.
Fulgrim sighed as you squirmed restlessly against his chest, shredding silk robes in an unconscious frenzy before gradually subsiding into exhausted slumber. He gently brushed tangled locks across silk folds now rumpled. Strange to find such unbridled potency contained within frail mortal flesh.
One delicate finger traced your lips, split and swollen from conflict yet no less exquisite. A token caress, but you stirred against him with low purr, seeking warmth instinctively. Fulgrim smiled softly. His touch trailed lower, tracing delicate collarbones bared by rumpled silk, feeling heartbeat quicken.
You sighed drowsily but not stirred from a reluctant nest. Fulgrim paused, gently easing free from rumpled silks cocooning your form, Fulgrim lifted you into strong arms. Your head lolled bonelessly onto silk-clad shoulder. His steps carried both through winding halls to lavish chambers sealed from curious eyes.
Soft silks and plush furs welcomed weary forms, Fulgrim settling you lightly upon awaiting down. You stirred briefly but exhaustion held fast, sighing content as Fulgrim joined you casually amidst luxuries gleaming in lamplight’s golden glow.
One arm curled about your slight waist proprietarily, fingers tracing subtle contours while imagination spun fantasies still. Fulgrim smiled faintly. Your skin bared awaiting revelation by caring touch. He closed eyes languidly.
#shiyorin's writer#wh40crack#primarch x reader#reader insert#romantic stuff in 40k#Write when I'm sleepy#Will fix later#warhammer 40k x reader
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#Konrad will kill me when he sees this, but who cares :v
#A little NSFW, I think that. Konrad x Reader
#Get inspired by this adorable art
#Ehehehehe
"I require a fresh genetic sample, Lord Primarch. Place your tongue here upon this pad, if you would be so kind."
Konrad scoffed at this bureaucratic tedium but complied. He took the offered slate between clawed gauntlets, fixing it with a stare. Then slowly, deliberately, he extended a long, serpentine tongue to swipe its gleaming surface. Again and again he lapped at the metal, swiping his tongue in broad strokes across the datapad with practiced nonchalance. His saliva activated sequenced markers, uploading a torrent of genetic code for later perusal.
You cleared your throat, unsettled by this change. "That will suffice, my lord. If you please, the data-pad."
Konrad paused, running his tongue along razor-sharp fangs in a manner almost...teasing? He held out the slate, close enough that you had to lean nearer still to reclaim it.
You extended your hand, expecting prompt compliance. What you received instead was another long, slow lick across fingers and palm, Konrad's eyes never leaving your own. A frisson ran through your body, wholly inappropriate given the circumstances.
"Another sample, is it? Very well." And with that, he drew your palm between his lips to suckle deeply, darting looks up at you through dark lashes all the while. Slow tongue darting out to trace whorls and lines with lingering thoroughness
"My lord..." You said at last, tugging your hand gently free, or attempting to. Konrad held fast, laving attention now to each fingertip, nipping lightly at their sensitive tips. His ministrations, while thorough, held an indolent quality, as if he savored drawing out your discomfort.
"I believe that fulfills your... request," he purred, rising in one fluid motion and taking his leave without another word. You sat trembling, data pad forgotten, torn between confused and something far more illicit.
Bonus:
You: Sharing saliva spreads over 100 pathogens, my lord. Did you know the average mouth houses streptococcus, e. coli, staph and more? Not to mention what lurks under those claw-like nails.
Konrad: I don't care and I will do it again.
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#You bully that dreadnought... On Slaneesh way.
#Don't ask me why. Blame my sadistic ass.
As Dreadnought drifted up from the embrace of restorative stasis, his hyper-intuitive mind immediately perceived something was… Off.
Firstly, his enhanced biorhythms, so finely calibrated to solar cyclicities that he could track planet's orbital procession to the nanosecond - seemed utterly out of sync with the chamber's illumination cycle. Rather than preprocessing the new Terran day's data overload as he typically did, an uneasy lethargy still clung to his humming catalytic synapses.
Secondly, as the veteran astartes ran a condensed lifepulse through his modification suite to jog the lingering reactivation virages, his tactical displays lit up with… anomalies. Physiometric feedback cascades infiltrating his cogitator stacks from some unknown external vector. Intrusion countermeasures were in place, but being unable to triangulate the invasive source set his soul to slow burning.
This… this was entirely outside established parameters. And for one of the Imperium's most brilliant veteran, having his personal boundaries violated in such way was utterly unacceptable.
As he fought through the last clinging tendrils of false-sleep fog, the final sensory intake to kickstart sent a jolt of pure electroglutamic shock through his entire catalytic physiology, a reflex as potent as it was primal.
Something soft and warm was pressed against him. Something whose lithe, slender contours radiated the faintest whisperings of an electromagnetic aura achingly familiar yet utterly alien at the same time. Before his hyper-rational consciousness could even process the dissonance, that same sensual presence began to…shift.
Stir.
As if in slow-motion, he felt the silken texture moving in languorous serpentine coils around his heavily armored limbs. Goosebump paresthesia blossomed across his tertiary plexus intakes as naked skin glided along the articulated grooves of his war-plate like molten metal. And all the while, his body registered the steadily mounting crescendo of a biomantic scent signature utterly unique yet vaguely…human.
"Oh dear, it seems you're awake," murmured a contralto from the dreadnought peripheral blind spot. "I do hope my little indiscretion didn't disrupt your circadian realignment cycles. That would be…tragic."
The flaring familiarity of that deceptively dulcet tone sparked a starburst of synaptic flashes across his nervous rictus. Instantly all tactical augurs recalibrated and his external ambiopulse defenses came online in a heartbeat.
You.
Who let you into this chamber? During the tortured nanocycle it took to recompile his disparate thought processes, he very nearly missed your next sibilant words.
"Rest assured, my emissions won't be affecting your precious vigor too profoundly. I calculated their dilative saturation thresholds to precisely… enervating parameters."
Something sinuous and searingly warm began undulating tighter around the Dreadnought's immobilized form. Each time the lithe coils shifted closer, his tertiary cortices ignited with phantom paresthesia, as if psychoconductive lightning were tracing arcane sigils up and down his ossified neural clusters.
He gritted his teeth against the maddening sensation while attempting to regain enough body control to break the embrace. He may not have been psychically gifted like psyker… but damn his soul to the warp's most obscene corners if he didn't recognize a psychokinetic trap when his enemy sprang it!
But for all his preternatural willpower and unmatched self-discipline, every synaptic impulse to leverage free of your grip dissipated like mist. Even his pinnacle physiology couldn't resist the achingly sensual pull gradually overpowering his every conditioned response.
"While I admit this evening's intimacy was… rather ungracious in its execution," that surgically-sculpted voice crooned amidst the frenzied synaptic backlash. "After all… You aren't the first transhuman to capitulate to pleasures of the flesh."
There was that damned smile again, stretched across the your rapturously serene expression like the crescent corona of a newborn pulsar. To his mounting dismay, he couldn't deny the understated beauty of your features, chiseled cheekbones, bow-curved lips, eyes that smoldered like binaric black hole's event horizon.
Refracting off that obsidian perfection, the latest of Imperium chromium-steel dawns birthed fiery amber halos that exalted every elegant line and curve, casting dramatic facets of shadow across your corded musculature.
As much as him railed against admitting it, some baser part of his transhuman psyche couldn't help but acknowledge the sheer flawlessness of your synthetic form. Every plane of your, every tantalizing valley was precise to several decimalized fractals of perfection. More a living work of art than merely engineered flesh and bone.
It was only when you leaned closer still, nearness forcing his to hyper-focus on your features, that he realized the danger he was truly in. Whatever genetic mastery had gone into crafting your physique was but a microcosm compared to the sheer otherness lurking behind that dangerous.
"Relax, Ancient one…" Your aura swelled and ebbed like a cosmic heartbeat.
A drift of shadows coalesced across your features, drawing out the deepest folds of obsidian corruption barely constrained beneath that timeless synthetic epidermal expanse. Within the umbra's ephemeral flicker, he thought he caught a glimpse of hooked talons that may or may not have been claws.
Then, in a voice grating with gleefully damned malice, you concluded in a whisper so quiet yet simultaneously deafening that it threatened his:
"Let me show you… beginning with the punishment of being brought low."
#shiyorin's writer#wh40crack#space marine x reader#reader insert#warhammer 40k x reader#lol#actually i don't think it's romantic
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#Excoriator x Reader
#It started with a joke between me and my friends, and then my sadistic ass made me do this.
TW: Rites of Castigation. Typical Son of Dorn. Reader is Chapter Serf. You whip astartes :v
The rite proceeded as always, prayers intoned, whips singing their grim hymns upon bared flesh. So sacred, a solemn joining of flesh and spirit through agony's elevating embrace. The Excoriators stood stoic, for them, pain was purity, suffering a sacrament uniting them to their genetic father Rogal Dorn. Bloody lashes, criss-crossed flesh, scars worn with pride.
The first lash fell, biting deep. He grunted, muscles cording yet gave no other sound. Again and again the bites came, scourging ritual old as their Legion renewed once more. Scarred skin split and bled anew under your practiced hand.
Still that peculiar tension persisted, focused oddly around his loins. He frowned, struggling to comprehend. This was holy suffering, a sacred rite! Why then did the sight of your small form wielding the whip stir such... feelings?
Another lash, harder than before, and he could not contain a low gasp. The Chaplain's eyes flickered over, scrutinizing, yet he remained stoically silent. Astartes were above such base urges, and...
Your next strike sent sparks of strange, illicit pleasure searing through his transhuman flesh. He grit his teeth, torn between sacred duty and this profane new awareness. What blasphemy was this, to find excitement in an act of devotion?
The bite of pain was nothing, his gene-crafted body was forged to withstand far worse. But feeling your small hand wielding such power over one such as he stirred something deep within his genetics.
Was it heretofore unknown synapses firing, flesh responding despite augments? Or something more...carnal in nature, begging analysis and repudiation?
He grit his teeth as the lash fell once more. Pain danced across his muscled flesh, but far more than agony stirred in his loins. The blood drops beading upon scars. Your tiny blows shook him to the core, setting alight a flame within holy aegis. Through slitted eyes he watched your work, awe and something less savory twisting his gut.
He suppressed a low groan. Nearby brothers shot him askance looks, but he knew they too felt the strange heat rising in their veins. He can hear another brother's breath hitch in response. They were not alone in their strange afflictions, it seemed.
Is this some gift from their genetic Father Rogal Dorn, that they should find rapture even in agony? Or merely some human weakness seeping into their transhuman perfection?
He knew not, only that each lash sent lightning up his spine. He grit his teeth against another gasp, focusing on your flushed face above him, drinking in the fierce concentration upon your face.
Beautiful, as no battle could ever be. Did you have any idea the effect you held over transhuman bodies and souls? What infernal ecstasies you inspired with each blow?
The rite continued, blood flowing freely as penance for sins none could name. But beneath the pain each Excoriator felt stirrings none could deny, not even to themselves.
The Chaplain can feel control slipping. Your delicate hand gripping the whip's haft, a tremor passed through him that had nothing to do with agony. Your touch sent heat coursing through veins, pooling low in his body where no Astartes had known such urges.
But your composure shook him more than any penance. What are you thinking behind those eyes, he wondered? Did you feel nothing from dominating transhuman giants? Had you sensed their straying thoughts, their sudden lusts? Astartes were not meant for such things, and yet in that moment he felt only regret that the rite was over.
He gazed down at you, wishing to know your true mind.
Penitence was purity, suffering a sacred duty, however bittersweet. And for your sake as much as theirs, that duty must come before all else.
#shiyorin's writer#wh40crack#warhammer 40k x reader#space marine x reader#reader insert#i don't know
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