- Anything that I think is deliberately trying to subvert these rules/anything borderline
This does not include:
- Sugar daddy/mommy relationships
- Being childhood friends (aka both growing up together as children)
- Parent and child fluff
- No watersports (just not something I would enjoy or want to write)
Also if you want a specific gender tell me (I write any gender), if you don't specify I will assume gender neutral :) eg. male reader, or 'takes an interest in her', just something to distinguish
What type of yandere are they? Lucid, delusional, obsessive ectâŠ
Oh he is the most delusional of the delusional. There has not been a sane thought through his head since he first lay eyes on you?
Heâs not wearing rose tinted glasses - heâs blindfolded and sobbing at your feet.
He first saw you while he was out just before dawn, feeling emotional and moved within his faith. A walk in the deserted streets through the fresh air would help clear his clouded mind, and it was there as he begged for the sign he needed that he saw you.
There, alone, in the middle of the street, a sign perhaps? Someone in need of salvation?
And then it happened. The sun burst across the horizon and cast you in golden light, showing him truly the most divine being he had ever had the honour of seeing.
He couldnât look away and knew his life had been inordinately shifted for evermore.
Would they kidnap their darling, if so - how?
He ends up developing a very strange dichotomy. You are the most perfect thing, your word is clearly a divine message, and you were sent straight to him.
But - at the same time, you were also sent straight to him. Youâre his. You need protecting, you need what he can offer, what he can provide. You need a temple to inhabit and remain set apart from the masses in.
Refusing to follow him?
Clearly it's just because he hasnât proved his devotion yet, because he hasnât earned you.
Instead he will have people following you at all times, ensuring your safety, survival, and that nothing untoward happens while he personally oversees the design and construction of your temple.
After that however, how can you reject his masterpiece to you - especially since you havenât even tried yet, so welcome to your new home!Â
Heâll make sure youâre safe and secure, donât worry.
How difficult is it to escape from them, and how do they deal with escape attempts?
Each and any attempt hurts his heart and soul greatly. He begs you, pleading on his knees for you to understand why he does what he does.
The mortal masses are not worthy to do anything but adore you - they are not permitted to be close, only to worship from afar.
You were sent to him, why do you try escape him?
Come now sweet thing, donât make him do something he doesnât want to.
You can sit contentedly or sit in bondage.Â
The finest bonds, ropes made of soft silk, thin yet unbreakable chains. Every piece that keeps you tethered is nothing short of gorgeous in its make and manner, in the way that someone looking over you might at first think it was opulent jewellery or decoration befitting his saint.
Can they be tricked, deceived or manipulated?
Itâs almost too easy because heâs whipped to the max.
Heâll do anything to please you except let you away from him so anything you desire is his and heâs completely conditioned to listen to you. Looks like all of that work making him so obedient backfired hereâŠ. Yeah you know exactly who isnât happy about all of thisâŠ.
But youâre a tool for them too now. Another method of control.
At least they recognise that getting rid of you without causing uncontrollable and unpredictable results will be difficult - so you can stay for now.
What privileges do you have?
Oh you have everything you could ever want - who could possibly ask for more?Â
Your friends, your family.
Doesnât he provide the most wondrous things for you?
Walking freely once more.
You need only speak and it will be yours, what do you desire - sweet fruits, riches?
To get away from you.
Your needs are surpassed, you are treasured. Do with him whatever you see fit as long as you arenât sending him away and know you are loved more than the stars. He would rather each one blink out of the sky than see you upset.
What are their rules and subsequent punishments?
For someone so revered, there ends up being many, many, many rules.
Who you are allowed to see, who is allowed to see you. What can touch you and what you cannot touch. What you eat, what hobbies you can have.
You must be chaste, modest, and kindly.
Once youâve passed a âsettling inâ period - there are punishments. Physical ones.
One might think that you would be too âlovedâ for such things, but he knows better. After all, it worked on him!
His father teaches him with pain and he has learnt to love him all the more for it - and you will too should you disobey.Â
Flagellation is a core element of his life and if you misbehave he will mold you into what ideals he holds of you.
This only comes about if you canât play along or learn from the early mistakes where there is far more leniency and leeway, but continue enough to provoke him and he will bend you over for spankings and all manner of corrections.
Never too harshly thoughâŠ. not like he would give another, he is still far softer on you, he canât bear to seriously hurt you - but you are not above correcting swats and kneeling on rice.
If you never initiate this though, he gets even more enamoured with you (though it may have seemed impossible from his prior behaviour). The fact you settled into your role is reinforcement he was right.
How do they deal with rivals or jealousy?
Very, very poorly.
Youâre not allowed to show interest in others - you were sent for him not them.Â
Some part of him wars with the fact you are pure salvation to him and he is gatekeeping that from the sinful masses who need you, and the other part needs you safe and beside him.
So heâll compromise.
You can stay locked up, and heâll repent for his sins. You stay safe and he takes the divine punishment.
If anyone tries to threaten this new status quo they can expect to meet a swift, decisive and unavoidable end. They are an example to the rest.
NSFW
How touchy do they get, do they have any reservations or respect?
The yearning, the guilt, the desire.
He tries to hold back, he really does, but your appeal is too much, too damning and he is too weak.
His knees fail him as he sobs while he reaches for you - the recompense upon himself for this act will be great but he canât help but want to hold you close.
This is slightly constrained, however, as he does manage to restrict himself to just touching you. Holding you close, feeling your soft skin atop clothes and breathing in your scent is enough - until it isnât.
As ever, the goal posts continually move.
A shift of cloth, skin on skin, and the sinner descends. Itâs never enough to satiate him until heâs consumed you - body and soul. He just needs you and him to be one.
What are their biggest kinks/fetishes?
Orgasm control.
Heâs desperate for you to both cum together, obsessed with the idea of unity between you. In the beginning that means touching you and using his mouth on you until youâre close because heâs practically creaming in his robes already - but as time passes and he gets more control this leads to your orgasm denial.
His stamina is off the charts regardless though, round after round after round.
Also a fan on cum play, all fluid produced between you being a representation of your love and none of it wasted. You swear once in your exhausted bliss you saw him bottling itâŠ.The more time passes the more brazen he becomes, swiping up cum with a handkerchief and keeping it close to him always.
Heâs also extremely into watching you masturbate - talking you through it like heâs preaching his greatest sermon, coaching you through what he wants you to do to yourself and vice versa.Â
Over time he fills the space with mirrors, on the walls, beside you, even on the ceiling so he can admire you from all angles while he worships your body and fucks you throughly.
Saw this post of yours about Sanguinius mimicking his fatherâs yandere behavior : https://www.tumblr.com/bleedingichorhearts/785827354911162368/i-like-your-writing-a-lot-i-want-to-ask-as
So, is it possible to write about yandere!Sanguinius x fem!Darling, where the Great Angel holds his Starlight under him, worshipping her(SMUT) and drinking her blood from time to time so she wonât run away.
Summary: Sanguinius is suddenly upon you after hearing some rumors from nobles.
||Words: 1.8k+|| Yandere, Yandere Blood Angels, Vampire Birb, Claims Of Infidelity, NSFW, Biting, Wrap It Up Before You Get Mini Blood Angels.
"I hear the winged Primachs' lover has been seeing another..."
That sentence has been in his mind over and over again, haunting him. He's not one to doubt his own spouse but having to hear the many rumors of these childish baselines believing he cannot hear them from where they stand is very, very irritating.
He wants to snap at them, pull at their necks with his own fangs. To watch them bleed before him, for his sons to drink; to feed. He wants to see them to be nothing but a husk so they can never utter such filth, but Sanguinus only could imagine such behind those calming eyes of his. To sit still and listen to everything around him- through the walls. It was exhausting and infuriating these baselines would utter blasphemy upon his wife. Upon the Legions Mother.
He knows his sons are just barely tolerating the rumors and whispers, and they have confirmed themselves that you never were soiled by another being besides Sanguinius himself. They always have their senses on you, even when you donât think they do, and they were keen to keep you close. To make you perhaps a little fearful of those who could oppose you, and for one to oppose you? Is to oppose Sanguinius and his legion. Many unaware baselines however, remain lucky as you seem to linger near the legion and Dante.
Again, Sanguinius is not one to get jealous nor riled up, but something about the rumors nag at him. Make something inside of him rise up and feel like an itch that he has to scratch. It feels a bit⊠primal. Not that heâs complaining too much. The only thing he can really complain about is not seeing you. To have you near. To make sure those spreading lies around him are not the truth because they are just jealous that canât have him themselves.
Sanguinius briefly wonders what Iâd be like the other way around. To have the rumors turned on him. To say heâs being unfaithful. Of course, no one would dare to spew such dastardly bravery upon a Primarch, but he doesnât like the thought of being unfaithful himself. It makes him feel like heâs eating his brotherâs fortifications and sieges whilst grinding the harsh materials with his teeth.
He wonders if this is what you feel if he ever let you hear such heresy upon you. If you grind your teeth at the simple thought- or perhaps hide away like Magnus does? Though, your hiding would break his many hearts. Heâd rather see you smile up at him while the skyâs of Baal threaten to outshine you.
Or perhaps⊠he wouldnât mind to see you beneath him. Crying out his name for those pesky rumors to disappear. To see your skin painted with his fangs and your succulent blood. For your face to be in pure bliss. Ruined for any that dares to try and take what is his- the legions.
This particular thought stuck to him until he was barely out of his armor and heading straight to where you reside: Your personal garden of roses that are called âBlack Baccara,â and those particular roses remind him of familiar crimson puddles that went heavy with too much loss. He figures that why some of the petals of the roses have bite marks in them of two holes from where his sonâs fangs have pierced.
You seem more amused by the bites in the petals rather than scolding. Sanguinius shakes his head every time he sees a bitten flower but doesnât make a move to stop them if itâs a thing that doesnât necessarily bother you.
âLeave me, my sons.â He waves his guarding legionaries from their position, his wings giving a slight twitch, and they simply give a nod in return. Their steps heavy of the armor they wear. Echoing down the hall before all is silent once more.
The winged Primarch can hear your heart from where he stands. His own hearts linking to the beat of yours. Albit itâs a little different but he can make an easy rhythm of it. It was soothing to him. To not only taste the crimson of your body but to also hear your heart, even when he must sleep after some time. It tells him that youâre still here, never betraying him. That you still love him despite what he might do.
He inhales before pushing the door to your garden open. His eyes looking everywhere before looking at you: tending to a bitten flower, cutting it from its stem before putting it a golden vase with other marked flowers. You seem to like to make their ravenous mistakes as something beautiful. Maybe thatâs why many bitten petals appear in your gardenâŠ
âHello, my love.â He finally greets you. His wings giving a little satisfaction fluff while he watches you get spooked by his sudden presence before beaming up at him. The simplicity of you warming his many hearts. He almost wishes that he had more in order to combat what you do to him.
âSanguinius!â You say his name like a praise, rushing towards him. Trusting of him that he will catch you in his arms and never let you go, and he does. His hands grasping your waist with efficiency and holding you up to his chest where he can easily nuzzle into your neck. His wings wrapping around the both of you like secondary protection, a shield.
âHello, my little rose.â He greets you again, purring it out. His lips kissing the softness of your neck. Perhaps an ultimate trust for a blood thirster to achieve. âHow are you?â
âI could ask you the same thing.â A huff leaves you, your hands gently moving along his face. Mapping him out, making sure heâs still the same when he had left you. âI hear⊠rumors.â
The blood Primarch pauses his nuzzling at that. Looking up at you from his place in your neck. Have you heard the same rumors he has? The gossip? He must know, his voice low. Barely unnoticeable. âWhat of them?â
He watches as you seem to shy away from the probing question. Your own eyes showing clear hesitation of what to say to him. Heâs patient of course. Willing to keep you hostage till you speak your pretty mind out to him. His eyes watching every single detail your body might make.
âMost talk that I-â You pause, unable to get the words out as they are rather shameful to even say out loud or to even admit. âThat you- Oh goodnessâŠâ
âWhat bothers you so that you must hesitate?â He pushes gently. Moving to sit on a near by bench without the back, and with you upon his lap. His hands always keeping you close.
ââŠMany claim infidelity!â You finally speak out. Oh so ashamed of uttering such words to a Primarch no less. Hiding your face in your own hands as it wouldnât be ideal to hide in your husbandâs protection after admitting such words to him.
It clicks instantly for Sanguinius however. About these claims that you have heard of. Someway or another. His grip on you tightening a little before relaxing. If anything? Perhaps these rumors will make you more yielding to his advances.
âDo not be consumed by such childish talk.â He hums, pulling you closer again to nuzzle into your neck again. Feeling that familiar lure to taste you. To feed from you. âItâs untrue. Do you have no faith in me?â
âN-no! I mean! Yes!â Your lips blurt out, and he canât help but just watch you stammer and be flustered by him. To watch how your lips move and your pulse quicken.
He kisses you suddenly, silencing your mumbling apologies and excuses. A hand coming up to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss that you seem surprised by before melting into it.
âSanguiniusâŠâ You breathe once he lets you. Still trying to tire yourself out with apologies that he doesnât necessarily care for. He knows you wouldnât do such a thing. You were just⊠exposed to the whispers.
Perhaps both of you shall make it up to one another? Starting with claiming your blood once more. His fangs grazing your neck as he feels you shiver in his capturing embrace.
Heâs soft and gentle at first, piecing the pulse of your skin that almost feels therapeutic. A soft groan leaving the both of you. One for the exotic taste of your blood and another for the sensation of your own life force being sipped from you.
You trust that he doesnât take too much considering his size. Your hands clutching at his chest. Being oh so willing to help your Primarch. To feed him even when he doesnât ask for your approval, and heâs aroused by such trust. Such vulnerability.
He shifts to lay you down in the bed of your roses, keeping his fangs in your throat. Each thorn pricked before you even awaken. I mean, how else do those bite marks get into those petals you dearly love? They are certainly not bugs. That risks sickness, and sickness risks Nurgle and that risks your life that heâs not willing to give up so easily.
Your soul is his while his is yours.
Your foreseen whimpers bring him back to his goal at hand, however. Heâs taking too much from you. He knows he is, but the look on your dazed face makes it worth it. Makes you supine. He wants more. Greeds for more. Always more of you.
He waits no longer. Needing to claim what is his. Needing to have you after days of dastardly gossip. To have you smell like him and never leave his chambers again. To have you completely so bedridden that you donât have to question his infidelity again.
The simple word leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, but itâs overrun by the gush of blood that rushes into his mouth. Overrun by the feeling of your walls wrapping around his slow, intruding cock.
Throne, he has missed you. To have your kisses, touch and blood. To have your heat wrapped around him like a vice as it has been too long since the last intercourse you both had together. Too long.
Another groan leaves him, loosening his fangs upon your neck to huff upon your skin as he thrusts forward inside of you. His fangs piercing his own lips now, drawing his own blood. His hands clawing at the rose bed beneath you as he tries not to absolutely ruin you for his own selfish pleasure. He knows heâs big, and you? Small. So perfect. So dazed and cock drunk to notice you're mewling his name for those gossipers to hear. To shut down their petty, insolent whispers.
He shall prove to you- to them that you're completely his. To mark you up in all ways: fangs, claws and seed. They will know their place, and you? Bedridden and always by his side. He will make sure of it.
I would love to see your write something with Guilliman and a FemReader. Can be fluffy, can be spicy, can be angsty. My one request?
A happy ending, please and thank you!
Courting Crushed - Oneshot (Guilliman x fem!Reader)
Masterlist Here
Yipppeee! Nothing feels more cute, fluffy and hopeful to me than a young Guilliman still untouched by 'The Horrors' (tm) coming to terms with his first crush... with a little help on how to be not quite so dorkish <333
âRoboute, my dearest son,â she starts, somehow still managing to give him a wisened, chastising look as though he was a toddler once more from many, many feet below him, âwe need to talk.â
He takes a seat solemnly.Â
Tarasha was never typically this serious or frank with him, instead opting for a gossiping or political approach which had taught him greatly over the years, learning to search for the meaning in otherâs words and such.
So, it must have been extremely serious.Â
Requiring of his full attention.
âIâm fed up, and as your mother Iâve had enough - you need to court that woman and youâre starting today.â
What.
How did she-Â
He can feel his face start to burn as he tries desperately to formulate a response.
Itâs not as if he hadnât tried to court you!Â
Itâs just that every time he went to speak with you something in his brain stuttered that he couldnât quite work past. He could not deny that you had optimal aesthetic attraction to him, but there were plenty of beautiful women on Macragge - it wasnât that which had captured his attention.Â
You were confident, but you were not confident without competence. Suave, charming and charismatic without being cocky or completely audacious. You were a woman who knew what she wanted and exactly how to get it - and most refreshingly without being an obnoxious snob.Â
You were disastrously intoxicating.Â
He hadnât yet found a way to broach the topic to his adoptive mother, and the fact she had instead noticed from his behaviour was even more alarming to him, his blush steadily spreading out to his ears.
Did that mean you had noticed too?
Tarasha politely sips her tea while he takes a moment to compose himself, allowing him to clear his throat before speaking, âI will admit I have attempted courtship⊠but have not been reciprocated.â
She hums to herself for a moment, setting down her cup.
âHow did you do it?,â she questions slowly, âIf you would humour me for a moment.â
Just when he thought he had recovered you fill his thoughts again with the way you looked the day he decided to finally approach you.
Beauty and grace as always, but with a hint of boldness. Youâd done a traditional look as was expected of you but woven fresh blooms through your hair to create an intricate weave that was somehow delicate and brazen in its design. Rebellion against the gems and jewels that were expected of you and yet pulling it off flawlessly.
Not to mention the soft floral scent it gave you as you walked byâŠ
He recalled the way heâs resolved himself to finally speak with you properly, not just passing generic conversation of work or politics in a formal setting but personally.Â
Theoretical: greetings, then appropriate and relevant compliment.
Practical:
âSalutations, the arrangement of your hair is aesthetically optimal,â he repeats back what he had first said to her, but for some reason this time it sounds wrong the second it leaves his lips - perhaps it was the disapproving look it made on his motherâs face?
She drags a hand down her face good naturedly suppressing her chuckles, âAh, young love - itâs like youâre still just my little boy all over again, now letâs run through your etiquette.â
His second attempt at inviting you on a date is far more successful - after his motherâs tutelage of course, and evidenced by your acceptance of his proposition.
A private sailing trip, captained by himself, onto the Pharamis Ocean, not too far of course, but far enough to allow you both some privacy and a trip away from the hustle and bustle of life on Ultramar.Â
Tarasha had decided to personally pick out his dress for him for the occasion too - a quality, if simple, white robe accented with gold and blue trim, and simple sandals, with his hair laying in looser tousled curls. Tasteful yet still casual.
Heâd tastefully decorated the boat too, with a little help once more, with the same fresh flowers heâd seen you wearing, light and gauzy coverings and even packing some refreshments for you both to enjoy while on the water.
The weather was perfect too, it was on a touch of the too high side of hot in the city, meaning the sea breeze would be perfect, and there was not a cloud in the sky for miles to be seen.
It also allowed him appropriate close proximity, though the very act of helping you onto the small boat was simultaneously exhilarating and daunting. Youâd let him take your smaller hand in his and steady you aboard, affording him thanks and one of your winning smiles that made his gut flip.
Then youâd sat, lounged back with your legs crossed over and figure accentuated by the drape of your robes, looking across at him as he manoeuvred sails and pulleys to adjust course and start you out of the harbour.
It was an easy conversation for the ride out to the spot heâd picked out prior, a route he knew easily now from his practice runs. He could partially busy himself with the physical aspect of sailing too, having something that needed doing a calming balm to his racing mind and trembling hands.
It was something to look at that wasnât into your electrifying eyes that always seemed to paralyse him.
Still, you lead the conversation while he works, but he contributed easily too, coaxing laughter and more as the docks grew smaller and smaller until they arrive.
âWe have arrived, itâs the ideal location to settle - geometric views combined with calm waters and superior privacy.â
The ocean is spread wide before you now, endlessly blue and sparkling in the sun like millions of crystals, framed with perfect rays of light. Fresh spray mists the air around the boat. It was completely perfect, and all that was left was for your approval.
âI must admit, the view from here is absolutely phenomenal," Guilliman sighs a breath he hadnât realised he was holding, â⊠and I suppose the scenery is lovely too.â
There is no dignity to be found in the sounds he makes when his brain catches on to your words, following the exact trail of her gaze heâd been too focussed to notice before.Â
Words are stuttered as his brain freezes - you were, you - he -Â
Then somehow you were in front of him, stepping up from the seat and swaying slightly with the bob of the ship, looking up at him like youâd decided something.Â
He gulps, wondering when the sun had become so hot on his face.
âYou are many, many things, Roboute,â you start, âkind, intelligent, handsome, cute - but you arenât particularly forward, so I suppose I will have to decide these things for the both of us.â
You finish by reaching up to grab his toga and pulling him down to meet you, claiming his lips still parted in surprise.
This kiss was soft and sweet, not too chaste but not too long either, just enough for him to get a breathless taste of you before you pulled away.
It was shattering to him - utterly addictive.Â
The taste of you slightly tinged by the salty sea air and breeze.Â
Then he kisses you, sweeping down from where youâd pulled back to capture you in return, but this time you deepen it, allowing a swipe of his tongue before pulling back for more air.Â
âYour romantic assertiveness is greatly appreciated,â he murmurs as he leans in for another one, already hooked on your taste from a single kissâand your suggestion of further activity is accepted with enthusiasm.â
Sometimes, sometimes he forgot that it was too much for a baseline.
Black crusade after black crusade, horror after horror, and while he did his best to shield you from the worst of the worst - keeping you close to his side when out of his chambers, there were always terrors that slipped through the cracks. And the Vengeful Spirit was filled to the brim with such horrors.
After dispatching of the issue, he had to face that you would require some⊠caring for. He hadnât considered that he would ever care enough for a mere baseline to comfort one - yet here he was, heading back to his quarters with sugary treats in tow.
All the power of the Black Legion combined just to indulge your sweet tooth, and yet he would gut anyone who dared speak in such a manner of you.
When he arrives its to find you curled in the centre of the bed, surrounded in a sort of nest of blacks, reds and golds, of silks and furs, everything soft pulled together to make a tiny plush fortress against the cold of the ship.
âLittle lambâŠâ he starts, stepping towards the edge and sitting down, uncaring for how it dipped under his weight, â...I have an offering for you.â
Wide, wet and red rimmed eyes peak out from the covers.
Then a nose, then lips, which part softly while she looks up at him expectantly from the cocoon.
âI am not going to-â
She flutters her eyelashes at him, he sighs.
He spends the next twenty minutes feeding her the soft sugary dough, in tiny ripped bites that she nibbles from him. Little lamb indeed.
Slowly but surely she emerges though, crawling further into his lap while deftly avoiding any spikes or point bits with the much accumulated practice. She brings a blanket with her, wrapping up and cushioning between cold armour and soft, warm skin.
Eventually though, the treats run out.
â...pet my hair while I nap?â she asks in a small voice, already drifting off with the exhaustion of the day and melting in his hold.
He wants to refuse, citing grandeur of his never ending work as Warmaster, but he finds his hands obey of their own accord - and he is not one to refuse his instinct or you.
âWhat do you mean, an axe?! Sheâs not even six months old! And no singing at night, and keep your damn mjĂžd away from her! Sheâs a tiny little girl, not a wolf pup!â
âA-alright, dear⊠whatever you say⊠*guilty whining*â
đ€«P.S. Actually, I tried to color it, but the sketchmarkers let me down, and Lehman's nose decided to float a little.đ„Č
Just to verify, any rules or things you would rather not write about?
Just checking while I think of any request, thank your so much for your hard work!!
Yipppeeee! At long last they reopen.
I deffo should clarify somewhere youâre so right thatâs a tomorrow problem though.
Rules are very basic though:
- NO PEDO
- not a fan of watersports (just a hard no for me generally - blood/vomit is okay though)
I will write for stuff I donât particularly enjoy (which is why I donât tend to list likes/dislikes) as its fun to explore and also means people who like those things have something to enjoy :3
Also not sure how I want to phrase this but obviously donât be racist/sexist/homophobic/transphobic etc - but issues like these could definitely be explored within writing if that makes sense?
Your blog has me foaming at the mouth, omfg!!!! Love, love, love your work. Your fics are blowing my mind over here. Fulgrim dollification fic wrecked me, it was a totally new experience.
I'm looking forward to reading more!
Thank you!! Always love hearing what people liked best - and hope you enjoy more to come <333
What type of yandere are they? Lucid, delusional, obsessive ectâŠ
Obsessive but lucid. Lost in the sauce chase.
Not that you know its a chase.
He sees you, wild and free, and needs you to be running by his side, close to his side - it becomes a compulsion as strong as his need to move is. The need to have you is like a hunger of a sort, the kind of desire that is raw and primal but not necessarily sexual, more in the way thirst is, he just needs you.Â
His short stay taking over your planet stretches longer and longer.Â
Its a conflicted mess, where on one hand he doesnât want to restrict your freedoms, and on the other hand he is a conquering warlord. He earned the title of Khan for a reason.Â
Is it really so bad a fate to be constrained to his side? He doesnât like to think so, and that side slowly but surely wins out over time - he can only delay for so long.
Would they kidnap their darling, if so - how?
If he canât win you over before he has to leave your planet? Yes.
He does try and woo you first, bringing you great prizes and following both local and his customs to entice you to his side but heâs not opposed to taking you as 'spoils of war'.
His sons are encouraging of this approach, and are excited to have you brought into the fold.Â
If you decline his advances and he has to take you it will be a public affair, as youâll essentially be a boon âgiftedâ by the planet as a part of Imperial take over rather than a lover courted to his side.Â
Heâd have preferred sweeping you off your feet in acceptance and having you hold him tightly as he rides back towards his ship - but thereâs plenty to enjoy with his hand holding you tied over his shoulder too.
How difficult is it to escape from them, and how do they deal with escape attempts?
Enjoys them. Itâs a chase - and if youâre on a ship in the warp theres no where for you to really go. His sons have even been ordered to let you roam so he can enjoy hunting you down to wherever youâve gotten yourself - with the exception of them corralling you away from dangerous areas.
If youâre both planet side he simply wonât leave until youâre found - and he guilts you with the punishment of everyone who stands between you and him.
Thereâs no punishment for you asides from being returned, he does understand your internal desire for the freedom of the winds canât be quenched even if he keeps you for himself.
If youâre ever harmed in one of your attempts though? Youâll find his attitude can quickly shift.
Can they be tricked, deceived or manipulated?
Not really. Heâll deliberate on anything you bring to him request wise, but ultimately wonât be swayed from his decision.Â
He isnât a yandere so blinded by love or obsession that he cannot see things for what they are and respond accordingly.
However, since he sort of indulges and allows you to try and escape, there is always chance for something unexpected to happen, or for you to have a stroke of luck that challenges him.
Even divine luck will not spare you from a primarch for long however...
What privileges do you have?
This depends on if you came willing or as a prize.
Willing spouse? More privileges, more âtreatsâ, and more power within the legion too. Youâve accepted him, and so theyâve accepted you back.Â
Far more of a partner he is extremely obsessive and fussy over, with him observing more spousal rules and expecting you to do the same.
If you fought against him? Restricted more, settling in a sort of unique roll where you havenât become a true part of the White Scars, but youâre not some ordinary or lowly concubine either.Â
Its a strange middle ground where you are his as a lover but not yet a partner, but this could change given time and acceptance. He does understand everything was a bit sudden and you may need time.
Escape attempts will add time onto how long it takes to get to the point of going willingly initially gets you, and settling in well decreases it.
What are their rules and subsequent punishments?
Heâs a very lax, laissez-faire man, all things considered - especially compared to his brothers.
Not the punishing sort, heâs conquered you, youâre his, thatâs the end of story.
Be bratty if you like, it amuses him to no end to see your fiery spirit.
However, if you manage to get really under his skin somehow in some special way he would be more inclined to a nsfw punishmentâŠ.
How do they deal with rivals or jealousy?
He does in fact get jealous if you give others attention but not him.
Youâre his. Act like it.
If he gets jealous heâll get touchy, he always believed in actions over words. Pulled into his lap, brought by his side - others will see his claim on you one way or another and heâll be glaring down anyone who doesnât get the message.
He isnât above making a clear example of anyone who doesnât take that message to heart.
NSFW
How touchy do they get, do they have any reservations or respect?
Once again dependent on how you came with him - but ironically flipped.Â
If it was willing then heâs expectant of your affection and more free in giving it - after all, you came to him, you reciprocated even if it was a survival mechanism. You can expect him to have quite the wandering hand, as free and continual in motion as his spirit.Â
On the other hand, if you werenât, then he actually wants you to acclimate to everything as so is far more initially reserved in order to give you the space needed to do so. His eyes will still wander though, but thatâs par for the course.
Circling back to the potential ânsfw punishmentâ hinted at earlier - it would have to be something special and most likely sexual to get under his skin.
Very much a âyou get whatâs coming to youâ in that case. If you want to escape him, thatâs natural, you wanting to fight back etc is expected - but deliberately getting at him like that is a different story.
Reaping what you sow is exactly what happens, with endless teasing and denial until youâre begging to give him what he wants just so you can have your own release.Â
What are their biggest kinks/fetishes?
In terms of typical kinks, he also enjoys leather - but not in the traditional, âkinkyâ sense, but seeing you wear his oversized leathers is a massive turn on for him, and quite unsurprisingly heâs also one for primal/chasing, loving when you get worked up for him so he can relish in the combined highs of chasing and your being chased.
Surprisingly, he enjoys shibari/âdecorativeâ bondage, where youâre not just tied and restrained but you become art in a way.
As someone constantly moving, conquering and generally associated with speed it's the ultimate indulgence to slow down and spend his time on you - on securing each and every knot. Making extra and intentional lines, ensuring each and every rope has you perfectly held.
Itâs almost a ritual in itâs own right, and the act of him caring for you never fails to make you feel special. He doesnât have to do this to restrain you, simple ties or even his hands would do, but this time and effort is sacred to him in a way, and shows precisely how much he cares for you.
It helps how prettily you are presented for him afterwards.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away lived what a great many would consider a simple people. With peasants and lords, castles and kingdoms - but most importantly, there were dragons.
There were great dragons who ruled over huge kingdoms with claws of iron and ceramite and demanded enormous tithes of gold and a great many lives to satiate them.Â
The reigning dragon of the Ultramar region took great pleasure in his organisation of the people and great hordes gained from over 500 cities, and the Great Drake of Nocturne boasted his huge fiery lakes that he would bathe in.
And then there was the Pale One.Â
Rarely seen, and far more often overlooked.Â
Unlike his brethren he did not seek to claim and conquer more than he had, not anymore in any case, and he resided set aside from mortals as best he could.
His kingdom of Barabarus did not boast much in comparison, where much of the agriculture was born of wasteland and vast swathes of land was barren, poisoned and unusable. Salt of the Earth.
But though he was not often seen to terrorise the masses with great and mighty feats to keep the populous in its rightful place they feared him still. They feared the blight and disease he would bring with his wrath, and the way on rare days his wings would cast shadows riddles with holes that camouflaged his approach, like clouds with the way sunlight filtered through.
His residence was a fearful one too, not a great palace filled with attendants to serve and maintain him, but a ruinous place, a castle that towered over in toppling stone, held together by overgrown vines that took the place of mortar and bound the earth.
Towers with wrought and twisted iron reinforced by thick bramble, a whole wing that was crumbling into the cracked waste beside it and terrible roars and bellows that made the land tremble for miles.
The type of sounds and crashing that made travellers run in fear when they looked up and saw no thunderclouds in sight and haunted the nightmares of every man, woman and child who worried for when it would be their turn next.
Because he was not seen often - but he was seen.
And dragons were always hungry.
So they fed, preemptive of his ire and wrath, they collected a tithe drawn annually and drew it up the long and dangerous road to his castle.
One lone old man, his family long gone years ago to an old blight of the Pale One was the sole volunteer to draw his rickety old cart up old forgotten paths. A road so dilapidated that one wrong move meant an early demise, but he accepted his duty to keep the youth safe, with nothing left to lose himself.
The tithe varied, they gathered gold when they could, or other valuable trinkets and metals - but they would send other treasures too, fine fabrics and wares from travelling merchants and such.
And then the harvest failed. Barely Enough to feed hungry mouths.
Drought.
They made do, scrapped together and made an adequate offering, a successful pilgrimage.
And then the next harvest failed.
Pestilence.
That year was harder, with loans and begging of nearby villages, heirlooms lost and hunger all round.
And then the next harvest failed.
Sickness.
And they couldnât continue.
âI have been to Chemos! Iâve seen the splendor, traded for their goods!â the man argued, stood atop an empty crate in the very center of the tavern, âwe have angered the Pale One, he brings down blow after blow, we need to do what Chemos does and send -âÂ
Heâs cut off by a rise in chatter and clashing, the slamming of fists and all manner of agreement and disagreement for the course of action to take.
The crowd gathered in the old tavern was an old one, but they were hardly wise, especially as the pangs of hunger and three long years weighed heavy - and the heavier weight yet of an impossible tithe and worse blight to come for their insolence.
âWell it was Olâ Kravosâ family âho insulted the Pale One with that liâtle bronze statue and started-â
â-OI DONâT YOU!â
The squabbles only rose in pitch and volume as various factions argued about the cause, the solution, and just about anything they could.
âEnough!âÂ
A single voice cut through the chatter with more force than a claw could have.
Though he was considered the authority, given he was one of the oldest by far - who had lived through the old blights where most had died, since it was he who carried each and every tithe when that trip might well have spelled doom.
âArguing will not solve the ask or the answer. We vote, a show of hands,â he sounded weary, like he already knew the result.
The vote was held in utter silence, with almost a swell of shame that bubbled up in the room. But cheeks were too gaunt, too hollow, and bellies of the children now in bed rumbled too loudly.
The old man had raised his hand, he knew he could have kept it down - to have taken the route that kept his wizened hands âcleanâ and it still would have passed in majority - but in his heart he knew he deserved to wear his guilt on his sleeve for this act.
Still, he muttered, breath slow on his tongue, âand thus we find ourselves monsters of menâ
For Chemos, while they sent riches and silks and incense, they also sent pretty young things for their dragon to devour.
It was sickeningly natural, how you were chosen.
No family, mother dead and father gone for years to trade with far off lands, now presumed dead in absence. Not wedded, no children.
Pretty and young.
And well, a volunteer. They came with heavy faces and heavier hands to deliver the news - to thank you regardless of the circumstance, but to their great surprise there was no fight in you.
Only hands that trembled and a head that hung heavy.
It was nice at least, that it was not a thankless procession, that they let you dress nicely and say goodbye to your things.Â
The older ladies kissed your hands and cheeks, cried precious tears made with the little water they had. Tears that were sorrowful and hopeful in equal measure, much like you were, a mix of fearful and resolute.
The men gave knowing nods, a few clapping your shoulder or grasping your forearm with a firm but not unkind shake.
The ones who knew your parents couldnât bare but to look away in shame, shielding their own children.
And the children, the ones who knew no better, innocent to your fate but perceptive beyond measure. The little ones you tutored watching with eager questions on their lips as you were walked out the little rickety cart.
You try your best to savour it all, the feeling of the cobbles beneath your feet, peering down the side streets youâd ran through as a child to see the little houses youâd never see again.
The world seems to almost sway in your vision, and in a way it makes it a relief to be picked up and sat in the back of the cart. When did you get here already?
Golden light begins to bloom over the horizon, painting the landscape in swathes of golden light that will soon turn into rays of unbearably harsh heat. It doesnât just paint the earth though, it paints everything, the wood beside you, the finest white robes you own, and your skin.
You canât help but look at the radiant glow of white bleeding orange and think of dragon fire. Soon.
The man who picked you up and sat you upon the cart takes one good look at you, staring so deeply into your eyes you almost want to bolt right then and there. But he averts his gaze with a dreadful sigh, filled with remorse and pain and guilt.Â
He shakes his head at Olâ Kravos standing nearby, and thatâs when they bring out the rope.
Oh. Your mouth runs unbearably dry as you open your mouth to voice your protests. Youâd walked here! Youâd - youâd agreed-Â
They didnât need to-
Every knot was tied twice - they might not have needed to, but at this stage of desperation they needed the assurance that you couldn't.
It was already a gamble that might not pay off, and much like a rabbit in a snare, you didnât let it out even if it was frozen in the fear and acceptance of its fate.
Lest it bolt into the woods and you go hungry.
So while the jute digs into you and rough untreated length scratches at your skin you donât protest.Â
Legs together, arms behind your back, and a length around your waist tying you to the back of the open wagon.
When the old man arrives in his best, only donned once a year, he takes one look at your pitiful form, hat to stave off the harshest of the heat casting long shadows down his gaunt face. He sees the way you fold in on yourself, almost fetal, with white gown cinched at every line of rope and the dread pooled in his stomach only grows.
âWonât somebody get the poor girl a shawl?â
Thereâs a mad scramble as the man takes long slow steps to the front, clipping in the old mare who was once the foal of the older mare, of the original who had started on these journeys oh so long ago.
One of the older ladies climbs into the back on shaky legs, takes off her thin, wispy layer, a relic of fairer days long passed. She kisses the top of your head with trembling lips and thanks you on behalf of her grandchildren. Two little boys that she believes will live because of you.Â
You feel the tap of wet on your cheek as her tears drip down onto your face before she can wipe them away, and she lays the shawl over you to offer some protection from the sun to come - and perhaps a little dignity too, though it feels far too close to a funeral shroud or a wedding veil.
In any case youâre glad for it - while the first tear may have been hers, the cloth allows you to hide the ones that follow.
And then you set off, with the crack of a whip that never reaches flesh the old mare begins plodding along, shadows stretching out behind her as the sun backlights the silhouette of the end.
Needless to say them sharing you is pre heresy (though wouldnât that be some angst)
it makes sense to an extent, they're so close after all, confiding in each other and such. It starts one of two ways: one of them confesses their intents to the other, causing to other to confess their desire also and they court you together or one of them courts you and decides to indulge his close brother, which eventually leads to them sharing
Both of them deciding to court you at the same time is much like a game to them, one they are always going to win because no one could compete with either one - let alone both combined to compete for your affections
A planned, calculated approach.Â
Horus starts by utterly charming you, sweeping you off your feet with grand public displays. Thousands of flowers arranged perfectly outside of your window while you sleep, invitations to events on his arm with new clothes and jewellery delivered straight to your door - the works.
Then when you are overwhelmed by it all, when you need reprieve from the larger than life and over the top dazzling? Sanguinius is there. Softer, understanding, shielding. Walks in private gardens with a perfect breeze and the light rustle of his wings. You shared laughter mixing with the sound of chimes and lapping water as you stare over pond bridges at the koi below.
It's a dizzying balance that leaves you windswept with less and less time for others - only them. And then they court you together. At first it's a dinner, soft and candlelit with Sanguinius. Youâre flustered already and distracted by the Great Angelâs personal and complete attention on you, with how ethereal he looks in the dusky glow of the sunset. So distracted you donât notice Horus coming up from behind, chair in hand no not about to WWE you donât worry sliding his hand across your shoulders before sitting down between you both.
âAh, what a delightful sight, my brother entertaining the most gorgeous star in the sky - would you mind if I basked in their light with you?â
Sanguinius agrees with an easy smile and its all over. Sandwiched between the two demigod giants is a ruinous place to be, and its exactly what theyâre going to do - ruin you. Spoil you. Make you theirs and theirs alone.
From then on their stake is completely solidified, and you spend your time ping-ponging between them and their legions, and together when they can manage it.
Theyâll sit down to lounge for their patented gossiping time and youâll be spread half over each of them, possessive hands resting while they discuss galactic affairs.
Group activities are a new thing too, rotating between different interests like Sanguinius painting you and Horus posed together or watching them spar each other in a boast of strength.
If one of them ever manages to upset you the other is right there, but they're never really on your side. The goal is that each of them gets their way and the other one comforts and subverts them, minimising the issue and smoothing everything over as a âneutralâ party.
If you end up cottoning onto this manipulation though and become upset with both of them at once prepare to be bombarded with affection. Affirmations of how they didnât mean it, how they only wanted everyone to be happy with each other. Lavish apology gifts that guilt you into them again, along with pressure from everyone around you means you canât stay away from them very long at all.
Overall you should be prepared to never have free time again, and to be completely overwhelmed by their combined affections.
NSFW:
ohhh boy.
Taking one primarch is a feat, but two at once? Utter insanity.
They start so gentle, they know it's far too much for you so extraordinary time is spent preparing you. Youâll have cum three times from their fingers alone, with hands and mouths roaming free across your body and making you boneless.
One can suck at your neck and caress your chest while the other paws at your waist and hips while lapping at your sex simultaneously and there's no option for you except mindless pleasure and complete exhaustion.Â
Youâre so wet for them, and just loose enough now for them to both fit, but it's such a tight fit that all but splits you open.
Theyâre so thick you canât even clench, and they create a bulge in your abdomen that Horus in particular loves to press down on from the outside so that you writhe and moan around them.
Sanguinis prefers pulling his wings close and teasing you with his feathers, the light touches making you squirm between them.
The most overwhelming part is how hot everything is: wall of muscle behind you, wall of muscle in front of you, being stuffed with warmth and your own rising heat joining together.
When you arch back it meets solid and endless flesh that chuckles down at your predicament and vibrates your whole body, and when you curl forwards youâre met with the same, except this time large fingers tilt your face up to meet his, unable to hide from his gaze.
It's easier to move you than them, so once youâre adjusted one of them will start lifting you slowly up.
If it's Sanguiniusâ turn to set the pace youâre in luck. Heâa far more gentle with you, if only because heâs used to holding back his thirst and desire.
Horusâ turn? Good luck. He starts off gentle and he does try, but the Warmaster gets what he wants and if what he wants is to fuck you with a brutal pace then thatâs that.
Either way you canât walk after, and they delight in caring for you. Warm and gentle cloths, plenty of kissing and cuddling, oils and lotions. One of them will hold you close while the other fetches things and tends to you, with this often swapping.
Expect plenty of praise for being filled up, for doing such a good job cumming, and most importantly, taking them so well.
