Alright! Sorry for being so absent today! I was building a tool so you can all check your own names on demand.
I am asking that you not talk about it on Hugging Face. I'm sure word will get there eventually, but I'd like to avoid them accessing this as much as possible. Feel absolutely free to spread around Tumblr.
Tool is here! Use page 1 to search by username. Use page 2 to search by work ID (which you'll need to do if you're looking for an anonymous work).
That said, I did pay out of pocket for some of the accounts I've needed to do all this. If I need to, I'm fine with eating that cost, but I am going to ask nicely that if you feel like kicking in toward it, you donate to the Ko-Fi I made specifically for this technical project. I was hoping to get a short-term membership, but I was only able to buy access to host this for a full year lmao. BUT regardless, this is freely available to everyone. Do NOT feel like you need to donate if it'll put you in a bad place or even if you just don't want to. Just figured I'd ask instead of quietly sucking up the $180.
Thanks to everyone who helped with the cost to host the tool! I appreciate you so so so much. As of this edit, I'm at $185 total, and right now, I don't expect to have to pay for anything else to keep this available.
I gave the tool a quick test, but please come yell if it stops working. I'm around; I'll fix as fast as I can.
Now with all that being said, time for me to start focusing on how we stop the next scrape.
It's unfortunate that we have to go through this again, but it's come to my attention that my fic, A Secret Held Tight, has been plagiarized.. again. While this one isn't a direct copy-paste like the last time, it does copy specific lines and follows the same plot points and pacing. The story in question is Light without Darkness by eternaltempest.
Writing 'A Secret Held Tight' is a labor of love, one I've enjoyed and shared freely for others to also enjoy, so it is incredibly disheartening to see this not happen once, but twice now. I do not like having to do this but I value our small community and the support we offer each other. People acting out of bad faith are not tolerated.
If you want to help, here's what you can do:
Reblog this post
Report and Block, do not engage any further with the person.
Read my story instead! Love and support encourages me to write further.
Now, let's get into it:
Let's begin with the Author's Note. They admit that the plot/narrative is not their original idea. While I am not against people being inspired by works, thoughts, and ideas, there is a significant difference between inspiration and copying.
The plagiarism becomes apparent when we begin to compare their summary with mine:
Weeks after a night of celebrations, you find yourself pregnant and ready to run, only to have your plans thwarted by Titus who vows to keep you safe. Now you must navigate the complexities of falling in love, and the scrutiny of Captain Cato Sicarius.
Moving past the summary, we can see they follow the major plot points, sequence of events, and elements I've outlined in my own story. They follow Chapter 1 exactly (ref: Their's vs Mine)
A serf cleaning only to be interrupted by passing Marines.
The celebration and drinking.
The smut scene that follows with a character the serf does not recognize.
They've also lifted a minor character from Chapter 2, the Matron who they've renamed to Matriarch. This character does not exist within Warhammer in regards to serfs and is my own original character. There is a reason she is Matron and not Matriarch.
Chapter 2 (their's vs mine) also follows the same plot points:
Passage of time as the serf becomes aware of their pregnancy.
The discovery of the pregnancy by other serfs.
The matron telling the serf to leave.
The serf making their escape at night.
The serf experiencing an anxiety attack when they realize there is a marine patrolling thus blocking their escape.
The marine is revealed to be Titus.
But wait! There's more.
Thanks to @moodymisty, it was discovered that multiple lines of my story were lifted and directly copy-pasted in their story.
CHAPTER 1:
CHAPTER 2:
There are, obviously, more minor lines that have been lifted but these were the most egregious of offenses.
I am not excusing this behavior at all, but I wonder if the plagiarizer is young?
I just can't fathom the logic behind shamelessly lifting from someone else's work and posting it within the same community, thinking it would be received positively. It makes no sense other than they are young, thoughtless, and simply wanting attention.
Either way, they've been blocked. Sorry this happened @scriberye , stuff like this is always such a smack to the face.
If they were young and new to the fandom (or fandom, in general), I was worried about chasing them off with a call-out. I did consider addressing them privately however, some things didn't quite add up: they say on their blog they're 'old', and the blog is fairly new (as in a few weeks old).
And, as you said, the logic doesn't make sense. So, I suspected otherwise.
It's unfortunate that we have to go through this again, but it's come to my attention that my fic, A Secret Held Tight, has been plagiarized.. again. While this one isn't a direct copy-paste like the last time, it does copy specific lines and follows the same plot points and pacing. The story in question is Light without Darkness by eternaltempest.
Writing 'A Secret Held Tight' is a labor of love, one I've enjoyed and shared freely for others to also enjoy, so it is incredibly disheartening to see this not happen once, but twice now. I do not like having to do this but I value our small community and the support we offer each other. People acting out of bad faith are not tolerated.
If you want to help, here's what you can do:
Reblog this post
Report and Block, do not engage any further with the person.
Read my story instead! Love and support encourages me to write further.
Now, let's get into it:
Let's begin with the Author's Note. They admit that the plot/narrative is not their original idea. While I am not against people being inspired by works, thoughts, and ideas, there is a significant difference between inspiration and copying.
The plagiarism becomes apparent when we begin to compare their summary with mine:
Weeks after a night of celebrations, you find yourself pregnant and ready to run, only to have your plans thwarted by Titus who vows to keep you safe. Now you must navigate the complexities of falling in love, and the scrutiny of Captain Cato Sicarius.
Moving past the summary, we can see they follow the major plot points, sequence of events, and elements I've outlined in my own story. They follow Chapter 1 exactly (ref: Their's vs Mine)
A serf cleaning only to be interrupted by passing Marines.
The celebration and drinking.
The smut scene that follows with a character the serf does not recognize.
They've also lifted a minor character from Chapter 2, the Matron who they've renamed to Matriarch. This character does not exist within Warhammer in regards to serfs and is my own original character. There is a reason she is Matron and not Matriarch.
Chapter 2 (their's vs mine) also follows the same plot points:
Passage of time as the serf becomes aware of their pregnancy.
The discovery of the pregnancy by other serfs.
The matron telling the serf to leave.
The serf making their escape at night.
The serf experiencing an anxiety attack when they realize there is a marine patrolling thus blocking their escape.
The marine is revealed to be Titus.
But wait! There's more.
Thanks to @moodymisty, it was discovered that multiple lines of my story were lifted and directly copy-pasted in their story.
CHAPTER 1:
CHAPTER 2:
There are, obviously, more minor lines that have been lifted but these were the most egregious of offenses.
Hey fam, just a warning to you all that there is a fresh blog that's started to steal fics.
https://www.tumblr.com/benshortpiro69/768541954615246848/a-loosely-held-secret?source=share (it's... quite the name.)
Please report if you can and blog this blog. DO NOT, AND I REPEAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH THEM, IN ANY WAY.
a/n: I saw a video on reddit of a sweet little speech a dad gave at his daughter's wedding and it hit me hard.
Before him stood a young man with his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He looked out of place in these hallowed halls and ornate chambers, dressed in simple clothes caked in dirt.
And Guilliman, with eyes like ice, regarded him in silence.
“You ask much of me,” he finally said after a time. “Do you understand the gravity of your request to ask for my daughter’s hand?”
The young man nodded. “I do, my lord,” he said, firm but humble. “I love her, and though I’m a farmer I promise to protect her until my last breath.”
Guilliman did not answer immediately, instead turning his gaze away. Love was a fragile thing, and easily broken in these grim times. But he also knew love could be enduring, a strength, not a weakness. He learned the lesson well from his embarrassing attempts to court his wife. How she ever said ‘yes’ to him…
He turned his attention back to the young man.
“If the day should come where your heart falters, and you do not have the strength to love her, you will not leave her alone to hurt. You will bring her back to me. Do you swear this?”
Return my precious daughter’s heart to me, he thought to himself.
The young man dropped to one knee. “I swear, my lord!” He said with the same conviction of a young neophyte taking his vows.
Guilliman sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He really couldn’t deny his daughter anything, could he? “Then rise,” he said softly. “And go, with my blessing.”
“My lord!” The young man jumped to his feet, his breath coming in unsteady, excited gasps. He bowed. “Thank you!” He bowed once more and turned to leave, and Guilliman could hear him running and whooping down the hall.
Now alone, Guilliman shook his head and allowed himself to smile. A farmer, huh? Maybe he could visit them in the future to help out.
“Where is everyone?” Guilliman muttered, his brow furrowing at the unnatural quiet that had fallen over the fortress. The silence gnawed at him, this wasn’t the silence of intense focus, but something else. Trouble.
Then he heard it — the faint sound of laughter. Guilliman turned sharply toward the sound and followed it through the halls until he came upon a courtyard.
There, beneath a tree, sat a gathering of Ultramarines, each hunched over with their heads bowed, struggling with massive hands to weave delicate stems and flowers into crowns. Vibrant flowers of every color and shape lay scattered about on the grass like spoils of war.
And at the center of it all was a little girl with hair as golden as his own. His daughter. Rhea.
The sight made Guilliman pause. And for a moment, he said nothing.
He watched as one marine — Chairon, he noted — leaned closer to his daughter, delicately holding his crown of flowers out for her approval. She examined it with tiny hands before praising him for his skill and a little pat on the head. And Guilliman felt a twinge of jealousy. It was absurd. He was a Primarch, yet there he was, wishing for Rhea to shower him with her adoring attention.
She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, and she smiled — ah! He wanted to cry with joy! Surely, his daughter’s adorable smile would put a crack even in the hardest of hearts.
“Father!” she cried out, climbing to her feet. “Father! Come look!”
Guilliman had no choice and joined the little gathering. He knelt down, careful not to disturb the flowers and stems. Though he still towered over his daughter, she was undeterred, standing up on her toes and holding up the crown of flowers she had made.
“See! It’s a crown! This one is for you!”
“For me? I am honored, my lady,” Guilliman chuckled as Rhea squealed and giggled. He bowed his head low enough for her to place the wreath on top of his head.
“Will you stay?” Rhea asked, her small voice tinged with the faintest note of disappointment. “I can teach you…”
And in that moment, Guilliman’s hearts clenched with a pain that cut deeper than any blaster bolt or chainsword. Had his duties truly stolen him away too often, that now his own daughter felt neglected? That she would hesitate to ask for his company? This would not do.
“Of course I will stay, my dear,” he said, settling himself on the grass. “I am in your care now, Lady Rhea.”
Rhea’s face brightened once more, and she scrambled to sit upon her father’s mighty lap. As he helped her get settled, his eyes fell upon the ring of flowers already crowning her little head. He paused.
“Who made this crown for you?”
His daughter looked up at him and declared with innocent pride, “Captain Cato made it! Isn’t it pretty?”
Guilliman’s gaze shifted toward Sicarius. “Indeed,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “It is quite well made… Cato.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sicarius cleared his throat and furiously busied himself with a new chain of flowers. The Codex Astartes certainly did not cover how to deal with a jealous father.
“Where is everyone?” Guilliman muttered, his brow furrowing at the unnatural quiet that had fallen over the fortress. The silence gnawed at him, this wasn’t the silence of intense focus, but something else. Trouble.
Then he heard it — the faint sound of laughter. Guilliman turned sharply toward the sound and followed it through the halls until he came upon a courtyard.
There, beneath a tree, sat a gathering of Ultramarines, each hunched over with their heads bowed, struggling with massive hands to weave delicate stems and flowers into crowns. Vibrant flowers of every color and shape lay scattered about on the grass like spoils of war.
And at the center of it all was a little girl with hair as golden as his own. His daughter. Rhea.
The sight made Guilliman pause. And for a moment, he said nothing.
He watched as one marine — Chairon, he noted — leaned closer to his daughter, delicately holding his crown of flowers out for her approval. She examined it with tiny hands before praising him for his skill and a little pat on the head. And Guilliman felt a twinge of jealousy. It was absurd. He was a Primarch, yet there he was, wishing for Rhea to shower him with her adoring attention.
She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, and she smiled — ah! He wanted to cry with joy! Surely, his daughter’s adorable smile would put a crack even in the hardest of hearts.
“Father!” she cried out, climbing to her feet. “Father! Come look!”
Guilliman had no choice and joined the little gathering. He knelt down, careful not to disturb the flowers and stems. Though he still towered over his daughter, she was undeterred, standing up on her toes and holding up the crown of flowers she had made.
“See! It’s a crown! This one is for you!”
“For me? I am honored, my lady,” Guilliman chuckled as Rhea squealed and giggled. He bowed his head low enough for her to place the wreath on top of his head.
“Will you stay?” Rhea asked, her small voice tinged with the faintest note of disappointment. “I can teach you…”
And in that moment, Guilliman’s hearts clenched with a pain that cut deeper than any blaster bolt or chainsword. Had his duties truly stolen him away too often, that now his own daughter felt neglected? That she would hesitate to ask for his company? This would not do.
“Of course I will stay, my dear,” he said, settling himself on the grass. “I am in your care now, Lady Rhea.”
Rhea’s face brightened once more, and she scrambled to sit upon her father’s mighty lap. As he helped her get settled, his eyes fell upon the ring of flowers already crowning her little head. He paused.
“Who made this crown for you?”
His daughter looked up at him and declared with innocent pride, “Captain Cato made it! Isn’t it pretty?”
Guilliman’s gaze shifted toward Sicarius. “Indeed,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “It is quite well made… Cato.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sicarius cleared his throat and furiously busied himself with a new chain of flowers. The Codex Astartes certainly did not cover how to deal with a jealous father.
“Where is everyone?” Guilliman muttered, his brow furrowing at the unnatural quiet that had fallen over the fortress. The silence gnawed at him, this wasn’t the silence of intense focus, but something else. Trouble.
Then he heard it — the faint sound of laughter. Guilliman turned sharply toward the sound and followed it through the halls until he came upon a courtyard.
There, beneath a tree, sat a gathering of Ultramarines, each hunched over with their heads bowed, struggling with massive hands to weave delicate stems and flowers into crowns. Vibrant flowers of every color and shape lay scattered about on the grass like spoils of war.
And at the center of it all was a little girl with hair as golden as his own. His daughter. Rhea.
The sight made Guilliman pause. And for a moment, he said nothing.
He watched as one marine — Chairon, he noted — leaned closer to his daughter, delicately holding his crown of flowers out for her approval. She examined it with tiny hands before praising him for his skill and a little pat on the head. And Guilliman felt a twinge of jealousy. It was absurd. He was a Primarch, yet there he was, wishing for Rhea to shower him with her adoring attention.
She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, and she smiled — ah! He wanted to cry with joy! Surely, his daughter’s adorable smile would put a crack even in the hardest of hearts.
“Father!” she cried out, climbing to her feet. “Father! Come look!”
Guilliman had no choice and joined the little gathering. He knelt down, careful not to disturb the flowers and stems. Though he still towered over his daughter, she was undeterred, standing up on her toes and holding up the crown of flowers she had made.
“See! It’s a crown! This one is for you!”
“For me? I am honored, my lady,” Guilliman chuckled as Rhea squealed and giggled. He bowed his head low enough for her to place the wreath on top of his head.
“Will you stay?” Rhea asked, her small voice tinged with the faintest note of disappointment. “I can teach you…”
And in that moment, Guilliman’s hearts clenched with a pain that cut deeper than any blaster bolt or chainsword. Had his duties truly stolen him away too often, that now his own daughter felt neglected? That she would hesitate to ask for his company? This would not do.
“Of course I will stay, my dear,” he said, settling himself on the grass. “I am in your care now, Lady Rhea.”
Rhea’s face brightened once more, and she scrambled to sit upon her father’s mighty lap. As he helped her get settled, his eyes fell upon the ring of flowers already crowning her little head. He paused.
“Who made this crown for you?”
His daughter looked up at him and declared with innocent pride, “Captain Cato made it! Isn’t it pretty?”
Guilliman’s gaze shifted toward Sicarius. “Indeed,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “It is quite well made… Cato.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sicarius cleared his throat and furiously busied himself with a new chain of flowers. The Codex Astartes certainly did not cover how to deal with a jealous father.
“Where is everyone?” Guilliman muttered, his brow furrowing at the unnatural quiet that had fallen over the fortress. The silence gnawed at him, this wasn’t the silence of intense focus, but something else. Trouble.
Then he heard it — the faint sound of laughter. Guilliman turned sharply toward the sound and followed it through the halls until he came upon a courtyard.
There, beneath a tree, sat a gathering of Ultramarines, each hunched over with their heads bowed, struggling with massive hands to weave delicate stems and flowers into crowns. Vibrant flowers of every color and shape lay scattered about on the grass like spoils of war.
And at the center of it all was a little girl with hair as golden as his own. His daughter. Rhea.
The sight made Guilliman pause. And for a moment, he said nothing.
He watched as one marine — Chairon, he noted — leaned closer to his daughter, delicately holding his crown of flowers out for her approval. She examined it with tiny hands before praising him for his skill and a little pat on the head. And Guilliman felt a twinge of jealousy. It was absurd. He was a Primarch, yet there he was, wishing for Rhea to shower him with her adoring attention.
She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, and she smiled — ah! He wanted to cry with joy! Surely, his daughter’s adorable smile would put a crack even in the hardest of hearts.
“Father!” she cried out, climbing to her feet. “Father! Come look!”
Guilliman had no choice and joined the little gathering. He knelt down, careful not to disturb the flowers and stems. Though he still towered over his daughter, she was undeterred, standing up on her toes and holding up the crown of flowers she had made.
“See! It’s a crown! This one is for you!”
“For me? I am honored, my lady,” Guilliman chuckled as Rhea squealed and giggled. He bowed his head low enough for her to place the wreath on top of his head.
“Will you stay?” Rhea asked, her small voice tinged with the faintest note of disappointment. “I can teach you…”
And in that moment, Guilliman’s hearts clenched with a pain that cut deeper than any blaster bolt or chainsword. Had his duties truly stolen him away too often, that now his own daughter felt neglected? That she would hesitate to ask for his company? This would not do.
“Of course I will stay, my dear,” he said, settling himself on the grass. “I am in your care now, Lady Rhea.”
Rhea’s face brightened once more, and she scrambled to sit upon her father’s mighty lap. As he helped her get settled, his eyes fell upon the ring of flowers already crowning her little head. He paused.
“Who made this crown for you?”
His daughter looked up at him and declared with innocent pride, “Captain Cato made it! Isn’t it pretty?”
Guilliman’s gaze shifted toward Sicarius. “Indeed,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “It is quite well made… Cato.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sicarius cleared his throat and furiously busied himself with a new chain of flowers. The Codex Astartes certainly did not cover how to deal with a jealous father.
[PINNED] with Khârn? He doesn’t have those beefy arms for nothing I’m just saying
KHÂRN x GN!READER ────────── 🌿
a/n: hello anon, I hope you like it! Sorry for the wait!
The smell of iron clung to the air as you knelt on the cold floor, scrubbing away blood until your hands were raw and red. The sight and smell of it no longer bothered you. This was just the way things were. And so you let your mind go numb. And you worked and scrubbed until a massive shadow fell over you.
You froze.
Slowly, you lifted your head.
There, looming above you, was Khârn. He stood there, free of his helm, his eyes dark and fixated on you, burning like a brand, brows knotted together in what you could only assume was anger. You shrank back, pressing yourself against the wall — to make yourself smaller, to remove yourself from his path. Whatever the reason, you did not know. Only to avoid his wrath. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest.
Khârn followed.
A massive hand shot out, slamming into the wall beside your head with such force the wall shuddered and groaned under the impact. Your heart leapt into your throat. You looked up and your eyes go wide — his face was dangerously close to yours. Khârn was so close. He overwhelmed you with the heat of his body and the smell of blood and sweat that coated his skin and armor.
You trembled, and every instinct cried out for you to run, but you couldn’t. Your body felt weak. He had you trapped. And all he did was stare at you like something curious.
The silence stretched until you couldn’t stand it any longer. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to speak. “M-My lord?”
Khârn’s restraint snapped.
His mouth crashed into yours. It was a kiss, but not the gentle, hesitant exploration of feelings, but a collision. His lips moved over yours, bruising and forceful. It was a battle, one he was determined not to lose.
And you yielded to him beautifully. Your hands shook, one hand coming up to press against the cold armor, and the other grasping his forearm. You could feel the scars marring his flesh of his bare arm and shift of thick muscle.
Khârn growled low in his throat, a raw and primal sound, and pressed himself harder against you. You gasped, and he pressed his tongue between your lips. He dominated your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours sent a shiver down your spine.
You broke away with a gasp, your own pathetic attempt to escape. Khârn’s breath came as hot, ragged gasps as he dragged his teeth over the tender flesh over your neck. Ah, you really couldn’t escape. Your mind went numb.
Today is the first day I feel whole and healthy, and with my first coherent thought I decided to inflict damage. In my defense, I was encouraged. /points finger at @lemon-russ
⚠️ Terrible Bodice Ripper, Crack
Your heart races as you gaze at the towering man before you — Calgar. The Chapter Master’s polished armor gleams in the sunlight, vibrant and blue like the ocean. He’s rugged, with a chiseled jaw that could cut through ceramite, and he stares at you with dark eyes, haunted by war.
“We shouldn’t,” you whisper, trying to calm your trembling by clutching your hands in front of you. You dare not look into his eyes or else your resolve would break. “I am just a lowly serf. It is forbidden!”
An enormous hand reaches out, lifting your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. A muscle in Calgar’s perfect jaw tightens. His voice is a deep, dangerous whisper, like thunder in the distance, “My duty to the Emperor, my loyalty to my Chapter.. It does not compare to the fire that burns in my chest for you.”
You gasp. Oh, Emperor save me, you think, as your knees go weak. Could it be true? All those moments, all those stolen glances where you thought you felt the tension crackling between you — they were all true.
“We mustn’t...” you protest weakly.
“Say it then,” Calgar growls, primal and demanding. His gentle yet strong hands grasping you by the shoulders and pulling you closer to him. “Say you don’t love me, and I will let you be!”
“I.. I…” You can barely speak, lips trembling as tears well up in your eyes. You take one last, longing glance at him only to find him leaning down, his face close enough you could feel the heat of desire burning from his flesh.
You can’t do it.
“I love you, Calgar!”
In an instant, ceramite-clad arms sweep you up, cradling you to his chest, his lips pressing feverishly against yours in a kiss that felt like an explosion of stars and galaxies.
Today is the first day I feel whole and healthy, and with my first coherent thought I decided to inflict damage. In my defense, I was encouraged. /points finger at @lemon-russ
⚠️ Terrible Bodice Ripper, Crack
Your heart races as you gaze at the towering man before you — Calgar. The Chapter Master’s polished armor gleams in the sunlight, vibrant and blue like the ocean. He’s rugged, with a chiseled jaw that could cut through ceramite, and he stares at you with dark eyes, haunted by war.
“We shouldn’t,” you whisper, trying to calm your trembling by clutching your hands in front of you. You dare not look into his eyes or else your resolve would break. “I am just a lowly serf. It is forbidden!”
An enormous hand reaches out, lifting your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. A muscle in Calgar’s perfect jaw tightens. His voice is a deep, dangerous whisper, like thunder in the distance, “My duty to the Emperor, my loyalty to my Chapter.. It does not compare to the fire that burns in my chest for you.”
You gasp. Oh, Emperor save me, you think, as your knees go weak. Could it be true? All those moments, all those stolen glances where you thought you felt the tension crackling between you — they were all true.
“We mustn’t...” you protest weakly.
“Say it then,” Calgar growls, primal and demanding. His gentle yet strong hands grasping you by the shoulders and pulling you closer to him. “Say you don’t love me, and I will let you be!”
“I.. I…” You can barely speak, lips trembling as tears well up in your eyes. You take one last, longing glance at him only to find him leaning down, his face close enough you could feel the heat of desire burning from his flesh.
You can’t do it.
“I love you, Calgar!”
In an instant, ceramite-clad arms sweep you up, cradling you to his chest, his lips pressing feverishly against yours in a kiss that felt like an explosion of stars and galaxies.
I am loving these prompts! How about this one? [OFFICE], but with Guilliman and a pretty little assistant.
I wasn't sure how to end it, but I hope you enjoy it!
It started with small gestures — a look that lingers too long, the brush of hands as you trade papers and data slates. You convince yourself it’s nothing. He’s the Primarch of the Ultramarines and you’re his assistant, a little cog in a much larger machine, but it’s hard to ignore the way he says your name so softly, and the tension in the air when you were alone with him.
And you know he’s feeling it, too. His eyes would always find yours during meetings, making sure you were watching him as he talked, and you could always feel him watching you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.
And then, one evening, the simmering pot boils over.
You stand beside his chair, reading a report aloud to him, trying to ignore those steely blue eyes staring so intensely at you. You shift uncomfortably. Finally, you clear your throat, “Lord Guilliman?”
He doesn’t answer. Before you can try again, his hands are on you — large and strong. His fingers curl around your waist, pulling you closer, and his other hand finds the back of your neck and holding you in place as his lips crash into yours.
You gasp against his mouth, instinctively grabbing onto the front of his toga to push him away, or pull him closer. Perhaps both, or perhaps it doesn’t matter.
The kiss is desperate — frantic. It’s the kiss of a man who’s been restraining himself for far too long. The need for air forces you to break away, but Guilliman can’t tear himself away from you. He attacks your neck with kisses you’re sure will leave bruises you won’t be able to hide.
This is dangerous. You really shouldn’t be like this — whatever this is — with a Primarch, with him. But it’s too late, you’re too far gone, dragged over the edge with him.
“I know what you’re going to say,” he murmurs against your throat, his voice rough with need. His hand slides up and down your back, tracing your curves.
“Roboute,” you sigh.
“Don’t say it,” he growls softly, moving to claim your lips again. It’s softer this time, but no less intense. He pulls you closer, your chest crushed against his, until you there is no space left between you.
He pulls away the next time you need air, resting his forehead against yours. He closes his eyes, as if he’s trying to regain some control. “I want you,” he breathes against your lips. “And if anyone disapproves of this, damn them all to the warp.”
Hi Rye, are you still writing for the prompt list? If so, could you do [INJURY] with the receiver as Barabas Dantioch? He can be the receiver of kisses as well since well he can’t do much kissing with that iron mask of his.
(loud, heavy breathing) I got carried away. Thank you.
Dantioch sits still as you work, a massive and unmoving figure against the dim, flickering lights. Your hands tremble as you disinfect and patch him up, from the wound at his side to the bruising on his hands.
You’re such a frail, shaky little thing compared to him. Your clothes are threadbare and a size too big, making you seem even smaller. And Dantioch’s afraid to move, lest he scare you.
Despite the fear oozing off you, your hands are skilled, honed from years of treating and tending wounds. He wonders how many other brothers you’ve tended to during your life, and how many you failed to save.
You finish securing the final bandage, cradling Dantioch’s large hand in your own smaller ones. For a moment, you just stare at the bandage you so carefully wrapped — and something stirs within you. Some old, forgotten instinct rises to the surface, and you lift his hand up to your lips and press a kiss to his wrapped knuckles.
The gesture is so unexpected and tender that it catches even Dantioch by surprise.
Once realization hits you, you shrink back from him, eyes wide with fear, embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks. “F-Forgive me, my lord!” you stammer, bowing your head low, “I don’t.. I didn’t— !”
Such a transgression could only be met with anger and wrath. You’ve severely overstepped your station, but there is only silence.
Dantioch raises his hand, the same one you kissed just moments before. You flinch as he reaches for you, but he’s gentle as he tips your chin up. Your breath hitches as you search for his eyes beneath the mask.
“Thank you,” he says, his thumb brushing over the swell of your cheek before he cups your face in his broad hand. Dantioch’s touch is so gentle for his size, as if he’s handling something fragile, like you might break at the slightest touch.
“You’re welcome, my lord,” you reply. A blush rises to your cheeks, and you take his hand again, turning your head to place another kiss on the palm of his hand. And for a moment, Dantioch could imagine what it felt like to be human, and not a tool for a seemingly endless war.
🔞 BONUS ROUND. 1k words of smut under the cut, enjoy the Dantioch x F!Reader x Polux sandwich.
Polux tightens his fists at his sides, watching the scene unfold before him. You, Polux’s own personal serf, is spread open wide over his best friend’s lap, fully on display. Though Dantioch is still mostly armored, he’s removed his gauntlets. A thick, calloused finger circles your clit in slow, measured strokes, and you whimper pitifully at the rough sensation against your sensitive flesh.
“Make sure to watch closely, brother,” Dantioch says, his finger dipping lower. You gasp sharply as his finger finds your entrance, pressing inside with a single, firm stroke.
Polux swallows hard, his gaze flickering back and forth between Dantioch’s finger and your flushed face. It’s just one finger, and already his brother has you grabbing onto his wrist and arching your back, begging him for more.
Dantioch moves his finger in and out of you slowly, curling and stroking, finding all the right points to make you shudder and moan his name. You rock desperately against his finger — you’re so close. Then he pulls his finger out with a wet squelch and you whine at the loss.
“Come here, Alexis,” Dantioch says, his fingers parting your folds, revealing the delicate pink of your cunt to Polux’s hungry gaze. “Don’t keep her waiting, lick.”
Polux doesn’t hesitate, crashing to his knees between Dantioch’s legs. His mouth waters at the sight of you — slick with arousal coating your thighs and Dantioch’s fingers. He leans forward, his tongue darting out to circle your clit, teasingly before giving it suck.
“You taste so sweet, little one,” Polux sighs, voice muffled by your flesh.
“More,” you whine, trying to buck your hips and draw Polux closer. “Please, please more.”
Dantioch presses a hand against the back of Polux’s head, urging him deeper into your cunt. Polux groans, working his tongue deeper into your tight heat, filling the room with the sounds of your growing moans, and the wet sounds of his tongue.
Your breath comes out in jagged gasps, chest heaving wildly as your pleasure builds. You toss your head back against Dantioch’s chest, crying out as it finally crests, your body shaking and toes curling as you soak Polux’s tongue in your cum.
“Good work,” Dantioch says, giving your thighs a light squeeze. Polux rises to his feet, his hand lazily working over his rigid length.
Your heart skips a beat as Dantioch lifts you up, the tip of his cock throbbing against your cunt. He eases you down onto him, the sheer girth of him stretching you to your limits and you struggle to accommodate him. You whine, feeling every vein and ridge of his flesh as he spears you open, leaving no space unfilled inside you.
Polux leans over and kisses you, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he deepens the kiss. Dantioch’s grip on your highs tighten once you’ve taken as much of him as you can feasibly can. He starts to move you up and down on his cock, gradually becoming more rough with each plunge.
Polux pulls away from the kiss, his eyes dark with lust. “Does it feel good, little one?” he asks, stroking your hair back from your sweaty face.
“Uh huh,” you nod dumbly, lost in a sea of sensations and pleasures. “Want you too, sir,” you moan, voice and body bouncing on Dantioch’s lap.
Polux is just the right height for you to reach out and wrap your fingers around his cock, feeling it throb and twitch in your hand. You lean forward and fit as much of him in your mouth as you can. The taste of his pre-cum on your tongue is intoxicating, and you eagerly suck on him, pulling a moan from Polux.
Dantioch’s breathing becomes more ragged and desperate, muffled by the sound of his mask, as he works you up and down on his cock. Each thrust reaching deeper and deeper. With one last powerful surge, he lets out a strangled groan as he releases himself deep inside you.
Reluctantly, you let Polux’s cock slip from your mouth, moaning at the sensation of Dantioch flooding your cunt. He slowly rocks up into you, thick white streaks coating his cock.
Polux quickly takes over, easing you up and off Dantioch’s lap. You shudder as thick globs of cum leak out of your stretched out cunt. Polux guides you onto the bed and onto your hands and knees.
You shiver, feeling Polux position himself behind you, his heavy cock resting against the curve of your ass. And you’re more than happy to arch your back, presenting more of yourself to him.
“Please, my lord,” you beg. “Need you inside me.”
“Patience,” Polux says, running his hands over your curves for a moment before reaching down to line up with your well-used cunt, the cockhead nudging your folds apart as he sinks into you. You cry out, burying your face against the bed as you feel yourself strain and stretch again to take his massive size.
Polux sighs, he bottoms out so quickly, and he goes still, giving you a moment to adjust. He leans over you, bracing himself on his hands above you before he pulling out and slamming back into you. His hips piston, driving his cock into you over and over.
You scream into the bedsheets, holding on for dear life as he pounds you into another orgasm. Polux reaches between your legs, his own calloused finger rubbing your clit in tight circles. It’s enough to push you over the edge, and your body shakes as you cum again.
Polux follows shortly after. The straining flutter of your cunt around his cock triggers his own orgasm. He lets out a long, guttural groan as his cock pulses and floods your cunt with even more cum.
Weak and unable to hold yourself up any longer, you sink down into the bed and sliding off Polux’s cock. The mix of his and Dantioch’s cum oozes out of your cunt, pooling between your legs and soiling the bed.
Exhaustion finally takes its toll and, as sleep begins to claim you, you can hear Polux and Dantioch talk.
Can I ask for [BITE] with Cato? But with the twist that he won't be the one biting, but you do!
Thank you in advanced
Here you go, Anon! Hopefully you enjoy it, I had a bit of writer's constipation.
Today has been exhausting. You’ve spent far too many hours playing mediator and forcing yourself to be polite under the veil of diplomacy. Your bodyguard did not make things easier either with lingering stares and teasing touches.
Now, you’re finally alone.
Sicarius’ strong hands settle on your waist, pulling you to him until your bodies are pressed flush together. He leans down to kiss you. It’s warm and sweet, and for the moment, you’re both content to explore the familiar territory of each other’s lips.
And then, on a whim, you bite his bottom lip — just a quick, playful little nip, but it’s enough to cause Sicarius to jerk his head back in surprise.
“Did you just bite me? You little minx,” he grins, his voice low and caught between amusement and desire. It sends a little thrill down your spine, and you’re forced to bite your own lip. You love it when he looks at you like that.
“I couldn’t resist, sir,” you reply.
Sicarius chuckles, a deep sound that seems to rumble from his chest. His grip on your waist tightens, a silent reminder that behind closed doors he’s the one in charge. “You couldn’t resist, is it? You’re a lot of trouble,” he says.
Your hands slide over his, and you press yourself closer to him leaning up onto your toes. He cranes down to meet your lips again, kissing you quickly.
“Mhm,” you hum against his lips. “And I’m afraid I must you warn that I may bite again.” You snap your teeth playfully at the teeth, and add with a sly grin, “Sir.”
And Sicarius growls. His eyes darken with desire, and your breath hitches. You know that look; it sends a tingle straight between your legs. By the throne, if this man doesn’t bend you over the nearest piece of furniture soon, you may bite him for real.
“It sounds like our dear diplomat needs a hard lesson in manners,” he says, voice raw and husky. Sicarius drags you up into his arms and captures your lips again, but this time, he isn’t gentle. It’s raw, passionate, as if he’s laying claim to what he knows belongs to him as he carries you into the bedroom.
Ooo, I'll play! Give me one of the more stoic and unflappable marines (I'm thinking Imperial Fist or Ultramarine) snapping and pinning the female serf they've been pining for against a wall. [PINNED]
I've been writing a lot of Ultramarines, so I hope you don't mind that I went with an Imperial Fist, Anon!
Alexis Polux, much like his gene-sire, is as unyielding as stone and just as cold. His resolve is unshakable, and every decision is based purely on logic and reason. There was no room for distractions. They’re cracks in the wall, weaknesses waiting to be exploited — and Polux allows none.
But here he was, staring you down in the middle of a hallway.
You’re a Remembrancer, and so small compared to him. From the moment he first met you, he knew something was wrong. This feeling he couldn’t name gnawed at his will, taking root in his heart. You haunted him at every waking moment. A fleeting presence in the corner of his vision, always with your nose in your sketchbook capturing moments of history, and perhaps something else.
At first, he’s content to watch you from afar, burying his unease beneath duty and facts. But he can’t smother it. It’s not something he could defeat with reason, nor bolt, nor blade. Polux could feel his control slipping.
And it’s here, in this hallway, that he finally breaks.
Polux reaches out and seizes your arm, pulling you towards him. You gasp as he presses you against the wall. He’s a mountain, towering over you, but there’s no fear in your eyes, and he thinks he sees the same thing he’s feeling looking back at him.
He hesitates, and his defenses crumble.
Polux leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, a stark contrast to his rough exterior. You respond in kind, grabbing at his armor, wanting to pull him closer. Polux bends low and gathers you up in his arms, as if you weigh nothing at all, and pins you to the wall once more.
Your fingers thread through his hair, deepening the kiss. His tongue is hot and insistent, tracing your lips, seeking entrance. And you surrender willingly, meeting him with the same raw passion and fire.
Your lungs ache for air, and you’re forced to break away, breathless and trembling with a desire for more. Polux closes his eyes, fighting to regain some fragment of control that he’s completely lost. But you’re relentless in your siege on his heart, pressing soft kisses along his jaw, and each brush of your lips on his skin sends a spark through him.
“Alexis,” you sigh with such a deep longing that he knows he’ll be hearing it during every waking moment.
“F-Forgive me,” he stammers. “I don’t know what came over me—”
Just as he begins to lower you back onto the floor, you tighten your hold around his neck, clinging to him and refusing to let go. His armor digs into you at painful angles, but you’re persistent.
“Don’t let me go,” you whisper to him in such a sweet, earnest plea. “Please, take me to your bed.”
Polux shudders, and his breath hitches. Even now, he’s fighting a losing battle between being the man he should be, and the desire he wants to chase. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly feels dry. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Take me anyway,” you purr, lips ghosting just over his ear as you speak, “and I’ll show you what to do.”
And he knows he’s lost now, when his grip tightens around you, and his feet move without a thought. His heart thundering so loudly he swears everyone can hear it.
Here you go! A little comfort and love to help you feel better, Cat!
Sicarius reclines in one of the few chairs sized for an Astartes in Guilliman’s office. His steady gaze follows you as you restlessly pace back and forth, muttering to yourself. Anxiety colors your voice, tangling up your thoughts, and he’s long since given up trying to keep up.
“I can’t do it, every decision feels like it’ll just lead to fighting!” The exhaustion is plain in your voice. You pause, shoulders slumping, and let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Augh!”
And he’s known you long enough to see you’re near your breaking point. Any words of comfort wouldn’t reach you while you’re embroiled in your chaotic thoughts. Instead, he chooses actions, knowing it will speak louder than words. Sicarius reaches out, gripping your waist and pulls you into his lap.
“Captain Sicarius!” you gasp in surprise, heat rushing to your cheeks, darkening your cheeks. You resist him at first, trying to wriggle away, but Sicarius’ grip is firm and you realize you’re not going anywhere. With a sigh, you surrender and lean against his chest, melting into the familiar warmth and strength he offers.
“Breathe,” he commands softly, his thumb stroking the back of your neck. “Everything will be fine. Whatever the outcome is we will handle it, fighting or not.”
It’s so simple, he sounds so certain, and it feels as though Sicarius unlocked a floodgate within you. Tears well up in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the pent-up stress that has been festering within you.
You tilt your head up to look at him. He smiles, a rare thing that’s reserved only for you and no one else.
Sicarius leans down, kissing you gently, the rough stubble of his beard scratching against your skin. The kiss deepens, and you lose yourself in the moment, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. The tightness in your chest eases, the world narrowing down to just you and Sicarius, and the love he pours into the kiss.
You break away for air, and his lips linger a little longer, reluctant to let go. He presses a final kiss to your forehead.
“Thank you, Cato,” you whisper, taking a deep, reassuring breath and you finally feel a sense of calm. The whole situation is a mess, but Sicarius is here with you, determined to shield you from any enemy — even the ones in your mind.
“Anytime.” Sicarius says, his voice as steady and sure as his arms wrapped around you. He’ll hold you for as long as you need and be your shield against the storm.
