#xfic

[handedsanitiser]

Ferrus Manus (with a tongue piercing) x gn reader

You are an auxiliary who fought to the last. Just a few days later you're being called to the Xth Primarch's personal workshops. He would make an... interesting offer.

Contents: size difference, power imbalance (he does sort of look after reader though), kissing, tongue play (with piercing), internal reverence about Ferrus Manus being the apex of masculinity, some sexual shame

[Here's to my other fics on Tumblr :D]

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The metallic scent of the previously abrasive stream of water filled the air, somewhere else, the clang of hammers upon anvils and the cutting and filing of old weapons could be heard. Here though, the Primarch of the Xth just has concluded his work - a combination of chainswords and power claw. This would surely be sufficient for the Wolf King, should targets appear in such a rapid amount and speed that even Mjollnir was too inefficient to cleave through them.

You eyed the result of thousands of considerations regarding weight, saw teeth durability, abrasive shed and flexibility with great awe, feeling almost unworthy to look upon such a magnificent work. How it's creator developed an interest in you of all people was beyond you. You barely knew about engineering beyond your very own las gun and bionic hand. All you had was the will somewhere inside of you to not die in the last mission, to not surrender even though your body screamed for the sweet release of death.

And here you were, patched up, on the road to recovery, with the Primarch of the Xth eyeing you as if you were a new project you couldn't fathom. For some reason, his truly gigantic frame put you quite at ease, although you didn't know whether it was because you felt safe to live in his large shadow or safe to die there. There was finality within every movement he made, his stone cold face only accentuating the outstanding weirdness of demanding you to his workshop.

You dearly wished to hug something right in this moment as Ferrus Manus approached your space, holding you up. You barely could wonder why as your body simply started to relax around his icy metallic forearms and warm massive chest and biceps.

"I commend your will to fight to the last, auxiliary." He stated, sitting you down on one of the previously cleaned benches, and his silver gaze was no longer a view from far below, but almost at eye level. The Lord of the Xth has you sit at eye level with him! What an honor to recieve!

You tried to answer, but Ferrus Manus cut you off. "I will tend to your hand this one time if..." He huffed, almost looking unsure as one cold hand gently grabbed one of your thighs, the other slightly tracing the neck portion of your spine.

"... if you will let me kiss you. And you will review how it felt afterwards."

_________________________________________

You could not believe that this wasn't some sort of ruse, a test of Manus' to see whether you would stoop so low and start selling yourself for this stupid augment to get repaired by whom believers of a faith would call a god of machines. Furthermore, you could not believe that you actually agreed to his offer.

"I'll start then." His gaze unflinching, zeroing in onto your tense look, he ran a now warmer metallic finger along your spine again. You could barely see more than his war-hardened face inching and tilting as his lids seemed to grow heavier, and then... his lips met yours. Proportionally, they were thin, but compared to your mortal frame, they were massive and wide. Neither of you would ever be able to feel each other's lips close around one another without strain, but you still tried to, taking in as much of his bottom lip as you could before releasing.

Perhaps you should also touch him. You definitely wanted to, now that his hands ran along your thigh and hip and your entire neck and back, growing warmer to a less chilling temperature by the second.

You could worry about why he's even doing all of this later when you pulled away from him, eyes half lidded to see whether Ferrus had changed his expression. He did not, but his hand on your thigh did not rest, while the other snaked it's fingers inside your hair.

"You don't need to do anything. I'll establish a rhythm." From this up close, you saw something metallic move in his mouth. Perhaps it was just your imagination, but the prospect of him having modified his tongue felt infinitely funny to you. His sons certainly were, and the prospect of being may be the first one to see some cybernetic enhancement did thrill you. Asking him wouldn't be disrespectful, now that he's about to use his tongue, would it?

"My apologies Lord Primarch, but did you... did you modify your tongue?"

He blinked more often than normal, but his infamous rage at a slight didn't come. Once more you thanked fate for not having sent you to the IVth. The condescension simply wasn't there lest someone gave them a good reason.

He didn't answer with his words, but instead swallowed before sticking his tongue out. It was long, massive and partly scarred on the sides. And there was a small piercing on it. A simple, needle head shaped thing with a small raindrop-shaped tail right behind it.

Ferrus Manus, Primarch of the famously utilitarian Iron Hands has a purely cosmetic augmentation near the fine tip of his tongue.

And it was beautiful.

"I'll begin now. I can't keep swallowing my spit just to show you." Before you could comment on his rather uninviting comment, he pulled you towards him with the ease of a mug, his eyes not flinching save for the occasional blink, him doing his best to not nip at your entire lower face. He repeated the motion you did before, except that he slightly sucked on your bottom lip, the piercing running over it as if to map you.

His kiss was certainly... less romantic than purely explorative, but the sheer fact that he chose you, a guard amongst hundreds of thousands under command he would hardly even gaze upon did make you feel special enough to forgive the inherent awkwardness of his advances. And so you decided to try and slide your own tongue under his upper lip, the gesture more a question than a bold move. He understood, pulling away from you with a slight suck before pulling you towards him, closing the gap between your chests. Like before, his tongue would map you out, but oh Emperor, how big it was. Big, slicking more by the second and ready to explore every single corner of your mouth. The underside of your tongue, it's minescule split and especially the tip were being taken care of by the warm, slick metal. He would sometimes stick his tongue deep into your mouth while having you know that he could probably penetrate your throat with it if he so wished. Fortunately he did not, but the sheer fact of him wielding his strength and transhuman features in this way made your stomach pool with the heat you haven't felt in months, not in this way.

It was getting hard to breathe though, and fortunately, he noticed this as well, breaking the kiss.

"How was it?" he asked, stoically as ever. You did need a moment to come back to your senses. What other things he could do with this tongue... You shot the thought dead in the face as you answered, cheeks warming, fingers trembling.

"I... I can't say, my Lord..." You allowed yourself another deep breath before continuing, the hunger in your eyes becoming biting when Manus swallowed yet again.

"I'll need to specify then." Manus stated, that warp damned piercing visible for but the blink of an unaugmented eye.

"How did the piercing feel. On your lip, on your tongue, the roof of your mouth."

He was so aloof, you couldn't help but get extremely flustered. It wasn't just the piercing, it never was just the piercing. First of all, a Primarch, the primarch your regiment was serving with nonetheless has given you more personalized attention than any enginseer or medicae did since you recieved your rudimentary augmentation. The honor! The prestige of only having stood in front of him... him literally lifting you to his level and easing you into an offer that wasn't waged in his favor, not that you could see anyways.

Then... here stood a figurehead unexceled by even the most studious higher tech adepts, the raw potential of what a utilitarian man could be personified. And that being gave you his undeterred attention, checked twice for your breathing and adjusted himself so his request could work. He! Not you!

And not only did he give you the affirmation that you existed, but moreso, that perhaps he liked doing this with you. He certainly swallowed a lot for it to indicate, but it would be an overstep to simply assume he was interested in you in that way. Still, you couldn't help the seed of conviction from taking root in your mind, and perhaps, just perhaps, he may even permit you to see him again. And do this all over...

But all he was asking for was the feel of the piercing itself.

"It rolled... it rolled nicely off me, my Lord. It felt like just the right amount of stimu.... stimulus. However, there's so many other factors that o..... obfuscate my review, I'm afraid."

You didn't realize that in the time of scraping for an answer, you scanned as much of his body as you could currently see - he wore an apron, supposedly to protect his torso, but even then part of his ample, pumped up chest was not covered. It seemed utterly inefficient and if he wasn't a literal Primarch, you would've compared it to a skimpy medicae or 'auxiliarette' costume some nobilitie's entourage wore. Now assuming his reason was thus would've been akin to spitting on his face and accusing him of being a petticoat's mote. You would never.

There you saw the first hunch of a change in expression in him. At first, his eyes furrowed, about to let go of your hair. But something in this resigned gesture halted and his face relaxed again. You could swear that the silver in his eyes just became less reflective, making it's grey ring visible.

"My presence seems to be too much for you to handle." He clicked his tongue, the image of his piercing flickering like an aftershock. "Your duty as auxilia will be halted by decree of myself, starting tomorrow. As promised, I will repair and improve your sorry prosthesis for a hand. I'll give you four weeks. If you can review and have me improve on my techniques by then... well, if you cannot, you will be returned to your regiment. Understood, auxilia?"

_________________________________________

Is this a multi part? Maybe maybe not.

I tried to go out of my comfort zone and really go into the physical details of them kissing, which is... well, awkward.

I imagine in order to kiss like a baseline, Ferrus needs to do duck face lips all the time hahaha

Also went a lil into the feels of someone being called by a damn Primarch and have that fact exasperated by him wanting to basically do intimate things with you 🪦

Most of us would just... die. Have our minds melted. We're not coming back and if we are, we're prolly some servitor now.

Tags in the end and I'm tagging everyone who liked my silly little idea (as far as they allowed it in their settings) .

@acexsmhking @its-teeem @von-jour @bunny-fair @celestia0473 @mirurnas @bjem @rute-me @jimimeboi @randomlyappearingartist @yagodnyizefir @psykerofbones @incrediblethirst @orquidia

Also @primarchpenissucker @fulgrimfanboy you may like

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Howl at the Moon

Summers in Westchester are hot and sticky, but at the age of four, Sadie Wisdom doesn’t mind.

She likes to lay in the tall grass at the edge of the grounds, and watch as the sun goes down. The moon comes out and the stars start to appear and she smiles.

One of the nice things about people with mutant powers is that nobody worries where she is, because as long as Uncle Nate or Auntie Jean or Auntie Rachel or Quentin or Auntie Betsy can find her, no one is worried about where she is, and she can stay outside for longer than she would if her family were worried.

She hears a rustling in the grass and sits up, pushing raven hair from big blue eyes and squinting to find her grandfather heading toward her. Sadie smiles and waves, and when he gets to her, he settles next to her easily, crossing his legs like he’s going to meditate.

Grampa Logan is a big man; not tall like Uncle Piotr is tall but large. Widely set with big hairy hands and a weathered face.

“Doin okay there, Darlin?”

Sadie nods. “I like the sky when it gets dark.”

“I know,” he grins. He reaches out and brushes some dry grass from her hair and then pokes her nose gently. “Gettin’ late though. Almost time for bed.”

She huffs and flops back down. “I’ll sleep out here.”

“Not gonna fly,” Grampa tells her. “You know how your mom feels about you sleepin outside on your own.”

Sadie pouts a little. She likes the X-Mansion okay, but it’s not like home. It’s too big, and too quiet and her room isn’t like her room back in London. It’s hard to feel comfortable without the noise pollution of the city, and at least outside there are bugs and wildlife to make noise.

“Tell you what,” Grampa Logan says, laying down next to her. “You an’ me, we howl at the moon a little, an’ then we go inside for a bedtime story and a good teeth brushin.”

Sadie smiles at him, unable to help herself. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Grampa Logan grins. He reaches out and wraps an arm around her, bringing her closer. “On the count o’ three, you howl your little heart out. One. Two.”

They howl so loudly at the moon above them that a flock of birds spooks and goes flying, scattering from the trees beyond the grounds, and Sadie giggles.

[handedsanitiser]

Here's some unfinished 40k s m u t

Contents: astartes x baseline, training, muscles flexing, prelude to blowjob, public hair, scent kink, kissing balls

(Look I didn't bother to finish this no more but here it is. @primarchpenissucker i think inspired me to write something with hair. Or was it @fulgrimfanboy? Idk man I'm tagging em anyways)

_______________________

You were eyeing him once more, the weights he put on the long handle causing his massive chest to flex and relax, flex and relax. You could not believe your luck to have him invite you to see him train, mostly because you told him that you needed to see live examples of space marines physique at work. You were a remembrancer after all, one tasked to paint the grueling battle where a battle brothers ceramite armor shattered.

He grunted with each lift, more and more muscles becoming involved the more he made. He would manage to make a thousand reps now, he swore to himself, so he may use his his power claw with much more efficiency.

The only thing slightly distracting him though was you, right between his massive thighs, feeling up his tented loincloth.

"Remember, my Lord. I'll have to stop when you put your long hantle down."

He grunted in response, his body unsure whether a small creature was creeping around his pelvis or a hand was feeling out it's toned musculuture.

You decided to gave the tip of his cock underneath a flurry of small kisses whilst continuing to feel up around it. There was just something about his scent when he worked out that made you really want to jump him and leave him drained, getting stuck in his trail right to your destination.

You felt him start to shiver a little bit when you reached the cloth from below, finally feeling your hot breath on him. He wasn't huge for a Space Marine, but by the Emperor will he be a tight fit for your eager mouth regardless.

"I'm so glad of your eagerness to let me please you." You said before holding his shaft, his already pulsating shaft with one hand while getting your mouth to work on his balls. They did have plenty of hair on them, and so you didn't necessarily want to take them in your mouth, but kissed them regardless, steadying yourself on his flexing and relaxing thigh. Every time his lower body relaxed, you were slightly pushed closer to the space between his base and his balls, dutifully rubbing the underside with your thumb.

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[handedsanitiser]

That one shower with Falk:

Bad Ending

Barban Falk/Kydomor Forrix

Contents: shower scene, abuse of power, verbal and physical abuse, size difference, past child prostitution, high impact play, fisting, spit as lube, overstim, face fucking (2x), sadism (?), mindbreak

Warnings: consent into dubcon. If you're sensitive towards graphic descriptions of sexual violence, please skip this one. Otherwise, kinktomato.

Here's to the core story

And here's to the three endings:

Forrix declines

Forrix accepts (bad ending) <- you are here

Forrix accepts (good ending)

_________________________________________

He was in control. Of course he was, or else Falk would've tried to jump him with his bare strength. He knew his place. No, he didn't know his place enough, thought a part of Forrix that only appeared in situations where he unfortunately did have an erection. This hunger for absolute, untempered control. It was one thing to drag still living nobles out of their very penetrable hides and getting his sick and twisted fill on them. Perhaps he may do this with Falk, but instead of pushing his arousal down in favor for bloodlust...He clicked his tongue, reaching up to his shoulder with one hand clawing at Falk.

"Bold to ask me." He saw this mountain halt his gaze for a bit, as if he woke from a dream he just had. Good. Falk should fear him for what he was going to do with him. "It is, First Captain. Shall I leave you be or-" "Kydomor, just for this time. I'll see whether you're good enough for this. Know though that I will not stop, Barban. Not until you cannot even beg for release anymore." Falk smiled as Forrix' gaze became cold and focused like glacier ice. "That's what I hoped for." He liked the determination behind the First Captain's glare, although just a small part of him felt like a sinking feeling. No, surely Forrix would-

"Shower. Quickly." spat Forrix, rinsing the weeks-long filth off his hair. The heavy stench of musk and dried sweat made way for a minty aroma contained in the warrior's rationed soaps. And minutes went by without the two Iron Warriors ever exchanging a word, for none indicated the desire to talk about this, but Falk could feel Forrix scanning his whole body from head to toe. He hoped him to find the sort of sensitive spots he would've never been able to see by himself.

Forrix meanwhile held back a surge of emotions he never thought he'd be able to reenact oh so closely. Rage of events where it's culprits were likely dead for decades, shame of his own exploited weakness back then and this hunger to quench them all in breaking Falk down. If he did release them now, he would've given off a cruel laughter, both at Falk and at himself. But he waited. After all, he was in control of this situation and not even his unfathomable hatred will hold him from at least appearing non aggressive.

"Done." Forrix heard wet footsteps approaching him while he was still trying to rinse off the suds off his not quite ungreased hair. Now's his chance to strike. He let the shower head fall before Falk could ever touch him, uncaring on whether the hair shampoo would get in his eye or not and grabbed both of the larger Astartes wrists.

"Get your disgusting hands away from me." Falk did raise an eyebrow, attempting to yank himself off - unfortunately Forrix was a good twenty years more experienced in this trans human body than the barely venerated Falk, and even if he weren't, there were several reasons why the smaller Astartes skyrocketed to the position of First Captain.

"Use your hands on me, and this will end, and you will be but assigned to a destroyer unit once more, Barban." snarled Forrix, breathing heavily as if he was to prepare for what he'd do to Falk. He held the more and more obvious appearing glare intact, yanking one of Falk's hands right to the inferior's massive cock. "No matter what I do, you will keep stroking your grotesque cock. Now get on your knees, Barban."

"K-k-y-" The surprise of Falk's was one he was well accustomed to hear from his own mouth, when Forrix let go of his wrists and kicked his legs away with full force. Of course Falk wasn't groaning, why would an Iron Warrior groan at something as banal as tripping on something, but the sinking feeling did become stronger, mending with his own confusion at how Forrix even took his request.

"Can't even say my name without stuttering? That's unbecoming of a Warsmith."

The clear taunt in Forrix' aggregated voice was probably the worst part of this whole ordeal. When did Falk do the wrong thing? Perhaps he was too forward, should've led up to his request far more gently.

"It's... unusual for me to call any by their first names..." He managed to look up at the older Astartes, now towering over him and saw barely any of the calm and rationale Forrix exuded even in the most tense situations. Of course Forrix knew that it would be hard to hear his first name off of anyone, let alone someone below his unrivaled rank. And that was exactly the point.

"I'll have to teach you then. And keep stroking while I do it." Forrix took a deep breath, the rationale in his mind screaming to stop, that this form of release was pointless and that his conscience would eat him alive later. However, he was an Iron Warrior. And this other Iron Warrior dared to think that he had a chance in laying with him. He dared to give Forrix the closest thing to revenge the First Captain will ever get.

With the open palm of his hand, Forrix struck Falk's bearded cheek over and over again. Whenever Falk did try to say something and stopped pumping his waning erection, he'd simply kick the taller Astartes just above it to remind him.

"Ky-do-mor."

"K-ky..."

Forrix did not stop until the imprints of his powerful hand started to mesh together in a deep shade of red, his lower stomach adorned with a purple mark from how hard he had kicked Falk. And he was still supposed to stroke his cock to this...

This felt wrong. This definitely felt wrong, thought Falk to himself. He wanted to see his former chaplain at ease for once, in hopes that while Falk would fulfill his unaugmented yearning, perhaps Forrix may get something out of this as well. But it didn't show.

"Kydo....Kydomor...." Forrix smirked. He did get something out of this after all, rejoiced Falk, even if his dignity and pride was being trampled with. His cheek burned like battery acid was poured over it, but it wasn't from the pain. If he could make Forrix ease just a little...

Forrix' glare darkened, his thumb on one of Falk's windpipes. "Pathetic. Make yourself useful. No hands though."

He proceeded to spit right on Falk's lips, who attempted to wipe it away with his hand, only for Forrix to grab his wrist once again. His grip started to really hurt something in Falk's nervous system he could not describe - as if he wanted to retreat. But he wouldn't. He was an Iron Warrior, he's endured and broken through situations his cousins couldn't even wrap their nightmares around. He would have Forrix at ease. He must do it.

The suggestion was clear from him kneeling - take Forrix in his mouth.

And so he did, or at least, tried to. Licking stripes on the back of Forrix' cock, he looked up to see a mighty hand slowly reach at the back of his head. Grab. Pull. Shove. There was no preparation, no warning and no sign that Forrix would shove his entire length into Falk's virgin throat. If Astartes had a gag reflex still, Falk would've puked acid, but it's sheer girth bullying his vagus nerve still elicited the feeling as if he wouldn't be able to breathe soon.

"Good for nothing but this, whelp." Forrix stare didn't warm and seemed to have lost even more of it's liveliness. "I'll impregnate this very lesson into your skull."

Falk whimpered onto the might of Forrix' cock gagging the entrance to his throat, the tip deliberately pressed on the nerve on it's back. And this was how Forrix would first see himself at the giving end of the matter, feeding the back of Falk's poor throat with signals of pain and discomfort. He looked disgusting, thought the smaller Astartes, disgusting in his weakness to not be able to stop him. "You massive, bloated waste of potential. Did you really think that I'd ever let you put your hands on me? You're a disgrace to the IVth."

The insults Forrix hurled at him did hurt a lot more than his obviously sadistic intent was. Was that what Forrix wanted? To have someone relate to his experience just a little bit? It didn't show to Falk still, his face still aggregated, his grip on Falk's head unrelenting, the grunts sounding more like he was biting down his pain rather than enjoying himself. One time, Forrix' length finally slid deep into his throat, the feeling uncomfortable but not as painful as when he was supposedly attempting to pound Falk's skull for real.

Forrix' dark pubes tickled his nose as each attempt of swallowing his saliva served as more and more of a clenching mechanism. "You're trying not to drool, aren't you, Barban?" He pulled out, so he could slap his beaten and flushed face with his throat spit covered shaft. "I... did I do something..." Falk couldn't continue as he coughed up the drool that managed to get into his wind pipes, earning another slap on his ruined cheek and another round of spit into Falk's open mouth.

"It will not matter to you and I'll have it so. Who said that you're done stroking!?"

Another hard kick onto Falk's lower stomach almost knocked him out of his position, if Forrix' hand did not grab his head still. "You cannot say my name without recompense, you are putting yourself in this situation without fighting back... are you even an Iron Warrior?" Forrix yanked the by then just slightly shaking Falk up, up, up.

"Come, say what I want to hear, Barban." Either answer would be wrong, and seeing Falk's beaten and fucked out face despair finally did start to have an effect on Forrix. Falk looked terrible like this. He could look worse though. "Kydomor..." He said, slow strokes accompanying his tired sounding voice. "Wrong as always."

He kicked Falk down by his chest, pressing his weight on the crease of it's recently shaven pecs before clicking his tongue again. "You didn't cum yet. Barely even leaked for me. I'm quite disappointed in you." Forrix' own cock has grown even thicker by the time he flipped the oversized Iron Warrior over. "I'll help you." He snaked one hand around Falk's thighs, holding his ass up in place while gathering the slick off his own cock, coating his entire hand in it.

The soft, cruel laughter he's been holding back finally couldn't be contained anymore. Such a large man, under his mercy, with him easily spreading Falk's legs apart. The truth was that while treating him like a mere stress toy satisfied his rage somewhat, only true pleasure from his partner could ever truly turn Forrix on. And Falk had been such an obedient replica, almost as if the nobles tho violated him way back suddenly turned into his doe-eyed concubines. He deserved to break from pleasure, thought Forrix, a surge of actual carnal want surging through him.

"Is this..." Falk took a quick breath to silence a noise that suspiciously sounded like a cry. "Is this to your liking, Kydomor? Does this... does this soothe your mind just a little?" The bent over Iron Warrior couldn't believe the words he barely managed to not cry out. He acted like a mere serf under Forrix' cruel grip, whimpering when the latter started to push every finger of his slicked hand in at once. Falk could hide his shaking no longer either, the pain as a parting gift to Forrix' condescension becoming too much.

"Relax for me whelp, or you'll only make it worse for yourself." He spat right in his folded hand trying to stretch Falk's ass multiple times, feeling the latter's groans vibrate inside his tight walls. Forrix chuckled again when he heard his inferior pump his cock, aching from the lack of release and the pain of his lower stomach.

"I never had anything-"

Falk's low groans became hisses when Forrix slowly pushed his entire hand in, feeling up Falk's walls for a certain pouch to grab onto. The mere sight of Falk's squared ass being split open by inch after inch of Forrix' hand and wrist actually made him start to twitch in the grotesque excitement. What a gaping, nearly whining mess he was for Forrix. And oh, he finally found Falk's untended to prostate.

Falk's hissing and groaning broke with more and more drawn out moans as he indeed began to relax around Forrix - to let him feel up his pleasure organ more and more. At least the two fingers rubbing the soft tissue against itself would dull the small tears of his broken in hole. He was openly crying now, as he'd felt helpless to resist Forrix' will, no matter how cruel. If he tried to pull him out, who knew what the First Captain may do with him. He couldn't stop. He must endure this.

But he couldn't. He couldn't and he bawled for it, and he pleaded for it all to stop, as if he was a mortal who did a grave mistake. Forrix granted him none, squeezing Falk's prostate in between his fingers instead, pulling on it, torturing the thing to its bruising limit.

And Falk came and came, load after load spilling onto the floor, and Forrix didn't stop. How could he? Falk looked so without use for anything but this - and Falk was feeling good. He did make him cum, so why was he being so ungrateful in whining like he was but a nymphomaniac whore? He didn't care about any of this, not when he'd felt the most control in a long time. With each painful orgasm of Falk's, Forrix came closer and closer to his own climax and soon he couldn't take it anymore, pistoning his hand out of Falk's gaping, puffy hole and shoving him around yet again to have him face Forrix' leaking, twitching shaft.

Falk's face flushed by how hard he's been bawling, the burning bruise on his cheek, the erratic breathing making Forrix' length pulse... "Fuck, you look so pathetic. Open up, Barban... you'll be able to taste how I feel."

Broken and not knowing what was good for him anymore, Falk opened up his mouth and felt himself gagged once more. He needed to cough, but Forrix didn't let him, and so he started to choke on his own spit while his superior used his throat again. But it wasn't deliberate infliction of pain any more, it was Forrix actually trying to cum. The last of Falk's thoughts were still devoted to want to ease Forrix, and so he did the only thing he could - fondle the First Captain's balls, doing his best to milk every bit of tension out of them...

With a loud groan, Forrix came finally, first in Falk's throat before moving up to his mouth and then to his lips, making sure Falk's omophagea would not miss the emotion this release brought with him.

And Falk's tears became silent, for he could taste the sheer bitterness in Forrix' release, that this whole ordeal did not help an ounce in alleviating some of his pain, and the empty satisfaction that he broke down who could've been his protégé. Protégé no more, knew both in their erratically beating hearts, as Forrix quietly parted ways with Falk before the latter had the chance to try and stand and even question what just happened.

He rinsed off the filth off his cock and hand, yet both felt still dirty. No, this form did not help and now he would need to see how he'd handle the newly appointed captain of an entire Grand Battalion. And another emotion welled up in him he did not quite expect in him... the need to check on Falk.

He decided to thoroughly wash the lingering, mostly dried suds off his hair instead.

_________________________________________

Ow this hurt to write but I did it. Feels like imagining a bad future like in Sonic CD *Sonic, dead or alive, is m-mine intensifies* (it eases me, I often get attached to fict characters like I do real people, so I need to get creative in order to not cry over or beat myself up over a fictional scenario. It's the autism. And the OCD. )

Anyway as always here's the list of those who prev liked before!

@auroracoriolis, @primarchpenissucker, @cyb3rangel1, @bbrokenbback, @bunny-fair

One more to go and there the two are actually not miserable, gullible or cruel to no result. Everything becomes beautiful and things will hurt less 😊🌻🌻

[handedsanitiser]

That one shower with Falk:

The Neutral Ending

Kydomor Forrix/ Barban Falk

Contents: shower scene, erections, rejection, post traumatic responses, masturbation, maladaptive coping mechanisms, mentions of torture and gore, post-child prostitution

Here's to the core story

Here's to all three branches of the story

Forrix declines <- you are here

Forrix accepts (bad ending)

Forrix accepts (good ending)

_________________________________________

He was in control. And that meant that he was able to uphold the principles his genesire had given him from before he even became an Astartes, from before the Primarch was even discovered by the Emperor.

And these were to never let anyone touch him in the manner he had been ever again. The erection he had surely was more of a nervous response at having someone attend the shower there.

"If you won't tell anyone of this" said Forrix, trying to stand and focus on the equally intimidating steel blue of Falk's.

"then nothing will happen to you, Warsmith. However, I decline." Forrix showed no tremble, no sign of nervousness and the confidence he needed to exude as if he were clad in full armor.

Without a word, his younger battle-brothers gaze faded, as did Forrix metaphorically. Without a word, he did as promised though and retreated to the very last shower of the halls. The faint pour of a shower head's stream could be heard as Forrix began to wash himself, thoughts drifting to battles his men from the First Grand Battalion had fought, how ferocious Zakayo's close quarter squad was on a mission against ork infested swamplands.

All to distract from the boner still growing. If he deemed it fit to do so, he would've torn it into shreds and had a melta gun take it's place, so that everyone lusting after him would experience their rightful annihilation. And so, he pumped himself in his hand, as close to a fist as possible. Falk couldn't watch. Any other Iron Warrior would not come her at this time, as Forrix did also manage the Fleet's general schedule.

He had to be ready for another report anyways, so he hoped this aching feeling would finally subside if he released himself. In times like these, when this ache became unbearable without having to thrust it away, his compensation was especially brutal slaughter, torture even. It did bring him a twisted firm of joy to have someone so small, so unprepared for a being ten times their strength, a hundred with his power armor slowly break down under the meticulous hands of his power claw. And it was even sweeter if it was a high-ranking official getting bludgeoned and torn by him. It wasn't a method of instilling terror, for no one would ever see his gruesome butchers work - it was simply to see the eyes of those who violated him close because of him. To have them plead for mercy because of him. That no matter what, he was in complete control of this person, up to the way they die.

He didn't manage to wash his hair that night, something most Iron Warriors even didn't know he had. And he also wouldn't manage to pick up on the surprisingly complex murder mystery written by some woman from that xenos infested planet Meru.

He was in control. But why did this ache return in the worst times then? If he was in control, why did he wish to rip his genitals off in the hopes that his body would understand that he did not want to be touched?

Only the next logistical report or call from the Lord of Iron himself could bring him back from the spiral of thoughts and feelings too ingrained to just will away.

After all, he could pretend he was in control, when in reality he only managed things and adhered to someone higher. At least, Perturabo was worthy of such obedience and faith. At least he took him in and made him into something other than a normal man.

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Sneak peek of the bad ending (should I bear to finish writing it cause... it feels like consent into dubcon at best):

"No matter what I do, you will keep stroking your grotesque cock. Now get on your knees, Barban."

Well well, thx 4 reading if you made it thus far! Again I'll pick up those who reblogged or liked the core story and the ideas eluding to it (I don't like having a permanent tag list, sorry):

@auroracoriolis @cyb3rangel1 @primarchpenissucker

One and a half endings to go.

And a lot of sleeping cause I caught a cold. True spring is approaching and my body apparently does it's own little spring cleaning qwq

[handedsanitiser]

Ze tumbler writing list

Will be more orderly, today ain't my day. G'night. All to be found under the cut.

pink - smut

green - fluff

Blue - angst

Multi chapter fics

That one shower with Falk:

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Core story

Neutral Ending | Bad Ending | Good Ending

Her Angel, His Lady:

The Iron Warriors have finally defeated the (current) Hrud Empire. First Captain Kydomor Forrix has his year long companion (read: girlfriend) waiting for him. This is just the smut part, the chapters before that can be found on AO3

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Iron Warrior hug:

Hector Artemenios, Line Astartes from the 87th Grand Battalion has been incredibly bored lately. But deep inside, he just wants a hug. And so he gets some wretched menials to hug him. Things get tragic very quickly.

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Preamble 1 | Preamble 2 | A Therapy For Pain

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | tbc

The Lord of Iron and the Graphite Lady:

Kelela Maebel had to witness hundreds of people be forced into stormbirds to work as menials for the IVth Legion. This was unauthorized tithing and she will not stand for it, so she volunteered herself, only to quickly stand before the Lord of Iron himself. Full fic on A03.

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The Lord of Iron and the Graphite Lady ch.20 excerpt

Holding back his feelings is his love language:

Kydomor Forrix has to keep his wants towards his dear consort, and not the cute, romantic ones. For her own safety. Luckily enough, he just discovered that writing his thoughts down in prose does ease the Lovesick Blight into non threatening levels. Yandere, gore, murder and other deranged thoughts galore.

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Part 1

Oneshot fics

Sigismund x female!serf

(discontinued fanfic I uploaded on Tumblr in addition to A03)

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Astartes x serf: oral distraction from training (unfinished)

Only part so far

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Please destroy me, for I can't serve

a plead from a severely disabled, warp-haunted Astartes personal serf (gn)

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Ferrus Manus has a tongue piercing and kisses an auxiliary

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Oneshot Kydomor Forrix/Amaya Noh (OC)

A Painal (Forrix/female baseline OC)

Rules are written in iron chains (Forrix/female baseline OC)

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Gagging for study (junior apothecarian/gn!reader)

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Ideas and far fetched headcanons

Attila, The Last Iron Warrior

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How a renegade empire of Perturabo's, Curzes and Angron's may look like. It is also a call for you to write your own breakaway Primarch Empires.

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Some Olympians are racist

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Once you go Astartes, you never come back

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What Forrix likes in bed

Part 1 | Part 2 (with bonus Sigismund!)

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pro melanchrome propaganda

(Just me gushing about the melanochrome's existence and how ethnically diverse the individual of the far future can truly be.)

some far fetched, fluffy Iron Warrior HCs

The Dornitory AU

A small insight into the Dornitory

Rumors about Mr. Dorn

The tragic beginnings of Sigismund Templer-Dorn

Original/nonfic

Dustin, my odd childhood friend is obsessed with me!?

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byyyyye

[handedsanitiser]

Kydomor Forrix/Amaya Noh (OC)

The Broken and The Breaker : Epilogue

Forrix had done it: he broke down the mother of his adopted son's overwhelming self loathing by forcing her to have her expressed desires fulfilled. It was intense, it was messy, it was filled with tears and it hurt. And yet she thanked him for it in the end. And he felt safe. But will this indescribable connection hold when they get up the next morning?

A small epilogue to my smutfic 'The Broken and The Breaker'.

Contents: after smut, after aftercare, possessiveness galore, cuddling, extreme guilt, consequences of power dynamics, widow :(, complicated feelings, slow kissing, YEARNING

Warnings: unhealthy dynamics/emphasis on power imbalance, language hinting at noncon (it's not)

Here's to the fic before the epilogue ^^

Here's to a sort of sequel~ 👀

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Cradling the limp woman in his mighty arms, Forrix returned to their hab cell with her in nothing but loincloths. Their home. She was his now - as she was before, but this first night of actually having his desires fulfilled gave it a quality he could not find words for. Not the ones that were in line with the cultural norms of the IVth Legion anyway.

She was his and his alone... he'd never let her go now, for she would've been nothing without him on this fleet. Based on the accounts of Aaron, the boy who indirectly brought the three of them together by being her, well, their son, Amaya had not been this shell of a person before they were forced into the shuttles and away from their home planet. By Olympia, he would restore her and then keep her as his masterpiece. He'd already painted the first strokes on her brand marks with his teeth. Forced her into looking at her own reflection with the light marks now highly reddened by his biting. He would make her ease around him entirely, for she deserved it. He would arrange a mission joined by a delegation of Thousand Sons, so they would examine the psychic blocks that were enacted on her.

She was utterly his, even if she did not wish to have sex with him, even if their relationship wouldn't be the one he'd hope for. For he could force her to do many things, but if he forced her to get as close as he wanted, her restoration would be ruined, her behavior fake and laced with terror and he would've been not one bit better than those who abused him oh so long ago. And so, he sat down on his, their bed, her side to the wall well covered in cushioning nanocloth and placed her down securely. The warmth stolen from her by the water wasn't returning as the rate Forrix would've wished for. "I do not love you." said Forrix with a gaze so contradicting, it would've confused his woman if she weren't regularly dozing off already. He could feel his lips getting fuller, his entire front having this strange tenseness again that nevertheless felt oddly pleasant. Amaya looked beautiful. Completely exhausted by his doing. He hoped she would take the lessons learned to heart though and not just leave them when his marks and bruises will.

Snuggling up to her, his back was towards the door this one night. A catastrophic oversight, weren't it for Forrix' duties and ethos to be far, far away from what feelings and desires he allowed himself to act on. He would protect her, as he did for the past months, and if he died doing so. Her cold felt good on his chest, his right arm pulling her closer to him. They would sleep facing each other this time, and Forrix did not understand anymore why he held himself back with his more tender feelings. She can have them all. And he'll take hers in return. Beneficial to deal with concepts he couldn't define, only draw comparisons to.

Amaya then slurred out something in her native tongue he had no linguistic reference point to, her gaze barely able to hold him in her slowly flickering view. Was something inside of her hurting? Had he been too rough with her after all? "I would never dare to love you." he whispered, just slightly letting himself indulge by placing one of Amayas hands on one of his pectorals. Love was manipulation. Love was abuse. A tool to make people do as you say down to the most shameful acts. He needed the touch, for it soothed him, satisfied the parts of him he'd left on the road for decades. Even the everlasting tension in his fused ribcage seemed to lessen at this close a presence. And he did not understand why.

-

Dull aches seemed to try and penetrate each muscle of her throat, her hips and her thighs when Amaya woke. Then, the points where she knew her brand marks were ached differently, less like a rash or a ticklish feeling and more like she'd been extensively bruised. In other words, she was sore from probably the wildest night she'd ever had with a man. Seeing Forrix' face in front of her - a first as he told her he usually faced the door in case of an emergency - made her strangely confident in what otherwise would've been a morning of suppression and shame. So much had happened in just a single night... she was overpowered by him, and that somehow grounded her. She never thought that pain and surpression in the right places could actually make her feel better. Or that she didn't laugh at him and kick him in the ribs for attempting to court her so aggressively. But that was when she was still free, at home, with her family. She now seriously wondered if she would've ever given someone like Forrix a chance, were he from her village and not the right hand in the scariest formation of warriors she'd ever encountered. This choice was no more, for one of these warrior's bolt had answered for her.

Yes, within the warmth she felt on Forrix' chest having bloomed within her the sinking guilt poisoned the lightness. Desta would have been alive were it not for Forrix' order to restock at all costs. So why in Samson's name would she develop such an intimate quality to her attachment for the First Captain? It felt like she had cheated her husband with a slaver. The more she thought about it, the more she could feel her sore throat tightening and her eyes get ready to empty their tear canals. And yet, yet Forrix actually was hunting down those that relished in her planetsmen's suffering. She didn't choose any of this, not until Forrix made her start to again. Wasn't he the only option she still had for happiness on this ship of endless metal? Did he ever regret the atrocities and oversights that led to her torment he enacted? She knew that he didn't exactly enjoy treating people like tools, but rather that it was the most pragmatic way to get things done. And now, after this night, where he forced her into a speck of confidence, she was thinking clearly. Never would she have chosen this life, never. And yet, the one who could've done anything to her - and she'd take it with the gratitude that at least it would be by a being she wouldn't have called human just a year ago - did so much in his power to make her comfortable in her own skin, her mind, her body. Even if it was just to have her comply for his interrogations at first, he didn't act like a slaver. He was, and yet he was not, and this duality was confusing her to no end.

She was barely up, yet Forrix still laid with his head lolled beside her, one hand on his own chest, his usually tidy sand hair partly obscuring his shut eyes. There have been few people who have ever seen him without his body glove extended to encompass all but his face, and thus with the knowledge that the color of his brows did not match that of his hair. But even then he always emulated some resemblance of his body glove with a head scarf holding it all together. His breath blew just over whatever towel he had spun around her head, which upon closer thought felt a little damp. He looked so... human. Kydomor Forrix, the Breaker, logistics of mass slaughter's cold-blooded master was a mere man sleeping, and this impossible sight was hers to soak in like the brightening of the daylights. She oh so dearly did not want to disturb this moment, for it was as delicate as the paint on a butterfly's wings. But at the same time, maybe she could place her hand on the one on his chest. He was clearly emulating something like tender touch anyways, even if it happened to be subconscious. Just as her index finger brushed on one of his knuckles, his eyes opened.

She could see it's cold blue taking a few seconds to stop squinting before they looked down and his stare blurred into an unreadable gaze she could nevertheless feel consuming her from her hand onwards. He gave a long exhale and just kept gazing at their hands. "Kydomor?" His gaze was too intense for her to keep looking at him, which was quite hard considering how much space he visually took. To spare herself the hard decision between asking to snuggle up to him, having him explain himself for last night's declaration or letting him go to not have some arm of his extensive supply lines collapse. "Get up." said Forrix in a soft, sleepy tone that didn't instill the smallest instinct of obeying. Of course she hesitated, as it had become quite a habit of hers to sleep long into having realized that the First Captain was gone on duty. But also because she didn't know what to make of him; how he thought of her, if he perhaps even saw a lover in her but was only taught slaver's relationships so he had to retract it. But Forrix will not have it, grabbing her by her shoulder and waist to have her on top of him as he stood up. There was no chance for Amaya to do anything but wrap her thighs around him to not have her legs dangling. She still tried to look away, see some form of focal point that wasn't Forrix, but his gaze drew her in a way she hadn't experienced for close to half a decade. Wasn't it wrong to turn over a new leaf with him, second in command of the system that allowed this level of oppression to run rampant of all people?

He let her upper back lean on a wall so he could remove one hand and place it behind her head. And Amaya didn't protest, at least not on the outside. Forrix' gaze deepened as he almost bridged the gap between their lips. It couldn't be more obvious if he tried, but it also verified that he indeed never imposed the entirety of his authority onto her, only enough as to make her compliant to the interrogations, only enough to make her eat, make her sleep, have her help her on her feet. And all this time, she'd feared for the worst because before, the worst had always happened - threads in her soles and hand palms, corporal punishments, being used as testing leather, friends dead because she had dared in the beginning to speak up against their othering by these pointed starred overseers.

She saw it clearly now, void of most of the adrenaline and extreme feelings last night when she came to the same conclusion. And that was when his lips matched hers, his thumb stroking one of her bruised brandmarks. The pain still lingered, and it felt wonderful. Reassuring. Perhaps Desta would forgive her for letting go. For turning over a new leaf.

It was neither heated nor was it exactly chaste; slow and mostly dry, save for the few times Amaya had opened her mouth too wide which wet his lips. Again, this kiss wasn't exactly a good one, but his hold on her, the lazy strain on his hums and purrs, how gentle he was this time made her melt onto his lips regardless. Desta phased in and out of her thoughts during all of this, but that bothered her less and less. After all, who said that she couldn't love two men at the same time?

Love... such a vague word eliciting the widest of reactions across all of mankind. Fear of the pursuit, disgust at the attraction, eternal mourning of a passed one. The mere word was able to sway people into the deepest depths of hell, for like all other language, it encompassed a concept hard to grasp in its entirety. Ripe for exploitation. The tiniest miscalculation of the other's woes, rational or not may spell doom for this ficklest of relationships... or worse, codependency and abuse until one or both lay dead in the other's eyes. And Forrix will not have it. This woman will live, she will be as close to being whole again as he could manage whilst still performing as a First Captain and the longest lasting of the Trident should. And Amaya? She will see to it where the direction of their relations is headed, though the image of her mind seemed to flicker between him and Desta. Not a complete replacement for nothing was the same, not even her and her son. A new beginning, adapted, safe from the perils of the underdecks Forrix would expunge.

He eventually had to let go of her, gently placing her down to turn to his table, screwdriving the disk like neural enhancements onto the metallic surface on where his ears once were. He would be on duty soon, and Amaya held a hand on her lips as if she had been kissed for the first time, slumping down as reality took its time to come back into her experience. Who knew that an Iron Warrior could be so tender, treat other people so delicately? And him, of all people?

"I will return to you at nightfall, safe for a boarding emergency." said Forrix, with the same softness of before. His voice actually felt warming to her.

"I wish to simply embrace you by then. Rest, and wait for me to return."

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[handedsanitiser]

Her Angel, His Lady smut part 3

Kydomor Forrix x baseline OC last part (not so much nsfw)

Contents: aftercare, after rough sex, telepathy and biomancy, yandere thoughts, reverse comfort, emotional relief, astartes related injuries, happy ending

First part here

Second part here

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The ghost of a kiss graced Forrix' lips, Amaya's low moans far away and close up to his ear, above, below and everywhere else at the same time. She did quite enjoy clawing into his tightly mazed mind, the pain of nonexistent teeth peppering his body, especially his bulky neck.

Whatever Forrix thought, it did make her grin a tired smile, sweet and lovely, all while her psychic voice growled, showing the quickly fading restraint to dig deep into him.

+it'll hurt kydomor+

Her smile widened, as if she didn't just show a side of her he hadn't anticipated. She was attempting to be... outright dominant.

+it'll hurt so good+

"This is starting to get pathetic- hhh..." His eyes widened when he just realized that she held her shaking hand on his chest, the smile shakier as well. But that hand, oh that small hand tugged at the shadow of his pectorals, chest pains as strong as he seldom experienced blooming out of it.

"What are you-"

Pain, as if something threatened to rip out the tendons on his very muscles flared all around his chest. Strong enough to make him want to throw up, even though he didn't eat for three days. Grabbing her hand firmly, Amaya could see the glare that she long felt burning her psychic reach.

+ill take some of your pain away+

+like you did mine+

+but itll hurt+

"Please... don't be angry..." managed Amaya, voice spent and hoarse. Anger? No, not really. Rarely did he feel raw anger, and never with her. Frustration as a feeling was more like it, he thought, sweat running down his face while he threatened to lose his balance and crash down to her.

"Did I ever ask you....urrrgh....no. Stop... stop this at once..."

+bear it just a little longer+

He slammed one fist right beside her. Had it hit her anywhere, he would have dislocated her bones if she was lucky to not have them splintered. Why, he thought, why would she botch their first night in half a decade by making him remember...

+because you deserve to be free of the pain that holds you back+

Amaya muttered something, her hand loling to the side, the index finger of the hand that psychically pulled on his chest doing a rotating gesture. It was done, the pain suddenly no longer present.

"What was that- hhhh..."

+i took it away+

+its around my finger+

Instead, the unusual relaxation around his chestplate made it hard for him to keep glaring, some of the stress even leaving his frown-torn face. It got harder and harder for him to keep hovering over her, as if she took the strength off his core. With the last of his will, he hurled himself away from her, not intent on crushing her under his massive, nearly stone hard bulk.

"I was asking you. Apparently you can... you can... answer..." His expression softened further, the tendons and fascia trying to adjust to the lack of strain inside and around them. Even his thoughts started to become dreary as Amaya heaved herself onto her knees, the ring shaped aura of pain around her finger cutting and ripping apart whatever sheets it comes into kinetic contact with. She would request a weapon smith to help her in developing a weapon out of it befitting either of them in due time, but for now, it spinning around her finger was enough.

+this is normal+

Barely able to respond with his thoughts, she continued to suck out the pain from more of his body; his stomach, the sides and... the pelvis would need several extractions, so as much as it pained her, she let it be for now.

+let go for me+

+the tension in your body is running around my fingers+

He saw her smile when with much effort, she crawled herself up his body so she would see his face; his steel blue diluted with a kind of exhaustion he had only admitted to her once, unable to hide from her prying mind. He was defeated, and there was nothing he could do about it. And the worst part was that it felt... like warhorns being replaced with trumpets and screaming replaced with soft laughter. Joyful laughter. And it didn't feel line he was being mocked, nor that anyone was.

It was relief, so deep and all-consuming that he stopped thinking. Forrix would celebrate his share of peace with the one who made him start to crave it. He would actually celebrate the start of a good life, a better life, one with a person he would exterminate planets, no, star systems for if it meant she would be safe and well.

+......+

+..........+

The warmth of his soon to be wife's body could never envelop him as he may have wished to, but her body laying on top of his was enough. His arms holding her for dear life was enough.

Crack.

+.........!+

Crack.

+Ky...!!!.do..?!!!!+

Something around him struggled. Greatly. But he couldn't react. He only felt more of the warmth replacing the hurt and tension as a sensation throughout his body.

+!!!!!!!!!!!!-mor!!!+

He went into a gentle sleep, his lady laying on top of him, ceasing the struggle to breathe, the ring of muscular tension freed for it's reign of destruction wherever it found something to interact with.

It would take around a year until Amaya were able to breathe properly, and another for her to be able to move all limbs as it were before, but she wasn't gone. The warmth wasn't gone. And curse Ahzek for him being able to refine her psychic abilities that she made him almost kill her, he thought. Curse him, and curse her. But also, without it, who knew how little it would've taken for him to lose control of the pain inside of him. If he would've started to intentionally restrict her from anything but him. If he would've destroyed her like Forrix' genesire did his most guarded Graphite Lady.

"Kydomor?"

"Yes, lady."

"Yes, my angel?"

Nowadays, even her just cooing at him, or like now, simply calling him by the nickname he grew to silently love most put him at nearly the ease a baseline man may experience.

And he felt an emotion few Iron Warriors would in a garrisoned position, albeit the most important of them all: a sense of gratitude.

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Omg I'm done I'm done I'm FINALLY DONE WITH THIS AAAAA I'M SO HAPPY (wanted this to be a slower sex scene buuut the psyker stuff grew to be more interesting for me to write lol.