to repeat what I've said in my bio: I am an adult, do not interact with this blog if you are not an adult. If your blog says you're a minor, and I see you interact with my posts, you're getting blocked.
I do not ship Primarchcest, but I will not judge or prosecute those who do. You can engage with fiction however you want to.
There will be some astartes/astartes content on here. It will be tagged accordingly as #astartes/astartes. primarch/astartes, if any occurs, will be tagged #primarch/astartes. Block what you don't want to see.
If you have additional stuff you'd like tagged, just let me know & I can do that.
I can at least show you part 1/3 of it, which is a weight gain corruption sequence (canonically this happens to the Iridiates when they're stressed, their bodies passively stockpile warp energy, they store it in their fat tissue as a defensive safety mechanism, and lactation is actually an IRL thing people can do when stressed also...)
here Lysander is straight up just going to be 'shown the way of his Legion' by his Primarch... since he's the one guy who just doesn't vibe with the doctrines and nut-based nerve stabilizers
Ooookay, first censored version obviously wasn't censored enough. Now there's nothing offensive visible at all.
Something that was requested some time ago - I totally forgot who asked for it, I have to admit! Took me way too long to get to it. Shame, shame and such.
Magnus the Red doing some special magic.
For Tumblr's delicate palate I had to ask the Modesty Screamer of Tzeentch for help.
Includes: body worship, sacred stigmata, blowjobs, VERY soft dom, and plenty of fluff
Quintus desperately wants to part his robes, but there is a sense of fear at the thought. Fear that the more Marneus sees, the less he will like. Fear of the overwhelming importance of such an act. Fear that the time isn’t right.
It’s too late to back out now, or rather, it feels that way to a less than perfectly rational part of Quintus’ brain. Marneus is right over him, creating large dips in the mattress with where his forearms rest, bracketed around Quintus’ hips. He’s wearing nothing but a comfortable pair of black pants, showing a familiar scar over one of his hearts that draws Quintus’ attention.
The small bits of armor Quintus normally wears are all off, and his mechadendrite lays inert beneath him, cushioned by pillows and soft fabric. Tightly clenched hands are all that’s keeping the red robes closed. He feels how overheated his face is, and knows it must be painfully obvious to Marneus.
“We don’t have to do this if you aren’t comfortable. It’s alright, Quintus.” Marneus’ gaze is soft and unexpectedly kind. For one so hardened by constant war, there is a warmth to him like the sun on a crisp winter morning.
“I wish to. The significance is what brings me hesitation.”
“Tell me more about that. I want to understand.”
“The sacred stigmata… It is the merging of flesh and machine in a form only the mechanicus posses. To simply show it to any unknown outsider is considered -kllkk- heresy.” Quintus slowly parts the robes, shivering in anxiety when the hood slips off of his head to reveal the wires and delicate tubing in place of his hair. Arms are slipped out of sleeves, then a glove pulled off and set aside. “As the name states, it is sacred. It is a precious thing, something to be protected and-“
The words die in a gasp when a kiss is placed upon bare skin. Quintus tangles his fingers in the sheets, arching up into scarred lips and gasping again when they return. The uninterrupted touch of another hasn’t been felt on this skin in over a century, and the sensation is overwhelming.
“What are you- Marneus! What is this? Why?” Marneus lifts his gaze, meeting Quintus’ and holding it with a reverent look on his face.
“You told me it is sacred, so allow me to worship.”
The moan torn from Quintus is a desperate one. When kiss after kiss is placed onto machine and skin alike, gasps and whines join in to leave no room for silence. “Marneus. Marneus! Oh, be careful. Careful. Sensitive!”
Hands race from sheets to short grey hair when the kisses turn from chaste to wet and messy. Tubing is toyed with by tongue and teeth, wires are traced by calloused fingers, and bruises are sucked to the surface of pallid skin.
Over and over Quintus feels his breath reflexively hitch despite having mechanical lungs. Overwhelmed noises pour from him in an endless stream while he desperately tries and fails to maintain even a shred of his composure. His eye flutters shut and his lens powers off without even thinking, too lost in everything he feels. After a rather loud cry, the kisses briefly stop, but the large and warm hands keep moving.
“I know, I know. Just let go, little love.” The kisses resume, now interspersed with shushing and sweet murmurings. “Look at you. You’re letting me see and feel all of you, letting me learn how beautiful every part of you is.”
Quintus lets those words sink in. It isn’t easy, but eventually they do. He stretches his legs, focusing on the feeling of every piece moving as it needs to. His hips shift, and the weight of them is heavy from all of the metal composing them. He was once afraid of incompatibility in matters of passion, knowing that most of his lower half is fully mechanized. He had feared that, perhaps, preferences wouldn’t align. Now there is only relief.
These blessed machines are not seen as flaws or desecrations to Marneus. They are respected as they should be, and Quintus feels an ache in his chest born from affection for the man.
“Eyes on me, Quintus.” There is a moment of hesitation before compliance. When Quintus sees Marneus staring up at him with an unmistakable intensity, he can’t help but shiver. “Good.”
Marneus’ hands trail up to cup Quintus’ face, then begins to gently trace the wires and tubes that sink into his skull. His touch is so soft, and the pace is slow and mesmerizing. Quintus cautiously brings his fingers to the back of Marneus’ neck, then pauses.
A slight smile briefly flashes across Marneus’ lips. “Proceed. Don’t be shy.”
Quintus pulls Marneus in for a kiss, relaxing into the very familiar feeling of lips pressing against his rebreather. They are trailing across the full surface, occasionally pausing to explore sharp angles and corners. Each press is slow and sweet, bringing a scalding heat to the flesh of Quintus’ face at the haptic feedback.
Then the kisses trail down, and Quintus’ hands lose their place. Down, down, and even further down. From neck to chest, chest to stomach, and Quintus chokes back a screech when Marneus teasingly nips at a sharply exposed augmetic in his hips. It is part of the replacement for his pelvis, allowing his legs to function, and the skin above it is both thin and sensitive.
Marneus apologetically kisses the spot before continuing his journey downward. A deep ache and need settles into Quintus’ entire body, setting his blood on fire.
“Marneus, why this? I can’t- this is something I am -klllkkkl- unable to return.”
“I’m doing this because I want to. No more, no less. Tell me, do you want it?” Quintus feels his sublimely crafted heart begin to race harder than ever, and he knows Marneus can hear it as he waits for a response.
“I- affirm- yes. Yes, please. I need you.”
“You have me.” Marneus pulls the last bit of clothing aside with great care, then kisses just at the base of Quintus’ cock.
He slowly trails kisses everywhere but where Quintus needs him, sparking up a deep ache. Quintus places his hands over Marneus’. He feels every callus and scar, focusing his mind in a desperate attempt to not start helplessly bucking his hips.
When a kiss is finally placed onto his cock, Quintus whimpers. Then, without warning, Marneus takes him into his mouth.
“Marneus! Omnissiah bless! So-ohhhhhhhhh! So much! I- please- Marneus!” Quintus is overtaken by a full-body shiver when Marneus, due to his much larger size, easily slides down to the base.
He briefly wonders what Marneus must be feeling, if maybe he is uncomfortable due to a lack of attention to his own body, only to realize by the rustling of fabric that he is grinding against the mattress. When he moans, Quintus feels every vibration, and reflexively tighten his grip on Marneus’ hands.
Every sound Marneus makes is utterly obscene. Each muffled moan, and every instance of even the slightest bit of suction, frays Quintus’ nerves, chipping away at the dam of his restraint. Leaks and cracks are already forming, and somehow, any movement of Marneus’ tongue magnifies them tenfold.
Quintus meets Marneus’ eye, and the look leveled his way nearly pushes him over the edge. There is both desire and an icy confidence in his gaze. Marneus looks ready and willing to consume Quintus whole, and Quintus would be a liar if he denied his willingness to serve himself on a silver platter.
“Marneus…” He hums in acknowledgment and Quintus’ legs shake in pleasure. “Where shall I- arrive?” He begins lightly bobbing his head and the pressure rapidly builds. “Inside?” Quintus can’t for out more words than that, especially not when Marneus hums again, this time in agreement. “That will- it is- soon. Ah! Quite soon! Ohhhhh I’m close!”
Quintus writhes against the sheets, eventually ending up with his legs slung over Marneus’ shoulders. For a moment he worries about causing discomfort when his heels dig into his upper back, but before he can even think to check in, the dam breaks.
Quintus sobs as his release takes him, quickly devolving into the mechanicus equivalent of hiccuping. His bionic lungs stutter and soft beeps escape each time. Through the haze he finds that Marneus has moved his legs, crawled back up the bed, and is cupping his face. His own organic eye is half-lidded in bliss.
Quintus goes to cover his face, a tear slipping from his eye. Marneus gently brushes the hand aside. “Beautiful.”
“What?” Quintus whispers.
“I love how you are when overwhelmed like this. I love how easy it is to get you to that point. It’s beautiful.” Marneus gently wipes away the tear, and Quintus believes him.
i want to peg magnus the red from warhammer 40k until he's shaking & whimpering & sobbing from how good it feels. in his daemon primarch form btw. and touch the sensitive parts of his wings until he begs
i want to peg magnus the red from warhammer 40k until he's shaking & whimpering & sobbing from how good it feels. in his daemon primarch form btw. and touch the sensitive parts of his wings until he begs
А лучший мой подарочек — это ТЫ)) (Немного ереси с примархами в студию)
И в очередной раз моя фантазия породила нечто почти еретическое... Но меня всё устраивает))
(да простят меня Санечка и Импи)
(Лучше было бы на Сангвинеллу выложить, но "пунктуальность" — моё второе имя, а вот первое — "не")
Пы.Сы: Моя душа, пока что, ещё не скоррапчена Слаанеш
English translation:
And once again, my imagination has created something almost heretical... But I'm fine with it))
(May Sanguinius and Emperor forgive me)
(It would have been better to post it on Sanguinala, but "punctuality" is my middle name, and "not" is my first name.)
P.S: My soul is not yet corrupted by Slaanesh.
malcemps. who tops. do they switch? is Malcador getting speared open on that thang, or does Emps shapeshift to be smaller? or is Malcador tying up the Emperor of Mankind & throwing out his back railing him within an inch of his immortal life? What kind of freaky stuff do you think they're getting up to with telepathy and telekinesis? Tell Me Your Thoughts On The Old Men Sex.
Finally my time to type paragraphs has come!
I say the Emperor probably has some pretty odd/archaic views on sex, which should not be surprising. I saw he also definitely shapeshifts to fit a scene he wants to create. No doubt about that.
This dues include shifting what sexual organs he has, in a wide variety of configurations based on mood and attitude. DEFINITELY some Roleplay involved, including ones that directly play with their roles as Emperor and Sigilite.
I doubt Emps is making himself smaller. It’s not his style. He might, but it’s one hell of an uphill battle and usually doesn’t last very long. Roleplay is one of the only tools to convince him to do so.
I also think Emps enjoys being a pillow princess every once in a while. As a treat. Can’t be every day though, because then Malcador would be STRUGGLING
