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🪶✨️Psst...Sanguinius is looking at you again!✨️🪶

It took Sanguinius a long time to realize he was in love with you - or rather, to admit it to himself.

For all his status, for all the grandeur of being the fearless son of the Emperor, he is a gentle, deeply sensitive creature. And love, when it comes, seeps into his very bones. It is a force he cannot resist.

At first, he gives you nothing more than long, tender glances. And when you catch them, a faint smile touches his lips.

There is despair in his eyes, incredible gentleness, and a shade of regret. His two great hearts, and the inborn softness within him, make it hard for him to accept the truth of his feelings.

Even before his mind could accept it, his body began to betray him. Whenever you were near, it suddenly became difficult to keep his wings folded neatly behind his back. Even when Sanguinius tried with all his strength, the feathers would still bristle and fluff - revealing the oldest, most primal instinct: to impress, to show that their owner burned with strength and vitality.

When you stand beneath the burning sun of Baal, he instinctively spreads one of his snow-white wings above you, shielding your tender skin from the searing heat.

When you speak, his hearts beat so hard it feels as though they strike against the inside of his armor - and at times he fears his Legionaries might hear the sound ringing through his chest.

At night, he thinks of you. Of your touch. Nothing indecent - only the thought that if your hand ever brushed his, he would soar into the skies, unable to contain his joy.

Often, he dreams of carrying you in his arms, lifting you high into the air, flying to a hidden oasis in the endless desert. There, you would sit together watching the sun sink beneath the horizon - and the three moons rise in its place.

Ah…dreams.

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get out of my head

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💜✨️Look! Fulgrim has his eyes on you!✨️💜

Fulgrim courts the way rare birds do, spreading their wings and fanned tails before the chosen mate. In his eyes, you are already perfection itself, and words or hints are powerless here. Why shower you with empty compliments when he can show himself so that your heart makes the choice on its own?

He begins with himself. His manners, his appearance, his surroundings, even the very atmosphere he carries with him - all of it carefully arranged, like a stage prepared for a performance meant only for you.

In your presence he becomes even brighter, even more radiant, though one would think such a thing impossible. Every movement, every tone of his voice, every glance is part of an entrancing dance, as if he were speaking without words: “Look at me, see how I shine. See how I was made for you. Choose me - I long to be yours.���

He knows how to give, and he is never stingy. Jewels find their way to your neck, fabrics so light they seem almost weightless slip into your hands, dresses woven as though from pure light itself. But one day, he offers something more intimate than any gift before - your own likeness, carved by his hands into cold marble, an eternal reflection of your beauty.

You are already magnificent, and Fulgrim knows it. His will is simple - only to convince you that he is too.

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Imagine this..

You're a messenger for the human kingdom. Many would hate to be in your shoes.. traveling under the cruel sun and having to adventure out to the kingdoms that the common folk tremble under..

Yet all you see is entirely different worlds.

The Elf Kingdom.. is one of the oldest civilizations. With their long lifespan and sharpened minds, they have seen through wars and disasters. When you arrive through the gates, they already have everything prepared. The best stablehands for your horse. The best room and refreshments for your stay in the kingdom. The Elf King and his advisors value your words and input. Which is a very hard thing to accomplish for an admittedly ignorant group.

The Orc Tribes.. may seem like a gruff group of barbarians, but they value strength in all forms. When they hear you riding in, they know you've survived another grueling testament of patience and endurance. A private tent is set up for you, and your horse is taken well cared of. They take your stay quite seriously. The best of their warriors guarding your tent. The Orc Tribes know all too well of enemies trying to trail behind you for a moment to strike.

The Dwarf Camps.. is another one of the oldest civilizations. Many kingdoms do not interact with them due to their isolated lives in the quarries and mountains. But they appreciate the struggle you go through to make it up the rocky cliffs. Your horse gets the best horse shoes ever possibly made. Dwarven steel. Your gear gets fixed up as you discuss trade with the council of members. The Dwarfs do not let you leave until they know you and your horse are in the best possible shape.

When representatives of each land come visit your kingdom? They always pay you the greater respect than your ruling monarch. It's you who's traveled across blazing suns and chilling storms to keep them informed.

So it will be you each land fights for a chance to marry one day.

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✨️Corvus courts you!✨️

Corvus shows his sympathy in a rather unusual way. You begin to notice new little things appearing in your room: small mirrors, crystals on the shelves, and a whole array of trinkets – headbands, bracelets, necklaces, anything that sparkles or shines.

So Corvus basically courts you by gifting you shiny small things, each one found and chosen by him or his crows with care, making sure it’s something you would like.

And if he ever sees you wearing or keeping one of the things he secretly brought you, he’ll know it’s time to move on to the next stage of courtship – when he finally offers you something in person.

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MUTUALS DO THIS

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God forbid that a girl doesn't want to talk to anyone

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✨️💫Robu is tired 💫✨️

Your hubby is tired. You help him to release some tension. It goes faster than he expected. MDNI.

Roboute Guilliman becomes incredibly sensitive when he is tired.

The mighty mind of a Primarch can sometimes be worn down, though it is not easily done. His body, near inexhaustible, can also grow weary.

In this, Roboute is not unlike his brother - Mortarion. Though Roboute’s sensitivity is less intense, it remains constant, always simmering beneath the surface.

Touch him, caress him, knead the tension from his tired muscles, and you will hear quiet sighs and, later, even soft moans. Then, if you glance lower, you will see just how sharply his body reacts to such gentle pleasure.

Touch his chest, tease his tender pink nipples, and feel them harden beneath your fingers. You may even pinch them - and the Primarch will gasp, startled by the sudden jolt of pleasure.

Be cautious with his cock. Move slowly, carefully. In this state, Roboute releases quickly, and in great measure - something that later fills him with embarrassment.

“My Robu…” you whisper in his ear as he shivers from the warmth of your breath and the touch of your fingers against his skin.

A few strokes against his slick, pre-cum glazed tip, and Roboute climaxes - sudden, overwhelming, even by human measure - with a long, unrestrained moan.

He collapses back into the pillows, golden hair tousled, some strands sticking to his sweat-damp brow. Roboute pants, eyes shut tight as he tries to catch his breath. Shame flushes his cheeks. He knows you only care for him in this fragile state, yet he cannot help but feel embarrassed at such weakness - where Mortarion, by contrast, would simply melt into it

“Oh my… I’m tired, you know, I didn’t expect myself to finish so fast, I’m-” His excuses tumble out, but you do not listen - there is nothing to forgive.

You lie down beside him and meet his drowsy blue eyes.

He’s still trying to speak, to piece together excuses between shallow breaths. But his words fade, lost in the softness of the bed and the warmth of your presence.

When you reach out, brushing a strand of damp golden hair from his forehead, he flinches - not from pain, but from how fragile he feels under your touch. A Primarch, conqueror, the lord of half a galaxy and yet in this moment he seems impossibly young.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Roboute turns onto his side to face you. His arm slides around your waist, drawing you against the broad expanse of his chest. His breath still comes uneven, but calmer now, fanning softly against your neck.

You nod without speaking. In his drowsy blue eyes there is something you rarely see - gratitude, pure and unguarded. The kind that doesn’t belong to a Warmaster or a statesman, but to a man who has finally allowed himself to rest.

To be vulnerable.

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FATHER BROUGHT OUR FOOD WE FEAST TONIGHT

I am sososo happy that u opened request. I just love your stories and u must know that you along others are the main reason I started to post about 40k too. Hope you are having a wonderful start of the year!

Okay, so I've been itching (DYING) to see your take about this kinda idea I got brewing in my mind. Taking from your story of the Mother Legion of the Blood Angels where the astartes behave a bit yandere-ish towards the wife of their deceased Primarch and with the posibility of her waking a few months right after Guilliman paid his visit. What if Guilliman had a kinda intense crush with the beloved of Sanguinius but because she was already promised to the angel, he never dared to even do anything about it. Now that she's a widower and rely so much on him to sooth her grief besides to ask for advice to lead tbe Blood Angels, they spend so much time together that Guilliman start to feel bewiched by her again. Sadly, you're as dense as a neutron star and don't realize that his affections aren't simply In-Law platonical and the Blood Angels are already catching on the situation and they HATE IT.

Poor Guilliman, constantly stalked by the guilt of fancying the dearest of his death brother.

-Toto🌵

Author's note: I decided to do this in a headcanon format because I feel like I could touch on more things and i just couldn't think of a way to translate this into a fic that I liked the flow of. Relationships: Past Sanguinius/Fem!Reader and Guilliman/Fem!Reader crush Warnings: Emotional turmoil, Sanguinius' death, platonic yandere from the blood angels

In the past, Guilliman would've been extremely good at hiding his feelings regarding Sanguinius' spouse and none would be the wiser. He could keep all of it boxed away, and even after Sanguinius' death, he remains a stalwart force in your orbit until you are put in stasis.

He hadn't had much time to grieve it, if he was being honest. He had been so bent on chasing Fulgrim that barely any of it bubbled to the surface before he himself was in stasis.

When he awoke however, it didn't take long for so many long buried emotions to boil up and over when he realized not only were you still within the custody of the Blood Angels, you were awake.

He had already been in contact with Dante of the Blood Angels for a good time now, and so it hadn't taken much to see you again. Dante had actually been quite excited to introduce the Mother Angel to him, and had expressed how it must be nice for Guilliman and you to meet again.

It had been, but for him it ran far deeper than just a friendly reunion.

Your smile felt just as warm as it had been so many years ago. It was the same smile you had at your wedding to Sanguinius, and Guilliman swore he felt his heart leap within his chest. So many emotions he locked tight within himself easily as a younger man ten thousand years ago suddenly flooded back and broke every dam he had so meticulously built.

Any moment he had and could reasonably explain away, he would go to speak to you; Of those times so many years ago, of Sanguinius. You were kind to him, so sweet and happy, but tired. Guilliman could tell the Blood Angels put no small amount of reverence on you, and the both of you bonded in an odd sort of way over that feeling.

Many of those talks would run well past their end time, and multiple times did you have to have Blood Angels come to retrieve you, and you would issue a hasty farewell and kind smile meant for just him.

Those Blood Angels however would sometimes be less than kind to him. Cordial of course, but not much more. They were always weary of those around their Mother Angel, but it seemed some were growing wise to the primarch's growing attachment.

"I pray you don't wish to try and take her from us," Dante had one day dryly joked, and Guilliman knew that they on some level had become wise. His feelings for you had become so pathetically obvious, in comparison to before. He had been able to attend your wedding and watch you kiss another with not a flinch, but now he could barely keep himself together at the mere thought of you.

They began to push between you had him; Urge you to decline his requests for company. They would send Blood Angel captains to do bidding in your place. They grip on you were overprotective and tight.

You did always joke that you loved your sons, even these ones you didn't know yet, but that they were always so horribly paranoid.

Even Dante grew a bit more curt. His eyes would sharpen if Guilliman pried about you; Asking why he needed to know such personal things.

Guilliman vowed to find a way to have you by his side and avoid every possible nightmare his mind could think of. He could finally have the woman he'd wanted for ten thousand years, and more often than not he would spend his free time thinking of every single possibility with you at his side.

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Um...imagine being shared by Mournivals

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Price for coziness

Ciaphas Cain x Fem!Inquisitor!Reader

I'm sorry, I'll tag it with tags i usually use, so it reaches my ppl. Anyway here's my boy Cain

tws: age gap, sleep deprivation, prositution (kinda??)

The night is dark. But down in the underground barracks, it’s all the same.

The corridors are always empty, warm drafts from the vents wandering through them, carrying the smell of gasoline and alcohol - the fuel for the local lamps set at almost every bend and hanging beside each of the hundreds riveted steel doors.

Somewhere in the distance, there’s a low murmur and muffled laughter from officers and commissars - they can’t sleep at night, their routines wrecked by constant alarms. The last couple of months have been brutal; they could barely catch any sleep before collapsing from exhaustion. Even now, with a chance to make up the hours, they’ve gathered around the tables to tell stories and drink cheap amasec cut with medical alcohol.

The simple guardsmen, meanwhile, sleep like the dead.

Only now and then, somewhere in the distance, a door slams shut.

And all of this feels so out of place against these cold walls. Hot breaths, muffled moans of pleasure, the rhythm of thrusts - it is all far too alive, too imperfect for these old, shadowed vaults.

Behind one door, the silence breaks - heavy breathing, suppressed gasps, the faint creak of leather.

It is Commissar Cain, his gaze fixed upon you - a novice of the Ordo Inquisitorum - and in this hidden chamber, he does not let the moment pass him by.

The wall is cold at your back, his weight pressing you into the stone. Your breath comes uneven, eyes unfocused, lips parted. His gloved hands, crimson leather gleaming faintly in the lamp-light, hold you tight - guiding each motion with the same ruthless certainty with which he leads soldiers into battle.

And in the shadows, discipline gives way to desire.

You close your eyes, letting your body loosen just a little. The faint sting low in your belly fades, though the ache of stretched flesh lingers. Cain is, after all, a large man - in every sense of the word.

Pleasure here feels dulled, like every rare joy in this place, but it is still there - something long forgotten, now found again.

Sex here is rarely a language of love. More often it is a way to release tension, to banish anger, to ease the weight of pain.

Thrust after thrust, your body grows lighter, as one of his hands grips the curve of your thigh.

Your legs tremble - perhaps from the strain of bearing the full weight of the commissar in his uniform, perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from pleasure… or maybe simply from hunger.

His hot breath scorches your skin, sending shivers racing across it, pulling a muffled moan from your lips as his hands clutch your tender flesh hard enough that you know bruises will remain.

And yet, the man pressing you against the wall from behind could never be called rough. There is no cruelty in his movements - only desperation, tangled with exhaustion, and the relief of finally letting go.

You are both so terribly tired. Cain is worn down by the endless torment of orks, and you - by the constant presence of traitors and chaos cultists lurking on every side.

Your thoughts begin to drift, eyes half-closed - you catch yourself thinking that when this is over, you’ll wash yourself and collapse not onto a hard cot, but onto a real bed.

Yes, not so fancy. Yes, in a room barely larger than a closet. But soft - and yours alone.

As for its current owner, having paid you with his release and a few pleasant words, he will head back to the others at the table, sit with them until he can barely speak, and then sleep through the day - by which time every trace of you will already be gone.

Your wandering thoughts are broken by his low groan.

"Ah- now…"

You arch your hips slightly, squeezing your eyes shut to draw out the sensations. You know you won’t reach release yourself, but still - you want to wring at least something from this hurried, shame-tinged act.

You feel him throbbing inside you, the heat building until, at last, warmth spills deep into your belly, filling you from within.

It is, you have to admit, rather pleasant.

You don’t feel used. At least, no more than Cain himself does.

He pulls back from you.

A damp sound follows - a muted, quiet slap - and something thick and warm begins to slowly trickle down your thighs.

He pulls his trousers back on, wiping himself off with whatever comes to hand, then gently draws you close for a kiss.

It is soft, sincere against your damp, bitten lips.

"Same place, next time?" he asks, already ready to leave, his uniform back in place.

You nod silently, a faint smile playing at your lips.

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Thinking about the Colima Spider Vessel. they really captured her humble expression

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wooooughhhhuuuhghhhh…. Yandere Big E and darling + Aquila womb tattoo, make it gold too.

sorry

>.> Definitely would.

One big that wraps around? Or a lil’ one? Also, I feel like he try and use real gold on you too.

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