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[ms--lobotomy]

Do you have any headcanons/thoughts regarding to Perty's appearance? :0

Ahhh sadly i dont have much to offer about him!

He intrigues me believe me, he just hasnt clicked yet

However, have some old sketches:

I can only handle drawing so many bald men before i become physicaly ill, so the wires shall become hair-like

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@angronsjewelbeetle Hey look

Meaty

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Yall why is Horus so cute???? Like I know what he did (or what he’s gunna do??) but he is just so cute and joyful 😭 what the hell went wrong

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Woe, Heraclast smut upon ye.

Heraclast x Reader

CW: Pure smut, eating out the emperor's saint, A little rough because big lady is strong

There's no gender of the reader, but I wrote this in a gay way, Happy pride 🌈

Taglist: @saveatruckrideoptimusprime @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream

@scriberye @lisikk @artemisareia

Word count: 563

"Yes, right there-"

Heraclast gasped, grabbing your hair. You made a little grunt of pain as she forgot her strength, pressing your face harder to her pussy. 

You worked at her clit, running your tongue under it as you sucked rythmically. Her sheer overall size meant even sucking her clit was more like sucking a small dick, and you couldn't flick it with your tongue like a baseline's, you had to swirl around the tip.

She groaned, bucking her hips into your mouth again. You tried to focus on fingering her while remembering to come up for air and focus on sucking her off. Her muscles clamped rythmically around your fingers, reacting with aching strength around them when you managed to find the rough spot of skin inside her. 

You sucked eagerly on her clit again as you pressed 3 fingers against her g-spot, hooking them up into it. Her immediate reaction made you worry bones might break, as she rolled forward onto your hand hard, muscles slamming down around your digits. 

"Harder-" she groaned, and you had to take a second to gulp air before going back in. Harder? By the throne, you were only human. Steeling yourself, you pushed all your strenght into your arm, stroking the spot inside her and fighting her muscles as they tried to push and pull you in and out. 

You decided the best route was to treat her Custodes size clit like a cock, and bob your head on it as you suck, tongue burning with effort as you ran cirlces around it and stroked under the short shaft. 

Hera bucked her hips and ground against your face in time with your movements, clearly losing some control of her strenght as she robbed you of air accidentally and tugged your hair so hard you eyes watered. 

You doubled down, matching her pace, ignoring the ache in your fingers and jaw, and were rewarded with a sweet sharp cry from her. Muscular thighs gripped around your head, burying you against her spasming cunt as she groaned your name. Her internal muscles slammed around your abused fingers, and she ground her clit against your tounge as she came.

Just when you started to see stars in your vision, you were released, Hera collapsing in a satisfied puddle beneath you. You took a sharp breath as your vison cleared, and sighed, looking down at your happy dazed lover. 

Hera's chest rose and fell as she caught her breath, her green eyes hazy with pleasure and fluttering closed. Her cheeks and chest were flush deep red, rose tinting her gold bronze skin. She pushed her messy short hair from her face, biting her lip and smiling down at you between her legs. 

"Mm…. Sorry, Love." She murmured, voice thick still. 

You smiled, finally able to slide your fingers from her. You settled your head in the crook of her hip, against her thick raised thigh. 

"It is the risk that comes with going down on the Emperor's Saint." You replied, pressing a kiss to her lower stomach. 

She chuckled, a deep raspy sound from her earlier noisiness. Her hand fell from your hair and slid down your cheek to catch your chin. She gave you a heavy lidded look, her eyes glimmering with mischevious heat.

"Give me a moment to recover, and then it is your turn~" she purred.

[ms--lobotomy]

𝕺𝖋𝖋 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖉𝖌𝖊

Author's note: The first chapter is done! I really hope you guys enjoy this! Relationships: Damarion(Ultramarine OC)/NightLordSerf!Fem!Reader Warnings: Blood, Brief mentions to unconsensual sexual content, The sorts of things you'd expect being a Night Lord serf Word Count: 2911

Guilliman reads the report in his hands with an inhuman level of efficiency. His eyes gloss over each and every word darting from line to line, faster than any baseline could ever dream to process. Through this he remembers key pieces of information to form his conclusion once he finishes the hundreds and hundreds of lines within a few moments. Statistics, casualties, recorded vox chatter between astartes- all memorized.

-recovery of valuable data successful

-investigation of reason for ship’s abandonment conducted

-no signs of external attack. Suspected internal conflict

-survivor found

-plans for extraditing survivor to nearest habitable colony delayed

Guilliman diverts his eyes from the information in his hands looks to the marine in front of him. He stands stoic and at attention, hands behind his back as he stares at Guilliman and awaits a response. The primarch gives him a momentary once over, looking at the condition of his armor and the look on his face.

He’s young, but not that young. His scars are somewhat minimal, mostly surface level; A helmet is locked onto his belt not far from a basic issue combat knife. A standard, by the books Ultramarine. Nothing particularly special.

“This… survivor; You found them.”

The marine nods. Damarion; Guilliman remembers the name from the report. He spoke on vox that he found a survivor amongst the derelict ship after hearing screaming he soon located the source of. He shifts his weight from one ceramite boot to the other.

“Yes. A serf.”

Guilliman tenses and loosens his jaw, continuing to watch the marine intently. He raises a hand and rubs his cheekbone. He supposes this is the sort of mess he gets bestowed with whenever he dares to muster a thought of being bored. Curse it all, he should've perished the thought before they set off.

“A singular serf? They managed to survive whatever happened on that ship? I was informed it looked like a battlefield.”

Damarion takes a step closer and his hands drop from behind his back, going into a slightly more casual pose as he begins to explain.

“It looked as if the crew formed two separate hierarchies and slowly killed each other off. The rest either escaped or perished somewhere else.” Guilliman hums. Seems sound enough. The Night Lords are far from unfamiliar in terms of infighting, and the idea of them slowly killing each other during a power vacuum is not one that he would blink much of an eye at.

"We were in the barracks hall, one of the quarters had been locked from the outside. I heard yelling from the interior." That was shortly before they managed to get inside, and presumably found a disheveled, hungry serf. Locked inside for safekeeping by the owner, Guilliman would presume.

“Alright. What is his name?”

Guilliman’s brow furrows in confusion when the marine becomes… Nervous.

He shuffles a bit and it makes his armor plates clank against each other, pursing his lips. He suddenly has a bit more trouble looking his own primarch in the eyes, shifting from side to side.

“She… Doesn’t have one.”

The look Guilliman gives him only further heightens the marine’s unease. The two look at each other at odds in a sort of standoff, but not from a personal conflict. Guilliman hadn't expected the serf to be female; Even if there wasn't much reason why he shouldn't. He prods for a bit more information that wasn't in the report.

“What do you mean she doesn't have one?”

The marine clears his throat awkwardly, habitually covering his face with an armored fist for a moment.

“She claims that she doesn’t remember it. That they gave her a new name when they took her for a serf.”

Guilliman raises his eyebrows; He supposes that along with whatever she's encountered, one might be forced to no longer use their own name, or forget it outright. It would be one of the milder things he’s heard in terms of the abuses that baselines face when under the ‘ownership’ of the Sons of Kurze. It seems serf might not be the correct term. Guilliman attempts to pry even further.

“And what was that?”

Damarion suddenly regains any nervousness he’d previously lost, and opens and closes his mouth not unlike a fish suffocating on a beach. It takes a moment before he actually begins speaking again.

“With all due respect My Lord, I cannot repeat it to you.”

Guilliman now grows multiple more layers of confusion, quickly growing frustrated with the roundabout way this conversation is going. Why will one of his men answer an extremely simple question?

“You can’t?” The young marine swallows thickly enough that Guilliman notices his change in demeanor. “And why not?” His brow furrows as well.

“It was, something related to her reproductive organs.”

Guilliman doesn't recoil, but disgust quickly paints his face. He knew that Curze’s sons lacked honor, but it seems the surprises are neverending. He never hears the end of their horrors and abuses against human life; If anything, they only seem to grow like some sort of malignancy.

“Very well.” Guilliman takes a habitual glance towards the datapad, despite the fact that he’s long since memorized the information contained on it for this particular excursion. “And you denied the process to have her transported to Macragge?” Damarion curtly nods once more and returns his hands behind his back into a proper formal stance.

“I wish to take her on as my own serf.”

Guilliman wants to rub his temples and sigh. This all is a mess- But at least it will be this marine’s mess now. As long as he isn’t having to continue dealing with this, then the primarch supposes there is no harm then just letting this young marine have away with it and forgetting this all has happened. If something inevitably goes awry, one of his captains will deal with it.

“Very well. I do not have the time to deal with a singular serf. if this is what you wish, by all means. Just keep her out of trouble.”

Damarion nods. He can work with that.

He hopes.

Leaving Guilliman's office with a respectful bow, the first thing he does is return to his own quarters- knowing you'll still be inside.

Half of the reason that he decided on taking you on as a serf was ever since finding you, you've latched to him incredibly hard. But at the same time, you're horribly frightened of him. It’s as if since he’s established he won’t immediately kill you, he’s proven to be the safest option. But the Night lords surely instilled a heavy, all-consuming fear of astartes in you, and everything about him down to his smell sets you off; It doesn't take much to send you cowering into the corner as if he is going to wring your neck.

You are now his serf, and he will expect a particular decorum from you, but the last thing he wants is for you to fear him.

When he enters his quarters he hears you jump, eyes wide with fear that only calms a bit when he's someone you recognize. The rag is tight in your grip, and it takes him to notice his quarters is immaculate in comparison to how he left it. Every corner is cleaned, the cot blankets are refolded and the floors are spotless. Your voice is still a bit scratchy when you speak.

“Hello Master.”

He winges a bit at the title. Lord was acceptable among the Ultramarines and commonly used by the serfs, but many preferred just their rank or family name. It was something they were used to being called. Master had a connotation to it that he wasn't fond of, particularly when coming from a sickly serf currently on her hands and knees cleaning the floor like a single spot found would spell her own demise.

“Get up off the floor.”

He gestures bluntly, wanting to get you off of sitting on the cold metal floor. You keep refusing to sit on anything else.

But instead of getting up you just cower, looking up at him worried as if you were about to get beaten into submission.

“I'm sorry, I cleaned everything and I didn't want to dirty it.”

The room is indeed spotless, he's surprised you managed to do so much in such a short amount of time. Not that there is much in his quarters to clean; Ultramarines tend to forgo trophies and excessive keeping of things that do not provide any worth to them. The room now reeks of harsh cleaning chemicals that burn his nostrils, and he notices the skin on your hands is inflamed. You've surely been in here this whole time, just toiling away. Damarion doesn't even remember a time you've left his quarters; You're far too frightened to do such a thing so soon after being brought back from the derelict vessel.

“You did fine. Now get up off the floor.”

You slowly rise up, fiddling with the front of your new clothes. Shrinking like you're prepared for a beating, Damarion feels a bit ill at the idea that such a thing was a regular occurrence for you. You still have bruises that he’s noticed already, ones so new that only recently had they begun to fade.

Wilting like a flower, your head lowered into your shoulders and your voice quiets enough that his ears need to prick up in order to hear it.

“I'm so sorry, I'm just a stupid-” He groans and raises his own voice, cutting you off.

“Quiet with that woman, you're fine. Just sit on the cot.”

You suddenly begin look at him like he just asked you to dance. Your eyes dart around his face, and he feels as if you’re checking to see if he’s laid out a trap for you. Not being taken for his word is aggravating him, but he holds it in.

“What? But that's yours…”

Quickly reaching his wits end, he attempts to find more rope in it anyhow and hold strong. Had you been anyone else he would’ve long since pushed you off, but he just…

He can't get visibly upset. The last time he did you cowered like he was going to kill you, and he would rather not see that again. He doesn’t like the feeling of fear like that; From assuming his so monstrous that he would crush you simply for annoying him.

He put this on himself. He supposes this is his punishment for his impulsivity.

“Yes it is, but you can sit on it. Were you only allowed on the floor?”

You nod. He should’ve assumed as such. What callous tyrant would beat his serf within an inch of their life enough times that they now cower in fear at any astartes, with the wounds to prove it, but allow them to sit on his cot? Much to his surprise, your voice raises a bit and you provide a bit of context to your odd behavior.

“My master only let me onto the cot when he wanted to use me.”

Damarion resists the slightly hot feeling in his mouth at such a casual admittance. Use you… the implication was easy to understand. You look at him blankly unaffected by such a thing, before skittering to sit on the edge of the cot.

“Is that what you want from me?”

He sees you reach for your the top of your robes and start to undo it, and jolts towards you before he can fully register the affect of such a quick motion. It causes you to skitter backwards in fear; Your clothes are partly undone and bunch awkwardly.

A pair of marines passes by his open door during this, seeing him reaching for a serf cowered in fear and attempting to undress herself.

“Do not-!”

He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. He attempts to remember his training, remember the many times his superiors told him to keep hold of his temper as he straightens up.

The marines pass. He knows he'll be hearing from his superiors about this. He’s already gotten in trouble enough times, whats another he supposes.

“Do not do that again. There is no need to undress yourself.”

He's going to need to somehow get a second cot. Or by Terra, at least a blanket for you to lay on. He would feel like a monster for making a sad, beaten serf sleep on the cold metal floor.

The other serfs might be able to get you something, perhaps.

Going near the serfs quarters had been an odd affair for him; He's never seen the place. When he ordered what he wanted done, it hadn't taken long for someone to inquire about the reason.

“You are the one with the serf from the Night Lords ship?"

He didn't confirm or deny it- he had no desire to do such a thing to a random serf. Though the confirmation that the news is spreading is, abit concerning.

Of all the things he would be known for, it wouldn't be his valor it would be for his...

Wrapped tightly in the tattered remains of your robes he carries you cradled in one arm- the other holds his bolter. He doesn't look down at you, and simply continues forward as he follows his squad. They all look at him curiously.

...Moment of impulsivity.

Satisfied with this success, Damarion goes to have his armor removed. This mission was the last of his current rotation, so he's due to be removed. It's a long process, and doing so gives him plenty of time to think. The mechanicum that begin the process pay no mind to his unfocused eyes, his body going through the habitual motions as piece after piece is taken from him.

He regrets doing this. Taking you.

You would do better tossed in with the other serfs. His eyes stare of at nothing as he feels the electrical jolts of his armour disconnecting from his armouring suit. For a brief second it feels like he's missing a part of him, but that feeling fades after a moment each piece is removed.

They always said he had a temper. Was impulsive; Too brash for an Ultramarine. He made a split second decision to the Primarch himself and now there's no way he can go back.

You'll settle with time.

Baselines might not be as stoic as them, but you're flexible, adjustable. And this ship will surely prove more pleasing than whatever it was like with the Night Lords. It won't be long until you begin to behave normally. Like a frightened animal, you just need a bit to realize you're safe.

You had acted surprised when he had lights in his quarters, and whenever he returns to you, he finds them off. He's seen you squint almost as if your eyes hurt because of the lights, and Damarion assumes you spent much of your time in at pitch black.

He makes a discontented sigh at no one in particular once his armouring suit is peeled from him and detaches from his ports. His skin almost feels odd now that it touches the stagnant air, and that brief, uncomfortable feeling of now being out of his armor lingers for a few minutes before it fades. What remains however, is his desire for a shower. The stench of him is now unsealed and he wants for not much more than to not stink like a sewer. That becomes his first order of business once the Mechanicum are finished.

Once he is clean and covered in his casual linens, he returns to his quarters to see you sitting on the ground again, and the spare bedding he had requested is sitting folded on his cot. You seem to have made no attempt to touch them, and if anything, you seem to be actively avoiding even looking at them. He gestures vaguely.

“...They are for you.”

The way your voice pitches when you look at him gives him an odd feeling.

“Really?”

You hesitate grabbing them for a moment after he nods, before you finally pull them off his cot and make almost a sort of nest on the floor. He watches for a moment out of just sheer curiosity, before throwing his weight onto his cot.

He is able to slow his own brain instantly and soon after fall asleep, though unbeknownst to him you stay awake for a good bit longer. You watch him intently to make sure he's really asleep, fiddling in the corner on your blanket. The idea of sleeping in the same room is still unsettling. The dim candles that are lit provide just enough light to see most things, but not strain your eyes.

Only once you know he's asleep, do you attempt to get some sleep yourself. The fear still remains, an astartes is in here your body is tight like a spring, but eventually the fatigue takes over and everything finally goes black.

[ms--lobotomy]

Got bored. Decided to draw my version of the boys just to see what they look like.

[ms--lobotomy]

Veridyan and Cassia In the comic 「sisters of battle」 by marvel.

they are just so cute together😭😭I saw no fandom so I did this.

totally recommend this comic😖.

[ms--lobotomy]

Happy Pride

Summary: A strange lady in the Conqueror takes an interest in you. Word Count: 1443 Content Warnings: Dubcon or at least rough sex, F/F, tentacles, boob stuff, blood, mommy kink if you squint?, praise, degradation, tears, squirting, the works, no beta we die like Angron's innocence Image Credit: @squishyowl

The Conqueror was safer inside than out. Sometimes, a strike from outside would rattle the entire ship. Others, a particularly disturbed World Eater would roam the halls, yet there would always be a broom closet in just the right spot. You were not fond of your job, but you had a begrudging respect for the ship that kept you safe from the horrors of the rest of the galaxy. 

By then, you’d thought you were going crazy when you saw glimpses of a humanoid figure out of the corner of your eye. They always looked the same, a middle-aged feminine figure; but when you turned, she was nowhere to be found. You’d feel your heart race when you saw her, rather, when you thought you saw her. And you swear your foot would sink into the ship from time to time. 

No matter. You’d tie your hair back and get on with your day as normal. Day in and day out, you’d push a broom around, cleaning blood and guts and gore. That was until…

“Serf!” an Astartes called.

“Yes?” you responded, your head snapping around. Despite years of experience surviving on this ship, you could never quite shake the habit of taking Astartes at their word.

He was tall, taller than most of his battle brothers. His helmet ran red with blood, as did most of the Legion, but there was something about the serf-sized handprint on it, fresh and shiny. He grabbed a hold of his chainaxe, and the familiar sound of it revving hit your ears. You stepped back. The wall behind you was solid.

“The nails bite,” he said, “forgive me for what I must do--”

The axe swung at you. You knew you weren’t going to live long on the ship, but you hadn’t expected your death to be that soon. He was big enough, you couldn’t escape to either direction. In a last ditch effort to survive, you pressed yourself up against the wall. And then you fell through it.

“FUCK!” you heard him call from the other side before you hit the floor. The concrete was solid against your bones. At least it wasn’t concentrated anywhere, you reasoned with yourself. You turned over, looking around the room. It was one of the engine rooms--somewhere that powered the ship. And right in the middle was the lady you’d seen time and time again.

Her features had wrinkled with age, her hair streaked with gray. You could barely make out a large handprint on her shirt. Her expression was neutral, bordering on stern, with a pronounced crease between her eyebrows. The lower half of her body was fused with the ship below her, fleshy and mutated and nonhuman. 

“Who are you?” you asked, dumbfounded. 

“My name is Lotara Sarrin,” she said, eyes fixated on you as you got up. 

You felt a tentacle slink around your ankle, sliding your leg further towards the center of the room. You fought it, ankle struggling against your restraint, but ended up falling flat on your ass. She continued, her brown eyes staring through your soul.

“I’ve seen you, serf, the way you scurry around the ship. It’s…” she trailed off, a lump forming in her throat. “It’s enchanting, really.”

“M-me?” you asked, choking the lone syllable out.

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

You nodded as the tendrils crept up your leg, underneath your dress and caressing your thigh. “What do you want from me?” you asked softly, shuddering at its- her- touch.

Lotara pulled you closer to her, close enough that she could bend down and press her thumb under your chin. She tilted your head up, your eyes wide and your heart pounding in your chest. You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, she pressed her mouth onto yours, her tongue slipping into you.

Your voice was muffled as you made a noise somewhere between a scream and a moan. She pushed her hand to your back as one tendril just barely missed your clit. Her spare hand, rough with scars, ripped your shirt off of your torso. 

“Mmnh-!”

She pulled back, her tongue longer than it was supposed to be as it left your mouth. She looked up and down your soft, nude form, greedily taking you in. You panted while she paused. You tried to reach a hand up to yourself, but her tendrils had grasped your wrists, pinning them behind your back.

“Hmm,” she said, sizing you up. She ran a hand along your bare breast, just barely touching you. You shivered in the cold air. 

“What are you-?”

She lifted you up by your hair, grabbing the braid in the back and pulling your chest up to her mouth level. With her other hand, she properly took a breast in your hand, and began to suck on the other. She gazed at you while you threw your head back and moaned like a whore, tendrils at your wrist guiding your hands to press them into her hair. You wrapped your legs around her, either guided by her or by your own volition, as she bit into your nipple.

You yelped as pain shot through your shuddering body. “Lotara-!”

When you thought you couldn’t take anymore, when the nagging feeling in your cunt was too much, she moved to your other side. You looked down at your aching nipple, the one she was now squeezing in her hand. She’d drawn blood. 

Mindlessly, you ground onto her torso, stretch marks on your stomach and breasts apparent even in the low lighting. Lotara moaned into you, pressing her whole face into your tit. She was moaning, now, something incoherent, as she loomed over you and tilted you back.

“My… my princess,” she moaned, one eye open as she bit down again. 

You didn’t understand the feeling, the warmth that radiated through your body as she said that, but you relaxed in her grip. Your hands gripped her hair, no tendrils at your wrists, as she stuffed a finger into your greedy cunt. 

“I’m--?”

She lapped at the blood trailing down your breast, looking up at you as if she were drunk on it. She stuffed another finger into your cunt. You yelped, fingers curling in her hair, as she made a motion in you as if beckoning someone over. 

“Is my princess ready to be opened wide?” she asked, as a tentacle pulled you off of her waist. You whined, pawing at her, her fingers wet with your juices already. She put them up to her mouth, licking them, while a fat tentacle pushed at your hole. Tears stained your eyes.

“Please, please, I’m not--”

Lotara heeded none of your cries as the tentacle pushed its way into you. You cried out as she held your wrists behind you, one hand enough to pin both of them. 

“Look down,” she said, as she punished your aching hole even deeper.

You complied. There was a bulge in your belly, not as if you were pregnant but the tentacle had made itself known as it impaled you deeper and deeper on it. Lotara sighed contentedly as your breasts bounced up and down, completely helpless on her. 

“My, I’ve always wanted to see you like this,” she cooed, pressing another kiss to your mouth. You moaned into it, letting her slide her tongue down your throat as if she were tonguefucking your face. Before you could choke, she pulled away. “What a pretty little whore, aren’t you?”

Tears streaked down your face as the tentacle pounded away at you. “I… am,” you said, your voice low and dejected. 

“And are you going to put on a show for me? Show me how little whores like you are supposed to be fucked?”

Her hand left your wrists, and you lowered a finger to your clit, rubbing softly. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you cupped your breast with your other hand. Loud moans left your mouth. Your tight hole squeezed the tentacle fucking you. Lotara grinned, leaning back with her hands behind her head as you squirted on the tentacle, crying out incomprehensibly. 

“Mm,” she said, as the tentacle deposited a load of… something into you. You felt it, warm in your belly. It slowed down in you, eventually retreating back into the mass of tendrils where Lotara’s legs were supposed to be. You slumped onto her, arms around her neck, and she patted you awkwardly. You panted into her neck, and she sighed. 

“What…?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“You will be back,” she said, holding your naked body onto her. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

[ms--lobotomy]

Guilliman, pinning you to a wall: I got the Wordle in 3 guesses

[ms--lobotomy]

She Corvus on my Corax until I.... she Corax on my Corvus until I destroy my geneseed

Summary: Corvus has a bit of a guilty wank Word Count: 761 Content Warnings: NSFW, sad bird hours, size kink, religious (?) guilt, you really dont know whether its requited or not, an extreme amount of cum, no beta we die like Corvus's hopes and dreams Image Credit: @squishyowl

Corvus snuffed the lone candle illuminating his room. The orange light was gone in an instant, leaving the room in darkness. Sadly, he could see through it. He positioned himself on the bed, a luxury he had very recently let himself partake in. The sheets were some simple things from Deliverance, comfortable enough. 

It was disgusting. There was nothing wrong with it, per se, but the warmth and comfort was too alien for his liking. He looked at the ceiling for a moment, dark eyes blank and his bare chest rising and falling. 

It was at that moment when he reached for the lotion. He had to go about asking for it in a discreet manner, telling his sons that it was for a rash and looking at them like only a Primarch could. Nobody questioned him after that. 

The head of his paper-white cock was already leaking with precum as he pictured you in his mind. He felt himself begin to sweat. Matters of the flesh were weak; they were disgusting! Yet here you were, in his mind, so small and delicate on him. His hands reached out for you, as if you were there. He bit his lip. No.

By the Throne, you’d be so small on him. He’d even trimmed his cock for the occasion--not completely, mind you, but enough to fit his idea of presentable.

He rubbed lotion on his cock, imagining your tiny hands on him instead of his own. Your skin would be so soft against him, your mouth tiny and wet and welcoming. He thought of you lapping up every last drop; his precum, and then more, and then his cum for real once he finally spilled in you. He’d have a hard time keeping your teeth intact if you were to… oh, how disgusting it was, that he would jump to such conclusions! 

He shivered as he thumbed at the head. A shiver went down his spine, and his face scrunched up. He imagined your tongue on his cock instead, your puppy-dog eyes looking up at him. How shy you would be on him, how gorgeous-! 

He couldn’t help but buck his hips up into his hand. At that moment, he was glad there was nobody around his room, because the moan he let out was absolutely loathsome. But he had to. The thought of you bouncing on his cock, your tight little hole greedily taking it in while he rubbed your nipples with his thumbs only made him rub himself harder.

Who were you to do this to someone, he thought, reaching his second hand down to his balls and fondling them gently. He immediately tensed up as the words entered his brain. No, no, that’s a human being, he admonished himself. His hand started to work him a little bit slower. Respect your serf.

Then why are you pleasuring yourself to the idea of sullying them?

“Gross,” he said, between moans. “I can’t…”

One of his eyes opened, and he propped himself up on the bed with the hand he used to work his balls. His cock was throbbing on its own now, begging to release loads of cum into you. But you were far, far away. Those pretty eyes, that perfect face, the petal-soft skin of your ass and the enchanting shape of your thighs…

Without noticing, he sped his hand up. He let out a whorish moan, resigning himself to the obvious. He grit his teeth as he felt a warmth rise through his body, a warmth he wasn’t made to endure, a flaw in his geneseed but a pleasure nonetheless. 

“Gah--!”

And before he knew it, a white, viscous fluid spilled from him, covering his pelvis and the sheets surrounding him. His hand slowed down, covered in the salty liquid when it finally stopped. Sweat beads dotted his skin. His heart sunk into his stomach and his cum sank into the fabric. He shook, his chest heaving. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it.

So, there he lay. Covered in his own cum, you dancing through his mind. You taunted him, through no fault of your own. You, you…

If he hadn’t felt disgusting before, he was filthy now. With his clean hand, he shakily reached out for the tissues. Had he been more forthcoming with his feelings, you could be laying in bed right now next to him. But that wasn’t the galaxy he lived in. Unless…!

His mind was made up. His breathing steadied. In the morning, he would ask you on a proper date.

and then he cuts his bangs with safety scissors

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

[ms--lobotomy]

zerking my horits silly style

Summary: You wake up in Horus's bed. Whatever happened? Word Count: 715 Content Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Intox, Dub(?)con, Primarch Aura Fuckery, i don't know bro Image Credit: @squishyowl

Your eyes blinked open. The first thing you saw through blurry vision was the light sifting through the curtains, dappling the room in golden sunlight. A soft bed rested at your side, and a massive, warm weight lay behind you and at your other side. Your body stiffened. A low, resonant chuckle came from behind you-- one that you recognized immediately.

“Horus-?” you asked groggily, moving one hand up to wipe your eyes.

“No need to say it twice,” he said, his hand cupping your belly and pulling you closer to him. His chest was hairy against your back. You couldn’t deny the warm feeling bubbling up in you, hand precariously close to the underside of your breast. His large face nuzzled into the back of your neck, the feeling of his nose pressing against you sending shivers down your spine. He exhaled. His breath was warm on your back.

“Horus,” you mumbled weakly again, forgetting to heed his words. Your head pounded, and you put a hand to it as you tried to remember what got you here.

“What is it, little beloved? Do we have a problem?” Horus asked, his voice gentle against the back of your neck. 

“What… happened?” you mumbled in an attempt to turn over towards him. As you tried in vain, you felt a second arm slink underneath you. His hand had found its way to your outer thigh. It trailed up and down against soft, uncovered skin. What…?

“You don’t remember?” he mused. “You were really drunk last night, you know? I took you to bed myself. Wanted to make sure you stayed out of trouble.” You heard a small smile on his lips as he talked, his chest rising and falling against your back, the top of your legs. He chuckled, and your body bounced against him.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you attempted to make sense of last night. Horus was nice enough to pour you a few glasses of wine, but a few glasses shouldn’t have…

“Heh,” Horus chuffed against you, “don’t tense up, little lady. Your clothes are on the table. You took them off, you know? It was a whole thing last night.”

“What…?” you asked, in disbelief. You looked at the table in front of you. There were a few unmarked, opaque containers and an ornate lamp. In other words, nothing of the fancy white dress of your planet.

“Where…?”

“Oh, it’s behind me,” Horus said, pressing you closer to him. “Rest up a bit, won’t you? Last night was rough on you. I had to step in, keep you safe.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. Despite your best efforts, your heart thrummed in your chest while the events you remembered of the past night flashed through your head. Negotiations were going in your favor, you swore-! In the finest silks your planet could offer, the two of you talked over drinks about what would become of your planet. The Imperium of Man, they said. Your memory was a little hazy after two or three drinks. Was Imperial wine supposed to affect the human mind like that?

“I told you. Rest.”

There was something different about his voice this time. You felt it through your body, flowing through you like the blood in your veins, tight in your throat as your heart thumped even louder in your chest. It felt like he was taking his soul in his hands, grasping it tightly. At any moment, it would explode into pieces.

You shook in his arms. Any words that would’ve left your mouth evaporated into thin air. Any tension in your body quickly dissipated, giving way to a deep sense of calm. You breathed in deep, sucking in the still air of the room. Still, something nagged at the back of your head. 

“I…” you started, your head pounding. A lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed. 

“Good girl,” he replied. His hand grasped your soft breast, cupping it gently and brushing over your nipple with his thumb. His other trailed its way between your thighs. You shuddered, but he paid no mind. Instead, he hummed softly. He pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck as he searched for your clit.

“Now just relax, and let me have you.” 

“Okay.”

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

[ms--lobotomy]

@ms--lobotomy thank you

[ms--lobotomy]

Every space marine legion or chapter with “wolves” in the name must sleep in big cuddle piles. I do not make the rules

[ms--lobotomy]

Thinking about Calliphone x Reader

[ms--lobotomy]

Do you want to dm you about commissions?

Please! Dm @sistersofthelobotomy and I will be back to you ASAP.

[ms--lobotomy]

Hi are your commission open?

That's a good question! I've stopped advertising them for the time being because I'm busy with work and real life, but I can most definitely hear you out. Thanks!

[ms--lobotomy]

Lobotomised Beetle Productions presents; To hell with common sense with this one, boys.

Thank you to the amazing person who co-wrote this, @ms--lobotomy

Contents: pwp, cumflation, belly bulge, size kink, tonguefucking of the kissing variety, hemipenes, a bit of praise, reader gets called pet, daemon Fulgrim, AFAB Reader, OOC Fulgrim.

Word count: 983

Tagging;

@wyn0rrific

@zackprincebooks

@solspina

@belovedhades

@sharenadraculea

@soosmain

@undeaddream @justfreakynothingelse @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

Fulgrim's fangs glittered in the soft lighting, his enormous, clawed fingers curling around the small of your back, "come, little one, relax a little," he coos, you gasping as his massive cock presses into you, it hurts for a split second before Fulgrim coos and brings one of his other hands up to guide you down his cock, a knot curling in your gut as he presses in past it. Logically, you *know* there is no way he can fit, that it should hurt, but...there is no pain, just coiling pleasure as it bulges in your belly. Fulgrim hisses, his forked tongue flicking out between painted lips and deadly teeth, tasting your pleasure as one of his cocks stretches you out. He coos, murmuring something in a tongue you don't recognise as his whole body shifts, a smooth movement as he lays back against gargantuan silk pillows, his sleek scales shimmering in the light as he moves, two of his arms resting behind his head, one curled around you and the other languidly stroking the cock that isn't buried almost to the hilt inside of you. His wings are splayed out lazily behind him, propped up against the silk and he chuckles as you stare unwittingly up at him.

"Does my darling want something?" He asks, bending down in a fluid motion that makes your head spin, "a kiss, perhaps?" He smiles, eyes narrowing as he uses a finger to nudge your head back, carefully pressing a kiss to your lips. You sigh out a breathy noise and he hums, his tongue pressing past your eager lips, curling around your mouth to taste you and then sliding slickly down your throat. He garble out a moan and he curls both hands to cup you, shifting his tail up so that you're closer. When he finally pulls away to let you breathe, drool slips down your chin. "There now, is my sweet little pet going to stay on my cock?" He asks, pulling you up towards the tip slowly, you yelp, legs twitching and he stops, one thumb stroking gently over the taut bulge in your gut.

"Good pet," he smiles, leaning back again, "now, ride me," his fangs glint again as he tips his head back, sliding you smoothly back down his cock until your trembling frame is resting on his pelvis. He gestures gently with a hand, and you lean forward as much as you can, resting your hands on his soft scales to support you as you slowly raise your hips as much as you can before dropping them back down again with a groan. Fulgrim's other cock twitches behind you, brushing against your back, "that's it, just like that," he smiles, watching as you struggle to move, the bulge in your belly pushing at your limits as he groans, hips bucking a little beneath you, bouncing you effortlessly. "What a good little pet you are," he purrs as you gurgle, unable to think, your cheeks flushed fever-hot as you weakly squeeze around him, trembling. His tail writhes under you as he slowly coils himself with you somewhat safely settled on his lap, speared upon one of his smooth, scaled cocks. "Squeezing for me, pretty?" He smiles, one hand loosely curling around your entirety, clawed fingers brushing delicately against the obscene bulge in your belly. You whimper when he presses just that tiny bit more with the pad of his finger and he groans, nearly rattling your body with it. You wheeze wetly and he coos as he curls his fingers a little more and, as gently as he can, starts to move you on his cock, "softest little cock-sleeve I've had," he murmurs, eyes glimmering as he takes in the sight of you, "aren't you, pet?" he twitches inside of you and you gasp out a breathy little "yes!" at the movement, his cock slick with - at this point, you're not entirely sure *what*.

His other cock is twitching against your back, hot and smooth and a lovely shade of purple, almost iridescent - you'd be more inclined to admire the beauty of it if you weren't so distracted by the one buried in your gut. "Cum, sweet thing," Fulgrim says, bending himself almost in half in an entrancing display of serpent-like flexibility, curling all four of his arms around you and in an almost suffocating manner, cocooning you both in his wings, "cum," he murmurs, breath brushing your cheeks, close enough for you to see the scales on his cheekbones, shimmering faintly in the darkness, and the moles that scatter down his face and torso like tiny gems, "decorate my scales, mm? Let me see how much shinier you can make them, pet," he whispers, his voice like velvet and black silk, deep and luxurious, coiling around you and squeezing until your breath comes in short gasps as you squirt around him with a desperate noise. Distantly you hear him groan, a deep, rumbling noise that shakes you to your core, making you gasp with overstimulation, and then, he cums.

His cock throbs within you, filling you until your belly starts to swell, his thick cum gushing out of you as he pulses in you, your belly growing round and heavy. You tremble, unable to move. He coils himself again, a glittering, swirling movement that makes your drooping head spin, drool dripping down your chin as he lets out a deep sigh and relaxes, "well done, my precious little pet," he breathes, making no move to remove you from his cock. "Stay, sweet thing," he tells you, though you really are in no state to do otherwise. He chuckles softly as he wipes away the spit from your chin and bottom lip with his thumb, tracing his claw along your soft lips, smiling when you open your mouth slightly. "Rest, my sweet," he murmurs, "I'll take care of you."