An Astartes or Primarch rutting into you, never pulling out when he spills his load deep inside of you. It's impossible to be so, but this feels like a deliberate attempt to get you pregnant. He keeps on grunting or whining about how much he'll fill you with his seed and that he will not stop until your belly became round from his doing.
He keeps on reminding you to just take him as deep as possible, and then perhaps beyond that too. Either way, your thoroughly gaped hole seldom could produce enough slick to entertain his girth stretching you to the limit, if it even produced any at all. But his seed more than made up for it, producing far more than what could be spilled out. You felt your hips spread as if you'd be giving life already, but no. He does. He will.
He will seed you like the field of possibilities he thought you were. He will seed you and he will tend to you and you will bear the fruit of his efforts one day.
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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."
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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?"
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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) .
Another NSFW idea and it's being edged by one of your Astartes' creations
...to finally make you shut up about him coming so late and leaving you sleeping n unsatisfied.
Gn reader btw so it's for everyone :D
Originally that's yet another Forrix thing once he's been allowed to settle down, buuut I feel this applies also to Ferrus Manus and Iron Hands. Perhaps the general idea even more to them lol
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You were bound, a large piece of cloth loosely blanketing you as you silently beg him to finally lay his massive hands on you. But he would not because he's got work to do. Approving blueprints, simulating it's statics to the last bolt, the constant whirring of machines and the soft hum of the CNC machine not far away from you having long dulled any thoughts away from this workshop you may have had. You are to be wielded by him in whatever way he pleased, and today, he wished you to wait. To beg. To ache, to curse and despair over the long hours he has to treble shoot, strategize and organize the logistics for his Legion's supply chain. So that you may tease him about him making you wait for so long no more.
He's written down every lewd thought he had about you, each time his cock twitched inside his ever restricting body glove, the precise timing on it and plotted a rather simple machine in the mere minutes of spare time he allowed himself to have alone.
It would send electric jolts through you, just small enough so you would not fall asleep. It would gently feel up your sides and have a small rounded edge wedge itself between your thighs, teasing you with it's soft nubs. Furthermore, an old, heavily modified auxiliary helmet provided you with the odd feel of something wet enter your mouth every now and then. Sometimes it seemed to resemble a tongue, slow yet unrefined movements. Sometimes it seemed to resemble... his own cock. Without the irregularities in it's twitching, nor it's characteristic taste of him. It was a poor imitation of him slowly setting your body up into being prepared for penetration. At the start, when you were still able to form thoughts like these, you could swear that he made the soft bodies teasing your body intentionally this... unsatisfactory.
But now, right now, you begged, drool running your chin, tears starting to pool up in the back of your helmet. But he wouldn't hear you.
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Something like that, yeah. This is both Iron Hands and Iron Warriors coded I may make two versions out of this lololol (should I find my motivation)
For Astartes that really want to slam their dick into their baseline with full force but can't lest they die:
responsive sex toys! For the Astartes: an automaton that's just Astartes proof enough that it'll not instantly break. Also included: pressure, temperature and strain sensors beneath some sort of synthetic skin.
For the baseline: something like a bodyglove that not only transfers it's own data right into the orifice replica but also recieves a weakened signal from the automatons sensors. Addable sections for a replica of the Astartes cock to each orifice desired. The replica can even pulse and swell if such a movement is detected within the automatons replicae of the baselines own orifices.
Optional additions are: testicle replicae, synthetic hair, the ability to ejaculate (lubricant), replicae of Astartes own orifices for a baselines cock, options for a threesome with the replica.
Contents: deepthroat, dildo (anatomical replica), gagging, small show of strength, almost passing out, wiping tears and drool as a sort of aftercare?, mentions of imperial army
Warnings: themes of rape in the end, everything they do is consensual though!
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You couldn't take it all, never was what you thought when the Astartes showed you a standard sized space marine cock; quite a bit girthier and around a third longer than of the average baseline human, he explained.
How did you agree to this? Why did he accept your odd request with the look of excitement on his jawboned face? Why did he offer you to help you with your touch starved, cock hungry malaise? You didn't know, and you couldn't know, for your body longed for air flowing freely into your lungs, but it's pathway - your throat - was too occupied with trying to not get any fluid into your already slightly pressed windpipe. Tears streamed down your face as your poor, stretched throat struggled to take in a replica of one of his battle brothers cocks. Just soft and bendable enough to not seriously scrape you, you still involuntarily gripped the anatomic model turned toy with a force that had long made your mouth water, drool running down your lips as his thrusts slowed down.
"Quite a sight." he noted, the metallic fabric voven into his nanotight body glove seeming to glisten with the increasingly humid air. You could only bring in a small gagging noise, but the Astartes would estimate by your facial expression that you most likely gave out a whimper. Gazing into your eyes trying to focus in between the full shadow of your sweet tormentor and the bright flood lights typical for a medbay's chamber, something rustled beneath the both of you and he brought what he found to your straining face. A towel. He stopped thrusting into your poor throat completely and just let his index and middle finger dance around it's silicone base. With his free hand, he started to wipe your face from all the filth you couldn't keep confined - first the eyes from their tears, both wet and dried. Something in you started to relax, but that relaxation pushed the length you could barely contain even deeper into you.
You actively choked now, your throat latched onto the silicon replica in a failed attempt to push it out. The Astartes, even with one or two fingers lightly dancing on it was too strong. You pleaded with your hands for a release, but it wouldn't come. The tears kept streaming, and you feared with each second where he took his time wiping away the tears, the drool and the snot that you might lose consciousness. Only when your face was completely clean and your limbs were trying to hold on to something out of desperation and you started to feel the headache of a lack of air did he take a hold of the replica and started to release you inch by inch.
He placed the towel into an empty bin while you were occupied with not letting the mouthfuls of saliva building in your mouth choke you once more, and once it didn't block you from forming noises anymore, you... moaned. Whimpered. Slid the pad of your tongue across each veiny surface it could touch. Relief. You weren't dying anymore. And the gratitude in having your Lord abstain from doing too much to you - you were but one of myriads of serfs - filled you with a strange sense of joy.
And of longing.
"So I was wrong. It wasn't just a torture method." noted the junior apothecary as if he just said something that wasn't unsettling. Once only the tip of the replica remained on your lips, and you've swallowed enough to not choke, you then felt a great sadness wash over you. Did he perhaps ... witness examples of this 'torture method'? Did he even understand the gravitas and horror of rape? Did he perhaps want to enact the scenario on you without him feeling bad about it? Would he even feel bad about it?
"Did you wish to torture me, my Lord?" The words came as well out of your mouth as if your vocal cords were lined with sawdust. The junior apothecary shook his head, looking as if he lamented something as well. Then he spoke while reaching for another clean towel. "I wished to see whether sexual acts of this... forceful nature could be enjoyed under the promise of mutual consent." He then added, towel in hand but still rustling for something he did not search: "I've seen such instances within auxiliaries. I thought to report this behavior as I will not fight with those who destroy Mankind from the inside. However, they did not behave as if they were being brought to judgement." Only then did he bring the new, clean towel to your face and dried your hot tears once more.
"Some of them did this afterwards. Does this sooth you, serf?"
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This one has been in my drafts for a week now and I did a lil spring cleaning on them. I thought of just posting the first two paragraphs as is but then built on it and left it open ended.
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You're nothing without me. Be grateful that I'm shaping you as I see fit. You're crying from this little? Cmon, you can do better than that. Be a good little toy and maybe you'll be able to sap a fraction of my stamina away from me. My pathetic little [insert gender]. You want to be a whore for me? Never say that again, whores are meant to be a one time affair. You're something much preferable, because you are mine. Permanently.
Forrix after:
... I'm nothing without you either. Your very existence pleases me. We'll hold off for a few days, I do want to keep doing this to you after all. I know, you're on a hormonal spike right now. You may stay in my arms until you've calmed down. Why? I need sleep as well. Stop putting your finger in my port... no, I do not need you. You simply are improving my life with your very presence.
Night Lord being unhealthy in his attachment to you is one thing
Having his need for torture sated by some CNC primal play and other kinks is a whole nother. Even just shoving his dick inside of you would ordinarily need a lot of preparation and may still hurt. What if he abuses the hell out of that and turns it into a deliberate painful fuck? And maybe using your chest, including your nipples as handles to pull you closer to him? That is of course only after he bit his way down to your sex, deliberate slight sinking of his teeth making you ache and remember just how completely outmatched you are.
You better struggle, writhe and cry for him, for this pathetic state of yours is what he is looking for. And you will get to be brought to heights unimaginable by beings who dealt less with the sensibilities of the human body.
He will kit you later, already had a karrafe of water on his desk, calm you down from what you agreed to let him do to you. For now though, you better scream for him.
