Welcome to the most unhinged, crazy, lazy n' nice goblin you'll meet across this site. One that wishes to unleash his Warhammer (and others) sillies unto the world for people to enjoy; don't fear in dm me!
Presentation: Hello everyone! My name's Adam, but you can call me Alex, Adam (duh), LillSily or just Silly! I am a writer who is currently fixated in Warhammer 40k and the many possible ways it has to tell stories, themes, characters and all that jazz!
BUT! I cannot do this all on my own and that's why I need YOUR help! YOUR collaboration! How you may ask? Well by just tipping me with a bit of your blood in a ritual circle with all your friends in robes and offering said blood to the gods of writing and anti-art block! checking out my stuff! Likes, repost, comments or hell just checking them out would do a humongous amounts of help for both having the drive of keep going and for just the fun of it, writing is cool too!
DA M E A T: Below will be the tags in which I post my writings (besides having them here on the tags of this very post) so you can know where do I write and post them. Why I do not have a list set out with pompous things and all? Well...uh...I....I tend to not be so orderly whenever I write, spontaneous things, ya know?
II LEGION AND IT'S LOST PRIMARCH: In here you'll find my own fan take on one of the Lost Primarchs, a boyo named Neran Solticence who struggles with having emotions and showing them, woken up in 40k to fix the wrongdoings of the Imperium and reassembling his Legion back again, who knows what awaits him?
ROGUE TRADER CRAE VULLSCAT: Enjoy the batshit insane adventures of a Rogue Trader in the edges of the Imperium, written in the memoirs of the man, relive with him the traumatizing (and hilarious) situations the man went through in his life finding his little corner in the universe and, perhaps, a way to escape all the grimdark
CARDREAN 958th: Venture with this Penal regiment and their Commissar into the campaign wars of the Warmaster Elard; see for yourself the struggles this found family of misfits goes through and their chance to gain their freedom.
EMBER NOMADS: Ah my beloved fanmade Chapter. Discover the benevolent and savage Marines descendants of the White Scars, their traditions, their lives and their struggle to keep their way of life in a universe that just sees them as insensitive war machines.
The latter two stories have too a page in AO3! See chapters structured as actual stories and not just one shots there! With a narrative! More secondary characters! Equal amounts of smut! A bit more of gore sometimes because I feel more comfortable depicting those themes over there than actually here!
Farewell: From the bottom of my heart thank you all for checking these stories, for your likes, reblog and comments; I've said it before but this is something I truly dearly love to do, I have never been too good at painting but I try to always improve with writing stuff, this is my whole world and I wanted to share it with people; help me do that if you can, if you can't then that's okay, I'll continue to do this, to write fluff and smut and angst for you to enjoy. Thank you for opening your hearts to me and your attention just long enough to encourage me to continue to do this. I love you all, until the next story.
P.S: If it bares mentioning, English is not my first language, it's my second. If you find spelling mistakes well....I saw them too and had a panic attack trying to edit them
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
dick makes people mentally ill. dick havers, dick wannabes and dick lovers are all insane. it's like toxoplasmosis, you have compulsive need to defend and push and worship dicks all the time and spead your dick mania to everywhere you go.
this seems rational and grounded in empirical evidence
please read this even if you're not indian. especially if you're not indian.
you've seen the jokes. india is "dirty", indians are "everywhere", why don't they fix their own country. ok. let me tell you why, and what's happening right now while nobody's watching.
first, the history you skipped: britain ruled india for two centuries and drained it. economist utsa patnaik's research estimates around $45 trillion in today's money was taken. the india that got independence in 1947 was one of the poorest countries on earth. every "why is india like this" question starts there. you don't get to profit off a robbery and then mock the crime scene.
now, what's happening RIGHT NOW:
in may the question paper for NEET leaked. that's the national medical entrance exam. over 2.2 million students took it. cancelled. years of studying, families' savings poured into coaching, gone overnight because someone sold the paper. students died by suicide after. these were kids who wanted to be doctors.
and out of that came a protest movement. a gen z group called the cockroach janta party, started by a 30 year old named abhijeet dipke, got 22 million instagram followers within DAYS. they've been doing a sit-in at jantar mantar in delhi demanding education minister dharmendra pradhan resign.
and then there's sonam wangchuk. if you've watched 3 idiots, he's the real engineer the character was based on. built solar schools in ladakh. invented ice stupas so himalayan villages have water. spent his whole life on education. he's 59 and he's been on hunger strike for 17+ days now. reporters went to see him this week and he was too weak to talk. and the troll armies are calling him "anti national" and "foreign funded". a man starving himself for other people's children. that's the thing here, anyone who asks a question is suddenly a traitor.
it's not one incident, it's everywhere you look:
• infrastructure worth thousands of crores failing within months of the ribbon cutting. tunnels collapsing in regions where heavy rain is a guarantee, not a surprise.
• youth unemployment near 10% for ages 15 to 29, 13.6% in cities. in a country of 1.42 billion where more than half the population is young.
• only about the top 3% of indians earn above 10 lakh a year. meanwhile billionaire wealth keeps ballooning and the headlines celebrate it.
• manipur burned for over two years. an ethnic conflict, tens of thousands displaced, and the prime minister barely said the word manipur while it happened.
• journalists raided. critics' houses bulldozed. activists sitting in jail for years without trial under laws like UAPA. our press freedom ranking has cratered.
• even the petrol is a fight now, ethanol blending pushed through while drivers complain about their engines and get no straight answers.
and through all of it, the PM, who came to power on religious polarisation (americans, sound familiar?), travels abroad for photo ops and has not held one single open press conference in over a decade. not one.
what i'm asking:
if you're not indian: share this. our media mostly won't cover any of it because the big outlets are owned by the same billionaires the government serves. the only reason wangchuk's fast is getting any coverage is people refusing to look away.
if you ARE indian: speak up even if you're comfortable. especially if you're comfortable. join the protests. add to this, correct me, translate it. staying quiet is a choice when nothing in this post touches your life.
india is not "dirty". india was robbed, and it's being robbed again, from the inside this time. but it's also the country where a 59 year old will starve for strangers' kids and 22 million young people will rally behind a party literally named after cockroaches, because cockroaches survive everything.
Tw: fouls language, sexual content, rough sexual content.
As always not proof read.
If you want to be tagged or untagged let me know ❤️❤️
Watching the light dance through the silvered strands of Garviel Lokens hair, you couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to tangle your fingers through it, tugging him closer as your lips brushed his, your tongue-
"Does that sound amenable to you?"
You reluctantly pulled your eyes away from the marine and returned them to source of the voice.
Horus Lupercal sat at the head of the table, eyebrow raised slightly and mouth twisted in a thin smile as he waited for your reply.
Behind him, loken and 3 other men stood in full plate. His mournival, you believed he called them. You could feel each of them surveying you through narrowed eyes.
You glanced down at the peace accord sat on the table before you and quickly flicked over the agreement, frowning slightly as you read the last point.
"How long have we been doing this, Warmaster" you sighed, pushing the document away and reaching for your wineglass. "2 weeks?"
Horus nodded, eyes pinning you in place.
"At this point, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to move this along. We want nothing more than peace to return to our skies." You took a sip from your goblet.
"That's rather hard to do with your gunships and your soldiers"
Horus bared his teeth, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"If you had agreed to our initial terms we could have moved on much earlier."
"Oh, but then who would've kept you company all these long days"
Horus snorted and waved you away.
"Oh your company has been... delightful"
"Such a gentleman"
You both sat in silence for a moment, remembering the bitter fights that had come from 14 days of failed peace talks.
"What an ass" you thought grimly
From the scowl on Horus' face, he must've had an identical thought.
You took a long, deep drink and shook your head, embittered.
"As charismatic and respectful as you may think you are being Horus, I still find your terms to be exactly the opposite"
His guard shifted uneasily at your use of his name rather than title and you watched as the stern red haired marine snarled and gripped the butt of his pistol.
"I think our terms are most fair" Horus said slowly, restraint evident in his tone.
You rolled your eyes and leant back in your chair.
"Well it doesn't matter now. I'm desperate to be rid of you"
You made no secret of hiding the warm look you threw back to Loken, grinning as the mans face flushed before he turned away.
"Well...most of you" you smirked.
Horus' eyes flicked between you and his soldier.
"Everyone out" he barked suddenly.
"My lord, we dont-"
"Out!"
His guard hastened to oblige and you winked at Garviel as he marched past, red faced and tight lipped.
As the door to Horus' office snapped shut, all pretence of politeness fell away. You watched the man before you pick up his own, much larger glass and twirl it between his fingers, eyes narrowed and fixed on you.
"Of all the people I have met, you are by far the most infuriating" He tapped the table and pointed to the accord. "Sign the damn peace treaty so I don't have to look at you any more"
You chuckled and lent forward over the table, the low cut of your deep blue dress revealing the swell of your breasts.
"Oh but you like looking at me, don't you?" You teased, dripping your voice low as you trailed a finger along the edge of your collar.
A muscle in Horus' jaw twitched and his fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet.
"Stop making this harder than it needs to be"
"I'm sorry, am I making this.....hard?"
You emphasised the last word and Horus swallowed dryly, gaze flicking quickly from your exposed skin back to your face.
"Is that why you've been such a pain in my arse?"
You laughed and lent back in your seat, enjoying the deepening scowl spreading over the primarchs face. "Because you're just desperate for my attention?"
"Not only do you disrespect me" Horus growled "but you heckle my men" He slammed an open palm down onto the table. " I don't need you pawing at Captain Loken"
"I'll do more than that if he lets me" you bit your lower lip and sighed.
"Enough!" He spat sharply "This is MY crusade, MY mission. You deal with ME"
"Ooh, are we jealous?"
The warmaster ire was rising rapidly and you sneered as you watched the calm, collected facade crack.
"I should kill you now" he snarled. "Wipe that pretty little smile off your face"
"You think I'm pretty?" You toyed, fluttering your lashes at him. He pause, if only for a moment.
"keep running your mouth and I'll be forced to shut you up" he finally grumbled.
"Me running my mouth?" You bit back, "you're the one acting like you're better than everyone else, then acting like a stroppy child when you don't get your way"
Horus didn't reply, choosing instead to gulp a mouthful of the potent wine.
You leaned closer, swirling the ruby liquid in your goblet.
"I wonder what your men would think if they knew the kind of tantrums you threw behind closed doors."
Horus' eyes narrowed and he placed his own glass down with a heavy thump. Rising slowly from the table, he stalked towards you, kicking your chair back and placing both hands on the arms to cage you in.
"You need to remember your place" he growled. "You are here by my leave only. As soon as I am bored of you..."
The threat hung in the air for a moment.
You smiled broadly and then tipped your wine onto the floor, splattering up Horus' leg.
"Oops
The glass flew from your hand, backhanded against the wall and shattering in a hail of crystaline shards.
The primarch's fingers locked around your throat, grip tightening until your head felt light and your heart hammered desperately.
"Little bitch" Horus hissed, jaw working as he chewed the insult and spat it out.
You tried to laugh, lungs wheezing out a pathetic huff. His grip lingered for a moment longer before he released you, the man breathing almost as heavily as you as you gulped down lungfulls of air.
"It's a shame, Horus" you coughed, rubbing your throat.
"What" he snapped, glaring down at you.
You rose slowly to your feet and brushed a stray hair away from your face. Gathering the documents in your hands, you shuffled them before turning back to the war master.
"This was so appealing when I first saw you" you gestured to his face and body. You splayed a hand over his stomach, feeling the tense muscle beneath his shirt coil at your touch.
"So, so appealing" you looked up at him, trailing your finger in a lazy circle as the primarchs jaw hung open slightly at the sudden change in atmosphere.
"But then you had to open your big mouth" you hissed.
Horus blinked at you, lost for words for a moment. You turned on your heels and strode towards the door before he could reply, using his confusion to escape the rage you could feel still bubbling beneath his skin.
"I'll read through your proposal again and have an answer soon"
You flashed a smile over your shoulder, unable to help yourself one last time.
"In the meantime...where are the soldiers barracks?"
The next few days were a blur of meetings and formal dinners, broken up with the odd hour spent watching the Lunar wolves spar in the training cages. Though you were loathe to admit it, Horus had been as accommodating as he could considering your barbed tongue.
Or at the least, he hadn't killed you yet.
you shook your head, angry at finding yourself enjoying the heated exchange of words.
You hated him. Completely and absolutely. And tonight you were certain you could be rid of him and his loathsome ilk.
But a small part of you would miss the callous back and forth that ended each evening.
However, you couldn't help but wish you were back watching swords clash as you approached the primarchs office door once again, something in you set on edge, screaming at you that this night was different.
Straightening yourself, you smoothed the front of your dress; a snow white deep cut gown matching the colour of his legion. You checked your appearance in the polished steel wall of the ship before you continued: The halter neckline plunged into a deep V that drew the eye to the intricate lace vines and flowers that framed your silhouette. Delicate side cutouts at your waist offered fleeting glimpses of your bare skin with each step you took. The airy fabric spooled loosely over your hips and brushed around your ankles, whispering over the floor in a faint breeze.
You nodded and wiped a stray eyelash from your cheek before steeling yourself. You could feel your hatred of the war master and his so called imperium boiling beneath your skin as you raised your hand and knocked on the door. But as you plastered a fake smile across your lips, you knew that peace for your world hinged heavily on appeasing the egotist who opened the door with a predatory grin.
"Such a shame" you thought to yourself as you dropped into a curtsey.
"A body like that, wasted on an asshole"
"Welcome, My lady"
Horus rubbed a hand over his face as he watched the second hand on the clock slowly tick down. Waiting for your arrival was setting his teeth on edge.
He loathed you, his fingers itching towards his golden sword every time you opened your mouth.
He drummed his fingers over the table before growling and jumping to his feet, unable to sit still.
His body was tense all over, anger boiling beneath the surface as the image of your smug grin flashed through his mind.
He tossed his head like a bull, huffing as he tried to throw the thought from his head. Unbidden it was replaced by the memory of you trailing your hand over your bust, fingers teasing at the fabric; the feeling of your hand pressed to his abdomen as you looked up at him from beneath long lashes.
He imagined the light leaving your eyes as he throttled the breath from your body.
He imagined caressing your waist as he pulled you close for a heated kiss.
He cursed you silently, regretting every second he had spent in your throne damned company, dragging out his temper and waking something in his body.
He was wretched from his thoughts as the sound of knuckles on metal reverberated through the office. Long strides carried him to the door quickly and he swung it open with more force than he had intended.
"Welcome, my lady" he said through gritted teeth.
🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓🌓
The room was lit only by the soft flickering of a promethium lamp, turned low in the middle of the table. It was almost romantic, had it not been for the primarch prowling the edge of your vision like a hungry predator. You felt his eyes travel up and down your body as you rose from your curtsey and stepped through the doorway towards the table.
"Good evening" you replied, ignoring the tense atmosphere as you walked around the table, dragging your finger across its pitted wooden surface as you paced sounds it's edge
Watching you carefully, Horus closed the door and, after a moment of hesitation, clocked the lock shut. You swallowed and tried to ignore the flare of alarm that coursed through you.
"Have you decided to be reasonable?" The war master asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the locked door.
"I have always been reasonable" you huffed, reluctant to sit as the primarch stood deathly still in the shadows.
"You are the one acting like a classless boor"
Horus sighed and pushed off the door, uncrossing his arms and stepping forward to lean heavily on the table.
"I grow tired of these games"
"Well good, you're not fun to play with anyway" you shot back immediately.
A snarl rumbled through the mans chest as he quickly closed the gap between you and slammed a sheet down in front of you. You met his scowl with a glare equally as ferocious before allowing yourself to glance down.
"What is this"
"New terms, as suggested by my father after word reached him of your...agrievement" he clicked his tongue behind his teeth.
You pinched the page between your fingers and brought it to your face, glossing over the elegent hand writing to find the main point of the message.
"You've got to be kidding me" you shouted, crumpling the letter.
"I'm not overjoyed either" Horus bit back.
"I will not marry you" you snarled, throwing the balled paper at the war master and watching it bounce off his chest. "You're a power hungry egomaniac and I'll be dead before I marry you"
Horus watched the missive bounce to the floor. eyes narrowing, you stepped back, realising your pressed your luck too far.
"Do you think I like the idea any more than you?" He grumbled, taking a large step towards you "do you think I don't know what you've been doing? Coming here dressed like that. Did you think it would distract me? Do you think me a weak man? That I would cave to these urges?"
He knelt down, still a head taller than you.
"Listen to me." His voice dangerously low. "These are your options; political marriage, sign the accord, or-" he paused, making sure he had your complete attention. "I wipe your little city from the face of the planet and take it by force"
You stilled, chewing your lip as you realised a decision had to be made.
"Why couldn't you just leave us alone" you whispered.
"Because it all belongs to me" his eyes glinted in the dimming light and you recoiled slightly. "Your planet, your city...you. it all belongs to me. Mine by right. Or by blood."
You spat on the floor and sucked in a breath between your teeth.
"Go fuck yourself Horus" You raised your hand, your palm sweeping towards the primarch's cheek. He caught you easily before the blow landed and sneered down at you.
"Why don't do you do it yourself" he pressed your hand against his crotch and your breath caught in your throat feeling him hard and throbbing beneath his trousers.
"I hate you" you hissed through gritted teeth, but not pulling away, Your wrist still clenched in Horus' grasp. "I *HATE* you"
The war master bared his teeth in a feral grin and rose to his feet, forcing you back up against the wall, your bodies so close they almost touched. He lifted your hand away from his groin and pinned it against the cool metal, pressing his hips towards you.
"Hate me harder" his voice husky as his hips jerked forward.
You couldn't think straight, hate telling you to kick and scream, your body telling you to submit.
"You act like you don't want it" Horus took a knee again and pressed his lips to your throat, chuckling as you tilted your head back and closed your eyes before realising what you'd done and shoving him away.
"You're getting off on this" you finally replied, mouth feeling dry.
Horus laughed, low and dangerous.
"So are you" He slid a hand under your dress, brushing the inside of your thigh and withdrawing before you could shove him away, his fingers coming back slick.
"You hate me so much, but you're so wet for me"
You opened your mouth to reply, to spit and swear, but as the insult rose in your throat the primarch pressed his lips to yours in a heated kiss. His tongue pressed into your mouth to taste you and you moaned, flickering your tongue over his before biting down.
Apparently the wrong thing to do.
Horus groaned, pressing himself harder to you, mouth moving desperately against yours as his hands began to wonder over your body.
"You're such- an ass-" you gasped, rolling your head back as he released your lips to graze his teeth down your throat.
In response a hand drifted down, cupping your rear and squeezing. His other hand followed and you squeaked as you found yourself lifted into the air and placed unceremoniously on the table, glasses and paperwork scattering as Horus lay you down. A heavy hand placed either side of your head had you caged in, the primarch staring down at you like a cat who'd caught a bird. He trailed his gaze over your dress and smirked, watching you pant.
"Where has all that venom gone" the war master teased, reaching out and ripping open the fabric of your dress to free your breasts.
His tongue flicked over your nipple before his lips closed around it and sucked. Your back arched, your only response a soft moan.
"If I knew this was all it took-" he released your breast with a wet pop and feathered kisses along your stomach "to get you to shut your mouth would've put you on your back days ago"
"Pig"
He was silent, too busy shredding apart the remaining silk of your dress to leave you naked and flushed before him.
You could feel him devouring your body with his eyes, your skin prickling as you looked up at him to find his lips parted and pupils blown wide. You could see his cock straining against his trousers as he slowly ran his hands over your thighs.
For a moment, you forgot everything, lost in desire and his easy smile and the feeling of his thumb rubbing a slow circle over your clit as he pressed a finger inside you.
"So wet" he murmured, curling his finger and watching your squirm beneath his touch. He watched you writhe and twitch as he curled his finger and thrust, waiting until you were dragged towards the edge before pulling his fingers out, leaving you dangling so close to finish.
"What the fuck" you hissed, your body aching with need.
Horus laughed and dropped to his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders and locking his mouth over your core, tongue lathing over your clit as he sucked and kissed.
Your body tensed and you threw your head back with a moan as you came, your whole body twitching, bliss flooding through your body.
"Oh fuck" you choked out, Horus' tongue still lapping at your folds.
Finally relenting, the primarch raised his head, slick coating his mouth and chin. You looked at each other, an uneasy but pleasant tension in the air, you almost smiled.
Then you remembered the accord, the threat to your world
His smug grin as he threatened to burn your home to the ground.
"I'm glad your mouth is useful for something other than spouting crap" you hummed, cocking and eyebrow at Horus
"And who knew such a sour bitch could have such a sweet cunt" he bit back immediately.
You huffed and rolled your eyes, glancing about at the shreds of pearly fabric littered around you.
"You'll need to find me clothes before I leave" you barked, wiggling yourself to the edge of the table. "Unless you want your men to know you're an animal?"
"Leave?"
Something in the war masters tone gave you pause and you looked up to see him unbuckling his trousers.
"Oh no, I'm not done with you yet"
You watch with wide eyes as Horus pulled himself free. Thick and throbbing, his cock bobbed slightly until it's own weight. Precum leaked from the ruddy tip and coating the shaft as he palmed himself.
"Nothing smart to say" Horus asked, reaching out and gripping your chin.
He spun you and pressed your chest down to the wood, still warm and damp form where you had been moments before.
"No matter" he continued, rubbing the tip through your folds.
"I'm sick of hearing you talk anyway"
You felt the heat from his body as he leant over you, chest pressed to your back as he whispered in your ear:
"Now I want to hear you scream"
He pressed forward and you tensed, back and neck arching upwards as you felt the stretch of him filling you inch by inch.
It won't fit! You wanted to scream.
Yours walls twitched and spasmed around him and Horus grunted, feeling your body fighting to take his girth.
"That's it, be a good girl for once" he groaned.
Your body trembled as you came around him, his size pushing you over the edge as he buried himself inside you. You heard him choke out a sound as he you clenched around his length and he stilled, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself.
"Like that?" He finally murmured in your ear, slowly pulling himself almost all the way back out, leaving just the weeping tip buried in your cunt.
You blinked up at him over your shoulder, bleary eyed from the strain.
"Is...is it in yet?"
Horus grimaced, placing a heavy hand on the back of your head and pressing your face down to the table.
"Shut up" he snarled, slamming his hips against yours. You felt like your body would give out as he drove himself back in, over and ove, rrutting into your heat.
Your eyes rolled back in your head, nails clawing at the table as he buried himself up to the hilt with each thrust. You finally broke and cried out as the primarch lifted your leg and propped your knee on the table, spreading you wider as he fucked you. His fingers found your clit and rubbed firm circles against the nerve, driving you mad as quakes racked through your body.
His hand still pressed to your skull grabbed a fistfull of hair and pulled you upwards
“See if we can teach you some manners”
Your cried out again, the harsh arch of your spine only adding to aches coursing through your body.
“say please don’t stop, Horus” he hissed.
“F-fuck you” you replied, voice breaking with each thrust.
Horus tutted, tugging on your hair again and grinning as he felt another orgasm rock through your body.
“Say it”
You gritted your teeth, refusing to obey until you felt him begin to slow, the fire in your belly dying down as his thrusts became slow and shallow.
“say. It”
“…please”
“Please what?”
“please don’t stop”
“See? Manners go a long way.”
You sneered, but quickly flopped forward as he resumed his harsh tempo, his balls slapping against your clit with every motion as both his hands moved to your hips to hold you in place.
Beneath the fog in your mind, you fumed at having begged the war master, your revenge quickly forming.
You looked over your shoulder at him, blinking up through tears spiked lashes until he met your gaze. A lazy smile crept across your face as you tightened your muscles and clenched around him deliberately.
Horus gasped, his chest hiccuping as you did it again.
“If you ask nicely” you smiled “maybe I’ll let you cum inside me”
Horus’ eyes widened and you drive your hips back to meet him, whimpering his name without breaking eye contact. You could feel his hips stutter, the movement becoming uncoordinated as you whispered and sighed and cried his name.
“Fuck” he growled, chest heaving in great billows of air as he struggled to control himself.
“Ask nicely”
“You little- hng!” he shuddered as you squeezed around his cock again, feeling him throb inside you.
“Please” he gasped “please let me cum inside”
“See? Manners go a long way” you copied back at him. His grip on your hips became bruising, his eyes holding a mixture of raging hate and boiling desire.
“since you asked nicely…” you lay back down flat on the table arms bent by your head as you arched your back as high as it would go.
“cum inside me” you breathed, closing your eyes and losing yourself to the electricity coursing through your veins.
Horus moaned your name as he came, his voice cracking as he trembled. You felt his cock twitch and throb as thick hot ropes filled you and leaked down your thighs. He pulled out abruptly and you gasped, feeling more cum splatter over your rear and lower back.
You lay still for a moment, listening to the heavy pants of the war master and your own heartbeat thunder in your ears. You willed some kind of life back into your legs, urging them to response but found them lacking.
Heavy steps passed by you and you jumped as you felt a warm, heavy piece of course fabric land across your body. Groaning from aches that you knew would not pass quickly, you rolled over and sat up, finding Horus’ shirt stretched across the table.
You looked at it, then up at the primarch, watch the broad expanse of his back as he poured himself a glass of wine and chugged the whole thing in one.
“Clean yourself and cover yourself up” he said, not bothering to turn around.
“how generous of you” you grimaced, wiping yourself down with a massive sleeve before slipping the shirt on over your head and drowning in the rough cotton.
You both stood in uneasy silence, the realization dawning on both of you.
“I suppose I will see you tomorrow to finalize our peace treaty” you finally coughed, face growing warm as Horus turned and finally looked at you. You felt more vulnerable wearing his shirt that you had spread naked beneath him.
“Yes” he said slowly “I suppose so”
You nodded and steeled yourself, stepping towards the door.
“Just so you know…”
Your fingers in the handle, you turned back at Horus’ voice.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Ozymandias - Emperor of Mankind x Fem!Reader: Chapter One
Welcome to my newest brainrot!!! Cowritten with @absynthe-mind. PLEASE make sure to read all the TW/tags for this-- it's going to be diabolical.
This fic is cross-posted on AO3.
Masterpost
Summary:
The Imperium has fallen after the Heresy, and the People have risen up to take the Emperor's place.
You are a janitor on the main base, minding your own business until the Commander informs you that they need someone to clean a cell. Turns out the inhabitant is the former Emperor himself-- chained up and beaten.
Conflict wars in your head. On the one hand, he deserves this-- he burned your planet, killed your friends and family and committed countless crimes. On the other...well, your mother always had said your heart was too soft. You really need to stop thinking about this so hard.
TW for this chapter: canon typical violence, graphical depictions of torture, mental anguish, imprisonment, dead dove: do not eat
Chapter One: half sunk, a shattered visage lies
The Imperium fell in your lifetime. You didn’t think that you would be there to see it, but you were. The Neoimperialist group you were with had swooped in to gain power in the burning wreckage that the Horus Heresy had wrought upon the galaxy. It was within that group that you had been taken in, and given a new purpose. Admittedly, it wasn’t a glamorous purpose, but it was a purpose nonetheless - one you were happy to fulfill.
You were a cleaner– and a very effective one at that. Some might say that the work was tedious, but you took pride in it. It was rhythmic, and besides that it gave you a lot of things to do. The station you were at was large– there were many rooms to be cleaned. What you didn’t appreciate was your fellows dirtying the hallways that you just mopped.
Which is what you’re staring at with contempt when Samson comes to get you.
“The floor won’t bite, I think,” is his snarky commentary upon seeing your glare at the floor.
Someone had spilt the entirety of a beer on your clean ground and then left it there, glass and all.
You sniff, then respond, “It might. I need to be ready.”
He snorts and gives you a hard pat on the back. You grip the mop a little tighter as you stumble forwards with the force of it. Samson laughs good-naturedly.
“Sorry, I forget that you base-only types aren’t trained like the rest of us,” he says.
“It’s fine,” you inform him, before going back to your task.
Samson waits for a few moments, then he casually tells you that “Command is looking for you.”
Your eyes shoot to the ground, then the mop and then to him, and back down again. Your mind whirls, trying to think of a reason that they would be looking for you. You haven’t done something wrong, have you? Maybe the graffiti in the bathroom had been you, but you were the one that had to clean it anyway, so why would it matter?
Stammering, you ask, “Do you know why?”
Leaning on the wall, Samson gives a small shrug, “Beats me– all I know is that they told me to come and get you.”
Oh no. That couldn’t be good, could it?
“Well I’m done here if you want to go,” you respond, “Let me put this up.”
Your company waits for you to stick the mop back in storage, and then leads the way for you to go to Command Headquarters. Sweat is starting to stick to the back of your shirt as you enter into the dimly lit area of the main hallway. The command section of the base contains more points for security checks, but apparently there’s no need for that as your duo breezes right through it.
The bottom of your shirt is getting worn out from the way you’re wringing it with worry. Surely they can’t fire you, can they? The graffiti wasn’t even anything bad– it just said ‘I love you mom’ on it. Very innocent! You’d thought it was funny and then cleaned it up. Hardly anyone had seen it!
Spiraling is very busy work, so you don’t even notice that you’ve come directly to the Commander’s office doors until Samson knocks on it. The thing is made of thick wood, and the sound of his knuckles rapping against the surface has depth to it.
“Come in,” says a voice inside, and you’re led in.
Samson bows, hand on his chest, “As requested.”
You’re struck at the sight of Commander Davidson sitting before you. He’s older, with grey hair that’s cropped in a short military haircut. You’ve never actually seen him in person before, and you straighten a little as you remember you’re supposed to salute as well.
He doesn’t seem to care all that much, and waves your attempt away.
“At ease,” the Commander says. He leans forward on his desk, lacing his fingers together, “Do you know why you’re here?”
“Ah,” you look at Samson, who offers no assistance, “No, sir- Commander, sir.”
The man in question leans backwards in his chair, the leather creaking as he does so. His hand taps a file that’s open on his desk, and looking down confirms that it’s your file. Your own face smiles up at you from a photo that’s been paperclipped onto the paper. You shift in place nervously.
Commander Davidson speaks again, voice low, “What is said in this room stays here, do you understand?”
You nod, then give your verbal assent.
A second file is slid across the desk, and you tentatively move to go pick it up. It’s thick, with many addendums and post-its scattered through, sticking out from the neatly bound pages. You open it, and see a face that you haven’t glimpsed in a photograph in years– only on the sides of monuments and paintings that hadn’t been stripped from the city.
It’s the Emperor. Or- the former Emperor, you correct yourself mentally. There’s a massive wound in his side in the photo that makes your stomach churn, and you turn a page to try and see what happened, only to be struck by the amount of notes that have been taken.
The file makes you falter, why would they be showing you something this important and confidential - you were janitorial staff.
You stop reading and look up, “I don’t understand. What is this?”
The Commander responds evenly, “Those are photos of the now ex-Emperor when he was captured by our forces. He is being held on this base as we speak– he has been for a while.” He takes the folder from your hands, and gently closes it, “What we need is a cleaner, and you’re the best of the best in that regard.”
Insult to the rest of your abilities aside, it was true.
“What do you need a cleaner for?” you ask apprehensively.
“Due to the nature of his stay, the room is a little messy. You’ll be tasked with keeping it clean.” Commander Davidson chuckles, “He has been declawed, I assure you. There is no threat of danger.”
You really don’t feel like there’s much choice in the matter. And besides, what better way to serve your cause than to spit on the person that you’d spent years fighting?
Agreeing, you’re led out into the hallway again, and Samson takes you to what you think might have been a hospital bay at one point. You pause to go get what you assume will be the most useful of the cleaning supplies at your disposal, and he rattles a keychain to unlock the door. There’s multiple locks that line the metal door, and there’s loud thunks as each one is unlocked.
There’s a bit of fear that’s building up as you wait in anticipation. You’ve heard many rumors about the Emperor. That he’s a monster in disguise, that he’s a god. The massive displays that line the Imperium don’t help much in his favor for arguing that he isn’t at least one of those things. Before you joined the Order, you’d hoped to catch a glimpse of the man at least once. There’d been whispers in the hallways of your old planet about him– the kind that said he had a halo, and basked in a golden light.
All across Terra there were still statues of him, paintings, posters, everything - the Order had teams working to scrub the planet clean of his filth but for every image torn down it seemed like two more were found. Not to mention that there were more urgent matters to attend to following the ending of such a long galactic civil war.
So in some ways he still lorded over humanity— not for too much longer, you hoped.
It would take far more time to erase the suffering he’d caused on humanity. The blight of the Imperium would probably take centuries to scrub away at, but you would be part of history - the first generation of the free.
Would he still be proud? Proud of himself, of his work?
The idea makes your stomach churn as the final locks begin to click open.
The door swings open slowly, betraying its weight, and you see that he’s none of those things.
What you do see is a very tall man. There’s no light, no halo. His hair is unkempt and matted, and there’s a cut that runs down underneath his eye.
Oddly enough, the Emperor is much smaller than you’d imagined him to be. Gaunter, too.
‘Starved’ your brain supplies. Starved. Which, which is good, it is good because he is bad.
You had starved, your family had starved, your friends had starved, your people had starved - humanity had been starved and drained by the nobility sat in their palaces with dozens of dozens of starving serfs crawling on hand and knee to feed them. Not only was he one of them, but he enabled the rest.
It was his sons, his generals, which had caused such horrors, split the galaxy in two and humanity along with it - as if there was not already enough strife and suffering, they endeavoured to spill nothing but cruelty in their wake.
As you walk inside, his head lifts a little, which jostles the chains that are attached to his neck. Your eyes are drawn to them– there’s shackles on his wrists and ankles as well, heavy chains swirling to be attached to a device that juts out from the wall, inscribed with some sort of sigils. You think it’s all some kind of swivel mechanism that would allow him to move a bit. Not that it would help much, given his height.
You can’t help but stop and stare as you struggle to comprehend the man before you and the God you’d been expecting.
Samson pats your back, which jerks you out of your stupor.
“Well,” he says, “You need anything else?”
Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, then you stammer, “No? I don’t think so.”
He looks over you, taking in your reaction to the chained God and nods, “I’ll leave you to it. Sparkling clean, remember?”
And then he simply leaves, the door clattering behind you. All that’s left is you and your supplies, and the Emperor. Suddenly it strikes you that this may be an incredibly bad idea as you stare at the man on the wall. You’re pretty sure he can’t reach you, but you never turn your back as you start to clean the floors.
The floor which is utterly disgusting. You can’t even tell what colour it should be for all the dried and crusted brown, rife with chunks that you have to look away from before you can think too hard about it. Not to mention the pools of darker red, blood congealed but not yet dried.
Your brain starts to catch up with the task, still working overtime to comprehend the situation you’ve so suddenly been thrust into when the smell hits you.
Rancid.
Rotting.
No wonder they wanted it cleaned, only a few moments in and your eyes were watering from the sheer stench that had been produced.
It provokes you into actually moving, not just staring dumbfounded.
Quickly pulling a mask over your mouth, a few drops of scented oil in the cloth to try and mask the reek of decay, and you’re pulling out the harshest chemicals you have.
No dilution here, you’d be letting everything soak and sit for a minute then having to scrub like never before to shift the layers of build up.
There was no way anyone had touched this in months.
The walls need spraying too, where there had been splatter across them, but you daredn’t get too close to him.
You ignore the sick shade of red that comes up as you start to scrub. Foam builds as you do so. Periodically you glance at the giant figure in the corner, but he hasn’t moved. The Emperor does not look at you. You hasten your cleaning, pushing the water into the drain in the center of the room.
Why would there be a drain?
Pausing to think about the implications sends a shock of numbness through your system, so you choose to push it down, continuing with your task.
There’s only silence, and the sound of your squeegee on the floor. It’s surprisingly easy work, once the chemicals have soaked everything it seems to come right off. You’re done now, having barely broken a sweat.
The floor is a bleak greyish white now, though the grout is still a stained mess to say the least. That is aside from a semi circle around the man who you’ve refused to get within an arm’s reach of.
He might be a shell of a man, half limp against his restraints but just being in the room with the pinnacle of your torment has you feeling all sorts of disgusted and uneasy.
You’d done enough, certainly compared to what you’d worked into, and you couldn’t make your vaguely trembling body comply with doing any more today.
The edges of the room are swimming by the time you go for the door, having gathered everything up. Strong chemicals and stronger emotions making for a dangerous combination you have to escape from.
Pausing, you turn to look at the man strung up in the corner. A small part of you feels rude for having not said anything yet. And your mouth moves before your brain does.
“I’ll…see you tomorrow…?” you stammer out, and immediately feel blood rushing to your ears. Stupid stupid stupid. Why would you say that?
Before you can even try to hear a response, you sprint out the door, and breathe a sigh of relief as it closes behind you. Samson reappears to lock it up, and you leave, feeling completely rattled.
Samson claps your shoulder, grounding you for a moment and gives you a grim and understanding smile, “good work - hard work, but couldn’t imagine anyone doing a better job than you.”
You don’t feel like you’ve done a good job, you feel like vomiting, but you nod anyway. He looks like he understands and gently guides you towards the exit.
You feel disquieted until you reach the safety of your room, able to lock the door behind you. A blisteringly hot shower where every inch of skin is scrubbed raw later, and you curl up beneath your blankets, trying to bury the images that come to your mind unbidden.
Your nose is still ruined by the stench.
Luckily, you don’t dream of anything as mental exhaustion swallows you whole and darkness claims every corner of your mind.
They come and fetch you the next day, as you’d thought. Perhaps you’d been a little hopeful when you woke up that maybe you did a bad job, and you’d never have to go back there.
The stench of blood was never one that you could manage, which had led to you being assigned within the base instead of in a soldier role. You’d cried when they had tried to teach you to shoot someone. And being a medic was out of the picture when you threw up while trying to help with a surgery.
You’d never been good at following orders, anyway. So it had all worked out. The comfort of the base and the knowledge that you wouldn’t be doing the fighting. You could even pretend that there was nothing untoward going on. That everything was normal.
It was very hard to pretend that the world was normal when you step into that cell again, only to find that there’s a massive wound on the Emperor’s side. It’s a large, ugly thing– jagged and reaching from his hip bone to wrap around his back. Blood seeps from it, pooling on the floor in thick puddles. The clothes that he had on the day previously have been stripped, and he’s slumped in a sitting position with a cloth to cover his private area. Red has dripped onto the light colored cloth, and you avert your eyes back upwards.
You almost think he might be dead until you see the rise and fall of his chest.
Okay, cool. Not dead.
Your breath shudders.
But also… it’s going to be awfully hard to keep the floor clean if he’s going to be bleeding like that. You think about it for a moment, then tap your knuckles on the door.
Samson opens it a crack, and all you see is a glimpse of his beard and his eye peering inside.
“Yes?” he asks.
“Uh,” you say, “He’s bleeding…?”
Samson doesn’t appear to be very concerned about that as he curtly responds, raising an eyebrow as if this is expected, “Yes, he is.”
You blink for a second, and shift in place, nervousness filling your chest, “I don’t… won’t the floor just get dirty again if he keeps bleeding on it?”
The soldier snorts, then flippantly remarks, “If there’s blood over there it’s not an issue. Just make sure everything else is good to go.”
He stares at you for a moment, before you mumble “okay” and the door shuts again. It’s dimly lit inside, and the sudden lack of light from the hallway causes your eyes to struggle to adjust.
You stare at the door, listening to the sound of your breathing. Right. Yeah. Just… let him bleed. Cool. That’s fine.
The jitters have returned in full force from yesterday, but this time you turn your back on the Emperor. You feel a stab of guilt as you do so, but you can’t stare at his figure. His hair has fallen in front of his eyes, and there’s not even the jangle of chains to try and signal that he may be moving at all.
Squeezing your eyes tight for a moment, you clutch the mop and convince yourself he deserves this. He deserves whatever they’re doing after everything he’s put humanity through with his Imperium. You dredge up the memories of your friends that have died unnecessarily, the families torn apart by his reign.
You remember your planet.
The cloying smell of fresh blood is replaced by the choking scent of burning ash.
But the feeling remains, twisting your insides as you get back to work. You still don’t go close to the giant, instead making sure the floor is spotless around him. You flinch at the amount of dirt that’s lining the floor underneath him, your common sense telling you to make sure that all of the floor is clean, but you do not approach. Your mind is still warring with the idea of the Emperor being only a man.
His depictions contrast so heavily with the gaunt person you see before you that you just can’t do it. These are different people. The man who burned your home is not the broken one before you— he simply cannot be.
You pause again at the threshold, and then bid him goodbye. You exit quickly, leaving the room like he might chase after you. The Emperor doesn’t even flinch.
Day after day passes the same, each time he’s littered with fresh wounds, but it also seems like the old ones heal too quickly to be normal.
And each day is different too.
Huge bruises that splay across his whole torso and paint him in battered blues and purples one day, and what must have been thousands of thin slashing cuts the next.
Some days the new injuries look like nothing you recognise and your stomach churns as you can’t help but wonder what they did to inflict them.
There’s always some kind of harm on him, or something festering. You do your best to ignore it, but it’s eating at your conscience. Your mother always told you that you had too big of a heart– and it’s proving true once again.
It’s beginning to feel like they’re testing you, the way you’re paraded into that awful cell. It’s been two weeks, and you’ve been taken completely off the roster for normal cleaning tasks during your allotted time. The mopping goes smoothly now that you’re less concerned that he’s going to escape and the bulk of prior build up has been scraped away.
You wouldn’t say that you’re braver, but you turn your back to the Emperor. There’s been nothing but silence from him. It’s hard not to fill it, wanting to ease the oppressive air in the room, but you refrain from your usual habit of whistling while you work if only because you can’t do it while watched.
Today you decide to tackle the discoloured grout. Not because it matters, but because your brain won’t let you leave it alone, a job unfinished.
The solution is a bright blue, and tiny bubbles form where it meets the porous material, eating away at the top discoloured layer. You have to apply it on your hands and knees, shuffling as you pour it out into the gridded lines.
Still, it doesn’t take too long, and you sit back on your feet looking over the application for a moment. It would have to sit for at least half an hour to really work.
As you peer up it strikes you that you’ve grown far too comfortable working in his presence, but the prickling feeling of wrongness always rises whenever he comes back into the focus of your thoughts.
And now you are here, sat with nothing but time to kill while you wait. And nothing else in here but him.
You stare at the figure in the corner, quiet save for the humming of whatever the chains do to ward off his power. He doesn’t move. You glance at the door, and then at the Emperor.
Curiosity killed the cat, and it’s curiosity that finally wins out after so long, and so you approach carefully.
There’s grime all over his skin to accompany the main cuts and bruises, and you wince at seeing it closer. It’s almost a mimicry of the way the room was coated in filth, except no one has been assigned to scrub him down.
You’ve been giving him a wide berth, and even then you could make out the wounds. Up close it they’re a thousand times worse, puffy and raw, skin festering with the attempt of infection.
The one on his side from when you’d first entered catches your eye, and you spend a long moment staring at it.
Then you look up and make direct eye contact with the Emperor, whose eyes have moved underneath the curtain of dark greasy hair to look at you. You flinch, and stumble backwards, falling on your butt in the process.
It’s a scramble to get up, heartbeat racing in your ears, and his cracked lips curl upwards into what might have been a smile, if not for the teeth he’s missing. But he doesn’t move other than that, only watching.
You two breathe, and hold eye contact for just a moment too long. Then you break it and run, grout cleaning abandoned as you scoop up your supply bucket and flee.
The door slams with the force at which you open it, cleaning products clattering across the chamber floor where Samson is waiting to lock back up. He eyes you with concern for a moment, eyes quickly scanning for damage.
“You alright?” he asks as he steps around you and locks up, “You look extra spooked today.”
It's an understatement and you both know it.
He lets you recover a moment though, not rushing you as your breathing slowly becomes easier, and you inform him that the Emperor had looked at you.
“What if he’s trying to read my mind or something?” you whisper, horrified. “Is that something he can do? I think it is.”
Samson frowns as he pockets the keyring, before remarking, “He couldn’t be doing that. The chains block his power, remember?”
Right. Right. You nod, trying to relax.
But now there’s a festering problem in your mind. Before, when he was a motionless statue, it was easy to ignore that he was a real person, or something close to it. The Emperor had faded a bit in your mind as just a still figure in the background of your work. Now though– now you've seen real proof of life.
Breath in his lungs, awareness in his eyes as they bore into yours.
Judgement.
You bite your nails down to stubs as you head back to your bunk, still trembling. What were you going to do?
You do not sleep well. The Emperor’s eyes are burned into your eyelids. They weren’t golden eyes like all the paintings.
They do not hold untold and limitless power.
They’re brown, and they stare at you in your dreams, unblinking. You keep waking up in a cold sweat, breathing sharp pants.
Serayne, your bunkmate, grumbles at you to keep it down as you stagger out of bed to go splash cold water on your face. You stare in the mirror, and realize that the bags under your eyes have worsened. That’s just great, isn’t it? You can’t decide if your face or your morals are in worse shape, and you slump against the cabinet under the sink. Your mother would disapprove greatly, but then again she wouldn’t have agreed with anything you’ve done since the fall of your homeworld.
But your mother isn’t here, and you have to do something with your time, so you scrape yourself off the floor to get ready for your shift.
Tired feet dragging as you wander down to the dining hall and get your rations for the morning. The lady that works there slips you an extra biscuit as you go through, and you smile at her tiredly. She is kind and you like her.
It feels like the first day all over again as your chest thumps faster in building trepidation with every step closer to that forsaken room.
When you arrive, Samson is smiling grimly, looking you over with a sort of determination, like he’s checking you for something.
He gives your arm a squeeze as you enter, “I know it’s hard work being in there with him, I can tell it’s taken a toll - but he’s getting what he deserves, don’t worry.”
You try to let the words just wash over you and not absorb them but they reverberate in your head.
He’s getting what he deserves.
He’s getting what he deserves.
He’s getting what he deserves.
Don’t worry.
An extra bucket of water is put onto your cart today, and you almost wish you hadn't had breakfast today as you enter the dingy cell.
They’ve pulled off his fingernails and toenails, and left them scattered about. You’re frozen in place as Samson swings the door shut.
You stand there for what must be minutes, just staring before your body moves, feet shuffling over streaks of gore.
The Emperor is slumped against the wall again, and out of desperation to carry on in your work, you choose to focus on the familiar routine that you have– going from the other side of the room towards him, but keeping your semi circle.
You gingerly sweep up the nails and throw them into your trash can. Where they will go, you have no idea.
But you have to keep averting your eyes from the nail beds themselves. They’re red, spots of blood pooling in them. Some of it has crusted to the edges, turning a deep, dark shade of reddish-brown, and your stomach turns as you try not to throw up.
There’s the slight rattling of chains, and you freeze in place. Your eyes slowly track upwards to meet the pupils of the Emperor. He’s looking at you again, and your mouth hangs open as you try to summon something to say.
Fortunately, he breaks the silence, speaking in a raspy voice that might have been commanding if not for his raw and ragged vocal chords.
“Get on with your job.”
You blink, and stand there, dumbstruck. What?
His eyes narrow, “Surely they did not send someone so stupid to do this task.”
Arrogance.
A wrinkled lip sneering in cold command.
That breaks you out of whatever spell you were under, pity for the God fallen from grace, for the man who deserved to be broken fleeing you and you scoff, “I am not stupid.”
The Emperor looks unimpressed and unconvinced, but doesn’t say anything else. Now you’re annoyed, and your scrubbing becomes harsher.
How could you have felt bad for him? Your brain has taken the separation of the Emperor of the Imperium and the pitiful man you too far, and you needed to remind yourself of exactly who he was.
You scowl, and move away.
“I’m here to keep this room clean, that’s all! I don’t have to stand here and talk to you.”
He grins at you, flashing all his remaining teeth again. This time you notice that it’s his canines that have been pulled. There’s small nubs of white that poke out over the top of the gums.
“And I don’t have to listen,” he sniggers, which breaks off into a wheeze.
Beaten bloodied and yet still so proud as to goad you.
You puff up in indignation, anger flaring “And which one of us can leave this room?”
A beat of silence rings out as that seems to catch him, because he falls still again.
His eyes feel like they’re scanning your very soul as he sits there. You whirl towards your cart back around and drag it towards the door. Not bothering to say goodbye, you leave.
Wretched man.
If you want to be added to the taglist for this fic specifically feel free to drop a comment!!
I fully understand this isn’t everyone, but love the sect of m/m shippers who don’t want to be inserted into the relationship at all. dont want to fuck them, don’t want x/reader. this isn’t about me it’s about my boys being in situations and then fucking about it. I’m barely a fly on the wall im not even here.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"Hello, how can I help you today? Wonderful, can I get a first and last name? And how would I spell that? Awesome. And would you happen to have an address for this individual? And place of work? Fantastic.
Now, I'm going to give you a number, and I'm going to ask that you send in a photo of your target alongside any additional information you may have- family members, security, combat training, medical conditions, just anything you can think of that might be helpful.
Wonderful, you are all good. All we need now is a piece of government-issued ID, for insurance purposes, and a location for payment pickup. We accept cash, gold, processed uranium, and etransfer.
I'm sorry, we don't take american express.
Good, okay, so it looks like we are all set- when the job is complete, you will be notified VIA discreet codeword that a stranger will whisper to you on a crowded street.
We do not issue receipts, but if you'd like, I can arrange for a specific breed of tropical flower to be sent to your home address. Our associates will be able to validate it should the need arises.
And is that everything you were looking for today? Great! Thank you for coming to us. Have a nice day!"
Look, the difference between Assassins and Customer Service is that Assassins are paid a lot of money to kill people and Customer Service isn’t being paid nearly enough not to.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
writer culture is feeling mildly called out by every "go write instead of scrolling tumblr!!" post out there while you continue scroll tumblr instead of writing
