A fanfic archive

This is just a blog for all the fics I read and love.

[bugsfanficfaves]

I got bored, so I made a character sheet for a Primarch OC. Designed to look like Malcador had written it. Just replace the [REDACTED] places with your own information or fill in the blanks.

Please, please, please tag me! I want to see your OC's! ❤️

I'm still designing my own character's so I'll post them when I'm done. I have like four notebooks of notes that I need to comb through for inaccurate and outdated information.

📁 SIGILLITE-SEALED DOSSIER

Clearance: [REDACTED CLEARANCE LEVEL]

Author: Malcador the Sigillite

Subject: [REDACTED] — Command Assignment Review

I. IDENTIFICATION

Designation Name:

[REDACTED]

(Optional etymology / origin notes)

Epithet / Title:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Legion Name:

[REDACTED]

(Alternate names or Low Gothic variants)

Legion Number:

[REDACTED]

Homeworld:

[REDACTED]

(System, political status, or special conditions)

Allegiance:

[REDACTED]

(Treaties, covenants, or exceptions if applicable)

II. PHYSICAL & MUTATIONAL PROFILE

Height:

[REDACTED]

Build:

[REDACTED]

Facial Features:

[REDACTED]

Hair / Eyes:

[REDACTED]

Distinguishing Traits:

[REDACTED]

Mutation: [REDACTED] (Status: [REDACTED])

Description:

[REDACTED]

Subtle Manifestation:

[REDACTED]

Effect / Observations:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Sigillite’s Note:

“[REDACTED]”

III. PRESENCE & AURA

Recorded Presence:

[REDACTED]

Behavioral Effect:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Notable Contrast:

[REDACTED]

IV. WARGEAR & ICONOGRAPHY

Primary Weapon

Designation: [REDACTED]

Form:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Weapon Head / Configuration:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Material:

[REDACTED]

Symbolic Intent:

[REDACTED]

Secondary Weapons

[REDACTED]

Armor

[REDACTED]

Sigillite’s Annotation:

“[REDACTED]”

Personal Standard / Sigil

[REDACTED]

Legion Colors

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Heraldry Meaning

[REDACTED]

V. PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE

Core Personality Traits

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Virtues

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Flaws

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Fears / Inner Conflict

[REDACTED]

View of the Emperor

[REDACTED]

View of Humanity

[REDACTED]

Leadership Style

[REDACTED]

VI. STRATEGIC & MARTIAL DOCTRINE

Preferred Combat Style:

[REDACTED]

Strategic Strengths:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Strategic Weaknesses:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Legion Specialty:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Enemy Types Best Countered:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

VII. SUPERHUMAN CAPABILITIES

Physiology:

[REDACTED]

Psychic Potential:

[REDACTED]

Unique Trait:

[REDACTED]

Known Limitation:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Sigillite’s Warning:

“[REDACTED]”

VIII. RELATIONSHIP MATRIX

Closest Brother Primarch:

[REDACTED]

Rival Brother Primarch:

[REDACTED]

(Nature of rivalry)

Attitude Toward Other Legions:

[REDACTED]

Relationship with His Legion:

[REDACTED]

IX. LEGION CULTURE

Recruitment Worlds:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Legion Beliefs & Traditions:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Battle Rituals:

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Treatment of Civilians:

[REDACTED]

X. QUOTATIONS & MYTH

Famous Quote:

“[REDACTED]”

Imperial Propaganda Version:

“[REDACTED]”

Truth Known Only to the Legion:

“[REDACTED]”

FINAL SIGILLITE NOTE (EYES ONLY)

“[REDACTED]”

📁 DOSSIER ADDENDUM I

[LEGION DESIGNATION] — FLEET COMPOSITION

Reviewed by: SIGILLITE

Purpose:

I. FLEET DESIGNATION

Fleet Name:

(Informal Legion name:)

Fleet Doctrine Summary:

[Brief description of fleet role, philosophy, and operational intent]

II. CAPITAL & FLAGSHIPS

[Capital Ship Class]

Name:

(Flagship — )

Characteristics:

Notable Modifications:

SIGILLITE’S NOTE:

“[Annotation or commentary]”

III. LINE & SUPPORT VESSELS

Battle Barges

Strike Cruisers

Escort & Support Fleet

Heavy Cruisers: #

Light Cruisers: #

Destroyers & Frigates: #

🧰 Logistics & Civil Support

IV. FLEET BEHAVIORAL PATTERNS

External Criticism:

“[Quoted criticism]”

SIGILLITE REBUTTAL:

“[Official counterpoint]”

📁 DOSSIER ADDENDUM II

[LEGION DESIGNATION] — WAR DOCTRINE

I. LEGION COMBAT IDENTITY

Doctrinal Name:

Overview:

[Summary of combat philosophy and battlefield approach]

II. (LEGION SPECIALTY)

Primary  Formation

Vehicles/Mounts:

Design Philosophy:

Tactical Role:

🛡️ Shock / Breach Units

Armament:

Doctrine:

Symbolism:

🐺 Heavy Unit / Sustained Assault Units

Equipment:

Role:

III. INFANTRY & SUPPORT ELEMENTS

IV. BATTLEFLOW DOCTRINE

Notably absent:

V. PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE

Reputation / Doctrine:

“[Common saying or observed belief]”

VI. COMMANDER’S ROLE IN COMBAT

Observed Pattern:

[Summary of deployment tendencies]

FINAL SIGILLITE ANNOTATION

“[Closing commentary or philosophical note]”

📁 PERSONNEL DOSSIER

[LEGION DESIGNATION] — SENIOR COMMAND

I. LEGION LIEUTENANT-COMMANDER

(Second in Command to Primarch [NAME])

Designation Name

[Full Designation / Name]

Rank

[Formal Rank]

(Informal or Honorific Title)

Origin

[World / Origin Type], inducted during [founding phase / campaign]

Physical Description

Height:

Build:

Hair:

Eyes:

Notable Marks:

Armor & Heraldry

Armor Color:

Personal Mark:

Wargear:

II. PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE

Core Traits:

Virtues:

Flaws:

View of the Primarch:

“[Quoted statement or belief]”

Role in Command:

III. RELATIONSHIP WITH THE PRIMARCH

[Overview of interpersonal dynamic, trust, tension, or balance]

SIGILLITE’S NOTE:

“[Analytical or philosophical annotation]”

IV. LEGION STRUCTURE OVERVIEW

⚔️ [LEGION DESIGNATION] — MAJOR [UNIT NAME]

I. THE FIRST [UNIT]

“[Honorific or Title]”

Role:

Specialization:

Commander:

[Rank and Name]

Notable Trait:

Reputation:

“[Common saying or external perception]”

II. THE SECOND [UNIT]

“[Honorific or Title]”

Role:

Specialization:

Commander:

[Rank and Name]

Personality / Command Style:

III. THE THIRD [UNIT]

“[Honorific or Title]”

Role:

Specialization:

Commander:

[Rank and Name]

Notable:

IV. THE FOURTH [UNIT]

“[Honorific or Title]”

Role:

Specialization:

Commander:

[Rank and Name]

Reputation:

“[Common description or battlefield saying]”

V. THE FIFTH [UNIT]

“[Honorific or Title]”

Role:

Specialization:

Commander:

[Rank and Name]

Known For:

VI. THE SIXTH [UNIT]

“[Honorific or Title]”

Role:

Specialization:

Commander:

[Rank and Name]

Deployment Status:

LEGION CULTURAL NOTES

Common Legion Saying:

“[Cultural aphorism or belief]”

[annarobszombies]

"Mother." (part 1)

Horus x Fem!Reader based on this idea. The romance is light, since the focus is mostly elsewhere, but it exists if you squint. Anyway, enjoy.

Was going to do this all in one but I decided to split it into two instead okay bye

Despite what everyone thought, your life wasn't exactly glamorous as Lady Lupercal. Sure, Horus was kind to you, but there was always a tension that you could never shake. A weight pressing down on you that made it hard to stand.

It had been a purely political move, your imperfect marriage. The Emperor had been poked and prodded by Terran nobles about such things for years, and he'd always shoo them away or ignored them. But now that he had eighteen perfect sons, the demands got louder. He wasn't a man to be easily swayed, but he'd finally ceded- just a little.

One son, and after that there would be no more consideration on the matter regardless of if, when, or how it ended.

The Warmaster had been the one to volunteer for this ever daunting task. He was his father's favorite, after all, so it only made sense that it was he who stepped up to the plate. There had been whispers that the warmhearted and beautiful Sanguinius had also raised his hand in that meeting, but the only people who know for sure are the Emperor and his sons.

It had been like an ancient fairytale. The Emperor threw a party grander than any most people had ever seen, and had let Horus pick any eligable candidate he wanted. Why that so happened to be you, though, remains a mystery.

Your wedding had been surprisingly simple, and very fast. Horus was a busy man who had little time for ceremony. There were vows, he'd kissed your hand, then you were taken and dumped in his home and told to stay. You weren't even given any real duties for the first handful of weeks. The serfs claimed it was because you were technically in a honeymoon period, but you knew better. There was nothing for you to do at first. Horus was so efficient in running his own affairs that there had never been a need for a secondary person- even while he was away.

And he was away often.

You saw him for only a handful of days at a time, and they were almost never in succession. Even when he was home with you, he was a rare sight. He did not go out of his way to seek you out, and there was never any sharing of a bed. The most you typically saw of him was of the back of his shoulders.

You didn't love Horus Lupercal, but you didn't hate him either. It was hard to feel such a strong emotion towards a man you never saw, and you were just fine with that. You told yourself often that it was easier to watch him leave you when you didn't desperately want for him to stay. There was no affection from him, only distant kindness.

His sons were a different story entirely.

For the majority of them, you barely existed. You were their father's wife, but you didn't matter to them like Horus did- they often forgot you were even there half the time, and when they did remember, they were even more distant and cold towards you than your husband. The rest of the household- staff and whatnot- were quick to follow their example.

But out of all of them, the Mournival were the worst. They hated you. And they made sure you knew it as often as possible.

Aximand ignored you. He looked past you when you spoke, acting as if he hadn't heard you even though you knew he had, and you'd gotten more than a few bruises from him practically running you over in hallways. The only time he really spoke to you, was to snap at you for being in his way.

Loken and Torgeddon were awful in the way all two-faced people were. They smiled and nodded along while you spoke, pretending to listen and agree with you, only to turn around and whisper cruelties when you weren't watching. The only difference is that they didn't care if you heard them.

And Abbadon? To him, you were worse than any parasite or xenos. You burdened him just by existing and breathing the same air, and nothing you did made it any better. In fact, any attempts at speaking to him only seemed to make him angrier. You considered yourself lucky that he wasn't foolish enough to put his hands on you. Not that he needed to- his words were sharp enough to cut you open.

You never say anything about it to Horus- though you've thought about it many times. You're not sure he would really care. He may get angry, may punish them, but it would only be because their behavior made him look bad, not because your life and happiness really meant anything to him.

So you kept it quiet, and just tried to avoid his four favorite sons as often as possible.

- The door to your personal office opens without any warning, and you can feel the headache forming before your unruly stepson opens his mouth.

"Here," Abaddon dumps a large box onto your desk.

"What is this?" You ask, hesitantly.

"A gift from my father. Be grateful- you don't deserve it."

He doesn't wait to hear your response, turning on his heel and stomping off like he always does when forced to interact with you. But despite his sour attitude, you were actually a little excited.

Inside the box is a cloak of white fur similar to the wolf pelt your husband wore around his own shoulders. It's soft to the touch, and made to fit you perfectly.

Tucked in the bottom of the box is a small piece of paper with a simple note written neat handwriting.

Keep yourself warm. -H

A smile touches your lips. You'd made a comment last time you spoke with Horus about the nights getting cold. You knew it wasn't out of love, but you appreciated his attempts at keeping you comfortable nonetheless.

You ignore the stares that follow you as you head back to your rooms that evening, your wonderful gift wrapped around yourself. Perhaps it was a bit too prideful of you to flaunt it, but could anyone honestly blame you? Gifts from your husband were extremely rare- it only made sense that you showed it off a little.

It doesn't matter that Loken snorts when he sees you. Doesn't matter when you hear Torgeddon mutter that you look ridiculous. Doesn't matter that the first time Aximand looks at you in months is in disgust and annoyance.

-

You've been losing a lot of things recently, now that you think about it. First it was small- a pen, some small accessories you brought from home, makeup, and at some point you even lost your own hairbrush. But now, it's gotten worse.

The bracelet Horus gifted you on your wedding day. Clothing. Shoes. Other jewelry. The beautiful fur cloak. Things that made it look like you were slowly packing yourself up to disappear, should anyone look closely enough. You were never this careless with your things before, and as bigger and bigger items start to go missing, a worse and worse feeling grows in your chest.

You're going to have to tell someone. And soon. But your list of contacts within this house is painfully small, and any communication you have with your family or anyone else outside is highly monitored. Even if you didn't tell them, the Mournival would hear about it- then you would never hear the end of it.

They already thought you undeserving of everything you had, this was only going to exacerbate the problem.

But if you didn't tell anyone, if you kept this to yourself like you keep the bullying and unkindnesses of the people in this house to yourself, it would only make you look guilty of something when someone finally noticed. Guilty of cowardace, of betraying the husband you barely knew, of being everything everyone here thought of you.

Informing Horus was out of the question entirely. Not only was he not even home, but as Lady Lupercal, it was your responsibility to keep things in check. To keep staff under control and make sure everything stays at his perfectly strict standards. Telling him that someone was stealing from you was only going to cause you embarrassment, or worse- make him disappointed in you.

That left you with only one unsavory option. You had to tell the Mournival yourself, before they found out through someone else.

-

"Aximand!"

He doesn't stop. He doesn't even slow his pace.

"Aximand please! It's important! Just give me a moment-!"

He turns the corner. You stop following him, wondering why you even tried in the first place.

Because telling Abaddon is basically suicide, your mind unhelpfully reminded you. And considering he and the man who'd just abandoned you in the hallway were the only two of the four sons currently here, Aximand had been your only option. He still is your only option.

You take a breath, gather yourself a little, and start off after him once again.

He's fast, but then again, he's also significantly larger than you, making his casual stride enough on it's own to outpace you with annoying ease. Stars above, you hated it. Hated how you had to chase him. He didn't even need to stop- you only wished he would slow down enough for you to catch him, wished he would just pay attention to you for once.

What a childish thought, you tell yourself bitterly. You were a lady. You were the lady. You should be handling yourself with more poise, more decorum. You should raise your voice and order him to pull his head out of his ass long enough to hear what you had to say. Remind him of who you were, and maybe even threaten him with his father should he continue to refuse.

Yet here you were. The wife of Horus Lupercal, the woman who was only good at sitting pretty and taking up space- who only pretended to have authority- chasing after a man who had so little interest in you that you may as well be invisible. How embarrassing.

"Aximand-!" Your call of his name ends in a yelp, as you manage to trip over your own feet in your hurry to reach him. Pain shoots up your leg, your ankle throbbing. Horus' son still does not falter. You watch him disappear once again from view, leaving you to handle your injury yourself.

You sit there for perhaps a handful of seconds too long, but you do eventually pull yourself up. It hurts to stand, and hurts even worse to walk- there would definitely be no catching Aximand now. Using the wall as support, you begin limping back towards your rooms, deciding that it was better to rest and hope you were well enough tomorrow to try again.

Or you would, had you not collided face-first with your most spiteful stepson.

What kind of awful luck were you having today?!

"Abaddon-" You look away when he scowls at the sound of his name coming from you. "Excuse me."

You try to shuffle around, but his form blocks your way.

"What happened?" He practically spits the question at you.

"Nothing."

He scoffs, looking you up and down.

"What did you do to yourself?"

Yes, you think, because everything must be my own fault. It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that your brother cannot be polite enough to stop when I yell for him.

"I fell."

"What are you, a child still learning to walk?"

Something in you finally breaks, just a little.

"That's enough!" You snap. "If all you have to say are useless cruelties then find yourself elsewhere! I have better things to do than be accosted by an impolite astartes!"

Abaddon blinks, eyebrows shooting upwards in what appears to be genuine surprise. You'd never raised your voice at anyone- most especially him of all people. You can see the wheels turning in his head, but you don't wait to find out what he has to say in response. You use his momentary mental imbalance to squeeze past him, and keep moving.

You don't make it far.

The sharp Hah! that comes from him is your only warning before you're unceremoniously ripped from the ground and tossed over his massive shoulder.

"Hey!" You gasp, panic flooding your whole system. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Taking you to get treated." It doesn't matter how much you struggle, his grip on you is impossible to wiggle free from.

"Stop it! Put me down right now! Ezekyle Abaddon! I am not a toy!"

"No," For once, he agrees with you. "You are my father's foolish, useless wife who can barely carry her own weight without hurting herself."

Your face burns with embarrassment and frustration.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!"

That, and all other protest goes ignored as he carries you away. The heavy gazes of other astartes and servants alike sit heavily upon you, and it drives you insane how little it affects him. Because he wasn't who they were staring at, he wasn't who was being judged for his behavior, for his pathetic need for assistance.

No, it was all directed at you. It was always directed at you.

- You're surprised by the appearance of your husband at your bedroom door. You hadn't even been told he was going to be home- though to be fair, you had been borderline hiding in here for the past several days.

He smiles at you, and insists you sit.

"I heard you had some trouble," He says, and you already know what exactly he means. "How bad is it?"

"It's really not that bad- I just took a bit of a tumble," You offer him a smile in return. Horus was kind to you, more than you really deserved considering what a shit job you were doing as his lady.

He kneels, lowering himself so you don't have to strain so hard to look at him, and reaches to take your foot in his hand to inspect it for himself. It's shockingly intimate, and has you turning pink, your heart beating faster than normal.

You try to remind yourself that he holds no affection for you, that he is only kind because that's simply who he is. But it's hard to do so when his touch is so gentle it makes you think he's genuinely worried he might break you, or when he warms your bruised ankle with his hands as if he, alone, can heal you.

It's hard to remember Horus doesn't love you when he's looking at you like that.

Curse your delicate heart- curse your desire for closeness with the one person in this house who you should be close to. Curse his ability to make people fall under his spell simply by existing in their space.

"You're cold," His voice rattles you back to reality. "Where is your coat, I'll fetch it for you."

You flinch and look away from him, pulling yourself from his warm grasp. He doesn't stop you, which somehow makes the guilt eating at you even worse. He says your name. Patient, but firm. He asked a question, and he expects an answer.

"I…" Stars, what did you even say? You'd failed to tell anyone about your theft issue, and now your literal worse-case scenario is on his knees at your feet waiting for you to admit to your failure. You wanted to cry. "I don't…know…"

Horus is silent for a long moment.

"You don't. Know."

You wonder if you can get to the window and throw yourself out of it faster than he can stop you. You decide that no, you most likely can't. And even if you did, something tells you one of his sons would manage to catch you before you hit the ground.

"I…it…" You try to look anywhere but at him, and find your eyes settling on Abaddon, hovering in the doorway. When he got there, and how long he's been there you have no idea. He likely followed your husband, and has been waiting for him to finish with you this whole time. But somehow, the confession spills out of you easier. "Someone…took it. Someone has been taking…a lot…of my things…"

Abaddon goes very still. You think he might even stop breathing for a moment.

"For how long?" Horus asks.

You shift your gaze to the floor.

"A while…"

You catch the way Horus turns to look at his son from the corner of your eye. He doesn't ask anything of him, nor does he need to. Abaddon already knows.

"This is the first I'm hearing of it," He's quick to defend himself. "The lady hasn't said a single word about anything going missing."

Horus hums, and returns his attention to you. Again, he asks no verbal question, but his inquiry sits in the air between you regardless.

I tried to tell someone! You want to scream. No one listens! No one cares!

"I…" You hate how your voice shakes. "It- they're m-my belongings, a-and it's my duty to keep things in order. I- I didn't want to burden your sons wh-when they're already so busy."

It's a weak excuse only made weaker by your inability to look him in the eye, finding a scuff on the floor much more fascinating than whatever expression he or his son might be wearing on their faces.

Horus lets out a hard breath through his nose and stands. Once on his feet, he hooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head back to look up at him. The way the light illuminates him from this angle is an almost surreal reminder of his ethereality. A giant of a man, made by the Emperor of Mankind himself to be perfect in every way.

"Rest. I will see it handled."

He leaves no room for argument.

- Abaddon doesn't yell at you when he returns later for more information about the theft. Somehow, that makes it even worse than if he did.

"Is that all of them?" He flips through the list of people you'd given him that could in theory get close enough to you in order to steal. He hadn't asked about what exactly was missing, though you're certain it doesn't necessarily matter in this case- if they found the culprit, they'd find their stash.

"Yes," You mumble.

He turns, making his way towards the door in the usual fashion. Except this time he pauses just before stepping over the threshold.

"You should have said something. My brothers and I were reprimanded because of your secrecy."

You let his words sit between you for a moment, your gaze finding your sore ankle.

"What would have been the point?" You ask, voice low. "The only reason you care now is because Horus does."

His hands ball into tight fists, whatever sharp remark he was preparing dying before it can escape him. He leaves you in silence.

-

Abaddon has been more attentive in recent days. You wouldn't go as far as to call him kind, but his immediate aggression towards you has somewhat faded.

You don't know if it's because he is actually starting to care, or if it's just because he's under orders from his father to look after you better. Regardless, he's become a more solid figure than he was before. He's still short with you, still glares and rolls his eyes and makes faces, but at least now he seems to listen when you speak.

You take your wins where you can get them. They're hard to come by in the Lupercal household.

There has been no word about the thief. No news as to whether they've been caught, or if any of your things have been found, and Horus has not been back to see you since that night. Not that you really expected him to, it wasn't like it was out of character for him to visit and vanish. It stopped bothering you rather early in this arrangement.

The person his absence does seem to bother, oddly enough, is Abaddon.

Whenever there is mention of Horus not coming to you, his face twists in an unpleasant way, and he lets out a huff before muttering to himself words that you can never quite catch. It confuses you, and he refuses to humor any of your questioning about it, always snapping that it was nothing, and to mind your own business.

It's almost endearing, in a way. It makes him seem so much more…human to you. And much less like an unfeeling jackass who wants you dead. Sometimes, it even makes you laugh, which has your rude, unruly stepson turning red and yelling at you to shut up.

-

You're practically vibrating with excitement, despite how desperately hard you're trying to remain calm. Your fingers rake through long hair that you never even imagined you'd be allowed to touch, catching a few stray tangles here and there. It was to be expected with hair of this length, but you still offered soft apologies every time.

Abaddon simply grunts in response.

It had been shockingly easy to get him to sit down and allow this, and a fairly large part of you is certain it will never happen again. But the two of you have gotten…well, you're not sure close is the right word, but at least he didn't seem to completely despise you anymore. If anything, you were little more than a mild annoyance to him these days.

Three very long months of dedication to forming some kind of genuine relationship with your husband's favored son was finally paying off. The other three hadn't come around yet, but they were getting curious, you could tell.

Loken started to linger in common areas where you were. Torgeddon actually asked your opinion on something and took it seriously. And Aximand steps to the side when you meet in the halls- though that one could be because Abaddon has taken to following you most places.

Part of you doesn't care if the other three sons in the Mournival ever fully decide you're not a waste of space. Part of you is just glad one of them has changed his mind.

You separate his hair into three even sections, and begin braiding it, humming softly as you do so.

It had started as him coming to inform you of Horus' expected return in a handful of days. His most recent campaign had been rather short, and apparently he was actually going to stick around for longer than normal.

You'd thanked Abaddon, and as he'd turned to escape, you'd spotted it.

"What is in your hair?" You'd asked. He'd stopped, and lifted his hand to touch his hair, frowning a bit.

"Dirt."

"That looks like more than dirt- were you sleeping outside?"

The way his eyes cut to the side told you that you're correct.

"No," He'd lied anyway. "I was training with my brothers."

"Ah huh. Come here and sit down, I'll fix it for you."

His face had twisted.

"I don't need-"

"Abaddon. Sit."

It was thanks to him that you'd started to assert yourself a little better, and it always felt good when he listened. He'd stomped over to you, sat himself on the floor with his arms crossed, and let out an annoyed huff.

You were supposed to be working on some basic household administration work, but this was much more fun.

"It's so long," You mused to yourself. "Honestly, I'm a little surprised you keep it like this."

"I like it," He grumbles. You let out a light chuckle.

"I like it, too. It suits you."

"Shut up." You laugh again at his words, tying off the braid and patting him on the shoulder to signal that you were finished.

"Be gone, you. I've things to do and you've distracted me long enough."

He turns to look at you, offended. The giggles that escape you frustrate him more the longer it takes for you to calm yourself back down. He lurches to his feet, glaring at you, the tips of his ears the slightest bit red in embarrassment at being successfully teased.

He stomps out without another word, leaving you to your amusement.

-

It's late- you should have turned in hours ago. But you'd had more work than you realized, and had ended up working well past your usual time. You shuffle through the halls on the way back to your bedroom when voices filter through the silence.

Creeping closer to the source of the voices, you realize quickly that it's the four members of the Mournival, tucked alone in the dining hall. You press yourself to the wall just outside the cracked door and listen despite knowing that you should probably keep walking.

"-just don't get how you can stand it," Loken is saying. "If I had to spend every day with her, I think I'd go insane."

"Shut up," Abaddon snaps back. "You don't know anything."

"Enlighten us then. How has our fine Lady Lupercal managed to sway you to her side?"

You perk up a bit and listen closer, curious as well of what his answer might be.

"Our father adores that woman. Yet she refuses to see him while claiming he never actually visits, and every gift he's sent has managed to end up 'missing' somewhere we can't find any of it. I'm not swayed, I'm staying close so that I can make sure she doesn't cause further harm to our father or his house."

What was he saying? What did he mean Horus adored you? He was never around! You never refused to see him- not once! If anything, though you are loath to admit it even to yourself, you missed him when he wasn't around. And it wasn't your fault your things had been stolen!

Was it really all a lie? A play he was acting in just so that he could expose some wickedness in you that didn't exist?

No- no that couldn't be it. There had to be something else going on- a misunderstanding or- or-

"If she vanished tomorrow, I wouldn't even blink."

You don't remember getting back to your room after that. The journey is a blur of tears and muffled sobs that you pray none of them heard.

[annarobszombies]

"Mother" pt. 2

IM FINALLY FREE

This feels so rushed but this section alone is also over 6k words and this entire fic was not planned to be this long </3 Anyway enjoy

Light Horus x reader.

"Her ladyship is seeing no one at the moment."

He stares down at your aide, who looks back at him with a blank expression. You've been refusing any kind of visitor for days now, moving only from your rooms to your office and back. He's been hearing that you haven't been eating much, either.

Damn it. If his father caught wind of this, he'd be pissed. Furious even- and Abaddon would deserve it for failing him at what should be a simple task again.

All he had to do was find out who was behind all the trouble regarding you. It shouldn't be this difficult! You shouldn't be acting this difficult! It makes him wonder if the traitorous weasel had gotten into your head at some point in recent days and whispered things to you that were untrue.

He lets out an annoyed sigh through his nose, jaw tight.

Maybe he should just clear them all out. Then you could re-staff the house with people more to your liking and this farce will finally be over.

But then again, if the bad egg is one of his brothers, that was a different problem that required a different solution.

Damn it damn it damn it!

He needed to speak with you. Needed to find out what's changed, and fast. His father was returning soon, and he would be expecting answers. Answers Abaddon currently didn't have.

He looks past the aide at the closed door of your office where you were tucked away busy with your duties. He stares at it as if you could feel his gaze from the other side, as if it would surely open any second and you'd bless him with the smile he had no right to after his past behavior towards you.

"Fine." He knew every hall and hidden door in this house. He'd find another way to get to you.

-

The back corridors near your rooms were not made for someone of his size in the slightest. They were cramped and uncomfortable for even a baseline human- it was honestly a miracle he was able to get through them at all.

To be fair, he supposed, your rooms were never supposed to have you in them. The space they'd scrambled to make yours had been previously used as storage space and spare rooms for the occasional guest. They weren't originally made to have someone important enough for an astartes to need to check in on them quietly like this.

But it was fine. He'd suffer through the tight space only this one time, because afterwards he'd make sure you didn't close your door to him again.

He was your- you were his father's wife for fuck's sake. He'd been putting in the effort to make sure you felt more safe around him than before, so there should be no reason for you to act like this. Clearly something has gone wrong, and he was going to find out what it is and you were going to return to normal.

His hand finds the small door that would lead him directly into your space and he pauses, listening. He can hear you shuffling about, humming an idle tune to yourself. It was a nice sound, one he knew would have his father melting faster than your hesitant touch whenever he got close enough.

How did you really not see it? How his father tripped over himself for you? He'd sent you gift after gift, giving you everything you could have ever wanted to make up for the time he couldn't spend with you. Shit, he'd been working tirelessly since you married so that he could put things on hold and be here with you for a good, long while.

Abaddon had determined something was very very wrong with your communication with each other extremely quickly once he began actually paying attention to you. It was something he should have caught so much earlier, and it sat at the top of his list of things to mend before his father's return.

No more miscommunications. No more misunderstandings.

He was going to fix it. And he was going to make sure his stupid brothers got in line too. But first- he had to deal with what was immediately in front of him.

"One step at a time," You'd said once, more to yourself than anyone else, and you were right. Thinking too far ahead would only get him in trouble.

He takes a breath, steeling himself for your reaction to his sudden appearance, and pushes through the tiny door into your private space. The sound has you startling and whirling around, mouth parting in a gasp. He just barely manages to raise a hand and bark out a rushed "It's just me," before you can fully panic.

"Abaddon!" His name comes out of you in a rush of air. "What in the world are you doing?!"

"You've been avoiding everyone. I'm here to make sure you haven't completely lost your senses," Perhaps he could have said that in a different way. He sees how his words and sharp tone makes your face twist.

"You couldn't come through the actual door like a normal person?" You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. A protective stance. You were blocking yourself off from him again.

"Would you have opened it had I done that?"

The silence tells him everything he needs to know.

"You have made my point, Lady Lupercal."

You look away from him.

"Fine," You mumble. Then you drop your arms to your sides and square your shoulders, looking up at him with a pride that can only come from being his father's lady. It makes him smile a little- you were slowly breaking away from your timidity and finally coming into your own. "As you can see, I'm perfectly fine."

"Are you?"

"I am. I've simply been busy and have had no time to deal with anything other than preparing for your father's return home. I was notified terribly last minute that several things I ordered for the feast I planned either have not arrived or have arrived incorrect," You say, and for a moment he dares to believe you. Things like that happened, mistakes got made. But there was more to it. There had to be.

"If you need things handled, that is what I am here for-"

"I don't want your false kindness, Abaddon. I've had quite enough of it, actually."

That brings him up a bit short. Sure, he maybe wasn't the best, but his growing affection for you was nowhere near false. He was kinder to you because he'd finally gotten close enough to see what he'd been blind to. So then…

"Someone is telling you things." He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the words slip from his mouth regardless. You look at him with an expression he can't quite place.

"No one is telling me anything," You say.

"Clearly they are, otherwise you wouldn't be repeating it."

You open and close your mouth several times and he can see all the different ways you want to respond flit through your eyes.

"The only thing I may be repeating is words that have come from your own mouth, Abaddon. If you honestly think I don't hear what is said within my own home, you are so very, painfully wrong."

He should just feed himself to the nearest beast. Should put himself on his knees and let his father take his head from his shoulders. Because of course you heard him, and he can pinpoint exactly when you heard him.

He'd known someone was there. They all had. But he hadn't thought for a moment that it could have been you. He'd spoken under the assumption that different ears were listening, and now he was going to have to figure out how to fix it.

No more miscommunication, his mind reminds him. No more misunderstandings.

"Let me explain-" He takes a step forward. You take a step back.

"I don't want to hear excuses. I heard well enough how you really feel, there is no sweeping this under the rug."

"I'm not trying to-"

"Please just go. Return to your duties and-"

His impatience gets the better of him. He moves quickly, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking them a little with a snap of your name. It silences you immediately, and has you looking up at him with wide eyes.

Damn it. He didn't want to scare you. But if this was the only way you would hear what he had to say, then he'd live with it, and make up for it for as long as it takes.

"Listen to me," He says, lowering his voice but still holding onto you. "Someone is stealing from you, purposefully fumbling your orders and plans, and forcing distance between you and people you should not be distanced from. I am trying to figure out who it is, and how deep this trechery goes."

"What-"

"I spoke the way that I did because I knew someone was listening. I thought it may have been the culprit, and wanted them to believe that I was on their side so that they might make the mistake of showing themselves."

"Why," You breathe. "Is this the first I'm hearing of anything like this?"

"The only people who know are myself and my father, who gave the order to investigate. I've told no one, not even my brothers in the Mournival so that I can avoid being found out before I can solve what's been going on."

It was such a weak excuse, but at least he was being truthful. He hoped you could at least see that.

"I should have told you sooner," He says when you go far too long without responding. "I didn't want to cause you more alarm than necessary. I…am sorry."

You blink up at him, at his first spoken apology to you. He doesn't like how you look when you cry, but he forces himself to maintain eye contact, now worried that anything he did may have you refusing to believe him.

"So," Your voice is shaky. "To clarify. You don't hate me and want me dead?"

The way you word the question makes him want to laugh- it does make him laugh, head shaking. He finally releases you and lowers himself, kneeling at the feet of his lady.

"You are my father's wife," He says. "You may not be my favorite person in the world, but I would never be so foolish as to wish you genuine harm."

You huff out a laugh and wipe at your eyes.

"Yeah? What about the rest of you?"

"My brothers are their own kind of idiot. They will come around soon enough, even if I have to force them."

-

He can feel the weight of his brother's stare between his shoulderblades, but he does not turn, far too focused on his current task. After finally getting you to talk a little more, he'd narrowed his list of suspects down a surprising amount.

Amazing what happens when people speak to one another, he muses to himself. I should have done this sooner.

According to you, the only people you spent any real time interacting with other than him, and the occasional attempt to reach out to his brothers, is your aide and a small handful of servants. How he didn't realize you were so isolated when you definitely should not have been, he had no idea. But his blindness to your plights aside, he believes he may have his answer.

One of the servants had come with you from your family home. A final gift from your parents to help you 'settle in,' apparently. He was supposed to leave once you'd gotten comfortable, and as far as Abaddon could tell, has long overstayed his welcome.

He had access to you, your private rooms, and your office. He often brought you meals, and the more Abaddon thought about it, the more he began to realize that this leech was the one who was near constantly sending his father away, claiming that you were either too busy, or not in the mood to be seen.

It makes Abaddon deeply angry in a way he hasn't been in a while. But mostly at himself. He should have seen this, should have put the pieces together before there were so many of them scattered about the metaphorial board. He was a son of Horus, damn it! He was supposed to be intelligent!

He taps the screen of the data slate in irritated thoughtfulness.

They were all supposed to be intelligent. As their father's most elite and faithful sons, the Mournival held his favor and his trust. It was their duty to lead their other brothers to glorious victory in every battle, regardless of where it was taking place. So the fact that the four of them were failing this badly in a war happening within the sacred halls of their father's home where his most treasured wife was in clear and present danger was…odd.

Things like this didn't just happen. This kind of isolation was carefully planned and carried out slowly over time with consistent effort to maintain the wall. But with enough pressure, the little inconsistencies start to show.

It was clear now that he cared to look that whoever the culprit was- be it this servant or a different one- hadn't expected him to get close to you, nor for you to open up in any way. They'd been watching you, watching your reactions, making plans around your timidity as if something like that could never change. As if you had always been that way, and would always be that way.

But his father chose you for a reason. Because he saw a fire in you that others didn't, and Abaddon had been pulling that out of you little by little every day for the past several weeks. You were coming to life in ways that were unexpected to everyone involved, and he was beginning to wonder if someone had given you the idea to listen to his conversation with his brothers the other night. It wouldn't take much, just the whisper of a hint is all it takes, and the seed could have been planted in you a while ago.

"Wretched son of a-"

"Who's got you all riled up, brother?" Loken finally asks, tired of just watching him stew in silence. "The precious Lady causing you more strife?"

The look Abaddon shoots him has Loken flinching back a bit.

"Seems perhaps I touched a nerve," Loken tries to chuckle, but it falls flat and uncomfortable.

"What do you want?" Abaddon asks.

"Well I was going to ask if you wanted to join the rest of us for some training drills," Loken says, "But now I'm curious as to what's got you all pissy."

"I'm not-" He cuts himself off, letting out a harsh breath through his nose, forcing himself to calm down a little. He wants to say that it's none of Loken's business, that he can take his nosiness elsewhere, and to leave him alone. But he'd promised you that he would get his brothers in line, and the first step to that was getting them informed.

"This household is in fucking shambles, and none of us saw it happen," He starts.

"Oh?" Now that certainly got his brother's attention. Abaddon gestures for him to come all the way into the room, and shut the door. He didn't want his words filtering out to those who had no business hearing them.

He takes a breath, and explains.

Loken already knew about the theft- they all got lectured by their father for nearly an hour over it- but Abaddon fills him in on the rest. The crossed wires and mixed messages. The distance that an outside party had forced between you and them and Horus. He told Loken of his suspicions, and admitted to his own blind idiocy as well as the lie he spoke to his brothers the other night.

His brother sits and listens, taking everything in with a thoughtful expression, and when Abaddon finishes, he lets the words sit between them in silence while he processes it all.

"Are you certain it's not the lady herself?" Loken asks slowly. "I've started paying a bit more attention to her, she doesn't seem the type, but if she really wanted to leave, it's possible she-"

"It's not," Abaddon insists. "Unlike the rest of you, I actually spend real time with her. Someone looking to leave wouldn't put nearly as much time and effort into the things she does for all of us."

Loken hums, and scratches his jaw.

"Now that I think about it, I do find it odd that the lady's actions never quite fit the rumors that get whispered around here."

"What rumors?"

Loken looks surprised, his eyebrows raising.

"You haven't heard?"

"No- I haven't heard anything about her other than-" Other than what his other brothers told him. Things he learned to be painfully untrue the moment he gave you a sliver of his time and genuine attention.

The two look at each other for a long time, realization dawning on them both.

"Someone's been controlling information," Loken says. "And since no one other than you has actually paid any attention to her-"

"Lady Lupercal has been unable to defend herself," Abaddon finishes. "And we have let the words of others keep us from defending her in turn."

Loken rubs a hand down his face, letting out a sigh.

"What's that ancient Terran saying? Something about egg on our faces?" He tries to joke, but it once again falls flat.

"Father put me in charge of solving this disaster and putting things back in order," Abaddon says. "I have tried to do it alone, but things are more complicated than I first realized."

"I'll get Aximand and Torgeddon," Loken stands from his seat. "We should start with where our wires are crossed, and get ourselves in order before we can deal with the rest of it."

"Be quick and quiet. We don't want to expose what we're doing before we know who's responsible."

Loken nods, and slips out the door.

Abaddon looks at where his brother disappeared, relief settling in his chest. Loken believed him, and if he knew the others as he believed he did, Aximand and Torgeddon would as well. The four of them were close, closer than they were with any of their other brothers within the Luna Wolves as a whole. They were people he knew he could rely on- people you should have been able to rely on.

There was something all within the Lupercal household knew, and that was if the Mournival put their minds to something, it was going to get done. It didn't matter if it was war, peace, or the front of the line for a meal- if they wanted it, they would get it. That was what it meant to be a favored son of Horus.

Once Loken returned with the other two, they spent far longer than they ever should have needed to just reorienting themselves. Then, plans were put in motion immediately.

Loken and Torgeddon focused on the servants, using their natural charm to quietly dig deeper into what people knew, what they believed, and where each story originated from.

On the other side, Aximand turned his attention towards their fellow astartes brothers. Though it was less likely one of them was the true culprit, they had been just as bad about ignoring your needs, and that behavior would be fixed without delay.

And finally, Abaddon cemented himself at your side. An ever present figure that ignored anyone that wasn't you. He would not take messages from your aide, he would not accept a refusal to see him from a servant. If it didn't come directly from you, he wouldn't hear it.

They'd failed you and Horus both, but they would rectify that with a precision only they could accomplish. You would be safe, you would be happy, you would be taken care of, and you would know the love of their father- just as you deserved.

-

He'll never rid himself of the image for as long as he lives. The sight of what little hope you held in your eyes dying because of a single, stupid second of hesitation.

Of your hand, once held out towards him in a desperate call for help, falling limply to your side, and how your tears mix with blood you should never have had to shed.

How, in the name of all the stars in the infinite sky, had things gone so wrong?

It had all been going well- far better than before, now that he had the support of his three brothers. They'd investigated every lead, and had found their answer to be bigger than any of them realized.

It wasn't just one or two servants acting against you, it was all of them, with the only loyal one among them being the one Abaddon hadn't expected- the one who arrived with you. The man he'd suspected the most. Apparently, the reason he'd been keeping their father away was because he'd been told to by your parents to avoid "unnecessary high hopes" for affection from the primarch.

It was stupid, his father adored you and would be more than glad to show it if given the chance, but Abaddon had decided to let you deal with him, while he handled the rest.

And the rest was a disaster. A nearly fatal disaster.

As they followed the trail of trechery within their father's house, they found evidence of bribes and collusion with outside nobles who were less than pleased at the fact that you were Horus' chosen bride. They wanted you gone, neglected or abused to the point of leaving so that they could shove one of their daughters in your place.

Abaddon had been right- he should have just gotten rid of them all. There wasn't a single branch of this tree that wasn't rotted, and now you were suffering for it far more than you ever should have.

He paces back and forth in front of the door as he mulls over the events that led to this.

One of the nobles got brave. Too brave, and sent people to rid the Lupercal house of it's lady by force. The servants they had under their employ had let them in, and led them straight to you through those hidden halls while you slept. The only time Abaddon ever allowed you to be alone.

By the time Abaddon had arrived, thanks to the sound of you screaming for him echoing through the halls, you'd attempted to escape your would-be kidnappers, and ended up badly hurt.

And that was when he made his biggest mistake.

He hesitated. It was barely a second, but for that short moment, he actually wondered if you leaving was a good thing. It wasn't like you were happy here, not after his continued failing to protect you. Maybe it was best that you were taken somewhere else. Back home or- or to some planet where you could live a different life.

And he watched as you lost faith in him because of it. Watched as you were carried off, still kicking and screaming and covered in your own blood.

He hopes his father kills him slowly and painfully. He'd deserve nothing less.

Even though he'd shaken some sense into himself, even though he hadn't let them remove you from the house, he still nearly lost you. Still nearly let you disappear, and still let you get terribly hurt. You may be alive, but your blood was on his hands regardless.

-…-

It's quiet, when you wake up. Your room is dimly lit, the sky out your window dark, and your whole body feels terribly heavy.

You turn your head, taking in what little you could see through bleary eyes, and find that you aren't alone. A familair figure shuffles about, careful of your many many things taking up space. He's older, and was one of the few people who wasn't always rude to you.

"Doc..tor..?" Your voice is hoarse, nearly a whisper, but his head turns. You see relief flood his expression and he's quick to move to your side.

"My lady," He says. "Thank the stars."

"What…happened..?"

His expression turns grim, and he sits in a seat next to your bed.

"You were attacked, my lady. Do you remember?" He asks. You nod slowly, the memory of waking to unfamiliar hands grabbing at you making you feel ill. "They attempted to abduct you, to what end, I do not know. Lord Abaddon retreived you, but by the time he got to you, you'd been badly hurt by your own brave attempts at escape. It's my understanding that the only reason any of them survived, is because more information was required from them. I believe Lord Lupercal is personally dealing with it."

You jolt, eyes widening in surprise.

"Horus is here?" You ask, forcing yourself to sit up properly. The doctor nods, reaching to assist you.

"Yes, my lady. He arrived early- barely a few hours after everything settled. You have been asleep for a few days now."

You blink at him, then slowly look down at your hands resting in your lap, unsure of how to feel in this moment.

It had been terrifying. One moment you were at peace, finally feeling like things were going to be okay, the next…everything was in ruins. You were grabbed at, hit, had words you never wished to think of again hissed into your ears, and Abaddon-

Abaddon had looked everything like an avenging angel saving you. You'd feared that he was going to leave you, that he was going to just let you get killed. But you remembered the look on his face when he caught up to your attackers. Remembered how he ripped you away from them and hid you behind himself. You'd fainted- likely due to a head injury, if the ache in your skull was any indecation- but you knew he'd done what he needed to do to ensure your safety.

He was his father's son. It was his duty. Even if, as he put it, you weren't his favorite person. Even if he really didn't want you around. He'd still come for you, and that meant more than you'd ever be able to explain. You needed to tell Horus that he should be proud. The he should be sure to praise his most loyal son.

"I want…to see my husband," You say.

"Of course, my lady. I'll send for him right away." You whisper out a soft thanks, and watch the old man leave.

Your eyes once again scan the room, finding it far messier than it was supposed to be. And far fuller.

You spotted your missing cloak, as well as several dresses you didn't recognize tossed onto your vanity, artwork and jewelry dumped wherever there was room, and even several pieces of furniture you didn't have before. It was like someone had raided a marketplace and just thrown it into your room.

"So they found it all…" You murmur to yourself. But what was the rest of this? Apology gifts? Or things they thought were yours that they just took when they retreived it all? Did it really matter?

A soft sigh escapes you, and you turn your gaze to the window.

Stars dotted the night sky, and a soft breeze made your curtains dance in the moonlight. It was the kind of night that made you want to walk about outside, preferably with your husband at your side. You really should make a better attempt at getting to know him, it was the least he deserved after this mess.

That was, of course, assuming he even wanted to. For all you knew, he was going to ship you back home because of how much trouble you were. It wouldn't shock you, it wasn't exactly as if he cared for you all that much. You had to tell yourself not to let it hurt when it happened.

The door slams open, the sound startling you enough to jump. Your head whips around, panic flooding your system, making it hard to breathe.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You were alone, there was no one here to help you if someone had come to finish what they started-

Abaddon's loud, shaky voice calling your name shakes you back to reality. He's breathless- you don't think you've ever seen him, or any astartes, breathless. It was as if he'd run across the entire planet to get to you.

He's an absolute mess. His hair is down, looking like it needs a good brush, and he's got the kind of dark circles under his eyes that makes you think he hasn't slept in days. He says your name again, taking quick steps to your bedside and all but collapsing into the chair. It groans under his weight, having not been made for someone like him.

He reaches for you, taking one of your hands in his. It's gentle, but tight. Like he's both scared to hurt you further, and scared that you'll fade away at the same time.

"Abaddon," You breathe, your panicked heart finally slowing into calm.

"My lady."

Tears well in your eyes, but you fight them as best you can. You squeeze his hand.

"You saved me," You sniffle. "Thank you."

"I…" He takes a breath. "I would never let anyone take you. Not even if you, yourself, wanted it. You're a Lupercal, you belong here. With us."

He cracks the smallest of smiles.

"You have to see your life here to the end. To be at my father's side and look after his house and all of his foolish sons. That's your duty, is it not, mother?"

Your world grinds to a stop. Never once in your entire time here had any astartes considered you a mother. You were their lady, their father's wife, but not their mother. And of all of them, Abaddon was the last person you expected to call you such a thing, even after how close you'd gotten.

"Wh-what did you just…call me?" Your voice comes out as barely a whisper. He squeezes your hand.

"Mother," He says the word slowly. "Because that is what you are."

You're completely stunned, unsure if you might actually have fallen asleep while waiting for Horus and were dreaming.

Tears stream down your face before you can stop them, sobs falling from you freely. Abaddon makes a choked noise, pulling his hand away just long enough to scoot himself closer and pull you into a hug. It's stiff and awkward, and when he rubs your back in an attempt to soothe, it's far too firm, but it's perfect nonetheless.

You would have accepted simply being called his lady or, hell, even just your name. But mother? That was something you thought he would die before he uttered such a title at you. Even though in your mind, he'd always been your son due to your marriage to his father, you never never thought he would turn and actually accept being one.

He holds you until the tears stop coming, only pushing you gently back into your previous spot once he was sure you were alright.

"I'm sorry," You say, wiping at your eyes. "I don't- that was a bigger shock than it probably should have been- I- I must be really tired."

"Then you should go back to sleep," He says. "I came because I heard you were looking for my father. He'll be here at your side soon."

"Good, good. I- I really want to see him."

Abaddon hums.

"He wants to see you, too. The doctor has been chasing him from your rooms every day. He's getting restless."

You can't help laughing a little at the absurdity of the statement. You honestly doubted Horus was that concerned about you.

"He probably wants to hear what happened from me," You say. "I shouldn't keep him waiting any longer."

"That's not- no. You're wrong."

You look at Abaddon, head tilting in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"My father is beside himself with worry over you. He asks about you daily, and as I said, has to be chased off just as often because the doctor worried his presence would startle you since you two aren't as close as you should be. I have never seen him like this before," Abaddon says, and there's something in his voice that has you pausing. He sounds genuine, and a little frustrated.

"I…see…" You can't bring yourself to argue when he sounds like that. You decide to change the subject slightly. "Um. Is all of this from your father?"

He glances around the room, then looks back at you.

"No, it's everything that was taken from you."

You blink at him.

"I don't understand."

He looks at you like you're an idiot, looking much more like himself than he has this entire time.

"Your things. That were stolen. We found them and had them returned to you. I didn't know where to put it all, so I had them just find space. I figured you would put it all away later-"

"Abaddon, I don't know what half of this is."

Now it's his turn to blink at you.

"What?"

"I-" You gesture at everything. "I don't recognize half of what's in this room. I never- these things aren't mine. I mean, some of them, yes, but-"

"No, that's not- did your injuries alter your memory? Everything in this room is something father gave you throughout your time here. There's nothing new or unfamiliar."

You look around at everything again, distressed. You really didn't recognize a lot of the items here. Had your memory really been messed with? Had you really just forgotten what you owned?

No- no, there was no way. There had to be a mistake. These things had to be new, Abaddon had to be confused. Otherwise that meant that someone hadn't just been stealing things you knew about, but things you ever even got to see, and that felt a little too cruel.

Abaddon takes your hand again.

"It's alright, mother," He says. "You can ask about it when my father arrives."

"…okay…"

He nods, releasing you and standing.

"Where are you going?" You ask, anxiety about being alone filling you again. Abaddon huffs out a chuckle.

"You have other guests. I was planning on sending them away so you can rest, but would you rather I let them in?" He asks. You nod slowly. Who could possibly be here waiting to see you? You weren't afraid, not with him here, just confused.

Abaddon walks to the door and takes hold of the handle, pulling it open. Three astartes-sized bodies tumble to the floor cartoonishly.

Horus Aximand is on his feet first, brushing himself off before shoving past Abaddon despite Loken grabbing at his ankles to stop him like a child trying to trip his sibling. The other two scramble up as well, falling over each other to get to you.

You just stare at them, bewildered. It's like looking at completely different people- you honestly didn't recognize any of them while they were like this. Abaddon had told you before the disaster that he'd spoken to them and gotten them more on your side, but you hadn't expected something like this.

"Don't crowd her!" Abaddon yells over them, but he looks amused. Happy, even.

"Mother." Aximand says, startling you even more.

"Y-yes?" You squeak.

He looks at you, actually looks at you, then smiles.

"I'm glad you're alright."

"You had us worried to death, you know!" Loken cuts in, shoving himself so far forward he's practically on the bed with you. It makes you laugh, though you think it must be the shock of the situation.

"I'm sorry?" You say, unsure how else to respond.

"No-" Torgeddon cuts in. "We are the ones who should be sorry. If we'd done anything we were supposed to, you wouldn't be like this. It's our fault, mother, not yours."

Both Loken and Aximand nod. Then all three of them panic when you cry again, while Abaddon laughs at them as if he hadn't also struggled with your reaction.

"Why is it that the first time I get to see you in months, you're both injured and in tears?" Horus' voice startles all five of you. Your sons scramble from the room faster than any of them can say goodbye, leaving you alone with your husband for the first time since you married him.

"Th-they were good tears," You say. "They made me really happy just now."

"That's good to hear." He sits himself on the bed next to you, the mattress dipping with his great size.

He reaches for you, catching a tear from your cheet and wiping it away with a gentleness that makes your heart stutter. He looks down at you softly, his fingertips continuing to trace along your face.

It feels nice, and has you realizing just how horrendously touch starved you really were when you whine at him finally pulling away. The noise makes your husband chuckle, the look in his eyes nothing short of amused and warm.

"Does my wife like it when I touch her?" He teases, making your face burn hot with embarrassment.

"Y-yes," You admit quietly. "Your hands are rough, but it's pleasant."

He hums thoughtfully.

"Then I will have to do it more often."

The implication sits heavily between you, but you don't dislike it. It's a tease and in invitation. A promise of more time, of more attention, of more him.

You look up at him, meeting his gaze.

"I look forward to it, my lord."

"Very good, my lady."

He takes your hand and presses your palm to his lips, sealing his promise with a kiss.

[sillysucho]

Hey, hey, HEY! I have more ideas and I can't stop. Imagine teasing the emperor and somehow he says, “don't make me jump across this table.” and you smirk and look him directly in the eyes and say, “you feeling foggy, then leap.”

They had thought it a.. wonderful idea of sorts when Alpharius and Omegon offered to bug the room the Emperor held some of his meetings in. It was always a specific room and always with someone mysterious not even they knew of. By the stars, they were even caught by Malcador and he didn't say a single word (if you can call his disappointed griping that) before moving on.

Of course.. the primarchs did not expect what they were going to get. There were no cameras, the twins were too stingy with those, but crowded around the computers, six primarchs listened closely.

It started normal. Polite greetings, asking how one or the other is doing. They listened even closer. Clinking of utensils and clattering of plates.

Giggling.

Rogal Dorn's face was drawn into confusion, all of theirs were. Giggling. The Emperor. The Emperor of Mankind giggling. With someone. It'd be a lie if none of them admitted their skin crawled.

"Says you, you're not the one that has to talk to the Mechanicus all day. Don't make me regret having to listen to your silly prattle!"

There! Information! All at once the confused glances to each other ceased as they leaned close again. Even Omegon and Alpharius leaned their ears in, giving excited sneers. Someone who had the gall to talk to the Emperor in that manner was surely formidable!

"Oh, don't you get started on me with that again. I will jump across this table right now and make you listen to my 'prattle' even more." Silence.

Silence?

Was that a joking tone? Or had the idle jokes and laughter really been leading up to something more sinister? They nearly collectively winced at the clink of a glass being settled down.

"Feeling froggy? Then leap." the stranger's tone was serious. Commanding. Hah! Commanding the- The Primarchs really did jump from their seats, or spots if they stood, as the sound of clattering and shattering objects erupted and.. laughter?

"What the fuck! I didn't mean literally!" "You know me, I am always literal."

[shippingtara]

Warhammer AU where there is another human empire, but they worship the Warp.

Okay, before I offer the details, IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: I know shit about the canon lore, especially regarding the Warp. So what I am about to propose may be heavily inaccurate. Everything might be inaccurate actually. The Emperor personality, the Primarchs, etc. My knowledge is Youtube/Instagram shorts and Tumblr fanfics, so you can imagine 😂 Also, it is with a Primarch x reader/OC in mind (whatever rock your boat). And obviously, pre-heresy.

Also, if someone wants to use this idea to write a fic or anything, please do so! Feel free to modify it to your own taste too 😊

So, to explain in more details my idea. Outside the known galaxy, there is another human empire. At least as big as the Imperium, and just as powerful, if not more (by far, maybe, even). The Emperor of Mankind is informed of the existence of that force by, most likely, Rogue Traders (if they exist already, I think they did in 30k?). And what he hears... Doesn't please him. At all.

Why?

Well, because 1) there is another super-power competing with him and his vision. Vision said super-power doesn't seems to agree to, as there has been a lot of Xenos and mutants reported living there. 2) the leader of that other empire seems to be a Perpetual, like himself. Powerful too, like him. So not just a rival in political and military power, but on a personal level too. 3) they worship the Warp. Like, part of the population has literal mutations caused by the Warp. It's seen as an honor because it's proof they're a powerful psycher atuned to the Warp.

But Neoth cannot just ignore such a powerful empire, nor conquer it without mutual destruction, at best.

Negotiation it is.

As much as he despises it.

He takes with him his Primarch sons, some of their respective Astartes, and also his own Custodians, and of course, some Silent Sisters.

He is welcomed in that very weird place and sees a lot of differences from the get-go. No super cities like Earth, the skies are clear, the entire capital is celebrating them. He sees everyone seems to look healthy, and having very good lives.

(I do not know much of how Terra was during the Emperor reign, but I'll assume Terra already was like in 40k, which to my understanding is not well at all).

Neoth and his sons (and grandsons, should I call them?) Are led to the throne room, and meet the Imperial family. And they see the Leader has a lot of children. Like, A LOT. If they thought 20 children was a lot, boy did they not know this guy (how many you want him to have is actually up to you, but personally the idea Neoth got upstaged so hard is just hilarious to me 😂)

Negotiations ensues. The Primarch were initially made to leave, but Neoth sees the other leader clearly planning to have the talk with his children around, he decides to keep his own sons around.

I am very unsure of how the Emperor of Mankind would canonically treat his sons is such situation, but I will go with the idea he is the one doing the talk. It just fits what I understand of him. While the other Leader (is it obvious I have not figured a name for them yet?) Clearly has his children actively participate to the negociations, with seeminlgy as much authority as him in the debate.

Of course, such negociations for alliance aren't done in one day (especially for such big empires), so that means, free time to explore!

The Primarchs get to explore that new empire (they explore the Capital), and learn more about the culture of this so alien place for them.

To guide them, the sons of Neoth gets, of course, each one child of the Leader.

Now, what gender or characteristics they have, completely up to you! Run wild, feel free to do whatever you want here!

My personal idea for this AU is that the children all have varying level of psychic powers, with one especially being heavily atuned to the Warp, so they are very much marked by it both physically and mentally. I set them with Angron because to me, he's the one that needs help the most (sorry Konrad, I promise, you get the second most atuned to help you!)

So the Primarchs gets to learn more about the local culture, and are quite curious (Magnus. 80% of that curiosity is Magnus. All the Primarchs are curious too, but nowhere close as Magnus).

So, here is my idea about the Warp: from my understanding, Chaos is divided in two zones, the one the four Chaos gods occupy, and then the Deep Chaos, that no one know sthe fuck is there. But we know there is more gods, and they are, if I understand well, also creations of the Warp (technically speaking). But not CHAOS gods, just... Gods. So, to me, it means that there are domains outside of Chaos. So in a way, the Warp is just, another universe, with the domains being the equivalent of planets (or galaxies, as there has been cases of Chaos gods gifting planets and all) themed according to the concerned god. Each "galaxy" in the Warp belong to a god. Or at least some of them. But that means there are spaces that are just... Warp. Unclaimed, untaimed, pure Warp.

And the Warp is sentient. I don't know why to me it is. But it is.

Everything that exist within the Warp has to obey its law, its will, knowingly or not.

But very few even know the Warp is a being. Not just a place. Most don't even do the difference between Chaos and Warp.

But the Leader, he studied it. He, slowly, understood it. Understood them. And made sure his children, and then his subjects, would understand them too.

The Entity (trying not to say Warp again, repeated that word way too much 🤣) offer them gifts in thanks. First, they are not threatened by Chaos. The 4 leave the Empire alone.

Second, the population is mostly composed of Psycher. The more they understand them, the more atuned they are to the Warp, the more powerful they get.

After a certain level is reached, a normal body cannot handle the power, and it mutates. It's not gonna be horrific like for the 4 (no innerts taking breather or anything), but they're still mutations, so up to you how they manifest.

After a while, the negociations concludes, with, among the alliance conditions, marriages between the Primarchs and the Leader children.

The children that accompanied the Primarchs were naturally chosen to marry them, as they had volunteered to be guides just in case arranged marriage would be needed.

So the marriages (18 of them, damn!) Happens.

Here on, which Primarch you want to focus on, how they story goes and others are really up to you, but I will be going on about how it goes for Angron and my OC (MARY SUE ALLERT!!!! My character is overpowered because fuck it, that universe needs some good and I can do whar I want, it's my OC 🤣 and yes, I personally went for the OC route, but as said, if you prefer a x reader/you, don't hesitate!)

My OC (she a girl, so I will be using she from now on) had been very specific when the subject of marriage to the Primarchs came up, that she was to be with Angron, no discussion.

The night of the wedding, she made clear they were not gonna sleep together, not before a long while at least. He was qukte fine with that, after all, with his nails, he was not safe around in general. She pretty just said "Not for long".

She used her psychic abilities to extract the nails and heal his brain, allowing him to finally be himself.

"Consider this my wedding gift".

And went to sleep.

Leaving a chocked Angron dealing with the fact he no longer had nails, he was no longer in pain, he just got saved, and the person who just performed that miracle just... Fell asleep like it was nothing.

The poor giant is grappling with what she just did, something his own father couldn't (or wouldn't) do, and everything it meant. The poor man just doesn't know what to feel, he feels too much, now that the nails are not drowning everything in pain. So he feels everything he couldn't all at once, and it's just too much. He gets so overwhelmed he just... pass out.

Next morning, he wakes up, half expecting it to all be a dream and to feel the pain of he nails, but... No. No pain. No nails. Just silence.

Honestly, now that he gets go process properly what happened, he cries. He cries hard. He's finally free. Finally.

After a long time, he finally calms down, and notice his newlywed wife is not there. He goes out to find her, worried because he may be free, his sons are very much not. They still wear nails.

She is in the mess, eating ungodly amounts of food.

He joins her to eat, thanks her about healing him, and wonder what she would like as a thanks.

She just ask about his relationship with his sons.

He answers honestly, it's bad, and he honestly doesn't see them as sons (If I remember well that's how it is?)

She decides to heal them too. He wonder if healing so many is even doable. She answer that with the help of the Warp? Quite easy.

Angron wonder why his father couldn't heal him, while his ARRANGED wife (someone that not only barely knows him, only saw him at his worst, and doesn't love him) managed to do it.

She doesn't answer that one.

I can imagine Angron gets more and more doubtful of his Father, seeing what he taught him being completely destroyed by what his wife and her family (and her entire Empire) can do.

After some time, Angron decides to leave the Imperium to pass completely under the Empire, which, you can imagine, did NOT please the Emperor one bit.

"He is my son! My Primarch!"

"No one has contested that"

"We had agreed the children stayed under their original rulers authority!"

"Yes we did"

"What you did breaks the terms of alliance!"

"How so? We did not order him, nor force him to join us, he chose to join my Empire, to serve by his wife. Nothing in our alliance mention this as a dealbreaker. I admit none of us had the insight to see this coming."

Neoth, understanding perfectly the underlying insult of "I never thought it would happen because my children are too intelligent to join the walking disaster that is your Imperium and that your sons don't have enough brain to join mine".

I've had this AU in mind since a loooong while! But I admit there is a lot of wing it here 😂

I said it before, I'll say it again, if this AU inspire you in any way, feel free to use this AU as you wish, and modify it to your taste!

Thank you for reading this!

[mehiwilldoitlater]

"Don’t get me wrong! I'm estatic to meet some more humans after the universal jump." You said twisting the straw of your drink. "It's just...how can I put it...uuuh...they are..."

"Creepy as fuck?" Continued Whirl, frying to balancing three knife on the table.

"Harsh...but true."

"I say we are kinda lucky!" Said Swerve while finishing to clean the glass in his servos. "They could had killed us in one second, instead they are almost praise us!"

"It's still creepy as fuck." You sighed, otiving one of those cyborg talking non stop with Nautica, wich was quite a good choice since her good nature.

"You just have to do your job, kid. Smile, be present, trying to mediate...the usual." First aid added, yet you couldn't shake away the cold feeling againstvyour skin everytime you stood too close to that...human? It was a human Anymore?

"And maybe pull some string with this Horus guy!" Swerve laughed. "Raise your servo if you noticed how he just have heart eyes everytime our little Y/n meet him!"

You gasped in horror when all of them rised their limbs.

"That's rude! Also he's not interested in me!"

"And you're not in him. You prefer big red mech that happen to be co-captain and that tend to burn staff."

You smacked Firstaid, completely ignoring the presence of several human gazes that acted as the one of a more important figure.

[bugsfanficfaves]

I just had a thought about the Primarchs all slowly coming back, and how potentially The Emperor might be resurrected as well once they're all back in action. And I just happen to have the thought "What if he has the Primarchs sacrificed so he can be 'reborn'?" I honestly wouldn't put it past him

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Voyeurism didn't win the last Titus poll however... you're getting it as an early bonus - as a treat! 🤗 (and also because this was already a WIP beforehand)

(Gender neutral reader)

He tries the Vox again.

Nothing.

He's done repeated attempts but all end the same: iterating static for the last half hour. They were to board soon, this was very unlike him to just - disappear this close to deployment!

In grit of frustration Titus pulls off his helm, clipping it to his side. Coming from out the Thunderhawk Chairon steps out to greet him. "No word?"

"Not a one." The strangeness still twists in his stomach. His eyes scan the Boarding Bay where he spots a group of their brothers, he decides to approach - they all stance proper once he's in front them.

"Would any of you know the current wherebouts of your Sargeant is?"

"No, Sir." They echo. From over his shoulder he shoots Chairon a look - not even the rest of his own squadron knew.

"Lieutenant," From the Squad lineup Valius speaks up. "-the last I saw him he was near the armory, though that was about a hour ago."

If he was in the armory then he definitely received the report from the Captain... but if so... he should be here by now.

"Did he say anything to you?" Chairon asks.

"No. Too busy chatting with his Serf to even notice Straban and I." Strange. Maybe something was brought to his attention? But surely whatever it was he would've reported in by now the delay...

"Titus, maybe we should go look? We must find him before we are to set off." Right. He couldn't have gotten that far, the very least he had to be present somewhere in the Barge. They will find him.

"Talasa, Viridian: keep an eye out and report if he either shows up or you find new word. Chairon and I will do a sweep through to the armory." A sudden paranoid thought strikes through him, giving him to add quietly: "And not a word to the Captain."

"Yes, Sir!"

Even past every passing corner, every nook and cranny they could search, still there were no signs of the young Sergeant. Chairon makes repeated calls out while Titus clicks several more fustrated attempts through the squad's Vox Channel. Nothing but damn static.

Inside the armory they do get polite greetings and but also the undeniable looks from Brothers as they poke their noses around.

"Has Sergeant Gadriel been around recently?" Chairon has taken control over the questioning front unprompted, which is fine, he has known the Sergeant longer than the Lieutenant - who takes opportunity to look through Gadriel's arms-locker. His Bolter and Thunder-hammer were missing, so he was armed for the mission ahead but yet where could he have gone if not for immediately the Bay? It still made no sense to him, where the hell could he possibly go carrying a hammer around?!

"Brother," His attention is redrawn once Chairon makes it back to his side. "-any signs here?"

He shuts the locker back. "No. You?"

"No one here says they saw him."

"Well, Valius did say it was a hour ago." Titus sighs, glancing up at the wall at the mechanicum scribed numerals. "We don't have that much left time."

"So we should split up?"

"It would cover more ground... however, first we sh-"

And he's already gone. "...dammit Meduras."

Directionless, Titus' Ceremite-clad feet take him wherever they can possibly take him that he could even think of the faintest reason why the Sergeant could be located, hall after hall, room after room. Honestly? It has gotten to a point beyond ridiculous that he curses lowly to himself as he - again - repeatedly tries connection to the Vox Channel but still - nothing but that damn static! Back in his younger days of service he had quite the nasty temper, a temper that with experience and tutelage he learned to harness, to control, to be calm. Now it licked scolding hot inside him and demanded to come out. But he refuses it - grits his teeth and instead silently seethes.

Potentially delaying a whole mission. A mission that required a full ten men Squad with Militarum regiments waiting and holding the line for them on planet below. If Titus himself even dared pulled such a stunt back when he was Sergeant, Captain Lucien Trajan would've had his head. At the time he would've met Guilliman in the afterlife. But no... no... he shouldn't judge, after all he still had no clue what possibly could be keeping him. In the short time he's known the young Sergeant he's come to learn he isn't like that - whatever he was imagining. No. This is Gadriel, he must have a reason, a reason he will find for himself. But he still could answer his damn Vox.

The last he heard from Chairon, Gadriel wasn't in his private quarters or on Command Deck - the Captain did eye him a bit funny which wasn't good since they were trying to keep this Sergeant-relocation-mission on the downlow, thankfully he was able to excuse himself out of any potential confrontation and next he said he was going to check the Reclusiam before reporting out. Titus on the other hand has now wondered onto the Serf Deck, Valius mentioned you were with him perhaps you could lead him at least closer to his current location.

Many Brothers of the Second would be sent out today, different squads handling different vantage points on the Tyranid infested planet, so many of the Decks hall's were barren of Serfs that were instead busy readying tending to their Lords who were about go deliver the Emperor's wrath. He comes across a few in passing, all taking time to stop and bow with the gesture of the Aquila before quickly hurrying off to not disturb him. Yet none of them were you.

He hadn't spoken to you much, only a handful of times when you'd come with business or regular service for your Lord, but you seemed sweet and polite enough. A couple of times he's jest that Gadriel maybe should learn a thing or too from you - also that he doesn't envy your job having to put up with Gadriel's snark mouth at times. Nothing ever with malice, things he's more comfortable joking around with now that he's known his younger brother better... yet the look that briefly haunt his expression... how he looks actually hurt... maybe Titus shouldn't speak as such. He's felt bad about it for a week, still been trying to wrack his brain how exactly to apologize and-

Suddenly before he knows it; a light bit of force knocks in front of him - snapping him out of his thoughts and back to reality where a Serf now sat collapsed on the floor, feeling at her head.

"Are you alright?" He is quick to help her back to her feet.

"Oh! My apologies my Lord, I did not see you there! Emperor help me I'm both seeing and not seeing now." Once up it appears that she is fine ultimately as she dusts herself off. "First I think I see Lord Gadriel in a closet of all things and then I don't see you directly in front of me. Forgive me again my Lord, but I'm going to tend to Lord Heilios and then lie down. Emperor give me strength."

...closet? What could - why possibly - no. It didn't matter. This was the closest lead they'd gotten he isn't going to treat it lightly.

"And you're sure it was the Sergeant?"

"Well... I'm not even sure what I saw was even... yes, it was him."

"And when was this?"

"Not even a couple minutes ago, I-"

"Where?!"

She points. "Down the hall, first right, second door."

His bones spring into immediate action to go finally retrieve his brother but sense washes through him as he turns back to the Serf woman. "Thank you, thank you..."

"Mayam, my Lord."

"Right, thank you, Mayam." She alone might've just saved this mission. He marches towards that damn closet.

In the time it takes to get there through the long hallway to the coming next corner does he draft out exactly what he wants to say; along the lines of he should know better as Sergeant and to check his damn Vox more often! That and along with a debriefing on the Campaign mission ahead. He repeats it, goes over it, calms himself to soothe the building frustration he's had now the past half hour through this whole ordeal.

The closet is now in view. He just needed to-

"One more, one more for me - please,"

Titus' hand immediately retracts from his attempt to reach for the door handle. His feet become cement in the floor. His eyes wide. He listens, not sure if he'd imagined it or not.

Gadriel... sounding like... that.

And he's not alone - your mewling in immediate return hits him hard as a Bolter round.

"Valor-" You're cut off, your next breath coming out as a shaking gasp. "Valorem!"

...

Oh.

It was undeniable what you two were doing. Titus stands there eyes wide as both your moans and slick wet noises ring his ears, completely unable to move like the world fell still around him except for what was going on in that room. Then it all suddenly made sense, even the parts he never thought would be related, he never thought... you and Gadriel... were-

"-flood you so full you'll never think I left-"

Like that.

His feet move but only a couple centimeters and they're slow, clumsy. He can only take small steps back to where he's leaning against the wall by the door - the door that to his horror was open a crack. He didn't look. He can't. He can't move any further. Can't. He just stares at the floor, can't help but to listen. The wet symphony of flesh on flesh. The duet of yours and his brother's voices in twain.

"You feel so heavenly, if only I could have it my way, it'd take a miracle for me to ever leave." Hearing his brother talk in such a way, for more than one reason, but odd... he didn't think him capable of such... sweetness yet the way he pants and sighs sounds like you have the Astartes at the palm of your hand.

And you... your noises will never leave him. They repeat on loop in his mind, they make his breath hot, his armor that was tailor fit to his flesh feel uncomfortable on him. His Codpiece never felt so small.

"Please-" Your plea sounds as if it were pounded out of you. "-you're doing so good."

"Am I?" Gadriel sounds giddy almost, Titus has never heard such a tone from him yet it sounds as if you bring it out so easy. So effortlessly.

Your answer to your Lord comes out as a vocal one only to be overridden with a crying shout as suddenly the sound of wood creaks and begins to slam and whine against the floor in tandem with your encouraging chants of: "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes-"

He should leave. He has to leave. Him even staying as long as he has is too much of a-

"Fuck - oh fuck-"

Too much of a-

"Don't stop!"

Too much-

"Valorem!"

Too much of a break of boundaries.

He should leave. He needs to. He'll just... make up some sort of excuse. He needs to go back to the Boarding Bay and go on and deploy. He feels so shameful it's even went on this far as it has! And he means it, he gathers the strength to push himself to silently leave. However, as he does, his traitor eye catches inside the crack of the door.

Your lips are hung wide agape, back draped over the small table in storage that creaked with each movement that came roughly in between your hips that your legs clenched onto your partner's in turn for dear life as his large Astartes frame hovered over your tiny Baseline one. His brother's lips were at your throat, tilting your head back as then he dips lower down your chest - marking you and littering you with what would undoubtedly later be whelps. His thrusts came snapping hard and fast into you - jolting and forcing each breath out of you turned into hot whines until you can't take anymore and your hand reaches up to snag at his usual perfect hair to yank his head back, even from here he can see Gadriel's eyes roll back with a guttural reverence of your name. Your hand then leaves his hair, swooping down to meet as the other comes up to a meeting point at his chest - palming and playing with each of his thick breasts.

"Good boy," You praise even through strained whines that mere seconds they leave your lips are drowned out by the next near-pathetic noise his brother makes; mix between a higher pitched whimper - which in concept is completely unnatural for Astartes - and growl as he bucks desperately forward into you and looks down at you, mouth open and panting like a dog hanging on your every word. "-good boy, good boy, my good boy,"

Gadriel's thrusts increase inside you, punching out your moans with each slam of his cock, he dips back down to kiss you and the two of you just seem to melt together, only parting when you need breath and does both your pants sound searing against each other's flesh. Your hand find themselves snaking back into silky, silvery, blonde hair with a shuttering call of your lover's name.

Titus couldn't really give a name to how he felt. He stood and the longer he watched... he just couldn't look away. It was like rationale left him, stood gawked and slack-jawed. He-

You cry out again; loud curse from you lips that is immediately smothered by the Sergeant's lips.

His hands itch. The only sense of movement he can recapture. They slowly drift downward to the latch of his codpiece - only then do they stop, his eyes finally leaving the two of you to catch himself at what his hands have done on their own. It pulses.

Underneath Ceremite he aches.

Throbs.

Twitches.

Pleads.

Thick armored fingers caught themselves on his latches. It would only take on small move. But he hangs heavy on it.

"Please," You beg, sounding like your in actual tears before they fade into something else entirely as you spit out pleasure. "-Valorem,"

The knot in his throat pluses and his head spins as his fingers quickly disobey his morals by tugging off the latches catching the blue plating in one hand and proceed to dig himself out of his Carapace with the other. His breath is hot, quiet, he has to be, shame boils in his blood but he strokes himself feverishly. He bites at his lip to hold in any threatening noise, his eyes slightly roll back.

There's a loud wooden creak that can be hear from in the room, by instinct it catches his attention as his fuzzy gaze is back on the two of you; both in now reversed positions as Gadriel is now laid on his back with you on top riding him - your legs barely even able to stretch that wide to fit him. Hands are gripped tight on your ass however to keep you steady on him - bouncing - Holy Throne you bounced...

He couldn't now see either of your faces; you slightly leaned over and close to your lover as you continued to sing praises and cries of just how good he was treating you. His brother's pace didn't let up, he kept fucking you just as fast and hard as you apparently wanted it and kept you bouncing. You couldn't take him whole, your Baseline body to small to his Astartes frame yet you definitely did the best you could - just by looking at you could Titus tell you were filled up deep.

Thick arousal slicks up the blue armor and to Carapace-clad joints as Titus unthinkingly pumps himself. It wouldn't stain, but it would be noticeable if close enough yet he could honestly give less of a damn right now. He just... he just... needed to focus. A couple more seconds, yes, just a couple more, then.. then he should really... no... a bit longer...

"Come on," Gadriel pulls you down so that he can breath hot in your ear, in the rhythm between panted hisses, his hand pets gently at your head. You proceed to do something Titus can't see - but whatever it is has his brother shamelessly moaning out, cursing Guilliman's name and thrusting up into you to meet your bouncing faster like two ramming beasts. "-nearly there, same - fuck! - Throne - same - same time,"

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" Excitedly you thrum, your shouts rings in Titus' head, a drunk smile spreading across his lips his fist quickening around himself - wet and slick and hot. Drinking it all in. He just needed... more... more... please...

It's a backwards and forwards dance between you two, and the noises... Throne, the noises... up and up and up until it comes to a staggering crescendo as you wail with such the desperate cry.

"Now! Now! Now! Fuck! Valorem - now! Now! Now!" You demand, nails tearing on skin but not enough to make your Astartes lover bleed.

Gadriel pulls you down rough to bite harsh down onto your neck, only harrowing your wailing and smothering out the loud guttural noise he makes as he floods you full - too much come for you to hold that it comes pouring out of you even with him still plugged inside, coating Gadriel's cock and dripping off of the table onto the floor in a growing puddle below.

On the table inside the closet you both pant, coming down from your synced highs by crashing to meet each other's lips.

On the outside, cock still hard and leaking in his hand, reality hits Titus like the front of a Voidship.

He is still standing by the doorway, looking in, watching the two of you and... what on Terra has he done?! He - he shouldn't have-

He's quick, desperate, shameful, he moves like he hasn't before; turning around with his back against the wall so he may not invade your two's privacy anymore, still hard and throbbing but swallows in down to tuck himself back in and reattach his Codpiece, he swallows harshly - scolding himself nearly forty-thousand times over for the shameful act he has done - unlatching himself from the wall and marching straight back to the Boarding Bay. Trying to make himself forget everything he saw... to very little success, his traitorous cock sitting extremely uncomfortable in his Power Armor.

Shame. Shame. Shame. Shame.

Yet he can't get your voices out of his head. All the way back he can still hear them, feel them, it's as if every time he closes his eyes he-

"Lieutenant!" Dragging him out of your wailing cries, Chairon calls him from by the Thunderhawk. "Any luck on finding Gadriel?"

A thick lump clods his throat. One he forces himself to swallow, even with the stabbing pain.

"No," He lies. "-but I have a - feeling he'll arrive here soon, just... let's hold on departure for a couple more minutes." Chairon gives him a strange look, however, whatever must have gone through his mind he keeps to himself.

Titus feels at his face, taking a deep breath as finally he feels comfort in his cock finally eased down - or at least enough for there not to be as much of a physical strain. He can at least breathe somewhat normally again too. The mission ahead, the mission ahead, he just - needed to refocus. Refocus. Simple.

"Well, Bloody Throne, look who finally decided to show up." Shit.

Gadriel, refitted and rearmed in apparent record Astartes time, steadily and confidently approaches the Thunderhawk. "Brothers,"

"Where the hell have you been?!" Chairon questions, Titus can't stomach looking at either of them - turning to examine his chainsword as excuse.

"Oh - just some last minute things I wanted to handle prior to departure. We're expected for this one to be several weeks worth, correct?"

"Last minute things?" Chairon repeats. "Last minute things that you couldn't take handle of - not nearly an hour before departure?"

"Well... they took me longer an expected."

"Just don't see it happening again! I'm not exactly fan of searching every nook around the Barge! Right, Titus?"

It takes him a genuine moment to even respond to being addressed - when he does he glances back briefly at the two before turning his attention back to his gear. "Yeah, don't let it happen again."

Not looking at them he can still hear the exhausted sigh come from Chairon, who just proceeds to march past him shaking his head while while finally entering the Thunderhawk. He should too - with quick intent but the heavy bootsteps behind him stop him in place along with the following clap to his pauldron-clad shoulder in passing.

"Shadows don't suit you, Brother. (Name) thinks so too. Maybe let yourself in next time."

Warhammer 40k Masterlist (click)

[beckyninja]

😳

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

I know part of the whole idea of fucking Astartes/Primarchs as a baseline relies on suspension of belief of the physics of taking the massive schmeat these guys would be swinging with but... What if we pushed the suspension back juuuuust a little bit? Picture this;

A primarch having to train his baseline partners body to be able to take him. Night after night, pleasing his partner with toys, watching his baseline withe and cry out over such a little thing. It's almost comical, at first.

Slowly working up in size, the primarch begins having to hold himself back. The toys are getting so close to his size, and his lover seems to be enjoying each step up more than the last. And his name sounds so sweet coming from them... But he has to wait. They aren't ready yet, but he wants them so badly. That should be him inside giving them pleasure, not a toy- even if it was modeled after him :(

Bonus: the sheer amount of lube the Primarchs would need to go through to prep their baseline partner and for the act itself could probably corner its own market in the Imperium.

Bonus 2: The image of one of the more serious Primarchs like Dorn holding a "baseline sized" dildo is funny to me.

😶‍🌫️🫴 *hands you the following and scuttles away*

(Gender neutral reader)

Lion El'jonson

Your wedding was coming up.

With weddings... there is consummation, the Lion has been haunted by it for weeks.

Not that he doesn't want to! Of course he does! You are his Beloved and the fact that you have both waited given his request to, which lights something hot in his blood. But now reality more than fantasy was started in dawn on him...

He was a Primarch; Primarch of the First. You were Baseline; human. There were... undeniable differences between you two... physically. Consummation would be - difficult. Unless more work was to be done but he doesn't want to engage before the wedding, yet he also doesn't want to bring you any unnecessary pain. It was quite the predicament, once he finds himself pondering on often even enough for his sons to notice. He won't share his worries, obviously not only is it highly inappropriate for his sons to hear such matters relating to their father and his future Consort but he also thinks it as inappropriate for anyone else to hear such either. As it was between the two of you the only other person it would be semi appropriate enough to discuss was... you. Emperor help him.

He keeps it entirely blunt - no minced words, no room for misunderstandings.

"You have to prepare yourself for the size of my shaft for post ceremony intercourse." You stare wide at him - not even finished giving your initial greeting to him.

You awkwardly clear your throat, letting a lingering pause pass as you exchange glances both at him and the floor, heat dusted on your face. But eventually you nod.

"I suppose... early preparation might be for the best." See? You're smart, one of the reasons why he's marrying you.

...maybe too smart, landing him where he is now currently; sat in a chair off to the side of what will be your martial bed as you work yourself.

He made it clear: he will not touch you until the night following your wedding - and he's sticking to that. But given circumstances, you would have to do... activities to make your body more... susceptible to fit his size.

You could do this by yourself but you were adamant on him staying... watching... watching you work yourself open with such lewd toys he has no possible idea where you could've gotten such! But you looked good. Fantastic. You embodied every single desire a man could have and more some. Every sound, every intake of breath, every quiet call of his name. But he will sit there.

He won't touch. He will watch. He won't touch. Not even himself. He will watch.

You come over again over, every night. And he sits there and watches, cock nearly bursting out of his trousers yet he refuses to partake - not until the night after. You on the other hand, so loud, so desperate, sounding like a whore bouncing on fake cock like your life depends on it - and every night they've been getting closer. Bigger. As they slip in and out of you he studies them, their shape, their size. Slowly over the weeks they are getting compared comparedly closer to his.

Tomorrow night, however, he'll prove however no substitutes will ever triumph the real thing.

Fulgrim

On the verge of a panic attack at first, until now the size difference between the two of you charmed him whether it would be helping you with places you couldn't reach or just how small you hand was cradle inside his. Now it hit him like the brunt force of his Flagship.

He's too big. It was the very first time the two of you were to lay together, something he's been planning so so long and he had every detail planned to the T for it to be the perfect night for the both of you, and he over looked one very important detail... he was way to massive for you to take.

You're on your back, chest heaving with awaiting breath as you look up at him through gorgeous eyelashes as he kneels there in between your legs.

His cock rested on your crotch, near inches from your sex, and it didn't even stop there; it laid all the way up your stomach - twitching and leaking. He stares at it horrified.

It would hurt you.

He would hurt you.

It wasn't supposed to go like this! It wasn't supposed to go like this!

Before he knows it you've moved to hold him, coo him, ask him what's wrong. He bites down and grits his teeth, doing his best to mask it as he shares with you the surprising information that he's too big.

You comfort him, even if the planned night is a bust you both still lovingly hold each other afterwards. In the meanwhile you think up some alternative means.

Getting your hands on such needed materials were bit of a hassle but nothing his non-questioning sons couldn't manage to handle in retrieving for you - as long as you don't ask them any questions of your own that is. You are gifted several rods of various of sizes, from the average Baseline size to... more intense ones - which of what you saw of your lover's the other night was much comparable to.

You had spoken to much since - actually, that was incorrect you have definitely tried he has just been ignoring and avoiding you. Which you understood in a way, both because he was a Primarch and your lover such... issues could be considered very embarrassing and you know how he was planning your first time for quite some time now, hell there could've been chances for it to have happened much earlier if not for Fulgrim purposefully pushes it back because of details being: "-Perfect enough for you." The other night it just seemed like all the stars had aligned but then... his cock is too big. You couldn't blame him for feeling bad, so that's why you decided to make it up to him.

All it took was for you to practice taking his size. Not straight out of the gate, of course not! But you could work up to it... maybe. No! You will! You just had to work on it in secret; in your own private quarters you would take ahold of one of these replica penises inside you and... work on the stretch. Progressively building up a size when you grow comfortable so that eventually you can take your Beloved with no issue.

Weeks pass and it seems Fulgrim is back speaking with you without issue, just avoiding the looming subject all together as things go back to the way they were before. Meanwhile you are hard at work on yourself at night, biting your palms to hold back your noises as you push in sizes you never held before all while hiding the wailing cries of your lover's name.

He was looking for you, a Serf had said you retired early but he still wished to see you and hoped he didn't catch you too late.

He did catch you though, just not asleep.

You make the most gorgeous noises he could have ever imagined - has ever imagined. Even through your best attempts you cover them with his superior hearing he can hear them just as clear. Your begs, your whines, your pleas, the wetness, his name.

He peeks through the crack in the door and sees you on your back; writhing in purple sheets attending to yourself with absolute gusto. Then he eyes the source - they widen triple once he processes how large and how stretched you are over it... you... and how you take it so well. Did you...?

It's a mild jealousy - jealous over a toy, how petty of him - but how he wishes that hunk of rubber was him. HE would make you feel a thousand times better than a toy ever could and-

Then it hits him.

...were you preparing yourself to be able to take him?

Well, he shouldn't let your efforts go to unappreciated, besides he still has to check if your measures ever worked. If not... he's got a couple ideas that could push it along, he's been thinking and sorting a lot since your last encounter after all!

He nearly scares you have to death once he pushes open your door to and lets it slam behind him in turn, prowling to your bed where he can loom over you.

"Darling, let's have a do-over. Shall we?"

Perturabo

"No." He ends the discussion right then and there.

You look very disappointed in turn, bowing your head as if you were ashamed of your question. Which you should be, after all the Lord of Iron has much more actual important tasks to do than - than... relations.

And yet... even as he works you continue to linger in his thoughts, you and your suggestion. Your strange suggestion. Or was it strange? Such bonding activities are supposed to be expected from couples, correct? He's never had that much interest in it - though he's not most people and you two weren't most couples. Though you were Baseline, Baselines also are expected to have such animalistic desires. And even if he tried... physical size is still an issue...

Hm. Maybe he can do something about it afterall, more superior, in his own specialties. So well in fact you may never interrupt his work with such drivel ever again.

Out of the blue one evening your lover interrupts you from one of your daily tasks to instruct you to follow him to his personal workshop. You get the usual glares from the Warriors of Iron as you two pass as they still don't like you - which Perturabo glares back in turn; he's not a fan of them either. Once inside the shop the door shuts behind you and your lover marches over to the back work station.

"I need your assistance with some experiments." He finally, bluntly explains. It still leaves you to question it.

"Couldn't you have Serf-"

"I asked you to do it." He spits back. "Besides either they would crumple to dust the mere second or I would be disgusted even thinking abo-"

He stops himself, shooting the briefest glance back in your direction before turning back to whatever it was he was doing. "Nevermind."

He leaves you there standing in the awkward silence for a bit, only breaking it with the alternating clickering and buzzing from whatever the Lord of Iron worked on in front of him. For a moment you think this whole thing was a ruse just to spend time with him, just in the indirect way your lover operates at times when it comes to your relationship - however, that line of thinking seemingly becomes incorrect as he turns to address you once more.

"Strip." You have to double-take, not sure if you heard him correctly the first time. Which gets him to fustratedly correctly himself and elaborate with a low growl in his voice. "Strip, then get on that chair."

He pointed to a chair not that far from his work station, it was made of iron and slightly leaned back. Your blood turns hot. Greedy knots twist in your stomach. You obey.

The chair is cold, especially against your naked skin, but you lean back in the chair where you're almost laying in it. You look cautiously around when suddenly you notice the looming, long wired, hovering claws attached to the sides. They wavered directly above you as if they were in wait - and turns out they were as suddenly you are grabbed and further pinned your limbs tight in their grasp as you are roughly handled and further adjusted.

Your wrists are captured in locks on the arms of the chair, your ankles are grabbed and pushed to where your legs are up and spread out and bowed open - showing off your exposed sex - two of the mechanical limbs keep you held there and is so strong you can't move them.

"Pertur-" He stands off to your side, surprising you. "-what're you doing? What is this?"

"What does it look like? Fulfilling your needs."

"This uh... isn't exactly what I had in mind... but... I think it could give it a go..."

"Well whatever you think of, I can come up with better."

Then from out of the chair comes various different continents, all in different shapes and sizes, some with different functions than others, but all designed for your maximum pleasure for ever orifice. It takes you a bit to get use to it but you quickly melt in tandem with what they give to you. And you're still locked in place so there's no place for you to run and hide. And Perturabo stands by and assesses, taking mental notes as his carefully crafted tools ravage you whole - already even making several plans of what to change and add while the sound of both you gagging on fake cock and your hole being pounded to echo throughout the shop.

When it's clear you need breath does the cock pop out of your mouth and do you begin to whine. Your curse out, gritting your teeth as your legs strain against the claws, but does the cylinder fuck you harder until you come begging for it. Begging for him.

He'll give you the next one in size now, stretching you wide open, so fast and deep the seat of the chair your on is now completely soaked.

Size increase.

"Please, please, please, please, more, more-" You cry, the more he hears it... the nicer it sounds, more than he would've originally thought. He should give you the next one increased in size for that, morbid curiosity how you would sound then, the desire nagging at him to do so.

Louder. As expected... he likes it.

What if he puts two in?

"FUCK!" ...yes. That's... appealing.

Size increase.

Three?

More and more, the louder and more desperate you get and the more he genuinely starts to experiment with you. Genuinely more interested in such than he ever expected himself to be. You sound... look... in a way only he could make you. This was his designs after all, his planning. He did this. He did this... but yet... even with you fucked out expression, hoarse voice, body twitching in ecstasy, and wet sounds... it wasn't enough.

No. It wasn't.

In one click everything stops. You look around, dazed and confused. "Wha-"

In front of you, in between your legs he reaches to hold your chin as he begins to pull out his own length, bigger, larger, wider than anything you've taken tonight free.

"I think you finally deserve your Lord now."

Jaghatai Khan

Is not unfamiliar with the subject, he has had many Baseline lovers throughout the years, he knows what he's doing to prepare for such task.

You will need to relax, calm any nerves and anxieties you might have for what's about to come ahead. His kisses are uncharacteristically slow, so are his hands as both are laid and danced all about you. He has you sat up next to him as he does this, making sure your full attention is on him.

He is big, but all his brothers are big. What is there to fear? Fear is only tangible when you let it take it take hold - and he is hear, what is there to fear? The words themselves are rarely said out loud but the two of you love each other and with that love your bodies will fall in tow and sync to fit together, even with a extra little work. There is nothing to fear.

His fingers are as wide as the average Baseline's cock, they will be a comfortable stretch to start out with, one at a time. For you? He's willing to go slow, provide you comfort and adjustment... for now - until he deems it acceptable to pick up and getting you clench tight around his fingers and spraying onto his hand. That's just the start, the start for awhile.

Then he pulls them out; tools - fake rods, he made them himself, safe for use, various different sizes and girth. You will train yourself on them, so your body can deem itself comfortable with such extremes, until then you will always have one inside - yes that's right, all day. Even as you do your daytime chores you will always have your hole occupied - did he mention they vibrate? Then at night he will watch as you desperately quick fuck yourself on them; coming on them over and over and over until he deems fit. But for now? You're still not ready for him whole.

However, one night he tries something. He puts you to the test: can you fit the head? He watches under steady lidded eyes how you split yourself open around it - your moan loudly echoing out each corner of the yurt undoubtedly for his sons outside to hear, which he doesn't care: let them.

Your nails claw down on his shoulders as you sink yourself further and further but never truly going that far down on it. He doesn't push or rush you, tears streaming down your face as you painfully hiss - but you don't stop, you are very determined. Which is very sexy.

Then finally, it pops in.

You pant and heave, looking up at him for approval. He can only softly smile while he brushes a thumb across your cheek.

"Good job, Little Sparrow. See? Nothing to fear." Although his eyes do drift lower down your body, his hands returning to your hips. "Do you want to try sinking lower?"

Leman Russ

Too big?! Groxshit! He could make it work! Trust him!

He could not, in fact, make it work.

He tried his best, grinding the head against you to try and ease it in but yet it still was too much of a stretch you weren't used to when it did threaten to push in. He could've with ease still push it in but you were his mate, the last thing in this very existence he would want is to hurt you. There was also another matter... if you could barely take the head there was no way you could handle the knot formed at the base of his cock.

"Shit-" He growls fustrated, only quick to regret so when it causes a desperate flurry of sobbed out apologies that he has to shush away from you to stop. "S'kay, it's all okay."

He'll just... have to think of something else.

The best ideas come when you're drunk - a Space Wolf proven fact. Around a fire, feasting on the grand hunt of the night, drinking and singing as Fenrisian man-pups play about - the boys among them bragging how they'll too sit amongst the fire serving the All-Father as a Wolf one day, getting a roaring boast of laughter from Russ' sons; their elders. Leman always gets a kick hearing the pups speak, if it were actually possible he would've loved to been able to have some of his own but the stars didn't deem it so.

Over the many years he's seen pups yell these exact same claims only to actually keep their word and become his sons - hell some of them sit around him right now, that's why these youth get as much encouragement they do. All his sons started out so small... then grew, grew to bare mighty fangs.

They start out small.

Small.

Start out small.

He immediately picks you off if his lap, slings you on his shoulder, slaps your ass and gives the loud gaggle of Wolves a slurred parting before carrying you back to his tent.

You are both very drunk.

You are clumsily set down on the cot in a fit of giggles as his fangs mark up and down your neck, exploring hands at your sides. Your head rears back with gaspy calls of his name as calloused hands stumble underneath your neck, then your pants, and then your - oh, would you look at that? You're naked! He likes seeing you naked, even tells you this in your ear that gets you into a burst of giggles that only increase as he attacks kisses, licks, and bite on and around the small of your ear.

"Leman," You call, voice a bit more serious once you're laid back on the sheets. One look in your eyes, he knows.

"Small." He mutters. "Start small, end up with something greater - just takes a bit of work."

Like the pups that grow to be Astartes.

He eats you out like your his last meal, makes you come over and over and over until his face his soaked and his jaw is sore. Then he works you with his fingers, they are much much larger than the normal Baseline's - more comparable to the size of one's cock which in your scale was more appropriate.

Every night. His needs don't matter - he can bust through his trousers if he must, no, it was about you. Getting you comfortable, ready. Start small then work your way up - one finger, then two, then three, then so on. If you can fit his fist you can handle his cock - if you can handle his fist without struggle, then you can handle the pop and lock of the knot. One push at a time.

You're his mate, he doesn't hold a single doubt.

You can do it.

Rogal Dorn

He was too big to fit inside your fortress.

Actually, deadpanned and most serious, is what he tells you word for word as you sit straddling his hips on top of the desk. You can't help your laugh.

"What? It's true." He defends, not understanding why you're laughing. You can only kiss him in turn.

You had a plan. He wasn't ready for your plan. He wasn't knowing what he was expecting, even running through various scenarios in his head as you have ahold of his hand and leading him to your bed chambers. Once inside you invite him over to your bed, pulling something out from underneath: a locked box. He doesn't see exactly how anything you could retrieve from there could be a possible solution for your current predicament, so h-

And that is a penis.

You pulled out a silicone penis.

"We can practice with these." You clarify, gesturing it and the various ranges of other toys you had inside the lock. Where'd you even get such things?

But never mind that - he takes the wiggling rod from your hand to assess. It looked structurally sound. He gives it a squeeze. Firm with support. Wide and thick, about the size of am average Baseline. He deemed it safe for use.

The others however... might require some testing.

He watches you thrust your ass back onto the toy, back and then forward, back and then forward, and repeat. The suction cup attached to the end of it was secure tight onto the rich wood of the bedframe - not even you sharp movements could deter it. That was good. He then looks back up where you're hovered over him, backwards straddling the sides of his head. Underneath you he had good view of the toy sliding in and out of you, breaching your walls, your arousal dripping onto him in tapping drips into the pool of wetness that already covered his face. He could study you best from down here.

Once your movements starts to get uneven or you loose balance he reaches up to hold you by the hips, stirring you back on course.

"Rogal," You rasp. "-Rogal,"

You're getting closer. How should he proceed in hurrying that? Ah, yes.

His hand slips back down to reach and start stimulating your sex. It's good action as it immediately gets a whole body shake in response and you start bouncing back more feverishly. Desperate.

Your words no longer are coherent. Your breathing ragged. Nothing matter to you now more that chasing release. Release he grants with one slow lick to your skin.

Your bed is quite the mess given how soaked it is.

You pant and still whine feverishly as your body gives out, your limbs crashing out. He can only sit push you over to flip you off of him and onto your back, but still he hovers over you to meet you lopsided gaze from your ninth orgasm of the night.

"If we truly are going to achieve getting my prick inside it is going to take quite the bit more work fortifying your inner walls for such the tide." He reports, but then leans in closer right to your ear. "But personally? I don't care if we go into the early hours of the morning, I can arrange it so happening tonight."

Konrad Curze

It meant a lot that you actually want him to do this - trust him to do this.

He still doesn't believe it, doubts plague his mind yet... the glimpses he does get... are good, nice. They're comforting. He won't harm you. But he is still careful... whatever he is exactly to do, he has only the bare bones idea on.

But there was a problem; his size.

He doesn't see it as an issue at first just - "Won't it just go in?" which in turn you have to explain in detail. Then he sees the issue.

Oh.

He would greatly like you not actually torn apart by his dick. That's extremes more of his sicks sons would enjoy - he is not his sons.

You come up with a plan: substitutes, something smaller to work at first then build up to something bigger to prepare yourself and your body to be ready for him.

"Isn't that unnecessary? We don't have to do any of this is the first place." He argues, you would be safer that way. But how you look at him... "Fine."

Finding 'substitutes' is harder than you might think it, here on Nostramo - word somehow gets out amongst the Legion where severed penises start to be offered by his degenerate sons that he would grab and teach a fatal lesson to if you weren't present. Served penises... what a bunch of disgraces.

You do eventually find something, cheap, tacky, rubber you managed to grab from a rare Imperial supply ship - a few of them actually of different size but none even remotely compared to him. Going from the largest to him will be quite the leap in difficulty. But you were determined. For some reason.

But even with the smallest one, you sound... really good. Soft sighs turning into choking whimpers as you work yourself open under his dark gaze.

He doesn't touch you - not until you make him. Then his his shakes slightly shake to fight back the violent instincts thrashing at him but eventually it soothes. He can touch you. Touch your soft skin. It's nice, better than what he imagined it.

Then your hand finds his, clasping ahold of it, guiding it down in between your legs and bumping against the rubber length that occupied them. He's very hesitant. Very. Extremely. But he then takes it.

He doesn't know what would be too fast or too hard, seemingly you read his thoughts and reassure him you would let him know what is too much. He moves it, drinking in the immediate noise you make in response. Then again. And then again. And again. Over and over until he has found a rhythm suitable for you - a rhythm that makes you cry and squirm with pleasured glee.

Still moving, he gathers the courage to use his other hand to touch you further, studying each of your reactions to determine good or bad. You beg for him, plead for him - not in the way someone would in fear of their live but... good. He was treating you good.

"Konrad," You whine. He slowly leans down to kiss at your neck and is slightly shocked when you wrap your arms around his shoulders, keeping him close.

...he likes that.

The noises you make, they're more frantic, more loud. By looking at you tells him they're good reactions. He was still doing good. And you tell him, tell him out loud over and over there is even more a tight stirring in his pants. It keeps going, on and on and on until-

"Konrad!" With a shouting cry his hand is soaked to follow. You then pant, going limp.

For the faintest of moments he's worried until you give him a lazy smile before pulling him down onto you for a kiss, giggling as you part, hand on his cheek.

"I'd call... that a successful first test." ...yeah.

...he can't wait to do more.

Sanguinius

He desires you. Greatly. Dearly. Desperately.

However he leashes the Beast tight. That desire isn't one of just sexual nature, even though how much he's been fantasizing over it, but one of blood. That is what puts him at unease.

It's tantalizing. How much longer and sweet your kisses have gotten; arms wrapped around his shoulders as he bends down to meet you, wrapping his wings to cover you both from any of his passing sons so that they may not see you intwine lips. Your hold around him is more seeking, searching, leading. And you are the only one rippling testing waters either - he may or may not have slowly slipped a squeezing firm on your backside, more than more.

It was dangerous. A very dangerous game the two of you were playing. One that standing back and looking in... scares him. He has desires, he wants to share them so desperately to you, to share his love with you but at any moment that damned monster can lash out from it's cage and catch it's fangs deep in your throat and rip you apart.

He would rather keep you alive and safe that situate his sexual wants. However... it was quite difficult to do so when you so clearly had your own; expressing them to him almost like one of the peacocks from Fulgrim's gardens.

Touches and strokes to his wings.

Playing with his hair.

Staring at him for long dreamy periods of time.

Bending over to reveal the absence of undergarments from under your robes...

It nearly drives him mad.

So much so he can't take it anymore - pressing you down onto the bed and reeling at the touch of your hands scooping up his exposed arms to his shoulders where his robe has mysteriously slid off him, grazing your fingertips over the small pin-feathers adorn and sparce areas of his skin. His wings thrum and puff from excitement as he looks down at you pinned to the mattress, golden locks swooping down to tickle at your flesh.

"You have no idea what you do to me." He lowly shares through a growl, you can only smile.

"No... but I might have an idea..." You drove him practically insane!

He leans in close, right up to your neck and deeply takes in your scent. Crimson eyes rolling up the confines of his skull to commit it to memory.

His fangs ached. Throbbed.

So close, so close. Mouth open, breath fanning across your neck. One bite. One bite.

He he pulls himself away, drowning into your kiss.

Ferrus Manus

His wings are soft against you, delicate. They provide comfortable pillows as with his fingers he works you open whole, lips too occupied to ever leave yours but only for brief seconds for you to catch your own breath and then pulling him back towards you again.

He takes in every sound you make; every pant, every sigh. When he does look at you he does as you are his whole entire world. You whine, you whimper, you even grab a whole of his hand that fucks you open. But he's always careful, you are his Beloved and you've never had anything the comparable to the size of his fingers before. He can hear your heart, hear the blood inside you. He swallows it down though - not even his licking hunger could hold a torch to the divine way you sound.

And then you come. Over and over again you come. Coming so much it soaks the bed twice over. And even still, the cruel part of it, even with all of it it probably would be enough wetness to ease his cock inside. But that was okay. You didn't have to rush things... he was in control over himself. Even with all the growls and thrashes that monster was inside its cage. He would refuse for it to ever come out in front of you. He would not let it dictate him or control his love for you, his desire to make love to you. And how he loved you; now held close to him and exhausted.

One step at a time. Maybe he will get that privilege one day being inside you.

Very much a hassle to convince him to engage. Extremely so. For one matters of the flesh obviously not being one of his interests and two... let's be reasonable; his size. For that he doesn't see the point and shoots you down.

...but. He gets thinking about it, a stir of guilt churns through him. Not that he feels pressured, obviously, but maybe he could've been less rude about it. He thinks about it for weeks to a point it's effecting even his work. But then he stops, looks down at his machinery - maybe the answer was more simple than he thought.

He makes you equipment, proper equipment. Top quality equipment. Thoughtful and tediously planned equipment that he would best assume to fit your needs.

"I made you something." Once they're ready he presents, delicately packaged. He intently watches you open it, studying your reaction - which looks confused.

"What is it?"

"Tools to provide you sexual pleasure."

You long at him for a long moment, a sigh eventually leaving your lips accompanied with a soft smile. "You didn't have to do this."

"But I did." You look at all the technical rods and pleasure items.

"Well it means... a lot you thought of me." Yet there's this still look on your face, there was something else, something more of longing. He holds onto it. Something in him changes.

"They haven't been tested... perhaps I could - supervise?"

You look back up at him mouth agape, like you didn't expect such a suggestion from him. And honestly? He didn't either. But you nod.

And now, his metal hands shifting between hot and cold as he keeps your legs held apart while he watches as his creations go to town fucking you raw?

He doesn't regret it.

Angron

He shouldn't. He'll hurt you. The Nails demand to hurt you.

...but he wants this. Wants it more than anything but he's just too terrified what he'll accidentally do just to appease the sharpness in his head. He tenses every time you touch him but deep down he craves it. You treat him so gentle. Even if the Nails scream at him to rip your hands apart at the touch.

But still, even with his wants, he'll still hurt you - this time not even being the Nails' faults but due to his own size. He hates it. He hates it. The one thing! The one thing!

He gets upset over it and even if he tries to hide it you sniff it out anyway where the words just fumble themselves out of his mouth.

"...too big."

You look at him for a thinking moment, reaching your hand down before pausing, asking silently. He harshly swallows but he nods.

You pull out his length, gigantic compared to you even half hard. You look surprised at it yourself - which makes it twitch harder and leak from the tip, spilling down the shaft.

"I think... this might kill me." You say joking but there's this unignorable shakiness to your voice.

PUSH THEIR HEAD DOWN. IMPALE OUT THEIR THROAT WITH IT. TEAR OFF THEIR HEAD. FUCK THE BLOODY MEAT LEFT BEHIND.

Quickest he's ever moved he goes to pull himself back in only to freeze in place as you place your hand atop his. "I got an idea."

The Nails rattle off in his mind that he bites down and remains still while you are gone, a part of him spits how you won't come back and shouldn't. But you do, with a box. You sit back in front of him on the bed before undoing the lid. And honestly whatever the Nails say next he can't even focus on with how hard his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

"What the hell is that?!"

You bite your lip as you look at him before glancing back down. You begin to wiggle out of your pants then proceed to sit back on the bed, your legs curled up and then bowing open so he may see your hole. You reach to grab at one of the objects.

"If you're too big, then I can work with something smaller." You hold the fake penis to your rim, staring at him, chest heaving with breath. He watches you rub it against you, coating it from slick arousal from your sex. He watches with hunger as in his hand his cock further throbs, not to long do you start to make noise.

"Angron-" You gasp as it slips it without much resistance. You begin fucking yourself with it. He watches intently as it goes in and out. In and out.

The cock was small, the average size for a Baseline, yet with work even you began to mewl around it. Watching you his own hand begins to move on it's own to pump around himself, trying his best subconsciously to match your rhythm.

Wet. Wetness rings his ears, drowning out the scratches - which were still there, just he was too focused on you to give as much of a damn about them. For now. Until they get louder, but for now, his attention is on you fucking yourself.

Each time you gasp, cry, or curse your name is a stab at him. He wishes to reach out and touch you... but he can't. And then you come. Over and over, trading out your objects of pleasure for bigger and bigger that it becomes a cycle.

It takes quite a time for himself to come, even with the loud shouts in his head, but when he does it's loud and in tandem with you. His chest quakes, his fist covered in filth, he looks over to you to see how fucked out and tired you look.

"(Name)," Breathlessly he calls out.

When you move your limbs are shakey - he's about to tell you in desperation to stay still and stay back but even in your sluggish movements do you crawl over to him. His bones tense, he tries not to make any sudden moves but you slowly and gently wrap your arms around him.

"You did so good," You praise, face in his chest. A dry knot is present in his throat he forces himself to swallow down. He returns your touch, very loosely draping his arms around you.

BREAK. BREAK. BREAK.

"You did as well. As unexpected as it was."

You peer up at him, your eyes so beautiful. "If you're comfortable... maybe we could do it again. And maybe once I get use to it - we could do so for real?"

CRUSH. CRUSH. CRUSH. CRUSH.

He would like that.

Roboute Guilliman

The idea to 'train' sounds reasonable to him. There was a certain... difference in size, too much so that couldn't be ignored.

He goes into research mode, looking into all the ways he can possibly work to solve such issue; looking into techniques, positions, all the sort - and all this without telling you. He is a good significant other, though inexperienced, he has good intentions he just wants to be considerate if things between you two turn... to coitus. He just wants to be prepared, even if he nearly jumped out of his skin to quickly hide his 'research' tome from the Chapter Master suddenly stopping by his office.

So, when the time comes: when your kisses grow more frantic, your fingers grip tight in his hair, and the spot in between your legs becomes more searching flushed up against him as he holds you is when he decides it's finally time. He parts your kiss, calmy takes one of your hands, and slowly escorts you to his chambers.

Inside he leaves you by the door, leaving you in wait as he retrieves the box that took so much secretive hassle to procure. From inside he grabs one, the smallest, then walks back over to give to you.

A penis.

The Primarch hands you a replica penis.

You stare at it in shock, as no one has ever handed you a penis before, especially not by a Primarch. You're not actually sure what to say as you look back slightly confused at your Beloved, who still holds that calm composure that can be difficult to read.

"I would wish to engage with you." You give the silicon another glance, making your lover clear his throat. "As I am... not fit for your size - yet - I would wish that we... work towards it."

And that's how you got to this point in the present; every bit of paperwork and decorative items roughly shoved off his personal desk to have you bent over it, one hand on the small of your back while the other pounds you frantically with the small piece of silicone held in his palm. Your nails scrape harsh against the hardwood surface with each punch of your moans and cries.

Given your Baseline size and the desk is fitted to seat a Primarch your feet dangle off far the ground - such a cock throbbing sight to see, such so you deserve to be drove into faster. He bites around your neck, voice sounding low, lower than you thought it possible, and words hit with a dark tone you would've never had imagine coming from the Primarch of the Ultramarines.

"You know I was nervous to request this? I was practicing speeches, memorizing poems, I even had a presentation made ready if it really came down to it. Little did I know come to it you'd be begging like a whore in heat. And for what? Something so small? So minuscule? I wonder how you'll sound when I put something more worthy in."

"Robou-" His hand on your back slips up to quickly tug back at your hair. You can see him, deep blues half hidden under contemplating, calculating eyeslids, staring down at you.

You come.

Your body shakes, bones jelly, breathing rocky, vision hazy. Light kisses are pepped across your shoulders and down your back until you are picked up, silicone slipping wet out of you, carried over to the soft, soft, bed. You look lazy at your Beloved, kisses still shared across your skin as you are on your back, he looks up at you as he sinks down lower - down on the ground on his knees so that he may lick you clean and further dirty his face then some. Your hands barely leave his blonde hair further that night, his Laurels are somewhere on the floor.

But that begins your training, every other night on his schedule he has it blocked in. And Roboute Guilliman is a through man, now matter how long it might take he will do his job to the fullest. No shortcuts. No slacking. As long as your comfortable he will focus on the task at hand and the goal set out. And each one of your little... ahem... sessions gets you both closer to that. Increasing the size of the decoy in quite the pace of time.

Sometimes he likes fucking you with them. Sometimes he likes to sit back and watch you bounce on them - once you even had his cock to your mouth while he fucked you with the silicone at the same time even. You know, over the years he's built up so much stress that in these past couple of weeks have all seemed to just melt away. Apparently it's even noticeable, Cato Sicarius even made a comment on it recently and he actually struggled to hide in the cheeky grin.

But now... now came the real thing. The actual event.

You are pampered, nearly drowned in soft velvety pillows as he has you on your back with your legs hooked the best they can around his legs. Your breath is uneasy at first, but soon comes to calm as he reassures you, reminds you to breathe. In between your thighs he holds his cock in the palm of his hand, so massive compared to you. But you could do this. You could both do this. You had practice. He gently rubs it against you, your hole as soaked with as much lubricant and come as he could possibly get there.

He looks at you, one final reassuring look before you nod in turn. Alright.

One.

Push.

Two.

Push.

Three.

Pus-

Holy Emperor on Terra.

Mortarion

With him? Surely you're not serious of such a thing.

...yet you are, how genuine you look up at him, you are. It honestly scares him but... he's been through worse. Still terrifies him - he's too big compared to you - what if he accidentally harms you? Or you get disgusted and change your mind and-

You half to comfort him, keep reassuring him everything will be fine. You have a plan and would gladly want him there, to be with you, to love you.

He's still cautious at first, his touch on you being very hesitant as you guide him along where you like and want best but eventually he does get a hang of it. Slow steps. Touching, then caressing, then fondling.

From the corner of his eye he watches your every reaction, studying them, analyzing them like you would a pinned moth. But... it grows nice, warm, he doesn't have to be too cautious or careful as control washes over him and you no longer have to provide guidance. You were feeling good, he made you feel good - and only with his fingers. This wasn't as bad as he thought it - though again, only his fingers, you weren't in any harm. You were... pleased with him. With him. With him, of all people.

You weren't disgusted or revolted. You craved for his touch, clasping and clawing at his shoulders pleading for more. He was making you feel this was.

He was.

He makes you come. And it only took his fingers to do so.

And you look back him, with loving eyes, all his past fears vanish. He can slowly, yet confident in his actions, dip down to kiss you.

"I want more of you if you're willing to offer yourself to me."

Magnus the Red

Not a problem with him, with his magics he can mold and shift in shape to fit any that could be compatible with your needs. His true form however... you might need some endurance training before you can truly take him.

Still doesn't need toys, he can summon just about anything to fit you, spilt you open, slowly spreading your insides open and apart. All while he just watches as you barely straddle his hips, with the exception of his magic sparked hand he doesn't have to do any work - just watch this little show you've put on for him, begging and sobbing for him.

"Very good," He praises, running a thumb across your chin. "-very good."

Then once you're settled and quite comfortable of the size of the shaft you're working with, he challenges you by increasing the size of it while it's still in you - absolutely delighted with your squeal. But you take it, of course you take it, you are so good and perfect for him.

Do you have fantasies? Anything you desire he can give to you in a single snap, with the bonus if it's too embarrassing or shameful none of it is real (to an extent) and the only one else who will be aware to remember it is him. Though he will tease. But he will give it to you. All you need to do is ask.

His hands to eventually wander, scouting every bit of skin he could possibly reach and then some. You're such a vision to him, he tells you both in your ear and inside your head so that you really do experience it.

The rods going in and out, in and out, more and more with time increase inside - so much it physically bulges from you but you take it all, take it all with no resistance or assistance just as you wished. You wished to feel him. And this was the only way you could possibly prepare yourself for him via penile creations manifest from the Warp. More and more. Time is nonexistent to you both.

Until you're screaming that your ready.

Your legs shake, soaked and slicked with sweat and come. Your breathing rocks your chest, each pant an anchor for air. Your eyes wobble and unfocused as you try your best to look at him with pleasured tears down your face. It was enough. In one fluid motion does everything disappear from inside you, leaving you to fall limp against his chest.

He treats you delicate, laying you gently down on the piles of pillows, calmly rubbing your skin, giving you reminds to breathe. His kisses are sweet, spreading all around your neck and shoulders. He is massive lingering above you yet his voice is so small against your ear.

"Are you finally ready, my Beloved?"

Horus Lupercal

Finds it both extremely amusing and very arousing.

Jokes about instead of using toys letting his sons play around with you just to get you prepared for him - he jokes, he jokes. He is way too much of a jealous possessive man to do that.

No, instead he seeks out to retrieve anything and everything possible to make sure you are comfortable and secure. Even though he gets quite a lot of questionable looks when he requests and receives supply shipments - all he waivers off either with his famous charisma or roaring insult of how dare they question the Warmaster, all depending on who he's speaking to and how moody he is at the moment. He takes your preparation very seriously.

Toys? Any help could possibly think of. Lube? An entire planet's supply gone. Rope and velvet? For much later. You? Properly fed and hydrated to keep your strength high. You will need it - or not, if you're okay with it he has no problem hoisting you around and using you like a brainless fleshlight but hey we're thinking too far ahead. Soon.

The man is a romantic, scattered rose pedals, scented candles, everything. His bed is huge and soft and you will be right home on the center trying not to drown on his comforter. He loves you but this all important too getting you to relax. He doesn't rush things, even if Not-So-Little-Horus has been raging the moment you both entered the hall leading to his private quarters.

You get naked, he gets naked, all while barely leaving each other lips. On the bed all spread out for him he worships you whole - not a single centimeter of skin goes ignored - and his hands are so giant against you and you're so tiny, oh how it gets him going even further.

He makes sure your first orgasm isn't from anything other than him and actually he manages to get two; mouth on you to lap out the first and the second immediately to follow as he eats your filth up like a dog. It gets a barreling chuckle from him as you grind your hips to his face and your nails sharp on his hairless scalp.

Then it was time, time to start training your body in preparation for him. Small, miniscule, length at first of one of the toy rods - barely even a warm-up, especially in the mess he's made of your hole. Only one or two empty thrusts in before he tosses it across the room for something bigger, something more appropriate.

The gasp you make tells him he found the right one. Nothing to extreme, but enough to provide a good stretch, to train you.

It's easy, effortless almost, how he can make you come. But her cherish and drinks down each one like a parched man on the verge of death.

Then he determines you deserve something bigger.

And then bigger than that.

And bigger than that.

And - oh, this one vibrates. He'll put that on your more sensitive of areas.

More and more until you're sobbing with glee, begging and pleading for him, thrusting your hips to meet the palm of his hand that works each toy into you. You were the most loveliest of visions. And you'll look even more so once your wrapped around his actual manhood.

Oh how his cock throbs and screams demanding for it.

Oh - Throne - he might burst a vein in his cock thinking about how full he's going to make you, how your Baseline stomach would be able to handle to pure raw demi-god amount of it to where it'll make your stomach swell and you leak for days. And still you would be begging to fill you with more.

Faster - he has to go faster.

You're screaming and wailing, your fingers dug so tight onto him he faintly bleed through his Primarch flesh. Harder.

"Horus! Horus! Horus! Horus! Horus!" How you sing, voice nearly shred raw. You needed more. He will give you more. More than you could even possibly take because you deserve it that much. Something only HE could provide you. No man in this whole universe could exist that could give you the pleasure he can give you. You were his.

Your last release practically makes your voice go useless. It's louder than what these four walls can hold and no doubt can the rest of the Ship and his sons hear it too. Let them. Let them know what doesn't belong to them.

He lets you rest, your conscious temporarily lost as your bones turn to pure liquid. He gently kisses you all over once you finally do wake, your voice still an ability lost on you.

A wide wolfish grin spreads across his face looking down at you.

"You're not leaving this bed until I fit inside and pump you full. That's a Warmaster's promise."

Lorgar Aurelian

You are a very sacred being to him, of course he would not want to harm or tarnish your holy body! But... you wish this act from him and he would never dismiss your divine desires. Though it leaves him in a bit of a rough spot - but not for long. It comes to him very quickly, these rituals; rituals to worship your flesh so that he may not bring any harm upon you when you join as one.

Every night he worships, from head to toe. With bless items, safe and pure for insertion, goes inside you to path the way for his future placement. He drinks in every coo and whimper coming from you like the most sacred of piety. He does whatever you please of him, he'll do whatever you want or need him to do to bring you pleasure. It doesn't matter he'll stay up all night to make you come as many times as you possibly could desire you just need to tell him.

When the day comes you're ready it is actually a ceremony.

Many candles are lit. Hymns ring throughout the Chambers. You might think it too much but he thinks it a show of his devotion. He is the utmost gentle, each kiss one he means and spreads all over your body.

He worships your naked form whole, committing every single part to memory, he runs his hands all across it. He whispers, both praises and prayers for only you and you alone to hear.

You bow your legs open you him and he eyes your sex as if it is a true wonder of the Galaxy - which to him it is, and he hands it with such care.

"My Dearest Beloved," He whispers against you. You have to come at least a dozen times before he'll even allow himself to take part in your heavenly spoils. Which when he does-

Oh how he knew his devotion was such worth it.

Vulkan

This was very much the titanic ask you were requesting of.

Not that he doesn't wish to do so, he's ashamed to admit his mind does wonder at times but... he is one of the biggest of his brothers. Handling him will be a difficult feat, but again you are strong.

It's only fair if he helps ease your burden best as he can.

He makes his own tools: yes they might come from the fires of his Forge but he's made them with considerable care - making sure there are both strong and suitable enough, that it's extra moldable and comfortable for your insides. He makes several of them - all with the same amount of care, each one - from small to large to... very large. They all present different stages you can... practice with.

When you first go to use them he's extra tentative, because he loves you and such tools haven't been properly used before but he's very careful, checking in on you every chance he gets - to a point you have to shut him up by vocally letting him know just how good his projects are making you, that regains his attention so that he may focus himself on your pleasure.

Honestly? Things go off without a hitch. You too focused on each other and the pleasure the other brings; he's taken to controlling the thrusts of the tool while you stroke his cock in tandem until you both reach your end at once. He could always go for more but he never pushes you - once you're done he's done. And it continues like this for many weeks, many weeks increasing size as you're comfortable to do so.

Until comes the day you finally tell him you're ready.

"(Name),"

He's never been scared more of anything in his entire immortal life than this very moment. You hold onto him, kneading at him, yet staring at him with all the love and confidence in the world you were ready. You were ready. And after looking over you, he was too.

He was more than ready to show you his love in full.

Corvus Corax

His kisses are soft, feather-light. But they've been growing more... searching these last few days. It was a subtle change, but one you noticed nearly immediately though perhaps chose not to comment on it so soon. Letting it simmer across a couple more encounters before you make the leap.

"You're more tactile as of late." You state. He can only hum, not an actual answer. An in between. A one or other. An avoidance.

A make-what-you-wish-of-it.

It doesn't stop his kisses at the Two of you are perched atop a Chapel, pepping on your neck.

"Does this displease you?" Calmly he asks.

"No..."

"Then there is no issue." He goes back to it.

Strange as it is, you let it go. For now. Not until one night you glance at the shape from the corner of your eye.

"Late night visit?" Your addressal makes him slowly appear from the shadows.

"Forgive me, I didn't know what to say if I knocked..." Your smile softly at your lover from your place in bed, patting the spot next to you as invitation to join. Hesitantly, he does.

He leans against your shoulder as you read, eventually even silently reading along with you. Then your hand reaches up to pet at his head, at his silky hair, does he lean into the touch more easily than normal. You definitely notice.

"You okay?" He remains quiet, not usual, but what is is the kiss he suddenly catches you in. Taking your by surprise as your tongues colliding and heat grows between you two. Growing and growing until the book is dropped out of your hands and you slowly fall down to the sheets of the bed. Corvus pulls away.

"I can't get you out of my head - I don't know what to do with myself." He quietly rasps.

You look at him, genuinely surprised, but you can't help but to feel the hunger you've been ignoring for to long either. "What... what do we do about it?"

Your question makes the raven look down at himself, worry in his dark eyes, how large he was just hovering over you. It... it would be a problem, it-

You cut off any line of thinking along the lines he has as you grab his hand and place it between your legs.

"Small," You assure him "-small. One step at a time."

He could do that.

It takes him a minute to get use to the motion but it doesn't take long for him to quickly master it - being tactful with his fingers. One at a time, is all you can take at first given just how much a single digital fills you. Then when you get comfortable with two does he begin scissoring you with them.

There isn't much stand between you two, but there doesn't have to be, much has been learned how to be expressed shared silently only through the eyes. And does he share so much by the way he looks at you, drinking in every little noise you do make as he cherishes your spoils. He gives you the slightest head tilt along with his unoccupied to brush some hair out of your face so that he can continue to get a proper look at you, so that with eyes along you can sing to him how good he's making you feel, you more and much you want him.

He'll do this for however long you need. He'll kiss and give you everything he possibly can. And when your body is spent he'll hold you secure in his arms until it's time to disappear into the shadows once more.

And in the shadows he awaits for next when he can have you.

Alpharius Omegon

If stressing about one Primarch cock was enough - now you're presented with two, two that very much want to be in you as one; they are one after all.

It was quite a predicament though, how were they going to go about this? Hm. Maybe you should focus on the one. But they are one! Well they were a very large one. One too large for you. So that didn't solve the issue.

Wait, alright, if you were going to take the one then which one? They were all the one. They are all Alpharius. But which Alpharius?

Certainly not that Alpharius, he's not the Alpharius.

Well that's the unfair assumption. What if that Alpharius who would suggest such a thing actually wasn't the Alpharius after all? What if he is an impostor?

What? No? They are ALL Alpharius. This is no imposter amongst imposters. That's silly.

But one Alpharius is more Alpharius than the rest, surely.

That is un-Alpharius talk. Are you sure you're actually Alpharius?

Of course! It would be foolish to assume otherwise.

...

What were we talking about?

Ah yes, somehow you've found yourself somehow with the solution to your problem and now are engaged in an orgy with the rest of entire Legion while this discussion between Alpharius and Alpharius has been happening in the background.

Warhammer 40k Masterlist (click)

[bugsfanficfaves]

What if the Emperor of Mankind is so distant with the Primarchs is because he lost them when they were still infants, and now he can't form that bond because he can't reconcile the adult faces he's seeing with his babies.

[baldieboi]

Hello! Ive been reading your work with the kid confusing them for their father and then going on a breeding bender. Omfg, the intense feeling of their pain! Wanting so desperately for a child and knowing they cant have it 🥲

BUT! What happens if by some weird miracle they spouse does become pregnant?

Maybe the primarchs could find out after their partner faints, have morning sickness or some other symptom but way more intense? Cuz c'mon, their demigods lol

Possibly the partner gives birth and the little one is the Primarch's doppelganger?

How do you think they would react to that? I think it would make them beyond happy and excited at becoming fathers themselves, because they genuinely didn't think it would be possible for them.

Sorry if this is the correct format to make a request or if I've worded it strangly. Im new to requests haha.

Don’t worry about the format, there aren’t really rules for how to make an ask! I totally get the uncertainty, though. I’ve only sent two or three asks myself so far (I’m way too shy and anxious to just go for it 😭) and I was so anxious about how to word them that it almost became ridiculous. So honestly, thank you for asking!

Here is part of the the answer: their partner did become pregnant.

The symptoms were intense. Like, really intense. There's a post about it but I'll talk a bit more about it here at the beginning of this short story before getting to the birth and everything else. It will be probably long.

And I'll include another ask (or two) that fits here perfectly (down below)!

Tagged, anyone can be tagged, ask me:

@the-mysterious-detective @mehiwilldoitlater @theonceunknown @gravedwe11er @lesboficfanatic @bunny-fair @drowning-in-sorrowing-tales @bookandyarndragonwritesdark @fandomcatchall @thebetterblacklight @incrediblethirst @beckyninja @ilovewolvezz @celestia0473 @nereidof40k @hopefully-grimderp @acgames @mortarion-thinks-youre-toxic @catabibaz0n @subtlepoisonknowledge @aggresivemenace @veryspecificreason @reminat

The morning sickness isn't limited to mornings, it's an all day affliction that leaves you unable to keep down most foods. The exhaustion is overwhelming to the point where even walking across a room feels like running a marathon. The hormonal shifts are dramatic enough that you swing between emotional extremes with a speed that would be concerning if it weren't directly attributable to the pregnancy. Your Primarch watches all of this with increasing concern, consulting with medicae who can only shrug helplessly and admit they have no idea what's normal when a baseline human is carrying a Primarch's child.

"Is this level of symptoms normal?" he demands of the medical staff, his fear barely contained beneath his authoritative tone.

The chief medicae looks uncomfortable delivering uncertain news to a Primarch. "For a baseline human carrying a Primarch's child? My lord, we have absolutely no prior cases to reference. This is entirely unprecedented. But based on the increased metabolic demands and genetic complications... probably? We're doing everything we can to monitor both the mother and the developing fetus."

Your Primarch stays with you constantly after that conversation, abandoning his usual duties to his most trusted subordinates so he can be present for whatever you need. He brings you anything that might help with the nausea, holds your hair back when you're sick, carries you when you're too exhausted to walk and generally provides support in every way he can think of. The guilt in his eyes is visible every time you suffer another bout of sickness or pain.

"I did this to you" he says quietly one evening while watching you struggle with another wave of nausea. "This is my fault. My genetics causing you this suffering."

"We did this together" you correct him firmly, reaching for his hand despite your discomfort. "And it's worth it. Every moment of this is worth it for our child."

"Is it really?" he asks, his voice raw with doubt and fear. "You're suffering because of me, because of what I am."

You take his much larger hand and place it on your belly, where the first small signs of swelling are becoming apparent. "Yes" you tell him with absolute certainty. "It's worth it."

The pregnancy progresses with continued intensity, each stage bringing new challenges and symptoms that push your body to its limits. Your Primarch documents everything obsessively, partially out of genuine concern and partially because this information might help if this ever happens again to one of his brothers. The medical staff watches in fascination and concern as your body adapts to meet the demands of the growing child, and everyone involved knows that the birth itself will be the greatest challenge yet.

When labor finally begins, it's immediately clear that this will be harder than anyone anticipated. The contractions are more intense, more frequent, and more painful than standard human labor, and the medical staff scrambles to provide adequate support. Your Primarch wants desperately to be in the delivery room but after he accidentally breaks two medical carts and a reinforced table due to stress induced loss of control, the medicae firmly but politely insists he wait outside.

He paces the corridor for hours and his sons who are stationed nearby have never seen their Primarch in such a state. Every scream from the delivery room makes him flinch, every long silence makes him want to break down the door and the waiting feels more difficult than any battle he's ever fought. When a medicae finally emerges and begins to speak, he's already moving past them before they can finish their sentence.

He finds you in the recovery bed, exhausted beyond measure but alive and in your arms is a tiny baby who looks exactly like him. The same eyes stare out from that small face, the same features are miniaturized on that infant countenance, creating a perfect tiny copy that's undeniably his genetic legacy.

"Hello" you whisper with a tired smile, your voice hoarse from hours of labor.

He can't find words for a long moment, just staring at his child, HIS child! who looks like him in every measurable way. This is proof beyond any possible doubt that this baby is his, that against all probability and design, he's created new life that carries his genetic material forward into the future.

Finally he finds his voice, though it's rough with emotion. "They're perfect. You're perfect. I... I don't have words for what I'm feeling right now."

Unable to articulate the overwhelming rush of love, pride, terror, and joy, he carefully climbs onto the recovery bed and positions himself so he can hold both of you. His family. His miracle. His everything. Nothing in his entire existence has prepared him for the intensity of what he feels holding his partner and his child, and he knows with absolute certainty that he would burn down anything, even the entire galaxy to protect them.

This is a second ask that felt too related not to include. It might be slightly unusual for me to do it this way but these asks were too closely connected not to handle them together. So, here we are. ^^

I love the idea of these men being able to have a real family. I want to give them all the joy and happiness they deserve... and so much more.

The birth was harder than anyone expected, pushing your body to its absolute limits as you brought new life into the universe. Now you're unconscious in the medical bay, recovering under the watchful eyes of the medicae staff who won't let him anywhere near you yet. They insist you need rest, undisturbed rest which means he's left alone with the one thing that terrifies him more than any battlefield: his child.

His infant child who won't stop crying.

He stands in the doorway of the medical bay, staring at the cot where a tiny, fragile thing, his thing, his child wails with surprising volume. This small, crying infant fills him with a fear he's never experienced before.

He's nine to twelve feet tall depending on his genetics, with hands capable of crushing ceramite armor like parchment and strength sufficient to tear apart tanks with his bare hands. And there's his baby in that cot crying desperately for comfort he's terrified to provide.

The thoughts spiral through his enhanced mind: What if I hurt them? What if I'm too rough, too strong, too clumsy with something so delicate? What if my hands, these weapons I've used for decades, are simply too dangerous?

The crying escalates in volume and desperation and one of the medicae attending the room looks at him with thinly veiled impatience. "My lord, the child needs to be held. They're distressed and-"

"I know what they need" he cuts them off perhaps more sharply than intended, his own fear making his voice harsh.

He forces himself to approach the cot, each step feeling like he's walking into a battle where he doesn't know the enemy or the terrain. When he finally looks down into the small bassinet, his breath catches despite his enhanced physiology not requiring such reactions. The baby is so impossibly small, with a red face scrunched up in misery, tiny fists clenched as if ready to fight the world, crying with lungs that seem far too powerful for something so fragile.

My child he thinks with a mixture of wonder and terror. I made this. We made this together.

He reaches down with hands that have killed thousands, that have broken bones and crushed skulls and torn through armor and he moves with a care he's never had to exercise before. Every movement is calculated, every muscle controlled with precision that would impress even his most skilled warriors. He slides his hands under the small, warm body and lifts the baby with the same caution he might use handling an unexploded plasma charge.

They're so light in his arms, weighing almost nothing compared to the weapons and armor he's accustomed to carrying. The baby is fragile and warm and still crying, the sound cutting through him in ways that bolter fire never has. He holds the infant against his broad chest, feeling awkward and uncertain, every instinct screaming that he's doing this wrong.

"Shh" he tries but his voice is too deep, too loud, reverberating in his chest in a way that seems to startle the baby rather than soothe them.

The baby cries harder and his hearts sink with the certainty that he's failing at the first real test of fatherhood.

I'm doing this wrong. I'm too big, too rough, too much of a weapon to be any good at this.

And then something miraculous happens.

Impossibly small and delicate tiny fingers wrap around one of his much larger ones. The baby's hand can't even encircle his finger fully but the grip is there, unmistakable and surprisingly strong. It's not the weak, trembling hold he expected from something so fragile but a genuine grip with purpose and strength behind it.

The crying stops almost immediately, transitioning from desperate wails to hiccuping silence. The baby looks up at him with eyes that are unmistakably his own eyes and maintains that surprisingly firm grip on his finger.

The realization hits him with the sudden realization. It's real. This is his child. Not some fragile thing that will break at the slightest pressure but a small person with their own strength, their own will, their own resilience. Strong like him. Strong like you. Perfect in ways he didn't know to hope for.

"Hello" he whispers and his voice cracks with emotion he didn't know he was capable of expressing. "I'm... I'm your father."

The baby makes a small noise in response, it's not crying, just acknowledging his presence with a sound that seems almost conversational. His other hand comes up carefully, supporting the small head with its covering of fine hair and he marvels at how something so tiny can feel so substantial in his arms.

"You're so small" he continues in that same whisper, afraid to break the moment. "But you're strong. I can feel it in your grip. You're definitely mine, aren't you?"

The baby's fingers tighten slightly around his as if answering his question, and he laughs with pure, uncomplicated joy. "Yes. You're definitely mine. No question about that."

He moves slowly and carefully to the chair beside your recovery bed, sitting down with the kind of caution usually reserved for defusing ancient technology. The baby remains calm in his arms.

"Your mother is resting" he explains quietly as if the baby can understand his words. "She was incredibly brave during your birth. You were difficult, apparently quite difficult according to the medicae but absolutely worth every moment of pain and fear. She'll want to see you when she wakes but for now it's just us."

The baby yawns, a tiny expression that reveals toothless gums and makes his hearts clench with protective tenderness. Those small eyes start to droop, heavy with the exhaustion that comes with being newly born but the grip on his finger remains constant.

"I was afraid to hold you" he admits to this tiny person who's already changed his entire existence. "Afraid I'd hurt you with these hands that have only ever known war and violence. But you're stronger than I thought possible. You're perfect. And I'm going to protect you, both of you. Always. No matter what the Emperor says about this, no matter what my brothers think or how impossible this was supposed to be. You're mine. My family. And I'll burn the galaxy before I let anyone take that away from us."

The baby's eyes finally close, sliding into sleep while still maintaining that grip on his finger and he sits there in the quiet medical bay. He was designed for conquest and destruction and now he was holding his tiny child with infinite care, feeling more complete and purposeful than he ever has in his entire existence.

It was expected that Big E would find it out sooner or later. It’s probably impossible to truly keep something, or in this case someone, secret. Especially not forever. He might choose to let them keep some of their secrets but not this one.

I agree there’s a lot of angst potential here but I might make a separate post about the scenario where the Emperor takes the baby. (Would anyone want that much angst? I’m pretty sure of the answer but it’s worth asking.)

Despite every precaution they took, every security measure and carefully constructed lie, the Emperor discovered the truth about the child's existence. Perhaps someone in the inner circle talked despite oaths of silence or maybe the Emperor's formidable psychic senses detected the new life force that carried genetic markers unmistakably linked to his son. It's even possible that Malcador let something slip during one of their many conversations, though the Sigillite would deny it vehemently if accused. Regardless of how it happened the Emperor knows about the baby and now he's coming to see for himself.

The Primarch stands in the doorway of your private quarters, his massive frame blocking the entrance completely as he positions himself between his father and his family. You're behind him, holding the baby protectively against your chest and the terror in your eyes mirrors the cold fury in his. This is the confrontation he's been dreading since the moment he learned you were pregnant, the moment when he might have to choose between his father and his family.

"Father" he says carefully, his voice is carefully controlled but every muscle in his body is coiled and ready for war if it comes to that.

"You kept this from me" the Emperor states and his tone is observational rather than accusatory which somehow makes it worse because it's harder to predict what he's thinking.

"Yes, I did" the Primarch confirms without apology or explanation, his stance unwavering.

"Why would you hide such a thing from me?" The Emperor's question seems genuine as if he truly doesn't understand the fear that drove the secrecy.

"Because I didn't know if you would see my child as a miracle worth celebrating or a malfunction in your design that needed to be corrected, studied or eliminated" the Primarch says bluntly, he's past the point of diplomatic language. "I couldn't risk you seeing them as anything other than my child, my family, something precious beyond measure."

The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken tensions and possibilities. The Emperor looks past his son's defensive stance, his ancient and unfathomable gaze focusing on you and the small bundle you're holding. The Primarch tenses further, every instinct screaming at him to attack if his father makes even the slightest threatening move toward his family.

"May I see them?" the Emperor asks and his voice is softer than expected.

The Primarch's entire world tilts on its axis at those words. "What?"

"My grandchild" the Emperor clarifies as if it should be obvious. "May I see them?"

The Primarch and you exchange confused, uncertain looks, neither of you prepared for this response. Every scenario you'd planned for involved conflict, argument, demands for study or separation but not this calm request.

"I... yes?" the Primarch finally answers, though it comes out more like a question than permission.

The Emperor approaches slowly and despite his measured pace, the Primarch's body remains tense and ready to intervene at the slightest provocation. The Emperor stops a respectful distance away and looks down at the baby in your arms with an expression that's difficult to read on features usually so controlled and distant.

The baby, somehow sensing the immense power standing before them in ways that normal human infants never could, looks back at the Emperor with those knowing eyes. "Impossible" the Emperor murmurs but there's wonder in his voice rather than rejection. "And yet here they are, proof that even my designs cannot account for every variable."

He reaches out carefully, extending one finger toward the child and the baby's small hand immediately wraps around it with that same surprisingly strong grip. The Emperor's expression softens in a way that the Primarch has never witnessed in all his years of service, a grandfatherly warmth that seems almost alien on those ancient features.

"Strong grip" the Emperor notes with what might actually be approval. "That's good. That's very good indeed."

He looks at his son directly and there's something in his eyes that might be understanding or regret. "You thought I would disapprove of this child's existence."

"Yes" the Primarch admits tersely, still not lowering his guard despite the apparent acceptance.

"I designed you and your brothers to be sterile as a precaution against exactly this kind of genetic expression" the Emperor explains with the clinical detachment of a scientist discussing his work. "It was meant as a safety measure, not an absolute certainty. If the genetic material I used in your creation has allowed for this..." He looks back at the baby with that same softening expression. "Then this is fascinating from a biological standpoint."

"Fascinating?" The Primarch's voice takes on a dangerous edge because his child is not a research subject or a curiosity to be studied.

"And wonderful" the Emperor adds quickly, looking back at his son with what might be an attempt at reassurance. "You're a father now. My son has become a father himself. That's unexpected, yes but not unwelcome by any means. This child represents possibilities I hadn't considered."

Malcador chooses that moment to appear in the doorway and when he takes in the scene before him, face goes through several expressions in rapid succession before settling on resigned concern.

"My lord" Malcador says carefully, his voice carrying the weight of thousands of years of trying to manage the Emperor's more complicated decisions. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Meeting my grandchild" the Emperor replies with complete simplicity as if there's nothing unusual about the Master of Mankind cooing over a baby.

Malcador closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. "Your... oh no. Oh no, this is going to complicate everything."

What follows over the next weeks is something none of them were prepared for: the Emperor becoming genuinely interested in his grandchild, not just as a scientific curiosity but as actual family. He brings gifts that range from practical to absurd like ancient artifacts of immense power, comprehensive educational materials for someone who's only weeks old and baby clothes that are somehow psychically shielded against threats that won't be relevant for years.

"They'll need proper education from the earliest possible age" the Emperor declares during one visit, presenting what appears to be a data slate containing the entirety of human knowledge. "I'll arrange for the finest tutors in the Imperium."

"Father, they're two weeks old" the Primarch protests, somewhere between exasperated and amused. "They can barely focus their eyes, let alone process complex information."

"It's never too early to begin intellectual development" the Emperor insists with complete seriousness. "Neurological pathways established in infancy can affect cognitive capability for an entire lifetime."

He even suggests that you and your spouse should take some time away for yourselves, offering to watch the baby during your absence. The simultaneous "ABSOLUTELY NOT" from both Malcador and the Primarch is immediate and emphatic.

The Emperor actually looks offended by their rejection. "I successfully made twenty Primarchs, each of them grew to adulthood successfully. I'm perfectly capable of caring for one infant."

"You made twenty Primarchs in gestation tubes under controlled laboratory conditions" Malcador reminds him with barely suppressed horror at the idea of leaving a normal baby in the Emperor's care. "That's significantly different from actually parenting an infant with normal human needs."

"The principles are fundamentally similar" the Emperor argues. "Nutrition, protection, developmental monitoring-"

"Please stop talking" the Primarch interrupts, holding his child a bit more protectively. "You're not babysitting. End of discussion."

Malcador pulls the Primarch aside later and the Sigillite looks exhausted. "Congratulations on your child" he says sincerely. "And congratulations on accidentally making the Emperor almost human again. I've been trying to accomplish that for millennia with limited success."

"I genuinely don't know if that's a good thing or a terrible thing" the Primarch admits, watching his father examine a baby toy with the same intensity he usually reserves for strategic planning.

"Neither do I" Malcador confesses. "But he's smiling, he's engaged with something other than galactic conquest and he's showing genuine emotional connection to another being. So for now let's consider this a cautious victory and see what happens next. Just... please don't let him actually babysit unsupervised. I'm begging you."

There’s more to it, including Primarchs babysitting their brother’s baby but it grew so long that I decided to put it in a separate post. I didn’t want any of these asks to get drowned out or become endless.

I’ll finish it and it should be ready in a few hours. Today’s my free day and aside from the usual 4–5+ hours of travelling I have nothing better to do than write. And that I shall do all day long! <3

[angronius]

one of the sexiest things a space marine can do is plead and beg and cry

[bugsfanficfaves]

Random head canon, Big E is a morosexual. Perpetual!reader/ocs antics are secretly the biggest turn on for him. In public he's visibly annoyed, but the second they're alone he jumps their bones.

[absynthe-mind]

Primarchs Playing Minecraft (with you)

This is so stupid but the brain worms demanded it. Almost did primarchs playing stardew valley but figured minecraft had a better variety to play with.

Taglist: @druidwolf21 , @incrediblethirst , @bookandyarndragonwritesdark

Lion El’Jonson - I

Doesn’t get the point at all but will play with you if you wear him down enough. Refuses to do anything frivolous, you’ll have a basic hut for a house - but you’ll have the basics down very well. Farm? Check. Ore? Check. Armour? Check. He treats the game as something to beat rather than enjoy playing, will refuse to play any further after beating the enderdragon. Which will be done as soon as he is adequately prepared. 

Fulgrim - III

He dislikes playing survival with you unless it’s to show off his combat skills for you, mostly enjoys creative mode where he has ultimate control. Pixel art has been perfected to a science, using layers and command blocks to create things you never thought possible. Also creates towns and cities with you in a theme, and will even spend an unreasonable amount of time recreating his ship. Please compliment his builds, point out little details and agree with how life like everything looks - he needs it.

Perturabo - IV

Actually enjoys the game but refuses to admit it. He gets to focus on architecture and relax somewhat, there’s no real pressure, no expectations. The music is actually somewhat calming to him too so you might actually get to have some fun bonding time with him. You could convince him to play semi-regularly if you praise his building work, but he will throw a hissy fit and not play for ages if he dies at all.

Jaghatai Khan - V

He isn’t massively convinced to sit still in front of a screen until you tell him there’s horse taming in game. He’s logged in before you can blink and running around looking for a plains biome. Spends all his time breeding horses to get the fastest and highest jumps, and his sidequests include getting a hold of saddles, name tags, horse armour and building stables. He ends up liking the game in general and will actually play with you too… once he has his horsey.

Leman Russ - VI

He has very little patience for the finer mechanics, but like Khan you can lure him in with the wolf taming. Ends up with a small army of dogs that he dyes the collars his legion colours and uses them to kill witches. Would have stopped playing but a skeleton killed him and now he’s going to get vengeance. Ended up getting slightly addicted to pve and pvp - watch out, you aren’t safe.

Rogal Dorn - VII

His favourite thing is to fortify villages against pillager raids, making iron golem farms, snow golem turrets, the works. Somehow knows random obscure knowledge that helps you both out. He ends up getting way, way too into it, please nobody tell him about mods. You die once and he insists you stay in the base until he has a full set of enchanted netherite armour and tools for you, and even then he gets antsy if you do anything remotely dangerous like mining.

Konrad Curze - VIII

He’s very unsure what he’s supposed to be doing, ends up mostly just following you and you have to give him food and tools for him to survive. That’s until a villager gets in his way and he ends up accidentally agro-ing the iron golem, then it's war. Tries to fight it with his bare hands and fails, makes you hand over all your gear and then dies repeatedly before finally killing it. He makes a new one for the village afterwards - and when you ask why he did all that he just says “it should have known.” Predictably likes the bats.

Sanguinius - IX

Very supportive, just happy to be playing with you to be honest. We’re building a base? Great, what materials should I collect? Oh, you want to kill the enderdragon? Sure, what do we need to do? He’s very happy to sit and let you explain, and picks everything up quickly. You come back from a day in the mines and he’s gone collecting flowers for you to decorate with. Puts his minecraft bed next to yours kinda guy, you end up with a cute house filled with dogs, cats and parrots.

Ferrus Manus - X

Redstone? Redstone. Spends a day reading the code and then starts building the most elaborate farms you’ve ever seen. Iron Golems everywhere both want to be him and want him dead. Iron within, Iron without. You go to sleep and the next morning your little starter cottage has been transformed into a fortress that could withstand tb2t. He doesn’t care for your opinions on this at all. 

Angron - XII

Getting this man to play minecraft is a miracle that would get you made into a saint if you weren’t already just for dealing with this man on a day to day basis. All he does is fight, doesn’t matter to him if he dies or what mob his opponent is, friendly, passive or aggressive. Actually doesn’t try to fight you, and gives you vague grunts of happiness if you give him food, armour or weapons.

Roboute Guilliman - XIII

You’d expect him to be the min-maxer, literally spreadsheeting out every resource, organising chests and planning out the whole server but surprisingly he’s the exact opposite. Taking any time away from his utterly hectic real-life schedule to play a game like minecraft with you is going to be a relaxing experience for him. Chill music, mostly just vibing in the overworld, barely mines at all. Surprisingly likes parkour since it's engaging but pretty mindless overall. Just enjoys talking to you while playing to be honest.

Mortarion - XIV

Likes exploring all the different biomes and seeing all the different mobs, especially the different bunnies and axolotls that spawn in different colours. He seems so happy just relaxing and exploring meaninglessly for once. Ends up roping you into helping him make a zoo, have fun transporting all those mobs across the world in boats and minecarts. You feel too bad not to help though, and you both end up having a fun time together.

Magnus the Red - XV

Unexpectedly a fishing enthusiast, likes the chance for rare and random loot, especially enchanted books. Also enjoys trying to find all the potion effects, refuses to look up recipes so he spends hours trying every ingredient in the game. He gets wayyyy too into the lore too. What’s up with the villagers? The ruined portals? He pesters you with questions you can’t answer and he goes a little insane trying to figure it all out. All in all at least he’s happy to explore every aspect of the game with you.

Horus Lupercal - XVI

Secretly thinks the game is a bit stupid, but he’s whipped for you and likes seeing you happy so he sucks it up and just helps you with whatever you’re doing. Give him armour and weapons first and he’ll be happy enough playing protector. In fact, give him a challenge and don’t wear armour so he has to actually work to be your protector and he won’t dislike it so much. Tries to use the game as a way to prove he can provide for you.

Lorgar Aurelian - XVII

Struggles a lot to get used to the controls, he ends up moving around very strangely because of it. Has a good time in spite of it, and thanks you profusely over and over again when you save him because he’s struggling. Ends up building a little temple once he gets the hang of it, is very happy with himself. He considers using the server to hold sermons since it removes the issue of in person meetings for his legion but ultimately decides against it.

Vulkan - XVIII

Very excited to spend time doing something you enjoy, and he loves going into the caves the most. Mining for ore, battling mobs, smelting and crafting - that’s his home turf! Thinks it's a great bonding game for everyone, will invite his sons to play with you too, and you end up with a full and friendly server where everyone helps each other out. Likes the nether a lot too, especially since the server gets so big that a nether highway needs to be built and it provides new, fiery challenges for him.

Corvus Corax - XIX

Get this man an elytra right NOW! Seriously though, he’s the biggest movement enjoyer, happiest with an elytra and plenty of rockets. Build him a little elytra course in the air and he’ll be a happy little crow. Comes back from his elytra adventures with parrots and little gifts for you that he finds in jungle temples and other structures. Thank him for them and he’ll bring back even more treasures for you. 

Alpharius/Omegon - XX

Logs on to the server and you never see them again. Occasionally, the most obscure achievements will pop up in chat and you’ll double take at what they’re doing. You think you see one of them when you’re raiding a village for loot, but when you get closer no one is there… Sometimes random items that aren’t yours show up in your chests, but more often does your stuff go missing. Especially enderpearls. 

Bonus: The Emperor

The OG gamer, he’s fossil aged and played before. MLG bucket clutches, ladder clutches, pvp god, has a seemingly endless supply of golden apples from somewhere. Wears golden armour because it looks cooler and he’s so good he doesn’t need anything better. Orders the custodes to log on and farm materials for him to use, though he lets you choose the build even if he designs it. Micro or mega-build, doesn’t matter what you settle on you end up with a masterpiece. (He dies once to a baby zombie, then nukes the chunk and mind-wipes the memory from everyone logged on)

[thatnightlamp]

Did I finished any request or kinktober? No. Did I skip all those to write another series because my ass can't focus on anything too long? Yes.

You die the first time in a mud hut.

The memory is blurry now, a thatch roof, smoke-stung eyes, the weight of fever in your bones, but you remember the way it felt when your heart stopped. The stillness. The quiet. The sharp, clean break between one breath and none.

Then the second breath.

You woke on a cold dirt floor, the same body, the same hands, the same age. Outside, the village wailed like you were still gone. You left that night without saying goodbye, because how do you explain something like that to people who burn their dead?

You walk.

You walk through winters and summers, through tribes that vanish and rivers that change their course. You learn not to form attachments that last longer than a season. It is easier that way. You die from wounds, from sickness, from accidents and each time you wake again, a little more resigned.

By the time you meet him, you have already buried more than one life.

The first time you see Neoth, he is standing on the broken wall of a dead city.

You climb the rubble because there is nowhere else to go, barbarians are burning the plains behind you, the sky is black with smoke and you want higher ground. The old stones are warm under your palms. Plants grow from the cracks, roots chewing through things that used to be sacred.

You pull yourself up over the edge and stop.

There is a man at the top.

Tall, lean, dressed in travel-worn leathers and an old cloak embroidered with symbols you don’t know. Dark hair tied back to keep it out of his face. His skin is sun-browned, his boots dusty. He looks like any other wanderer at first glance.

Then he turns to you.

His eyes are wrong. Too bright. Too focused. Golden, not like metal but like something you can’t look at for too long without feeling exposed.

You freeze. So does he.

For a moment you both just stare, two animals checking each other for scars.

“You climbed the killing wall,” he says at last, voice calm, as if commenting on the weather.

You look down at the ruin of the city beneath you. “Does it still kill?”

“Not today.” He tilts his head, studying you. “You’re not from any of the tribes nearby.”

“Neither are you.” You gesture to his cloak. “No one here can afford that stitching.”

The corner of his mouth moves. Not quite a smile, but close. “You’re observant.”

“I’ve had time to practice,” you say, and then immediately wish you hadn’t. You are usually more careful.

His eyes sharpen. “How much time?”

You shrug, trying to make it sound like nothing. “Enough.”

He doesn’t look away. Most people get uncomfortable under prolonged eye contact. He looks like he’s cataloguing you, detail by detail, and not missing anything.

“What do you call yourself?” he asks.

You give the name you’re using this decade. He repeats it quietly, tasting it like he might keep it. Then he nods toward the broken stone beside him.

“Since the wall is not killing today, you might as well sit.”

You don’t know why you listen. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe the way his presence feels familiar in a way that makes no sense. You sit anyway, leaving a good arm’s length between you.

Below, the world burns slowly. Smoke rises from the plains where the raiders passed. It smells like charred grain and wet ash.

“Did you come here to watch?” you ask.

“In a way.” He rests his elbows on his knees. “Civilizations die. Others rise. I like to see the pattern.”

“That’s a strange hobby.”

“Stranger than yours?” His gaze flicks to you again. “Running alone into a dead city?”

You don’t answer.

He studies you a moment longer. “You’re not afraid of dying.”

You let out a breath through your nose. “Dying is boring. Waking up after is worse.”

His head turns sharply.

For the first time since you climbed the wall, he looks surprised.

You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. You stand up, ready to leave, but his hand closes around your wrist.

Not tight. Not painful. Just…certain.

“Wait.”

You pull, testing his grip. It doesn’t move.

You look at his fingers on your skin, then at his face. His expression has changed, some internal wall dropping. Behind it is intensity, curiosity and something else you recognize with a chill: recognition.

“What did you say?” he asks quietly.

“That dying is boring,” you reply. “Let go.”

“And waking up?” he presses.

You grind your teeth. “Also boring.”

He exhales, a sound that could be a laugh if it had any humor in it.

“I’ve been searching a long time,” he murmurs. “I thought perhaps there were others, but I had never found proof. Until now.”

You go still.

“Others?” you repeat.

“Perpetual,” he says, after a small pause, like he’s weighing whether to tell you the word. “Like me.”

You stare at him.

Then you yank your hand free with more force. His fingers slip away, letting you go. You take three steps back.

“Prove it,” you say.

He shrugs off his cloak.

Before you can ask what he’s doing, he steps off the killing wall.

You lunge forward on instinct. Your hand closes on empty air where his arm was a moment before. Stone scrapes under your boots as you skid to the edge and peer down.

His body is a broken shape on the rubble below.

You swear under your breath. People die all the time; you have watched thousands of deaths. But this one, you caused and that sits badly in your chest. You curse again, harder.

Then the broken shape moves.

Bones grind wetly into place. Limbs twist back to their proper alignment. After a moment, Neoth stands, brushes dust off his clothes and looks up at you.

The fall should have snapped his neck. Sheared vertebrae. Left him twitching at best.

He is already walking back toward the narrow stairs.

You step away from the edge and wait.

When he climbs back up, his gait is smooth, uninjured. He retrieves his cloak, dusts it off and slides it over his shoulders as if he simply slipped.

“Will that suffice?” he asks.

Your chest feels tight. “How old are you?”

He smiles properly now, and it’s a dangerous thing. Less warmth, more promise.

“Old enough,” he says. “Walk with me. I’ll tell you a story.”

You walk.

He tells you about lost empires and hidden cities under the ice. About speaking with kings who thought themselves gods. About being worshipped, hated, forgotten, remembered.

His memory is too detailed to be lying. You recognize some of his “stories” from lives you lived on the edges of those events as a soldier, a scribe, a healer.

“You were there,” you say slowly, interrupting him at one point.

“So were you.” He glances at you. “We must have missed each other by days.”

You think of all the times you died just before a major battle, or left a city before it burned. You wonder if he was on the other side of those events, watching from some high place.

“Why haven’t I seen you before?” you ask.

“I stayed to the shadows,” he says. “I had…other work. Plans. Experiments.” His gaze slides back to the horizon, where the smoke is thinning. “But I always thought there had to be others. I could not be the only defect in the pattern.”

“Defect,” you echo, a little bitter. “Nice word.”

He looks at you again, more sharply. “You don’t like what you are.”

“Do you?”

He thinks about it. Really thinks.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “Sometimes I see farther than others can. I can build on things no one else even remembers. That is useful. That is…satisfying.”

“And the other times?”

His jaw flexes. “The other times, I watch people I care about die while I remain.”

You fall quiet at that. The wind moves across the dead city, pulling at your hair.

“You could care less,” you say softly, because you’ve tried that. “It helps.”

“For a while.” His voice is low. “But I find I am not suited for apathy. When I want something, I want it completely.”

He doesn’t say what he wants.

He doesn’t have to.

You part ways at dusk.

He offers you a place by his fire. You refuse. He doesn’t push.

“Will we see each other again?” he asks, as you shoulder your worn pack.

“Probably,” you say. “The world isn’t as big as it thinks it is.”

He nods like he already knows the roads you’ll take.

“Then until next time,” he says.

You walk into the dark, certain you will forget his name in a decade or two like all the others.

You don’t.

The second time you meet Neoth, it is centuries later and the world has changed its face again.

Stone has become bronze, bronze has become iron. You have been a mercenary, a thief, a physician, a monk. You have worn other names, other clothes. You have watched empires rise and rotten at the core, then fall.

You see him in a market in a desert city, haggling over spice.

You recognize him even before he speaks. The way he stands: balanced, like he never truly relaxes. The tilt of his head when someone lies to him. The faint lines at the corners of his mouth that weren’t there before.

You approach with a basket on your hip. “You’re being overcharged,” you say, in the local tongue.

The spice-seller glares at you. “Mind your own business.”

Neoth’s gaze flicks to you, then to the weight on the seller’s scale, then back.

“They are right,” he says. “You are adding sand to the measure.”

The seller bristles. “I should—”

Neoth’s hand falls lazily to the hilt of his knife. Not a threat. A reminder.

The seller suddenly decides that today, honesty is healthy.

You laugh under your breath as you walk away together.

“You throw yourself into the strangest arguments,” Neoth says.

“You were letting him win,” you reply. “It annoyed me.”

“I was studying local customs,” he counters. “Apparently being cheated is traditional in this district.”

You snort.

He glances at you sideways. “You’re older.”

“So are you.”

“Still bored of dying?” he asks.

“Still jumping off walls?” you shoot back.

His smile is quicker this time, less guarded. “Sometimes. For efficiency.”

You end up sharing a room at a caravanserai that night because there is only one left and you both refuse to sleep in the stable.

“I can leave,” he offers, standing by the door.

“It’s a bed,” you say. “I’m not scared of blankets.”

He hesitates. “Some people are.”

“Well, I’m not some people”

He gives you a look like he’s pleased by that answer.

You lie back on the mat, staring at the ceiling. He sits cross-legged near the shuttered window, knife in hand, whittling some small piece of wood into a shape.

“Do you have a plan?” you ask him.

“Yes,” he says immediately.

You wait.

He doesn’t elaborate.

“Are you going to tell me?” you ask.

“Not yet.” He turns the wooden piece in his fingers, carving carefully. “It is difficult to explain to those who still think in lifetimes.”

You bristle. “And I don’t?”

“You do,” he says. “Better than most. But you still forget how long forever is.”

“Forever is long,” you say. “Everyone knows that.”

“No.” He looks at you, eyes deep and sharp in the lamplight. “They think it’s long. They don’t know. We do. That changes the calculus.”

You roll onto your side.

“You talk like a man building something,” you say. “Not just surviving.”

“I am.” His fingers never stop moving. Chips of wood fall to the floor. “The world is inefficient. Wasteful. I have watched it kill itself in slow motion too many times. I intend to intervene more…directly.”

You study his face.

“Become a king?” you guess. “A priest?”

He laughs quietly. “Too small.”

“Then what?”

He looks back out the window, where the desert wind is tapping at the shutters.

“Something better.”

He will not say more.

But you keep meeting.

Sometimes you find him deliberately, following rumors, chasing whispers of a man who never seems to die, who appears in the background of revolutions and disappearances and sudden leaps in technology.

Sometimes you just stumble across him by chance on a mountain pass or in a messy tavern. At least it feels like chance.

You share bread and wine and stories. You argue about methods.

He intervenes in wars, nudging one side toward victory because it will cause fewer deaths in the long term. You call it playing gods with other people’s lives. He calls it management.

He encourages cities to standardize measurements, alphabets, coinage. You mock him for being obsessed with straight lines and matching weights. He replies that straight lines save time and labor.

Once you find him in a library carved into a cliff, surrounded by clay tablets and scrolls.

“You hoard knowledge like a dragon,” you tell him.

“Knowledge is leverage,” he says. “Leverage is safety.”

“For who?”

“For everyone.” He says it like it’s obvious.

You are not sure you believe that.

The first time you notice his fixation on you hardening into something else, it’s subtle.

You get drunk on cheap wine in a port city after a particularly stupid death. A sailor shoved you off a pier in a brawl and you hit your head on a rock and woke up three days later in a midden heap behind the tavern.

You find Neoth leaning against a wall nearby, arms crossed, watching the harbor.

“So that’s what you do when I’m not around,” he say. “Rot in garbage.”

He doesn’t smile.

“You were lying there for hours,” he doesn't let you answer, voice flat. “Anyone could have found you.”

“I was dead,” you remind him. “It happens.”

“Yes.” His eyes are hard. “And then you get up again, alone, in an alley, with no one watching your back.”

“There wasn’t anyone who could kill me,” you point out.

“There are things worse than dying,” he says quietly.

You stop.

He pushes off the wall and closes the distance between you in three strides.

“You wander through wars and plagues like they’re passing storms,” he says. “You do not take precautions. You do not build defenses. You trust that you will wake up and start over.”

“It’s worked so far,” you say. “Why are you suddenly angry about it?”

“Because now I know you exist,” he snaps. “Before, your carelessness didn’t matter. Now it does.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because,” he says, slower now, like he’s choosing each word, “there are very few beings in this world who understand what it means to see centuries as steps instead of cliffs. I will not have the only one I’ve found harmed or taken or twisted into someone else’s tool.”

You stare at him.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say.

He exhales sharply, looks away. For a moment, you see strain in the set of his shoulders, tension pulling at the muscles of his jaw.

“No,” he says at last. “I don’t. Not yet.”

That “yet” sits between you like a placed stone.

After that, he is…around more.

If you stay in a region longer than a decade, he turns up. It stops feeling like coincidence. You start to suspect he is tracking you deliberately.

When bandits target the village where you’re pretending to be a midwife, they mysteriously vanish two nights before their planned attack. You hear rumors of a tall stranger passing through their camp.

When a fever sweeps through the city you’ve grown almost fond of, he appears at the gate with herbs and instructions, coordinating a quarantine like he’s done it a hundred times before. You find him in the temple courtyard handing out boiled water.

“Following me?” you ask.

“Following disease patterns,” he replies. “You just happen to live in very fragile places.”

You squint at him.

He doesn’t look at you when he adds, “It’s fortunate I was nearby.”

The first time you disappear on purpose, he finds you in less than a year.

You change continents. New oceans, new stars. You take work on a ship, break your arm in a storm, drown, wake tangled in seaweed on an unknown shore. You make a new life as a teacher in a small inland town. It feels almost comfortable.

Then one market day you see a familiar profile at a blacksmith’s stall, examining a sword.

You swear under your breath.

“What are you doing here?” you demand, marching up to him.

He looks at you, expression smooth. “Trade route inspection.”

“There is no trade route here,” you snap. “It’s nowhere. I picked it because it’s nowhere.”

His mouth curves very slightly. “You picked it?”

You realize your mistake too late.

“So you were avoiding me,” he says.

“I was…resting,” you say stiffly.

“In the middle of a flood plain with poor infrastructure and no standing army.” He raises an eyebrow. “You have always had questionable taste in resting places.”

“Stop…fixing things around me,” you say, frustration spilling over. “Every time I settle, you show up and start reorganizing reality.”

He studies you for a long moment.

“I like knowing where you are,” he says finally. No embellishment. No apology.

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is for me.”

It’s the honesty that shakes you more than anything else.

Time moves. Ages shift.

He learns to use metal better, then electricity, then things you don’t have names for. His tools change. His clothes change. The way he carries himself does not.

He becomes more deliberate. Less reactive. As if everything he does is part of a long chain of causes leading to a single, distant effect.

“Still building?” you ask once, when you meet in a city humming with new machines.

“Yes,” he says.

“Do I get to know what it is yet?”

He looks at you, gaze steady, and for the first time you feel something in him you would later describe as…possessive. Not the friendly possessiveness of a comrade. Deeper. Sharper.

“It’s a world where beings like us are not at the mercy of chaos,” he says. “Where I do not have to worry about losing the few things that matter.”

You feel your throat go dry. “Things?”

His eyes don’t leave yours. “You.”

The word lands between you like a dropped weapon.

You laugh, too loud. “I’m very break-resistant, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Resistance is not immunity.” He takes a step closer. “You disappear. You reappear. You walk into dangers because they can’t kill you. But they can take you, change you, wear you down. I’ve seen men broken without dying.”

“You can’t watch me forever,” you say.

“I can try,” he answers.

He is not joking.

That’s when you realize his obsession with you is no longer an incidental part of his long plans. It is central. It shapes where he goes, what he does, which wars he starts and which he ends.

You are used to being peripheral to history. A witness. A piece of driftwood in a flood.

For the first time, you have the sinking feeling you have become part of someone else’s design.

And Neoth, the man who will one day call himself Emperor, is not the kind of person who lets go of his designs easily.

[monstersholygrail]

Dragon bf who’s never really had luck in the sex department. Most of his past exes and flings have gone ok, that is until he shows them his two massive cocks. The second even bigger and more girthy than the one on top.

At first they try always tried to make it seem like it was no big deal. Told him they could take it. Only to jump to them squirming and whimpering before he’s even bottomed out with one.

If that was the only problem he might be able to handle it. He didn’t need total satisfaction, he could make it work. But when his past relationships also saw how much pre and cum he released they were hesitant to have penetrative sex all together! And if they did risk it they made sure he quadruple-wrapped up and he had to pull out before he was about to cum anyway.

The preventative measures cut off all sensation for him and made him lose all connection he got with his partner from the act. That feeling of closeness had been erased till things just eventually didn’t work out.

It’s left the poor beast with the biggest dry spell known to man. That is until he meets you.

When you first see his cocks you light up. He tries not to get excited but there was no fear in your eyes. Maybe you had more experience with monster cock than he thought and he was all the more grateful for it. Your own ease helped his own, allowing him to relax.

And when you two first started, moving together and grinding as his cocks split open your already dripping swollen folds. Each rock of his hips sending his throbbing tip to smear against your puffy clit. Endless droplets of oozing milky precum dribble from his leaking tip and coat your slit in his eager essence.

When he sees the shock on your face he prepares for the work. Ready for you to tell him to wrap up first or to stop altogether. But it’s him who’s surprised as your expression fades into awe, sweet pretty moans slipping past your lips and making leak even harder.

He doesn’t even try to hold back how eager he is for you, his growls echoing against the walls of his den and his throat glowing with a low blissed out ember. Picking up pace his cocks start to push at your entrance. As you gasp sharply he starts to rear back, about to ask if you’re alright, when you suddenly hook your legs around his waist and push not only one but both of his cocks inside you.

Dragon bf throws his head back with a furious roar, sparks crackling through the air and increasing the tension of the room. You’re so wet and so so tight, he can’t believe how well you’re taking him in. But given how much your sopping pussy is squelching as it sucks in his lengths gives him no room for argument.

Every inch deeper inside your slick silken walls massage every vein along his shafts, delivering a deeper sense of pleasure than he ever knew possible. He lets you set the pace, taking him as hard and fast as you like, using him to give yourself pleasure.

And use him you do. Your hips buck wildly, swallowing up his cocks like you’re starving for it. He meets your every thrust, pounding into the narrow channel of your cunt that shifts with every hard pulse as it molds itself to his shapes. Hugging him so perfectly he could cum already.

But he holds on as best he can when parts of his cock have never felt the sweet warmth of a hole as perfect as yours. More and more precum gushes into your pussy, sloshing around inside you and he merely drives it in deeper, using it to mark your walls as his. Swiveling his hips to hit those spots inside you that have you seeing stars.

He’s filling you so good and you’re suffocating his cocks like the good girl you are, clamping down and holding onto him for dear life every time he hits somewhere reallyyy good. The way he fucks you it’s like he’s memorizing your body, watching closely for every little reaction you give him so he can best please you. Moving his body, his cocks, and his fingers as they rub against your clit to have you singing for him.

And when you cum your vision flashes, the corners darkening before a loud crack rings out and a second later a pleasurable pain blooms on your cheek. Blinking your eyes open you realize he’s lightly slapped your cheek as he grips your jaw and mushes your cheeks together.

Telling you firmly to look at him as he cums inside you and breeds your fat cunt. Letting you know that you’re his now, there’s no leaving or getting away. And that he’s gonna make sure you have to stay.

That’s when you feel a bigger presence begin to push at your entrance and a second later he’s slamming his thick knot inside you’re already overstuffed cunt, stretching you further than you thought was physically possible. It’s as though your body just automatically listens to him as it opens up for him like it was made to. Then he’s coming, rope after rope of scorching hot cum.

You’re not exactly sure how long it takes before he finishes coming but in the meantime he made you cum two more times while he worked you both through the waves of euphoria you couldn’t deny. If anything his words only served to turn you on further.

It’s not a surprise that after all that he ended up succeeding in everything he had said to you. Sure, most people, and even you he images, think him insane for getting you pregnant when you two barely even knew each other.

But after finding such a treasure like you how could he ever risk letting you go now?

[absynthe-mind]

Kinktober 2025 - Day 13, Humiliation (30k Abbadon x gn!reader)

Kinktober Masterlist Here

TW: nsfw, humiliation, power dynamics, sex, gagging, manhandling

Taglist: @druidwolf21 , @incrediblethirst , @bookandyarndragonwritesdark , @mehiwilldoitlater , @shellfangz , @thedaedricmaiden , @saintsylestine , @thisuserislilsilly , @iluminatka16 , @beckyninja , @marcela2000 , @lux-lina

His hand covers the entirety of your neck and the top of your back, pushing you hard into the cold metal of the storage cupboard’s wall. It was one of the two things holding you up as your feet hovered a few feet in the air, and you’d stopped fighting for any purchase a long time ago.

The other thing holding you up was his cock, rhythmically pounding up and down into you, bouncing your whole body with every thrust.

“Do you even know who I am, little serf?” he spoke into your ear, his head directly behind yours, words gritted ever so slightly as he continued powering in and out.

He couldn’t have been expecting a response, not with the way his hand was squeezed around your mouth and throat, muffling the obscene whines and moans you were producing. The only sounds came from the wet slap of skin on skin, his own words, or the thud of heavy boots walking past the storage room he’d sequestered you in.

“Or did you want any Luna Wolf that would take you? By the throne I could smell you from five hallways away” his voice hitches slightly and his dick twitches inside of you before he continues, “I bet a little slut like you would whore yourself out for any Luna Wolf, but I’m also willing to bet none of them could fuck you like me.” 

His grip on your mouth moves, slipping two of his fingers inside and pressing them down on the back of your tongue until you’re almost choking on your own saliva. The drool that had pooled from his prior gagging now spilled out, slicking your face against the wall.

Just as wet as you were up top, your thighs were positively coated in slick, both yours and his. Though you had to admit it was mostly yours, as he had yet to properly cum, instead delaying and jackhammering into you for seemingly as long as he could hold it.

Not that he’d complained as he’d first stripped your robes back, starting by roughly thrusting his fingers in to see what he was working with.

His first words to you had echoed in your brain right until he’d first slipped his cock into you and fucked you utterly mindless.

“Little slut didn’t even need preparation - already a wet mess for your lord, as you should be.”

You never would have expected Lord Abaddon, one of the Mournival - best of the best, to ever take notice of a lowly serf, but you couldn’t be more thankful, more worshipful however he chose to use you.

What were you but a lowly bitch in comparison to him? 

He had certainly shown you what you were worth, using you like a toy for his own personal pleasure.

‘As he should’ your mind whispered, body convulsing as he thrust hard, hitting the same spot over and over as you clenched around him. His punishing pace and brutal force was sure to leave you sore, limping and bruised for days, if not weeks.

“You’re almost good enough to be a cumdump, you know? Perhaps you could be trained for use…” he says, almost considering but entirely condescending in tone.

The praise sent your mind spiralling and had your walls clenching around him hard. His ensuing hiss of pleasure would have sent you over the edge - if you weren’t already long gone some minutes ago. 

Only his grip on you was keeping you up, forcing you into pliancy as he fucked you upwards and finger-fucked your needy mouth into muffled silence.

“Could keep a bitch like you crawling behind me, maybe share with the Mournival even - keep you nice and filled, his pace quickens slightly, but his stroke becomes sloppier and breathing harder as he speaks again, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His fingers finally slip out from your throat, letting you gasp in deep breaths, but you’re too fucked out to consider responding, and in all actuality you’re sure he doesn’t want you to.

“Of course you would.” he punctuates his own reply with a sharp smack to your ass that has you squealing, and prompts him into quickly replacing his hand over your mouth.

His pace doesn’t slow at all, but he does spare a glance to the door, waiting to speak until you hear a set of heavy footsteps pass by that you hadn’t even known was coming.

“Silly slut, forgotten where we are already?” he considers a moment, “then again, you probably want to be found, add another cock to use you into the mix.”

You feel his pace quicken again, his cock pumping into you rapid-fire for a few moments before you finally feel it.

He stops thrusting frighteningly fast, the hand pushing you into the wall curling slightly as everything stops moving but the twitch of his cock and cum exploding out into you. The sheer amount and spreading warmth has you keening and whining, muscles relaxing and spasming rapidly as it begins bloating you.

You hadn’t even noticed him slipping out of you with how utterly stuffed and raw you felt, but your toes sliding down to touch the floor brings you back into the moment. 

Unfortunately, your legs don’t seem to obey you anymore, and you immediately sink to your knees, only just catching yourself with your hands meeting the sticky puddle you’ve made of the floor.

“At least know your place,” he comments, not as cruelly as his previous remarks, just making astute observations. 

You feel a few last spurts of warm cum splatter onto your back, and then a sudden yank as he pulls your hair back towards him. You’re only confused for a moment before you feel him use your body as a rag to wipe himself down with.

The first flickers of shame well up inside of you as you look over the state of both yourself and the room.

“Well, aren’t you going to thank me?” he commands, head tilting in expectation, ponytail swaying to the side behind him.

No part of his statement in any way a question so much as an order.

You’re tempted to turn and face him as your thanks and praises tumble in a slightly incoherent slur from your lips, to present yourself properly, maybe regain a shred of dignity. 

However, you’re intercepted, breath stolen from your lungs as the hard tip of his boot presses into your back and pushes your chest into the floor, keeping you pressed down away from him. The pressure he applies isn’t so much as to truly harm you, but it holds you firmly into the frigid and unyielding floor as he starts picking up his possessions above you.

“Ah, ah, ah.” you hear the swish of his long hair and metallic clanking as he presumably reconnects his gauntlets.

You hear the faint rustle of cloth and the foot is lifted from your back, but you don’t dare move yet. 

The choice seems to be the right one as he chuckles lightly, and you hear the door click as he holds the latch, “you weren't entirely hopeless as a cumdump I suppose, I might even use you again - if you make it back to the serf’s quarters without becoming sloppy seconds.”

His words echo in your head as he leaves, the thud of his boots becoming as distant as all those who passed you both earlier.

There would be no concealing your rumpled appearance, your clothes wouldn’t hide all the bruises, and while you could wipe most of the cum off you there was nothing to be done for the rest of you really…

And you knew astartes could smell far better than a baseline could, had you been marked as open season? 

Still, it wasn’t far - you could make it. 

Slowly, you pick yourself up, limbs still and aching, wiping as much of the spent cum off with your fingers as you could.

Then you realised what the rustle of cloth had been. 

He’d taken your robes with him.