Leman Russ, The Great Wolf King, Primarch of the VI Legion, The Emperor's Executioner, Supreme Lord of Winter and War, and King of Fenris....Save me...
Leman Russ, The Great Wolf King, Primarch of the VI Legion, The Emperor's Executioner, Supreme Lord of Winter and War, and King of Fenris,
save me Leman Russ, The Great Wolf King, Primarch of the VI Legion, The Emperor's Executioner, Supreme Lord of Winter and War ,and King of Fenris
Does Alpharius’s kids know which Alpharius is their dad? Or do they just call all of them their dad? Do they even know about Omegon?
Everyone keeps asking, "Do the babies know the difference between Alpharius and Omegon?" or "Do they just call all of them 'Dad'?" But has anyone ever asked if the dads can tell the babies apart? /lhj
(They can't for most part btw)
But to answer your question anon: yes, the babies can tell Omegon apart. They can usually distinguish between the two, especially when there’s a disagreement going on—but in general, the quadruplets call anyone who looks like their dads… Dad. And none of them cares who the biological father is. Everyone in the Legion is their parent now.
Warnings: NSFW, puritan morals, big age gap (Victor is ca 40 y.o, the reader is in her early 20's). Enjoy!
AHHHH THIS IS MY FIRST FRANKENSTEIN FIC!! it's a bit chaotic lol
Frankenstein had expected a trick from the very beginning, this elegant stranger wrapped in fox fur, wearing the kind of smile that flickered like a russet tail in fading light. Too charming, too composed,too aware of the effect he had on a man desperate for a patron.So when the stranger spoke of funding his research, of covering every cost without hesitation, Victor, even as joy flared bright and blinding in his chest, still forced himself to ask what this Harlander, as the sly newcomer introduced himself, would demand in return. Harlander only smiled again, softer this time, almost weary, as if amused by Victor’s suspicion and touched by it in equal measure.
"In exchange for my generosity during your experiments, Herr Frankenstein,” he murmured, "I shall ask only the smallest thing"
Those words alone made Victor stiffen. He had lived long enough to know that requests described as small were rarely harmless. And behind Harlander’s gentle tone he sensed a promise, or a warning, waiting to be revealed.
"Take in my cousin, Elisabeth’s younger sister, for a time. Let her stay in the tower and assist you with your work, and your household. She is not lacking in intelligence, understands a fair amount about the natural sciences, and what she does not know, she will learn quickly"
To say the request surprised Victor would be an understatement. It was an odd proposition, peculiar enough to stir suspicion, yet harmless in its essence. And, truthfully, entirely convenient. Free assistance was never unwelcome. A quiet presence in the tower, an extra pair of capable hands, it would only ease the burden he had long carried alone. So Victor nodded, allowing himself a small, careful breath.
"Yes..." - he said. "If that is all you ask, I accept".
He could not have known then how deeply this simple agreement would entangle his life with yours.
From the moment Victor first laid eyes on you, he understood at once why Harlander had been so terribly eager to tuck you away from the puritanical gaze of their society.You were exquisite, a young lady of gentle beauty and flawless manners, yet there was something else beneath it all, something glimmering in your every motion, every glance, a nymph-like charm, a whisper of something demonic and far too tempting for the fragile world you were born into. It was not difficult to imagine how that very quality had hastened your fall from the lofty pedestal of your family’s honor.While Heinrich introduced you, you never once looked away from Victor.
In a single lingering gaze you managed not only to strip him bare, but to devour him whole, delicately, mercilessly, like a piranha sinking its teeth into bone. How Harlander ever came to believe in Victor’s restraint or virtue remained a mystery, both to him, and to you.
It was only later, when Harlander softened with drink and loosened his tongue in those elaborate, meaningless monologues of his, that Victor learned the fuller truth behind your arrival.
________
"Oh, Herr Frankenstein!" he sighed dramatically
"I placed this troublesome, stubborn girl upon your shoulders merely to distract you from my dear Elisabeth. Do not misunderstand me, I simply refuse to compromise my family any further"
He smiled at his own joke, though there was no true amusement in him.
"You should think of us, she is the youngest daughter, the last flower of the house, and, by some unfortunate accident, it was not Verlaine or Rousseau who fell into her hands, but Descartes…and de Sade"
________
The first few days passed quietly. Once Victor convinced himself of your knowledge and your steady, unflinching way around instruments and medical tinctures, he found himself more than satisfied.If anything, he was almost disappointed by your calm behavior.Having heard Harlander’s tales, he had half-expected you to throw yourself at him the moment you crossed the threshold, but he quickly reined in that foolish thought, forcing upon himself the composure befitting a learned man.
You took to your new duties with unexpected ease.A girl of noble birth showing no disgust at scrubbing floors, peeling vegetables, tending the house, it intrigued him. He wondered where you had learned such things, and each day his curiosity grew.
You two spoke often.
His rambling theories, his feverish speculations, you listened only with half your attention, your eyes drifting over his face with a dreamy, unfocused softness. You knew perfectly well what effect such a gaze had on men.
And God, it worked.
He was perfectly aware you weren't truly listening, yet he drank in the way your eyes lingered on him, the way your cheek rested against your palm, and that beautiful, distant smile that refused to leave your face.
Harlander had known Victor far better than Victor wished to believe. With your arrival, Frankenstein nearly forgot Elisabeth altogether, his mind consumed instead by his work, and by you.
At night he surrendered to it .When his thoughts were exhausted from days of relentless labor, his mind slipped into a quiet blue fog where you lived constantly.Victor imagined you. Fantasized about you as he lay awake in the dark.You kneeling before him,or him sitting at his desk, legs parted, while you rested between them, your fingertips tracing the inside of his thigh, your cheek leaning against him, that same intoxicating gaze dissolving his reason.He wondered how your body looked unclothed, and he did not pretend to himself that he was untouched by the thought. At times, he even relieved the ache with his own hand, whispering your name into the silence. And when he finally drifted into sleep, the last restraints of shame slipped away. His dreams were far bolder.
He had you pressed against a cold stone wall, or bound to the operating table in the laboratory, limbs tied, your bare body bathed in lamplight as he admired every inch.
And sometimes his mind wandered into stranger visions, you in white stockings and a delicate ribbon around your throat, lowering yourself onto his mouth, fingers tangled in his dark curls, claiming him entirely.
Victor felt almost young again, rediscovering a sexuality he had long neglected.
And every night, without fail, it led him back to you.
OK WHAT IF VICTOR HAS A NEGLECTED WIFE AND THE CREATURE MEETS HER ,, FALLS FOR HER,, AND ABSOLUTELY FUCKS HER BRAINS OUT WITH VICTOR WALKING IN ON THEM 👁️👁️‼️‼️‼️(she high-key is down BAD for the creature and wants Victor to absolutely eat shit lmao)
UNLIMITED SIN
First of all, I absolutely love this idea. Second, this story contains cheating, unprotected sex, and voyeurism—so please read with caution. I also decided to leave the ending open… for now (hehe).
Word count is around 1k.
Thank you for your patience—I hope you enjoy it!💞
How many times had you forced a strained smile whenever someone asked about your marriage?
Were you happy? Were you well-treated? Were you loved?
It got so exhausting that, at times, you wanted nothing more than to run away from Victor. Until one day, he started that... project.
From the very beginning, you believed whatever your husband was doing would lead him straight to hell—and he never argued. He just didn’t listen. The horrific things he did... the suffering that innocent creature endured... it haunted you every single night.
No.
He was not a creature to you.
He was a human being—with feelings Victor refused to acknowledge. You were so angry at everything your husband had done that, one night, when you noticed someone watching you from the dark corner of your bedroom as you sat at the vanity, you didn’t even flinch. Instead, you calmly continued rubbing balm into your bare shoulder, then down to your clavicle, as if unaware of the crooked man staring at you in complete silence.
You doubted he fully understood what he was doing.
But it didn’t matter.
You had dreamed of this moment far too many times. You and this man—this special man—with no eyes watching. No Victor. No corrupted whispers. Just you and a lonely soul seeking warmth.
No matter how hard Victor tried to hide him—from you, from the world—you always managed to find him. It was like fate. As if the two of you were connected.
It was only a matter of time before you and Adam—he had chosen that name himself—fell for each other. And you fell hard. So hard, there was no turning back. Not after your first kiss: the most innocent, the most yearned for. His lips were softer than you ever imagined. You had to stand on your tiptoes to reach him. And when he leaned down to meet you halfway, it melted something deep in your heart.
Adam...
Your dear, tender boy.
You had never wanted anyone like this before. It itched beneath your skin like an insect bite you couldn’t ignore. You needed him. To feel his skin on yours. To lose yourself in him. And eventually, you couldn’t hide those feelings anymore. Even if Victor strangled you with his own hands, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
Because now, you were finally free...
In the arms of another man.
You dared to bring Adam into the very bedroom you once shared with your barely-beloved husband.
And Adam knew what you were doing was wrong. But he couldn’t stop.
Not when you were beneath him, clawing at his back, digging bloody half-moons into his skin as his girth split you open.
No sex with Victor had ever made you feel wanted.
And you hated him for that.
Hated him for the cruel things he did to Adam—because Victor wanted the world to see him as a monster. But you were the only one who saw the truth. You touched his soul.
His beautiful, aching, human soul.
“Adam,” you gasped, pulling him closer with your legs wrapped tightly around his hips. “I want more... I need more—”
He rasped something incoherent, thrusting into you like a man possessed. As if Victor had hardwired this hunger into him on purpose.
Your hands traced every inch of his tense, trembling body. The bed creaked beneath your joined forms. He had inhuman stamina, and you couldn’t even remember how it started—how you got him here, in this bed.
So many nights spent hiding in the shadows.
Giving each other pleasure with locked lips and muted whimpers—afraid Victor might hear.
Afraid Victor might do something to Adam.
You should never have let this happen.
God help you—you shouldn’t have—
That was exactly what ran through your mind when your husband appeared in the doorway.
No sound. No yelling. Just... there.
Eyes bloodshot.
Hands trembling.
Staring at the scene in front of him: his wife, being taken by the very thing he created with his own two hands.
“Victor—I—”
“You,” he spat, pointing a shaky finger at you. Spittle flew from his mouth. “How dare you do this to me?”
Adam didn’t flinch. He didn’t even think to cover himself. His only thought was to protect you. Graceful in his nudity, he stood up and shielded you with his broad, scarred body.
“Don’t... talk to her like that,” Adam growled, voice rough and low.
“Adam, please,” you said, trying to grab his hand as you wrapped a blanket around your bare form. “He’ll kill us—”
“Kill you?” Victor barked, suddenly unhinged. Then he laughed—loud, manic, cruel. “I’ll kill him. This monster.”
You knew what he was looking for.
His gun.
Of course.
“Adam... you call him Adam?” Victor sneered. “God, how pathetic. You’re miserable—a loose woman.”
The second he said that, Adam snapped.
With both hands, he lifted Victor off the ground as if he weighed nothing and threw him across the room. Victor hit the wall and collapsed—unconscious.
You didn’t even have time to react. Your hand flew to your mouth.
What if he was dead?
Then—Adam's muffled sobbing broke the silence.
A sound somewhere between grief and horror.
You rushed to his side, heart racing, blanket trailing behind you.
“Adam, hey,” you whispered, cupping his cheek. “We have to get out of here.”
You didn’t believe your own words.
Neither did he.
He knew this place was your home.
He knew he wasn’t meant to touch you—not with his crooked hands, not with the stitched skin Victor gave him.
Victor was right, wasn’t he?
He was a monster.
“I ruined everything,” Adam choked, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry—”
“No. You didn’t. It’s me. It’s my fault, not yours—”
But Victor groaned from across the room.
And this time, there was no time for comfort. No time to reason.
You grabbed Adam’s large hand in both of yours, pulling him up, eyes shining with silent tears.
Not the Guillermo Del Toro movie- I seriously need to watch it.
Celina is slacking off on doing the horrid amounts of homework she has to do- yay!
We're gonna call him- Günther- yes. Günther. I love Günther.
Tw: murder, a bit clingy
——————————————————
✦Type: Dependent + Clingy✦
- You decided to move into an old town after struggling for months to get a proper job. Shockingly, you're a doctor of all things. It's quite absurd to hear a doctor not get hired, considering how necessary they are.
- The townspeople are peaceful and a bit archaic in their ways. But you don't mind. You help the old, the young, and everyone alike. Since there was more space in an old workshop on the outskirts, you moved in there to renovate it into your clinic.
- With the help of some teenagers and the younger men, your clinic quickly transformed into an adorable little place. Soon, even people from other villages came over for treatment.
- Everything was all dandy, until one day, curiosity came to you when you saw a cellar door. So you open it, only to be surprised by a long twist of stone stairs. Strange, even in this era.
- When you descend into the abyss of darkness, you're met with eerie flickers of light. You turn on your flashlight, and boom- a room full of metal machinery greets you.
- It's fascinating. It's definitely near a century old, but somehow managed to stay intact. Old beakers and strange, vacant jars. Lots of inefficient electrical cords in today's age. In the back of it all, there's a long, rectangular box. It's entirely made out of steel.
- You initially try to pry it open with your hands, but it's insanely heavy. On your right, you notice a lever and a plug. With basic logic, you manage to plug the cord connecting to the box. Within minutes, the sound of whirring clamours throughout the space.
- With some kicking and screaming, you yank the lever down. Two antennas pop out from the box, and electricity connects them. After a good minute, it all shuts down, and the box pops open. A wave of smoke flutters into the room, making you shut your eyes and cover your mouth. You cough, obviously.
- You hear a few creaks and then a grunt makes you freeze. When the smoke dissipates, a shadow looms before you. A tall beast stands up, moaning lowly- as if it can't speak.
- A tall man, covered in stitches, with all of his body parts not quite the same shade of gray, stares at you. He blinks, adjusting before making a happy coo. He kneels, his black, dusty mop of hair covering his eyes a bit. "Doctor.." He slurrs, like his tongue wasn't in the right place.
- You scream, but a crushing hug cuts you off. He's literally a Frankenstein. A body made out of corpses, Frankenstein. He doesn't even smell pungent. He just smells...like nothing. Like nothing lives within his heart.
- He nuzzles your head, purring, "Günther...I Günther."
- Yeah somehow your broke ass got a Frankenstein companion.
——————————————————
- Günther is the definition of a golden retriever guy. Except that makes him a bit too big and a bit uncoordinated. He's a helpful guy, always cleaning your tools and sorting out your patients' records. But he's 100% a bull in a china shop. It doesn't help that his proportions are a little strange.
- He doesn't like going out to your patients. They scare him. So he stays in your home area upstairs. He usually watches cartoons on TV or cooks meals from the recipe books you bought for him.
- He's very dependent on affection and reassurance. He's quickly become self-conscious of the fact that he doesn't look like everybody else. So a few hugs and pats on his head are enough to make him content.
"I...strange look. It look okay?"
- Sometimes when you're working, you'll hear him whine for you from upstairs, and you end up having to make the most idiotic excuses to go tend to him. He's just a clingy guy who is not so nonchalant.
- He's a strong man. If you tell him to go hoe some carrots for you overnight, he will. He likes doing tasks for you. It makes him feel like he's learning something and gaining more control of his strange body.
- Just because he's sweet to you doesn't mean he won't get aggressive, though. When a guy from a neighbouring town kept knocking on your door at night to chat with you, he couldn't help himself.
- That night, you stood there absolutely horrified as your big nice guy plunders the dude to death. You couldn't look at the body- so Günther happily buried it for you.
- As long as they aren't taking too much of your attention or aren't harassing you, he's generally chill.
- Please let him sleep in your bed with you, even if it means the bedframe breaks.
"Günther only wants to snuggle...snuggle please?"
(his grammar does improve over time btw)
——————————————————
Okay- hope you liked it. If you wanna chat about it with me, send it to my inbox.
I really like this goofer, he's just a clingy dude.
I think if I make another post, it might be another monster. I'm kinda liking these classic monster yans.
[ warnings: fingering, virginity loss, sex content, poetic smut, angst, a detailed description of the deadly disease and the unpleasant symptoms associated with it ]
[ description: After their nuptials, the court becomes even more divided. The King, however, wishes to spend the last years of his life experiencing the joys he finds in the closeness of his wife. His bride was never to lose her maidenhood, however, is what the King has proclaimed to his subjects what he really craves? ]
Author’s Note: After the warm reception of the first part, which I didn't expect at all, here is the second part of their story! I have to admit that I had a great time writing it and I love them. I tried to leave some realism and not forget about his illness and the fact that it is contagious.
Part Two of Paradise Fruit. Can be read as a standalone story.
Word count: 4.600
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
My other works: Masterlist
_____
Their nuptials were humble – apart from the Archbishop, who gave them his blessing, uniting them for eternity, they were accompanied only by Sibylla and her husband, enraged, thinking that the King was just fulfilling his sneaky plan.
He truly believed that he would have exposed her to such danger, condemning her to the cruel disease that tormented his members to try to beget an heir.
She was grateful to her Princess for lending her one of her beautiful, gold-embellished robes that day – Sibylla knew what purpose this marriage was intended to serve and that it would not change the order of succession.
She was to be his comfort, a moment of relief and solace, nothing more.
Nevertheless, she smiled, feeling happiness filling her heart, her king's gaze tender and full of affection, from which she felt warmth in her chest.
She thought that she had fallen in love with him.
Their marriage was announced to all and sundry, and she became a king's wife, but not a queen.
She was not bothered by this.
She was assigned a chamber right next to his – she could now visit him whenever she wished and did not have to worry about the King's honour.
As she walked into his quarters, clad only in a thin night robe, a smile of happiness adorned her face. Baldwin, though tired, also seemed pleased and rose at the sight of her.
"Wife." He said, entwining his hands behind his back.
His figure was all clad in white as usual, though the material of his wardrobe seemed thicker to her, a silver mask on his face.
To her surprise she noticed that his gloves were black, apparently made of leather.
She bowed to him, recognising that she was not intending to think about it now.
"My King. My husband. You are the man of your word." She whispered warmly, looking up at him from above her long lashes, feeling a pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen meeting his gaze, hot and dark.
"I am." He replied. "I couldn't deny myself this pleasure. It was an act of my selfishness, not my greatness."
She blinked, cocking her head, feeling for some reason amused by his words.
"Does it matter now?" She asked lightly – something flashed across his gaze, she thought he smiled.
"No. Not in the slightest."
She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his orders – he had announced that because of his disease he would not take her maidenhood and their marriage would be white, however, after what had gone on between them earlier, she did not think her husband would want to remain an ascetic in every aspect.
"Let me see you." He said finally, his voice like a sigh.
She knew what he meant, she knew what he wanted – she could see it in his gaze. Her hands rose to the small knot above her breasts, untying it, slipping the thin material of her nightgown off her shoulders in a light, gentle motion, remaining bare before him.
She shuddered, feeling the chill of the chamber surround her body despite the flames burning in the fireplace beside her, her lips parted as she noticed her king's gaze shift, misty and filled with a familiar, hot desire.
For a moment he looked at her with his head tilted, as if he was simply admiring her, nothing more.
"My physicians have said that the leather material, as opposed to linen, will ensure that you are protected from the touch of my bare skin and what it may cause." He said, tentatively extending his hand to her, and she felt her heart thump harder in her chest with joy.
She could touch him.
They both drew in a loud breath as she placed her fingers on his palm, letting him pull her a little closer, the spot between her thighs all swollen with desire, slowly growing moist with her wetness.
Her lips parted with her gasp of surprise as his other hand touched her cheek – she snuggled her face into it, placing affectionate kisses of her lips on it.
"I would give all the treasures of this chamber, my possessions and my gold coins to feel the taste of your lips on mine." He gasped, looking at her as if she were a precious jewel, a spring water that quenches thirst, an olive tree that feeds whole nations.
She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the sizzling fire and their hitched breaths as his thumb ran over her full, lower lip. She parted it before him and let him slide it deeper, between her teeth. Her lips clamped slowly around his finger, looking up at him with desire as she began to suck.
A low groan escaped his throat at the sight, clearly imagining that he was forcing something completely different down her throat.
He placed his other hand on her back, at the same time pulling her closer and holding her at arm's length, apparently afraid that even his breath was dangerous to her, possibly dooming her to his fate.
She moaned when he gave in, when his mask pressed against her forehead, his eyelids all red around his bright pupils.
"– forgive me –"
She didn't know why his words, filled with so much sadness and desire, made her throw her hands on his shoulders, her lips clinging greedily to the unpleasantly cold, silver structure of his mask.
She closed her eyes, hearing his gasp of surprise, placing lingering, hot kisses full of her saliva and tongue on the surface of it, imagining he was able to feel it, his hands sinking into her hair.
"– touch me, husband – I crave you –" She mewled helplessly, running her hands over the material beneath which was his head, his hair, his jaw and neck.
She squealed when he lifted her suddenly by her buttocks, the quiet hiss that escaped his lips made her understand that this sudden movement must have caused him pain.
She stroked the back of his head as he moved towards his bed with his face nestled between her breasts, not wanting to show him any sympathy now that he wanted to be a strong man in her eyes.
He let out a breath as he laid her down on the soft sheets, his gaze full of tenderness as he looked at her face.
"– lie on your stomach and spread your thighs –" He said calmly and gently, however, something in his words and their undertone made her feel a heat in her lower abdomen and a wonderful tickling sensation.
She obeyed his command immediately, feeling her legs become stiff as he caught her around the waist and lifted her hips, forcing her to buck her buttocks in front of him in a shameless manner.
She heard his heavy breath as he positioned himself behind her on his knees, running his leather-gloved hands over the soft skin of her buttocks, herself panting hard, knowing where he was looking now.
"– the reason why Paris abducted Helen of Troy – the cause of the downfall and delight of all mankind locked deep between my wife's thighs –" He whispered in such a sensual way that she moaned pathetically, clenching her eyelids as his thumb ran over her leaking, throbbing womanhood.
Apparently he liked the sound she made, because one of his hands slid into her hair, holding her in place, reassuring him that she wouldn't take advantage of his weakness and try to expose him in an act of pleasure, endangering him and herself.
"– lie still – shhhh, my love –" He whispered, hearing her innocent cry of desperation as his fingers began to trail around her oversensitive, swollen bud, waves of tingling and tickling sensations spreading through her body dulling her mind, causing her to emit uncontrollable sounds.
She could hear him panting as she watched what he was doing to her, his fingers digging into her delicate folds with a loud click of her wetness, barely teasing her – her hips began to roll back and forth, responding to his treatments, trying to find a better source of rubbing.
"– have mercy on me –" She mumbled with difficulty, her lips parted wide in a girlish moan when, at her request, the tip of his middle finger burst into her fleshy, hot interior.
The experience was at once full of discomfort and delight – at first the material of his glove was cold, but in time her body temperature enveloped him with its heat.
"– God – so warm –" He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion, in some involuntary, primitive reflex forcing her to take his finger deeper inside her, meeting resistance.
"– yes or no –" He breathed out, making her gasp.
Yes or no.
She froze, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad, knowing that he had lied: he had only declared their marriage as white so that after his death his sister's husband would not attempt to kill her out of fear that she might be carrying his heir.
The future King.
"– yes –"
Her fingers clenched on the fabric of the sheet beneath her as he pierced something inside her in one aggressive motion, along with her squeal taking her maidenhood.
She began to wriggle under him with sweet whimpers of delight as his first finger was joined by a second, opening her wide for him only to fuck her before his eyes.
Tears of pleasure and shock ran down her cheeks as she moaned like a mere whore, spreading her thighs wider, his fingers thicker and longer than hers, stretching her so wonderfully.
"– please –" She whimpered, responding with her hips to each thrust of his hand, the tips of his fingers hitting the sweet spot deep inside her with startling precision again and again, while his thumb teased her little pearl between her folds with reluctance.
She bucked up more, panting loudly along with him, feeling the drops of her own wetness begin to run down her thighs one by one, soaking his hand, the fingers of his free palm clenched in her hair.
"– go on – please your King –" He commanded in a low voice from which her weeping cunt clenched around his fingers in convulsions of ecstasy, the sweet, stupefying pleasure making her cry out loudly, her legs bent at the knees quivering all over from the exertion.
"– a-ah –" She mumbled out, her face red with emotion as her body shook with a fulfilment so strong that her leaking, hot walls began to simply suck him inside. He felt it and moaned in a boyish manner, stopping moving, keeping his two fingers slipped deep into her body, just wanting to feel how it pulsed around them.
"– yes – just like that – easy now – easy –" He praised her, slowly sliding them out of her, and she swallowed hard, letting her body fall back onto the bed, panting loudly.
She sighed as he turned her onto her back and spread her thighs, looking at her with eyes black with desire, his hand slipped under the material of his robe.
Only then did she notice that his garment had a slit in the area underneath where his manhood was.
Although he had not allowed her to look at it then, now that he had grasped it in his hand and directed it at her throbbing womanhood, she saw the fat, pink head of it, dripping with his desire.
His hand clamped down on her soft breast, careful, however, not to cause her pain as he began to squeeze his swollen erection in his palm, with sharp, aggressive strokes from the very base to the tip chasing his fulfilment.
She moaned innocently, surprised, tilting her head back as his thumb ran over her hard, sensitive nipple, playing with it, something like satisfaction flashed through his gaze when he saw that this kind of touch was giving her pleasure.
"– my wife is so eager – so devoted to her poor husband – hm? –" He gasped, his breathing heavy as he accelerated, already squeezing only the base of his manhood, rocking his hips back and forth, struggling to restrain himself from opening her up, from sinking into her, from feeling her.
She rolled her hips forward encouragingly, rubbing her moist cunt against the thick head of his erection, drawing a low, almost animalistic groan from his throat, his silhouette moving slightly away.
"– no –" He growled with pain and anger, involuntarily returning again and again to her warmth, letting the tip of it push against her swollen, thirsty slit.
"– please, my King – put inside me –" She begged, but he shook his head and simply came with a loud moan of pleasure, his pearly, sticky spend spewing onto her womanhood.
He stared at this shameless sight, his head bowed low, his breath heavy as if he had just accomplished some heroic feat.
"– you need to bathe in hot water – immediately – dress yourself, I'll call the servants –" He exclaimed, rising abruptly from the bed, covering his manhood back with his robe, wiping his hand sticky with her wetness into its material.
She stood up quickly, horrified that he was surely angry with her for not listening to him, hastily dressing her nightgown over her shoulders, bursting into sobs.
"– forgive me, my King – forgive me, do not send me away –" She begged, but he did not listen to her, ordering his servant to immediately bring the tub into his chamber and fill it with hot water.
Although it slightly burned her skin when she stepped inside, her husband-king explained that the heat killed whatever was spreading his disease, and the oils and herbs that were thrown in were to prevent any other infections.
She looked at him with big eyes as he sat beside her, dipping his leather-gloved hand into the water along with a piece of cloth, sinking it then between her thighs, making sure not a single drop of his seed remained on it.
"– will you forgive me, my beloved? –" She muttered pleadingly, watching his face. He looked at her with a chastising look and sighed heavily.
"– it is I who should beg your forgiveness – I have allowed myself to be carried away by my desires, which have suppressed my reason – do not fear, it will not happen again – after your bath you will return to your chamber and will no longer visit me in the evenings –" He said calmly, looking away.
Her heart stopped in her throat, her brow arching in pain and disbelief at his words.
"Are you sending me away?" She muttered with difficulty. He looked at her, surprised apparently by her question and reaction, his hand froze in mid-motion.
"You can't sleep here because I am here. My breath, my proximity are deadly. I am exposing you even now. Before sleep, my physicians pull off most of the fabric that covers my body. I will never let you see this." He said and swallowed hard, seeing as tears one by one began to run down her cheeks.
"You break my heart. At least let my bed be placed next to yours. Drape it with curtains so that I may not see you or your body at night, but that I may at least hear your voice, hear your presence in the same chamber." She said pleadingly, touching his beautiful silver mask with her hand, his gaze tired and sad, filled with pain.
He hesitated.
"The chamber is not locked. Place my bed by the windows, by the fresh air. Do not condemn me to solitude, show me mercy, my King." She whispered, once again placing a kiss on his mask, on his cold, silver lips, his sigh testifying that he pressed his lips on the other side, reciprocating her caress.
"You are my doom."
At his command, her bed was moved to his chamber, raising voices full of resentment from some of the monks and priests, commenting on the fact that her maidenhood might be called into question.
"White marriage, to my knowledge, does not mean that husband and wife live separately. On the contrary, we should indulge in prayers together and be each other's comfort by day and night."
Honour Knights and Lords were concerned about what kind of comfort his little wife was to him.
Each day, the physicians sent by King Saladin checked the condition of her body and whether there were any signs of infection – her husband watched it from the sidelines in horror, relief in his gaze each time he heard from their lips that his wife was in good health.
However, taking advantage of the fact that the King had left the chamber after her examination, returning to his duties, one of his medics approached her, pale.
"My Lady. Spending so much time in the King's company, you will certainly contract his disease. Often its first symptoms do not appear until years after infection. It is possible that it is already too late." He muttered, bowing before her.
She swallowed loudly, looking at him calmly, feeling discomfort in her stomach.
"Would my husband live to see the time when the first symptoms could be apparent? If it turned out I was infected." She mumbled, and he shook his head.
"No, my Lady."
She smiled at his words and nodded.
"Thank you. Assure my King that I am well and can abide with him as before."
The man looked at her, in his eyes disbelief but at the same time a kind of admiration, compassion and warmth from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.
"My Lady."
The days in Jerusalem were often sunny and hot, and as her husband rejoiced at the sight of her bare body, she walked around his chambers naked, feeling like a Greek goddess, Aphrodite or Artemis.
She would read old volumes, play the lute or embroider while spreading out comfortably on large cushions so that he could see her, and he would admire her from afar like a nymph.
"– my wife is like a fruit of paradise – like a goddess born of the sea foam –" He murmured, looking at her contentedly, bent over the dozens of parchments spread out on his table.
The servants knew that they could not enter his quarters without permission, for although he was gentle and affectionate in his manner, he did not wish to share this shameless sight with anyone.
However, what most of their days consisted of were conversations.
Her husband was a great speaker – they were discussing the Bible, faith, philosophy, poetry, art, war and history for long hours.
At nights, when he couldn't sleep from his pain, hearing his sighs and quiet moans that he tried to suppress for her sake, she would ask him questions.
She couldn't touch his hands or embrace him – his body needed rest, to breathe to keep from rotting and for at least a few hours a day it was supposed to be uncovered.
"Christ says to the adulteress: go and sin no more. However, he knows, as God incarnate, that this is not his command, but a recommendation. Sin is the fatal disease of every human being and we all sin in thought, in speech, in deed, in neglect. This is no reason to be sad. Christ is merely saying: live in such a way as not to cause yourself or others suffering, try to live with dignity, in harmony with yourself and your Father in Heaven."
"Is it known what happened to her afterwards?" She asked quietly, looking at his silhouette, seeing only its outline on the other side of his bed.
"Some identify her with Mary Magdalene or Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus. But it could also have been a person not mentioned by name in the Gospel. She certainly followed Christ and became one of his disciples." He said, his voice clearer without his mask, calm and soft.
"Do you think God considers me an adulteress?" She asked in a trembling voice and heard him shift restlessly in his bed.
"Why should such an unjust and harsh judgment fall on my wife? Because she is devoted to me with her soul, heart and body? Haven't you done everything I asked of you and even more? You are as pure as the sheet I lie on, as the delicate fabrics I wear on my skin. Your beauty makes me even more aware of my ugliness." He whispered with pain that made her swallow hard, shocked by his words.
"To me, you are the most beautiful of men. Before I met you, I swore to God that I would never marry, that I would not share Sibylla's fate. He showed me mercy, filling my heart with a burning feeling for you, my beloved."
He was silent, but she heard him exhale loudly, his trembling sigh full of suffering.
He cried.
"If only you could look at my face, see what a disgusting caricature of a human I am, you would understand what a great mistake you made." He howled, choking on his own tears, clearly letting out what had been weighing on his heart for weeks.
The fear that if she accidentally saw his face, she would scream in terror and run away.
"Is your faith in me so weak? I hoped you think of me with respect." She mumbled, heartbroken, feeling a squeeze in her throat.
She heard him swallow hard at her words, clearly terrified that he had offended her.
"I do, my love. Forgive me."
"I fell in love with a human, not an earthly shell." She said, but he didn't answer her.
She watched the silhouette of her husband and his physicians each evening through the curtains, seeing them only as through a fog in the candlelight, their shadows dancing around her.
She could hear his hisses and cries of pain as they treated his wounds, see the outline of his head, always with his back turned to her.
When they were finally left alone and he lay down on his bed, she heard his sigh of relief, his face, though she couldn't see it, turned towards her.
"My sweetest?" He whispered, and she smiled warmly, feeling a wonderful delight in her heart every time he called her that.
"I'm here, my love." She murmured, twisting comfortably in her bed.
"I desire you."
She swallowed hard, feeling her warm womanhood throb around nothing.
"I desire you too, my beloved."
They were both silent for a long moment, the tension around them palpable in the air.
"– one of my physicians –" He began in a trembling voice. "– at my request, he created something that I can – put on my length so as not to touch you directly – from what I understand, he made it from the intestine of some animal and disinfected it – he assured me that it would be safe for both of us, but –"
"– yes –" She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound like crazy at the thought that he wanted to do this to her.
"– you know it's a risk –" He said, his voice quivering with longing, the shadow of his silhouette turned towards her.
"– I knew it from the very beginning – I don't care what happens to my body – I just want to feel my beloved husband inside me –" She whispered with embarrassment and that seemed to be enough for him.
She heard him stand up, quickly putting the cloth and mask over his head as he appeared on the other side, beside her bed, looking as he usually did – the same black leather gloves on his hands, his fingers clenched on a small wooden box.
"– undress –" He commanded, and she did so, literally ripping off herself her nightgown, laying down on her stomach.
His silhouette was instantly next her, kneeling behind her buttocks, his breath hitched and quickened when she heard the rustling of something and another strange, sticky sound.
After a moment, his fingers tentatively and gently ran over her swollen, pink folds, collecting her wetness, which had already managed to trickle down her thigh.
"– no other treatments are needed – my sweet wife is leaking like a forest stream –" He hummed with delight and admiration, she felt her cheeks blush with embarrassment.
They both sighed as she felt something thick and hard begin to push against her puffy slit, opening her wide – despite her lack of preparation her cunt pulsed in delight, moist with desire.
The feeling of him deep inside her, so intense and definitive, of how hard his long, thick erection stretched her fleshy walls was shockingly pleasurable and terrifying at the same time, as if her body no longer belonged to her.
"– yes, yes, yes –" She mewled as she felt his hands clamp down on her buttocks, spreading them apart as if he were tearing a piece of fruit, another determined thrust of his hips sinking him completely into her hot core with their moans of pleasure.
"– fuck –"
She wasn't sure if he had ever cursed before, but then, as his hips immediately began to pound into her with loud slaps, nothing more than their panting, grunts and words insulting to God left his mouth.
"– we'll do it frequently – so that you can remember this feeling well – your husband deep inside your warmth –" He exhaled in a way from which her little cunt began to squeeze him greedily, sucking his erection inside, her lips parted wide in a loud, helpless whines of pleasure so strong that she had to close her eyes, her hands clenched on the bedding.
His gloved fingers dug into the delicate structure of her hips, imposing a more aggressive pace on her, his fat manhood bursting deep between her fleshy walls without slipping out of her, hitting again and again her sweet little spot.
"– yes – yes, I love you, I love you, I love you, please –" She cried out, feeling the tension in her silky womanhood reach its zenith, the pleasant tingling in her belly testifying to the fact that she was about to reach her peak with him and dreamed of nothing else.
He moaned low, slamming into her like mad, feeling her weeping core clench around his twitching length more and more, his manhood hard as a rock with desire.
"– G-God – oh, fuck, yes, yes, my sweetest, let me, ah –" He gasped in delight, coming deep inside her, filling the thin material overlying his manhood with his release.
Her eyes closed and her mouth parted wide as her peak came down on her like a thunderbolt, shaking her body with convulsions of delicious delight.
They both moaned and panted, rocking their hips for a moment more with the loud click of her slick cunt, his hands soothingly kneading the skin of her buttocks.
"– I will order more of this to be prepared – so that I can fulfil my marital duty every night –" He sighed with satisfaction.
She involuntarily smiled under her breath, looking up at him over her shoulder, the moonlight shining outside the window reflected in his mask.
"– what kind of white marriage is this? –" She asked teasingly, rolling her hips, feeling his half-soft manhood pulsate inside her again.
"– our kind – do not fret – I will explain it to God once I am before him – I will tell him that I loved my wife too much –"
_____
Author's note: Between their wedding day and this next act, weeks actually pass during which he doesn't touch her (she mentions the days spent in his company and how she is examined every day, how he watches her naked, but apart from that nothing happens between them). He is afraid that if he tries to touch her again, he won't hold back (he had already had difficulty not taking her on their wedding night), so he tried to think of something so as not to touch her directly with his manhood. Their intimacy is an act of their desperation, the pain of knowing that their marriage will last a year or two at most. The desire to touch her and feel her is as strong in him as the desire to protect her and push her away. Their love is tragic and complete to me, and she knows what she is risking (she knew from the very beginning).
Author's note: Come from my private au, has so many settings I am never said before but I think it is funny, must post.
Tumblr formatting sucks so I had to change it like this.
EXPOSED: 133 SPICY SECRETS THE IMPERIUM DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW — WHAT THE PRIMARCHS REALLY DO AFTER DARK!
From kink collections to bedroom blunders — the juiciest, weirdest, and most heretical habits of the Emperor’s golden boys. You won’t believe #26… and #90? Absolutely illegal in 7 systems!
The Lion maintains absolute discipline even during climax, barely changes expression.
Has a secret passionate side that only emerges with you.
Silent hunter in the streets, vocal beast in the sheets.
Despite his serious demeanor, he makes cat noises when he comes. Not sexy growls, literal "meow" sounds.
Has never discussed his intimate life with anyone, total compartmentalization.
Possesses surprisingly detailed knowledge of ancient Terran tantric practices.
Watch you like prey before making a move, intense predatory stare.
Has a ritual of knightly "service" that leaves you breathless.
Fulgrim has tried literally every sexual practice in Imperial records.
Can delay his climax indefinitely through perfect muscular control.
His perfectionism extends to sexual performance, practices techniques alone.
Has a mirror positioned above his bed, claiming it's "for technique refinement."
Keeps a detailed journal rating every sexual encounter on multiple criteria.
Always smells like different exotic perfumes depending on his mood.
Perturabo pproaches pleasure like an engineering problem to be solved with precision.
Records biometric data during encounters to analyze optimal techniques.
His jealousy issues manifest as possessiveness in relationship.
He has body image issues despite being built like a Greek god. When you started calling his stretch marks "triumph lines" and his response was to short-circuit emotionally.
Surprisingly responsive to praise during intimate moments.
Despite his gruff exterior, he cries during his refractory period. Every time.
Has trust issues that translate to control dynamics in bed.
Jaghatai's speed isn't just for the battlefield, it can vibrate certain body parts.
Never stays in one position for long, constant motion and rhythm.
Has a thing for outdoor sex.
Braids his hair specially for intimate occasions, pulls it out after.
Makes a distinctive sound during climax that's become legendary.
Knows pleasure techniques from dozens of different cultures.
Sometimes recites war poems during particularly intense moments.
Leman's heightened sense of smell means he can detect arousal from across a room.
Growls during climax, not metaphorically, actually growls.
Has fucked in every environment imaginable, including in blizzards.
Gets rough during full moons without even realizing it.
His beard provides unexpected sensations that drive you wild.
His dirty talk is surprisingly poetic, often in ancient Fenrisian dialects.
Has a thing for biting, leaves marks that last for weeks.
Dorn approaches sex with the same directness as everything else, tells you exactly what he wants.
Has incredible endurance, can maintain the same position for hours without tiring.
He speaks exclusively in literal terms during sex. "I am now going to insert my penis into your vagina" is his idea of dirty talk. When you asked him to talk dirty, he told you about soil composition and drainage issues. Somehow, still hot.
He has never once lied, which made "how was it for you?" a terrifying question until you learned to be more specific.
Never exaggerates or falsifies his reactions, 100% authentic responses.
Has an unexpected thing for bondage, loves testing the strength of different restraints.
Always keeps his word on promised pleasures, reliability is his hallmark.
If you want to peg him, he will provide a detailed structural analysis of your technique, complete with suggestions for improved angle of entry.
Konrad can see your deepest desires through his precognitive abilities.
Only has sex in complete darkness, says the shadows "speak to him" then.
Has a thing for fear, gets aroused when you are slightly afraid.
Never makes a sound during sex, total silence except for breathing.
Sometimes whispers your future to you during climax, usually disturbing stuff.
He's a little spoon who needs to be the big spoon until he falls asleep, then immediately reverts to little.
He keeps a "justice journal" where he ranks everyone's crimes and appropriate punishments. Apparently, your crime is "excessive smugness" and your punishment is "thorough pleasure correction."
Sanguinius's wings are erogenous zones, extremely sensitive to touch.
His beauty isn't just physical, emits a pheromone that intensifies attraction.
Blood rushes to his wings during arousal, making them flush visibly.
His enhanced hearing means he can detect the slightest changes in heartbeat and breathing.
You can feel a euphoric blood rush in his presence, possibly psychic.
Has a tragic fear of hurting you, requires absolute trust.
He looks like an angel but fucks like a demon. The dichotomy is disorienting.
He apologizes after dirty talk. "You're a filthy cockslut—I'm sorry, that was disrespectful.”
Despite Ferrus's gruff exterior, whispers surprisingly tender things during intimate moments.
Temperature of his hands can be adjusted for different sensations.
Always checks in verbally throughout, consent is non-negotiable.
Can go for multiple rounds with zero recovery time.
Has a thing for hands, loves both giving and receiving hand pleasure.
Contrary to expectations, Angron is extremely controlled in bed, afraid of hurting you.
His rage translates to intense passion when properly channeled.
The Butcher's Nails make his pleasure/pain responses unpredictable.
Requires specialized reinforced beds, has broken dozens.
Gets emotional after particularly intense sessions, sometimes even cries.
Prefers if you aren’t intimidated by his size or reputation.
His heart rate during sex would kill a normal human.
Guilliman approaches sex with tactical precision, maps erogenous zones like campaign targets.
Keeps a detailed spreadsheet analyzing performance and your satisfaction.
Actually wrote a private codex on sexual techniques, 500 pages, fully illustrated.
Always showers immediately before and after.
Has a thing for authority figure, ironic given his own position.
Surprisingly imaginative once he trusts you enough to relax.
Asks for performance reviews afterward, genuinely wants to improve.
Despite his appearance, Mortarion is unexpectedly gentle and attentive.
Has a breathing kink, loves controlled breath play.
His body temperature runs cold, creating interesting sensations for you.
Surprisingly flexible.
Has never been naked in front of anyone, always keeps something on.
His scarred skin is extremely sensitive, especially along his back.
Silent during sex except for carefully controlled breathing.
Prefers total darkness, claims it "equalizes the experience."
Magnus can psychically enhance your pleasure, making you feel everything he feels.
His eye glows brighter during arousal.
Can maintain an erection for days through psychic control.
Know exactly what you want before you do, mind reading has its benefits.
Has invented several positions that would be physically impossible without telekinesis.
Sometimes accidentally projects his orgasms psychically, causing everyone nearby to feel it.
His extensive library includes the galaxy's largest collection of erotic literature.
Has had sex while simultaneously reading a book.
Horus has a thing for power dynamics, he loves when you challenge his authority before ultimately submitting to him.
His stamina is legendary, often going for hours without breaks.
Gets incredibly turned on when called "Warmaster" in bed.
Has a secret collection of handcuffs from every world he's conquered.
That scar on his body? Extremely sensitive to touch, instant arousal trigger.
Secretly recorded himself with you, keeps the videos in a hidden vault.
Has a thing for doing it in war rooms, especially on strategic tables.
Lorgar treats sex like a religious experience, complete with rituals and chanting.
Has written erotic poetry that would make experienced courtesans blush.
Takes his time, foreplay can last hours as he "worships" every inch.
His voice alone can bring you to the edge, has studied sonic stimulation.
Has a thing for confession scenarios, wants to hear your darkest desires.
Always burns special incense that heightens sensitivity.
Has sacred words tattooed in places only you discover.
Vulkan's body temperature runs extremely hot, like making love to a furnace.
Gives the best post-sex cuddles in the Imperium, like being wrapped in a warm blanket.
Has a surprising affinity for sensual massage, can work out knots you didn't know you had.
Laughs during sex, finds joy in physical connection.
Always focuses on your pleasure before his own.
His heartbeat is audible and hypnotic during intimate moments.
Corax can literally turn into shadows during particularly intense moments.
Has a thing for heights, loves balconies, rooftops, and flying vehicles.
So quiet during sex you sometimes forget he's there until he touches you.
Can see perfectly in darkness, knows exactly where to touch.
Sometimes sprouts shadow-wings during climax, startling the unprepared.
His voice drops to hypnotic registers during dirty talk.
Enjoys watching from the shadows before joining in.
You're never sure which twin you're actually with, sometimes they switch mid-session.
Can perfectly mimic the sexual techniques of anyone they've observed.
Keep a network of informants reporting on the sexual preferences of your.
Have developed secret pleasure points unknown to standard anatomy.
Sometimes speak in unison during threesomes, eerily synchronized.
Have been known to disguise themselves as servants to spy on people's sexual habits.
One likes to be on top, one likes to be on bottom, but they never specify which is which.
The Emperor's psychic presence intensifies pleasure to godlike levels.
Can appear differently to different, manifests as your ideal lover.
Time seems to stretch in his presence, moments of pleasure can feel like eternities.
His golden aura becomes blinding during moments of passion.
The Primarchs' various quirks are genetic echoes of the Emperor's own preferences, each inherited different aspects.
*******
You stared at the crumpled list in your hands, blinking rapidly as you processed what you were reading. The paper had been slipped under your door sometime during the night, the handwriting alternating between several different styles as if multiple people had contributed to it.
"What the fuck," you whispered, scanning the detailed, disturbingly detailed, descriptions of the Primarchs' supposed sexual habits.
This had to be retaliation for your artwork. Ever since you'd been caught sketching that sexual piece featuring Horus and Sanguinius in a rather compromising position, things had escalated into a bizarre war of increasingly sexual content between you and the Emperor's sons.
Your data-slate pinged with an incoming message. Seventeen new commission requests from seventeen different encrypted sources, all requesting artwork based on items from the list. Each offering payment that would make an Imperial Governor blush.
"Oh, it's fucking on," You cracking your knuckles as you reached for your stylus.
********
The first anatomical "reference session" was scheduled for that afternoon. Magnus had requested a private meeting in the Librarium after hours, claiming he needed to discuss "important tactical matters" with the remembrance.
When you arrived, you found the crimson Primarch sitting rigidly at a massive wooden table, surrounded by ancient tomes and scrolls that definitely weren't tactical in nature.
"I received your list," you said without preamble, dropping the crumpled paper onto the table between them.
"What list?" Magnus asked, his single eye widening with what appeared to be genuine confusion.
"The 133 sexual facts about you and your brothers," you clarified, watching his face carefully. "Rather detailed information about your... preferences."
Magnus's crimson skin darkened further as he snatched up the paper and scanned it rapidly. "This is—I didn't—" he sputtered, then paused, his eye narrowing. "Number Eighty-eight is accurate, though."
"Which one was—" you started to ask before catching yourself. "Not the point. Did you and your brothers create this as some kind of joke? Retaliation for my artwork?"
"I assure you, I had nothing to do with this," Magnus said, still reading the list with increasing distress. "Though I suspect Fulgrim or perhaps the twins..." His voice trailed off as he reached the section about himself. "That's... uncomfortably specific."
"So these are accurate?" you couldn't help asking, professional curiosity getting the better of you.
"I neither confirm nor deny," Magnus replied automatically, though his continued deepening complexion suggested otherwise.
"Right," you nodded, retrieving the list and tucking it away. "Well, regardless of its origin, I've received seventeen commission requests based on it. Including yours about psychic pleasure enhancement."
Magnus choked on nothing. "I didn't—"
"The request came from '[email protected],'" you interrupted dryly. "Very subtle."
"That could be anyone," Magnus protested weakly.
"It was written in Prosperine hieroglyphics," you countered. "With annotations in a language that doesn't technically exist yet."
Magnus slumped in defeat. "Fine. I may have sent a... hypothetical inquiry."
"About whether I could accurately depict psychic pleasure transference in artistic form," you completed. "For which you'd need to demonstrate the technique. For accuracy."
"Precisely," Magnus nodded, scholarly demeanor returning. "It's a complex psychic phenomenon that requires direct observation to properly capture."
"Uh-huh," you said skeptically. "And this has nothing to do with item ninety-one on the list about you accidentally broadcasting your orgasms psychically?"
Magnus's eye darted away. "A preposterous exaggeration."
"So that didn't happen during the Ullanor campaign? Because I heard an entire regiment of Imperial Army suddenly collapsed in ecstasy during your private meditation time."
"A coincidence," Magnus insisted. "Mass hysteria."
"Right," you grinned. "So about this commission..."
********
The next morning found you in the training cages, ostensibly observing combat techniques for "assassinorum purposes" but actually gathering reference material for the flood of commissions that had arrived overnight.
Jaghatai and Leman were sparring, stripped to the waist, their compression leggings leaving little to the imagination as they grappled and threw each other around the cage. A small crowd had gathered to watch the Primarchs train, but you had managed to secure a front-row position with your sketchbook.
"Enjoying the view?" Torgaddon asked, sliding up beside you.
"Research," you replied without looking up from your rapid sketching. "Anatomical references for commission work."
"Uh-huh," Torgaddon nodded skeptically. "And the fact that you're focusing on their glutes and crotches is purely professional."
"The gluteal muscles are key to understanding proper movement dynamics," you explained with mock seriousness. "Also, item twenty-three indicates Jaghatai 'never stays in one position for long, constant motion and rhythm.' I need to capture that accurately."
"You actually believe that list?" Torgaddon asked incredulously.
"I'm verifying it empirically," you corrected. "Scientific method and all that."
Just then, Jaghatai executed a particularly impressive takedown that left Leman pinned beneath him, both Primarchs breathing heavily and glistening with sweat. They held the position a beat too long, eyes darting to where you sat sketching, before Leman growled something and they separated.
"They're showing off for you," Torgaddon observed.
"Of course they are," you agreed, adding detailing to your sketch. "And I'm getting excellent reference material because of it. Win-win."
"This is going to end badly," Torgaddon predicted.
"This is going to end profitably," you corrected. "I've made more money in the past week than in my last three assassination missions combined."
"Speaking of which," Torgaddon lowered your voice, "there's a rumor that the Emperor himself has commissioned you for something."
Your stylus paused momentarily. "Where did you hear that?"
"So it's true!" Torgaddon’s eyes widened.
"Neither confirm nor deny," you muttered, returning to your sketching. "Client confidentiality."
"By the Throne," Torgaddon breathed. "What did he ask for?"
"If—and I stress if—such a commission existed," you said carefully, "it would be for a classical portrait. Nothing more."
"Classical as in...?"
"Classical as in Ancient Terran style. Renaissance era."
"Nude?" Torgaddon pressed.
"Artistically draped," you corrected primly.
"The Emperor wants you to draw him like one of your Terran girls," Torgaddon marveled. "The actual Emperor of Mankind."
"This conversation isn't happening," you insisted, focusing intently on your sketching as Ferrus Manus entered the training cage, also stripped to the waist, his metal arms gleaming under the lights.
"Your pupils just dilated," Torgaddon noted.
"Lighting change," you dismissed, though your increased sketching speed suggested otherwise.
"Right," Torgaddon drawled. "Well, while you're conducting your 'research,' you might want to know that father is looking for you. Something about providing 'detailed references' for his triple-self commission."
"Already scheduled," you replied without looking up. "After the war council. He's bringing reference materials."
"What kind of reference materials could father possibly—" Torgaddon started to ask, then shook his head. "Actually, don't tell me. I don't want to know."
"Wise decision," you agreed, flipping to a new page as Ferrus began demonstrating a series of strikes that showcased his impressive torso musculature. "Very wise indeed."
********
The Emperor's private gallery was unlike anything you had ever seen, a vast chamber filled with artwork spanning human history, from primitive cave paintings to hololithic masterpieces that seemed to shift and move as you walked past them.
And here you were, presenting your completed commission to the Master of Mankind himself.
"The brushwork is exquisite," the Emperor commented, examining the large canvas you had delivered. "You've captured the classical style perfectly."
"Thank you," you replied, trying to maintain your professional demeanor despite standing before the most powerful being in the galaxy, discussing what was essentially an erotic portrait.
"The musculature is anatomically precise," he continued, "yet idealized in the classical tradition. Your understanding of chiaroscuro is impressive."
"I studied the ancient masters extensively," you explained, which was true, you'd spent three days in the Imperial archives researching Renaissance techniques for this commission.
"And the draped fabric creates just the right balance between revelation and mystery," the Emperor noted, his golden eyes studying the painting with the intensity of a sun. "Excellent work."
The painting depicted the Emperor in a classical pose reminiscent of ancient Terran deity portrayals, strategically draped fabric preserving modesty while suggesting the perfection beneath. It was tasteful yet undeniably sensual, exactly what he had requested.
"I'm pleased it meets your expectations," you said, feeling oddly nervous despite your training.
"More than meets them," the Emperor assured you. "I shall add it to my private collection immediately." He gestured to a section of the gallery that appeared to be accessible only through a psychically locked doorway. "Your compensation has been transferred to your accounts, with a substantial bonus."
"You're too generous," you began, but the Emperor raised a hand.
"I reward excellence appropriately," he stated simply. "And I understand you've been providing similar services to my sons."
You froze, unsure how to respond. "I—"
"No need for concern," the Emperor assured you, his perfect lips curving into a slight smile. "Creative expression takes many forms. And frankly, they've been more focused on their duties since your commissions began. Less... tension among them."
"I'm... glad to hear that," you managed, processing the fact that the Emperor of Mankind was essentially approving your pornographic side business.
"I would, however, suggest discretion regarding the list that has been circulating," the Emperor added, his golden eyes twinkling with amusement. "Some of those items hit rather close to home."
"You've seen the list?" you blurted before you could stop yourself.
"I see everything eventually," the Emperor replied enigmatically. "Though I suspect Malcador had a hand in its creation. He always did have a peculiar sense of humor."
Before you could process this revelation, the Emperor gestured toward the exit. "I look forward to seeing your future work, Remembrance. Perhaps we might discuss another commission at a later date."
Taking the dismissal for what it was, you bowed slightly and turned to leave. As you reached the doorway, the Emperor's voice stopped you.
"Oh, also? Item One-hundred-and-thirty-two is entirely accurate."
Your mind raced to recall the item in question, something about his golden aura becoming blinding during passion. By the time you turned back to respond, the Emperor had vanished, leaving you alone in the gallery with the distinct impression you'd just been teased by the Master of Mankind himself.
"What even is my life right now?" You muttered, making your way back to your quarters where seventeen more commissions awaited your attention.
