Finally gaining the courage to post my vampire the masquerade oc! Meet Thalia Callas Dayne, member of Toreador Clan in Chicago. Fledgeling with daddy issues (no one knows who her sire is and her current fatherly figure is depressed middle aged tremere neonite), painter and pain in the ass of her coterie.
Also her after prince of Chicago patted her on the head (he is hot, give her some grace)
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Hughie's the first to clock it. He can't prove it, but he knows. Soldier Boy has the emotional range of a brick except when you're in the room. If you get too close to danger, it becomes personal to him.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ If Butcher ever found out, you'd be toast. When you bring it up to Ben, he shrugs, lights a joint, and mutters, “I’ll kick his limey ass.” He means it. He’s not afraid of Butcher, and he’d burn bridges for you, no hesitation.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He doesn’t sleep well but will knock out faster if you’re touching him. He gets peace of mind when your arm is draped over his hip, and your leg rests between his thighs.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ In bed, he'll grip your waist, thumbs dragging under the hem of your shirt. His palm splays wide on your sides, stroking lines up and down.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Frenchie and Kimiko walked in on you once. You were perched on the bathroom sink, legs wrapped around Ben's waist while he shaved. Frenchie smacked a palm to his forehead. “I knew you liked ‘em dangerous, but mon dieu, he’s a walking war crime!" Kimiko dragged him back out by the arm, eyes wide like that was not our business. They never said a word about it.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Ben gives you his dog tags as a token. You find them on your pillow one morning, still warm from his skin. You wear them under your shirt.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Sometimes, after a bad mission or a trigger from his past, he gets quiet and stares at nothing. You’ve learned to sit close, press your forehead to his shoulder, and wait. He always comes back to you.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Once, when you were patching up a gash on his side, he looked at you real soft and murmured, “You’re the only damn thing in this world I’d bleed for.”
There are a lot of takes about how Emperor would feel about his sons' spouses. But honestly?
I think he would gladly make them perpetual / immortal in some other way (no, Fulgrim's wifes don't count as an argument, considering he married them before Emp found him). Why?
2 reasons.
1. Gratitude. It's such a simple way to earn it and make them slightly more loyal.
2?
If they ever act out, Emperor can "pull a plug" on their spouse. Harm them. Take something away from them. He can permanently tie his sons' biggest weakness to himself. Immortal hostage, even on the other side of the galaxy.
(From now on I will be posting it under tag "From Beyond the stars")
A girl from our world finds herself in a Warhammer universe in the 30th millennium.
Summary: Yelena has important conversation with Sanguinius and finally meets her serfs. Also why you should never bite a primarch when he tries to interrogate you.
Tags: isekai, ending up in a fictional universe, primarchxf!oc, found family trope, sanguinius and lion make an apperance
Warnings: abuse, mention of child abuse, cursing, typical canon violence
Word count: 3902
Getting rid of Horus took... some time. He was asking a lot of questions, and it was so hilariously clear he was internally freaking out for most of it. Even if he tried to hide it. But after what felt like hours, the primarch decided to give her mercy and leave.
Yelena dragged her battered, bloodied, and exhausted body to the bathroom. Every damn step felt like her muscles were on fire. And it wasn't surprising. She had been awake for... who knows how long. She didn't recognize herself in the reflection. A bloodied face, no piercings in her lip or nose. At least the dark bags under her eyes were still there. With the last of her strength, she filled the bathtub with water and climbed into it, sobbing in pain as the warm liquid touched her body. She was exhausted, both mentally and physically. It was just too much. One day, she finally decides to end her own suffering, and instead of the sweet release of death, she teleports herself to a hell filled with imbeciles.
It took her a moment to force herself to move, washing away the dirt, sweat, and blood, trying with all her might to ignore the burning wound on her hand. When she was done, the water in the bathtub (or rather, a pool) had turned a nasty light pinkish-brown color. She had no idea how to even empty the damn thing, so she decided she would figure it out in the morning. And then she realized she had made one very important mistake. She hadn't brought anything to change into. The only thing on the floor was the nightgown she was wearing before, and girl didn't want to dirty her freshly washed body with the dirt, bark, blood, and who knows what else that covered the white fabric of her previous garment. Not a very dignified way to meet the three primarchs.
Hissing quietly under her breath, Yelena wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and opened the bathroom door.
"Forgive me if I scared you." Sanguinius smiled amiably. However, seeing her condition, he politely decided that the wall was much more interesting to look at than his conversation partner.
And Yelena? She just stared at him blankly. Because of course. Privacy? Who ever heard of such a thing? And so she came out to him dripping wet and wrapped in a piece of cloth. Not in a sexy way like they showed in the movies. Oh no, she had to make herself into a towel burrito, dragging a piece of what was probably very expensive fabric across the floor as if it were a sophisticated coat. Just wonderful.
"More like suprised me. I suspect you have questions?"
Sanguinius' wings fluttered slightly.
"Yes, I do." The angel nodded, looking at her again. He wasn't staring at her body, but at her eyes. "I didn't foresee your appearance. I usually see shadows of the future, but you completely escaped my dreams. I still look at you and see nothing. Only something unnatural, but strangely addictive. That would explain why we all instinctively want to be close to you. But it doesn't explain why Horus is so upset after meeting you and can't look me in the eye."
"Sanguinius, I think-"
"He will be the one to kill me, am I right?"
Yelena couldn't find the words for a few seconds. She stared blankly at the primarch, frozen in place.
"Did you see it in a vision?" she finally asked, wrapping the towel more tightly around herself. "Just like you knew the Emperor would find you on your planet."
"I dreamed fragments of my death. Shadows, glimpses into the soul. Never the whole picture. For a long time, I suspected it would be one of my brothers, but now I am certain. It is not often that one sees the Emperor leading a girl to the guest chambers, so it caught our attention. I remember your eyes. You stared at us with pain, as if you knew of the tragedy to come. Then Horus' behavior after talking to you. I saw you coming back from my father, covered in blood. But alive." The man paused for a moment to take a step closer to her and kneel on one knee in front of her. Even dressed in silk robes, Yelena, with her measly five foot seven, only reached his hips. So she was grateful that he had decided to try to match her height. "My question is why. I can't see it, and I want to prevent it."
"During one of the battles, Horus will be wounded by a poisoned dagger. Erebus, Lorgar's acolyte, will perform a ritual over his dying body, corrupting him. Half of your brothers will turn to Chaos, and a civil war will begin that will destroy the Empire. When the traitors invade Terra, you and the Emperor, among others, will confront Horus. He will kill you and seriously wound your father, but he will ultimately be destroyed. Of course, the whole Heresy is more complicated than that, and I believe it can be avoided. And most importantly, the Horus who did it then was not the Horus you know."
"Is Lorgar also a pawn of Chaos?"
"Not yet. But after the destruction of the Monarchia, he will be called the First Heretic for a reason."
Sanguinius was silent for a moment, listening intently to her words. It was difficult to read his expression, the emotions he was feeling. But when she finished, the man shifted, placing his hand on her shoulder. This gesture apparently threw him off balance, because his eyes widened slightly and his gaze fell on her bare collarbone, which he lightly brushed with his thumb. Quickly, however, he raised his gaze back to her face.
"Thank you for sharing that with me. Don't worry, you haven't made me hate him. Now I'll just appreciate every moment we spend together even more." Sanguinius' face grew slightly sad as he got up from the floor, adjusting his robe.
"Wait. Why did you believe me? I must sound like a madwoman."
"I saw you appear in the throne room. Father and Malcador examined you, and for the first time in my life, I saw them so shocked. Then I saw you leave his council chamber. Covered in blood, but alive. Tell me, what happened there?"
"Um..." Yelena couldn't help but grin"I called him a prick."
An amused smile appeared on the angel's face.
"And he didn't kill you for that? Well, there's your answer. I don't think even Malcador could have survived that. He must really care about keeping you alive." Despite his height, the angel moved with great grace as he walked toward the exit of her chamber. He stopped only at the door. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day, and then you can tell me everything in detail."
Yelena didn't even have a chance to respond because the primarch left the room, closing the door behind him. She was alone again, surrounded by expensive furniture and lavish decor. Outside, the sun was slowly setting in the distance. How had it all gone by so quickly? Sighing quietly, she threw the towel on the floor and took another nightgown out of the closet. This one had gold embellishments, but it was just as pleasant to the touch as the previous one. Hissing softly in pain, Yelena put on the garment and climbed into bed, wrapping her aching body in the duvet. Before she drifted off completely, she noticed that on the bedside table, next to the lamp, lay a single snow-white feather.
For the first time in a long time, Yelena dreamed. It was more of a mix of colors. Blue, purple, gold, red, green. The colors swirled like a kaleidoscope, fighting each other, trying to break into her mind. She heard voices, but she couldn't understand the words they were saying. And then? The longed-for silence. When she finally emerged from her dreams, for a moment she thought she was back in her old apartment. She felt... at peace. It was difficult to explain, but suddenly the stress that had caused her chest to tighten and her breathing to become difficult was gone. She was calm and relaxed. It was as if she had slept well for the first time in a decade.
Yelena lazily opened her eyes and almost had a heart attack when she saw the figure standing over her. She jumped back, struggling to hold back a scream.
"What the fuck?!"
"I apologize, my lady." One of the maids immediately bowed, and Yen could swear that the girl began to tremble slightly. "I didn't mean to scare you, my lady! You just weren't moving, and I was afraid something had happened to you. I beg your forgiveness." Her voice began to break, as if she were on the verge of tears.
The other, with long black hair tied in a braid, looked visibly fed up with everything, but also bowed. For a moment, Yelena didn't understand why they were reacting this way. After all, she wasn't a primarch or an astartes. Then it dawned on her. It was the thirtieth millennium. Here, you could probably be demoted or killed for less if you encountered a capricious aristocrat. And they probably thought she was one.
"It's okay. I just wasn't expecting you." Yelena rubbed her temples, trying to calm her racing heart. That's all she needed. She was about to get up, but before she could do anything, the black-haired woman placed a silver tray on her lap. It was filled with all sorts of food - toast, three kinds of jam, ham, cheese, some sweet cream, boiled eggs, bacon. She would never be able to eat all that. As if that weren't enough, the second servant placed a porcelain jug and a cup on the nightstand, into which she poured a drink that smelled like hot chocolate. "Oh... thank you. But I can't eat it all myself. Are you hungry? Go ahead, help yourselves."
The girls looked at each other, visibly shocked. For a moment, they didn't know what to do. Yelena involuntarily felt a twinge in her heart when she saw this. It was hard to look at such repressed human spirits.
"It's okay. Take as much as you want." She smiled gently, patting the spot on the bed next to her.
The black-haired girl finally plucked up her courage, climbed onto the bed, and sat down next to her, taking a piece of toast from the plate and spreading jam on it.
"Thank you, my lady. Cecile, don't stand like this. No one will hurt you." She finally spoke, giving the blonde a warning look. The blonde just squeaked quietly and joined them as well.
The meal passed in a relatively pleasant atmosphere. Yelena discovered that both serfs had been serving in the palace for several years and that the black-haired one was named Nessa. She seemed much more arrogant and confident than Cecile, so when breakfast was over and the maids obediently began to collect the empty dishes, Yen stopped them.
"Nessa, could you stay for a moment? I'm going to need your help." It was a poor excuse, but it would have to do. Cecile gave her friend a frightened and sympathetic look and obediently left, taking the tray and empty jug with her. Her step was slightly quickened, as if she was afraid that Yelena would call her back.
"Yes, my lady?" Nessa was visibly tense, and her voice was slightly sharper.
"Gods, I'm not going to hurt you. Relax." Yen scoffed, getting out of bed. "My name is Yelena. Don't call me my lady. We are both humans, the same bag of fucking meat. Believe me, until recently I was a factory worker. Look," she held out her hand, showing the scars on her knuckles and fingers.
Nessa stared at her for a moment, this time not hiding her shock. Seeing this, Yelena continued.
"I understand that this is not a very common approach, eh?"
"No. It is not." For the first time in a long time, a smile graced the black-haired woman's face as she sat down on the bed. "Most aristocrats have bigger egos than brains."
Yen chuckled quietly.
"Well, I'm not an aristocrat. You can act naturally around me. I didn't say that in front of Cecile because I'm afraid she would probably have a heart attack. But you can tell her."
"Cecile is foolishly convinced of her inferiority. You saw it yourself. She lives to serve. And you, my la- I mean Yelena. How did someone of my class end up living in the imperial palace? That honor is reserved for war heroes and the most influential nobility."
Yelana shrugged.
"It's... a very complicated story. But I won't take up any more of your time. If you want to escape your duties, you can just relax here."
"You know what, let me at least comb your hair. No offense, but you have a bird's nest on your head. It's enough that the court is gossiping that you're the Emperor's missing daughter. We don't need them saying you've come from the wilderness."
It seemed that this small act allowed Nessa to show her true, more honest personality. Despite Yelena's sincere protests and the general scolding her maid gave her, the crookedly cut mess of bleached dirty blond hair that reached her shoulders was nicely styled. It also turned out that while she was asleep, someone had put expensively decorated robes and dresses in her closet. She couldn't find the sweatpants she had jumped into the water in on that damn night, so she opted for a golden robe with a belt around the waist and wide sleeves. Feeling bad that Nessa was wearing what looked like a poor serf's uniform compared to hers, she wanted to offer her one of the dresses, but Nessa refused. Also, to her personal amazement, in the jewelry cabinet (which, by the way, was also new), she found a gold hoop that fit perfectly as her lower lip side piercing.
Yelena planned to spend the day hiding in the closet or under the bed, but Nessa had other plans. She intended to take full advantage of the fact that she had befriended an aristocrat and decided to take her on a short tour.
"Of course, there's no way I can show you everything, because we'd spend three months on it, but I'll tell you about the most important points. First of all, the primarchs' chambers are relatively close by. Each of them has their own mansion within the castle, but we will also encounter them here sometimes. Be careful around them. It is best not to make eye contact with them. They will scramble your brain just by their presence." Nessa began, taking her by the hand. She spoke very quietly, careful not to be heard by any of the patrolling guards. "Terran aristocrats also have their apartments on this floor. They are extremely annoying and pompous. They love to gossip about everything. Your arrival has caused quite a sensation because the Emperor himself has taken notice of you. So don't be surprised if you run into one. Once you settle in permanently, you'll probably get your own apartment in their wing. But you'll get used to those cunts. The bureaucrats have their own separate wing, but you probably won't want to go there. And most importantly - the secret passages."
Nessa grabbed Yelena by the wrist and pulled her toward one of the sculptures. It depicted two characters from some myth, but Yen couldn't remember which one. Meanwhile, the black-haired woman turned the laurel, and the sculpture moved. A piece of marble shifted, revealing a hole in the wall that would barely fit a normal-sized person.
"The servants sometimes use them to move quickly or to avoid being noticed. There are plenty of them, and you can easily get to most places in the Palace using them. But it's very easy to get lost, so always memorize the route. There are also larger passages, which the Custodians probably use, but I've never encountered them in the tunnels." Nessa twisted the laurel back into place and the marble returned to its original position. "Consider this as a thank you from me for being kind."
Secret passages? Yelena felt like she was in heaven. Now she had a way to sneak from place to place without drawing unnecessary attention to herself.
Speaking of drawing attention. Nessa suddenly turned pale, and her body went numb with visible fear. She looked as if she had lost control of part of her body. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Yelena saw a man approaching with a build that could only belong to one person. She turned and saw none other than Lion El'Jonson.
"Leave us." The voice of the Primarch of the First Legion was sharp as steel. Nessa bowed respectfully and quickly marched away without even looking back.
"Rude." Yelena replied. "You know your attempts to intimidate me don't really work? I spent the whole night talking to Konrad and-"
The girl didn't finish, feeling a strong hand grab her by the neck, covering half of her face, and then lifting her into the air.
"Horus and Sanguinius have always been more easy on mortals. But Curze? The fact that he is fond of you should be enough for my father to lock you in a cell. What are you and what is your purpose here, witch?"
Under normal circumstances, Yelena might have tried to sweet-talk her way out of this situation. However, at that moment, a scene played out before her eyes as her father held her like this. Her body reacted instinctively, and she took advantage of the fact that part of his hand was very close to her mouth and sank her teeth into the primarch's finger. At least as much as she could, because to her surprise, she was unable to pierce the skin. However, Lion definitely felt it, because his eyes widened in visible shock at her audacity. Suddenly, her temples exploded with pain, and darkness enveloped the world.
Whatever El'Jonson had done gave her a nasty migraine. Yelena struggled to open her eyes, still dazed by the blow, and looked around. She was in a dusty room, tied to a chair. Lion towered over her, arms crossed, watching her every move.
"Talk."
Any sane person in such a situation would probably obey the commands of the god standing above them. But not Yen.
"Listen, daddy, I like your way of thinking, very kinky, but culture requires you to buy me dinner first," she muttered, and despite throbbing pain in her temple, a shit eating grin appeared on her face.
It seemed that Lion was not in the mood for jokes. The man lunged forward in a second, grabbing her face violently and squeezing it with enough force to leave bruises.
"I said talk. I won't repeat myself a third time. Who are you and what is your purpose here?" he hissed, finally releasing her cheeks and allowing her to make any sound.
"First of all - auch. Second, you could have just asked. Like civilized human. Third, I'm Yelena, nice to meet you too. Your father has probably explained to you that I'm from another dimension and I know your past and future. In my world, you are characters in a novel. A universe called Warhammer. And before you say anything, you paranoid bastard, you ended up on Caliban and spent ten years in the wilderness. Knights found you and one of them shot you. They wanted to kill you, but Luthor stopped them. Now, back to the topic at hand. Some of your brothers will turn traitor and be corrupted by chaos. For the most part, it won't be their fault. The Emperor told me to try and help everyone involved avoid a civil war that will fuck this whole place up, by warning them. Happy?"
Lion stared at her in silence, processing the information she had given him. His nostrils flared as he tried to calm down.
"Father mentioned that to me. But it still doesn't explain your abilities, girl."
"Abilities? What in the bloody hell are you talking about?"
"You have an aura around you. There's something wrong with you, but being in your presence is pleasant. Addictive. It works even stronger when we touch your skin. Sanguinius noticed it too when he touched you. I felt it myself when I held you by the neck. Add to that your lack of respect. Other mortals would tremble with fear in your situation? And you had the audacity to bite me."
"Well, to be fair, you asked for it. And I know less than you do, mate. One day I'm at home, and the next, poof! I'm tied to a chair in this nightmare of a galaxy. Now, could you untie me? These ropes are cutting off my blood supply."
"Do you realize how absurd your words are?"
"This whole situation is absurd!" Yelena snapped, struggling. "Do you think I like this? No! Definitely not! I'm sick and tired of arrogant demigods who either threaten me or try to recreate the scenario from Fifty Shades of Grey, but with clothes and torture!"
"What are you blathering about?!"
"You won't understand. The important thing is that I'm surrounded by fucking lunatics! And I know perfectly well that you know I'm not lying. So, for God's sake, untie me!"
"I don't trust you. But I know how I can test you. I'll ask you questions that only I can know the answers to. And you will answer me, girl. Don't try to read my mind."
Despite her arrogant jokes and grumbling protests, Yelena finally gave in and agreed to the test. At that moment, she was thankful she had read so much Lion smuts. It turned out that even though she had never been very interested in the Dark Angels, the authors had done their research. The interrogation dragged on forever, until finally Lion, still not entirely convinced, decided to let her go. He cut her bonds rather roughly, finally releasing her.
"I still don't trust you. I will be watching you. Your story doesn't make sense, yet you possess knowledge you shouldn't have. You can be sure that if you try to harm my brothers with your stories, not even my father's decree will protect you."
"When will you finally realize that I'm trying to protect them, you asshole?!" Yelena hissed, rubbing her wrists.
"Watch your language, wretch."
"Or what, you asshole?"
Suddenly, the door to the room opened.
"What a fascinating conversation. I hope I'm not interrupting, but ever since I arrived, I've been sooo eager to meet you, Yelena." Fulgrim leaned against the doorway with a broad smile on his face.
_____
Author's Note: Eheheh... well hello. It took some time but chapter is finally here. I really apologize for the wait Ao3 curse got my ass even here. Also if there are any mistakes I'm sorry, I was writing this on the brink on insanity oh so many author's face. I hope you guys liked it!
Something abt perturabo being a factory of 99 percentile babies and everyone is like "Congrats!.... are you ok tho?" Cuz LOOK AT THE SIZE OF HIS BABIES
“Is it so hard to love me?” perhaps with Angron. Maybe political marriage that the reader had accepted without realizing who they were dealing with. Bittersweet, maybe there are inklings that Angron does love them but the reader is unsure. Perhaps they saw Angron harm some unnamed World Eaters and it was enough to make them question if it was worth whatever alliance she was sold off to
Tw: yandere behavior, violence, blood, arranged marriage
the prompt list
created by: @yandere-genji
30. “Is it so hard to love me?”
"It's all right! I'll do this!"
You smiled kindly while your sister was still processing the shock of the news. Your father stood from his throne, looking at you with worry, while your mother immediately started to panic.
"I'll marry this… prime thing these people want!"
"No… No, no, I wasn't—" Your sister immediately held your hands, trying to calm her cries. "I didn't mean that you had to do it! Please! Do not—"
"I do not have a lover like you. It would be bad for me seeing you unhappy! And no one ever even courted me before… It seems fair! It's a win-win!"
You laughed it off; it seemed so easy.
You all acted so normal while your family wiped your youngest daughter to be used as a way to keep the peace. The same smile that was used for the images to present to the Primarchs, hoping that one would find you attractive or hoping to sell a good alliance.
It was all for show, you know that. You just wished for a kind one…
It was when you first saw him in those photos that you started to feel fear.
His eyes were angry, his posture was of a beast, he had silver and metal cables that exited his head like snakes, and he almost looked like he had drunk more blood than he had ever drunk water.
And yet you resisted, thanked the ambassador that looked so different from the first one that had come, and hoped you could meet your future groom soon. Maybe the painting was just a mistake, or maybe it was a test to see if you could go through this? Maybe! Or maybe he wasn't bad; maybe he had a good heart! Maybe he was nice!
The first time you met him, it was a week before your presumed wedding, one that was imposed to be done back on the planet where your ancestors first lived.
The image wasn't wrong, and no matter how much you tried to look happy to see him, his scowl was still there on his face. He was awfully big; he looked like he could tear you apart in any second… And honestly, he seemed to have done it before.
The men behind him looked at you; some scoffed, some laughed, wondering how long you would have lasted, only to be shushed by the only one that showed his face alongside their leader, one with the same silver snake on his head.
He had brothers; they were there the day of your arrival. Some of them looked at you with pity; some of them even showed disdain for the act of throwing an innocent woman to him like a dog prize. The one with silver hair said that it was such a waste to give someone with such beauty as you to his brother.
Angron did not talk; he did not. His eyes were on fire while looking at your shivering form, almost like preparing to just take you and devour you whole. You were afraid, but for the love of your family, you decided to go through this. You wanted to do this; you couldn't back away now.
For all that week he had never once seen you, almost ignoring you or evading your presence like the plague. You saw him passing time with his brothers, talking with them, and you never dared to approach. They looked confused and curious; some actually laughed, and others just decided to walk away and ignore him.
He was complaining about you, or worse!
You did not know; everyone around you kept on praising the military conquest of the Primarch of the World Eater, saying that you were marrying the fiercest warrior that ever walked on this galaxy, but you heard them when they pitied your situation, saying that they hoped your death could be quick and without pain.
The day of your marriage wasn't the one you had dreamed of, especially since there was not a second that he didn't stop looking at you like he wanted to kill you in that same instant. You couldn't even look at him in the eyes; even during the vow, he did not even say anything, saying something that they weren't needed at all. That hurt you, just a little, and you noticed a tremor in his hands, like he was ready to throw an entire ship away.
It was when the sun started to fall behind the horizon that you remembered that your first night of marriage needed to be consummated, and a new wave of panic started to eat you alive. You weren't stupid; someone of that stature was clearly beyond every human capacity! You would be literally cut in half!
You tried to not cry, to keep your mouth shut, to sound happy about everything, but the idea of giving away your first time with someone like him… You just wanted to run away and hide!
He started to lead you away to a private part of his ship, the Conqueror, and he kept on grunting and gritting his teeth and never once spoke with you. This was a terrible idea, and you knew it! You were going to be killed like a fish by this man! You were going to—
"This is your room from now on."
He had taken you to an empty room. A bed to one side and an old chest to contain your belongings.
"Do whatever you please here. Do not wander around. You'll have your personal serfs; ask them everything."
And so…he left you alone in an empty room…on your first wedding night…untouched…
After that night, you tried to find an explanation for that behavior, and the only answer was that he was completely disinterested in you. Or maybe you were too repulsive for him to look at! What if he had other taste in women?! … What if he was not interested in women at all?! You had no idea what you did wrong! Were you just too hard to appreciate?! You weren't the prettiest in your family, of course, but to even fail the first task of a wife… You didn't know how to feel! What if this event would start to shift the accords with your father? What if something bad happens to your family?
But everything was beyond your reach, no matter how much time you spent on that ship, because Angron, your husband, refused to come to you, to meet you, or to do anything at all. The serfs that have been put to work for you are kind, more so than the ones that have been raised under the pledge of these warriors, and they try their best to accommodate you and make sure you can live in comfort. Some present themself with what should allow you to make your living quarters more like a home than a hole in that battleship and present you with nice gifts—everything that could allow you to feel more secure. And yet there's this uneasy air around you, like they're acting under orders, and the presence of those Astartes at your door, always watching and ready to follow you everywhere, made you feel more like a prisoner than their lady.
Weeks pass, even months, and you are never able to fully connect with your husband. He never met you; he had presented you without enough care to his closer circle: a man that you remembered from your first day, Kharn, and Lotara Sarrin, the commanding officer, a woman that shared the same wary looks that everyone seemed prone to have. They were different from Angron; they decided to talk to you, trying to make you part of the expedition, to explain to you the Crusade and its intent, and they actually put in the effort to…include you. Too bad that everybody else looked at you, spat at your feet, and snorted insults.
You weren't welcome; you did understand that. You knew that from the beginning, but hearing it so loudly from those men was…well, it seems less scary to try to read your husband.
You were ready to accept that, to live like this and try to get by until that accident. The day when one of his sons had been possessed by something, when the snake on his head started to scream in his brain, forcing him to act without thinking. Kharn had warned you to stay away from everyone that had those nails, as he had called them, except for him, and that those things could change the mind of many warriors, making them the most violent war machine that the Imperium could have ever seen. You asked him if that included Angron as well. He had not responded…
You should not have wandered alone, but you needed to move away, get out from your little cage, and spread your legs a little. You needed to see the outside; you wanted to see the stars. Instead, now you were running for your life from a monster that had now decided to kill you. You cried for help and begged someone to come and make him stop, but no one listened. Maybe no one cared…
You kept on running, to escape, closing doors and trying to create barriers between you and that mountain of muscle, but he was a son of Angron: far too strong to be stopped.
You were panicking, and your escape would find a stop by a tumble down on the metal floor. You were too tired to try to run again. He laughed, savoring the moment that all of his brothers dreamed to achieve…until another mountain stood, this time between you and your persecutor.
Angron.
You had seen him angry? No, you had seen him in his most casual way, because this IS Angron angry. Fiery eyes that could turn to fire everything they lay on, nostrils that emit puffs of steam, gums that lose blood from how hard his mandible clenches, every vein in his body popping up like cracks on a rock, and his entire body radiating heat like a pure sun.
He stood there, his massive frame caging your little one, protecting you with all of himself. His presence shocked his son, who tried to speak, to call for him, but nothing was enough to quench his rage. He was on him in one second; his bulkiness made it no problem at all, and he started to pound him so hard that every bone in the Astarte body was now a liquefied goose. And while he kept on killing and killing again that man, the voice repeated just one phrase.
"DO NOT TOUCH MY WIFE!"
You didn't need to hear more; you already fled the scene.
///
You wrote too fast, so you must have made some errors, but you had no time. You could not do this; this was too much!
You apologized in your words, saying that you couldn't do it, that your father will find a better arrangement, but you can't do this! Not like this! You can stay with that beast! With a man that killed one of his sons in front of your eyes! You tried to manage, to grow a gut for that, but it was too much! You apologized to Lotara and Kharn for the trouble and said that they would find a way to reason with Angron. You hold the letter in your hand, planning to leave it on your bed and leave in that instant! Maybe you can pay with one of your jewels for one of those pilots! You don't even care to bring anything with you! You want nothing at all. You—
"What are you doing?"
His voice is like a hammer on your ribcage. He was there. Why couldn't you hear him when he entered?! He was so big; why was it so hard to hear him?! You turned around, looking more like a sentenced-to-death than a lady. You tried to speak, to say anything, but only a wail came to your lips when you saw him in his eyes.
Those golden eyes, scary and…pretty…somehow…
Blood still splattered on his body, his hands completely red and soaked with heavy drops on the carpet you had put down to make the room warmer, even if now it was cold as ice. He noticed the piece of paper, and with a gentleness that you would never believe he could possess, he took it and started to read it. His breath became labored and deeper; you could hear his muscle stretching again. He was getting angry again; the fury was starting to come to him again! He was ready to kill you like he did to that man before you!
Your tears started to fall heavily on the floor, mixing with the blood now.
His arms circled you. His warmth was almost a relief from the icy fear in your bones, and his grip was controlled and secure, like a baby that holds his doll, afraid that someone could take it away. He smelled of something nice…sand.
He stood there like that, holding you, his heart beating so hard that it made your head swirl, until they started to chase their run, and his arms untangled themselves from you with reluctance. His face… You had never seen that face… He was… He looked so sad… His thumbs met your face, caressing away a tear, treating you like you could crumble at every touch.
“Is it so hard to love me?” He spoke with the voice of a broken man: "Was I so hard that you had…to run away from me?"
"I'm trying… I'm trying so much… I'm doing what I can… But I never knew love… I never…"
His own tear started to fall down, holding you still closer to him, fearing you could just run away and disappear again.
When his father forced him and his brothers to decide who wanted to marry the youngest one, many were the voice of disapproval. Some, like Corvus, believed that it was cruel to force a young woman into this union just for political arrangement; others, like Perturabo, found it offensive that they presented them the youngest one and not the eldest. Others just didn't want to be part of this charade, like him.
He did not care; he did not want to be part of it… until he saw it, and he felt it.
He saw your image, radiant, smiling, so serene and so happy, with those white flowers in your hair, with that beauty that did not match anything he had ever seen. And…and he felt peace. The pain was gone…
The nails were silent because he knew you existed.
He proposed; he wanted to be your groom, taking you in before someone else could. That vain Fulgrim did not deserve you, not even that perfect son of Roboute did. No one did. For once, he dared to want something, and this time the Emperor approved. As long as the union would find fruits, there was nothing that could oppose that.
For so many days he tried to learn anything about you, about your planet, and about your likes; he even decided to give you a room just for yourself! He did not want to force himself on you; he was too scared that something may happen.
He was willing to wait.
When you laid your eyes on him for the first time, he felt like, for the first time, he met kindness itself. You were more beautiful in person than in those photos; you were so perfect, so small, so delicate…so scared…
You were afraid of him…he understood that; he already knew. That's why he decided to learn, to finally ask for some advice from his brothers, to know what to do. It was humiliating, but for you it was worth it.
He couldn't even muster out his vows in the way he wanted; no words could describe how happy he was to have found the one thing that was meant to quench his pain! You look so sad, like he didn't care… But he did care; he wanted to tell you how much he loved you in the future! You two had time!
He had given you space and time to adjust and asked Lotara and Kharn to help you so you could feel less lonely! But he knew that his happiness was always unreachable for him.
The dogs that are believed to be his sons hated you; they believed you were weak, fragile, and a stain to their father, but to him, to Angron, you were everything he wanted. He should have been careful; he entrusted you with the best of his men, and yet one of those animals still decided to hunt you and scare you to death.
He had killed him for you, to protect you; he never planned to scare you, he never would…
"Please…" he begged, holding you to the point that breathing became harder. "Please…" Don't leave… I'll do better… I'll love you like you want… Just love me…just love me…"
While reading Yelena's story I have a question when is the next chapter: how long has Yelena been in Warhammer universe since she woke up in Emps lab?
Hey! So basically few days. Her body went into shock due to basically laws of reality changing around her and she spend that in a coma. When next chapter? I don't want to promise anything but i will try my best to finally sit down and write it
The door to your shared chambers clicks, along with a few large steps and the sound of a heavy thump. It could only mean one thing, and you found yourself already picking up a bookmark before he even spoke.
“Darling?” his voice calls out from the next room, a summons to his side.
You obey immediately, already placing down the book you’d been reading and eagerly rushing over to greet him, a standard routine.
He always looks happy to see you, his smile gentle and nurturing as you flit over to him. His eyes, an endless ocean of vivid blue, checking over you before he scoops you inwards, asking about your day, and telling you tidbits of his own before you both head back into the main room of your quarters.
Today though, he’d brought a few stacked crates with him, evidently the source of the thump you’d heard earlier, and you can’t help but have your attention stolen by the boxes for a moment, “What have you gotten, my love?”
Sanguinius chuckles goodnaturedly at your impatient curiosity before explaining.
“There was a mix up in the supply line, nothing serious - happens far too often,” his fingers gently trace the edge of one of the crates, sliding the top off one gently to reveal neatly stacked candles.
The confusion must be evident on your face, they were always in need of more candles, and they looked standard enough with nothing indicative of a wrong shipment.
“I suppose they look like nothing special,” his feathers flutter slightly as he picks one up and continues, holding up the slender white stick, “but they’re a special wax blend, one designed to melt at far lower temperatures for freezing planets like Inuit or Fenris.”
You nod along in understanding,but still confused over why they were currently in your shared quarters, “Is- is there a reason they’re here?” you voice, vaguely gesturing to where they’d been stacked.
His smile widens slightly, fangs slipping out a fraction while he passes the candle between his hands idly.
You feel the tension shift and your stomach drops, throat tightening slightly.
Smouldering red eyes meet yours.
Testing you, evaluating you. Sending shivers down your spine as you’re almost pinned in place by his gaze.
You were used to his eyes changing colour by now, more often than not a deep and rich blue, rarely becoming an endless black pit, and sometimes, sometimes the red of freshly spilt blood.
It was that hungry red that always caught you off guard, made you feel small, like prey.
And tonight, it was clear you were.
“I was struck with the most wonderful vision, my starlight,” his voice is sharp and clear, with a hint of etherealness to it, a slight detachment.
Before your brain has time to process he’s moved, he’s towering over you, the candle clearly forgotten in the box behind him as the hand holding it tilts up your jaw with two poised fingers.
You’re sure he can feel the thickening of your throat and tremble of your body just through those fingertips alone.
“I had you spread over the bed -”, his whole torso bends, face leaning down towards yours as he continues, “and I made a masterpiece, perhaps my favourite piece of art to date.”
Silken lips press against yours, claiming completely, fangs nipping and tongue flitting as he pleases while his hands snake down around your waist and easily hoist you up towards his height. He supports you fully as he carries you, never ceasing his assault on your lips.
In two long steps the back of your thighs hit against the bottom of the bed and the world becomes a blur as you find yourself horizontal, all the while his mouth never leaves you, making your head spin more with breathlessness.
“You are going to love being my canvas.”
There is no room for argument, he simply manoeuvers you how he pleases and you know better than to resist. You already know what the reward is for your obedience.
And you know the punishment for disobedience, not that he ever lets you properly resist.
Sharp gasps of breath enter your lungs before you even realise he’s finally sated himself on your mouth, and those blazing eyes shift downwards, ever hungry. His head finally follows, arms still tangling around your torso and keeping you pinned flush to the bed, but he moves down and turns his attention to your chest.
No clothes could ever stand a chance against him, certainly not the thin dress you’d been wearing that was now in tatters around you.
Beneath it, your chest was already littered with previous marks, bruises and bites, but that does nothing to deter him from leaving fresh ones to counteract the older fading ones.
The sensation has you arching and mewling into him, especially when he takes delicate care with your nipples, suckling and nipping until they’re completely pert and oversensitive.
“Please, please-” you know he likes it when you beg him with pretty whines, and the smirk on his face as his tongue flicks over confirms your words have the desired effect.
He gives one final suck, making sure to drag his fangs ever so slightly across your tender flesh before he levels you with an indulgent look, like a hunter happy with his snare.
“Well, since you asked so nicely, my starlight, I had best prime my canvas,” he says more huskily than usual, wasting no time before diving further down.
Rough kisses and licks light your nerves on fire as he presses on down your torso, stomach doing flip while he nips at your abdomen, all before arriving at his destination.
There’s no need to hold your legs apart, not when his hands are busy with your arms and chest and there’s nothing your thighs could do to stop his head from parting them.
He never wastes any time when he’s like this, when he’s this far gone.
Instead, he sinks into your folds like a starved sinner, devouring you like it will absolve him to a saint. His tongue laps over and over, well practiced in the art of your body, already making your hips buck into him, limbs trembling, back arching, pussy clenching -
The sheer difference in size between you allows him to engulf and suck against all the tender flesh at once, tongue diving deeper than any mortal man’s ever could and nose pressed firmly into your clit.
Still, he ate and ate like a starved man sick of sin, your body helpless in resisting against the rising pressure building within you. Sweat already beads on your back and brow, dripping down as you cry out and gasp wildly.
He doesn’t stop when your pleasure explodes across his tongue, if anything he delves deeper in, the claws he calls hands breaking the skin of your thighs and streaming thin rivulets of blood onto the sheets.
Only once he has you incoherently begging for relief from the overwhelming pleasure does he finally pause, coming up to cage you against the bed with his body instead.
“Shhh- Shhh, my darling - I haven’t even started yet,” he whispers into your ear.
Your whimpering doesn’t dissuade him from kissing you again, still feral, but with a subtle gentleness peaking through as he presses kisses across your face and brow. But his hands are wandering again, feeling, exploring - dominating, while his mouth reassures.
Fingertips trace down your sides, kneading into your waist and abdomen, setting fire to the nerves beneath your skin. You can feel your body judder as his nails rake down, drawing thin red lines he’ll eagerly lap up later.
“Sanguinius, please,” you beg again between breathless moans.
You almost regret speaking as his eyes lock onto yours, not yet having dulled from their violent crimson, and you’re unsure if there will be any mercy to spare for you tonight.
It seems to spark some leniency within him though, as he takes one of his wandering hands to softly trace your cheek before deciding his verdict.
“Already worn out enough? I suppose I can get started then - but you’ll need to hold still,” he states softly, slowly moving off from atop you much to your confusion.
With the slow come down of mind numbing pleasure and the loss of his warmth, you let out a low whine that sends the angel rumbling slightly in low amusement.
He disappears from your slightly woozy vision, your head turning oh so slowly to watch him stalk out of the room, to your growing confusion. You don’t get to ruminate on it though, not when he returns immediately, candles in hand.
Then, just as quickly as he was gone, he’s back atop you, his own clothes discarded too now, your vision consumed by the broad expanse of his chest and framed by the soft white of his feathers that are beginning to blur together in the corner of your eyes. His hair falls down around you both in a tangled curtain, a far cry from his usually immaculate locks.
More and more kisses, this time interspersed with licks across your sore and bruised flesh.
You’re still rife with confusion over the candles, surely, surely he wasn’t going to fuck you with them? Not when he loved more than anything to see you stretched out over him, barely managing to take him after such vigorous preparation and all but blacking out as he thrust deeper and deeper with every go.
You whine beneath him, wriggling slightly as he takes his sweet time.
“I thought I told you to hold still?” he growls ever so slightly, but there’s no real malice to his words.
Still, he takes the opportunity as an excuse to do exactly what he was going to do anyway.
His body shifts backwards until he’s straddling you, his massive weight mostly resting on his calves, with just enough pressure pushing down onto your hips and pelvis to ensure you can’t escape.
It means his throbbing cock, already stiff and heavy, rests on your stomach, where you can feel it twitching eagerly in anticipation.
Your stomach seems to roll in knots beneath him as you come to the realisation of what he’s doing.
Lighting the first candle.
You trust him. You really, really do. With your life, body and soul.
Sometimes though, you wonder if he remembers your limits, that you’re just a baseline, not even as tough as an astartes let alone a primarch, if he remembers that hot, boiling wax burns your skin.
“Sangunius- Sanguinius, it’s going to, it’s going to burn if you-“ you cut yourself off, watching the flame reflect off his face starkly and glimmer in crimson of his eyes at the wax begins to quickly pool at the top.
It doesn’t matter how much your legs kick out from underneath him, the pressure on your hips is too strong to wiggle out of, making your legs merely slip and slide against the sheets fruitlessly.
“Sanguinius I don’t-“ your panic is cut off by as gasp as he tips the wax onto your stomach, the height enough to make it splatter erratically as it almost instantly hardens on your skin.
It's certainly hot, and you flinch as much as you can move when it comes down but more so from the expectant fear than pain. However, it's hardly the burning pain you imagined, much more of a flash of warmth that only lingers a moment as it splashes and sets against your skin.
Then it crashes through your lust addled, dizzy mind - melting points, art, canvas -
You were going to love being his canvas.
The next lot of wax splatters further up your chest, once again catching you off guard as it pools and rolls across before hardening.
He’s poured it from closer now, the heat more intense, stronger, and it lingers, allowing the molten wax to spread before hardening, creating thicker splodges with little streams rather than the erratic splatters that littered further down.
Sanguinius almost croons in delight, his free hand pressing into the dried wax, causing it to flake and crack.
Seemingly satisfied, he switches to kneading and rolling your breasts, paying particular attention to the bruises and marks he’s left.
His tender touches have your back arching up to meet him, panting slightly from the mix of pleasure and adrenaline still coursing through your veins.
When he finally moves his focus to your nipples, flicking and pinching at them it takes everything in you not to writhe uncontrollably.
That is, until he tips the candle again, pouring the mass of liquid wax he’d let accumulate right across your tender breasts, covering the mottled and reddened flesh with a layer of white. It even washes over his own nails where they still grasped at you, but he picks them up and the still wet wax flows into the gaps before it can harden.
“Only one candle and you already look divine, darling,” he doesn’t give you time to recover as you gasp and he continues, both in speech and action, splattering across the free space with little droplets that lit your nerves on fire with every splash, “they should sooner be calling you the angel over me.”
If anyone else had seen him now, they might have agreed.
But it was you who was here to witness him tower over you, golden hair a feral mess, half pinned beneath him with just enough room to struggle, and those burning red eyes.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
More patches of smaller spatters to paint your torso as you whimper from the mixed sensations the warmth was causing where it fell. He gently shushes you, free hand now occupying your throat and mouth, the size enough to cover both of them in a gentle but confining pressure while he makes his vision a reality.
“You’re all mine,” he all but growls as you quieten down, “but if anyone were to see you right now, they would surely mistake you for the perfect picture of ecstasy, and I still have so much left to paint.”
