I feel a bit sheepish for doubling up when a different request I slid in is in the queue but like. Angst? Hurt no comfort? I'm not as great at writing it, but something that's been gnawing on me?
To love or be in a relationship with a primarch is inherently unbalanced. You will always be in a position of less power.
Oh the legion might like you. Might care for your silly little baseline health, even.
But their loyalty will always be to their Legion and their Primarch.
And you will never be able to be on truly even ground with any of them. Not an Astartes, and especually not a Primarch. Not for how they're designed, not for what they were needed to be. For what they've *excelled* in being.
And nothing would make that as *abundantly* clear as the moment Something Happened. A line crossed, something can't be unsaid, an action that can't be undone, something that can and *does* fundamentally shift the ground and perspective of the relationship - intentional or not.
It can never go back to the way it was before.
For good or for ill, you now know *exactly* where you stand. Surrounded by those who would follow their Primarch's will before you could even notice.
I just think about that sometimes. What it would be. The straw that broke the camel's back. The point of no return.
And what could you even do in the face of it?
posted here ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶
anon, i admit i kinda fucked up this request because i misread part of it when i did my plan, so my proposal is - if you want something based on that specific moment covered, let me know, and i'll do it - since i already partly covered it. apologies!!!
adapted this request slightly so it wasn't just a sentence and focused more on them. if this didn't meet what you wanted anon, please let me know!
pre-heresy, tw on curze/alpharius for yandere like behaviour // your relationship with the primarch would always be unbalanced because you're just a human. you reach your breaking point and end things.
lion: you’d noticed the looks, sat quietly as another questioned why you were there and the lion chose to glare rather than defend you, seeing it pointless to explain – it had been luther who told you to run far away and never look back, promising that staying within reach of the primarch would never end well for you. he’s stood upon the allure of the fortress, staring down at the people who praised him. loved him, even, seeing the primarch as a saviour to all they knew. though he was never blind to the criticism of the people when it came to him, especially when it’s voiced so clearly to him. he scans the crowd, slowly, taking every face in until he finds you; watching him already, expression numbed, eyes dull, the hint of your soul already faded. he recalls the last words you said to him as your hands clasped gently over his, the universe was not made for our two souls to be together. he’d grabbed your wrist, tried to stop you from walking away from him, but he never got the chance to tell you. then i will strip the universe bare until it allows us to be. instead you saw anger, rage, a vengeance you knew he was capable of, but he never allowed you to see before. his final words were a promise, leave now, before i remind you why the universe wouldn’t allow us to be together. this was his punishment, your eyes finding his whenever he left the four walls he knew you could never enter, a constant reminder of what he never had.
fulgrim: you’d ignored it at first, what some people were willing to do for the primarch, how they’d have killed for him, to be with him, or even just to hear his voice in person – and one person can only overhear so many discussions on how people plan to kill them before they decide a change is needed, even if it hurts more than anything. the seat at the head of his table felt shameful. all eyes on him, wanting, requiring more from him than he was willing to give. he hadn’t looked up from the embroidered and lace-trimmed placemat that his fingers played with in minutes, avoiding the conversation around him. there weren’t many things that could bring him to silence, let alone people. yet you had managed that. likewise, you’d managed to do the impossible and capture the heart of a man made to never have feelings. when he finally looks up from the placemat, eyes darker than before, the room falls to a sharp silence. the only person he can find the strength to look at is you. across the room from him, dressed in the colours he told you looked perfect, though every other part of you was concealed from him. your eyes never leave the floor, even as the silence continues. of course i’m afraid, you had told him when he approached you, cowering from his larger frame. the image was burned into his mind, torturing him each hour. i would protect you from everything, he reassured you, there is not a thing on this earth that could harm you whilst i still live. he can still feel the way your hand slipped out of his as you turned your back to him. from your father? you had asked, voice hollow, from yourself? fulgrim never answered. the room eventually starts to speak again as fulgrim looks back down to the placemat. only then do you dare to look back at him.
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perty: it was never that you didn’t trust him, but you knew he would never believe that – you’d learnt of what he had done to those who failed him, asked him one too many questions and seen the side of him that everyone had feared but you hadn’t yet seen. he believed he’d ensured that you were erased from every record related to him. believed he’d never see your face again, never hear your voice, embrace your smile, or enjoy your laughter filling the halls. weeks had passed without any part of your presence, and he believed he needed it, yet every step he took his soul felt lonelier than before. he’d thought he’d heard your voice a few times, chased the sound down empty hallways to find nothing but the ghosts of his memories. he believed today was no different when he heard your call from one of the rooms; one which sounded so real it stopped him in his tracks. he waited, listened, wanted to hear more – a wish which was fulfilled within seconds and has him tracking down the source. he almost stumbles through the doorway where the sound is loudest, catching himself on the stone frame but still garnering your attention. you don’t speak, not even as the woman opposite to you bows and offers her apologies. but the longer your gaze is locked, the more his nostrils flare, the tighter his jaw tenses. leave, he tells you, coldly, lest i remind you how quickly i can have you removed for good. you only nod, slowly, stepping back from him quietly and dragging your eyes down to the ground. he waits, watches, hears your voice tell him how you felt unsure of your place within these walls. when you look up to him one last time, he feels the snarl at the back of his throat. if you did not feel safe then, why would you feel safe now? he questions. why would you trust me now?
khan: you’d watched men die, seen how expendable life was with your own eyes, and seen how quickly he had moved past it, leaving only one thought on your mind – that you must have been just as expendable as everyone else he stood over. the hardest part of all was accepting it. he sat with a handful of his sons around, none daring to look at their primarch who had scarcely looked beyond the spot right in front of him for the past two days. all he did was think. about this, about him, about you. it could never go beyond that though, he never was able to find peace in his own thoughts nor in the conversation with others. but you had come on your own volition, hearing of the primarch’s unusual silence amongst other gossip from the crowds, and when he saw you in front of him, slowly coming to rest on your knees, it was the first time he found the right words to say out loud. you’re wrong about everything, he says, not giving you a moment to speak. you nod, once, though you do not speak. he fills the space between you with more necessary words. i would not make a promise so lightly if i did not know it could be fulfilled. but i assure you, with everything i could offer, that your life will never be in danger so long as i live. your silence is excruciating, the throbbing in his body getting quicker and quicker as he waits for your answer. but it never seems to come. but if you cannot trust me that i will make true on my promise, then i shall not ask anymore of you, but to remember how deeply i cared for you.
leman: he had tried his best to keep you separate, despite the loyalty his sons offered and how deep their bond went – but when you’d started to understand why he was called the executioner, why his legion was known to be so deadly, and when you discovered everything he had been responsible in the name of his father, you realised that you would never have been spared. his body ached. he’d thrown himself into any situation he could, begged that the all father would bless him with something that could knock him out cold and give him some breathing room for just a few moments. every single one of his thoughts was about the same thing. doubt. of himself, of his capabilities, of anything he had ever considered a strength. each time raised his weapon and bared his teeth, your words took over his mind. you will never be enough. his mind falls silent to what you had actually told him. you do not have it in you to stand up to your loyalties over a mere human. you could not betray everything you know, everything you stand for, just because they disagree with me, or do not want me, or think i am unworthy. he didn’t want you to be right about it. and as he stood there, broke another man’s bones without even thinking, he realised he still couldn’t argue against you. the thump of a body hitting the ground forces him to tear his sight back to reality, focus shifting from the cheers around him, to the man laying before him, to your eyes at the back of the room, never looking away. you would never be unworthy, he’d told you before, a sentiment still felt, i wouldn’t care what anyone said about you, it is only me who gets to decide if you are worthy to be at my side. you’d smiled softly then, just as you are now. only until someone tells you i can’t be.
dorn: you had gotten used to all his quirks, you’d grown to love it over time, and it was nothing in particular that had pushed you to your limit other than time – when you looked at him one day, you allowed yourself to wonder for too long what it might look like if he stopped loving you, and there was no space at his side for you. it took him longer than usual to process your words. far too long, in fact, because by the time he’d looked up to you, you were already walking away, your bow in his direction and a mumbled apology lost within his conscious thoughts. he watches you walk away from him, only taking a few steps towards you when you near the end of the long room, but freezing immediately when you turn back to him, only looking over your shoulder. you should know that i will always love you, you tell him, sigh leaving your lips as you turn to face the exiting doors once more. you take a step, slower than before, and that’s when he decides to finally speak. i will try harder, he promises, moving towards you again, whatever you need from me, say the word, i will do it. because i… he stops, both his words and his movements. you turn back to him again, this time fully, lips gapped and eyes clouded. his jaw tenses for just a moment as he finds the words, knowing already that they weren’t enough. i would do anything for you, to consolidate the love i have for you. won’t you let me have that chance? you shake your head slowly; you’ve already told him it was out of his control. won’t you at least let me try? he asks again. it wouldn’t have mattered, even if you did. not many things in the world made him feel powerless, other than you.
curze: there was always whispers of what he was capable of, always a forgotten story of what he had done before, and you’d still fallen into his charm with open arms – realising soon that the real enemy within was the legion he had also grown to hate, but that didn’t mean you were able to leave . the room was cold, dark. everything he loved to have, especially seeing as you’re sat on the floor in the corner, wide eyes watching him with your knees pulled into your chest. he can’t help the way a grin creeps back onto his face as he approaches. did you miss me? he asks, gently, stopping only a foot or so away from you. he crouches down to your level, reaching out a hand to trace over your own. he sighs, content as you don’t pull away from him this time. i thought of you every moment. i wondered if you were thinking of me too. he leans forward, face closer to yours, hand reaching for your chin when you try to look away. i made a promise to you, my little dove. do you recall? he waits, though never expects an answer. not when your lips are quivering, body shaking. he only smiles, reaching around to drape his cloak over you as if it was the cold causing your reaction. i promised you that i would make this work. that you would never need to leave me, that you did not need to fear for anyone near me any longer. and where are we now? another silence falls between you. one enjoyed, revered. you’re with me, and you’re safe from any harm. he’d chosen to ignore himself in that equation, though.
sanguinius: despite his sweetness, how he touched you as though you were the softest feather, you knew what followed behind him – when you became a target as well and realised that your life was in danger unless you were always at his side, you knew it had reached its limit. it never mattered that he’d commanded armies, that he’d survived impossible feats, that he was beloved by the imperium and treasured by all as the great angel that was impossibly perfect in all ways. something inside of him had broken, snapped clean in two as the weight of every emotion fell to him at once, overwhelming him beyond anything else he had felt. don’t walk away, he called, halting your steps with the tone of his voice alone. you turned, slowly, faced by his figure that approached you far quicker that you could ever run. is my love not enough for you? do you desire more? every part of me is yours already, yet you still choose to leave me? his voice shakes, words falling rather than being spoken. he drops to his knees before you, never reaching for you, yet begging with eyes that were bloodshot and shattered. i could protect you from anything this universe has to offer, he affirms to you, hands clasped together, i would stand before anything in existence that posed you harm, but that is not enough. he feels the corners of his eyes prick with a feeling unknown, and only then does he reach for your hand and bring it to his cheek, his own hand placed over your own. tell me what more i must do to prove to you that this isn’t a mistake.
ferrus: his obsession with perfection had sat with you for far too long – you were human, weak, easily killed and willed away, so you knew that one day he’d turn you into something he considered stronger, better, even if he didn’t realise what he was doing. he’d found himself alone far more often since you’d gone. sometimes when he reached for tools on his bench, he expected to feel you instead, sometimes he’d hear the door open and look expectedly as if you were the one walking through the door. though it never was you; not your hand reaching for his when he was trying to do something else, not your cheerful greeting as you approached him. your missed presence was something he understood, but with each day that passed he only wanted to isolate himself more from others too. it all reminded him of you. especially those words that tormented him the most. i am just another weakness that will need correcting. he slams down his hammer harder than before, the sound running your voice straight out of his head. he could have told you that you weren’t a weakness. he could have denied it entirely, but he knew it would be a lie. others could perceive you as such, others would look upon the human at their primarch’s side and wonder why. instead, all he told you was that he wouldn’t correct you, not when he saw nothing for him to change. he let you go, let you walk out of the last space where you felt any safety around him, without telling you what he truly felt. you were already perfect, he speaks to no one, unable to find the strength to continue his work, i never wanted to change a thing about you. though he knew at the bottom of his heart that he may have needed to.
angron: his mind fracturing wasn’t something you had no awareness of, and you believed that somewhere along the way you had been able to help – but the time he had killed another in front of you was the turning point, even if you claimed it was the whole legion. he had seen the way you always approached corners with caution, how you kept your voice quiet, how seeing you when doors were locked from the outside world was entirely different to having you stand amongst a crowd of people who claimed their support for him. it was his naivety or arrogance that led to ignorance each time, opting to let it pass without issue or never ask what caused it. not until you’d told him, quiet with him for the first time since he knew you, avoiding eye contact and hiding yourself when he drew near, that it was all too much for you. it could never happen, he tells you, pleading as he approaches you, i would never allow a soul here to touch you, to even look at you without welcome. he didn’t understand it fully still, how you believed such harm could come from those around him. or perhaps he did now, and again it was ignorance in the way. what is worse is that you did not come to me about this before, that you waited until the very end to speak a word of your worries and gave me no time to fix them. he sighs, still intent on changing your mind, ready to wage a war in your name if he had to. as he approaches you, reaches his hand towards your shoulder, he notices the way you flinch away. his brows furrow, eyes drifting to his hand before falling on you again. he didn’t understand, because he never realised the extent of it all. it is not just them, he speaks quieter than before, realisation a slow but heavy hit, you find reason to fear me, too.
rob: it wasn’t a quick realisation, but something that built with time; he was never committed, despite what he claimed to feel, and he never reciprocated past your hidden meetings away from the world he lived the rest of the day. he wasn’t mindful of how long had passed since he’d made his way outside to feel… something. he wasn’t sure what he needed, but staring at screens and seeing your reflection, sitting in thrones and wondering if you would approach him, it wasn’t helping. he remembered the last time you stood beside him, watching the stars quietly, you both enjoying company more than anything. but in a moment he wished to declare something forbidden in the eyes of many, you’d looked up to him with the most delicate of smiles and carried their views. this cannot continue, you’d whispered, softly, echoing the thoughts that had first crossed his mind, if i could make a wish for anything, it would be for this, for us, but… he’d reached for your hand before you could continue, noticed the way your eyes became glassy. let me make that wish come true, he’d offered, as sincere as he could be, it will not be easy, but i will make things as they need to be to ensure that this does not need to end. your privacy, your safety, it will be kept through every moment, i can ensure you as much. your smile began to fade as you answered, i don’t wish to be hidden, not at your detriment. he wishes he’d have tried harder, stopped you from walking away, or just confessed to you that this was more than just affection. it was never a detriment, not for someone i love. perhaps you’d hear his unspoken words when you looked at the stars, too.
morty: he’d never changed, and you had loved it for him once, until you understood that mercy had never been something he wanted to offer, nor would learn to – and it reminded you that he was someone to be feared. he’s stood in a doorway watching you. hasn’t moved in minutes, maybe longer, never letting his eyes go further than just past where you’re sitting. if he moved, if he spoke, if he dared to even breathe every part of him would shatter in the reality that you had brought to him. no asking, no talking, just the simple words that he trusted you to never say to him, because you’d always promised him that he was enough. please try to understand, you say gently, eliciting nothing more than a scowl in response, i’m worried, i feel fear just treading the ground around you, afraid someone may take it the wrong way or see me in a different way to how you see me. he looks down from your eyes for merely a second, just long enough for everything inside to crumble. do you not think that’s selfish? he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t try to approach you. do you not think that you could have tried harder, just for me? his chest burns as you look away from him sorrowfully, but unlike him, you never look back. it never ceases to amaze me how similar all you humans are. he still doesn’t turn, even as his words turn sour. do you not think i worry too? i see your vulnerability, i consider it with every decision i make, every step i take, and you still wouldn’t believe that was enough. his laugh is bitter, a frail cover for the emptiness within, something only you had been able to fill, and seal away by a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. go, but know that if i ever see you again, you will be treated no differently than everyone else, then you will truly know fear.
magnus: you knew of his power, understood what he was capable of, never once feared for your life around him – but the whispers in your dreams telling you to move on only became louder, and so did the vision of your death at his hands. the only room he can sit in without memories beginning to haunt him is one you never touched. a small room that had been filled with old books and relics, now cleared so he could sit inside and feel freedom for five minutes of the day. your absence caused him more pain that he could admit to, let alone handle, but he had forced himself to leave you to the peace you wanted in the hopes that maybe you’d understand what it was like without him. his allocated five minutes of freedom are over before he hopes and he’s forced back into the emptiness that the rest of tizca brought him. as he walks the halls, he replays fragments of your words to him. i do trust you, beyond anything, but this is far bigger than just you or i. he’d contemplated the consequences of giving everything up. you could not prevent fate, even if you wished to. but he would always try. love was never meant to exist between us. those words stop him completely. his hands are curled into fists at his side, breathing deepening to the point where he can barely feel reality around him. he doesn’t have time to realise what’s changed, not until he can feel you with him, presence alluring as he feels your discontent, your sadness, filling every crack of time and space between you both. he’s not there, not physically, but he sees you turn to him as though you know he’s there. let me try to make it work between us, he asks, quietly, never expecting a return. it never could work, you answer, we were not made for each other.
horus: of course there was talks about it, you’d heard of the intention to make him warmaster the second it had reached prying ears – and it was in that moment, you realised you could never stay with him. the feeling didn’t sit right with him, not when he knew you were right there yet entirely untouchable to him. he could bring planets to heel, he could crusade in the name of his father, but he couldn’t convince you that love was enough. it had sat on his mind for days as he tried to come up with a speech to change your mind, have you fall to your knees and accept him like he always wanted. the speech never came, the opportunity to approach you never manifested, not until he saw you speaking with a face he didn’t recognise within the grand hall one evening. weeks of stewed emotions and feelings seem to hit him at once as he approached you, ending your conversation as another person bowed to him. i don’t know how to change things, he tells you, honestly, eyes never leaving your own despite how they dart around the room. if i couldn’t convince you then, i won’t be able to convince you now. but that doesn’t change how deeply my love burns for you. he doesn’t care if others heard, but he knows you do. so tell me how i can make this work. what do you need from me? you can’t answer him immediately, swallowing hard and breaths quick. you open your lips just a little, then shut them once more, looking down to the ground. he knows your answer; you’ve told him before. i need you to not be you.
lorgar: you had been warned by many, knowing the threat you posed to their regime, knowing that you had taken the primarch’s attention away from what should truly matter – and revenge was promised. he believed this was his punishment. he had let his devotion slip and focused his attentions elsewhere, and his reward was replaced with a love that could never be returned. he kneels at an altar as his eyes fall shut. immediately he’s tormented by the ghost of your hands on his skin, pressing over his shoulder, skimming his chest; or your lips pressed softly against his neck. then he hears the echoes of a whisper, what was left of your presence in his world. i could never love another as much as i love you. his lips curl at each word. he’d replay it a thousand times over and over, never to be sick of the sound. but then it falls eerily silent, his mind pushed to another time he had tried so hard to hide. you cannot love me, you’d told him, words cutting through any remainer of the faith he held, not in the way that i love you, not in the way that anyone could love you. he opens his eyes, darkness of the room around him a greeting he wished never came. but your words don’t stop. your life has never been decided by you. he can feel how you sat in his lap and whispered it to him. i was never to be part of your life. i’ve become a variable that they cannot control. if i stay… you had never finished, but he knew. he’d watched you walk away, he’d reached out his hand to stop you but never called. was it better this way? he asks, call to the void ignored by all around him. do you truly believe love is only dictated to me? his world may have been controlled by others, but what he felt for you.
vulkan: an offhanded comment was made, not by the astartes, not even by anyone close to the primarch, but a serf who was yet to know their place – and though it should mean nothing, the mention of your humanity is a harsh reminder of how separate your worlds were. the silence looming through the room was unnatural. if anyone had entered his private chamber, they’d have known he was mourning; not someone lost, but something gone. quietude was a welcomed guest around him for some time, the only break offered being a forced schedule or something he wished to not attend. but he knew his duties were not to be missed. do not think for a second i doubted you, he recalled you telling him, stood no more than a few feet from where he now sat. your love is true and i know that, but i also know that you are more than i could ever be. he hated how all he did was listen. how he agreed; how he let you walk away from him with little more than a kiss to the back of his hand and a request of a promise for him to try to understand. he did, somewhere beyond the depths of his emotions, but he also knew that to him, you were everything. you would never see that though. you would never have believed him when he told you that he would make sure your authority matched his, that no one would ever stand up to you or question your place. in every other lifetime we’d have found each other, he’d spoken quietly the last time he felt your warmth, i’d have given all of those away to have a chance to be with you in this one.
corvus: you’d first noticed the way his attention seemed to always divert to you, but the moment you watched him make a mistake because of you, it was obvious your time at his side was limited. at first he was worried you’d be able to feel his presence. he wondered whether you’d see him in the corner of your eyes, hear his footsteps you knew so well, understand that your shadow wasn’t the only thing that had been following you this whole time. he shouldn’t be here, he should have given you the space you wanted and left you to what you had chosen, but the temptation was far too high for him to ignore it. whether you were doing the simplest tasks or something he chose to pay no attention to, he wanted to see it. he wanted you. and he truly thought he had gotten away with it, that his cover in the darkness of night and shadows was enough to keep him hidden away, prevent you from noticing the fear that lurked beyond. but as he turned into the alley where you had walked only moments ago, it was your smaller frame that stopped him with a hand held up to his chest. this only proves my point, you say to him, glare harsher than he expected, this is what i was afraid of. he only reaches for your hand to take it off him, chest already filled with anticipation and regret. i promised you your safety, he tries to tell you, his excuse meaningless. it was never that which you cared about. you were caught off-guard by a mere human in pursuit of me. the longer i’m around, the more of a danger you are to yourself. he never said you were wrong. he just didn’t want to admit you were right.
alpharius: you’d found the collection of information that the alpha legion had on you, and believed there was no way you could ever live your normal life again – but you hadn’t stopped to consider if it really was the legion you were at risk of. watches you closely, head tilted slightly to the side. your happiness has faded, he can see it in the way you carry yourself so rigidly, tensing whenever anyone comes near. he sees the way your eyes scan the room like you’re waiting for something to surprise you; someone to be there that you were trying to desperately to avoid. he feels the smile falling onto his lips as he begins to approach, cautiously, truly believing that his surprise would be welcomed. as the room fell silent, you froze, and the grin that manifested on his lips only grew. are you okay, my love? he asks, hand on your back, tensed under his touch. you didn’t look to him, but he could feel all your attention on him already. i must applaud you on how convincing this all was. i did truly think that you had left. no one would dare question him, no matter how much fear was in your eyes. when you told me you were leaving, i’ll admit i was worried. but that i remembered that everything you said to me, how you were worried of what my father would do, or what my legion may say, or what my brothers might have done to you… it was all wrong. he reaches for your cheek, turning you to face him. his thumb ghosts your skin. he hums gently as he breathes in. it was an interesting way to test me, i will give you that much. perhaps not even a test of my loyalty, but this connection between us. i just wonder, my love, when did you realise that the only person you needed to fear was me?
i am getting on top of requests i promise, i've been very distracted with both catching pokemon and the nameless king, whose love i have rediscovered through nightreign, but the corvus fic is almost done ^^
→ lorgar aurelian x astreya [oc, she/her]
→ 6.5k, 18+ mdni, cw; mentions of death, reference to abuse, and some meaningful sex for lorgar finally
→ horus heresy oc series, the one person lorgar has loved his whole life is finally there in front of him again...
"And it no longer matters, my beloved."
"It does," Astreya argues. "It should matter to you."
His fingers move to her chin, holding her face up so he can observe her more closely. "What do you suggest I do?"
"Curse me to the eternal hell you send others to."
Lorgar's lips fall at the corners. "No."
"Then hate me," she continues, "as though I had caused everything, as though it was me who ruined everything."
The world seemed to flicker that morning. Lorgar had stood on his balcony, watching over the men who claimed their love and support for him, expression never reaching anything more than discontent.
Something inside of him pulled. Begged him, please, continue with the day despite his hatred of the world, and he would be rewarded with the gifts of the gods who needed his service more than anything. It should have been another day of regret, of wonder at what could have been done differently to result in something meaningful to him.
A feeling coaxed on by a forbidden memory that he thought he had laid to rest long ago.
It never left him; he was never brave enough to face it.
But ignoring the presence of the only person he had ever truly loved, who had potentially loved him too, was never an easy feat.
Not forever.
Not when she called to him like she existed as more than a memory.
He had felt her presence claw through time for him, heard her screams for him from the warp as though she still existed. A cruel trick of those who knew he was vulnerable. A way to remind Lorgar that he was always at the heel of another, even when he thought he was the one in charge.
"Apologies for the interruption, my lord." Lorgar's thoughts are drawn back to reality, his eyes following the trailing voice of another to his left. When he sees the gold-trimmed robes, he looks no further. Just another worshiper. "Your presence has been requested within your personal chapel."
Lorgar hums initially, then repeats the words in his head. "Please elaborate. Who has requested me?"
"Apologies again, my lord, but no name was ever received."
Lorgar huffs in response.
"I will try to find out for you," they continue. His annoyance is evident, but he stops them with a wave of his hand. "Please, my lord, in case it was a mistake."
"It was not. Go, and do not disturb me again."
He didn't want to deal with others. He wished to see the solitude of his dreams and embrace the escape that was provided when her figure, ghostly and pale and everything she was not, haunted him like she never let him go. Then he would rise, reality would hit, and he was alone once more.
Thousands of years had ground him down to little more than a flicker of hope that was fading day by day.
He sighs, a sound not heard by another, turning back to the life that determined his fate each day. He stops for no one in the halls, he pays little concern to anything those who stand beside him say, only focused on making time go quicker so he could return to another reality far quicker than time was going now.
The chapel, built for his own devotion to the gods who never helped him in return, was further than he remembered. He didn't recall the last time he entered. The statue he had built, resembling the delicate yet thorned figure of the woman he loved, had stared back at him too many times.
He'd torn it down one evening, many years ago, questions shouted into the heavens as to why he had been cursed with loneliness despite all that he did. From then on, he couldn't enter, afraid he had lost his last memory of her that was real.
He anticipated one of his men, or a preacher who wished to learn more, or someone far more sinister, like the brothers he once cared for. Regardless, he believed it wouldn't be someone he cared for, so the strides he made as he approached the golden and heavy doors, guarded by his loyal sons, were meaningless.
He should have questioned it then, how they looked at him briefly as though to question why their lord, who never stepped foot in this room alone, had suddenly arrived.
The doors are pushed open, the darkness inside slowly eviscerated by the light that follows in behind him. His eyes searched the chapel, but nobody else stood in his presence. Nobody else tried to make themselves present. Not to him.
The doors close. The room is lit up with his light, the shining of his aura, as his brother would say, golden yet tainted rays that line the room around him. He's about to leave when he feels the world flicker around him again.
The statue of her was whole again. Not a single crack to evidence his transgressions.
He can't react. There was no time.
She stood before the statue, whole again as well.
Lorgar didn’t have much left of him that was able to feel so human. Yet, when his eyes fell on her, every part of him ached.
His body failed him, thoughts evaded him. He gazed upon the room as though it were a vision; she was an apparition that would blister and fizzle before he could reach her. Years of hearing echoes of her voice through the distance of the warp had him wondering how much of her was real. If he moved, breathed, even let his heart take a single beat, she might fade for good.
But as his brows finally pull together, she’s still there.
As he opens his lips, letting the smallest, uncharacteristic voice escape him, she’s still there.
“How?” He allows himself to step closer. She doesn’t move, not even to blink. She watches, expression lost to him, her aura never appearing. “You cannot be real.”
She doesn’t confirm his assertion.
He walks towards her. Stops a foot from her. Falls to his knees with nostrils flared and grasps her knees. Surprise melted through his thoughts as his fingers didn't pass through her skin. She was real. She had returned to him.
As he looked up at her face, awestruck by reality, he only managed a single word he hadn't dared to utter since he had learnt of her fate.
"Astreya."
Her eyes flicker to him. Golden irises stared back at him; they were once a deep wine red, tainted by the poison of his mind and his legion, which he could easily get lost within. Now, she stood for everything he had refused to believe her to be.
"Is this a cruel trick of the gods?" he asks, fingers clawing at the loose material of her black and red robes that looked no different to what he last saw her in. "Will you be taken from me before you allow me even a single word?"
She watches him like she pities him, but never answers.
"Who took you from me?" he questions. "I know it was no Erebus, he loved you. But someone close to me…"
He looks to her, hopeful for an answer he waited thousands of years for, but Astreya never offers him one.
"Tell me that you didn't want to go," he begs her, voice quivering. "Tell me that you loved me too. That you were taken from me, that you wanted to live your life with me at your side. Please. Please, Astreya."
He knew it was not a fragment of his mind before him.
If she were, he'd have heard everything he needed to hear. He'd feel happier. He'd feel as though the weight of loss no longer burdened his shoulders.
"I wished for you every single hour of each day," Lorgar confesses, leaning his head against her thigh, curling his fingers into her robes and holding her as close to him as he physically could. "I begged the gods to bring you back to me. I would have given up everything if it meant I could be with you again."
The warmth of tears rolling down his cheeks is shunned by the chill of her presence. She peels back from him, despite his protests of holding her tightly. He looks up at her, the outline of her silhouette blurred from the tears he shed.
Her head tilts to the other side. Her hand, frozen and ghostly, reaches for his cheek. Her thumb rests across it, fingers curled against his jaw.
"Why?" he pleads, clenching onto her robes tightly. "Why would you come now?"
She takes her hand away.
Lorgar whines. His chest, filled with pain beyond anything he had felt since the very day she had left, throbs with reckoning. He does not beg again, only watches. Only feels each string of his heart be firmly severed with every second that passes.
"Do not kneel." The softness of her voice had been preserved. Lorgar chokes back the cries in his throat, tries to stop himself from shaking, but it never manifests. He barely breathes as she lowers herself down to her knees before him. Lorgar's veins seared at his heart, the memory of her doing this once before still fraught in his mind. He is not below her. Not beneath her. "Do not kneel, my King."
He falls into her chest. Arms wrapped around her. Face buried into her skin. Sobs heard over, and over, and over.
Her arms, weakened yet trying, hold him too.
And when he has the strength to look up at her again, he only sees the world reflected back in her eyes.
"I have suffered," he whispers, into the curve of her chest he rests upon, a curse of works she had placed on him so many years before. "I have endured. I have done all that you asked of me. All that you taught me."
Astreya's hand crosses the scars on the back of his neck, a reverent halo of black and gold marred with the dust that had been unsettled around them, appearing behind her. His eyes are sore, be it from the crying or the sight of her, he felt a heaviness that only occurred when his body was deprived of its very essence.
"You abandoned me." The words that leave him are a reflection of his memories, what had been told to him on that very day. He could hear Kor Phaeron's voice echoing in the distance, surrounding his words. "You abandoned me."
"No," Astreya counters, "I never would."
Lorgar shakes his head. "You did."
"Never," Astreya reaffirms. She pauses for a moment to let her skin graze against his. "I couldn't. It wasn’t my choice. I promise you."
The truth she denied had never been anything but.
Lorgar isn’t sure how he is supposed to answer her. He believes her, of course he does, but it was easier to feel like she had abandoned him, because then he felt there was nothing he could have done to change all that happened.
“It was my choice to return to you,” she continues, leaning just a touch closer to him. Lorgar feels the way his body shakes, and how still she is in comparison. “Though I wish it could have been sooner, please, let me be here with you now. Let me be everything you wanted me to be.”
He couldn’t say anything other than yes.
All he could recall was how he held her until his body gave out, weak and in need of some time to recover every feeling and thought that had been dragged out of him since he felt the need to return inside.
He wasn’t sure at what point he fell to tiredness that had been growing for days.
They never left the chapel. The cold, stone floor had been their only comfort, all that he needed when he could feel her beside him, with him.
Hearing the sound of her breathing, feeling her beneath him as his head lay on her chest, holding her beneath him, afraid to let go and find her gone once again, it led him to a slumber he was never going to offer himself.
He held dreams of her so dearly; the affection he once forced himself to believe would never be a reality again could finally be released.
And gods, when she looked at him with the essence of a broken smile, he almost cracked.
He had never been given the opportunity to know what waking up next to the one person he truly loved felt like until then.
Nothing, not the presence of his father or the love of a god, could ever compare.
He had woken initially in a cold sweat, stopping himself only when he felt the unfamiliar weight on his chest, the smaller hands reaching for him to check he was okay. She hadn't changed, not one bit, as if she had watched him the whole time, waiting to make sure he was real, too.
Lorgar could only ever believe he would have done that, though.
His hand is splayed across her back, supporting her from behind, now he had sat up slightly. For a moment, they only look at each other, neither wanting to break the sincere change between them. Lorgar was still afraid that this would all be taken from him. Still worried about accepting it.
"Rest never came easy to you," Astreya recalls, eyes shifting down his body. "Even before today. Even when I was with you."
Lorgar breathes slowly. He lowers himself back down, still cradling her on his chest, and tries to sink into the different atmosphere between them. It must have been some time in the evening, no shadows remained amongst the darkness, just the dim glow of each candle lit in the room. "I was always haunted by the future that would never reach me."
"Did you see this future again today?" Astreya asks.
"No." He pauses only to bring his other hand to her side. "I remember nothing from today. Only the look on your face as you watched me fall. Though, perhaps that was no different to the future I wished for when I was younger. When…"
Astreya finishes for him, seeing his delay. "When things had not yet changed?"
"Yes." Lorgar stops again, this time to think. The recurring thoughts in his mind, how, why, what happened, were at the tip of his tongue. Something deep within told him not to say it. "I believed we would marry. You would carry my children. That the world would never take from us in the way it took from everyone else."
"The universe takes from everyone," Astreya reminds him. She lays her head down on his chest once more, ear pressed against the tunic covering his skin, one he didn't recall stripping down to from his robes. "We were no exception, especially when more than the universe wishes to take from you."
Lorgar moves his left hand up to the back of her neck, nestling his fingers beneath the dark hair and golden flecks. "It did not always take from us."
Astreya tilts her head up to him, frown apparent.
"It gave me you," he considers, "and though I wished to love you in more ways than I did at the time, it was still given opportunities to experience what parts I felt I needed."
"Such as?" Astreya asks.
"Do you recall," his voice pauses as he runs the tips of his fingers through her hair, admiring the face he once lost, "the first time I made love to you?"
She smiles in response, tilting into his touch, closing her eyes as his hand disappears into her hair. "We never made love."
"We didn't?" Lorgar asks innocently.
"I used you," Astreya says, not a chance of hesitation pooling through. "I did as I was told for everyone else and let you desire me in ways I could never understand."
"Then let me show you how it felt to me."
Astreya stills beneath him. "You still wish to?"
"My truest love," Lorgar breathes as gently as his form would allow him, "there is not another in this world that I have wished to pluck my own heart for, so I could have them be alive and with me once more. There has never been another, but you."
Lorgar's smile never fades as she looks away from him. His silent hope, wishing away the sadness creeping between each of her features, still remains, though regret had begun to sink into the space between them. "I have to confess something to you."
"There is no confession with me. Speak openly."
"It is a confession," Astreya tells him. She manoeuvres carefully, raven hair falling over her shoulder and tickling the edges of Lorgar's skin. He feels his heart in his mouth. "I wish it were not true, but I… There were others. For me."
It only confirmed what he believed to be true. "I knew."
Astreya scoffs lightly. "Yet you still loved me?"
"I still do love you." Lorgar reaches forward, palms falling directly on her shoulders, holding her beneath him as though he was the only thing that kept her together. He leans forward, face closer to her own than before, tilted as his eyes admire each space of stardust pulled together to make up her skin. "Astreya, you are the only thing that matters. I searched for so long to find something which could replace you, and all I ever found was what remained. Each day that passed, I longed for you. Not for your body, not for how you could make the world perfect, not because you would praise me like I mattered. None of that mattered. You mattered."
Astreya is silent for a moment, not bearing to look him in the eyes. He feels her hand slink over his own, fingers resting over his like he offered mercy to her torture.
Lorgar is prepared to speak again. He opens his lips, but before a word could be formed, she stops him.
"I was made for you to love." Her confession is behind glassy eyes. "They made me into everything you wanted from love, everything you silently needed. They placed me in front of you and told me everything that you were waiting to hear. I believed it all. I let them use me, use you…"
"And it no longer matters, my beloved."
"It does," Astreya argues. "It should matter to you."
His fingers move to her chin, holding her face up so he can observe her more closely. "What do you suggest I do?"
"Curse me to the eternal hell you send others to."
Lorgar's lips fall at the corners. "No."
"Then hate me," she continues, "as though I had caused everything, as though it was me who ruined everything."
He shakes his head, features never changing. “I will never hate you, nor curse you. I believed for a long time that you had chosen a different path, but I… always knew it was another lie that was spun between us by another.”
“Not all of it was a lie.” Astreya moves on his chest, rising to a kneeled position with her legs to his side. Lorgar’s gaze follows the outline of her body beneath the simple robe she wears, something not truly meant to cover her, but something found along the way. “I was not meant to fall for you, but I did.”
“I remember every word you wrote.”
“To this day?” She questions.
“Since the day you left me,” Lorgar confesses. “I chose to believe someone wished for me to find them, to keep me within their grasp.”
Astreya nods once. Lorgar’s body jolts as their fingers find their way beneath his tunic, cold against his burning skin that yearned for anything. “They were all true.”
Her hand dips further across the bottom of his abdomen, gently feeling over the curves of his muscles and bones. He holds his breath, watching her with eyes so intense he’d have caught her heartbeat if he tried to. But he’s focused, fixated on where she wished to touch. Where she wanted to be with him.
When she takes her hand away, depriving him of the coldness she carried, his jaw tenses. He’d beg for more if this were some time ago. He’d whine that he’d done what she wanted, tell her how he needed to feel her.
It wasn’t the same, not now. He didn’t need to need her.
“Do you mean it too?” Astreya’s voice trembles slightly, striking a chord within him that he never knew would have existed. "That you love me still, after all I have done?"
He sits up so he matches her height, reaching for her once again. "I mean every single word."
"And that you will show me?"
Astreya stops to watch him. Before he can agree without knowing what she truly meant, she reaches for his hand to stop him.
"Teach me," she continues, voice quieter than before, "how to love you back?"
His confirmation is a kiss. Sealed when his lips touch her own, one hand on the back of her neck and the other on her back to pull her closer. It was messy, pure, everything he had ever wanted from her; it was honest.
Between his kisses, he pulls back gently, still feeling the cold that radiated from her lips on his. His warmth is never disturbed, he never feels her breath against his skin like he did before, never truly feels her humanity within.
"Please." His whispers carry across the air like a shattered reminder of all that way. She shakes her head ever so slightly. He did not need to beg her like before, but that is how she taught him. "Let me show you how deep my love goes."
She nods this time. Quietly, quickly, pulling back from him once more with the faintest quiver in her lip.
Lorgar copies her. He sits back, watches her for a moment. He tries to process her nervousness, something he'd never known her for, even when she may have had reason to show it. It was a vulnerability, a weakness, one Kor Phaeron would ensure had never stayed with her, too.
But this was never her, not the one he knew.
This was the Astreya beneath. This was who existed beyond the veil.
Every instinct in his body to want to protect her, to love her, to never feel a moment of pain or sadness again, was screaming at him in that moment.
"Tell me to stop," he states, reaching for the hem of his tunic, "no matter what for, if you wish for me to stop, you tell me."
She silently agrees, though lets her thoughts be known. "I do not think I will want you to."
"There were so many times you told me to stop before." Lorgar's fingers dance over the robe covering her body, lifting it gently, awaiting her approval. "Surely it would not be so hard now?"
Astreya hums, helping him to lift her robe away, revealing her bare skin underneath. "I found it harder each time."
Her revelation lingers for longer than it needed. He never noticed, or he chose to ignore the obvious. Dwelling on it would not help, regardless.
Their clothes are discarded, the only material to remain behind the cover of the stone beneath the altar they laid at. The only softness he could give her other than him. He lays her out on top of it, back down and body ready for him to fulfil his promises. A thousand pictures would never capture what it meant, how truly beautiful she was.
He presses his lips up to the length of her body, the sweet taste he remembered still lingering somewhere beneath. His right hand is slow in finding where it needed to be, though when he feels the last remaining warmth she had, nestled with her wetness that he'd started to forget, he looks up to meet her eyes.
He watches her closely, revelling in the sight of her lip being pulled between her teeth when he runs his fingers down her, then back up. He thought that alone was enough to haunt his dreams, yet when her eyes fell closed and her back arched at the feeling of his two fingers pushing inside of her, he realised he was wrong.
And if that was what it was like to just begin, he wasn't sure how he would survive burying his cock inside of her, coaxing her pleasure out of her with every ounce of love he had to give.
"You are a blessing," he says, still keeping his eyes on her. He pulls his fingers out of her, not the whole way, before sinking them back in. "I have been blessed with you."
His thumb moves to her clit, something he always remembered her enjoying. He hears her gasp, piquing his attention for just a little longer, until the gasp becomes a whine when his movements build even further. Her fingers reach for his shoulder, clawing into him as she arches her back again, never asking for more.
He adds another of his fingers, stretching her wider to prepare her. Something else she never tried to do, something she thought she had to ignore to tantalise him even further. When he settles into a rhythm of fucking her with his fingers and teasing her bundle of nerves with his thumb, he returns to the other sensitivities of her body, staring with the peak of her breasts that waited for him.
"There were so many times I wished to do this." His voice rumbles against her skin, leading another whine to leave her lips. "So many times I wanted to worship you in every way."
"Lorgar," she gasps, drawing his attention back up to her.
He can feel his cock start leaking at the sound, his hips involuntarily rocking when she meets his eyes. "Do you know how much I longed to hear you cry my name like I cried yours?"
His words aren't fully taken, not when so much of her was occupied by the rest of him. Each time his fingers move in and out, she gets louder, each time just a touch closer. He kisses her skin slower now, looking back up between each one to catch a glimpse of her one more time.
She stops him, what only feels like seconds later, her hand around his wrist that held him up, urging him to look at her again. Her lips are parted, eyes wide. "Let me feel you."
"Soon."
"Please," she asks him in return, "let me feel what it’s like to have you inside me as I fall."
All it took was please.
He takes his fingers away from her, leaving her to whine at the emptiness she now felt. He should have been slower, he hates himself for how he doesn't savour each moment, how he rushes to be between her thighs, hovering over her body in anticipation of what he had spent so much time in his younger years dreaming of.
He would have been happy with her company. But this was every piece of him he had to offer.
He would have been happy with just her company. But this was every piece that he could offer.
It wasn't like before. Like the last time he ever felt the warmth of her body in such a way.
His lips ghost hers, parted slightly as the softest sound leaves him. His forehead presses gently against her own as he sinks into her, slow, so slow that he can feel the way her muscles twitch and stretch around him.
"It feels like a dream." His voice is muffled by his own pleasure, his jaw tightening from a feeling he'd waited thousands of years to feel once more. He sighs, eyes closing as his cock is buried inside of her right to the hilt. "Throne, I…"
He feels the way she arches her back, encourages more from him without a word. Before he can offer his return, he can feel her fingertips grazing against his back, nails lightly tracing over his skin and reminding him of the exact feeling from before.
How she clawed at his back, how she hushed him with words, made sure he did everything she wanted.
Now she wanted him, in whatever format that may come.
“I love…” Lorgar tries again, interrupted by the feeling of her wrapping around him, pulling him deeper, wanting as much of him as she could take. He never finishes his words as he draws himself back out, still agonisingly slow, only one elbow holding him above her as his other hand reaches to hold her hips. Instead, he repeats the same word each moment he can. “Astreya.”
His own personal prayer. His ritual. Soft and slow pumps of his cock over and over, only now savouring the feeling. His lips as wet as his head falls to the crook of her neck, drool covering her shoulder where he plants himself as he feels the pressure building within.
“I love you,” she tells him, somewhere along the way.
Somewhere between him reaching to hold her hips differently so he could reach deeper inside, having her fall as she wished, coming for him in a way he never thought possible, and his own high leaving her with a trail more of his love.
He wished he remembered more.
He wished he’d have made an account for each millisecond so he could recount the moment she cried his name, the moment she told him she loved him, the moment he believed her to be his.
He’d carried her to his chambers when they were done, words evading them for a while longer. He’d cleaned her, kissed her, watched as her eyes fluttered shut for more than a few seconds, then allowed himself to finally want tomorrow to come around.
Though he wakes the next morning, expecting to be alone.
It was what he had come to expect, one more time, only ever given one opportunity to experience what it was like to have someone beside him, someone who loved him.
So when he reaches to his side and feels only the cold with him, he doesn't think much of it.
Not until he relives every moment. Feels the way she held him, touched him, reminded him that there was something worth living for outside of his own desire for vengeance against the world, which seemed to hate him.
He expected to wake to the embrace of coldness the next morning. An expectation set after years, lessening them down to the bare minimum; Lorgar had spent far too much wanting more than he could receive, waiting for something he'd never had.
When his hand reaches out and only meets the chilled touch of the sheets that never provided him the comfort he wanted, he sighs.
Was it all a dream?
He doesn't open his eyes, not immediately.
Within the weight of disappointment and regret for what he believed his mind, fractured and tortured over the years, had conjured, the one image he always wished to see.
He recalled when her arm was laced over his chest, how his fingers held onto her as though he'd never have that opportunity again; how their bodies felt melded into one single entity. If only he had known how right he was.
But he recalls the feeling - from then and now.
She was real.
His body reacts far slower than his mind, weakened by his neglect to care. He sits up, observing the room for any signs that he wasn't imagining it all.
Nothing.
"No," he whispers to himself. He traces his fingers over where she would have laid, hoping he'd find something there, even just a trace of her existence. His chest heaves as he looks up. "You were real. I felt you."
Panic set aside, he didn't feel he would have even survived knowing that it was all a cruel game. From his imagination, from the gods he claimed to serve; this was too far. This was worse than the loss of so many of his sons, perhaps even the loss of his father's love.
This was her. All he had dreamed about for so many agonising years.
He pulls himself from the bed. He's not quick. Fear had set in too far for him to move with any speed. He approaches the side rooms, looks within just to be sure. Pulls the curtains aside, holds his light towards the shadows for just an ember of hope.
He didn't think to check the light shining through the doors. It was too simple. Too easy.
But as pain truly set in like a crown of thorns being tightened around each of his organs, he finally chose to look.
Astreya had never been light. She was darkness incarnate, dripping with the blood of sorrow and mounted with the darkest armour from any time.
Yet, Lorgar forgets, she was his only light.
And when he pushes the great doors open, the open panels changing the direction of whatever light chooses to shine through, he remembers.
"Astreya," he breathes, barely audible, a confirmation to the gods that they had not beaten him this day.
She looks around to him, hair flowing down her sharp features, yet the softness of her eyes is not lost to him. She doesn't smile, only stares and waits for him. Her hands rest on the wooden top of the stone balcony, fingers on her right hand strumming rhythmically, drawing to a close as he approaches.
"I believed the gods had fooled me." His comment isn't acknowledged by her, but she doesn't shy away from him. "I thought it was another day, I found myself alone."
Astreya looks away from him, back down to the scene before her. His men, those he claimed leadership over, were ready to follow him wherever he went. "I didn't wish to disturb you."
"That is impossible," he tells her. He stands to her side, matching her position with his hands laid flat on the wood. "You could never disturb me. I would never know peace again if it meant I could spend the rest of my time with you."
She should look small beside him. Besides all of them. She should fade into the background like something made to be ignored, yet she never did. Her silhouette stood bolder, larger than any other. Yet he could see every notion of fragility within her from just one look. The paleness of her cheeks, the lifelessness of her eyes, the dullness of her aura.
Not mortal, not powerless, but something stagnating between. Lorgar couldn't help but feel responsible.
"I suppose I should correct myself," Lorgar continues. He allows himself to stand closer to her than before. "The only peace I have ever known is you. But, if I must go to war with every god that exists to be with you for one more than, then I would do it without any question."
Astreya looks in his direction, but never meets his eyes. He notices her swallow, lips parting and closing twice before she finally speaks. "You would not need to do that for me."
"Because I shouldn't want to?" Lorgar asks. "Or, because I do not need to?"
Astreya pauses for a moment. "Both."
He doesn’t answer. Just watches.
"You have changed, my King." She finally turns towards him fully. She reaches for his chest, loosely covered by the tunic that had been replaced from the night before. "Erebus and Kor Phaeron achieved all that they wanted, I see."
Lorgar watches her hands, settling in the warmth of her touch once more. "This was not all their doing."
"You underestimate all that they worked for." Astreya’s fingers trace up to his neck, then to his jaw, the highest she could reach from her height. "Even our first meeting was not by chance. I helped them. I changed you, when you were so perfect before."
Lorgar's chest feels tighter. He holds his breath as his fingertips continue on their path across his skin.
"One day, I will tell you all that they did to me. What they changed, what they told me to sacrifice." Astreya stops when she reaches the bottom of his ear, the rest of her hand reaching to cup the underside of his jaw. "In truth, I am not sure if it is revenge that forged my spirit and body, or a lasting pact they forced upon me with the dark gods. But in my heart, I always hoped it was my love for you. Even if I bear some responsibility for what happened to you."
"You are not responsible for this," Lorgar tells her. He brings his hand to cover her own. "I would never blame you, and you should not blame yourself. You were not… here for most of what happened. My brothers, my father, that is not yours to take the blame for."
Astreya hums. "I may not have been alive. I may have been long forgotten by most. But for too many years, I indulged Erebus' ideas. I did not see the harm it could bring, not when my own brother was behind it all. I could have stayed with you, I could have seen you become the great prophet you were meant to be, for the right causes."
Their gaze is unbroken for a period. Neither breathes nor blinks. Lorgar's mouth feels dry, lost for any usual words of reassurance he could speak, waiting for her thoughts to end.
"But I cannot change the past," Astreya finishes, "and that is why I have returned. I sought you from the depths of the warp and crawled my way back here to make it up to you. This… is my second chance, if you will allow it."
Lorgar pulls her hand into his, holding them tightly between them. "You do not need to ask if I will allow it. I have waited each second for another chance with you. I did not protect you as I should, and I did not prevent the twist in your fate. It is I who should ask for another chance with you."
"I do not think we will come to an agreement on who is at fault," Astreya answers, a touch of humour in her voice. For the first time, Lorgar begins to see the cracks of a smile appearing beneath her walls. "But, I promise you now, I will not leave you again, my dearest Lorgar. My fallen star."
"I would not let you," Lorgar returns. The relief that had slowly dripped through his body had untensed his muscles, allowing some of the light to return within. "There is not a thing in this universe that could separate us again, Astreya. I can promise you that, too."
For a moment, for the first time since before half his brothers betrayed their father, Lorgar felt true silence.
Assured by a promise he knew he would never break, backed by a love that he registered as holier than anything else in existence.
And when it finally stops, it is ended, never broken.
"Your brother is coming," she tells him, voice quieter than before. Everything he wished to ask, the burning desire to understand why she had been able to return, what had occurred between then and now when she was on her own, it was all left behind at her word. "Shall we deal with him together?"
Lorgar could never refuse.
a/n: i'll be honest, i sat on this for almost a week because i wasn't happy with it and just didn't know what to do with it. i'll still don't, so i'm taking that as it just being anxiety. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
@green-square-anon you can rest easy knowing they are happy together and they can bang on the regular ♡
this idea has existed since I first started writing about warhammer. though its changed a little since the very first piece i wrote, the principle is still the same; 50 different works for original characters across an expanded horus heresy timeline.
each piece has been given a numeral, which is the chronological order they go in. however, they are separated below in terms of each original character's story. sorted in order of first appearance in the series. there's also a little about each oc to get you started.
Maevela, the Crimson Sorceress
She'd have fought to the very end for Magnus, believing he only wanted what was best for his people. He never truly saw her as his equal, never loved her the same way she loved him, even as the world burned around him.
i Kairos // v Volonte // xi Velleity // xxi Eunoia // xxiii Atelier // xxx Alexithymia
xxxix Frisson // 6.3k, nsfw, cw unfaithfulness
Horus found himself thinking of her far more than he was supposed to, never daring to act on it until he was told to.
xlv Brahramdipity // xlvi Anagapesis
xlix Ineffable // 3.4k, nsfw
Years had passed since she'd sat by Leman's side, the same years since he started longing for her to love him each day.
Catieve, Mistress of the First
She was his reward, a thank you for all that the Lion had done for her family in their time of need. He never saw her as anything more, never truly letting himself love her the way that she had grown to love him; even if it killed her.
ii Tacenda
iv Akresia // 4.6k, nsfw, tw dubcon, misogyny, degradation, etc
The Lion doesn't have feelings. He wouldn't allow himself to fall to such a level, not even for the one person who captivated his heart.
vi Druxy // vii Ephemeral // ix Tristful
Iserye, the Angel's Dream - coming soon.
She offered her light to anyone in need, offered her compassion without condition, and accepted all without question. She and Sanguinius knew their fates long before they met them, yet never tried to change it.
iii Evangeline // xix Hiraeth // xxv Oneirataxia // xxxv Amaranthine // xliv Zemblanity
Vesper, the Reaper's Mercy - coming soon.
Her knowledge of medicine and alchemy had saved too many of Mortarion's men to count, yet her sorcery was an unforgivable sin. She was cast into the poison they had long fought together, seen as no different the overlords he sought to destroy.
viii Apricity // x Nepenthe // xiii Peiskos // xv Reticence // xxxi Oubaitori
Aletheia, Innocence of the Night
She was raised in the shadow of a dying world, shielded by her parents until tragedy struck. The Night Haunter believed that he had saved her from the world he had grown to hate, intending to ensure her safety by making her his bride.
The Dark King keeps his new little dove with him, wondering if she could ever feel for him, how he feels for her.
xvi Paramnesia // 12.1k, nsfw, tw death, murder
His little dove is starting to love him, too. He can see it in her eyes, in the way she doesn't flinch when he comes near.
xviii Apodyosis
xx Kalopsia // 4k, tw death, pregnancy, mourning, etc
He believed he'd changed her fate, stopped her from falling like his mind has promised him, a fate spun by his own hands.
Ysevena, the Phoenix's Fate
Her ambitions were always clear; from the moment she met the Palatine Phoenix, she wished to be his wife. She could not offer the political alliegance or the knowledge of others, but she knew she would love Fulgrim like no other would.
xvii Lacuna
xxvii Reverie // 4k, nsfw, tw knife play and choking
Fulgrim knows how much he loves her, but sometimes he wonders... would she be willing to do absolutely anything he wanted?
She trusted him like no other, listed to the words of Corvus as though they were gosepl and believed him when he promised that he would return. Though his promises were never kept, she still believed in him, and still believed he loved her.
She wove herself into Lorgar's faith, manipulating his devotion and feeding his descent as the hidden architect of his fall. She was divinely ordained; his beloved, his guiding star, and all he could ever love.
xxxii Meretricious
xxxiv Appetence // 5.5k, nsfw
Lorgar begins to develop an obsession with the Dark Priestess, wishing to learn from her, and in the most sinful of ways.
xxxvii Mágoa // 4.6k, nsfw, tw death
He followed her teachings, listened to her every word; yet, right when he finally feels her there, she's already gone.
xlviii Maudlin
l Aeonian // 6.5k, nsfw, cw death - coming 10th June
He never believed that his love was enough to bring her back, until she laid with him, holding him like they'd never been apart.
Saphis, Heart of the Hydra
She was made into nobody, a piece of the puzzle for Alpharius to control despite his own brother's distrust of her. He hid her from the world he believed would take her from him and buried her until she no longer could exist without him being there too.
first sorry for any upcoming posts for info/masterlists/etc, i'm running out of placeholder posts from when i first started on here
second has anyone been playing nightreign and wishes to share their thoughts on it? idk if i find it fun or not, what i do know is matchmaking the third person is painful
I’ve had a fluffy Corvus thought for once so I hope you don’t mind if I share. This may be a bit of a stretch with how his shadow powers work but I like to think he can manipulate the shadows to a degree that he can blanket his partner in them, kind of as a possessive thing and kind of because he like when they match. Maybe during aftercare whilst he runs a bath or grabs them some water he can use the shadows to give them a little bit of modesty, a shadow slip if you will (apologies for the terrible pun)
- 💜
omg that's so eeee ꒪꒳꒪
and yes he would be able to manipulate some kind of shadow being to carry out his will, if magnus can, then why couldn't he do the same! similarly, why couldn't he get those shadows to do anything he wanted with you (or to you?)!
but for real that is very soft to think about. it fits the silent romantic type he already fit into, silently considering you at all times, seeking your true comfort with the powers he has to offer. and then of course this can go a different way, shadow binds, a copy of him to work on you as well... there's many possibilities and i need to consider this for him going forward „ᵕᴗᵕ„
Do you think Horus has the ability to throw that ass in a circle?
i missed this between requests...
subjectively no. he's like a mid 40s deadbeat dad who would spend his last twenty on some benson and hedges instead of getting his kid a haircut. closest thing he knows is whatever they were doing in the ministry of sound in the eighties
→ magnus x afab!reader (implied but not described in detail)
→ 6.6k, 18+ mdni, hj and semi bj with mentions of other activities, sub magnus and dom reader
→ pre-heresy, magnus is on a journey to self-discovery after learning what his brothers get up to, he's also anxious and you're cute n kind to him
Your voice creeps in past his congratulatory thoughts. "Sorry, my Lord… service you?"
His heart feels like it’s in his mouth.
A string of curses meet him.
"I do apologise, my Lord." You bow your head slightly, and Magnus' heart sinks back into the depths of his chest as he prepares for his rejection. "Have I misunderstood what you mean by… servicing?"
Magnus doesn't answer quickly enough.
"Does my Lord mean… the service that one would go to a courtesan for?"
He clears his throat, avoiding your eyes. "Well, it… Yes. Yes."
You hum.
His heart thumps.
Magnus would have never let on once the true depths of his depravity. Not when he had an image to uphold. Especially not when some of his brothers already saw him as an outsider, someone who didn’t belong.
He recalled the time Leman drunkenly explained what he and his wolves did with the natives of Fenris who were willing participants. He’d frowned at the barbarity apparent in his actions and tried to pay attention to another conversation. Still, it seemed to be a hot topic of discussion on the rare occasion when so many of the Primarchs were together.
Horus has described in depth the actions of a pretty serf on the Vengeful Spirit, how they’d captured the heart of one of his coldest sons, and it intrigued him thoroughly. Sanguinius had even mentioned the pleasurable welcome back to Terra he had received as a gift from one of his admirers. Magnus could only shift in his seat at the time.
Ignoring feelings was easy for him. He had repressed it for so long that he no longer looked at another person and saw their beauty; instead, he considered their value and usefulness to him and his father’s cause.
Unfortunately, it was just repression, and that conversation at the time had undone years of careful training in his mind, re-weaving the binds of sexual appetite within him.
He’d returned to his private chamber with his cock hard that evening, dripping with pre as his mental fortitude broke completely. He stared at the ceiling for hours, recited the most boring parts of history, and conjured anything unrelated to him and his needs in his mind in an effort to stop it.
Unfortunately, for that night and many others going forward, will was too strong. The only relief he ever got was his own hand or a sculpted pillow that he'd stared at in complete regret afterwards. Even sorcery couldn't help him here.
Weeks it lasted, the quiet command for everyone to leave him, even Ahzek had grown curious of why Magnus needed so much time completely on his own. Excuses were given and curiosity was somewhat vanquished; frustrations directed at how unsatisfying his experiences were compared to what his brother's spoke of grew.
They'd have never ended without necessary intervention.
Magnus had settled on an older-looking tome nestled somewhere in the back of his old collection. His mind felt tired, scattered between all of his desires that seemed ever further apart in recent days. He skimmed the words written in a dull ink, stopping to reread words when he felt his mind slipping.
Throne, he wanted to feel the softest of hands around him, have a new warmth surrounding his burning tip, know the sounds he could make someone make as his fingers wrapped in their hair and he buried their face in the trimmed hairs of his crotch until they swallowed every drop of his come with their eyes never leaving his.
Concentration wasn't finding him, not when he had an ache at the bottom of his stomach begging to be fixed. Almost like a demon within, fighting for just the smallest taste; Magnus was concerned that if he gave in to his temptations, he'd fall further and never recover. This wasn't about being virtuous, this was about his own sanity. Magnus had a proclivity to invest far too much emotion into anything.
More words pass, and his mind wanders again.
His hands gripping the pressed sheet beneath him so tightly he'd ripped it, breath evading him as he rocked his hips into the air, fucking absolutely nothing yet coming so hard with his lips covered in the sweetest of nectars and their legs holding him down.
Magnus' eyes raise from the book. The thought alone has his cock growing beneath his robes. He lets the pages slip from his fingers as he lets the scene play out in his head. Something new, unexpected, submissive.
His thighs clench. He can picture it so clearly. Slipping his tongue inside, hands grasping thighs, his moans lost entirely to all but vibrations to feel a release all down to him. He shudders. Was it so much to want to be told how well he had done and rewarded for it, too? His brothers never spoke of it, no one spoke of anything like it.
The book is closed, unsurprisingly, with a hard thud. Though he gently places it down on the table behind him, the door doesn't get such nice treatment; he slams it a little too hard for anyone nearby to not poke their head out and see what the primarch has been agitated by this time.
All they would have seen was his figure moving unnervingly fast down the hallways.
In search of something in particular?
Always.
The sweet-looking angel who seemingly followed Ahzek around everywhere recently.
A little smile that slipped through when Ahzek was talking, Magnus recalled it perfectly, with hands that shook from being in the vicinity of someone that important, and eyes that never actually tried to meet another’s.
Magnus had pushed the memory from the depths of his mind before. Told himself it was a lack of contact with someone who captured his desires in appearance alone, or that he mistook them for something due to the lasting effects of whatever sorcery he had practised that day, or… something rational.
Because the last time he’d made himself come in agonising silence, his mind had started to form into the same shaking, delicate hand right before him.
He panicked, woke himself from whatever lust-induced daze he’d fallen into, and carried on with his private session like it was a task made just to get him through the day. A mistake, he now realised.
His own justification was that if his brothers were indulging in these activities, if Sanguinius especially had partaken in something to fulfil a deep-seated fantasy, then it must be normal. Better yet, it must be a good thing. Something he should be partaking in and, more than anything, enjoying.
The thought lingers in his mind as he pushes the large door open with a hefty swing. He clenches his jaw as the doors thump against the walls, gathering far more attention than he had originally wanted. Of course, everyone in the room would drop to serve him the second they realised it wasn't someone in over their head storming about the sacred walls, especially feeling his presence as he neared. Not that he noticed, his focus was towards the back of the room anyway.
On those modest, coruscating eyes that were haunting his thoughts every single minute that passed without having them serving only him. Spotted between the shelves, wide and somewhat fearful, unable to look away and bow like they were meant to for someone of his standing. Not that he had cared.
He's not sure what's said in the strides he takes to the back of the room. The room was emptied by the time he regained his senses, lost in a silently given command to not move in a far more authoritative voice than he meant for it to be.
You wouldn't have moved anyway.
You would have stayed put without even so much as breathing as the Primarch of the Fifteenth approached you with his skin ablaze and gaze refusing to move to anything else. In truth, he felt bad for making you look like you were torn between throwing up, crying, or dropping to your knees and apologising for whatever you had done to make him personally find you.
Nothing to apologise for, you'd soon find out, because you'd never actually done anything.
And now Magnus was here before you, he had no idea what to actually say.
"I sincerely apologise for this interruption," Magnus starts, hoping it may quell some of your obvious worry. It does little in aid, much to his annoyance. "My sons have spoken highly of you, and I wished to thank you personally."
It was an obvious lie on both parts. He tries to offer a smile, but you still look like you may combust at any given moment. He decides a hand on your shoulder would probably not help, so instead he takes a step back to alleviate something.
"I have..." Magnus stops himself, looking down to the ground and sucking in a breath to force one more small opportunity to back out. He doesn't take it. He's too close; painfully hard. If you could take your eyes away, you'd probably have noticed. "...a request to make of you."
Your thoughts must catch up to you a few seconds later when you bow your head, nodding repeatedly. "Of course, my Lord."
"Let me take you somewhere private," Magnus tells you. He steps away with the expectation you'll follow. Thankfully, you can't feel how his cheeks burn or his mind tells him to lock himself away and never speak to another being again. He can feel how your heart races to far over 120 beats per minute, though, and it makes him feel worse. He turns back to you over his shoulder. "This is so I can explain. I will, of course, need you to agree to the task that I am offering. It's nothing too much, but you... You must be agreeable."
If he could take back the past 10 minutes, he would, but his mastery hasn’t yet allowed him proficiency in chronomancy.
He takes you to a quiet room. Not his private chamber, or personal study, or anything that one would usually have found him in. Through fear of being caught, perhaps, but equally through his concern for your wellbeing upon seeing so much of him so quickly. He would ease you in gently.
The room, far away from anywhere a reasonable person would be at this hour, is one he recalled being mentioned as needing refurbishing and to be remodelled at some point in the near future. As such, the old leather armchairs and a love seat remained from the scholars who once used this room.
He invites you to sit in one of the armchairs, waiting for you to be seated before taking his place on the love seat. His shame, unfortunately, returned on meeting your eyes once more.
"I apologise for asking you this," he starts, intending to force the words out before you could speak again. Unfortunately, again, he looks up from the floor too quickly, and your doe-like eyes, scared to displease him, stop him one more time. "I… believe that…"
"There is no need to apologise, my Lord," you tell him, "please do not apologise."
You haven't heard what he has to say yet.
"Thank you." Magnus leans forward, hands clasped together, forehead and cheeks starting to feel unusually warm. He clears his throat before continuing. "You must understand, this is not a usual request, but I do not know of anyone else I could ask."
He's making this far worse by talking.
He waits for your nod, which comes with a slight furrow of your brows. He tries his very best not to stumble over his own words again. "I would very much like for you to… service me."
Adequate, he thinks, it was how Fulgrim had phrased it one time when they were discussing his recent activities.
Your voice creeps in past his congratulatory thoughts. "Sorry, my Lord… service you?"
His heart feels like it’s in his mouth.
A string of curses meet him.
"Yes," he answers, a polite smile gracing the curves of his lips. He'd feign his confidence, which usually worked. "I will ensure you are compensated if you agree and… and please be sure it will be no reflection onto you if you decline because I do understand the implications this can bring and that being in my presence may cause you more harm than initially anticipated so please do not think you must accept, so I… I understand entirely if you decline."
Magnus finishes his string of words with a quick inhale and a sheepish smile. It was sometimes a gift to have skin like his. Much easier to hide his true feelings. Especially when you look back at him with parted lips and no evident answer.
Magnus knows he needs to shut up sometimes, but he never can.
"But… But I did hope you would accept," he adds, a poorly disguised truth in his eyes, "I… uhm… wanted you, specifically."
You still haven't moved. Was it that obvious it was far more than just hope?
"I do apologise, my Lord." You bow your head slightly, and Magnus' heart sinks back into the depths of his chest as he prepares for his rejection. "Have I misunderstood what you mean by… servicing?"
Magnus doesn't answer quickly enough.
"Does my Lord mean… the service that one would go to a courtesan for?"
He clears his throat, avoiding your eyes. "Well, it… Yes. Yes."
You hum.
His heart thumps.
When you look back at him, half of him wants to reverse time to prevent this whole conversation from ever occurring, and the other half wants to go back in time to kill his brothers before they ever started him on this depraved path of self-fulfilment and stupidity.
Most of him felt similar to the very human feeling of wanting to throw up.
His gaze flickers between you and the floor. He can feel your mind processing everything, ignoring it felt impossible, until it seemed to stop. He looks back at you, stopping to wait for your answer.
"Of course, my Lord," you answer, "I am… agreeable."
Magnus hums. "You do not just give me the answer I wish to hear?"
"No, my Lord," you answer, simply.
"You want to partake in this?"
"Yes, my Lord."
“You are sure?” He confirms a final time. If he hadn’t sounded timorous before, he did now. “I promise you it will not affect your standing or negatively impact you if you decline. Truly. I swear it on all that is sacred to me.”
Magnus pauses again to watch, eager to catch a hint of hesitation laced in your expression. Somewhere within his conversations, he had heard of others being taken advantage of, and he wanted to be sure that was not the case here. In fact, he recalled how a story had passed on, gossip if you will, of how some of the Eighth treated their serfs and remembrancers. The truth behind it was unknown, but knowing his brother’s mediocre handling of his legion, could it have been so untrue?
He digresses.
“I want to,” you repeat to him, nodding as you shift forward slightly in your seat. Magnus studies you like the world depended on it; actions misunderstood as you slouch back slightly and struggle to look near him again. “I… I would like to… My Lord."
He’s not sure why he laughs, but your timid muttering of my Lord seemed ironic given what he was about to ask of you. “Please do not call me that.”
“Then what shall I call you?” You ask, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth inside your mouth.
Throne, your lips looked so soft, he could practically feel your warm mouth around his aching cock already. His tip nestled in against the back of your mouth as you choked around him and dragged your soft hands over his thighs and begged him for more. Then he’d feel how warm you truly were, he’d ease you open with one finger, no, no, two fingers slowly, then a third so you were ready for him to feel you throb around his cock and beg him for more, and then he could turn over and let you bounce on his cock and tell him to be a good boy and beg you to let him come until…
Reality strikes him with a shiver down his spine. You’re still watching him intently, like he was meant to answer. Would you even fit all of him inside you? You must be able to if his brothers were doing this. Perhaps he would need to amend his body in a different way so you could… Oh, he was meant to be answering you. Where was he? What to call him…
“Magnus,” he tells you. He’s unsure it’s the right response, and it carries very hard in his voice. He tries to laugh it off. “You cannot call me Lord when you’re…”
He stops himself.
You stare blankly at him.
He can’t finish his sentence.
When you’re what, Magnus?
“When you’re…” his mouth felt incredibly dry as he couldn’t find the words he wanted to say. He knows exactly what he wants from you, but saying it feels wrong. Like a secret he was never meant to share, or a hidden exploit in his father’s greatest creation. “Well, when we are to have a relationship of this sort, I mean.”
You nod, still uneasy.
Magnus’ mind doesn’t seem to rest. “When I say relationship, I mean the dynamic between us, of course. Because you will be more than others who hold the same rank as you, and we would not see each other as one typically would. You will come to know me in a far different way than others, and I suppose that means I will know you in a different way, too. A better way. More personal.”
It’s about then he realises he didn’t even ask your name.
He could ask, or he could find out at some point and avoid the awkwardness of asking for the name of someone he had asked to service him. Like he’s a car. Or a Primarch so desperately in need of release he can’t even get a whole sentence out coherently anymore.
“I look forward to it, my…” You stop yourself as Magnus’ attention diverts back to you. A sheepish smile appears as you push your hair back behind your ear. “…Magnus.”
He grins at you. “Perfect! Formal introductions over then, shall we begin?”
Judging by the look on your face, you were not expecting that.
“No point delaying what we both want,” Magnus tells you, “unless of course you have changed your mind, which is fine, if you were unsure.”
You shake your head. “I haven’t. But I would just query… your expectations?”
“Oh.” Magnus hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Anything. Everything.”
“Everything?”
Magnus hums. “I would like to experience every sexual pleasure that exists in this world. I see it as important to understanding myself and the human kind better, and no doubt I can gain much knowledge from seeing the depths of what humans like, and don’t like, and what may be far out of the bounds for what’s normal.”
He surprises himself with how much he can just make up these days.
“Forgive me if this is too forward, but… would you not just wish to experience something for your own enjoyment?” you ask.
“Well,” Magnus stops himself from talking this time. Did he meet a kindred spirit? You knew his thoughts before he did. Or, his humanity before he did. “Yes. I would. You are right.”
You smile, gently, and shift forward on your seat. Magnus’ gaze shifts from your eyes to your lips, to your hands that he’d thought about before. He wasn’t trying to hide it, either. “What would bring you enjoyment now?”
“I hadn’t considered,” Magnus answers. More of a timely untruth to hide his enthusiasm. He brings his hand to his chin like he was considering, but he can already feel your doubt. You dip your head down as he hears the slightest chuckle. He's that obvious? Why should he be surprised. "What I believe would bring me enjoyment… What I know would bring me enjoyment is for you to make me, well, there is no gentler way to put this, is there. For you to make me, ahem, come."
You hum in response. "I had assumed. That is what one usually wishes to achieve."
"Of course." Magnus laughs softly, feeling the heat in his cheeks again. He looks away for a moment, as if conjuring the words from a conversation he'd had in the past once again. None make themselves known; he's on his own this time. He wasn't yet prepared to say exactly what he had been thinking about, either. "May I ask what you would suggest?"
It may have seemed like he had given you all the power in the universe for just a moment.
"My suggestion?" you repeat. He nods, encouragingly. "I suppose I would suggest… starting slow?"
Magnus nods. "Your hands?"
"My hands," you confirm, "just my hands?"
He stops himself from outright saying yes as the syllables reach his tongue. "Unless you think I should have more."
You nod once.
"What I mean is," Magnus tries to speak, stopping as he feels his chest thumping, "if I deserve more."
A perfect disguise for his tendencies. He must applaud himself later. He can see the smile creep onto your lips, which you try to disguise behind your fingers as you rub your cheek meaninglessly. "I understand."
"Good." Magnus lets his back relax a little, trying to make it feel less formal. "Shall we start?"
If ever there was a reason to throw him into the depths of the galaxy, this was it.
You're shy at first, not moving until whatever thoughts had processed in your mind finally start to fade. You peek at Magnus once, maybe a few more times through your lashes, he'd never miss that, before lowering yourself gently to your knees right between his own.
One of your hands reaches for his thigh. Magnus' gaze becomes even more intense as he follows your movements with such fervour that he may as well be committing even your breaths to memory. You're not shaking, you don't seem worried, but Magnus can feel your hesitation. Naturally occurring, he deciphers, because who wouldn't be terrified of someone like him being right there.
"You need to…"
Magnus drags himself back to you, brows raised slightly. He realises you're gesturing to his robes and feels stupid for not thinking of that before. "Right, of course."
He could try to look less innocent, really.
The robes of white and gold, concealing how desperate he was to feel your touch just beneath the thick sheets of material, are adjusted to come up to his waist, undergarments stripped away until his bare flesh remains.
It was never that Magnus was conscious of the body he sculpted, but under your eyes, it didn’t feel good enough; until he realised you were staring for just a little too long, captivated by his body in the ways that many had before. He vividly could recall a conversation where Fulgrim had explained that he was questioned about what primarchs kept beneath their clothes. Perhaps you were exploring those same thoughts.
"Please, continue," he tells you, breaking the silence and whatever train of thought you were holding. Not to push you, but he was already leaking from head of his cock. He was sure the inside of his garments had been soiled too. He shouldn't have carried on talking. "Please."
Whilst he curses himself for appearing so desperate, he's not sure if you notice it. You shuffle forward on your knees, prying his thighs apart slowly, until you're perched between in perfect view of the cock that was aching for you. To be touched, rather.
"You should put your head back," you tell him, voice soft against the silence that still looms, "just, relax."
Impossible for him.
But he does try.
He lies back, chest muscles still tight, his sight trained directly on you, regardless of where he is. He wanted to look when you first touched him, when he saw those hands wrap around him and make the very first movements. It's a marvel to him as he watches you look between your hands and his groin, then briefly around the room around you, then spit into the palm of your hand. He doesn’t understand at first, but then he feels it.
A fragile coldness to soothe his throbbing length. He gasps at the first touch, and though you pause in fear at the sound he makes, he urges you to carry on with a pained nod. "Please carry on."
You follow his instruction. One hand, not big enough to wrap around him completely, nor big enough to engulf his whole length, but enough to move one from the bottom to the top of his shaft. He shouldn't moan when he feels the pressure on his head, but he can't help it. It's involuntary, it's feral.
He'd never be able to go back to doing this on his own, if he closes his eyes, he doesn't know what's going to happen next and, throne, it feels like heaven wrapped into a tiny bite-sized piece, how is he going to survive ever having more than just your hand?
He lets his eyes fall shut at some point, lost in your movements, falling into the rhythm of your strokes and drinking in every sense like it was the sweetest nectar.
How is he going to survive you?
He takes a glance at you. He’d never considered a human to be beautiful before, not given the divinity he sat within, but you were exactly that. His head is leaning against the back of the loveseat, hair damp with sweat and stuck to him in the least comfortable of ways, yet he looks at you like you’d somehow become the answer to anything and everything he ever wanted.
His eyes close again when he meets your gaze. You slow down your pace, as if you were trying to check he was okay or just see what he was doing. Again, it's involuntary how his body responds, craving so much more, wanting to feel everything.
He rocks his hips once, then a second time, craving any more of your touch that he could bear. When he feels your fingertips on his hip, airy to the touch yet sinking straight to his bone, he whines.
“Be still,” you tell him, voice quiet yet commanding. He nods unceremoniously, eyes squeezed together as he steadies himself and tries so hard not to move again, even if his body willed him to fuck those pretty hands and give into desire. His efforts were never made in vain. “Good. Stay there. Be good for me.”
Oh, why did you have to say that and have him remember how badly he wanted to hear those words over and over until he knew nothing other than how to behave for you, only for you-
“You want to be good?” You question, this time not a tease. It was a discovery with an edge of destiny. “For me?”
Magnus’ whine confirms anything you needed to know.
“Oh.” He can hear, feel, the smirk that registers with your words. He feels your weight over his groin, your strokes slower than before, as you lean over him, still kneeling before him. “You want me to tell you what a good boy you’ve been for me?”
His intuition is truly blessed. You were everything and anything he ever wanted. How could you have known what he wanted to hear otherwise?
“Yes,” he gasps, voice raspy, hips controlled. His eyes are wide when he finally has the strength to look at you again, glassy and clouded with need. “I want to be… your good boy.”
His reward is feeling his cock in your mouth again. Still too big to be taken entirely, but enough for him to feel the velvet of your throat swallowing around him, coaxing him to give in.
It was never going to take long. A man deprived of feeling from another for his entire life never would.
He can feel the throbbing down right down to his balls, his cock inexplicably, impossibly harder beneath your touch as the pressure builds somewhere between his spine and his stomach in a way he hasn’t yet known how to describe. He’d stay here for a lifetime. The cusp of what he wanted, knowing it was so close, but still enjoying every moment.
Was it too late to ask for that?
Inexplicably, yes.
His hands shake. His thoughts disperse. He questions the very reality itself.
"Are you going to come for me?" you ask, honied words dripping with a request for him to do exactly that. "You don't need permission."
Your mouth isn't around him. It's just your hand, sliding up and down in the perfect rhythm, the bend in your thumb curling around him at just the right angle, your other hand now joining to stroke the rest of his cock that didn't fit in just one.
He wouldn't have been able to wait for permission anyway. His mind shuts down completely.
He hears your soft chuckle fill the space between you. "Show me how good you are."
No.
He can barely register it happening before he realises. He feels a pulsating in his core, then in his cock. Too quick for him to stop or do anything about. Not yet. No. He knew the second he was finished, this was over. For now, perhaps, but he never wanted it to end. No, no…
The way he whines is entirely feral, gasping and practically hissing, arching his back further into your touch. One pulse turns to a burn, then into a rope of thick, warm come leaving him. Then another, and another, and oh throne, another few more.
The white hot bliss stays for a moment. Just long enough for him to consider narrowing his eyes at you and having you choke on him next time without mercy. Better yet, play out that scene where he’s got you bent over his desk sliding his cock in and out of you with such ease because you’re so, so wet and he’s prepared you so well with his hands and his mouth and whatever he could use as a lubricant to make it enjoyable for you too, so he can hear you moan for him as well.
He could dream.
Reality hits as it fades. Magnus blinks a few times, quickly, breaths slowing again. He peers down at you, dry lips gapped as though he wanted to say something, but he never speaks. He just… admires. He looks dishevelled, a complete mess of a man who was meant to be near a god, completely undone by his own needs. He can feel the perfect form he created flickering beneath his lack of control, he can feel the judgment of his brothers laced into his actions, even if he tells himself it doesn’t matter.
You, on the other hand, look serene. Ideal. If you hadn’t accepted, this wouldn’t have happened and…
He wouldn’t have ever got to experience what it was like to have his cock stroked during, and after, he’d experienced the bliss of an orgasm at your fingertips.
He has to double-take, breathing heavily from his nose as he tries to contort his body enough to see what you’re doing, as if he didn’t already know, and why you were doing it. He reaches for your wrist, trying to hold you in place to stop the feeling of every pleasure centre exploding at once, yet never really actually holding you tight enough to bring you to a halt.
“What are you—ah,” Magnus’ words can’t be finished. It’s a forbidden pain, like he’s been seared by the light of an emerging star. “Stop. Please. I can’t…”
Your head tilts to the side like you’re challenging him. “You can’t what?”
“It feels…” his breathless pants make it hard to talk, “pain.”
You never falter.
"W-Wait," Magnus hisses, his hand grasping for yours. His grip around your wrist tightens as he feels your thumb run over the slit on his head, every muscle in his lower body tensing. He fights through a whine, a moan, to talk. "It, gods… it hurts."
Your hum in response isn't comforting. Not when you stroke your hand down again, grip just a touch tighter, then slide your hand up all the way. "Does it really hurt?"
He almost screams his response, but the feeling of your mouth sinking around his length, warm yet somehow bringing relief to the burning desire he felt in every nerve, stops him. He still grips your wrist but lets you stroke him beneath your lips.
His head is thrown back first. His eyes disappear somewhere into the back of his head. Everything feels like it's on fire, and you look like the very last ember that burns. His hips jolt upwards, voluntarily drawing a rhythm into your hand because you just weren't going quick enough, trying so hard to feel more of his cock fill your delicate little mouth.
"Shall I stop?" you ask him, somewhat of a tease with your voice vibrating against his sensitive nerves.
He can't help the moan that leaves his lips this time as you take his very tip into your mouth again. Never any further though. He despises how badly he wants to beg for more. “No. Throne, no.”
You hum around him again, spark reforging a feeling he hadn’t felt since the first time he ever tried to experience the pleasure humans did. Whatever you say, he doesn’t catch it; his vision was filled with a galaxy of stars, and his mind couldn’t register anything other than the lewd sounds of your hand rolling up and down his shaft in quicker succession.
A breathless gasp leaves his lips, hands grabbing at anything in their vicinity. His thighs are shaking, back arching, thoughts entirely absent for moments longer than they ever had been before. He tries, so very hard, to raise his head and look down to where you kneel before him, but you slide your fingers over one particularly sensitive spot, and he’s throwing it back again, some kind of mewl his only response.
You let his hips move this time. He holds your wrist loosely, keeping your hand in the same space as he uses whatever core strength he could muster to fuck your hand to the point of orgasm once more.
With you, it would never take long.
It stings as he feels his cock pulsing once more. He didn't think it was possible for it to feel so different. He's overstimulated, he's experiencing a deadly mix of pain and pleasure that's so cloying it might as well have already ruined him.
He doesn't even remember coming the second time; only opening his eyes to your maidenly figure nestled so perfectly with him.
Then the feeling of every bone in his body being hit with tiredness, and his skin feeling covered in stickiness and grime that he hated.
Once his breath had steadied, thoughts cleared, and thighs had stopped shaking, he finally sat forward once more. He was closer to you than anticipated, although he felt like he shrank away from you in fear of the awkwardness that could follow. You'd serviced him. What if that was it? He didn't want for that to be it. So, he talks, like that hadn't got him into this situation to begin with.
“I feel ashamed,” Magnus comments, openly observing his sweat and come covered thighs, a bitter taste in his mouth.
“For what reason?” You ask him in return. Only then does he catch the absence of regret in your eyes. He won’t assume, but… You didn’t seem ashamed. “You wished to enjoy yourself. Did you?”
Magnus frowns, just enough for you to notice. “Yes, very much so, but… with all this mess it had created, look at me.”
You don’t follow his gaze. “That usually happens, my Lord. It is normal.”
“Magnus," he corrects you. It seemed the barrier for formal titles had far been crossed. He spends too much time with his eyes lingering over you, raising his hand at your quiet apology when it’s given. Was it normal to enjoy the way you looked, hands covered in his come, a slight sheen over your skin and unkempt, once-tidy hair evidencing such an intimate act between you both? He leans forward without a plan, reaching for your upper arm, fingers ghosting your skin. "Let me help you."
You shake your hair. "Let me help you."
He's not given time to tell you otherwise; it was easier for you to scurry off from the floor with only the bow of your head left with him. He can hear the rush of water in an adjacent room, accompanied by what sounds like you cleaning your hands. In a state of wonder, his minds drift to another scenario.
It would be quite intriguing to see his come painted all over your body, his own decorated piece of art. Better yet, to see if dribbling out of you, just so he could fuck it right back into you. Though he was torn between whether he'd do it gently, hold your hands and kiss you sweetly, slow so he could feel every single movement, every time your body pulsed around him. Or, he could be rough, fast, hear you beg for mercy or for more, whatever you felt like you needed more.
In fact, he could ask you what you wanted. That way, when he delivered on everything you wanted, when he felt what it was like to have you a mess at his fingertips as well, he could hear you say how well he did again.
Your presence draws him back to reality. He clears his throat as you kneel down in front of him with a clean cloth, beginning to wipe away what he had been scowling at before.
"It really is normal," you tell him again, pausing for just a moment to look up at him. He nods, twice, like he does believe you. "Will you want to do this again?"
Magnus forgets to breathe.
Hadn't thought of that. His cock twitches, he hopes you don't notice.
"I apologise," you reply quickly, "that was too forward. I just meant..."
"I know. Please don't apologise."
Magnus is carefully piecing together an answer. He notes your intrigue, like you're hoping for something. For his own sake, he won't let himself believe it’s for anything more than repayment.
"I would like to," he returns, humming at his own answer. "Of course, that only applies if you would also like to."
You smile, nodding. "I would."
"Good. Because I must ensure that you are adequately repaid for your time with me today."
Your movements become softer as your brows pull together. "Repaid?"
"Not in the traditional sense, I suppose." Magnus' laugh fills the room. He hopes it will put you more at ease. Alongside speaking far too much, he also had the tendency to say the wrong thing, it seemed. "It would only be fair if I... Returned this favour. Tomorrow, perhaps?"
"Oh." Your voice seems raspy. "Yes. Yes, I would enjoy that very much."
Somehow, Magnus had won a great victory whilst seated in a love seat of a dusty, old room, naked from the waist down. He'd congratulate himself for that one later, it just proved he knew exactly what he was doing.
"Tomorrow, then." His regal smile never disappears, though if he really listened to his needs, he'd have asked you not to leave him from that point forward. There were no rules against it, but for your sake, he'd act like he wasn't obsessed with both you and how you made him feel, inside and out. "My private chambers will be more suited. I will find you around the same time."
"You do not need to find me, Magnus. I can come to you."
He shakes his head. "Let me find you. I appreciate the moment for us to talk."
"If you are sure," you reply. He holds your gaze for far too long. When you look away, the ends of your lip curl ever so slightly. He won’t admit the feeling at the pit of his stomach, not yet. "Tomorrow, then."
a/n: got a bit carried away with this one. i'd like to continue a little series of magnus exploring his sexual desires in this form, so expect more in the future!
Hello! hope you are all keeping well and had a good May ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶
as promised, I wanted to give a short update. very sorry for literally just updating my pinned post and not saying anything else, it was a mix of poor planning and hating saying goodbye...
most importantly:
new fic coming later today,
an upcoming primarch wedding series (more below),
and sorry to everyone who send in requests and is very patiently waiting for me to post! especially on the fic front.
finally got over my fear of writing about magnus. expect it in a couple of hours, i usually schedule posts to go at like 11am or 12pm. on that topic, i'll swiftly move onto what's upcoming and where i was ᵔᵕᵔ
i genuinely don't expect anyone to read all of this, but writing this out is almost like a plan for me to refer back to. years of project management is changing me. i'll have a standard operating procedure next and a project plan.
going forward i'd like to spend more time working on actual pieces of writing, i.e. series, one shots/fics, etc. as opposed to headcanons. i enjoy doing them, and will continue to do them, but it did start to have an impact on the writing i primarily want to do. 18x primarchs means each headcanon was taking up my whole evening, plus planning during the day, so i didn't have a lot of time to do what i actually wanted. i was trying to post at least one a day and yeah, it was burning me out hard.
mentioning posting, i will probably be posting writing less in the hopes i can increase the quality of what i'm posting. i probably will never think its good enough, but that's a me thing. but rushing something at 2am so its posted the next day is never any good. what i'm thinking of doing is a loose schedule for me to work to: update a series on monday, post headcanons on wednesday, an individual piece on fridays, and then anything else i get round to over the weekend. drabbles not included as i tend to just write them on my phone when i'm making dinner or in a game lobby, etc. i do this at work to keep me motivated, and have also started doing this for chores and it helped, so.. worth a try. i mentioned it before but i do have adhd and motivation is probably my biggest struggle alongside actually focusing on what i'm doing.
related to posting, as mentioned i'm going to start a primarch wedding series. coincidentally i got loads of requests about proposals, wedding day, etc at the same time so rather than a bunch of kind of related headcanons, i'll probably do it per primarch. idk if this has been done before, if it has, please let me know and i'll change it so mine is unique. i'm thinking something like those a-z posts, but really unsure. something to think about whilst i finish my civ campaign tonight.
i'm probably also going to be posting works that aren't related to warhammer. i'm not sure what yet, but i've always been apprehensive to post anything else in the past. i have series for simon riley half finished, an entire oc plotline for elden ring and dark souls, a lot of x reader stuff from elder scrolls, and a mix of everything for baldur's gate which has mostly come from my dnd sessions and the game. so that's just an aside. if it doesn't work out, i'll maybe have a sideblog for it.
on a related note, i'm going to be changing how things look on here a bit because i'm very particular about things being uniform and every time i look at my masterlist a piece of me fades... it's so plain and boring and just looks shit. now i've figured out what i want nightscythe to be (oh, it has a whole backstory and lore based plot, just wait), i'm going to align everything. unfortunately my want to sit there and do everything is minimal until i've found the exact style i'm going for. one change i did make was updating my icon. i don't draw very often because i criticise everything i draw, but my boyfriend said he liked it so it was good enough for me. more to come on that front though. i need some new banners, too.. but don't get me started on all that.
finally, on where i have been:
i have mentioned but primarily my motive for taking a break was university, i had lots to submit over the month and it was near impossible to try and keep on top of all of it. i also have ulnar tunnel on my right side and excessive typing makes it 100x worse, so it just made sense. but at the same time towards the end of april i was experiencing a lot of issues with my confidence around writing in general, so it was essentially a welcomed and well-timed break.
the confidence thing has mostly gone and i'll be honest it was in part due to the circulating posts around style, lore, etc. which i definitely fell into because i do tend to focus on the less grimdark side of warhammer; emulating my original description, sunshine and rainbows warhammer content. instead of dwelling i've just decided to put more effort into making sure my works do acknowledge that setting at the very least. my x reader works are more lighthearted and not for everyone, but my x oc works are far more grimdark and firmly set within the lore (albeit, additions to), if you follow me and that's what you're looking for.
if you did read all that, firstly sorry for yapping, secondly thank you for being here.
i mentioned before, i've been in a few different fandoms on here, and this has been the most welcoming so far and everyone is supportive, which is nice. i didn't even think i'd find a space to want to post anything i wrote again, so every time i do come on here, my heart is filled with a lot of joy and love for you all ♡
Princess Ranni and the Snowy Crone! Suggested by somebody in the comments of the previous post (once again, thank you).
I like to think learning forbidden sorceries isn't easy, even for a Carian Princess.
I also just wanted an excuse to draw these three behaving like I imagine siblings do.
Thoughts:
Fuck you, ink splotches, trying to sabotage my attempts to draw Rykard;
Need to practice musculature;
Made Rykard's and Ranni's outfits pretty simple because I don't really know what they would look like (I used Rennala's and the Aristocrat robes for inspo);
Okay so. I've just started getting interested in Warhammer and I have been confronted with a Wall Of Stuff. My very, very simple desire is to try a videogame and command some kind of army in the service of Slaanesh.
I do not have the money to spend on miniatures right now and I'm just poking my nose in. Rest assured I am making my way through a huge lore series on Youtube, that's how I decided I vibe with Slaanesh.
There are a billion things on Steam called Warhammer and I have no idea what I'm doing. Anyone have recommendations or advice?
responding as someone who also vibed with slaanesh pretty hard
as a quick intro there are different settings for warhammer: old world/fantasy, age of sigmar, and 30k/40k. they all feature the same chaos gods (slaanesh, nurgle, korne, tzeentch) which are basically the same in terms of vibe. important because on steam there are games related to all of them.
within each as well you would also have the actual "slaaneshi forces" and the kinda connected via lore dark elves that also have a similar vibe: ie drukhari (40k) and druchii (whf/aos).
30k/40k is set in the future (literally 30th millenium and 40th millenium), 30k refers to the time period covered in the 'Horus Heresy' related media and 40k is the current setting, its based on an entire universe. whf/aos to me anyway seems more scaled back.iirc the 30k/40k universe is like an kind of separate, the whf/aos universe can be accessed as like an alternate dimension from 30k/40k. but age of sigmar is meant to be if the old world was destroyed by chaos so they are connected.
in terms of games:
if it says warhammer 40,000 at the start its the 30k/40k universe. if it says warhammer at the start, it's whf. there's a few i could recommend -
all the total war: warhammer games are old world/fantasy and it was the first game i ever touched from any series. but its a strategy game and not for everyone, albeit relatively easy to follow along with and you can play as the slaaneshi faction (possibly need the dlc though, i can't remember) which you can learn a fair amount of lore from them as well. i played as n'kari too many times in number 3
rogue trader is basically the baldur's gate/d:os of 40k, its a turn based combat game with some really good stories and definitely up there as one of my faves but its not slaanesh specifc and its also quite slow paced (to me anyway, but so was baldur's gate). you can learn a lot about the general universe in that.
gladius is basically civ in 40k, you can choose your faction and learn more about them that way. only problem is you don't get to play as anything slaanesh based, but you can play as chaos space marines (ie in service to the chaos gods) or drukhari who are my personal favourite.
in total honesty you don't really find a lot about slaanesh in the games, they mostly feature khorne and nurgle. tzeentch is more prevalent in the recent space marine 2 game. imo the total war games have the most playability of a slaaneshi faction but i haven't played everything so can't really say for definite!
as you mentioned watching youtube for lore, some creators do tend to just read off the wiki and not really engage in books at all. i'd personally recommend arbitor ian and the amber king. for something more lighthearted, mr bones is pretty easy to listen to.
sorry that was kind of long, hope it helps in some way, and please feel free to send me over any questions, always happy to help! :)
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