Note:
My first every warhammer fanfiction has finally seen the light of day! :D And it's all thanks to @vlka-fenryka and her lovely "little" Azgareth.
You can find it on AO3 (obviously) and lo and behold, it's neither particularly explicit not very long (yay!)
Disclaimers:
canon typical violence, nudity, non-explicit depictions of sex, blood and gore, minor character death
Characters / Pairing:
Azgareth (World Eater OC) belongs to @vlka-fenryka / Stryga HorvƔth (Night Lord OC)belongs to me
Excerpt and link to fanfic below the cut
Stryga watched as the crimson liquid slowly trickled down and collected in the hollow of the throat. A tiny stream flowing into a pond. With each beat of the twin hearts, it grew larger. The trickle turned into a river, a waterfall of deep, rich red.Ā A gasping rattle, surprised, guttural, akin to that of a dying animal, escaped the other man's lips. Hands flew up to the red line, which was getting bigger and spilling precious life in a steady rhythm.
Stryga was still watching. With his black, emotionless eyes, he observed the desperate struggle of the World Eater as he fought to contain the flood. He could taste the primal fear on his tongue, smell the chemicals and sweat being released into the hot, stale air of the ship. The tension in the room was turning into a nervous buzz. It all happened far too quickly for the brutal tastes of the legionnaires who surrounded him and his dying prey.
Carcharodons headcanon collection. Based in FUCKALL but wish fulfillment and vibes.
Fully inducted chapter members will have 2-3 neophytes following them around at all times, like remoras. These remoras are ignored, mostly, as if they're not even there. "Remora" is both a derogatory term and an affectionate nickname. Captains will have 3-4 of them. Tyberos has at least 5 at any given time.
After battles, astartes will sit in a circle and recount the war from their point of view, turning it into chapter legend. They will share a large fish as they do this, cutting pieces from it (raw) and feeding themselves while they talk. They are also expected to feed their remoras, who sit around them, watching and listening. Quiet and calm, always quiet and calm.
When a neophyte is fed, a piece of raw fish is placed in his mouth (on his tongue) by his shark/full astartes "mentor". The mentor will keep the fish, and his fingers, inside the remora's mouth for as long as he personally feels appropriate. The remora must NOT bite down; he must demonstrate his self control, even with blood on his tongue. He must wait, quiet and calm. He must know never to direct his bloodlust at his chapter brothers. Never at other sharks. Only at the enemy. You must know to make the distinction, no matter how close the flesh of a shark and a fish are.
Remoras never leave their sharks side, not in battle, not in ritual, not in sleep. They try to be as unobtrusive as they can, sharing their mentor's bed. If he indulges them, though, they can get a bit nibbly. Nipping at the sides of his mouth or chest is affectionate and appropriate. But you never bite a void brother.
Inducted void brothers who have earned names sometimes still show affection to the one who was their shark. They fall into step with him, walk close to his side for a few paces, skin to skin. Then they fall out of pace and glide off. This is casual. Just a brush-by.
š¦šš What some centuries of being a Son of Corvus/Son of Curse will do to a manā
The more "current" lore accurate Portrait of Tyberos, The Red Wake, chapter master of The Carcarodons (Space Sharks) on his VERY ANNOYING TO DRAW Terminator Armour with forged metal teeth (because They look Cool) probably The Single Best Single-Hand combat Astartes, I Think He IS EVEN better than Lucious? Lucius? The disgusting whip guyā
And yes, he Only speaks in whispers now, and looks like a corpse to meā
I was so happy with My Young maori man, but Astartes don't stay handsome for long, do They?
This was Very much inspired by a bunch of really gruesome Portraits of This Guy were The Wonderful artists make him look EVEN MORE DEAD AND MESSED UPā
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The are 2250x3000 digital drawings and lineart, and my coloring method, layer by layer!
An age ago, a cult of Elves left the Summerset Isles, abandoning their kin to follow Veloth, a pathetic tool of Boethiah. Trinimac confronted Boethiah for this trespass and was challenged to battle. Trinimac was about to strike a mighty blow when Mephala appeared and stabbed him in the back. As Trinimac kneeled, wounded by Mephala's treachery, Boethiah gloated and cast a terrible ritual to scar and twist his appearance, then cast him to a place of choking air and ash.
He doesnāt know how. Afterward, he just sits there, breath ragged, body still trembling with the effort of not tearing you apart. But heāll cradle you in his lap, one trembling hand cupping the back of your head, forehead pressed to yours like heās praying to something long dead. Sometimes he rocks you in slow, broken movements, like heās trying to remind himself that youāre alive, whole.
B = Body part
Your ribs. He counts them with his knuckles when you lie against him, like youāre breakable, like you matter. He canāt explain it, but pressing his palm there anchors him reminds him youāre alive, his.
C = Cum
Hot, heavy, and almost painful, he cums with full-body violence. Not from pleasure alone, but release. Relief. Need. It pours into you with a growl torn from his throat, like he's marking the only thing he doesn't destroy.
D = Dirty secret
He touches you when he dozes off. Soft, desperate ruts against your thigh, mouth open near your neck. He doesnāt realize heās doing it. Sometimes he wakes with your name crushed between his teeth, fists bloody from digging into his own palms to stop himself.
E = Experience
Heās raw. Not clueless just untrained. He doesnāt fuck with grace; he fucks like it hurts. Like heās trying to learn your body by brute force. He improves every time, by watching you, listening to your breath, your sobs, your pleasure. Thatās how he learns. You teach him.
F = Favorite position
You flat on your belly, his massive weight over your back, one hand over your mouth, the other fisting the sheets. He fucks you deep and slow like that, less risk of losing control. Itās also the only way he can truly let go without seeing your face break under his strength.
G = Goofy
Never. The Butcherās Nails leave no room for laughter. If you laugh during sex, heāll flinch like you hit him. But if he realizes itās because you feel safe? He might nuzzle into your neck, almost confused. Thatās the closest heāll come.
H = Hair
Rough. Coarse. He doesnāt care about grooming. His pubic hair is wild, but his body is scarred and muscled, bare in patches from fights or implants. His skin smells like sweat, copper, and smoke. It sticks to you for days.
I = Intimacy
A trembling thumb swiping the tears from your face. His forehead pressed to yours while he still throbs inside you. His hands spread on your back as if he could absorb you into his chest and make the Nails shut up for once.
J = Jack off
He does not. He cannot. The Nails do not permit arousal without agony. The moment his mind strays to you, they devour it, twist it, punish him. So he waits. Caged. Starving. And when he finally has you again, he takes you like a dying man offered breath.
K = Kink
Size kink.
Touch-starvation. Heās starved of comfort. If you let him cling to you during sex, fingers shaking as he grips your back, heāll cum faster than he wants to admit.
Breeding. He needs to fill you. Deep. Repeatedly. Like heās trying to claim your womb with every thrust.
Overstimulation: He doesnāt know how to stop. One orgasm becomes three. Youāre shaking and crying and still, he needs more.
L = Location
Somewhere far from his men. Somewhere with stone walls and no witnesses. A bolted door. A low bed. Anything where he can drop to his knees and fuck you until the Nails go silent.
M = Motivation
You touch him. Thatās all. Just a hand on his chest. A kiss to his temple. A whisper like, āStay.ā He shudders. Growls. Then grabs you like youāre the only tether to his soul.
N = No
He wonāt hurt you. He wonāt let go during sex because heās afraid his grip will crush you. He refuses to let you bind him either, he needs to hold you, even if it breaks him.
O = Oral
Giving A mess. He doesnāt know what heās doingābut fuck, he tries. Tongue too rough, growling between your legs, gripping your thighs until they bruise. But the effort? Heartbreaking.
P = Pace
Violent when he canāt think. Slow and trembling when he can. Sometimes it feels like heās barely moving, grinding so deep it steals your breath, holding you like glass. Other times, heās pounding into you like a war engine.
Q = Quickie
He doesnāt plan for them. But if you kiss his neck in the wrong hallway, or straddle him while heās sharpening his axe, heāll grab you by the waist and grind against you until youāre limp and shaking, one hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds.
R = Risk
Low. Heās too scared of breaking you. If you suggest something dangerous, heāll go still. His voice rough: "No. Iāll lose control."
S = Stamina
Insane. Four, five, six rounds if the Butcherās Nails are throbbing. He fucks through the ache, through the rage, through his own body. He doesnāt stop until your voice is gone or you collapse in his arms.
T = Toys
No. He doesn't trust them. He doesnāt trust himself with them. What if something snaps? What if you bleed? Heād rather use his fingers. His mouth. Himself. Thatās all he needs and all he trusts not to fail.
U = Unfair
He doesnāt tease. Not because he wouldnāt, but because he canāt. Heās too desperate. Too hungry. If he starts, heāll break. So he takes you hard and fast.
V = Volume
A beast. Growling. Snarling. Snorting like a bull. He bites the pillow when he cums or buries his face in your neck to keep from roaring. He moans your name like heās begging, low, raw, broken.
W = Wild card
He keeps your clothes when you leave. Not out of perversion, but to smell you. To hold them when the Nails scream. He buries his face in them, clutches them like a wounded animal, and survives another night.
X = X-ray
Huge. Thick. Ridged with angry veins. A cock like a war club, hot, hard, almost violent-looking. He leaks precum constantly when aroused, especially if heās holding back. It pulses like something alive.
Y = Yearning
Unbearable. Heāll stare at you like a starving man then look away as if heās done something shameful. His sex drive is monstrous, but he denies it until it spills over. Then he takes you like heāll never get another chance.
Z = Zzz
He doesnāt sleep. Not well. But if you curl against his chest, he breathes deeper. If you stroke his temple, he might drift off. Not for long. But long enough to dream of peace. Of you. Of something that doesnāt hurt.
areudirty
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