#I'm like so fucking stupid for Dorn it isn't even funny it's kinda just sad at this point

[moodymisty]

Long time listener, first time caller (so to speak XD) and I’m absolutely ADORING the Primarch content so why not officially throw my hat into the prompt-making ring??? My brain worm of the day is something in the same vein (haha blood puns) of Sanguinius’ where there gets to be a private more relaxed moment. Prying our dear Primarch away from his work for just a few precious minutes, maybe longer if it can be managed, to calm tf down for a bit. These guys are overworked to hell, they could all use some TLC let’s be so fr rn. I couldn’t nail down exactly who to pick but I did narrow it down to a top three, Dorn, Rob, and Magnus. Those three I think are the ones most likely to literally pass out at their desks (impressive given their demigod status but I’m sure they’d fuckin manage to somehow XD). Idk if there’s much to really be done with this idea I’m just in my “let these guys be human for 4 seconds plz” feelings again 😭

As always love your writing, Misty! Have fun, no rush, no pressure ❤️❤️❤️

(P.S. Plz tell your cutie chaos birb all us readers say “hi!!!!” XD)

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: So you sent this in and then I just kinda blacked out and when I came to I had this in my drafts. Enjoy.

This post has been approved and sponsored by the Imperial Fists.

Summary: Dorn takes a moment of respite during a particularly frigid night on Inwit.

Relationships: Rogal Dorn/Fem!Reader (no pronouns are used tho it's just the vibe if you know what I mean)

Warnings: General 40kness so mentions of war death etc, Dorn being pretty emotionally stoic, Me worldbuilding too much

Word Count: 1567

Inwit is cold.

Dorn had told you this as the Eternal Crusader moved to finishing mooring on the frozen planet, and you'd nodded in understanding. You lack the convenience of sealed Astartes armor, the cushion of air heated thanks to their unusually hot body temperature.

You knew already that Dorn's homeworld was an ice planet, so you didn't quite understand why he was telling you again.

What Dorn seemed to not specify however, was just how cold.

Your bed is covered in four different pelts, and you're still freezing. You have a blanket just for your feet, and they still feel like they're going to fall right off. At least during the day, you had an outer layer of clothing made of thick fabrics, in a design and shape more than likely traditional to Inwit. You assume Dorn had it requisitioned for you, but he mentioned nothing of it other than sparing a glance in your direction when he first saw you in it.

But now that outer layer lays on the trunk at the foot of the bed, and you're seriously considering attempting to sleep in it.

You know it's snowing outside, it always is, the fresh white layer of snow reflecting the light of the moon and illuminating more than what could be seen on a warmer planet at night. You can see more snowflakes fluttering downward, hitting the icy window. Your teeth feel like they are going to clatter right out of your mouth.

Inwit is cold.

And because of it you haven't been able to sleep, merely lay in bed trying to distract yourself enough to maybe drift off.

It would be better if Dorn was here; His body runs so hot you probably would've been able to leech the heat right from him and perhaps get a few moments of rest.

But Dorn is still tirelessly planning, as rarely does the man ever indulge in rest. He'll often times take on the the extra work to let you, one of the few silent ways to tell you he cares about you. Now is one of those times you so desperately wished he wouldn't do that and just join you before you actually froze to death.

Giving in you lean upward and kick your feet outward, sliding off the massive bed and hauling one of the smaller pelts with you. Your hands pull it tight over your shoulders, while slipping on your shoes. Without them just putting your feet on the floor felt like they were stepping on a solid block of ice.

You know Dorn is still at work in the messy workshop he uses as his personal room. If he won't come to you, then you'll come to him.

It's less cold now that you're on your feet and your blood is pumping, leaving the private quarters and walking into the hall. It's late, so it's largely empty apart from the occasional serf at work. You quickly pass by and keep walking until you find the door down at the far end of the hall. One of many in this maze of a building. You'd call it less so a palace, and more so a fortress.

You open the door and gently close it behind you, looking through the dim lighting across the room. You can see Dorn's outline as he sits planted at that massive desk. He's leaning against his hand, elbow seated firmly against the top of the desk. His hand doesn't even seem to be writing, and for a moment, you almost think he's asleep until he turns to you.

"What are you doing here?" You tug the pelt tighter around your shoulders and try to stifle a shiver.

"I couldn't sleep. Shivering too much." Dorn's face is just as stoic as always, though it softens just the tiniest at you admittance of discomfort.

"You will get used to it soon enough." You sincerely hope you do, because you're not sure how long you'd be able to stand this if you weren't.

Rubbing your hands together you swear you can see your breath, even in a room being warmed by a large but waning fire. Keeping fires blazing nonstop is considered wasteful by many natives of Inwit, given the scarcity of materials. It may be easier now given the ability to import, but Inwit being a Ice World will always remain. Life will never be truly easy. Not even close.

Trying to hold back a shiver you walk closer to him, watching his eyes glance to you for a moment. He's paying attention to what you're doing, even as you slip underneath his arm. You twist and turn until you sit across his thighs, leaning back against his arm as you look over his desk.

There's blueprints on them; Rough ones, scattered with various small notes and adjustments for a future draft.

"What are these for?" You don't really expect an answer, but Dorn does actually surprise you with one.

"Another wing for the Imperial Palace." You hum, looking over the mess of lines as your legs drape over his own. They only make basic sense to you, learning by sight in situations much like this.

His free hand lowers off the desk to cup the side of your thigh instead of leaning his jaw on it, keeping you from sliding off of his lap. It also holds your pelt blanket closer to you, keeping you trapped in a small pocket of warm air. Thankfully he isn't wearing his armor, so you can actually feel the heat of his body against you.

"You should go back to bed." You press harder against his chest as if worried he'll remove you as he continues to plot out rough measurements and structural supports.

"You aren't there." Dorn draws a singular line from one drafted spire to another, writing something along it.

"I don't need to be." You purse your lips.

Dorn has always been like this. He speaks with such indifference one would think that he doesn't feel anything; You wouldn't blame them for thinking it. You know he does, and quite deeply, but he's been harshly trained over so many years to barricade it so deep within himself that it will never seep out.

Dorn wants you to rely on him, not depend on him. He's formed and molded his legion under the same idea; That you should rely closely on your allies as they're pivotal to your survival, but you should be able to stand just as strong on your own. You shouldn't need him to sleep till morn.

At least, that's what Dorn wants to want. Sometimes he finds himself doubting. You aren't an Astartes; He brought you into a world of demi-gods and giants expecting you to hold your own, but he'll always desire to protect you from it all. You provide him with a tiny shard of glass that reflects back the humanity they're fighting for. That him and his sons had resigned to never being able to see. Sometimes he wants nothing more than to indulge in more moments like this.

Your head lays against his chest, and you divulge in the warmth after spending so long near freezing.

These blueprints span the entire desk and even curl off the edge at one end, with various notes drawn over them. There's so many redraws and revisions that it's hard to tell whats what, you don't even know how he reads them. But you still watch him anyways with hooded eyes.

"Dorn..." He knows what you're going to ask, as his hand stays firm and unyielding on the side of your leg so you don't slide.

"When I am done."

You had come here with the hope to bring him back with you, but now you find yourself trapped here with him; His personal vox making noise from the corner of the desk.

He silently hands you the device, and you begin reading them out while he continues to work.

"Requisition orders got approval, news that the Faithful Servant has been waylaid by a severe technical malfunction," You yawn. "Alexis Polux wishes to speak with you."

You remember that name. He's an extremely competent and surprisingly humble Astartes, from Inwit the same as Dorn. He's apparently recently been made Captain, judging by the honorific attached to his name. You remember speaking to him once. He deserves the title.

"And... Something about the Night Lords. They," You yawn again. "One of their ships drifted towards a battle barge a bit too close for comfort." Dorn doesn't find that surprising. The sons of Konrad enjoy those sorts of intimidation tactics, trying to goad fights and spread unease through even their supposed allies.

Dorn holds on your words waiting for you to continue as his pen slides over the parchment, until he finally looks away from his blueprints for the first time since you entered the room.

You're asleep. Your head is leaning against his chest, and mouth just lightly parted as you breathe. You had completely failed in your attempt to get him away from his work, not that it had a high chance of working to begin with. Dorn watches for a moment before he finally sits down his pen and takes the vox from your loose hands, setting the device back down when he'd taken it from. That same hand returns to you and fixes the pelt you'd brought here, keeping it from falling to the floor.

Picking up his pen again Dorn sighs- and continues to work.