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lemon-russ · 4 months ago

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I lived, bitch. jk I am back and feeling much better after being run over by the metaphorical train of my failing body lol.

The poll has time but Wolf Mother is winning, it was good I asked because I thought it was one that people weren't super into, but I'm glad for it! It was a nice change of pace writing Leman again ❤️

Thanks @squishyowl for dividers! Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @scriberye @undeaddream

Wolf Mother (Ch. 3)

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Ao3 || Taglist request ||

Leman Russ x Fem OC

CW: Trauma/ PTSD, Talk of missing limbs/ prosthetics/ bionics, General WH40k violence (playful fighting here), If I miss any let me know!!

Summary: Wren gets a tour of The Fang.

Word count: 2,932

Small note: previously I wrote Wren was in the Astra Millitarium. Obviously she can't be, we are in 30k. I corrected it in the first chapter to the Auxilia, which was my original intent, I just mixed up Imperial Guard and Imperial Army. Fixed now :)

Wren scrambles behind Leman as he makes his way through the tunnels of The Fang. ”So, Paper-thrall, what use will you be exactly?” Leman asks, inquisitive Space Wolves eyeing her as they pass.

Wren frowns a bit as she is leered at like a new chew toy, but the wolves seem to be curious and nothing more. “Well, for Lord Guilliman, I’ve been handling things like logistics paperwork, transfers, budget approval forms…” she says, trying to keep pace with his long strides.

Russ scoffs. “Busywork. Leave it to Roboute to have a form for every bolt round that changes hands.” He chuckles, leading her to a rickety lift. The platform never stops its slow movement, just suspended standing decks going up on one side and down on the other perpetually down a rock hewn shaft. She nervously hops on behind him and they are lowered down the dark hole down a few floors.

Russ disembarks the lift at one of the openings, and when he sees Wren not keeping up, he reaches back and picks her up by the scruff of her coat and plops her next to him. She blinks, a little confused, but just blushes as she returns to chasing after him.

“Having clear and concise forms and regulations keeps things moving,” she stammers as she catches up to him again. “Without it, how would we know when to order more supplies? Or who is where and who is available-”

“You just tell someone.” Russ chuckles. “My sons tell me we are almost out of rounds when they see we are low, and they tell me where they are going. All the paperwork causes is headaches for little thralls.” He says, smiling down at her in amusement.

Wren’s mouth twists down. “That sounds like anarchy.” She replies flatly.

“Hah!” The primarch barks a laugh, “Anarchy, or freedom from your tedium? We get things done just the same.” He gestures through an archway. “Come, I will show you around the main areas of the Aett. It is vast and complex for little baselines, so try not to get lost.”

Leman leads her through what feels like miles of caverns. Wren’s legs and lungs ache from having to jog after him. While she was a little out of shape since she’s been on desk duties, she still kept up on her fitness as any good ultramarine employee would. But Russ was tall, taller than Guilliman, his brisk walk and long legs outruns her jogging. He doesn’t slow for her, just expecting her to keep pace.

As he shows her various store rooms and barrack areas, she pulls out a notebook and starts noting things that she’ll need to start organizing. No inventory sign-outs in the storerooms, no regular counts on supplies, things tossed into mixed crates and shoved on shelves. She was going to need to commandeer a small army of serfs to get this place in working order. She stops and grimaces when they pass the bathing and laundry areas. Piles of dirty clothes lay haphazardly around washing pools where tired serfs scrub them by hand over stone with lye soaps. She notes to ask to import at least some rudimentary cleaning machines like wringers and wash tubs.

Everywhere they go she sees the same things, unorganized supplies with serfs working with incredibly low tech tools that make things take ages to finish. Which makes them not have time to organize and clean as much, so the mess piles and piles. Wren starts laying out the overhauls she would need to make to get things moving efficiently.

Leman peeks over her shoulder at her notes, making her jump with a start.

“Inventory lists? Washing Barrels? Rotating thrall schedules? Skíthof little paper-thrall, you worry about such minor things.” He chuckles, ruffling her hair.

She frowns and lets out a huff from her nose, pushing her hair back in place. “Minor things build up, My Lord. All the time wasted with having to search for supplies and wash clothes by hand make up hours and hours of wasted time, and more wasted time means more Serfs needed to run the place, which means more food and housing for them.” She says tiredly, closing her notebook with a snap.

He tilts his head, standing upright again. “So? We have plenty of food for the thralls, we are good hunters, and we have many miles of caves for them to live.” He shrugs. “Why not have many of them live here and not bother with the teeny details?”

Wren scrunched her brow and sighed. “Because it’s, well, inefficient. And messy…” But Russ was already walking ahead, ignoring her again.

He stops at a large archway, and she smells bread and meat wafting invitingly through the halls. Her stomach grumbles, she hasn’t eaten since getting on the thunderhawk this morning. Leman smirks at her, then nods at the archway. “Come, little paper-thrall. We don’t let let our pack go hungry.”

They head into the warm, bright hall, full of space wolves talking and laughing and eating. The sweet, acrid smell of Mjød mixes with the warm bread aroma, and a large crackling hearth serves as backdrop to an Astartes telling an animated story to a group of space wolves and baselines alike, who enthusiastically cheer and laugh at his tale.

Wren sighs and happily takes the seat next to Leman at a long table, her hand going to knead at her thigh above her bionic leg. Though her bionic moves it’s own weight, she still needed to use her real muscle to lift it. She hasn’t had to push it so much yet, and her quad thrums sorely.

Russ watches her hand massaging her leg thoughtfully, but is interrupted from whatever he was about to say when a couple of Space wolves sit across from them, grinning and giddily staring down Wren.

“See-” The blond one says and elbows his brother, “I told you, The Wolf King has a new pet.”

His redheaded brother tilts his head curiously at her, then leans over the table and sniffs at her, making her shrink back with a frown.

“She smells odd.” He huffs.

Wren furrowed her brow at that, sniffing her own shirt. Leman laughs though, “She is not my pet, she is my paper-thrall.” He proclaims. ”Assistant.” She adds with a sigh. “I’m his assistant.”

The wolves tilt their head at her again, then smile wide. They are young enough to not have fangs yet, and playfully move to sit next to her, making her pull back into herself as she’s suddenly dwarfed by the massive marines.

“You smell odd.” The blond one says happily. The red haired one who sniffed her first does so again.

“Yes, you smell like Ultramarines.” He adds. He gently tugs on the sleeve of her poofy coat. “And you wear their inferior clothes. Do you not have furs?”

“My coat is fine-” she starts, but the red haired blood claw interrupts.

“Ah, has no one killed for you yet? Is that why you have to wear silly clothes?” ”My clothes are not si-” she squeaks out, trying to crowbar her words between them uselessly.

“She must not!” The blond replies, “Would you like me to kill a Great Bear for you?” He asks excitedly. Wren could almost see his metaphorical tail wagging.

“No no- I will get you a much nicer pelt than Thorarr would, let me.” The Redhead interjects, grinning ear to ear.

The blond, Thorarr, scowls at his brother. “Myrnir, I would slay a far greater bear than you. You only attack small, weak bears that are easy kills.” He gruffs as he crosses his arms.

Myrnir scowls back. “How would you know! You have not seen me hunt-” his brother rebuked.

“I have see the sad pelt you presented that thrall girl who polishes your armor, it is no wonder she rejected you.” He retorted.

Suddenly they are on their feet, growling and snapping words at each other, Wren forgotten. She blinks a few times, disoriented for a moment at the sudden shift. The blood claws argue and shove at each other, Russ, however just chuckles. “The youngest of my sons have less restraint.” He tells her as he reaches across the table to a wooden tray of breads, handing her a large roll. “Their attention is fleet and their tempers hot. They will outgrow it after a few decades of battle.”

The blood claws start grappling at each other, and an older wolf throws a large mug at them, conking the redhead in the back of the head. “Take it to the fight grounds before you break another table!” He scolds the pair. Myrnir grumbles, rubbing his skull where the tankard hit him, and they both stalk out of the hall.

Wren chuckles to herself, “They are certainly spirited.” She says, taking a bite of the roll. It’s grainy and hearty, and she wonders when the last time she had anything that tasted so much like real food was. It feels like it’d been a decade at least since her meals didn’t come from a package.

Leman rumbles a low chuckle in his chest. “That’s why they go first in battle. To get them trained, to let out their energy, and so they don’t clip anyone else on the way in.” He says with a smile. He glances back at her hand, still kneading her thigh. “I’m sure you were similar in your new years as a soldier?” He asks a bit softer.

She smiles and chuckles softly. “I suppose I was. I had a bad habit of going after much bigger opponents.” She says nostalgically. Her early days in the Auxilia were full of feats of glory and adrenaline. She sometimes thinks back and wonders how she managed to make it so long without ending up paste under an Orks boot, but her ferocity was what helped her climb the ranks so fast.

Russ grins and nods to her leg. “That how you lost it? Bit off more than you could chew?” He asks curiously.

Her smile falters a bit. “No.” She says quickly, turning back to the table and picking at her roll. The primarch deflates a little, huffing softly. He watches her nibble at her bread, then smiles again, perking up. “I have somewhere good to show you next.” He says happily.

He leads her up a few more terrifying lifts and through more dank tunnels before they get to a large complex of wide rooms. She could hear growling and barking and big padded feet stomping before they got there, and the distinct but not entirely unpleasant smell of wolves gave her an idea where they were before they actually entered the kennels.

Massive Fenrisian wolves play, sleep in piles, and gnaw on bones the size of Wren, spread out across what was mostly left as natural cave formation rooms. One was coming in from a large tunnel that seemed to climb upwards outside, shaking off snow from its stark black coat. Another two roll in a play fight together, their white fur making them look like an avalanche. Dozens of them lounge and play, drinking water from a small natural stream through the rocks and napping on beds of dirt.

As they get closer, Wren’s steps start to falter. These weren’t just wolves. The smallest was, as she could begin to see, the size of two men. The larger black ones, some were the size of artillery vehicles.

“By the throne…” She mumbles in awe, feet refusing to bring her closer to the massive predators. Leman looks over his shoulder at her standing, jaw agape, and laughs. “Come, little paper-thrall, they will not harm you. Not these ones at least. These are our pack members, they fight beside us and lend us their speed and strength.”

As he speaks, the two largest wolves, one black and one white, perk up and thunder over to them, paws thudding against stone enough to feel the vibrations through the ground where she stood. Wren recoils back a few steps, but the wolves stop at Leman, licking his face and pawing at him as he laughs cheerfully.

He turns back to her and motions her forward. “Come! These are my kin, my brothers, I was raised with them by the same wolf mother. This is Freki, and this Geri. They my companions.” He introduces, rubbing their ears as they wag their tails and lick at him.

The two beasts are massive, taller than any space marine, coming up to Leman’s chest at their head. Wren swallows hard. “Uhm- h-hello, Lord Russ’s… brothers…” she says warily.

The black wolf, Freki, radars his ears toward her voice, staring her down with eyes that almost glow with reflection from the dim torch lights of the halls. He pads over to her, and she cringes down a little as his massive nose sniffs at her face.

He tilts his head and pads around her in a circle as Geri comes over and gives her a snuffles at her too. She grimaces at their warm breath assaulting her face, before Freki licks the side of her head in a long motion, making her squeak in surprise. Geri wags his tail and licks her too, making giggle as shes suddenly attacked by their affections, tails wagging happily as she devolved into breathless laughing.

“O-okay-! please-!” She gasps through her giggles, and Leman, grinning and laughing softly calls them off of her.

“Enough of that, give her a second to breathe.” He tells the wolves as they happily trot to him and nuzzle him with their snouts. He grins at the disheveled, slobbered Wren as she tries to still her laughter. “See? My wolf-kin are friends.”

She tried to wipe her face with her hands, making a soft blehch at the slobber. “They certainly are personable, sir.” She chuckles. She uses the clean stream water to rinse her face off and returns to Leman’s side when he motions for her to.

“I want you to see some of our pack.” He says, softer now. She follows his gaze to two playing wolves. They growl and play bite at each other's legs, tumbling and snarfing and wagging their tails. But one of the wolves has the advantage- a shiny, metallic limb replaces his back leg.

Wren raises her brow, looking up at Russ. “You… You give the wolves Bionics?” She asks quietly, looking around and spotting a bionic eye, a front leg, a missing ear….

“Of course.” He says, smiling down at her with a gentler expression. “They are our pack, and we care for them the same we would any who suffer an injury.”

Her gaze falls back to the playing canines. The wolf without bionics is playing just as roughly with its kin as the others are playing, snapping teeth and body checks and leg bites. The bionic using wolf returns it in full, even using the leg to it’s advantage - its friend doesn’t like to bite the metal, so it uses that one to kick at the other wolf.

Across the cavern, she sees another wolf with a bionic front leg. This one limps slightly, and still has stitches and shaved areas from whatever injury it had. It flops down, licking and chewing at the place where the metal limb meets flesh.

Habitually, Wren’s hand went to that spot where her own leg met her thigh, massaging the muscles there.

She has to swallow back some emotion, watching the juxtaposition of the hobbling, recovering animal licking its sore phantom limb, and the lively, playing wolf who is well accustomed to his own.

Leman glances down at her, seeing her a little misty eyed, and frowns. Following her gaze, then watching her knead at her leg, he smiles understandingly.

“They bounce back.” He says as he kneels on one knee to be more level with her. She glances to him at her side before returning to watching the canines.

“They have a period of readjustment.” He continues, nodding to the limping wolf. “They need time to heal, and relearn their senses. And I think also, to grieve.” He says in a low, careful voice, watching her face as she bit her lip. “It is not an easy thing, losing something so life altering.”

He points at the happy, playing wolf. “But they do come back, with encouragement. That one has had about a year with his new body, and now you could hardly tell. Sometimes he itches at it, or favors the leg a tad. But he is him again.” Leman says softly. “And the survivors, they come back even more driven. I think getting that second chance pushes them.”

It takes a lot of effort to swallow down her emotions this time, eyes wetting threateningly. She grips the knee of her pants on her bionic side. The primarch gives a small smile down at her. “How long have you had yours, little paper-thrall?”

She takes a steadying breath. “About… About a year. Year and a half.” She rasps quietly.

Leman gives her a firm pat on her back, making her have to stumble and balance herself. She looks up at him in surprised, brow knit in confusion.

“About time you get back to it then, right, little paper-thrall?” He says with a warm, fanged smile.

#wh40k #warhammer 40k #wh40k fanfic #my work #leman russ #Leman russ x F!oc #Leman russ x oc #Wolf mother fic #Space wolves

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scriberye · 4 months ago

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🔞 For Glory: Leman Russ

───────────────────────────────── LEMAN RUSS x F!OC ⚠️🔞 Rough Sex, Cunnilingus, Predator/Prey, Mild Violence Leman Russ goes on a mating hunt. a/n: ástarpungur literally means 'love' + 'ballsack'. It's both a dessert and something you can call a male partner.

Under the light of the moon, Leman Russ prowled through an icy forest. His breath steamed in the frigid air. He heard every crack of ice, and the distant calls of beasts that roamed Fenris, but it was not what he hunted tonight, but a far more elusive prey — a mate.

A huntress from a smaller tribe. Rumors spread like wildfire of her skill, eventually reaching his ears. It was thanks to her that her people survived this long, or else they’d have died off long ago. And she had eluded Russ for days now. Every time he thought he had her, she would escape, leaving him empty-handed. It both infuriated and intrigued him.

Russ paused amongst the trees and inhaled deeply, the chill burning his lungs, and he caught her scent — delicate and sweet, mingled with the musk of sweat and arousal. His cock throbbed painfully. This mating hunt would end tonight.

With a growl, he pressed on, following the lingering trail she left. He knew she was near; the scent was fresh. The wind shifted, and he caught her scent again, stronger this time, and he turned toward it, moving quickly and as quietly as he could. Patience was the key, he learned. A figure moved ahead of him, and every sense came alive, alight with the thrill of the hunt. Russ gave chase. The towering trees covered in snow blurred around him, his attention focused solely on his prey.

He could hear her heart racing.

Branches whipped past as he barreled through, closing the gap between them.

Then she was gone.

Russ skidded to a stop, snarling as he searched the area. He moved slowly, a predator circling around a large tree as he pushed his senses. Her footprints stopped here. A branch creaked, and powdery snow drifted down in front of him. Russ jerked his head back and looked up just in time to be blinded by a snowball to the face. The icy shock made him sputter, shaking his head furiously.

Her laughter filled the air, echoing through the forest. She stood overhead, balanced on a branch, her eyes alight with mischief. The moonlight danced off her hair, tied back into braids to keep it from her face.

“Well, well, ástarpungur! We finally meet!” she called to him. “You seem a bit blue tonight, but it’s a bit hard to tell from up here.” She squinted, forming a circle with her fingers and holding it up to her eye like a spyglass.

Russ let out a deep and wild laugh. Oh, he liked her spirit! He grabbed his crotch and grinned up at her. “I’ve got your ástarpungur right here!” he roared as he squeezed himself, a brief relief for his straining erection. “Come down and I’ll let you try some!”

“A tempting offer,” she purred.

Her scent hit him anew, heady and intoxicating — primal and her arousal was unmistakable now. Russ inhaled deeply, eyes briefly closing as he savored the smell. She called to him and the beast in him answered. His eyes snapped opened, darkened with desire.

“Come, little huntress,” he licked his lips, his voice thick with need. “I intend to make you mine.”

Without warning, she leapt from the tree. Her hunting knife flashed in the moon’s light as she crashed into him. Russ reacted instinctively, effortlessly catching her mid-air and pinning her to his chest. She struggled against him, twisting and turning as she tried to break free, hissing like a feral cat. Russ held firm, unphased when the blade swiped dangerously close to his neck.

“Yield,” he growled.

It only made her resist all the more. Then, slowly, she gave in, her energy drained. His grip on her loosened, and in one smooth motion, he threw her over his shoulder with a triumphant grin. She gasped, more surprised than anything else. Russ carried her through the forest and to the cave he had been camping out in for these past few days.

The cave was a sanctuary. A fire roared brightly inside, safe and sheltered from the snow, filling the cave with warmth. The aroma of roasted meat lingered in the air, mixed with the distinctive masculine smell of Leman Russ.

Furs were spread out over the ground, forming a cozy nest over the stone and dirt.

He set her down on the furs by the fire. As the heat seeped into their bones, chasing away the chill of the Fenrisian night, they undressed. It was a mating hunt, and they both knew what was to come at this point.

Russ shed his armor, piece by piece, setting aside the battle-worn and scarred ceramite, revealing the black body suit beneath. He peeled it from his skin, revealing the powerful physique beneath and the myriad of scars that etched his skin.

She watched him, her eyes tracing the contours of his form, her cheeks burned. He was impressive to behold, and it made her clench her thighs together. By the end of the night, he would be hers, as much as she would be his.

“See something you like?” he asked. His grin was broad, the fire’s light glinting off sharp canines. Caught, she looked away with an embarrassed huff, shifting her focus back to undressing herself.

Russ laughed and moved to stand behind her. “Let me help,” he offered. He took hold of the hem of her tunic and lifted it up and over her head. She shivered, her bare skin exposed to the cool air. She resisted the urge to cover her breasts with her arms.

“Last chance, little huntress,” Russ murmured, his large hands settling at her waist. He leaned low, pressing his lips against her throat. “Speak now, and I’ll let you go.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, and she turned to face him, her hand coming to rest against the fine hairs on his chest. “Your hunt was successful. I’m yours to take.”

Russ captured her lips in a fierce kiss, chasing after her as she sank down onto the furs and laid back.

Rough, calloused hands gripped her legs and spread them wide, exposing her most intimate part to his hungry gaze. And Russ wasted no time diving in, lapping at her folds like a man starved. He’d been craving her for days. His coarse bread scratched at her skin, and she gasped.

She shuddered and arched her back, offering more of herself to him. His tongue flicked out, tracing over her slit before delving between to tease her clit. He circled the swollen nub with his tongue, before pulling back to flick his tongue over it.

“O-Oh! Leman!” she gasped, breathless, reaching down to grab fistfuls of his hair and grind her hips against his face.

He groaned, muffling a laugh against her. He slipped a finger into her, curling it, seeking a spot that he knew would make her wild. And he knew he found it when she squealed and kicked a heel into his back.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” she begged. And Russ was all too happy to oblige her. He increased his pace, his tongue flicking over her clit, thrusting his finger in and out of her wet cunt. It was too much, and she screamed, her body convulsing and tensing as she soaked his tongue with her orgasm.

Russ pulled away and looked her over, licking her taste from his lips. She was beautiful, laying back against his furs, sweaty and satisfied — and all his now. He gripped her hips and flipped her over onto her stomach. She laughed breathlessly and raised her hips, swinging them tantalizing at him.

“Oh, you’ve teased me enough, elskan mín.” Russ’s lips curled into a grin as he hovered over her, braced on his hands and knees, engulfing her much smaller form. He rocked his hips forward, his thick, swollen cock slipping against her folds before she reached between them, lining him up with her cunt.

“Good girl,” he groaned, sinking himself into her until no more could fit. His cock stretched her to the brink, and he held still for a moment, giving her time to adjust to his considerable size before pulling back and thrusting back into her with a wet squelch.

This time she was ready, and she moaned, raising her hips to meet him, silently urging him on. And that was all Russ needed to let himself go. With a feral growl, he fucked her like a wild beast in heat. He pounded his cock into her with unrelenting force.

Her breath came out in bouncing, shallow gasps with each deep, piercing thrust, echoing off the walls of the cave. She screams his name and dug her fingers into his wrists, thrusting back against him with an equal desperation.

Russ pressed down over her, leaning forward onto his forearm and reached beneath them. He squeezed her breasts before sliding down between her legs, pressing his fingers against her clit and rubbing it in tight, rapid circles. It was enough to push her over the edge and she came with a hoarse scream, her body quivering.

The flutter of her cunt around his cock was enough to send him as well. With a loud, feral roar, he thrust into her with one last, vicious thrust. The head of his cock pressed deep as he pulsed inside of her, filling her with his cum.

With a satisfied sigh, she slid off his cock and settled onto the furs beneath, shifting uncomfortably as a gush of cum leaked out of her used cunt. “That was amazing,” she said with a grin, looking up at him. Russ smiled back, his eyes filled with pride and lust. He laid on his side beside her, running his hand over her back until he reached her rear and squeezed.

“Good,” he lowered himself down and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Rest, the night is still young and you’ll need your strength.”

She returned the kiss happily and snuggled close, feeling content and safe. Russ wrapped her up in his arms, content for now to hold her and bask in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

#warhammer #leman russ #leman russ x oc #round two of me trying to write smut in the third person #series: for glory #wh30k

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