#lorgar x oc

[nightscythe]

v. appetence

→ lorgar aurelian x astreya [oc, she/her]  → 5.5k, nsfw 18+ (but no smut?), tw its literally spiritual abuse, if you call it that, and pretty heretical → pre-heresy (on his pilgrimage thing), lorgar gets a lesson in devotion from the evil spawn of erebus and kor phaeron

“Have you ever knelt without expecting something in return?” she asks. He looks up to her. His silence is enough of an answer. “True devotion, my beloved, is surrender. To give yourself up fully, without condition. To not expect. Can you do that?”

Yes. He can. He wants to tell her he can. Though his tongue refuses a lie. His hesitation again is his answer. She nods, slowly. 

She tries to take a step back, but he stops her. His fingers wrap around her lower arm, stopping her from abandoning him. He looks to her, eyes wide and glassy. “No…”

“You are not worthy of me yet.” She removes his hand from her arm. Her lips ghost his knuckles, soft, reverent. 

And then she lets go. 

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Another hour passes. 

Another hour wasted. 

Another endless passage of time that drives him to the brink of insanity. Torment fills every crevasse, every aspect of life he had ever known. His father. His failures. His desperation for meaning. The walls of his chamber close in, suffocating, thick with the scent of burning incense. 

His mind is restless. He is plagued by thoughts he cannot silence.  

Her. 

Lorgar has not slept in days. His mind was restless, thoughts plagued with her. Astreya. Not his Father. Her voice lingers in his mind, unbidden. The words that leave her soft lips, taunting him lip the scripture he bowed to every day, yet offering him so much more. 

The candles in his chamber burn low. Shadows stretch long across the floor, disrupted by the flickering of the flames. His hands are clasped before him on the desk, eyes staring down at the scripture which had remained unwritten for… days. Longer than he can remember. 

Her presence should not be so welcome in his thoughts. His burden should be his father. Faith. The mission that consumed every fibre of his being – just until he had laid his eyes on her. A servant so faithful, so devoted, that it consumed him. 

He looks up to the door before a sound is even made. He knew. She was the other side of his door. She should not be welcomed into his privacy. She should be turned away as any other person is. 

Then a knock at the door leads his voice to betray him. Intoxicated. Addicted. His breath is low as the words leave his lips. “Enter.”

She does as he asks. The door is opened slowly, Astreya’s figure hidden so delicately behind. She wore black silks down her arms, robes draped over each curve of her body, shadows decorating any bare skin. She gives him one nod. 

“I felt you call to me,” she says, taking the step into his chamber with confidence. Her lips curl into a smile, slow yet knowing, and she gazes over to him with the foresight he so badly wished to have as well. “I am here, my prophet.”

Lorgar hesitates. Had he called for her? Had she felt it? Or was his yearning so obvious, so unholy, that it bled into reality? Oh, his need to satiate his fixation was worse than ever. At first it was stolen glances. Then it was words. Now, everything. 

“You hesitate,” she comments, stepping closer to him. He expects her to stop where others do. Pay him the respect of a primarch. Yet she moves closer to him; too close. He should move away from her. Maintain distance. Yet, he remains still. 

She leans over the desk, palms disturbing the flood of pages with scribbled words and endless meaning. Her eyes catch the candlelight, and the flame burns so unnaturally in its reflection. She doesn’t even look him in the eyes – her focus moves down to the unfinished writing below him. 

“You doubt,” she states, voice little more than a murmur. The tip of her left finger draws over his words, but she is not reading. Her eyes trail down the paper, to his robe covered torso, then up to his face. She meets his eyes, and he cannot breathe. “You seek something your father will never give you.”

Lorgar’s breath catches in this throat. She saw him. She saw straight through him. His fingers tremble beneath her watchful gaze, and she smiles as though she noticed. For so long he had tried to ignore her. She was not faith. She was not divinity. Yet, she was what he wanted. 

And tonight, she would not let him ignore her any longer. 

His breaths are barely there. He can taste the bitter incense weaved behind everything that reminded him of her. Every sense. Every feeling. Anything that kept his sanity, she had set alight with the flame of the darkness he wished to understand. 

Then, she burned it all around him. 

She leans into him, pausing first when her lips are parallel to his cheek, then stopping when her lips ghost his ear. He can feel her soft, warm breath on his skin. She leaves a whisper knocking on his thoughts. “When you are ready to learn, you know where I will be.”

And she was gone. 

The door closes behind her, yet she was still there. Her scent, bergamot, blood, it lingers in the air. He watches the door as if she would return to him, but she does not. He’s alone with his thoughts, and things were not the same. 

He looks down to the sheets on his desk. He tries to finishing writing, but his hands shake as he tries to put the ink to paper, fingers unable to perform such a simple task. His thoughts are simple, yet so loud. Astreya. Astreya. 

He looks up again, slowly this time, though notices something new on his desk. A piece of the black veil that covered her hair lays forgotten on the edge. A scrap of fabric to be discarded, repaired maybe. He should leave it. Ask a servant to take it to her tomorrow. 

He should not touch it. He should not grasp it between his fingers and lift it to his lips. He should not press it to his skin, feel it against his skin. He should not close his eyes and inhale deeply – memorizing her, intoxicated by her, devouring her presence in the only way he can.

But he does. Shamelessly. Pathetically. He holds it for far too long. His body betrays him, one more time.

The shadows mock him. This is not longing. This is not poison. This is not… 

This is a lesson. She will teach him. He will understand. 

She is with him for a reason. He could not escape her. It was a gift to him, for his true dedication. She would teach him, sweetly, thoroughly… with that saccharine venom she wore so well. 

But the agony of wait would be too much. 

He falls to his knees, trying to focus, to drown out her presence with his Father’s name, with the holy scripture he clung too. His salvation would be his consecration. Yet her name is echoed in every other word. He whispers a shadow of his own voice. Her touch still nearby. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sleep never reached him. 

He prayed, endlessly, emptily. Forced words of his Father broken by her voice that cut through. She spoke over his prayers. She spoke to him. 

Instead of a bed, he made his way to the chapel. One place he thought he could find silence. As he walked, he avoided the mirrors, the pools of water, afraid to look inside and see her reflection behind him. His knees felt weak. His mind… broken.

As dawn had broken, he forced more prayer. He knelt at the shrine to his Father, to the Emperor, his hands clasped as he whispered verse after verse. You hesitate. You doubt. It was as though she stood beside him, whispering to him then. He looks around, like a mouse aware of the cat that stalked it, hoping to find her eyes looking back him. He never did. 

You seek something your father will never give you. 

It was the final straw. He had left the chapel before his prayers were ever finished. His Father was not the answer. 

But everywhere he looked, he saw her. 

The priestess who passed him in the halls, dressed in robes that covered all parts of her. He had stopped to look at her, his mind believing it was her. Her robes brushed against the floor just as Astreya’s did. 

A whisper between maids. They wait for instruction, talking amongst themselves. A laugh – that was what caught him finally. He looks to the group, shocking them into silence. He searches their innocent faces, hoping to see her. Though it was her voice. Her laugh. He knew the very sound. It was unmistakable, yet she was not there. 

His warriors address him, their words on empty ears. His First Chaplin and his First Captain, they must have known. He could tell. He could see it in their eyes, they mocked him as well. 

He would find himself walking, just to pass the time until nightfall. The grand halls, the temples, the sanctuaries of his own making. It all felt empty. It was all absent of her presence, but he still felt her on him. 

He finds himself in a room, cursed with darkness due to a lack of daylight. The room was used for sinners. Nonbelievers. Silence. He certainly felt it there, creeping over his senses, reminding him that he was alone. He no longer heard her voice, or felt her with him. 

And it felt worse.

He stood in the middle of the room, embracing the darkness. His fingers clutch the piece of veil left with him, hidden in his pocket for the day as though he was humiliated by something so small, and it felt like it shackled him in place. He spoke her words now. That he was hesitating, he doubted, he wanted something his father could no give him. A prophecy yet to be fulfilled. 

He closes his eyes, telling himself to stop. To forget. He can cast her from his thoughts, return to the path of faith, no longer accept what she may be to him. He did not need her. He did not have any use for her. She was another pawn in a game of faith, a test to him, to his piety. 

He speaks her name. 

Soft. Barely a breath. As the syllables leave his lips, he knows. 

“Astreya.”

He lingers on each sound, the shape of her name rolling over his tongue like a prayer he was never meant to utter. Forbidden scripture, knowledge, something beyond him. The beginning of the end. 

It feels like devotion. It feels like ruin.

He says it again. 

And again. 

Every repetition binds him to her. A silent admittance of the truth. She had overcome him. Conquered him. Owns him. 

The silence that follows is deafening. Nothingness. In the absence of sound, the hairs on his body stand on end, nerves on edge for the slightest thing. She is not there, yet she stands behind him. A ghost, one that watches, waits, comes so close to touching him. 

His grip on the veil tightens. I need to see her. I need to hear her. I need…

He doesn’t finish his thought. His eyes go back to the door, broken and old, and it’s almost broken from the force he opens it with. It slams against the wall, startling whoever walked the halls. They make way for him as he takes each step. 

He returns to his chambers, breathing deeply. He tries to clear his mind. Cleanse himself of the madness. He could not be broken so easily. Chained by the yearning he knew little about. He thought he could erase her memory without consequence. He would return to her, under his terms, under his control. He would not linger. He would not crave her. 

The moment he returns to his room he is met with the same incense as last night. A subtle reminder that he had already broken. 

He looks down at the fabric between his fingers. He lifts it up, though stops the moment he smells her again. Another deep breath to clear his mind, or to drink her in once more. 

His fingers unclench from the fabric. He sets it down on his desk, smoothing over the material with slow, deliberate movements, until it lay flat yet creased on the stone. He turns back to the door, but then he hesitates. Just for a moment. Only a brief pause. The smallest indulgence. 

His fingers twitch. He looks back over his shoulder, as if yearning to reclaim what he has just put down. He steps forward and breathes. His hands are forced into fists at his side as he tells himself his own truth. What he wanted to hear. 

He would never speak her name in the dark again. He would not desire her. He would go to her, learn from her in the ways faith had promised him, and he would be free of this. He is in control. He is… pretending. No. No. 

He does not think anymore. His thoughts betray him like his body and his words. Poisoned, tainted. He could not trust himself. He could trust her. He no longer hesitates or doubts. He does not consider what this means. He just moves. 

His feet carry him from his chamber, faster than they should. He does not run, but it was close. The halls blur around him, the golden light casted through stained glass casting shadows across his path. Like a man possessed, he hunts for her chamber, the room he had given her yet scarcely visited, knowing that she waits for him at the end. 

She can explain this. She can tell him what it all means. She can make his thoughts orderly once more, she can cleanse the need he felt deep within. 

She can remind him that this is all a lie. 

The door is already ajar. 

Another voice, another soul inside. The sight of his First Captain embellishes his eyes. Kor Phaeron steps out from behind the door, his smirk sharper than usual. He smoothes over the fabric of his robes, creased and tattered like they had been thrown aside. Lorgar meets his eyes, but the First Captain does not move. 

Lorgar walks straight past him. He can see the smirk. He can feel the scrutiny, the unspoken amusement from his gaze. But he does not care. He doesn’t acknowledge him. He does not falter. He just moves. 

She sits inside. Candles burn at every corner of the room. She had been waiting for him. 

Of course she had. He did not need a purpose to be here. She served him. She was his disciple. She was everything he needed. He does not even greet her, but neither does she. Astreya only watches, a knowing smile curling at the edge of her lips. She does not rise. She does not move. 

“You knew I would come.” He stands before her, breathing ragged, his hands clenched at his side. For the first time in days, he felt measured. Controlled. “This is your doing?”

Her head tilts softly to the side. The flame of a candle flickers in her eye, taunting him with her own amusement. Before he can repeat his words, affirm this time, she finally rises. She’s slow, like a tiger after a meal. Not a care for him or his troubles. 

She stalks closer to him. Then, she’s too close. He feels his breath catch in his throat. She reaches out to him, the tips of her fingers ghosting the barest fraction above his skin, though never quite touching. 

He does not move. He does not breath. Lorgar cannot do either. 

And then, contact.

She touches his burning skin. Just the lightest graze. Her fingertips brush against his palm. The smallest of offerings to him, yet he reacts instantly. He inhales too sharply. His hand twitches beneath her touch. He had waited for what felt like millennia; for her words, her touch, her. 

“My beloved,” she whispers to him. Her words hit like the fiercest lightning strike. Haunting. His throat is dry. His body betrays him once more. He can barely suppress the urge to grasp her wrist, to demand more, to force her to give him what he now knows he cannot live without. 

She moves her hand up to his chest. It rises and falls too quickly. His mind races too fast. Then, she touches him once more, just her hand, just the weight of her palm against his skin. 

And it undoes him.

His knees hit the floor. The stone may as well have crushed beneath his weight. He does not even realise he has fallen until the candlelight shifts, until he sees her eyes above him, watching his every breath. He is desperate. He is done. 

He holds her eyes for less than a second, breath leaving him as he falls towards her. He rests his forehead against her stomach, bare from the usual robes she wore. As his eyes fall shut, he breathes in every piece of her, unable to think of anything more. 

She is warmth. She is salvation. She is suffering incarnate. 

He feels her fingers on his scalp, nails just scratching the skin, though he can’t be sure. The tattoos and scar had left him numb. His body shudders with every millimetre she moves. Then, she stops. 

“Do not kneel,” she says. Her voice is soft, commanding. He doesn’t look up to her until he feels her hands on either side of his face, cradling his cheeks to move him away from her. She lowers herself before him, kneeling so they are both level. He is not below her. Not beneath her. “Do not kneel, my king.”

As she moves her hands away, he feels the loss of her touch like a wound. Though they are sooner replaced, her fingertips moving slowly across his skin. She follows the inked words, the scared lines that stretch over his skin. First his thighs, then his stomach, then his chest. His godhood, marked on his skin. 

He closes his eyes when she reaches his heart. A single breath is exhaled, body shaking without restraint. He can’t bear to look. To see what may disappear. For this not to be real. He must confirm for himself. He has to surrender. 

His hand rises before he can think to stop it. His palm is placed on her waist. One single touch on her. One single act of need. 

“My beloved,” she repeats her earlier words. Lorgar’s jaw tightens. She leans closer to him, and he feels his grip on her waist tightening. He can feel her breath on his skin, her lips ghosting his throat, this jaw, hovering over his own. 

He could take her. She would let him. He knows she would let him. 

His hand slides lower, following the natural curve of her body until his fingers press into the small of her back. He urges her closer, silently, and she moves willingly. 

Their eyes are fixed as she crawls forward. Though her head is tilted, lips open as though she has words left unsaid, she remains silence. She shifts her body until she almost straddles his thighs. Almost wishes him to move his hand down lower. Their faces are less than an inch apart. Her lips are right there. 

He does not question anymore. He is past that. She moves closer, and his thoughts abandon reason – this is it. The surrender. The moment he has longed for. He will know her.

Then, her lips part, and his ruin follows. “You are not ready.” 

His breath falters. His soul feels shattered at her very words. 

He is so close. 

He does not move. He does not force her hand. But, he doesn’t let her go. She would not give him what he craved. He almost says her name, almost begs. She pulls away so slowly that her warmth still lingers in the air. A smile graces her lips. Anger is somewhere within him. 

Before she disappears entirely, she stops. He parts his lips to speak – to plead – but  she silences him with two fingers pressed against his mouth. A cruel imitation of what he truly wanted.

With the softest whisper, she speaks to him. “Tomorrow, I will teach you devotion.”

She is gone before he can stop her. The air is thick with incense and something else – his own devastation. His fingers twitch at his sides, his nails nearly biting into his palms. He had not even realised he had been holding his breath until it escapes him in a silent, broken exhale.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He doesn’t recall the moment that slumber had finally found him. 

It was not rest, it was exhaustion. His mind still felt tempestuous as his eyes fell open. The floor was cold, yet his skin burned. Wished. Yearned. He inhaled sharply, still grasping what was left of her scent in the air, desperate to hold onto anything of her before it faded. Before she was gone. 

It offers no relief. He still aches. Still yearns. His hands press weakly against the stone as he tries to rise, but his strength is gone. His body is leaden, his mind ablaze. Across from him is the desk she had originally found him at, staring back at him in despair. Behind, a mirror, a vanity piece he had been told to not remove by his counsel. He can see her in it. She had left him, not truly. 

I will teach you devotion. The words burn inside him. Tattooed on each of his organs, on his soul. Over and over, they repeat. His first prayer, his only prayer for that day. 

He keeps his silence. 

The day is long, longer than any other. He does not speak of the night before, even with the mocking smirk of his First Captain. He knew. Lorgar would not speak, but he could not say the same for others. He did not dare utter a single word. 

They talk around him, his most devout warriors, the others sent to watch over him by his Father. Men who had given their lives to follow him were at his beckoned call. Ready. Willing. Waiting. 

But his thoughts were so far from them. Not a man had occupied his mind in days. Not even his father. 

No, it was her. His thoughts were with her. 

He feels her with him. A ghost, a spirit, it sits with him. Embraces him. He looks down at his arm as though he would see her there, but nothing meets his gaze. As his eyes fall back to the table, the endless books that he had written, he falls trap to it again. 

Her breath. Her touch. The weight of her in his lap. Her warmth. Her. She was so close to him. Her lips, then her fingers, then her promise. I will teach you.

His breathing hitches. The room around him falls silent, all eyes turning towards him. Did they hear it? Did they see him? Did they understand?

“My Lord?” a voice asks, curious yet reserved. 

Lorgar’s breathing stills. He looks up to the council around him, meeting the eyes of his men. They do not question him in that moment. “Continue.”

He had not looked back to any of them. He thought the table was the only witness to his humiliation, his suffering. The truth was, they all saw, and they all noticed the unspoken tension within him. Something held him back. Something was happening. 

The day felt endless. Words trailed beyond comprehension, the twisted vault of his mind possessing him. It dragged like a knife across raw flesh. All over his body, everywhere her finger had traced his skin. 

I will teach you devotion. 

His thoughts return as he stands in his favoured temple. He looks around, seeing the faces of his most devoted followers, his loyal disciples. His fists clench at his side as he finds his First Chaplain amongst them. Beside him, she stands tall. 

She listens to the sermons, something he should be doing too. She watches his every move, as if he didn’t do the same back to her. He feels the warmth of her body. The press of her fingers to his lips. It’s unbearable. She’s so close. She’s right there. 

He sees it. An invitation. A small smile as their eyes meet. It is not a smirk, nor a grin. Something knowing. Amused. She didn’t watch him as her prophet. Not as a believer in his word. This was something else entirely. His temptation; his tormentor. 

He takes a breath as he moves to step towards her. Quicker than others, she shakes her head. Not yet. 

He endures. He burns. He waits. 

He forces himself to suffer in silence, following her will above all else. He does not know how long he stands there. Time had been forced to nothing more than a crawl. Minutes feel like years. The sermon is not something he can tune into any longer. He only thinks of her words. His first prayer. Her body. Her voice. His mission is no longer what it was before, his faith has been changed in a way that others could not understand. 

He listens. He learns. He does not move toward her again. Obedient, listening to her every word. 

The second dusk had fallen, he no longer hesitates. His duties are discarded. He moves once again. He would think the very will of god had transported him in front of her, for he did not remember a second of it. To her. To his salvation. To his suffering. 

To his obsession. 

She is waiting. Of course she is. She is always waiting. 

“My dearest Lorgar,” she says softly, inviting him into the darkness that surrounded her, “it’s time for your lesson.”

Tonight, she will teach him devotion – and Lorgar Aurelian will never be the same again. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The door closes behind him. He tries to look around, see who had disturbed them, but she’s there already. The tips of her fingers creep up his cheek to stop him from looking. To keep his eyes on her. 

“You must concentrate, my prophet,” she says. Their eyes meet, the darkness of her eyes contrasting his own. He nods, gently, barely moving. Her hand drops to her side. His breath quivers unknowingly. “You will learn.”

He feels his hands reach for her, though she catches his wrists with the barest touch. Her grip is so loose, yet he feels bound to her, unable to move, unable to breath. His body trembles as he waits for more. Yet all she does is watch. She forces him to told still as she considers him, eyes gazing over his body, examining his very being, like he was little more than an offering to the Gods. 

“You are desperate,” she finally states, meeting his eyes again. She moves her hand to his chest once more. Her nail edges over his collarbone, then down the centre of his chest. “Do you even know what you are asking for?”

“Tell me,” he pleads, “teach me.”

She hums. “My beloved, you know this. Devotion requires suffering. Worship demands sacrifice. You must endure.”

She strokes his cheek, watches as he shivers beneath her touch. His body aches. Yearning. Needing. He tilts his head into her touch, eyes falling closed as her name leaves his lips. Then once more, and again. 

“You will be rewarded,” she whispers, voice beside his ear. His eyes dart open. She’s right there. Their skin almost touches. Then, it does. Softly, just at the corner of his lips, she presses a kiss to him. She watches him, lips gapped as her eyes flicker down to his own. “My dearest Lorgar. My prophet. My fallen star.”

She takes a step back from him an turns to face the other way. He can’t move, but his eyes watch. Beg. His voice barely breaks a whisper. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to be what you want.”

“To suffer is to prove devotion.” His own words sound twisted in her voice. She turns back to him, not looking away from his eyes. “What is it you need?”

“You.”

“And we must learn humility before we may ascend.” Her words are accompanied by her hands reaching to her shoulders. The drape of material is pushed off the edge. Beneath, her skin lays bare. His breath catches in his throat as her body is revealed. He shifts, ever so slightly, ready to move. “No. Do not move.”

His nostrils flare, feet planted back on the ground. He watches. His hands twitch. Her body, naked beneath, calls out to him. Begs for his touch. Wants to be his. Her watchful eye does not allow him to move. He will not be unworthy. He will not be weak. 

“This is not your reward, my prophet,” she says gently. The robes meshed into a skirt are discarded. One step towards him, then another. She’s almost within touching distance. “No, I am your test. Your suffering, to prove your devotion.”

He wants to beg. Scream. Take. Demand. Claim every part of her. It would all be his. It could all be his. But he cannot bring himself to move. 

“Until now, you knelt at the feet of a false god.” She steps towards him again. Her hand is on his cheek again, thumb tracing a line over a healed wound. “Not today. Not again.”

He understands. He feels her request. He makes sure her touch does not desert him as he moves to his knees before her. His eyes begin to tear. He leans towards her, reminiscent of the night before. His forehead reaches her stomach, pressing against it as he murmurs her name. Any other word is twisted until it sounds like her name. 

“Have you ever knelt without expecting something in return?” she asks. He looks up to her. His silence is enough of an answer. “True devotion, my beloved, is surrender. To give yourself up fully, without condition. To not expect. Can you do that?”

Yes. He can. He wants to tell her he can. Though his tongue refuses a lie. His hesitation again is his answer. She nods, slowly. 

She tries to take a step back, but he stops her. His fingers wrap around her lower arm, stopping her from abandoning him. He looks to her, eyes wide and glassy. “No…”

“You are not worthy of me yet.” She removes his hand from her arm. Her lips ghost his knuckles, soft, reverent. 

And then she lets go. 

His fingers shake. Plead him. Beg him to reach for her again. To feel more. Have her again. But she is already out of reach. “You have not prayed like this before.”

“Please.” His words are soft. Broken. Desperate. He sinks closer to the ground. “You cannot leave me like this.”

Her features remain still. The candles burn out behind her, shadows cast across her face. “You do not command me, my beloved.”

“We must give ourselves fully to faith.” His hands ball into fists on his thighs. Every part of his body throbs. Aches. He notices her intrigue. She steps back to him. He looks down her body. Scars, tattoos, her own devotion. She knows. She understands. He lets his hands go, holding his palms upwards on his thighs. “I give myself to you. I offer myself to you.”

Her head tilts. The smile she wears is full of amusement. She reaches behind her head, pulling something away from her hair to allow it to fall by her sides. It sways behind her as she walks. She stops before him again, sinking to the ground so their knees are centimetres apart.

She does not speak. She reaches for his palm, holds it in her own hand for a moment. His breathing is heavy, suffocating the room around them. Another candle dims behind her. She traces down the lines of his palm, waiting. Expecting. Requiring. She does not move. Not yet. 

Lorgar realises. He makes sure her eyes are on his when he speaks. His voice is raw, hoarse, barely above a whisper. As he speaks, she moves towards him. “…Can I? Please?”

She pulls back from him. Deep at the pit of his stomach, he feels a burn. Agony. The tips of her fingers drag across his arm, up to his throat. Tense, hot, he feels her nails press into his skin. She traces his pulse, dull pain throbbing through his body as she reaches his jaw and turns him to look at her. She presses harder as she speaks. “Again. Slowly.”

“Please.” He follows her command. Each syllable is sounded correctly. Each repition strips him further. His breath stutters. His chest pounds. She watches, unblinking, uncaring as he unravels at her feet. “Please. Please.”

Astreya stops. She lets go of him, though her warmth still radiates around him. A pause, not unnatural, has his blood run cold for the shortest moment. Then he feels it. A flicker of hope. A reminder. She is mine. I can have her. I will have all of her. I… am hers. 

She smiles. She leans in, her lips brushing against his ear. “Now… you understand.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

a/n: I am very sorry but I wanted him to suffer – and suffer he did. would very happily do a part 2 continuing, I think you know what happens next but... what an interesting read. anyway, hope you enjoyed!! :) excuse any mistakes pls...

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

His Moon

Summary: Horus learns that Lorgar has a daughter. The thought of his own child takes over his mind.

Horus/fem!OC, Emperor and Lorgar's daughter (OC, platonic), Lorgar/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, kidnapping

Word count: 1002

Song: The Cure - Lullaby

This fic was born because of this beautiful post.

The Warmaster looks at one of the many contracts and freezes, unable to sign. Memories of brighter days on Terra capture Horus. The primarch simply cannot, cannot sit behind the documents. The title of Warmaster weighs heavily on his shoulders. The responsibility of continuing the Crusade as a leader weighs heavily. He wants simple human affection.

Horus loved his sons. Everyone was dear to him, especially the members of Mournival. Yet they were war machines. Perhaps much better than ordinary people, but the primarch was connected to them only by gene-seed. Pure science and controlled selection.

It was not the same as the childhood of the primarch himself. When his Father taught him astronomy, the art of war and told him stories of the past. It’s an unforgettable feeling to look at the man in front of you and listen to his every word. While you yourself are still a boy who has not seen the world and has not known its taste.

Neither brother could understand Horus. Couldn't take the place of the Emperor's favorite son. Because that's how it was. The Warmaster was found before anyone else - and therefore Terra is not just a home by name. No matter how hard some of them, especially Lorgar, tried to earn the Emperor's love. All their attempts were doomed to failure.

Even worse, the primarch of the Word Bearers had caused real anger with his behavior. Horus thought that everything would end with the burning of the Monarchy. Until he was told interesting news. Lorgar had a wife. One of the civilians of Colchis, with whom he... fell in love. And he took her to himself. But that was not all.

She was pregnant with the primarch's child.

Something clicked in the Warmaster’s head and he decided to visit the Imperial Palace. Discuss new trade routes, diplomatic meetings, military tactics. Horus did not want to show his excitement. But he so wanted to see a new life. From his primarch blood.

***

“Her name is Erda.” - The Emperor cooed over the cradle with a toy in his hands. A sight unusual even for Horus. - “Unlike all of you, she grows much slower. Even than an ordinary person. But this has its own joy. She will stay this small longer. Isn’t she a beauty, my son?”

It is difficult to discourage a primarch. But little Erda did it. Unfortunately for Lorgar, his daughter will remain on Terra with the Emperor forever. Daughter. Horus says the word again in his mind, tasting it. It sounded like family; love is hidden behind this word.

She is very small, half asleep, but still carefully watches the wooden horse that her current father carved. The girl was bathed in love from birth. And although she was surrounded by the gold of Terra, her lullaby, soft blankets and toys emitted a moderate light. Gentle. Almost lunar.

The girl reaches out and grabs the horse. Smart eyes wait expectantly for some action. Until the Emperor, with a smile that even Horus has not seen, begins to squeeze her. Erda bursts into laughter - the most beautiful melody the Warmaster has ever heard.

"Yes. She's a beauty."

 And Horus can't help but want to take her. But she is still not his child.

***

There is a stir in the chambers and Horus looks up. A smile spreads across his face by itself. The serf girl cleaned his armor with zeal, wanting to scrub away the hardened dirt. The primarch liked best when it was she who looked after his armor and cleaned his room.

At first, the primarch thought that the reason was that she was the best at performing her simple duties. But no, other serfs did a better job. The man had to admit that he simply enjoyed her company. She was nice. A pretty and kind girl - her quiet presence was calming.

Everyone had to look at him with adoration. The Warmaster deserved it. And the serf was no exception, but her devotion was more tender. As if she was always nearby, as if it should be so. If Horus had any tempting thoughts, he suppressed them.

But now... they came out again, taking over his mind. Lorgar was not afraid to admit that he had fallen in love. He lost his wife only because he was terrible at his duties. His pathetic brother incurred the wrath of the Emperor only because he could not renounce the senseless traditions of Colchis.

But Horus was the favorite son. Horus was the best among his brothers, a magnificent warrior and politician. Everyone loved him and everyone wanted to please him. It was not for nothing that his Father gave him the title of Warmaster. The primarch worked as hard as he could, couldn't he take some nice little liberties?

The girl stops and looks sharply at the primarch. Apparently she felt someone else's gaze. Horus can't help but stare at the way her cheeks grow warm and her hands clutch the rag to her chest. So fragile and tender compared to him. She needs only the best care. Especially when her belly will be filled with new life.

"My Lord?"

Even though she is a serf, Horus wants to do everything right. The girl was already amazed by the primarch’s aura. There was no point in putting pressure on her or forcing her to do anything. A man could be a Warmaster not only on the battlefield, but also in romance.

And he really wanted to win such a little heart. Besides, then Horus will have a story for their child about how he met his mother. Omitting details about the imbalance of power.

“Have you ever thought about becoming a mother?”

The last word permeates the entire essence of Horus and he can barely restrain his carnivorous smile. Soon, very soon, his Luna Wolves will be holding a little brother or sister in their arms. It just needs to wait.

And then a lullaby will also appear in his chambers.

[theoreticalfishsticks]

I love all of the Primarch children content people make, especially the discussions about how potentially horrific the pregnancy would be for the baseline mother, and I wanted add my own little spin on it. So here's the pitch:

What if they weren't perfect? What if, instead of superhuman demigods like their father - or even a normal, healthy baseline like their mother - the Primarch’s child is a weak and sickly little thing; the natural gestation process having been unable to properly compensate for the extraordinary weirdness that is Primarch genes?

'Cause, they were made in a lab, right? With each gene painstakingly implemented and worked to compensate for oneanother in order to create a viable being. So, what if without outside intervention their genes just can't healthily gel with a baseline's?

So, what the couple had thought was the baby sapping their mother of her vital nutrients to fuel a Primarch's level of growth and strength was actually their baby fighting tooth and nail to develope at all. And even after having taken such a steep toll on their mother's health, the child still comes out small and underdeveloped, barely clinging to life.

That's it, that's the idea. Primarchs with chronically ill and disabled children because of their fucked up genes. Send tweet.

[ministerofchaosabsolute]

Real Warhammer lore - taken straight from the source, actually.

Original screenshot

[rats-and-robots]

Drawing... Them...

[ms--lobotomy]

WH40K MASTERLIST

PRIMARCH LISTS "Would you still love me if I were a worm," [gn] First Kiss [gn] How many geese do you think I can take in a fight? [gn] Bear Prep Time [gn] Primarchs and Praise Kinks (NSFW) [f] Are y'all down for some heresy? (NSFW) [f] PRIMARCH COCK (NSFW) [gn]

EMPEROR OF MANKIND Perpetuals [f]

MALCADOR THE SIGILITE Girldad (Platonic) [f]

LION EL'JONSON Building a Family (NSFW) [f] He's Old Now, That's Pretty Cool [f] Pollen (feat. Leman) (NSFW) [m]

FULGRIM Insecure [gn] - [x] [x] Daemon (NSFW) [f] How to Handle Someone from the 3rd Millenium? (feat. Guilliman) (NSFW) [f] Fulgrim Fucks You On Both Cocks And Then Takes You To His Place (NSFW) [f]

PERTURABO Caught Princess [f]- [x] [x] Slice of Life [gn] A Gift (NSFW) [f] Legion Mother (NSFW) [f]

JAGHATAI KHAN Riding (NSFW) [f]

LEMAN RUSS The Thing You Told Me Not To [f] Wife Guy Leman Russ (NSFW) [f] Sandwich (ft. Magnus, NSFW) [gn] Sleepy (Drabble) [gn] Pollen (feat. Lion) (NSFW) [m]

ROGAL DORN Falling Asleep [f] Fertile (NSFW) [f]

KONRAD CURZE Follow Me [gn] Y'ALL FUCK (NSFW) [f] Under the Weather [gn] First With a Partner [gn] Finger [gn]

SANGUINIUS "I have done nothing wrong in my life," [gn] Bleed [gn] Egg (NSFW) [f] Get Bent Bald Boy (ft. Horus) [gn]

FERRUS MANUS Nightmares (NSFW) [f] Episode [x] [x] [gn] Eurydice [gn, they pronoun used] Under the Table (NSFW) [f?]

ANGRON You Smoke Angron Out And Then He Eats You Out (And More) (NSFW) [f] First Night (Post Nails) [gn]

ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN Painfully Hard in Public (NSFW) [f] How to Handle Someone from the 3rd Millenium? (feat. Fulgrim) (NSFW) [f]

MORTARION The Merman [gn, afab body]- [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8 (NSFW)] [9 (NSFW)] Aftercare (NSFW) [gn] Meeting (NSFW) [f]

MAGNUS THE RED Sandwich (ft. Leman, NSFW) [gn] Pounding Magnus the Red in the Butt (NSFW) [m] Sick [m]

HORUS LUPERCAL Warmaster (NSFW) [f] Belt Loops [m] Songbird (NSFW) [f] Get Bent Bald Boy (ft. Sanguinius) [gn] Hope You Don't Have Tokophobia For This One [f]

LORGAR AURELIAN Ancient Lullaby [gn]

VULKAN "IMMA BEAT YOUR ASS UP" [f] Sleeping In (NSFW) [m]

CORVUS CORAX

ALPHARIUS

EZEKYLE ABBADON Companion (NSFW) [f]

CALLADAYCE TAUROVALIA KESH Go get Him, Cal! [gn] gay sex (NSFW) [f]

LUCIUS THE ETERNAL Your Ugly Dog Boyfriend Does Some Pred/Prey With You (NSFW) [m]

CATO SICARIUS I don't even know. It's smut. Have fun. (NSFW) [f] Peg That Blue Boy (NSFW) [gn]

TYPHUS THE TRAVELER Lab Rat (NSFW) [f]

OCS Hutri (Iron Hands, quasi-husbandry?)- First Minis- [x]

Aion (Alpha Legion)- [x]

...and more to come! remind me to pretty up my list i have no idea how to do that on mobile

[kit-williams]

I'm using moody's chart to help with this (Thank you @bispecsual and @mothiir for ideas for the final few men)

Mortarion You had intended to call Mortarion Daddy but you had been stunned into silence by the sudden moan from him as he cried out, "Take it Mommy!" As his hands pull you close as he thrusts in deep. Your face flushed as he looks at you with such an intense lustful look... You clench down as he leans in growling, "Be a good Mommy for me..."

Demon Prince!Fulgrim "Such a pretty little Mommy." He says as two of his hands rub over your rounded belly. You whimper not knowing where you are as you lean towards the warm voice. His tail coiling around you, "I might just have to keep you like this... so perfect. My perfect little Mommy."

Lorgar You ride Lorgar hard as you ask him... whose a good boy? "Me Mommy me." He moans back holding your hips helping you ride him as you tell him what a good boy he is...

Horus His mouth was wrapped around a nipple as you could feel the heat from his mouth just helping with the let down. You moaned softly with relief as not quite milk dribbled into his mouth as he worked your nipple with his tongue not wanting to suck too hard. You pet the back of his head closing your eyes, "Such yummy milk Mommy makes." He croons to your swollen stomach...

Perturabo You could hardly understand Perturabos' rambling at this point, he always got like this during sex as he pulled your hips back to his just fucking you like you were some sort of toy. He groans behind you kissing your shoulder, "I don't know if you're prettier now dripping my cum or when you'll become a Mommy." He says as you struggle to stay awake as he now lavishes you with kisses.

Sanguinius Blood was smeared across his face, your blood, he was always so helpful during your heavy periods when he was here. Red wings paint the sides of his mouth as he looks at you with a blissed out look, "Mommy's blood tastes so sweet." He growls before climbing on top...

Yan!Konrad "You'll be such a good Mommy." He says buried deep inside of you, his cock hardly leaving your cunt as his hand rubs your growing stomach. You whimpering and pushing you hips back to his as he continues to praise you.

Yan!Corvus "Mommy likes riding my cock doesn't she?" He croons to you licking your skin as your arms are tied together. He bites away the gag before his tongue occupies your mouth, his chest rumbles as he whispers in your ear, "Mommy is going to make cute little Ravens for me."

Roboute It had slipped out from him during a late night but the way you smelt instantly betrayed your thoughts as it quickly led to you being fucked on his desk, "Please Tell me I'm doing so good Mommy." He moaned in your ear as he listened to you tell him how good he was doing with this nightmare of an empire....

Vulkan You had called him Daddy as an accident. You cover your face with your hands as that brought sex to a pause as he just smiles over you, "I mean I guess I can let you call me Daddy," He says as you peek out from between your fingers utterly embarrassed before his voice drops to a sinful octave, "but only if you let me call you Mommy."

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

Perturabo is the type of guy to want to be called daddy in bed 😭😭

And i would gladly fulfill that desire of his, because if we consult the chart

I would call that man daddy with absolutely no shame or qualms about it. i would do it with a gusto that would concern him

[the-raven-lady]

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𝕸𝖞 𝕶𝖔-𝕱𝖎

Requests and Commissions are OPEN! Please feel free to drop requests in my ask box, and if you would like a commission done, please DM me! Things I won’t write: Watersports / Scat, Pregnancy (but I will write breeding kink! just nothing past it), Non-con, gore fetish, Mommy / Daddy / Ageplay, cheating / adultery

𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉:

Hello loves! My name is the Raven Lady. I’m going to school for business accounting, so please bear in mind that writing (and occasionally drawing, making minis, and painting) is my hobby only. That being said, I respectfully ask everyone who visits to follow a few rules while you’re about: 1. My blog is 18+. Minors, I kindly ask that you do not interact. 2. Please keep discourse respectful. Everyone has difference interests and niches. I have been on tumblr since 2012 and I was there then the Dark Magic was written (aka nearly every tumblr discourse you can think of). I will simply block and delete any intentional hate send my or other’s way. 3. I ask that everyone remembers that there is a person behind the screen who is writing everything. I do not have a regular posting schedule, and I may pump out loads of content for a week then disappear for a month. I have a relatively busy life. That being said, please feel free to drop an ask or a DM my way! I love to hear everyone’s feedback.

𝕸𝖞 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘:

My Writing (#raven lady writings)

Writing Replies (#replies)

Ask Replies (#raven lady answers)

My Art (#raven lady’s art)

My Ramblings (#raven lady rambles)

Incredible Fic Reads (#the sacred texts)

Sim's 4 Primarch World (#raven lady's sims 4 telenovella)

𝕸𝖞 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙:

𝔉𝔞𝔫𝔣𝔦𝔠

WH40K / 30K Drabbles

Primarchs Stalingrad - Rogal Dorn and Guardsman!Reader [gn] - (1.5k words) (Old Blog) - you survive nearly freezing to death, open ending The Haunting - Konrad Curze x Imperial Agent!Reader [gn] - (1k words) (Old Blog) - konrad being a creep Love You To Death - Konrad Curze x Reader [fem, AFAB] - (666 words, rightfully) (Old Blog) - smut Konrad MPreg Drabble - (643 words) - angst Gát - Roboute Guilliman x Reader [gn] - (2.5k words) (Old Blog) - angst Totally Normal Lorgar Womb Tattoo Drabble [fem] - (264 words) (Old Blog) - lewd but not full smut Bedroom Hymns - Lorgar x wife!Reader [fem, AFAB] - (462 words) (Old Blog) - smut Teardrops - Vulkan x Reader [masc] - (420 words) (Old Blog) - fluff Never Know - Guilliman x advisor!Reader [gn] - (1.4k words) (Old Blog) - angst Sugar - Corvus Corax x agent!Reader [fem, AFAB] - (2.1k words) - smut Space Marines Closer - Cato Sicarius x Reader [fem, AFAB] - (1.3k words) - smut White Scar Apothecary (OC) x serf!Reader [gn] - (1k words) - OC: Sarei Fa - astartes blood can extend a human's lifespan

Series

Ebony Coasts (Merfolk!Corvus Corax x Marine Conservationist!Reader [fem]) [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7 (NSFW)] - (20k words, finished) (Old Blog) [Saccharine Snippet] - (514 words) (Not) The Savior Your Long For (Night Lord [OC: Elias Rushorik] x serf!Reader [fem]) [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] - (Currently 9.8k, in progress)

𝔐𝔶 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰

Elias Rushorik - Night Lords Terminator {Sanrio Enthusiast} - Character Tag - Elias Reference Sheet - Character Bible - Miniature 3D Model

Kyraeus Chough - Raven Guard Dark Fury - Character Tag - Chough Reference Sheet - Miniature 3D Model

Sarei Fa - White Scars Akoghlanlar (Apothecary) - Character Tag

[annasmafroo]

Lorgar in x OC and x reader works being pathetic, touch-starved, approval seeking and acting like a beaten wet puppy is top tier

[ask-artemis-prima]

Artemis vs...

In an attempt to test my developing writing skills, and an attempt to write more scenarios for my characters outside of RPing collabs, I am going to have Artemis fight nearly everyone. These will consist of relatively short prompts where regular Artemis or her Chaos version would fight a named character from the lore. Victory is not always a guarantee, and results may vary.

To participate just send the number or name of the participant. Easy Peasy.

Chaos:

III - Fulgrim

IV - Perturabo

VII - Mortarion

VIII - Konrad Curze

XII - Angron

XV - Magnus the Red

XVI - Horus/Abbadon

XVII - Lorgar

XX - Alpharius or Omegon or both

Loyalist:

I - Lion El’Jonson

V - Jaghatai Khan

VI - Leman Russ

VII - Rogal Dorne

IX - Sanguinius

X - Ferrus Manus

XIII - Roboute Guilliman

XVIII - Vulkan

XIX - Corax

Other:

Anyone who you find interesting. It could be demon, alien, or human. OC characters and Second Legion Primarchs are allowed. The only exception is the Emperor. 

[green-square-anon]

You know I was insecure people weren't going to like this because I was never that into other peoples ocs myself (so I can't really blame others for doing the same) and I cultivated so I didn't add all the images I had in mind for various things, but now I'm just gonna autistically put all this on paper and people can add what they want. Also was wondering how to best "reveal" Konrad waifu as she has some lore.

If it wasn't obvious from what I've revealed, Konrads waifu is a lovely mixture of "ray of sunshine", "actually kindhearted person" and "actual dumbass" who sasses him back. She started as the cliche "ray of sunshine x angsty" which I hated for being cliche and I gradually fleshed her out. Also @lemon-russ @ms--lobotomy @beckyninja git here.

Everyone please add your own images/ramblings/feedback/whatever.

Long post ahead with various primarchs.

More Curze

Well not a bastard in Konrads sense (aka maiming) but...

A small hint of the dorn one (only well, it's straight)

(This time it's her making breakfast for him)

Spoilers for the Dorn one.

This is just Lorgar x anyone

This is just Lorgar x anyone for the people who like him horny and repressed

Sanguinius potential?

Ladies is Sanguinius a himbo?

Was on the know your meme page for ship dynamics (or rather the gallery) and yeah this is the Konrad Curze x OC this blog runs on yall

Don't worry she loves him beyond the horror kink (That dosen't mean she dosen't ALSO find the feral rat man hot as hell however....)

Throw in some "ray of sunshine" and also, and yeah...

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Sin and Holy

Summary: Lorgar wants revenge on Guilliman, but ends up becoming obsessed with his lover, deifying her.

Lorgar Aurelian/fem!Reader (Roboute Guilliman/fem!Reader background)

Warnings: yandere, obsession, possessive behavior, kidnapping, religious kink, foot fetish, voyeurism

Author's note: Blame our mind worms of "lorgar foot worship plotline".

Word count: 2017

Song: Pet Shop Boys - It's a Sin

Everything I've ever done Everything I ever do Every place I've ever been Everywhere I'm going to It's a sin

The end of the perfect city marked the beginning of a new and better world. But not one world, city or even house is built in a short time. Everything requires time and human will. Lorgar Aurelian understood this while he was looking for answers to his questions.

And even with the acquisition of true faith in Chaos, he knew that victory would only come with time. He wouldn't be able to defeat the Emperor right away. Bring the gifts of the four gods to the Galaxy. Just like he won’t be able to get you right away.

You immediately caught his attention. Roboute Guilliman's personal remembrancer, whom he took with him everywhere. The sightless would say that the mortal girl is too talented. Envious people would laugh at the fact that the primarch of the Ultramarines turned arrogant. But Lorgar knew who you were. Chaos told him.

Lover of Roboute Guilliman. A secret that his brother kept from everyone. Even from the Emperor. If Lorgar had been quick to anger, he would have told the primarchs about you. Would separate two lonely souls. But he did not dare to do this. It wasn't time yet. But soon he would make his brother grieve and suffer. He would have destroyed what was dearest to his heart, as he did with the Monarchy.

“I read your poems,” you carefully strike up a conversation with the primarch, clasping your hands. Your look is innocent and full of sincere kindness. Not admiration or awe, no. You saw him. His soul. - “They are wonderful. In truth, your poems calmed me in hard times.”

You don't flatter or mock him. Lorgar doesn’t need to glance around the room to understand that you approached him yourself. Without Guilliman's knowledge. The bastard who dared to smile at Aurenlian when he was forced to kneel humiliatingly. Anger almost covers the man, but your embarrassed smile dispels the rage like wind blows away fog.

"Thank you." - The primarch smiles softly, fascinated by your gentle influence. “The next time we meet, I will bring you a new work that no one has seen yet. I'm sure it will change the entire Imperium."

Aurelian was above mortals, he was a primarch and the chosen one of Chaos. And yet he was wrong. He could never hurt you. Because he loved you. Stronger than Roboute. Tighter. More furious. Almost to the point of obsession, consuming his soul.

You were beautiful. Your smooth movements were like a soft wind, and your voice was like the whisper of leaves. A soft, gentle light emanated from your soul. Like a ray of sunshine on the water. Your kindness and sincerity of words were like music or scripture. How can he wish evil upon such a beautiful and divine being?

And how can someone not notice your beauty? Not to value and treat as if you are worth nothing? But his brother exceeded all expectations. Through the warp, Lorgar watched as Roboute spent time with you like ordinary mortals. You talked heart to heart, laughed and sometimes even argued. And on special evenings, the man would please you while you gave yourself to him without reserve.

Your body bent on the silk like a reed in the wind, your skin covered in hot sweat. You moaned muffledly, holding onto the headboard with force. Lorgar couldn’t take his eyes off the sight, absorbing your figure, desperately trying not to look at Guilliman’s head between your legs.

While you two indulged in sin, Aurelian, with the help of the forces of Chaos, watched over you. Insatiably and greedily, feeding the laughing Prince of Pleasure with his torments. It seemed to the man that he would make a sound as soon as you opened your mouth in a pre-orgasmic state... but the miracle ended when Guilliman decided to stop and looked at your irritated face with a smile.

“You did this again! I beg you, please, one day finish it!” - you giggle and throw a pillow at the primarch, unable to be angry with him for long. Roboute defends himself from the attack with his hand and shrugs. His eyes sparkle with merriment and his smile is self-confident.

“Can’t help it. I love teasing you too much.”

Roboute leans on you with his whole body, and you continue to laugh into his chest, hugging his warm body tightly. Not noticing Lorgar's bestial gaze, full of black rage. But he could do nothing but continue to watch as Guilliman began to enter your holy gates.

It wasn't enough! You deserved better. Real worship, not primitive sentimentality. And Lorgar was eager to show you this. Longed to touch. Inhale the smell of your hair, feel your sweat and tears on your tongue. Feel the warm skin under his palms. Hear quiet moans.

He wanted you to let him love you. Wanted you command him to praise you, deify you and worship you. And he wanted you to beg him for ascension until you both burned in the fire of desire.

But you don't. After all, you are a kind and beautiful girl, whose soul barely casts a shadow in the Immaterium. But bright as a ray of sunshine, which he want to touch. You are too innocent and pure to turn your attention to a primarch mired in the mud. And so he has to act on his own.

Horus's betrayal came like thunder from a clear sky. What a pity for Guilliman that it was at this time that you decided to visit your family and went to your home world on the ship of the Rogue Trader. Lorgar kindly provided you with protection, assuring you that you would be safe on Fidelitas Lex.

And it was true. You weren't in any danger. Lorgal had enough strength to protect and hide you from all the horrors of the Galaxy. And to his delight, he has enough time to spend time alone with you. This is still a relatively calm time for now. To know you. To feel. To open.

“I heard about what happened on Khur. - you stammer, your eyes turned to the floor, full of regret. - I'm sorry. It's horrible. What you went through and how the poor people suffered. Roba- Lord Guilliman did not want to do this, he was following orders.”

“Let what is past remain in the past. I hold no grudge against my father and brother. - the primarch whispered half-truths like an insidious snake. Still, he was grateful to the fall of the Monarchy for leading him to the real truth. - And I don’t want you to be sad. This is between me and Roboute. It has nothing to do with you.”

You look up at him and Lorgar can hardly contain a sigh of admiration. Surprisingly, you, unlike most mortals, were not amazed by his greatness. However, this had the opposite effect. It was Urizen who was amazed by you.

“You are very kind.” - you smile softly, like a mother, seeing the child’s face for the first time. - “Even in this dark time, I am grateful to meet you. I will never forget this moment.”

And although you may now shake with fear at the sight of the primarch and the Word Bearers, Lorgar knew that everything would change. He believed that you would rediscover your love for him. Unfortunately, he had to use... force after the Drop Site Massacre. You were not a prisoner, but you will still have to be kept locked up for some time. For your own good.

He can’t help but admire your beauty, your radiant soul. How you are in only a white nightgown (Lorgar got rid of all the clothes with Ultramarines colors) after walking around the room, run onto the red silk bed. How your pure image merges with sinful chambers.

The man smiles softly and approaches you, forcefully squeezing a basin of clean water in his hands. He has waited so long for this day when you can become his. When a primarch can touch the greatness of a mortal girl.

“Lorgar,” you say his name quietly, trying to calm him down. But the man just clenches his teeth, feeling like everything in his lower abdomen is filled with sinful lead. - “P-please, don’t do this. I’m sure Roboute will forgive you, you are brothers after all.”

You no longer call him Lord Guilliman. You're still in love with him. What a shame. It's making his teeth hurt. But Lorgar, with tenacity worthy of a primarch, continues to smile at you, kneeling. He doesn't want to scare you even more. You are tender and fragile, he must take care of your holiness.

“The floor is dirty, and you walk on it completely barefoot,” - he himself took the shoes from you. A sharp impulse that the primarch himself did not understand. - “Please, let me wash your beautiful feet with clean water.”

His voice gradually becomes lower from the dark secret desire and you, whining, sit down at the very edge, dangling your legs. And like a righteous soul, you try not to tremble or make sounds as the primarch lifts your skirt, all the way to your knees, which he kisses in turn.

Lorgar sighs heavily, fighting the temptation to lick your whole legs. But he still takes your foot and gently massages it in the water. Alas, this action only inflames the furious heat within him. Those little feet, dainty heels and tiny toes. An absolutely exquisite and elegant piece of art. He is so absorbed in what he is doing that he almost doesn’t hear your voice.

“Please let me go. F-For him, duty comes first. H-he will protect Terra.” - you sob from the way Lorgar squeezed your limb. - “Roboute will not look for me, Lorgar. He won’t.”

The world freezes and even the Immaterium trembles from the overabundance of the primarch’s feelings. How terrible agony and destructive rage gives way to peace. Calmness. By grace. And it's all because of you.

"Yes. He won't save you." - his gentle words, designed to calm you down, only make you more sad. And the primarch cannot help but admire your suffering as a righteous martyr. Which only plunges him deeper into sin. - “And this is his greatest mistake.”

Lorgar carefully brings your washed foot to his mouth and kisses the tip of your toe Before wrapping his mouth around it, sucking gently with moan. His mouth filled with saliva, and a shiver of excitement and awe ran through his body at the fact that he was able to touch you. To your wonderful feet that carried you through this mortal world. He was ready to kiss every piece of ground you walked on.

But instead, filled with your blessing, he gently kisses your foot, licking and biting. Every toe of yours, every vein line on your skin. Lorgar bites your ankle lightly and foreign blood seeps onto his tongue. Tastes like heaven.

The primarch looks up at you pleadingly, studying your face, wet with tears. Is this a vision of the future, a trick of the eye, or is your soul shining brighter than usual? He didn't know. But Lorgar was sure that he saw a halo above your head, which his brother stubbornly did not notice, treating you like an ordinary mortal woman. But Lorgar is different. He won't allow you to be treated like that.

He was and will be a sinner. He was always blamed for everything. But you gave him hope. And he will fully thank you for the healing that you brought to his soul. He will put you on a pedestal above the rest of the world. After all, this is exactly what you deserve. You just don't know yet.

The words fall from his bloodied lips so quietly that they are almost inaudible. But you hear. You can’t help but hear and you cry, choking with tears. Praying for help from all the saints from the books you have read, denying that you became one of them for the primarch who kidnapped you.

“Let me worship you.”

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Resistance (Roboute Guilliman, Lorgar)

Summary: Roboute doesn't want to let you go, but he does it… not suspecting that you will end up in the hands of a monster.

Roboute Guilliman/fem!Reader, Lorgar/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession

Word count: 1192

Song: Muse - Resistance

Roboute turned out cute. It is a pleasure to prescribe him, but very sad. However, Lorgar… oh my ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

Roboute immediately singled you out from all the remembrancers. Not for your talent or ability to hold yourself. Not for your courage and especially your beauty. Everything was much simpler. Guilliman remembered how he got bored at one of the official events and began to look around the room. Everyone was engrossed in conversation and art, except for you.

You looked directly at the primarch. Stared openly. The primarch was already ready to prepare for you to approach him. You would try to start a diplomatic conversation or ask to serve him. Or you'll talk endlessly about how great he is. But instead you...

Show your tongue. You made a face.

Roboute couldn't help himself but choke on laughter, barely holding back so as not to attract attention to himself. You just smiled with satisfaction, looking at this picture. And turned away. You continued the conversation with the chronicler.

Guilliman himself sought a meeting with you.

“Your face brightened up my evening. And yet I have to ask why you-” - Roboute hesitated, not knowing how to describe your outburst. The event had already ended and it was deep night. But still he managed to find you in the corridor and be alone with you.

“You looked so sad. I wanted to somehow cheer you up.” - you shrug your shoulders easily as if nothing special had happened. As if you were not standing now with the primarch of the Ultramarines, the son of the Emperor, but with... an ordinary person.

You talked for a long time that evening. And in the following days. Guilliman didn't think he would admit it to himself, but he was fascinated by you. Tarasha would probably be delighted. He immediately remembered how his mother selected brides for him on Macragge even before he met the Emperor. But not a single meeting went well. But you were the exception.

After some time, Roboute invited you aboard his spaceship in hopes of spending more time with you. He had finally found you, no wonder he didn’t want to let you go. But you did not smile at his invitation like other remebrancers. You didn't joke in your style that you would find time for Guilliman in your schedule.

You frowned apologetically.

“Lorgar Aurelian has already invited me. He liked my knowledge of history. So I agreed. This was before I met you. I'm embarrassed to refuse your brother, it would be wrong. And then-"

"I see." - Roboute interrupted you gently. He nodded and you felt relieved from this conversation. - "Everything is fine."

No. Nothing was fine. He wanted to be with you, he wanted you. You so unexpectedly and rapidly burst into his life, colored his existence and reminded him of his humanity. And now you're slipping away. And of all the brothers, of all the primarchs, it was to Lorgar.

Roboute did not like Aurelian. He was weak. All his campaigns were ineffective and he was astonishingly slow to annex worlds to the Imperium. Not to mention the fact that he created conditions for them that suited him, and not the Emperor. His ideal cities were imbued with religiosity. Fanaticism. Old traditions that had to go.

Guilliman did not want to bring down his father's wrath on the inhabitants of the Monarchy. But an order is an order. He was not pleased to see his brother on his knees. But it was his duty. A modicum of pity for Lorgar filled Guilliman's hearts, but it was not enough to make him love his brother. Who now sought to indulge all his father’s words than before.

And still he was not happy. He wanted you to be with him. But the only thing worse than envy was a feeling vaguely reminiscent of fear. Warning. Roboute felt that if you set foot on Lorgar's ship, he would never see you again... but he did not believe in premonitions. And with pain in his hearts, he lets you go.

And his hatred hostility towards Lorgar will only grow stronger.

***

You were almost a goddess to him. He valued remembrances and yet he immediately noticed you. How you spoke with interest about the religion of the ancient peoples of Terra. With what zeal you explained old traditions to yourinterlocutors. They all listened to you with bated breath. You could be a great diplomat with such oratory skills.

But as you later told him, you were more interested in history than real politics. Power over other people's lives was not close to you. Lorgar felt his hearts flutter and his breathing quicken. They saw a different role in you, but you chose a different fate. He was not a warrior either, he was a priest... only he could not refuse the Emperor.

For now.

You were strong in spirit. In your opinion, you were strange. But Aurelian knew you were special. You didn't cry or faint next to the primarch. Didn't feel inspired or awed by his presence. No, you looked straight into his eyes and talked about human existence. About how human destiny is woven. The primarch himself did not notice how fascinated he was by your voice. Sweet and inviting. This is exactly how mortals feel when they open their souls to a preacher. And he wanted to open his soul and body.

“I’m not a believer, don’t think about it” - you make excuses and babble like a servant of the Imperial Truth. False Truth. “But while studying all these stories, I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like... to believe. In part, I even envy the ancient inhabitants of Terra... b-but I certainly don’t strive to believe in gods.”

No, you are striving. You desperately want to let them into your heart, Lorgar knew this. You were simply studying ancient false gods. But he could show you the truth. The primarch could kill for you for the glory of Khorne. Conduct conversations about the existence of the world for the glory of Tzeentch. Grant you eternal life for the glory of Nurgle.... and wallow with you in lust for the glory of Slaanesh.

Squeeze your fragile perfect body in his bulky hands. Hear your voice sing into the Warp. How you open up and lay bare before his eyes like a book. How you record his story, his torment and agony on your skin. The way you kiss his forehead in a motherly gesture. Until you move on your lips like a temptress.

...You are an amazing woman. You cannot be a Chaos Goddess. No. But your thoughts, your vision of the world, your unusual behavior with the primarchs pointed to your originality. You are a saint. And you must bear his word. And you will.

Lorgar feels a shiver run through his body as he sees your eyes blink in surprise when he asked you to become his personal remembrancer. The way your lips part and your chest heaves... Before the primarch opened the soul of Slaanesh, he could not even imagine such a thing as lust. Love? Yes. He felt it for you. But lust... it was a new feeling for him.

And he liked it.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

His Star

Summary: After the Monarchy, the Emperor takes Lorgar's wife as punishment. Lorgar is soon reunited with his love, but learns that his daughter will remain on Terra.

Lorgar/fem!Reader, Emperor and Lorgar's daughter (OC, platonic)

Warnings: angst, kidnapping

Word count: 753

Song: Siouxsie And The Banshees - Cities In Dust

This fic was born because of this beautiful post.

She was beautiful. Like the morning dawn or a starry night. A bright soul who came into this cruel world. She could lead the masses, inspire billions of people. But Lorgar wanted only one thing. Protect her with his own life.

He didn't see his daughter. The news of her birth came from the Imperial Palace along with other unimportant ones. As if she were an insignificant speck of dust. But the daughter of a primarch, his daughter was priceless. Happiness that was born because of the pure and immaculate love of two souls.

Lorgar could only follow the Emperor's orders in the hope of seeing you and his daughter. Hug and hold the tiny body to his hearts. Press his lips to yours. Feel the serene love you showed him.

The Primarch of the Word Bearers was never a warrior. Never been a commander. He was a preacher, priest, shepherd. He never hid it, openly carrying his true and blessed faith in the God Emperor... but in the end, apparently not so true.

His sons, himself, continued to search for answers to questions. Find their way. Their faith. The Emperor refused their worship, destroyed the perfect city, took you, took the unborn child. Lorgar could not hate his father, but it was difficult to extinguish the black flame of resentment and misunderstanding.

At least until the day you were returned.

Crying and tired. You were not tortured, you were not offended. Physically and mentally you were fine. But there was a huge void in your heart that could not be filled. Even Lorgar was unable to help you, because he, being a primarch, almost fell himself.

They returned you alone.

Lorgar hoped that the Emperor simply decided to gradually return his favor to his son. He hoped that after some time, when he had conquered even more systems, the Father would return his daughter. But he was wrong. You dashed all his hopes.

“He loves her, he adores her,” you burst into tears at Lorgar’s shoulder. - “I almost d-didn’t see her. He is with her all the time. Doesn't let go of himself. H-he, he sang to her. He sang to her, Lorgar! Songs in ancient languages. He acted as if she were his daughter and not his granddaughter. He gave her a name!”

It would be better if the Emperor burned Khur to the ground. It would be better if he destroyed every city to the dust that Lorgar built. The primarch is ashamed of such thoughts; mortals are not to blame for anything. But why, why should his daughter be torn away from her parents and live with a tyrant?

A tyrant... that's what the Emperor was. False God. If the primarch had doubts before, he is now firmly convinced of it. The son loved the Father too much, although he did not deserve such worship. He did not deserve the devotion of the primarchs. Didn't deserve the love of a little girl.

You spend days and nights in bed. When you don't sleep, you cry. Lorgar is not angry, no. He is delighted. The connection between mother and daughter, passing through years and centuries. You can't find a place for yourself until you see your child. Which means Lorgar must bind you together. Bring back your beloved child.

The primarch will not hear her first word, will not see her first steps. He will not be the main person in her life. Perhaps they will meet when she is an adult. He will never be her father in the full sense of the word. But this knowledge does not stop Lorgar.

He will still meet her. He will take her hand and lead her to a new world free from the power of the Emperor, who separated her from her real family. He would show her the True God that he had yet to find. His daughter will be a guiding star, illuminating the path through a dark galaxy. Until he finds a way to get back to her.

Lorgar has never seen her, but he knows that she is beautiful. Like the golden sand in Colchis, a light breeze or the murmur of water. She is far away in captivity of the Golden Palace, but even so the primarch feels her. She shines brighter than anyone in the world. Without realizing it, she is waiting for her real father to return his daughter. He will protect her. At the cost of his own life.

And the whole world.

[ministerofchaosabsolute]

Not even safe from his own boyfriend 😔

[ministerofchaosabsolute]

Gushing

@maiden167 @rotten7rat