#primarch fanfiction

[yanagikou]

Love Hunt (part 1 of 2)

DISCLAIMER: This is NOT my work but a short (smutty) warhammer 30k fic written for me by my husband (apparently he likes me or sth... ). It takes place at the early stages of the Great Crusade, shortly after Magnus' rediscovery (somewhat relevant to a tiny portion of the fic) and is pure indulgence. So please, don't try to reconcile this with actual lore, and just enjoy the hunt :)

pairing: Leman Russ x Rei'ke (OC) // m x f

Warnings: blood (? idk), otherwise none for this part

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Rei’ke leaned against a frost-covered tree, her breath curling in the frigid air as she waited for that wild creature of a Primarch, Leman Russ. A beast in both form and temperament. Not only was he insufferably arrogant, but he reveled in his uncivilized ways, as if flaunting them was a badge of honour. She let out a sigh, yet even as she scolded herself for entertaining any fond thoughts about him, she couldn't deny that something about him called to her.

His wild, piercing eyes. His wolfish grin, as if he were constantly in on some joke she had yet to understand. His raw, untamed presence, a force of nature in itself. It was both infuriating and... intoxicating.

No! He was rude, overbearing, and completely full of himself. The so-called son of the Emperor needed a lesson in humility, not admiration.

Shaking her head, Rei’ke forced her gaze outward over the frozen landscape. Snow-covered fields stretched below her, interwoven with dark forests clinging to the hillsides like silent sentinels. Fenris was as wild and untamed as its ruler—

And yet...

Why had he asked her to join him on this hunt? Was it truly just a means to solidify the alliance between their worlds? Or was there something more behind his invitation? A warm flush crept up her neck at the thought, and she quickly shook it off, pacing to distract herself. She played with the protective sigil hanging from the chain around her neck, rolling it absentmindedly between her fingers for comfort.

Should she have worn her full armour? She had considered it, but hunting demanded speed and precision, not the cumbersome weight of battle gear. Her spear, resting against the tree beside her, was far more suited for this task. Forged by one of her warrior-sisters, the weapon allowed her to channel her psychic abilities safely, much like the sigils and talismans she adorned herself with. The Warp was not to be wielded carelessly, and though some accused her of being overcautious, she took pride in her discipline.

Russ, on the other hand, had compared her to that red-skinned giant he called a brother. What was his name? Magnut? Magnus? Whatever—

The crunch of heavy footfalls in the snow snapped her from her thoughts. She turned just as Russ emerged from the trees, his imposing frame draped in thick furs, his signature smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, sharp and assessing, seemed to pierce right through her.

‘Ah, I see you're at least on time,’ he greeted. His voice low and rumbling, tinged with amusement.

Rei’ke crossed her arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Yes. I do not know these lands as you do, Lord Russ. As such, I would rather be early than late."

A flicker of something crossed his expression—approval, perhaps. "What will we be hunting?" she asked.

Russ waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, nothing much. Something many hunt for sport, a test of worth."

Ah. So that was his intent. To test her.

Rei’ke only smiled, refusing to rise to the bait. "What can you tell me about this beast? Even those tested on my world are given some knowledge of their quarry."

Russ chuckled, clearly entertained by her response. "You are right." He reached over his shoulder, drawing his fur cloak around him, revealing the massive beast’s head that served as its hood.

Rei’ke’s interest sharpened. The creature was massive, its skull thick and ridged, its fangs still wickedly curved even in death. A mighty predator of Fenris, a frost drake.

This hulking beast roamed the frozen wilderness of Fenris, its hide thick as armour, its breath believed to be carrying the frost of the world itself. They were known for their cunning, their ability to stalk prey unseen despite their size, and their near-impossible resilience. To slay one was a feat few could claim.

Russ studied her reaction, his sharp gaze noting the way her lips parted slightly, her eyes gleaming with interest rather than fear. She was intrigued. Perhaps even eager. The realization made something primal stir within him.

"Shall we begin then?" Russ grinned, baring his sharp teeth like a wolf scenting blood.

Rei’ke returned the grin, a wicked glint in her eye. "I think so."

Before Russ could move, she was already in motion. With a fluid grace, she turned and leapt from the cliff’s edge, her spear igniting with psychic energy as she used it to slow her descent into the snowy abyss below.

Russ let out a low chuckle, watching her disappear into the snowy expanse below. A worthy hunt indeed.

Rei’ke reached the bottom and looked up, her heart pounding with excitement and adrenaline. "What are you waiting for, Leman Russ? Lord of Fenris?" she called, a playful challenge in her voice.

Russ smirked, eyes glinting. "Just you wait, whelp!" With a powerful leap, he jumped. Horror flashed across Rei’ke’s face as she realized he was plummeting straight toward her. She dove out of the way just in time, rolling in the snow as Russ landed heavily beside her, his boots sinking deep into the frost. He stood, shaking off the impact, wild and unkempt, all pretence of noble decorum gone.

"You had your time to get ahead. Now, we are on equal terms," Russ said, his voice thick with amusement.

Rei’ke scoffed. "I might be several heads smaller, but I am quite quick."

"Maybe for a psyker," Russ grinned wolfishly. "But believe me, a warrior always has an edge over some tome-kissers."

He laughed, but when he turned back to her, she had vanished. His smile faltered for a moment as he scanned the area. Then, he caught sight of her sprinting into the forest, and his grin returned. Once again, she surprised him. He loathed psykers—their arrogance, their know-it-all attitudes—but she seemed different. He liked that.

Rei’ke revelled in the rush of the chase. The cold wind stung her cheeks, the snow crunched beneath her feet, and she found herself smiling. She was not going to lose. Spear in hand, she sent a psychic pulse through her talismans, reaching out into the world around her. A tingling sensation answered, pulling her northward. Trusting her instincts, she followed.

But she was no longer certain where Russ was. He had been close, his presence a steady force behind her, but now he had vanished. The hunt was truly on.

She reached the edge of a cliff, overlooking a vast chasm filled with glacial ice. Below, her quarry lay in wait—a massive frost drake, curled upon an outcropping of ice. Its sheer size sent a thrill through her veins. Seventy feet? Perhaps more. Was it too large? Maybe. But it was the only one she had found.

She had to use the moment wisely. Channelling her energy, her spear's blade thrummed with psychic power. Strapping the weapon to her back, she gripped the ice and began her descent.

From above, Russ watched her. Once again, she left him stunned. There was no hesitation, no fear—only determination. She was climbing down, alone, to challenge a frost drake. Even for some of his sons it would be a dangerous fight.

His amusement faded. He had meant to test her, to push her, but now...

Russ straightened, his expression hardening as he turned his attention to the horizon. The wind carried a sharp sting, and he recognised the warning it held. A storm was coming, fast and brutal. He narrowed his eyes. If she didn’t get out soon, she wouldn’t just be fighting the drake—she’d be battling the fury of Fenris itself.

Without wasting another second, Russ broke into a run, intent on reaching her before she sealed her fate.

Rei’ke slowed her breathing, pressing herself against the cold stone wall, her pulse hammering in her ears as she gazed down at the slumbering drake. The memory of Russ’s cloak flashed through her mind—she had seen where the old wounds had been, the weak points in the beast’s armour. Her sharp eyes honed in on the intersection of two thick plates at the creature’s neck. Calculating the height, she gripped her spear and exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

Without hesitation, she leapt. Her body cut through the icy air, spear gripped tightly between both hands, the tip angled downward. The weapon struck first, its psychic-enhanced edge sliding between the armoured plates, piercing the soft flesh beneath. She felt resistance as muscle and sinew gave way, but to her horror, the cut was shallow.

She landed hard, feet digging into the frost, just as the drake jerked awake. With a violent shake, it tried to throw off its attacker. Rei’ke held on, cursing under her breath—losing her spear now meant losing the fight. Desperately, she twisted the weapon, trying to widen the wound, but the beast thrashed too wildly. She had no choice—she wrenched her weapon free just as she was thrown through the air.

The hard surface of the glacier hit her back with a brutal impact, ice and small stones dug into her palms as she struggled to rise. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, but she quickly realized she had been fortunate—better to land here than plummet into the abyss below.

Pushing herself around into a sitting position, she saw the drake pivot, its yellow eyes locking onto her. It charged.

She barely dodged in time. The beast crashed into the wall of the ravine, the force shaking the entire cliff side. Above, snow and ice trembled. Russ, climbing swiftly, cursed under his breath—he had underestimated the situation.

He lifted his head, nostrils flaring. The air had changed. The cold had sharpened. His keen eyes caught sight of the approaching blizzard—like a wall of white death, it consumed the horizon. A Fenrisian storm was not just cold—it was suffocating, slicing through flesh with razor-sharp ice shards, inside and outside a human body.

He didn’t hesitate. Time was against them. He let go, free-falling, trusting his body’s resilience to absorb the impact. When he landed, the shock reverberated through his legs, but he barely noticed. His focus was entirely on the scene before him—Rei’ke against the cavern wall, her chest rising and falling, her spear clutched tightly, and the drake, rearing back for another charge.

Above them, something cracked.

Russ’s sharp instincts flared—stalactites and ice spikes, loosened by the impact, teetered above them. Dangerous.

Rei’ke tensed, gripping her weapon, forcing her body to move. She needed to stand. She needed to finish the fight.

Then, the world around her shook as jagged ice rained down.

But before she could act, a shadow fell over her and a hot liquid dripped onto her face.

Blinking away the shock, Rei’ke realized the stalactites had fallen—shattered around her. She looked up and saw Russ, standing tall, his powerful frame outlined by the dim light filtering in. His breath came in steady puffs of mist, his axe gleaming with fresh blood. Behind him, the drake’s head lay severed on the cavern floor, its lifeless body twitching a few more steps before collapsing.

Russ turned, his smile wolfish. “It seems the kill is mine.”

Rei’ke exhaled sharply, half in relief, half in frustration. “I had it—before you decided to jump in.”

Russ chuckled, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief, but there was something more in his gaze—. He looked like a god of old, carved from the ice and tempered in battle. She felt her heart race, her body responding in a way she hadn’t anticipated. “I had it,” she repeated, but her voice lacked its previous confidence.

Russ stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. The scent of blood, sweat, and something distinctly him filled the air between them. “We need to move,” he said, voice husky. “A storm’s coming. Even you won’t survive it.”

She swallowed, forcing herself to break eye contact. The moment shattered as she looked out toward the sky. He was right. The storm loomed, ominous and deadly.

But then she saw the red on her hand.

Her breath hitched. Blood.

She turned sharply, eyes scanning Russ. Only then did she notice his stance—his usually fluid movement had a stiffness to it. Her gaze dropped lower, catching sight of the wound. An ice spike had pierced his side. He was bleeding.

“Lord Russ,” she murmured, stepping forward.

He leaned slightly, gripping the shard embedded in his flesh. With a grunt, he pulled it free. The wound was deep, but his expression remained unreadable—until he caught the concern in her face. That made him pause.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice softer now, lacking its usual sharp edge.

He blinked at her, as if uncertain how to react. He had fought through countless battles, endured wounds far worse. But the way she looked at him, the way she pushed past his guard to examine the injury—it unsettled him. He was a warrior. Wounds were nothing. Yet, this woman… she cared.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“I’m fine,” he said, but the hesitation in his voice betrayed him.

Rei’ke frowned. “Can you move?”

“Yes.” He exhaled, regaining his composure. “We need to get to shelter. There’s one nearby.”

She nodded, but her eyes remained on the wound. Ignoring his usual bravado, she reached into a small pouch, pulling out dried herbs. Without hesitation, she chewed them, creating a makeshift salve.

Russ watched her in silence, intrigued by her efficiency, by the way her fingers worked with careful precision. When she pressed the mixture onto his wound, a sharp sting shot through him, but he said nothing.

“This will stop the bleeding,” she murmured, glancing up.

Their eyes met. His golden irises burned into hers, and for a moment, neither moved. The air between them thickened. He loomed over her, his size a stark contrast to hers, yet she felt something coil deep inside—something dangerous, exhilarating. Her breath caught, her cheeks flushing despite the cold.

Russ hesitated. He could tell her his body would heal quickly, that her efforts were unnecessary. But the softness of her hands against his skin, the way she looked up at him with that mix of concern and something else—it made him stay silent.

“Follow me,” he finally said, voice low, rough.

Rei’ke swallowed, stepping back. “Yes—” she stammered, her heartbeat wild. That glance had lasted just a second too long. And she couldn’t help but wonder… had he noticed her blush?

[zackprincebooks]

Hot Water

Lord Commander Guilliman has been expected to make a visit to your fortress-monastery, but his early arrival has sent everyone into a tizzy. At least you were able to clean the baths in time before he arrived. But the baths aren't the only mess you have to worry about, as you stumble across Roboute in the frigidarium and uncover the reason for his sudden detour... (Roboute Guilliman x Reader, explicit. 2nd person POV; reader is AFAB but not addressed with gendered pronouns.)

Want to read it on AO3? Click here!

Want to read my original fiction? Click here!

Inspired by @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond's The Bellowing!

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The sight of the Primarch’s ship approaching the fortress-monastery sends all and sundry into a tizzy. Lord Guilliman wasn’t supposed to arrive for another three days, so they weren’t anywhere near prepared for him. Nothing is cleaned, food hasn’t been prepped, and the room reserved for him is unmade.

Along with your fellow serfs, you arm yourselves with mops, oils, and fresh towels and robes to attack the multiple levels of the baths: the caldarium, the frigidarium, and the tepidarium. They housed hot, cold, and warm water baths for the Lord Angels to bathe in, allowing them to relax their muscles after a long day. To prevent the growth of bacteria in the baths, they were cleaned regularly—but a “regular” cleaning would not be up to the exacting standards of a Lord Primarch.

The baths are drained, scrubbed, and refilled; normally you would have given them a few days to be treated with chemicals before refilling them, but Lord Guilliman will want a hot bath after he lands. It would be sacrilegious to force a Lord Primarch to wait days before he can take a bath!

Faucets and spigots are polished to a mirror shine, puddles are mopped, towels and robes are replaced, and bottles of oil and lotion are refilled. You have the honors of restarting the waterfall in the tepidarium and it cascades into the water with a satisfying splash. “We did that in record time,” the head bath mistress declares in satisfaction, wiping sweat from her brow. “I want someone on hand when the Lord Primarch is in the bath in case he has need of anything—food, drink, more towels; if he wants his paperwork, you will bring it to him.”

Everyone nods; their murmurs of agreement bouncing off the cavernous walls of the baths. You nod particularly vigorously. Lord Guilliman’s comfort is paramount. He is, unto you, a god among men that has blessed your fortress-monastery with his benevolent presence. You are not fit to serve him; not when you imagine his broad body sinking into the hot waters of the caldarium and his arm stretching out to you in offering…

The eyes of the head bath mistress land on your flaming face and the disapproval of her gaze eats a hole into your stomach. “Remember that the Lord Primarch is an esteemed guest of our monastery. He is to be treated with utmost respect and kindness. Am I understood?”

“Yes ma’am!” The chorus of your fellow serfs drowns out your muttered yes ma’am, and you disperse to your various tasks. You keep your head down as you pass her by, flinching as she squints at you.

The knot in your stomach lessens as you throw yourself into work, helping your friends ready the monastery for Lord Guilliman’s arrival. You dice garlic and onions in the kitchen, dress beds with clean sheets, and separate one of the tables in the mess hall for Lord Guilliman and his entourage to eat at.

You’re in the middle of sweeping when the docking of the ship is announced over a squealing intercom. Everything rumbles like the rousing of a sleeping giant from a long slumber as it docks, casting a long shadow over the fortress-monastery. Silence buries itself in everyone’s throats as the sound of marching Space Marines fills the air.

But there is no fanfare. No bombastic anthem. Everyone waits with bated breath to hear the long list of Primarch Guilliman’s titles, but nothing materializes. The excited silence gives way to concerned murmuring and some people leave the monastery to get a better look at the action—or lack thereof.

They’re immediately ushered back inside by a cadre of Space Marines, and the gossip ceases. Their broad shoulders block the doorway so no one can watch the proceedings beyond.

“The Lord Commander thanks you for your generous hospitality,” the centermost Space Marine intones, “but he requests privacy for the first three days while he settles in after such a long journey. We thank you for your understanding.”

Not giving anyone a chance to respond, the Space Marines march back out, leaving you and your fellow serfs in stunned silence, all sound sucked into the void left in the wake of the Space Marines.

What…just happened? ----------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the day passes in strained whispers and surreptitious glances. Everyone is looking for hide or hair of the Lord Primarch around the fortress-monastery, but whenever they get close to his room on the pretense of bringing him food or documents, they’re immediately halted by the Custodes. The moment one of your fellows described how the Custodes’ very words pulled his heart out of his chest, you decided to give the Lord Primarch a wide berth, until he deigned to make his presence known. In fact, if not for the sheer number of Custodes and Ultramarines hanging around, you would never know that Lord Commander Guilliman had arrived.

At least your work does not go unappreciated by your guests, and you hear the chattering of Space Marines in the bath as you refill some of the towels. Their serfs have already aided them in undressing, so their personal effects are stored in the cubbies of the apodyterium, and there are robes waiting for them.

“We really hauled ass on the trip here; I’m glad that we made it in time.”

“Just barely. I was hanging on my seat for dear life. It’s damnably inconvenient!”

There’s the cracking sound of a damp towel whipped at Astartes speed and a high-pitched yelp. “Don’t you dare speak ill of our Lord Primarch!”

“I wasn’t! Merely expressing—”

“His Lordship’s medical condition is not a topic of gossip.” The ironclad voice of a Custodes rumbles through the bath, drowning out the rushing of the waterfall and making your stomach clench tightly. “It is fortuitous that we arrived in time that he may be treated properly.”

A murmur of agreement disperses throughout the Ultramarines as they continue their ablutions. There’s another towel crack and a yelp from the first Space Marine. “Hey!”

“Got you back!” A round of towel-snapping commences despite the protests of the Custodes, and you hightail out of the baths before they can find you. You’ll come back and clean the baths once they’re gone.

But their conversation makes you think: Lord Guilliman is ill? Or at the very least, suffering from some kind of medical condition. While that would explain the Ultramarines and Custodes being so cautious about serfs approaching his guest quarters, why wouldn’t they simply return to Macragge or Terra for treatment?

Your friends are clustered in a hallway up ahead and they wave you over. “Did you hear anything about the Primarch? They’re still not letting us near his room,” one of them sighs.

“No, I haven’t. They started a towel fight so I got out of there after I dropped off the towels,” you lie. A Primarch’s health is of utmost importance and secrecy, and no one else knows that you possess this knowledge. No one must know that you possess this knowledge; not even the Primarch himself.

Fortunately, no one questions you on your lie and they all nod sagely. You go to dinner with them and listen to their theories about why Primarch Guilliman would sequester himself on arrival.

It’s about an hour later, while you’re helping wash dishes in the kitchen, when you notice a group of Ultramarines and one ruffled Custodian coming down to dinner, their skin red and tender from the hot water—along with the towel whipping. It seems that the Custodes has rattled them back in line as she watches her sheepish comrades collect their dinner trays.

You finish with your rack of dishes and slip out of the kitchen. You pick up a bath bucket, mop, and some rags. Since the oils and lotions were refilled this morning, you decide to wait until you see how much has been used before you refill them.

Walking up to the bath, you feel…strange. There’s a ball of heat in your chest that suddenly drops into your stomach and hangs there heavily. Pausing to listen, you hear nothing. You take a risk to poke your head around the corner and you are greeted with the vision of twisted towels, wet robes, and large puddles—but no Ultramarines. No Custodes.

Grabbing your mop and bucket, you get to work, ignoring the feeling of a piercing gaze between your shoulderblades. ------------------------------------------------------

First, the apodyterium. While it’s mostly free of clutter, some towels didn’t make it into the hamper and there are puddles everywhere. You take out the laundry and replace the basket before mopping up the puddles until the blue and gray tiles shine. It’s clear that some of the Astartes played many eager games of rattail, as you fetch some particularly ragged and ratty towels from the laundry basket with a grimace.

You adored the Astartes, and the Ultramarines in particular. Even if their strength could be…inconvenient, sometimes.

But there was no structural damage to the bath, as could occasionally happen when the Astartes began rough-housing. They didn’t understand their own strength when it came to mosaic tiles and plaster, no matter how lovingly crafted.

You pause, admiring the mosaic on the floor. While most designs depict great battles, the bath is a paradise of marine wildlife that gradually gets deeper the further you enter. The apodyterium is a sandy beach with waves lapping at your toes, sea urchins hiding in tide pools, and crabs peeking out from tiled corners.

Dumping out the ratty towels into a trash receptacle, you move further into the baths.

Steam rises from the caldarium and you wave a towel to fan it away while you work. While the temperature of the caldarium can be adjusted, it appears the Ultramarines cranked it up for their bath. It’s so hot and humid in the caldarium that you use a towel to put your hair back and you shuck off your outer robe so you’re only wearing your undergarments.

It’s a daunting task to walk across the slippery caldarium to refill the soaps and lotions; one wrong step and you’ll either plunge into the boiling water or crack your skull on the tiles. You don’t relish the thought of Lord Guilliman finding your body when he goes to bathe.

The tiles in the caldarium are full of brilliant coral and bright fishes darting between anemones with sharks patrolling for prey. Once the soaps are refilled and the tiles mopped, you’re able to safely cross the caldarium and tick down the temperature. It continues putting out steam, but the water will cool down to a safe temperature.

“If the Ultramarines want it hotter, they’ll just have to deal with it,” you huff. Picking up your robes, you drape it loosely over your shoulders and approach the frigidarium—

And you stop.

The frigidarium is the coldest section of the baths; the Apothecary recommends dunking yourself in alternating baths of hot and cold, so the frigidarium and caldarium are connected together by a short hallway. You know that the frigidarium will be so cold that you’ll have to put your robe back on and you’ll likely need your sandals.

But there is steam coming from the frigidarium, at the same rate as the caldarium. And when you check the temperature of the bath, it’s at the coldest setting possible. The pipes for the different pools are all separate, so it’s not like one of the pools is pumping hot water into the frigidarium…

Taking your towel, you wave it in order to disperse the steam again. Once the steam is gone, you notice a uniform thrown haphazardly onto a wooden bench. You see the Ultramarines insignia, but when you lift the uniform jacket, it’s covered with medals and badges that you don’t recognize. A Custodes, perhaps? It would make sense. The uniform is much larger than what a Primaris would wear.

The steam has filled the room again, and it’s clearly rising from the bath. But surely, this uniform means someone is in the bath?

“Excuse me? Is anyone in here? I’m going to clean the baths!” You call out, but there’s no response. The steam has obscured your vision to the point where you need to wave your towel again. Though it dissipates, you can’t see anyone in the bath. The tiles surrounding the pool are of no help; it’s a dense kelp forest with sea turtles darting between the towering sea grass. You feel like one of those turtles as you clean, darting around and hoping no one sees you.

When you move to the front of the bath to refill the soaps and lotions, you hear a splash. “My Lord?” While your vision isn’t fully obscured by the steam, you can’t see the furthest end of the bath. “I’m almost done! I just need to mop!”

A bead of sweat trickles down the bridge of your nose as you wait for more noises, but you hear nothing. Refilling the soaps and lotions as quickly as possible, you speed-walk over to your mop.

There’s another splash, this time closer to you. The steam has fully obscured your vision, and you disperse it again.

A hand grips the edge of the bath and pulls, the tiles underneath cracking from the force. The surface of the water ripples as a second hand hits the tile and both pull, breaking the seal on the bath. You squeal meekly and back up against the wall as broad shoulders clear the water’s surface and Roboute Guilliman hauls himself out of the frigidarium in all of his wet, naked glory.

Though you quickly avert your eyes, you notice that Roboute is the source of the steam as it rolls off his body in waves. Is this what it means for a Primarch to be ill? “Lord, if you are sick, we have medicine—”

“No…need….” Roboute speaks slowly, as though every word is painful for him to say. “Just…hot…”

You fiddle with your broom. What do you say? What do you do in front of an angel, steam rolling off him as though he’s on fire? Especially when his heavy breathing sounds…erotic. “Did you need the frigidarium to cool down? I can bring you some cold water, or some ice…”

Roboute groans, and your thighs squeeze together. When he doesn’t say anything in response, you peek out at him in curiosity.

Oh, by the Throne of Terra…

He’s bigger than any Custodes, a powerful pillar of muscle and fat. His skin is bright red, especially around his shoulders, biceps, and pectorals. Despite the heat of the bath, his nipples are peaked and hard.

And his cock—

You try not to look at it. To do so feels obscene. But you can’t ignore the way it throbs and smears sticky precum against his chest, the sheath bunched up underneath his swollen knot. When he realizes you’re looking at it, his cock pulses even harder.

“My Lord,” you squeak, “are you, perhaps…in heat?”

The sound of Roboute’s guttural moan is enough of an answer. Suddenly, everything makes sense: the onset of Roboute’s heat would require him to stop immediately; going to Macragge or Terra for medical intervention would have only prolonged his suffering. He would need to ride it out until it faded naturally. The frigidarium was a futile attempt at easing his heat.

There was only one way that Roboute could ease his heat, and you were standing right in front of him with your robe open.

He moves towards you with frightening speed for his size. You try to dodge to the side, but you slip on a puddle and the only thing preventing you from eating tile is his hand wrapped around your waist. And he really wraps around your waist, from thumb to forefinger.

Roboute flips you over onto the tiles, looming over you. Your robe is peeled off with a wet slap and he pulls off your undergarments, leaving you exposed to him. The hunger of his gaze sparks both excitement and fear in your belly; something primal that you hadn’t felt before.

His cock slaps against your belly, the knot rubbing on your pussy. A low, growling noise fills the frigidarium from somewhere deep in Roboute’s chest, and when his knot rubs on you again, it comes away wet.

“Please,” you whimper, though you’re not sure what you’re asking for. Roboute seems to understand, however, and he moves off of you. For a moment, you believe that he’ll let you go, and you’re not sure why it fills you with disappointment.

But Roboute goes under you, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders and locking your thighs around his head. Your ankles can barely touch as they hang uselessly over his shoulders. “Lord--!” Your voice cracks as his fingers spread your pussy lips; though your thighs tremble on either side of his head, closing your legs is impossible. Roboute has you pinned against the hard tile of the frigidarium to do with as he wishes.

His tongue presses against your spread pussy, sending shockwaves up your spine. You moan, tangling your hands in his blond hair to keep him against your pussy. Not that you need to—Roboute devours your pussy like a man starved, nosing against your clit. Between the plinking water and your squealing sounds, you feel Roboute growl moreso than you hear it; the sound reverberates through your body from your pelvis to your toes.

Once he’s satisfied with how wet you are, Roboute moves to your clit and kisses it like the jewel of a ring. With both of your hands in his hair, you can’t muffle your squeal as Roboute laps the flat of his tongue against your clit. You only hope that no one else is in the baths, as the sound bounces around the tiled walls and echoes even as far as the apodyterium.

While you’re distracted by Roboute’s mouth on your clit, one of his fingers brushes the entrance of your pussy. His tongue circles your clit as his finger enters you, pumping slowly inside of you. Your thighs squeeze around his head and he grunts but does not let up on either of his ministrations. In fact, he doubles them. Roboute sucks down on your clit and adds a second finger to your pussy.

“My Lord!” You squeal aloud, pressing harder against his face. Pressure coils in your gut and you can barely breathe from all your moaning. “I can’t—”

You don’t finish your sentence, but Roboute doesn’t seem to need you to. He’d kept his eyes closed the entire time, as though he was savoring a delicious meal, but when he looks up at you, the intensity of his gaze pierces you.

It’s what you needed to careen over the edge, and you cry out as you gush against Roboute’s face. He groans, closing his eyes again as he fingers you through your orgasm until the overstimulation makes you whine and you push him off. He goes willingly, and the sight of your slick dappling his nose and chin is both arousing and embarrassing. You squirted on a Primarch.

“Oh, m-my Lord, I’m so sorry,” you hiccup, whimpering through the aftershocks. Roboute raises his eyebrows and wipes the juices from his face with one swipe of his arm. His other arm holds your legs over his shoulders and you realize—too late—that he’s folding them over your shoulders instead of his.

His knees bracket your body; each of his legs as long as you are tall. When his cock slaps against your belly again, it hasn’t reduced in size at all; if anything, the knot is thicker and his cock is redder and angrier than before. One of Roboute’s hands lines his cock up with your pussy while his other hand cradles your head to keep it from hitting the tiles. You can’t tell if your flushed face is from his burning skin, or your own arousal. His hand is big enough to crush your head with the twitch of his fingers.

The head of his cock breaches your pussy and your breath hitches. You could have done with another stretching and perhaps a second orgasm, but Roboute was patient enough to give you one. If his heat goes on for much longer, it could be dangerous for him—and for you.

Roboute huffs as he mounts you, sliding his cock deeper into your pussy. He takes it slowly, but the stretch is obscene. You wince with each inch that slides inside of you, closing your eyes so you don’t look at the way Roboute’s cock spreads you wide…and deep. Every time you think he’s done, Roboute fits another inch inside of you. 

You open your eyes just in time to watch Roboute bottom out inside of you, his knot resting comfortably on your swollen pussy lips. He growls in satisfaction, and the sound makes you clench around him.

For some reason, you have the brief sense that you’re in danger, right before Roboute pulls back and plows into you with what you can only describe as a howl. You swear on the Throne that you feel your belly distend with the thrusting of his cock, using you as a sleeve for his own pleasure. His knot wetly plaps against your pussy, adding to the overstimulation of your primal fucking.

White stars explode in your head, scrambling your thoughts. You can’t think of anything other than Roboute’s cock filling you, pounding you into the tile. Either your bones are creaking, or tiles are beginning to break underneath you from the sheer force.

A deep purr rumbles in Roboute’s chest and vibrates the whole of your body. His thumb strokes a glob of saliva away from your lips and caresses your cheek. When you turn your face to look at him, his brows are knitted together in exertion, but his lips are curled back in a facsimile of a smile, baring his teeth.

There’s a split second before Roboute drops himself onto you, and the force of his weight shoves his knot into you, spreading your pussy apart. You let out a garbled whine that results in another deep purr from Roboute, and his nose brushes almost tenderly against your cheek. The head of his cock is shoved against your womb and you feel it pulse with his oncoming climax. His hand tilts your head up to expose your neck to his hungry gaze and Roboute bites into your neck.

It’s only a few more thrusts before you feel his cock beginning to swell, and sticky cum is pumped inside you. It’s even hotter than his skin, and if not for Roboute’s knot, it would spill out of your womb. Though you can’t look down, you’re sure there’s a bulge from his cock and his cum.

Roboute pulls off your neck and nuzzles against the bite mark he’s no doubt left behind. He seems very proud of his work, purring and chuffing into your ear. “Lord,” you whisper, and he responds with another chuff.

But his cock hasn’t gone down, and you’re still stuck on his knot. Roboute stands and lifts you with ease until he’s standing and you’re pressed against his chest. He holds you with one hand while the other brushes something off your back and you hear the sound of ceramic clinking. He definitely broke some tiles under you.

Your hands struggle to link around his neck from where you’re pressed against his chest. There’s going to be a second ride and all you can do is hang on. Roboute’s knot is jammed inside of you and it won’t go down until he’s had his fill—and that might not be until the end of his heat.

The only thought you have before he starts thrusting is how long does a Primarch’s heat last?

Roboute bounces you on his knot, grinding more than thrusting. With this new position, your clit rubs on Roboute’s stomach, bringing even more stimulation to your aching pussy. Your fingers scrabble on his back as you crest your second orgasm and cry out, cumming against his torso.

When you come back to yourself, Roboute is holding you against his chest. His animalistic grunting and chuffing have turned into the deep moans of a man. They still vibrate your entire body, and his knot throbs. His heat is not over, but he’s at least conscious of more than his base urges.

His grinding resumes, his knot keeping you not only plugged, but spread open for the rest of his cock to fill you, to claim you and own you, wholly and fully.

Roboute’s second round does not last as long, though you are rewarded with a keening whine as he fires off more cum inside of your womb. His knot softens, not fully, but enough for him to pull out—and he does, letting his cum spill out of you.

He lifts you by your thighs so your sweaty cheek presses against his. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

And that’s the last thing you hear from Roboute before you pass out in his arms. -----------------------------------------------------

You drift in and out of consciousness over what seems like hours. At some point, you are aware of being cradled by two powerful arms and wrapped in soft fabric as a low voice buzzes in the broad chest you’re currently resting your head on.

“No, there is no cause for concern. I will take them to the Apothecary myself. Please consider them to be under my care. However, someone will need to clean and repair the frigidarium.”

There’s the sound of someone protesting, and a soft chuckle from the chest you’re resting on.

“No, I will not elaborate.”

The next time you wake up, you’re being laid into a soft bed. While the bed is unfamiliar, the sheets smell familiar. It’s vaguely herbal, with a hint of lemon…this is the same detergent you used to wash Lord Guilliman’s sheets this morning…

“Lord…?”

A soft pair of lips kiss your head, and you fall back into unconsciousness.

When you come back from your slumber, you’ve been tucked into Lord Guilliman’s guest bed. Instead of your regular robes, you are wrapped in a clean bathrobe that is slightly too large for you. The lights in the room have been turned off, but the door to the adjacent office has light spilling out from under it.

You try to sit up, but a powerful ache in your pelvis and shoulder force you back down into bed. “Oh, oh fuck, owww,” you whine, laying back down.

The door to the office suddenly opens up and the broad shoulders of Roboute Guilliman fill the doorway. He needs to stoop in order to enter the room, and he immediately kneels at your side, taking your hand. His hand absolutely dwarfs yours, and you’re reminded of how he cradled your head—

“Please, try to lay down. The Apothecary may have cleared you, but they also warned against strenuous physical activity for the next few days.” His eyebrows pinch together. “We are fortunate that I didn’t crack one of your ribs.”

He continues speaking, but his words fade in and out. The only thing you can focus on is a Primarch kneeling in front of you.

You feel like you’re going to pass out again. Roboute stops rambling somewhere between salt intake and calories when he notices the dazed look on your face. “Food is on its way if your blood sugar is running low. I have intervened on your behalf and acquired you the time to rest and recover, so there is no need for you to worry about returning your duties.”

“Th-thank you, my Lord.” You struggle to form sentences, and Roboute looking up at you with his pleading eyes is not helping. “Has your heat subsided?” Though not as noticeable as before, there is a pink tinge to his face.

Roboute goes silent, looking at your hand. “It has subsided, though it will return; likely in the next day or two. Please, do not worry yourself,” he rushes to add as you as you open your mouth, “I will be well. The onset was unexpected, but the first wave is always the strongest.”

He dips his head and his eyes lower. The hand holding yours slips. “I am…sorry that you had to encounter me in such a state. It must have been frightening to experience. I did not mean to hurt you, but I did.”

Your hands grab onto his and hold him tightly. “I was not afraid of you, my Lord. I knew you would never hurt me, even with your awesome strength, even in the middle of your heat’s first wave. You needed help, and I was happy to provide.”

Roboute thinks on this for a moment, though he still cannot bring himself to look at you. “You were happy? You enjoyed it?” His voice wavers, and your heart skips a beat.

“Very much so. You took good care of me.” Before you can stop yourself, you reach out to stroke Roboute’s cheek. Your train of thought to stop petting a Primarch doesn’t reach the station as Roboute leans into your hand.

“And you took care of me, as well. But I believe that your care could be…improved.” You hear the door open and the smell of food hits your nose. Your stomach grumbles; perhaps you should have listened to Roboute when he was talking about calories and salt intake. Taking care of a Primarch in heat was hungry work.

He kisses you softly. You hadn’t kissed when you were in the bath, so he seems to be making up for it with soft pecks on your lips and face. Roboute pulls back with one final kiss to your forehead.

“I will make no demands of you. But I would like it if you stayed with me for a while.” Though Roboute claims to make no demands, you catch the hopefulness in his voice.

“Of course.”

When he kisses you again, you feel him smile against your lips.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬:

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This was inspired by a chat between me & a fellow requester @originalgothhoagiefish-blog. My tumbler master list looks like a mess, but I'm trying to get placement right.

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: What happens when you bite your god-like mosquito back during heated times?

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k.

TW // Smut, Clothed, Bulge, Biting.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

Your angel was hungry, you can see it in his eyes; the way his angelic wings give a minuscule twitch. How his eyes keep glancing at you, wishing for a bite, and if he was lucky enough… something more. He cannot act on his needs at the moment: he’s caught up in some planetary business that he (and the whole legion) has chosen to leave you out of, but you could. You could sedate him for a bit. Give him something to drink.

“We need—” You move just a bit, gaining the attention of some of the blood angels that guard you, and well… the attention of your spouse. You know you’re causing some type of interruption with your presence just standing there, wanting to at least get to wander about. You get some looks for it: from the opposing planet, but you are undeterred. You trust your lovely legion of mosquitoes to bleed them dry if needed.

You move again and gain a bit more than just looks. You can feel the heat of jealousy burn into your skin, trying to get to your singular heart while you make your way out of the room without being dismissed. You’re sure you would get some snarky remarks about it, but they were in your lovers' domain, not their own. They should know how to act considering they were all mostly nobles.

“My Lady,” One of your sons interrupt you, following you out of the room. Leaving his other brother to observe. His steps heavy but light at the same time with his armor on. “Where are you going?”

“Your father is hungry.” You simply point out what you have seen; singled out and have a very good feeling having understanding on. “So are you.”

“I am not.” The son denies, shaking his helmet. You don’t have to look behind you to know that he was. You, however, were no commoner to your lovers’ needs, nor to his legion. You were here long enough to understand their... cues of peculiar hunger.

“Do not deny the truth Son of The Angel.” You muse, giving him a glance behind you. It was amusing how some of them still act a bit childish and refuse things. One would think the children of the stars would be much more… stoic; formal perhaps. Yet they have their moments when they reminded you of complete children.

“I do not deny, my lady.” He huffs, and it’s just amuses you even more. He was— is food angry. “I’m simply… irritated.”

“Irritated.” You repeat his word with a hum. He didn’t want to act nor admit he was hungry, just like his father. They always get a bit grumpy without something to feed them. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t be swayed with my offered blood?”

You’re quick with it, taking your defense dagger from your waist and slicing the palm of your hand of it before turning around on your heel and presenting your now bleeding palm to the son. Your hand in a slight cupped formation to keep your own blood from wasting to the ground.

“My lady…”

“Do not refuse what is generously offered, it is rude.” You are also quick on your tongue, interrupting the loyal son. Your bloody hand moving a bit as if to urge them to drink from your lifeline that slowly pours from your hand and down your arm.

“I… your blood should only be offered to our father…” He tries to deny you again, but he’s lured in. He’s leaning in closer to your offered hand. He can’t resist his hunger to feed like most others could. He is a younger Astartes, but you don't blame him for it.

“Hmm, perhaps.” You hum, feeling how your own blood pools in your hand, slowly slipping through your fingers. “But I’m offering you. Do not deny it.”

He sighs at you: a heavy one. His gauntlet coming up to his helmet and taking it off himself. A beautiful shade of dark green appearing as his eyes then the bright blonde as his wavy hair: the length of it is to his shoulder blades or rather pauldron. A few scars littering his face, but he still had those young, youthful features. (Not like the whole legion didn’t.)

“You, are as handsome as your father.” You complement the hesitant Blood Angel. He probably doesn’t want to drink from you because of your status. Doesn’t want to drink what is his Primarchs, and you can't really blame him on that either. You wouldn't want to eat the alphas food either.

However, your husband can make an exception.

"Are you sure my lady?" He asks for your word, your permission. His gauntlet coming forward to grasp at your hand. Stabilizing it for him to drink. It's a cute, small step forward for the young one to resist temptations. "I don't want to be... punished for it."

Oh, how adorable the sons were. Allways asking for permission. Well, almost always. You've heard how they weren't merciful sometimes, and you suppose it's a hard truth to learn of them, or easy. Depending on the person.

"Would you be punished if I was simply offering?" You ask him, moving your fingers a bit as the blood goes down onto his gauntlet. His eyes never leaving your crimson stained hand. "I am giving it to you freely."

"I... suppose not." He sighs, finally leaning a bit down to give your hand and inhale. His tongue liking at his lips before he gives in. The heat of his appendage giving a long lick to your palm. His tongue curling, acting like some sort of spoon to get more blood piled up in his mouth. His fangs barely brushing over the skin of your palm.

It was almost strange. To feel the differences between son and father. At least tongue wise as this sons' tongue was like a cats', yet it's a bit smoother. Sanguinius? His was smooth but had more heat to it. You guess it's because he most drank from you when he was really needy...

After a moment, he releases your wrist as gently as possible. His tongue swirling in his mouth as he moves his hand to cover his lips as if this would require some form of adequate. His eyes looking away from you with a slight blush to his cheeks. "I can see why father chosen you as the legion mother..."

You smile at him, amused and knowing. You know your blood attracts some mosquitoes more than most. Your hand returning back to your side. He has cleaned your hand quite well...

"Hmm, then I suppose you would not mind deliver something to your father; offer for an offer?" You ask the son, pressing on your wounded palm slightly. Watching a bit more blood leaving the slit.

"Of course, it's only reasonable my lady."

You're back in Sanguinius quarters but the time your... package has been sent to him. Your hands are busy wrapping up your own hand that you injured for the sake of feeding the Sons of The Angel. A small, humming tune leaving you as you tend to the wound.

You wonder if Sanguinius would like your small, editable gift? It was in small quantities, but you wanted your husband to be enriched and not be bored of the nobles that are no doubt talking nonsense, because you know in experience, they like to talk in laughing wealth... or at least those ones do. They never like to do dealings with you... which may lead to their downfall.

You jump a bit when the doors of Sanguinius quarters open. Your eyes giving a brief glance outside. You would have thought he wouldn't have arrived back until dusk, but you suppose not all comes to plan.

"My love, you didn't have to enlighten me with your own blood." Is the first thing that leaves Sanguinius mouth. His clothed form briskly walking to your side, as if he was impatient. His wings fluttering behind him. His eyes staying on you once they land on you: sitting down and wrapping up your hand.

Oh, yeah, he is definitely impatient.

"Oh? So, you knew it was my blood?" You muse, returning to wrapping up your palm. A little embarrassed to look at him now. How could you? You might have just done something brave, but incredibly stupid. Might of. You're not too sure. Would he scold you for it?

"How could I not?" He inhales. His lips suddenly close to your neck and it makes your heart pulse. His hands moving anything from shoulder from obstructing what he wants. "Your blood is my addiction; my own life as it is the legions..."

His chest is pressed up behind you as he leans down to cover you in his shadow. His own hand slowly coming do to grasp at your wrist with the bandages around it. The huge, obvious size difference was always remarkable to you.

"You fed the sons as you fed me." He hums, his lips pressing into your neck and you can't help but give him more access. Your body leaning back into him. "Generous of you, even if we didn't need it."

"Oh, please." You scoff, amused. Flipping your wrapped hand in his, tracing your fingers in his palm. "You were hungry."

"And I," He pauses, musing with you. Kissing you on the cheek as his arms wrap around you. His nose nuzzling into your neck, inhaling again before he suddenly lifts you up from the chair. A surprised yelp of his name falling through your lips as you squirm in his hold. "Still am."

"Sanguinus!" You gasp his name again, your body plopping down into the soft sheets of his bed with him directly on top of you. His hands wrapping around your waist with unnatural ease. Silently telling you just how much he could just take you; ragdoll you as his lips attack your neck. No doubt enjoying how your veins pluses a bit quicker when he excites you; teases you.

"You had no need to feed me when I can have you here; fully." He chuckles into your neck, sending a bit of a vibrations through you at the closeness. His wings behind him spreading out, covering you in his shadow, his scent, him. His hands on your waist keeping you in place for him to enjoy what is beneath him.

"Did... did you like what I have given you?" You ask a bit hesitantly, moving your own hands to his body. Your fingers tracing every outline you can find on the top half of his torso. You were afraid you might get some form of judgment from him.

"I wanted to leave the room once my tongue touched the thickness of your blood in that glass." He groans quietly, inhaling deeply again. His body shifting a bit above you while one of his hands wander just a bit lower... "I truly wonder if you were teasing me."

"Me? Never." You purr slightly out to him, enjoying his wandering his hands. You didn't want to make it sound like you were teasing him, and you weren't, it wasn't intended, but you wouldn't be opposed to be testing a Primarchs' limits in different ways besides the intensity of chaos.

"Oh, really?" He rumbles amusingly, his eyes trailing over your face. His mouth hanging open to slide his fangs over your neck, teasing you. Your body giving a shiver at the feeling as you really didn't know when he would bite you. He liked to be a bit mysterious on it.

"Really." You simply confirm, sliding one of your fingers under the waist band of his clothing, touching the bare skin of him at his v-line. His fangs, and a huff of his hot breath warning you by your neck, confining with you.

He was losing his patience ever slowly with you.

"Then I don't believe you are teasing me now, are you?" He hums, switching to give your neck a kiss again. His eyes hooded in a tired lure while his waist thrusts forward a little, urging your hands to go further down his waist. Teasing the both of you as your fingernails gently claw above where the both of you want.

"Certainly n-not- Sanguinus!"

He laughs lowly at your yelp as he gave a nip to your collar bone, drawing a very small amount of blood to taste you once more. He wants to savor the source of his food, his drink. He want's your fulfilling warmth of your blood, of you. He wants you.

His fangs trace your neck, slowly feeling how your skin twitches and pluses underneath his lips as he occasionally giving you kisses, prepping you for him to feast. One of his hands shifting to move yours a bit lower on him. Where you can feel the thickness of him and his heat. A low grunt leaving him while he has to restrain himself from about wreaking you for the next weeks to come. That is, if he doesn't drink you to exhaustion first.

Your hands grasp at him, slowly teasing him, pumping him up and down. It should have been impossible for you to do so because of his height but with the way he practically curls around you for your touch, it was not, and sometimes? You curse at yourself for your smaller height, feeling bad for your lover having to curl around you for the simplicity of intimacy, but oh... It makes things feel deliciously bigger; thicker.

You shutter a gasp when his fangs slowly pierce your skin. Hands grasping his length a bit harder while you try accommodate to the slight pain that stings you. Your nose slightly nuzzling into his jawline as you feel him drink from you. A little, satisfied hum leaving him as he swallows, even gracefully in these heated times. His waist thrusting slightly as his length in your hands moves for you.

"Sanguinus..." You sigh into him, your mind filled with unholy thoughts of him. How he would- will take you. How he would leave you weak and submissive for him to use to his pleasure. How his cock would fill you with overwhelming efficiency, touching all the sweet spots only he knows about.

He hums at you, louder to acknowledge your wants. His body shifting above you while he still drinks from you. Position himself to where you wanted him. Your hands helping him find his mark, just above your core. You're still clothed, but that's what the zippers and openings on the bottom's of the dresses are for. For your lover to fuck you good all while trying to keep up a professional and neat image.

Your body shutters while you lead him inside of you. Bursts of shorts breaths leaving you as you can feel his length slowly fill you. A slight bulge appearing on your skin where he sits himself inside your walls. Moans leaving the both of you when your walls tighten around him, and you can't but help to think of biting your lover back. It sounds appealing to you in your mind. Your body curling more into him, getting closer to him as he moves with you to continually feed on you.

His gives a small, testing thrust inside of you. Exciting another gasp from you while you move closer to his shoulder, your breath painting his own clothing. Your hands moving to grasp at his shoulders as he always felt a bit overwhelming when he was inside of you at first. You were still trying to accommodate him, but each growing second grew more pleasurable.

A whiny-like moan leaves you when he thrusts again. Hands desperately grasping at him now as the combined efforts of giving you pleasure and drinking from you was a pleasurable overkill for your sensitive nerves. Your own teeth brushing over his neck, and you can tell he froze for a second; pausing his drinking but keeping his fangs fit into your neck.

That, is when you gently bite into him yourself. Your teeth latching onto him gently on his collar bone: voided of his clothing. You bit him gently enough that wouldn't cause a mark, even if you knew how hard you had to bite him for anything to be done to him, it wouldn't cause anything to him, but in heated times? It was like activating his carnality card.

He is quick to move, unlatching from your neck and giving it a reassuring lick before he's hovering above you again. His hands settling on your thighs, giving you slow, rolling thrusts that were repetitive. It has you arching your back into the sheets with your hands grasping at his on your thighs. Mewls leaving you as he ever slowly goes faster and faster. Loosing himself: losing his resolve with you. Quiet grunts and growls leaving him while he keeps readjusting his hands on your thighs to your waist to keep you in place on his cock. His wings behind him moving and fluttering with his rabid thrusts.

Perhaps, you should bite him a bit more often? Maybe offer some surprising drinks of your blood too? It was certainly an experience, and a chance for you to be bedridden for a couple of weeks.

[cardinalcanis]

A portrait of Lion's top Elric I made:

Hair down version:

[brox-not-a-badger]

Cut your teeth on me

A little NSFW reader x Perturabo for you, think of it as a holiday gift from your favorite, frankly stupid author

Tw; breeding kink, implied pregnancy, bruises, fingering, Perturabo being a petulant and horny whore of a man

___________________________________________________

Perturabo is not the most skilled in the art of flirting or lovemaking. Not to mention the fact that he’s barely in touch with his emotions, so when a pretty little serf catches his eye, he figures it’s not his fault, and evidently blames you for his odd attractions.

___________________________________________________

You served the primarch of the IVth legion, Perturabo. By far, the most petulant and irritable primarch, and he was looming over you, an unfortunate serf who ended up on the wrong end of a brief conflict. At your feet stood the shattered remains of a vase, evidence of your brief scare due to the run-in with the primarch. You were attending to your usual duties, cleaning his study and not bothering him as per usual. Normally, he’d sit in the corner, working on a model or some plans or another.

Normally, his business was not yours, but right now he was making his business yours. “Throne damnit, woman- pick this mess up. I’ll see to it you tend to something-… less fragile. You’re dismissed.” He snarled. You found your hands trembling as you bent down to pick up the remains of the now shattered vase, quickly shuffling off to discard of the broken parts. For a brief moment, you swear you could hear mumbling coming from the mountain of a man, however, you quickly dismiss it, seeing that Perturabo was already in a bad mood.

Perturabo was hardly furious about the vase. It was the way you looked at him so gently yet so frightfully. How you moved with so much grace, despite your evident clumsiness in dropping the vase. It was infuriating how tempting you were to the eyes, so much so he hated just seeing you.

You made him feel things he thought shouldn’t have been possible. And now that your presence was no longer in the room, it felt strangely empty. Perturabo hated the emptiness of the room more than he hated your presence. Perhaps it wasn’t even hate at all, either. That was a possibility. A foolish one, but a possibility nonetheless.

Before you could leave down the hall upon disposing what was left of that vase, you heard the door slowly creak open. Perturabo poked his head out, looking around before spotting you very abruptly. “Come back, please. I may have dismissed you too quickly, I’d like to speak with you for a moment.” That was quick considering how suddenly he’d already dismissed you.

For a split second, you could see a light pink coloring in his cheeks, across his stern features. Was that blush? You quickly reentered the room as Perturabo was returning to his seat. “Do you need something, my lord?” You asked. For a moment he just stared at you, almost completely distracted by you, before quickly snapping out of it. He scolded himself internally as his features quickly grew stern and uncaring once more. He nodded.

“Yes, yes I need you to finish… reordering the books, on that shelf. I prefer they stay in alphabetical order, unless it’s a triology, or a set of chronicles. Then I expect you to order them accordingly.” He said sharply, staring at you with a concerning glare. Perturabo was renowned for snapping on a whim, so you took no time to begin preforming the task he ordered of you. You stood up on the ladder, starting by taking each of the heavy books off, starting with A’s, B’s, and so on and so forth.

Perturabo found his gaze wandering from his models over to where you stood on the ladder. He only intended for a quick glance, but found himself staring for much longer. His eyes drifted over your robes, how they hugged your curves in all of the right places, how you delicately moved. It was all enticing, and tempting. Tempting enough that Perturabo found himself feeling heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. The moment he’d caught himself staring, he’d abruptly turned away, back to what he was doing, muttering something under his breath. “Damn temptress.” He snarled scornfully.

You paused for a moment, eyes wide as you caught what he’d said. Your mind was screaming at you to stick to what you were doing, but unfortunately, your heart was louder than your head that day. Pathos overcame ethos, as you slowly turned to look at him, surprised at what he’d called you. A temptress? What on Terra did that insinuate? “Sir. What-… what do you mean by ‘temptress’?” You looked so innocent in your confusion at his description of you.

The primarch quickly snapped his attention to you, briefly stumbling over his words. In a moment of sudden panic, he blurted the first words that came to mind. “I’m calling you a whore.” There was a feral growl to his voice that only a man like him could convey. He tried to play it off, even as you stood there, staring and looking stunned at the primarch.

“M- my lord I don’t mean to pry but where did that come from?!” You sounded somewhat distressed and confused, which caused the Lord of Iron to give a blank stare, as though it had just now occurred to him the magnitude of what he just called you, very quickly he switched to an accusatory tone. Though, of course, instead of apologizing, Perturabo took the stubborn route and doubled down on his harsh words.

“I called you a whore. A harlot. Or did you mishear me? Get over here.” He snarled, watching as you did as commanded of you. You scrambled off your ladder, wandering over to the towering astartes with a startled look in your eyes. Perturabo hated your timid mannerisms, but he could never hate you directly. It was strange to him.

“Did I do something wrong, sir?” Were the first words out of your mouth. Of course, you didn’t. He knew you didn’t, but to him those feelings were conflicting, leaving you confused and a little afraid due to his unpredictable behavior with his legion. Approaching him the way you had been was like approaching a wild animal, you never knew what he would say or do next, whether it was him making a passing comment, an annoyed gesture or something more direct, he always kept you guessing. However it never truly felt like you were walking on eggshells around him, he simply felt unpredictable. He was never outright violent, nor has he ever made any violent threats towards you.

The way he kept staring at you made you a little concerned. He just stared, before speaking slowly, in a tone that was a little hard to recognize. “You-… damned whore. What is it with you? You’re just a serf. Why is it so hard to talk to you specifically?” He growled, though it sounded more like a question than scornful words. You were at a loss for words, the fact that he was towering above you made the situation even worse than originally thought possible. There was a low growl in his voice, the way he stared at you like a piece of meat could almost be described as alluring if it wasn’t a little intimidating.

You could feel your face heat up in embarrassment, which was made all the worse by the fact that he could clearly tell what was going on, seeing how fast his expression changed from a hardened look of disdain to very sudden surprise. “S- sir, I mean no disrespect, however that seems like an issue that’s your fault?” You tried to pipe up, only being met with a stare.

Perturabo found he was realizing a lot of things about himself at once as his eyes traced over your form as you spoke. He huffed and licked his lips, trying to mask something you couldn’t quite figure out. “I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, serf.” He borderline snarled in a rather animalistic display. He reached out to you, grabbing you by the face, his rough fingers digging into your cheek. It was a easy to reach you, seeing you stood to the side of his desk, right beside him so you were within reach.

He examined you for a long while, eyes locked on your delicate frame. Perturabo looked, for the most part, largely unimpressed, were it not for the light pink blush that had subtly spread across his face. After what felt like an eternity, you were let go. “Come here. In front of the desk.” He commanded of you harshly. Of course, you obliged to his commands.

You stood before him, specifically in the space between him and the desk, looking intimidated by the fact that he was looming over you. “Up, on the desk. I feel as though there is a lesson to be taught here that words cannot convey properly.” He growled, watching you scoot up on the desk, sheepishly moving things around, you looked behind you momentarily to straighten yourself out, only to be met with the primarch baring down on you, his palms on the sides of the desk.

Emotions were running very hot, so much so you could physically feel the heat coming off of Perturabo’s massive body. By the holy throne on Terra, you drove him to the brink of insanity. He’d always assumed the flowery language that Fulgrim had used to describe his vices with women back on Chemos was just talk, but now that he had such a woman in his office, propped up on his desk like a decorative piece, he understood just what Fulgrim meant.

“My lord, are you-… asking something of me?” You questioned. It was a bold thing to ask him, especially seeing how stiff and hesitant, yet extremely desperate and starved he seemed. Without words he answered your question when he slid whatever project he was working on aside and grabbed you, not by the wrists but by the hand and pinned you down to the desk. His grip was strong on you, not enough to hurt or bruise but it was enough to keep you in place so you didn’t get away.

__________________NSFW BELOW HERE ________________________

A yelp escaped your lips, it was a noise that made heat begin to pool in Perturabo’s belly. By the holy throne, everything about you made him want to just devour you more. “Ask less questions. They annoy me.” He said simply, his eyes locked on you like a wolf to a hare. You swallowed your initial tough realization, allowing your thighs to slide open in the heat of the moment.

You could see what appeared to be the faint shape of his hardened cock beneath his robes, a sight that had made your face flush even worse than it had been before. He must have taken notice of this, seeing how he’d distracted you next.

Perturabo growled like an animal as he leaned over you. Taking two fingers and abruptly and unceremoniously shoving them into your mouth. It was slightly hard to take at first, seeing just how large his fingers were, but gradually you got used to the feeling, your tongue working around his hand and covering them in saliva. “You know just what I’m going to do with these, don’t you?” A sly grin played on his lips as he reached up to push your own clothing up.

He’d then take his fingers from your mouth, making you feel a bit out of breath. He momentarily looked down at his now saliva-soaked hand, fingers spreading apart before he looked back at you. This entire encounter was leaving you at a loss for words, even more so when he praised you for how well you were doing so far. “Good, that’s a good little serf. I bet you were just begging for that to be over with, hm?” He sounded like he was taunting you, which wasn’t a tone you were used to, especially not from him.

Perturabo then slid his still-slick hand under your robes, eliciting a soft whine from your lips that drove him mad. You whimpered as he gently drove his fingers into your hot cunt. The sounds you made as you wriggled on his fingers made him want you all the more, but he persisted in his patience. Perturabo spread you open with his slicked fingers, wet sounds coming from the space between your pretty thighs.

He slid deeper in to you, until he was at least up to his knuckles. He’d begun to make swirling motions, using the pads of his hand to massage the clit. His breathing got more ragged as he gently gripped your side, hoisting himself over you. “Look at you, how pathetic. I seem to have been right to call you a harlot.” Perturabo was rather hypocritical as he spoke, seeing it was him lusting after you so intensely, however, you didn’t seem to mind his harsh words.

Perturabo wasn’t as experienced as Fulgrim or Horus when it came to pleasing women, but he was still decent, and at least knew what he was doing. His motions were slow and delicate, knowing he could probably force you down and take you however he’d liked, but he chose not to. Despite his initial hunger and annoyance at being so easily tempted, he was still soft on you. Parts of him could have even said he was in love with you, but that was preposterous. This was just some simple ‘discipline’, at least, he assumed it was.

When Perturabo finally pulled his slick fingers out, you’d felt empty, and a little disappointed, finding yourself yearning for a little bit more of that sweet, sweet stimulation. What was even worse was that you were getting surprisingly close to climax off of just his work with his hands alone. Just as you assumed Perturabo was about to let you leave, he didn’t.

As you went to sit up on his desk to get up and leave, he set you right back down. He licked his middle and index fingers, lapping your juices off of his hand, then grabbed you by your hips and lining you up with his. “Mh~ you’re not going anywhere just yet. I’m not done with you.” Perturabo grunted. He was hard as a rock, and you could feel it between your thighs, through the silky fabric of his traditional robes.

Perturabo was absolutely throbbing. The way you laid there and stared at him with those eyes he hated seeing, the way you sprawled out, willingly giving yourself to him in every sense, he hated it. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate you. He hated everything about you because you were alluring and tempting, like a siren that leads sailors astray. He needed you.

And, evidently, he was going to have you. Perturabo pulled away slightly, brushing his robes out of the way as he had done yours. Perturabo reached up and gripped the fabric in his teeth to keep it out of his way, revealing his somewhat soft abs and just under his chest. It was quite a view to have, seeing just how strong he was under there.

Then there was his cock. Perturabo was huge in every aspect. Every, aspect. Parts of you were worried he wouldn’t fit, and you were almost correct. It explained why he had to be so thorough with his foreplay. He squeezed his cock into you just narrowly, feeling you just writhe made his sensitive body react. You could see the faint outline and bulge from his member in your lower belly. It was a feeling that sent you spiraling.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he began. At first, moving his hips deliberate and slow as to not injure you, which was a shockingly considerate move on his part, considering how much he was going to wreck you. Slowly, he sped up until he was at a steady rhythm. His hips pumped, leaving you a moaning, whining mess. The sounds coming from you were like a personal orchestra to Perturabo. He clenched the cloth of his robes in his teeth harder and started going down on you like there was no tomorrow.

Part of him wanted to keep going until he got you pregnant, but he tried to stifle that part of him deep down. Perturabo then bent over the desk, letting his own robes fall from his teeth as he wrapped his arms around you, grunting and growling like a wild animal as he kept thrusting in and out of you. You felt good, absolutely divine, even. The way your walls hugged his cock, how your moans sounded in his ear. Even the way your nails dug into his back made him want to fuck you like it was your wedding night.

Perturabo’s hips did all his talking for him, while your cries of pleasure certainly fueled him to keep going. He was so wrapped up in fucking you that he drowned out the sounds of the desk creaking beneath you. He placed his full weight down on the desk, but being careful not to apply too much pressure to your body. Perturabo reached one hand out to grab the edge of the desk, keeping it in place even as it creaked.

His iron grip had even caused the hardwood of the desk to crack. It wasn’t long before he was laying into you with considerable force. You, on the receiving end, were struggling. It was beginning to hurt your lower back, and your insides, seeing just how big and robust he was in every way possible. It was too much for you to handle, which very quickly brought you to climaxing before him.

Pure ecstasy riddled through your entire body as you stiffened with a loud moan. You were feeling very swiftly overstimulated due to his onslaught. Though, luckily for you, not long after you’d climaxed, so did he. Perturabo gripped your hips with bruising strength, staying inside you as he rode his pleasure filled climax to its peak.

You could feel the hot, sticky liquid pouring into you in large amount. His seed was hot, but not hot enough to burn. Perturabo remained with his body on top of yours, having to lift you off the desk and sit back in his chair. The two of you just sat there for a moment, breathing heavily and listening to one another’s heartbeats thundering. “Th- throne on Terra, I need to make you my wife as soon as possible.”

He leaned back. You were far too spent to comment, so you decided to simply nod and groan. You looked down at your lower stomach, wondering if there would be consequences to your master’s actions, however, the chances of that were unlikely. But not zero. “Sir-.. P- Perturabo, we should probably clean up, yes?” You asked, panting between breathes.

Perturabo had nodded in agreement. “Yes, cleaning up is a good idea… lets-… lets just stay here, for a little while.” He said to you, his tone much gentler compared to when you started off. Perhaps, he could even go for a round two in the shower. He’d decide that later though. For now, the pair of you needed to rest.

___________________________________________________

Sorry I haven’t posted in a while!!! I got hit by a car, BUT I AM OKAY! There were some superficial wounds but I’ll live. A broken wrist + some snapped ribs never killed anyone (at least I don’t think). I hope I portrayed the silly little guy correctly, Perty is kind of hard to nail down in writing! I also may have gotten a little too wrapped up writing the smut portion

[thevoidscreams]

Omg your writing is exactly what I want and need <3 Maybe some breeding? Guilliman or the Lion (it seems it would fit them the best). Wanting to claim and curious about if their seed could knock up a regular human. Keep up the good work ^^

Day 17

I love blueberry man

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x reader

Warnings: a bit of fulgrim existing, breeding, you get yoinked, your dad sells you to the imperium wattpad style, arranged marriage

The mirror reflected my image back to me as the serf did up my corset.

“You're a very lucky woman. Marrying the Lord Guilliman.” she cooed.

I hadn't felt all that lucky. I'd barely known him a month before I stood at the altar with him.

I could see my father's face in my mind's eye telling me that my husband had been chosen. As his daughter and the princess of our world it was my duty to keep our world from ruin.

--

“If you don't do this, they will force our world into submission.”

“But he'll take me away. I'll never see you again.” I'd been crying as he sat me down and hugged me.

“He will be a good husband and this marriage will give us some favorable terms under the rule of the emperor of Terra. He promised us this and he is a good sort of man.”

“I haven't even met him yet.”

“You will tonight. He's our guest of honor at the banquet.”

I fought back tears. This was my duty, my people needed me.

--

“Oh don't cry my lady. You'll streak the blush.”

The serf gave me a reassuring pat.

“I'm just so worried that I'll never see my family again.” I admitted in a wobbly voice.

“Oh dear, you'll have plenty of family once you marry Lord Guilliman. He has thousands of sons. And I'm sure there will be a few more along the way now that you're here.”

She said conspiratorially.

“I'm sure you're right.” I admitted.

He was quite fetching I had to admit. Lord Guilliman was a very handsome man and any woman would feel lucky to marry someone like him.

Besides, this marriage would be good for your world. The protection it would afford you from those awful xeno raids was just another thing you couldn't afford to give up.

“What's he like?” I asked absently, my mind wandering. I'd only met him twice now and both times had been with chaperones from both sides.

“Lord Guilliman is very noble, my lady, and he's honorable. Smart as they come too. He's quite gentle with us all as well. Doesn't put us littler baseline people down either.”

She nodded and began fixing my hair.

“Do you suppose he'll be a good husband? A fair one?”

“Oh he'll be the best no doubt. When he's not busy mind you.” I nodded.

“Of course. He has much to do.”

“Aye, he does. Now give us a turn. Let us see you.”

I gave a slow turn and all the assembled hand maids and serfs ooo'd and gushed.

“Well isn't she just the loveliest thing you ever saw?” One of them cooed. They were all so kind and it helped ease my nerves to know that I would have them to help me.

The ceremony had been grand, by all standards, even for someone from my station.

The Ultramarines, my new ‘family’ were giant men in giant suits of armor, my new husband introduced me to so many my head spun.

But my husband and his sons were not the only giants to attend. My new brother- in-law had come to see this, apparently, an odd occurrence.

They varied in personality vastly. But they came bearing gifts and well wishes. Their sons, who I was beginning to understand, were called legions, joined us as well.

Sanguinius and Vulkan had been the sweetest.

I adored them. They did a good job reassuring me as well that I was in good hands. That their brother would be a dutiful husband and that he would not mistreat me.

They did more to put aside any fears I had than everyone before. I couldn't help but trust them.

I looked to my husband who was speaking to another man in purple.

He was lovely, with violet eyes and long silky white hair. He seemed to be teasing his brother and I smiled thinking of my own family.

Hopefully, I'd be able to have a few children soon, it would soothe the ache I knew I would feel.

“So brother, your wife is a darling little thing isn't she?” Fulgrim chirped, I knew it was the set up to something more and I downed my wine.

“If you have something to say Fulgrim then just say it.”

He pouted and lounged in his chair more dramatically.

“I'm surprised you didn't marry her off to one of your captains, or one of your other sons. But I can't say that I blame you.”

“Her father would not accept anyone from a lower station, he was..adamant.”

Fulgrim laughed, it was a silvery sound. “Oh brother, you are so lucky you got to this world instead of me. I would have grabbed her up in a heartbeat. Perhaps I should marry again. To have a sweet little thing to warm my bed.”

“I didn't marry her just to deflower her.” I felt the scowl darken my face.

“Naturally not. But you will, will you not? As her husband you will have to perform and be dutiful. A wedding is only half concluded until it is consummated.”

My cheeks grew hot. “I am not going to discuss my bedroom activities with you Fulgrim. I will do as is expected of me as her husband. But I will mto be a lecherous pervert and run around giving away everything. If you're going to be disgusting, do it elsewhere.”

Fulgrim shook his head at me and sighed.

“Well how about this? Do you think you'll be able to? Will you be able to even make her a mother?”

I was about to reply with some very heated words but stopped. The question shocked me.

“I will do as my duty demands.” I told him simply.

I looked at my wife, she was much smaller than me. Half my height and so…delicate. Sex would be a minefield to navigate. I may not have known her well. But she had been kind, and I felt certain of her good character.

“Pardon me.” I pulled myself away from the conversation and went to my wife.

“They're about to make the speeches. We should return to the table.”

I turned to look up at my husband and nodded.

He offered me his massive hand and I went with him at his side.

“Have you enjoyed your evening my Lord?” I asked softly, he looked at me quizzically.

“I am your husband, there is no need for formalities. Call me Roboute.”

“Ah. Right.” I blushed. “Have you enjoyed the evening so far, Roboute?”

He smiled. It was a gentle gesture and my heart fluttered like a bird trapped in a cage.

“I have.”

People went up to a podium, one by one, giving their admiration and care in the form of stories and well wishes. I learned much from the stories told about his time on the battlefield.

His older brother, Horus, gave a very moving speech before he addressed me personally and wished me luck dealing with his stubborn blood.

People laughed and it was all in good fun. Even Roboute laughed and stood to embrace his brother.

My own family spoke, proud as anything and I felt teary eyed again as my mother wished me luck in my journey as a woman. Telling me how much she loved me.

A few tears did fall and my husband touched my back softly.

After the festivities, people either left or broke into smaller groups to talk.

“Where will we be staying tonight?” I asked Roboute.

He looked down at me and answered in a polite and quiet voice.

“My flagship. The Macragge's Honour. Your belongings will be moved there so we may leave in the next few days.”

I nodded.

My hearts hammered as I realized I would have to sleep with her in my bed, and we would have to at least try for a child.

Oddly enough, it wasn't embarrassment or discomfort that I was feeling. It was a rush like the thrill of the battle before it began.

I was anticipating this new turn in my life.

I swept her up. Careful of her dress and carried her in my arms. “Roboute?” She squeaked.

“Is it not a tradition to carry your wife over the threshold of her new home?”

“It is, but your ship is still in orbit. It'll take some time to get there.”

“Then I will carry you all the while.”

I could feel her heart racing, the same as mine. Was it excitement that made it beat so fast and so loud, or fear?”

I could only hope it was the former. I did not want my own wife to be fearful of me.

That anxiety was laid to rest as she placed her head on my chest relaxing into me. Some of my brothers whooped and cheered as I carried my bride away.

“Have fun brother.” I heard Fulgrim laugh. Oh I would..I hoped.

Roboute carried me the whole way just as he said.

His ship was the biggest thing I’d ever seen.

And his room was bigger than the main banquet hall of my father's castle.

He set me down and touched my cheek softly.

“I want you to be comfortable. Please if this is not something you want, I need to know. But otherwise I am intent to do my duty as your husband. And consummate our marriage.”

I shivered, he was being so kind. I'd heard so many horrible stories of new husbands just forcing that contact on their wives, but here he was offering me a choice.

“I would like..” I thought for a moment, trying not to imagine anything too lewd.

“I would like to try.” I breathed and he nodded.

“Shall I have a serf help you prepare? I am not so experienced in undoing clothes and hair.”

I shook my head. “Let me undress, then perhaps we could bathe and.. get used to one another.”

“A sound idea.” He agreed and began to undress.

His body was amazing. Perfect even. I couldn't help but stare as he revealed his body to me. Laying his clothes over a chair neatly.

“Are you going to undress with me?”

I stared at him dumbfounded and nodded.

He chuckled. “Is the view really all that good.”

My mouth moved before my brain and I blurted, “Oh yeah.”

Roboute blushed, and not lightly either. His cheeks were like the blood angels battle plate.

“I- um, thank you.”

I nodded.

I fumbled a bit gracelessly for the strings keeping my corset together.

I managed but I felt foolish.

I dropped the dress and stepped out of it, moving on the pins holding my hair. Quite aware of his gaze on me.

She was lovely, I hadn't imagined such a thing of beauty would be under all of those clothes. She rivaled even the most masterfully sculpted statues of my home.

I wanted to reach out and touch her skin, it looked so soft.

I resisted, not wanting to be too forward.

“You are very lovely.” I breathed and snapped my mouth shut, having not meant to speak the words aloud.

Her eyes sparkled, just as magnificent as the rest of her.

“I will take you to the bath.” I told her, lifting her until my arms. She gasped and I nearly put her down again.

But get arms snaked around my neck. I find that anticipation returning along with the question Fulgrim posed to me.

Could I give her children? I would have to try.

The bathroom was spacious and the tub would have more than enough room for us both, it could fit several of my brothers and I for a communal bath. But for tonight it was just us.

I ran the water, setting my little wife down on a bench.

“Shall I bring some oils? They feel wonderful after a bath.”

“I've never used them before.”

“I will help you.” I assured her.

Once the water was to an acceptable depth I stepped in, offering her a hand into the hot water.

The water was deeper than I had anticipated, it was like a hot pool.

Roboute took me into his lap and I felt like I was going to faint. He was my husband, but I'd never been alone with a man, other than my father, much less naked with one.

And here I was, sitting in his lap, naked as a bird and feeling all sorts of ways about it.

His hands ran over my skin, massaging soaps into my back and arms.

He was bathing me, like I was a kid.

“I-I can wash myself.” I stammered, he chuckled and it sent rippling little waves through the water.

“I know, but I want you to relax.”

“Oh.”

My hand reached for the bottle and I poured some into my hand, rubbing down his chest, my fingers brushing through the very fine blond hairs there.

He hummed and his hands scrubbed lower.

We spent our time like that, rubbing and bathing one another, I moved closer to reach his shoulders and found myself against something hard under the water.

“Hmm?”

He coughed and apologized.

“Why are you apologizing?” I giggled still confused.

I reached down to try and move the thing out of the way with my hand, grabbing it. Roboute groaned and it dawned on me just what I'd just done.

“oh….” I mumbled and slumped against him. “sorry…” his hand rested on my back.

“Don't be. It's yours to do with as you please.” He mused.

It was, wasn’t it? I ran my hand up and down the length of it. Exploring the velvety softness.

“It’s big.”

“What did you expect?” He breathed, seeming to enjoy the touch.

“Well, I'm not really sure. This is all new to me.”

Roboute sank into the water washing the soap from our bodies before standing.

“Let’s get dry, I’ll rub you down with that oil.”

His towels, like everything else, were massive. I got lost in the plush fabric and my poor husband had to help orient me towards the bed.

I sat on the edge and pulled the towel down to look up at him. He was actively drying his body and I followed his example.

While I was drying Roboute vanished back into the bathroom. He returned with a clay vase of body oil.

“Lay back.”

My body moved, I found myself unable to disobey the command.

He knelt on the bed next to me, his body causing the bed to dip. I had to put out an arm to keep from rolling.

Roboute kneeled between my legs, pouring oil into his open palm.

“Just relax and let me work.”

I nodded.

His hands ran over me bare chest and down my stomach, the oil felt warm applied by his hands.

The big pads of his finger tips massaged my thighs and I moaned as he worked the tension out of my muscles.

He was skilled with his hands.

I was so lost in the feeling I didn’t notice him bending low until his lips were on my throat, kissing and nibbling. My fingers combed through his hair, holding him closer.

“Roboute~” I gasped.

“Yes, my wife?” He purred back. His fingers sliding between my thighs, pressing to my womanhood.

His lips touched mine, one oil slicked finger pushing in. The oil acts as a sufficient lubricant to ease his way in, making me squeak.

“Shall we begin the consummation of our marriage my husband?” I asked, my voice tremulous.

“That was the idea, yes.”

I looked down at her, her body soft under my own. I had certainly made up my mind on the matter. I would bed her as frequently as I was able. We had to make our way back to Terra now, so that I could present her to my father. That would provide ample time to see if our biology was compatible. I was surprised to find that I was beyond hopeful that it was. She was a good woman and I was sure she would care for a family well. I’d also taken her from her home and her family. If I could not provide her with children.. The thought killed me inside. I slipped my finger in as far as I could, watching her writhe under me. Her breaths quickening as I pet her inner walls. The oils mixed with her natural slick. I was fascinated by the way her body pulled my finger back in after I pulled it back. Taking the oil I poured more over her. Tending to her gently. I felt pride with each sound I drew from her soft lips.

“The oil..” She sat up and I felt a rush of worry, was it hurting her? Was I hurting her?

“Yes? What about it?”

“May I see it?” She held out her palm to me and I understood, lifting the jug to pour some into her hand.

“What are you-?” I choked on my own breath as she grabbed hold of my cock, stroking me and kissing my lips.

“Is this good?”

“Very.” It felt good, being touched in that way. The strokes were a bit uncertain at first but steadily grew with confidence as my own voice joined hers.

“I need to prepare you to take me. May I push one more in?”

She nodded and kissed me softly. “Yes, please.”

My ring finger joined the middle and I felt her body stretching to accommodate the width of both. I watched as her face scrunched with pain.

“Breath, deep breaths, it'll help ease the pain.”

She obeyed readily, and my manhood twitched. Would she always obey so well? If so, we were probably going to be doing this even more than previously assumed.

“Good girl. Taking me so well. ” I praised, my fingers pulling out and pushing back in. I added a bit more oil and kept the pace slow and steady, letting her body acclimate to the affection.

I had her there for all of two minutes before her body tensed and her walls clamped around me, my fingers suddenly became a lot wetter and stickier.

“Good girl,” I crooned again, “cum for me, just like that.”

Her hand was still lazily holding my cock and I watched as a thick pearl of precum dripped onto her lower lips. I pushed it in with a thumb.

“I need you, my darling wife.”

Her eyes focused on mine and she reached up for me. Grabbing at me and smiling dreamily. “Then have me.”

I did, lining up my cock and pulling her onto it inch by inch.

If I had thought his fingers stretched me then I hadn't felt anything yet. His cock was thick and filled me completely.

I felt my head fall back and I cried out, but the preparations from before made it not only bearable, but after a point, completely mind blowing.

His cock pressed all the places he'd been petting before.

Making my already tingling nerves shout at the new source of stimulation.

Sunk to the hilt he stopped and I whined reaching up to take his cheeks into my hands.

“I will give you time to adjust, don't worry.” He promised.

I felt myself grumble, grumpily.

“I don't need time to adjust.”

He looked down at me, confusion morphing into understanding, then amusement.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” I whined again.

“Is my princess in need. Does she want me to make the burning ache go away?”

I did. I very much did.

“Yes, I need my primarch to make me feel good.”

His mouth descended on mine and he kissed me hard, his cock pulling out of me before thrusting back in.

“Like that?” He teased.

“Exactly like that.” I panted under him.

He wrapped his arms around the oil from my skin brushing off onto his.

He kissed me, his hips working a steady rhythm.

His body was hot, like the bath water and it kept me warm in the big room. His cock was also hot inside me. I wanted more of this, more love, more touches, more everything.

He seemed to be feeling the same, his eyes were closed tight and I kissed the tip of his nose. He faltered in his pace and I laughed, as he smiled and returned the gesture.

Neither of us lasted very long that first round. I came hard on his cock and he gave me the first of many loads.

The room was quiet, except for our breathing.

I laid in Robute's arms, kissing him over and over.

“I think they were right.” I spoke, breaking the silence.

“Who was right about what?” He asked, puzzled.

“Your brothers. I think you will be a wonderful husband.”

He hugged me tighter and pressed her forehead to mine.

“I will try.”

A month passed on our journey back to Terra. I had awoken the past two days feeling ill. Roboute took me to the Apothecaries on the third day. Fearful I had contracted some ailment while aboard the ship.

We'd been active almost everyday for that month. Except the past three and I was feeling needy again.

The apothecary came rushing in from the lab looking at his father and I with a look of awe in his expression.

“What is it?” Roboute demanded. His son stared at the database and he grinned.

“Congratulations, father.” He motioned to me and I thought I began to comprehend.

“Our mother is with child.” He announced.

Before I could speak Roboute had me up in his arms. Kissing my cheeks and face, laughing and cheering.

“Please, my son. May I have the results. Send them to me.”

Later that night Roboute called his brother.

“Brother! How is married life?” Fulgrim asked delightedly and sipped his wine.

Roboute sent the results to his brother. And watched as the fuzzy green image spat out the mouthful of wine and coughed.

“I guess we have our answer now. Don't we? Good night brother.”

Roboute terminated the connection and went back, intent on celebrating with his wife.

[iluminatka16]

The Bat And The Cat

Tags: Konrad Curze x f!oc, chaotic fluff, cuddling, two menacies to society in too close proximity to each other, air jail

Warnings: mention of torture and suggestion of SA

Summary: The two most stubborn people in the galaxy have a nightmare and need some comfort. Or - how (not) to wake up a primarch.

Word count: 1808

English isn't my first language so sorry for any mistakes.

A gentle application of force was enough to make the skin on her abdomen break. In the slums, knives were blunt and often worn out, so the whole process was much more painful. Although she was Perpetual, she still felt pain when someone brought her guts out into the open. She was sitting strapped to a chair when blood gushed from her abdomen, the gritty texture of the leftover fat in her emaciated body visible as day. However, that wasn't the worst of it. In front of her, on the floor, lay the silhouette of a man. His inhumanly handsome and, to many, terrifying face was contorted into a tired grimace. His long black hair was scattered across the floor, and his dark eyes stared into the void. However, she didn't dare look down below, where there was a yawning wound on his neck that separated his head from the rest of his body. She stared silently at the man's body as her executioner continued to cut off his skin and flesh piece by piece. Piece by piece.

Falka rose abruptly, panting. Sweat ran down her forehead, and her heart pounded as if it was about to jump out of her chest. With a trembling hand, she touched her cheek, tracing a wet mark on her skin with her finger. She must have cried in her sleep. She wiped her face with one hand in an attempt to calm down, and with the other she reached down to her abdomen, touching the countless scars that covered it. There was no trace of the wound. Falka sighed quietly. She turned onto her stomach, drawing the pillow to her body. She tried to fall asleep, but she could not get rid of the unpleasant feeling that, like an icy fist, clenched on her heart. She was still angry and raw after their earlier argument, she had no desire to see his face. However, the feeling of unease did not leave her even as she tried to suffocate herself with a fluffy mass, pressing her face into the pillow. After several minutes of trashing, she finally rose furiously to sit down, clasping her hands on the satin material. Cursing under her breath, she stood up and put her slippers on her bare feet. Fucking ship. If it weren't for the fact that they were currently traveling through the Warp, she would have opened a portal and escaped the fucking metal can. As far away from him, his sons and all those memories as possible.

Falka opened the door to her quarters and stepped out into the hallway. She looked crazy to say the least - clad only in a nightgown, she moved through the halls like a phantom. She quickly found herself in front of Konrad's quarters, or better put, chamber. For someone who prided himself on a frugal lifestyle, Curze liked his bedroom to be decorated with splendor. Beds on the Nostramo for the poorest were a luxury, as were many other aspects of daily life. Falka swallowed bitterly at the memory of the musty mat on the floor, which might as well not have been there, that she shared with the woman what gave birth to her, or the later cold floor she was forced to sleep on for most of her teenage years. Their childhood in the shithole had twisted them in various ways, in Konrad's case one of it was an obsession with keeping his bedroom as if he were to house his older brother, Fulgrim.

Not that she was complaining. After all, she spent most of her nights there instead in her quarters.

She passed two Night Lords standing outside the entrance. They didn't question her. Of course they didn't. She had been in Konrad's life too long not to know any of his sons. Even if not by name. She noiselessly opened the door, noting in her mind that if she stopped being angry with Curze she was to tell him about the fact that he should do something about those hinges because they don't make any sound, which is dangerous, and then entered the room. She expected Konrad to hear her footsteps, that when she approached his bed she would find dark eyes pointed accusingly at her and a question about what possessed her at this hour. Fucking bastard.

To her shock, only silence greeted her, punctuated by the quiet, barely audible, buzzing of the ship. Falka felt the blood drain from her face. She walked closer to the bed, fearing she would see the worst. But panic was quickly replaced by relief and involuntary annoyance when a quiet whine came to her ears, and she could see Konrad trashing on the bed. He was mumbling something under his breath, his hands clenched on the sheet, tearing it in several pieces. He was having a nightmare, just like she had a few minutes earlier. Falka knew better than to wake him up when he was like this. Especially when he was in a bad mood before going to bed. The scar on her arm regularly reminded her of this. Having no other choice and perhaps feeling a slight need to teach him a lesson, Falka grabbed one of the pillows on the chair, swung and threw it straight at his face. It bounced off him, snapping him out of his sleep. Konrad growled like an animal visibly shocked by what had happened, his hand instinctively hurling the pillow to the other side of the room.

"What the..." he began, panting. Then his gaze fell on Falka. "What are you just.... YOU LITTLE BITCH, HOW DARE YOU..."

Konrad grabbed the quilt with his hands and uncovered himself. His eyes, as if in a frenzy, passed around the room, trying to understand what was happening. He tried to get up, but was stopped by the small hands on his shoulders. Falka thought she was going to start crying again when she felt the warmth of his skin, indicative of his condition quite far from death. Not that she would have been able to hold him for long - Konrad was more than 3 ft taller than her and somehow twenty times stronger. But it was enough of an element of surprise that she approached him so boldly, doing something most people would have had their guts ripped out for. Not that throwing a pillow at the primarch's pretty face was any less of a crime by any measure.

Without waiting for his sleep-blinded mind to process the information, Falka merely crawled into his lap. Her body clung to his chest, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to listen to the beating of his twin hearts. He was terrified or upset about something. But he was alive. And that was the most important thing. This arrogant, sarcastic asshole was alive. His breathing now quickened, his body tense as the muscles under his skin moved. Falka was so lost in a sense of relief that she ignored Konrad's hostile demeanor and the curses rained down on her. If he wants to pull her away he will do so without a problem. Now she had no intention of moving from her favorite cushion.

She was snapped out of her reverie by a hand pressed against her head. His fingers moved through her ginger strands, untangling one of the tangles that had formed there during her nightly trashing. And slowly, Konrad sank back onto the pillow again, cradling her to his chest.

"Madwoman." He muttered. "What, you aren't angry with me anymore?" His voice, though filled with sarcasm, had no real venom in it.

Falka shifted slightly, searching for the most comfortable spot and muttering quietly. Then she felt Konrad's hand move from her head, to her neck. She was ready to bite him if he got the idea of strangling her, but instead she only felt his fingers finding her pulse point and pressing gently. When he received confirmation that the girl in his arms was indeed alive, Falka could hear the frantic beating of his heartbeat slowly change to a steady one, indicating that he had calmed down. She didn't know why, but at the gesture there was a warmth in her chest that pride wouldn't let her name.

"I had a nightmare." Falka muttered after a moment of silence. She expected the mocking scoff that Konrad liked to use when he was still raw after their arguments. But instead she felt his hand move from her neck to her back and start stroking the skin there. "From that night, when the pimp of the woman who gave birth to me discovered that I could regenerate myself and gave me to my first and last client."

Falka felt Konrad's body tighten. The memory of these people upset him even 300 years after the events. The hand on her back stopped to press her against his chest, trying to protect her from the world. The other, on the other hand, reached for the quilt and forced it over them, covering them with it.

"I still regret that he died so quickly when I skinned him alive." Konrad whispered, her voice this time devoid of sarcasm, turning more into a... purr? It was a rumbling sound from his throat, a tone of voice reserved only for her when she needed comfort or they were relaxed.

For a few seconds, Falka wondered if she should tell him that he had died in that dream, but refrained. Konrad was paranoid and might begin to think that the dream was not a symptom of PTSD after all, but a vision of the future where he would be killed and she tortured.

"And you? You were screaming like a little girl when I found you" Falka asked, sliding her hand over the skin of his arm. She was snapped out of her blissful moment by a light smack to the back of her head. "Ouch, you asshole!"

"Liar."

"I'm telling the truth and I can demonstrate."

"You're the one who's about to scream if you don't calm down."

Falka was about to respond with something clever, but at that moment strong hands pulled her off his chest. For a moment he held her in the air on top of him, wanting to make fun of her low height and how easily he could lift her. The disrespect… Falka with annoyance began to wince, trying to kick him, but the next second she lay safely immobilized between his arms as he rolled to his side and pressed her against him.

"You're choking me!" Falka wheezed out, struggling.

In response, Konrad merely pulled her closer and tucked her head under his chin.

"Good. Suffer.”

___

Uff, and my first fic on tumblr is published. Don't come for me for using wrong tags, I'm still learning haha.

[thisuserislilsilly]

Summary: A dreadnought looks back on his life, on the 2nd Legion and on his Primarch.

Pairing: None

Genre: Angst holy heck there is angst

TW: Dreadnought death :<

Goblin tag squad: @finchly-tintinnabulation @cardinalcanis @artemisareia

@echo-of-damnation @meervalv0 @jaghatai-khock

@druidwolf21

In silence

It has been too long since I have felt something akin to touch in my body, and I know this is just a byproduct of my systems shutting down, of everything else giving up but my spirit.

I had not seen the shot that took me down, it is my shame and my fault for I was focused on getting my brothers out of that kill zone before it was bombarded to the Warp and back. It went through my chassis and burst something within me; my systems faltered, my "hands" for a moment stopped triggering the weapons of vengeance I have wielded for longer than I had memory of them. My second death approaches gently, like a lovers touch before eternal slumber.

"Leave me...here...regroup with the others" I hear myself speaking to him, to that little brother that has been with me since I had been entombed in this sacred sarcophagus. I have watched over him like a big brother oversees the growth of his younger sibling, to have been close to him and being taken care of by him is an honor too big for me to even accept in its fullest ways

There are warning flaring up on my visor, the constant sounds of failure and emergency protocols activating, but none of that worries me now. I can only focus on the skies, the war torn, grayed and beautiful skies up above us, who have witnessed every last second of our war against the enemy. They do not remind me of my home, because it has never existed, I was never born into a planet with skies or earth or sounds of life and tranquility; the Void was always my home, the busy life inside a fleet was my mother and the cool steel of it's walls my father.

Father. I have fought with him side by side for millennia, both when I had a real body and too in this metal flesh. If my younger self would had known what had awaited him in the Crusade of our Emperor and what would had happened afterwards with him and the Legion he was a part of...would I had been so eager to be a Mute? Would that child had done his very best in all the tests and all the exercises to be worth the honor of elevating his soul and duty to the greatness of the Astartes? One part of me doubts it, doubts I would had been strong enough to know the hardships we would had endured, but as I recall the tender yet firm gaze of the Hollowgrace as it settled on my bruised but proud little form I know there was no other fate for me other than live and die for him.

As my vision falters, as my little brother groans in silent defeat over what little can be done for me I feel...a warmth, a calm I had not felt since so many sun's ago; my battered body cannot even move in the slightest to either side to see the presence close to us, but I have known my Liege too well to not recognize him.

"Your Hollowgrace" My voice is weak, it glitches and dims in volume

"Lakros" I know him, he is smiling to me still "Come to me"

"Sire" If only could I extend my hand to him, if I could show him the gratitude that has filled my heart for all of what he has done for me

In silence I came and in silence I shall go.

He sees me, he knows what I try to say, there are no more attempts to communicate it, there are no words in spoken language that are enough for what I feel for him. I take the vow of silence, the Vanrakfia-Shul, and I do not feel cold anymore, neither do I feel any regrets for the life I have lived and the wars I have fought, the foes I have slaughtered and the allies and brothers I have saved. My vision shuts itself completely while my heartbeat slows announcing the final bells on my life, yet I am proud of it, I happily receive it in the bliss only the Hollowgrace has been able to provide me.

[niqhtlord01]

The Great Git Hunt Part 1: The Death of a Legend

During the turning of the 42nd millennia the universe was to see many upheavals of a galactic nature.

 The 13th Black Crusade finally shattered Cadia and opened the great rift, sundering the universe in two and unleashing innumerable demonic incursions into real space. Tyranid Hive Fleets began appearing more frequently along the entire eastern fringe devouring innumerable worlds and forcing the Imperium to fight tooth and nail for every world to slow the tide of chitin.The Tau launched the Fifth Sphere Expansion while the Imperium’s attention elsewhere and sought to steal several dozen worlds from Imperial control and integrate their populations in the name of the greater good.

Yet the most perplexing, if not confounding, event was to pit two of the greatest warhosts against each other all over the death of one elderly man.

That man was Commissar Sebastian Yarrick.

Dying at the age of roughly 153, the energetic Commissar Yarrick made a name for himself by leading the Imperial resistance against Ork Warlord Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka on the world of Armageddon. Taking for himself the severed arm of an ork warchief he slew in combat to replace the arm he lost, Yarrick would become a nay mythical figure amongst Ork culture and the primary rival of Ghazghkull himself. It was said that the warboss only ever cursed Yarrick; an honor amongst orks for sure. Their rivalry would span nearly a century as the two would fight again during the third war for Armageddon and then far afterwards as Yarrick chased the warboss half way across the universe seeking to end the green threat once and for all.

Many would be safe to assume that with a rivalry so deep between two titans of their peoples that their stories would end with a climatic clash of arms where one would lay dead at the others feet. Yet fate sought to intervene in the cruelest of manners.

While pursuing his eternal foe with a fleet of Black Templar space marines, Imperial Guard, and several warships of the Imperial Navy; Commissar Yarrick was set upon by the newly reformed World Eaters chaos space marines legion led by their demonic primarch Angron.

With the opening of the great rift Angron emerged from the Eye of Terror at the head of the largest force of Khorne worshipers the universe had seen since the Horus Heresy. Angron was not content to follow Abaddon and his mongrels, so set out on his own to leave a path of devastation and slaughter spanning several sectors. Each world his followers set foot upon they would leave in fire with nothing but the hollow skulls of its former inhabitants piled in mile high mounds to watch over them. It was in fact the most recent slaughter on the planet Mori that reverberated throughout the warp so strongly it incapacitated the navigators of Yarrick’s fleet and pulled them out of the warp.

Angron was surprised at the sudden appearance of an Imperial war fleet, but welcomed the new challengers with great relish. The Khorne warships descended upon the imperial fleet like carrion fiends and began pulling it apart piece by piece. The navy fought back with great ferocity but the troop transports were left to fend for themselves as hordes of boarding craft were launched at them, each packed with world eater space marines churning for the coming bloodbath.

With their escape routes blocked and the transport ships in danger, Yarrick ordered the ground forces to land on Mori. It was only on the surface of the planet could the imperial force bring to bear their full might. The landing was hounded the entire way by the ever pressing chaos war fleet with many ships never making the journey, but by the grace of the emperor several made it to the surface and disembarked their forces.

Never one to back down from a massacre, Angron landed on the planet once more and led his legion against the now dug-in imperial forces. Under the leadership of Yarrick, the guard and space marine forces held the unending horde back for seven days and seven nights. Yet by the dawn of the 8th day only Yarrick and a handful of guardsman remained. Angron himself took to the field for the final slaughter and slew the guardsman with ease until only Yarrick stood against him.

Power claw met demonic axe as the elderly commissar matched blow for blow. So assured of his victory, the inability to shatter the crude ork weapon infuriated Angron and his rage furthered him to unleash a flurry of blows. One snuck past Yarrick’s guard and violently severed the commissar’s right arm at the shoulder.

As the arm and power claw fell to the ground Yarrick staggered backwards. His remaining hand tightened around his bolt pistol as blood began flowing from the wound. He looked up and saw the demon primarch looking down at him; mangled and jagged teeth grinning as Angron looked down at him. No doubt the monster expected him to beg for his life, but Yarrick would not.

Spitting out a glob of blood at the traitor, Yarrick brought up his bolt pistol and roared “FOR THE EMPEROR!” one final time and pulled the trigger. A single bolt left the weapon before Angron swung his axe and decapitated the commissar. The bolt struck home against one of the skulls hanging from the primarch’s neck and shattered it; a prized treasure as it had belonged to one of his close comrades back when the primarch had been mortal and a slave in the fighting pits of his homeworld. The primarch took up the severed head of Yarrick and put it in its place around his neck; a sign of honor for a great warrior while the rest of the skulls of the dead imperials were collected and offered to Khorne.

News of this massacre did not reach the wider galaxy for several months until a passing merchant ship picked up the distress signals of the imperial navy that still echoed in the warp. They soon found the lifeless husks of imperial ships floating above the planet of Mori and when they descended to the surface found the remains of the imperial’s last stand as well as a lone ork power claw still stained with demonic blood.

When the merchant ship reported their findings to nearby Imperial authorities an investigation force was dispatched by inquisitorial agents which further discovered the truth of the situation and the death of Yarrick.

Initially, there was hesitance with releasing the information regarding Yarrick. In a time of such chaos, the death of such a notable figure if reported to the wider imperium could trigger further outbreaks of panic. In a rare show of defiance however, the Astra Militarum insisted that it be made public and a large scale military funeral be held and broadcasted imperium wide to turn Yarrick into a martyr and potentially Imperial Saint stating that he chose to die fighting the forces of chaos then be cowed into submission.

Had the Astra Militarum made such demands a few generations earlier the Inquisition would have purged their ranks for such brazen defiance; but since the great rift’s opening they found their position had weakened and they needed the legions of Imperial Guard standing with them than against them. So, the Inquisition relented and the military funeral was held on Yarrick’s homeworld. Despite the great dangers of warp travel, several high lords of Terra made the journey to pay their respects as well as countless Imperial Guard regiments, space marine contingents, mechanicus forces, and even a rare Imperial Class Titan joined the funeral procession.

It was during this period of mourning as news of Yarrick’s death was spread throughout the imperium that it also trickled into the hands of the Imperium’s enemies as well.

Ork freebooters hijacking Imperial ships learned of the news while having fun with their human prisoners. There wasn’t an ork alive that didn’t know of the legend of “Old Bale Eye” and the impressive ork body count he had amassed over the century of fighting. News of his death spread even faster amongst orks than it had with imperials until finally words reached the green prophet himself, Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka.

At first, Ghazghkull refused to believe that anyone but him could have done in his oldest rival. He had fought Yarrick too long and knew that the wily hummie wouldn’t go down so easily. But when a squad of his handpicked Kommandos came back from Mori and presented him with Yarrick’s severed power claw, the green prophet flew into a rage.

The roar let out was so powerful that it reverberated in the warp, silencing nearby warp storms and sending countless ships of all affiliations from the astral tides of the warp back into real space. Not since the war of the beast was an ork roar heard so strongly in the warp from so far away that even the navigators on holy terra itself could hear the anger of Ghazghkull.

From that moment on the greatest warboss of orks the universe had ever seen had a new mission. He would take every ship in his fleet, every gargant and war machine his boy’z made, and every ork boi in his waaagh and he would not stop until he had the head of the one who done in Old Bale Eye and mounted it to the front of his flagship.

The Great Git Hunt, had begun.  

[zackprincebooks]

🌑Seven Sentence Sunday🌑

Thanks for the tag, @the-golden-comet! Have a snippet from my Sanguinius x Reader fic, Beloved of the Blood Moons.

Please note, this work will have heavy religious themes and imagery, as well as smut. Read with care.

With each step, the Holy Sepulchre is revealed to you: Blood Angels adorned in their ceremonial robes line the entrance, their voices lifted to the vaulted ceiling where incense burners gently sway. The Blood Moons shine through the stained-glass windows depicting The Great Angel’s many victories and shine muted colors on the walls. Once you have ascended the stairs, you can see the Golden Sarcophagus. You have seen it on previous Sanguinala celebrations, where you gazed at The Great Angel’s visage in his eternal slumber. It always occurred to you that he looked…lonely in there, laying in an ocean of red silk. You wanted to climb into his coffin and rest his head on your chest, stroking his hair. Halfway through your approach, the lid of the coffin moves, for the first time in ten thousand years.

Tag list below! Please interact with my taglist post to be added:

@the-golden-comet @wyked-ao3 @burntblanc @lorifragolina @nczaversnick

@glasshouses-and-stones @thatuselesshuman @mushroommanchanterelle @phoenixofthegreenwood @ilovevewritingfanfic

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@magnymagics-puppy @justfreakynothingelse

[lieshelest]

This Tree Day

«Fulgrim, I really don't want to be there.»

That what Konrad would say. But he wouldn't. After all, Fulgrim was his brother and they were close enough. Curze sighs, staring at the card.

It was ancient tradition to send cards on celebrates. Fulgrim and Sanguinius like to do this. Especially Fulgrim, because he painted cards by himself, decorating it with delicate paper lace.

There was a card for The Tree Day. It was instead Christmas now. There is a colorful green fir, decorated with bows, some colorful laces and small golden stars. Konrad saw that celebration on Nostramo before, Tree Day Eve was a little bit more peaceful. Even with messy gray snow and sharp cold wind, this day became cozy and warm for everyone. But not for him. Curze felt envy and sadness at first, watching at this colorful event from aside. Then he decided for himself that this day wasn't for the Night Haunter. The Night Haunter doesn't need holidays and celebrates.

"Well, — he sighs, — if Fulgrim wants it so much."

Konrad sits and begins to write the answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perturabo wanted to throw the card with a fir in fire. Or tear it apart and throw away. But he didn't. After all, it was beautiful.

The Primarch made a deep sigh. It would be unpolitely after all. Fulgrim would be clingy, too proud, noisy and smug, but he was his brother. The one person, after Callifona, who really tried to understand and support him.

Well, The Tree Day, common celebration for all Imperium. Perturabo hates it because of his memories about this day in the family round. It was like a damn time loop every time. His father dragged him out, forcing to sit near and pretending to be happy with other guests. And when he dared to frown his lips on a little bit, the man became to tell him with annoyance about manners.

Perturabo sighs and looks at the card once more. Fulgrim said there that other brothers also would be. He smirks. It would be funny to see.

The Primarch sat down and began to write the answer to the invitation. His answer was simple.

«Yes, I'll be.»

[aerkame]

Warhammer 40k Fic ideas

I think we can all agree that Warhammer 40k has an insane amount of lore and it's hard to pick just one topic. So, I decided to just make a poll and ask from a list of topics that you guys would want to see written in as a fanfiction.

Now, there is a full fanfiction I plan on writing already based on a one shot fic I already wrote, but aside form that, I am not sure what other topics to get into.

For my usual readers, yes, I am still writing that finfolk fanfiction and Alive AU

Some of these are reader inserts for a reason (or at least, I just don't know how I could write an x reader for it) for the sake of staying in character or maintaining their image. The Emperor *cough cough*-

I love the custodes in case you could not tell. :]

[cardinalcanis]

Anatomy and scale are kinda funky, but I wanted to get a quick sketch of the idea out:

[sketchasylum]

Fulgrims "awakened" daemon form in the "Primed to Fall" AU, by the incredible @dashofstarlight! I hope ya'll like it! The rest of my notes and rambelings will be under the cut!

---- I have so much to say about this- In regards to the picture itself. I somehow managed to spend 7 hours on this. The design for this mainly came from @dashofstarlight 's drawing of it, aswell as their fantastic writing in Chapter 17 of their fanfiction "Primed to Fall". I changed some aspects to better suit my art style and personal interpretation tho. I had and still have mild problems with the shoulderpats I added. (The shoulders seemed too blank, but then the design didnt sadisfy me? So I just gave up and kept them there 😭) The wings almost broke me :) Slight tangent about PtF cause AAAAAAA. I started reading PtF while it was in its early chapters, I stuck with it ever since and am so incredibly excited for what is yet to come! It's so well written, the characters are interpreted so well, its so emotinally charged and I could go on a rant about it for hours. But at the end of the day all I can say is that if you havent checked it out yet you definitly should! Here's the link to it! @dashofstarlight I am so incredibly glad I stumbled upon your fic. Keep up the amazing work and take care of yourself! I hope you like the little art I made! <3

[thevoidscreams]

Hello👋 I hope spring has started well for you✨🌹 Mating Press March is simply unrealistically delicious😍🤩 Can I ask Sanguinius? Let's say there are wedding traditions on Baal. After the groom drinks his bride's blood and she tastes his, the groom tracks her down within the walls of their new home. And when he finds her, he takes her to their bedroom and lays claim to her body🤭🤭 Something like that)

Day 14

Hella, let's do this. Also, this one isn't verysut focused. I'm sorry. I had to rewrite the whole thing, but I like this version better.

Pairing: Sanguinius x reader

Warnings: consumption of blood, predator/Prey dynamics, and getting railed without much prep.

I hissed as the needle pulled away from my arm, and a bandage was pressed into place.

Sanguinius was unflinching as they drew his blood for the ceremony, looking as pleased as anything. I understood his excitement. Once this final part of the tradition was complete, we'd be bonded in matrimony not only legally but spiritually as well

I watched with a soft smile as they emptied the syringes into shotglass sized cups.

Each was passed to each respective partner. Mine to him and his to me. The officiant spoke words over us both, just as he had earlier, but this felt different, more intimate.

Sanguinius met my gaze, and I felt my stomach do a little flip. I was shaking with excitement. Not so much for the blood, but from what I knew came after.

Sanguinius had told me in advance what all would be included in this.

I looked down at his blood. It was so dark, and the coppery scent that wafted up from the warm glass was rich. I wasn't so thrilled to be drinking the blood. But being paired with my beloved was more than enough to make up for that. He'd wanted to partake in all the traditions of Baal. So it was also important to him and I could do that for my beloved.

When the officiant was done, I took a sip. It was like being dunked in molten copper. The flavor was so strong.

I watched as he savored my blood, almost like it was a fine wine. His wings trembled as he finished his glass. And he pinned me with his gaze. The officiant and witnesses left the room quickly.

I set the glass of blood, unfinished, on the small table.

I had the distinct feeling something bad would happen if I drank anymore.

Sanguinius didn't seem to notice, or just wasn't bothered.

"I'll give you half an hour to run and find a place to hide. After that, I'll begin the hunt, and once I find you-"

"You'll make me yours truly and completely." You finished and he nodded with a look of anticipation.

"Your time has begun little dove." He grinned and make a shooing motion with his hand. "Go. Fly."

I did. My feet carrying me swiftly and surely. My heart raced, but I didn't feel winded. I felt like I could run every hall in this massive building and not tire.

I'd never felt like that before. It was exhilarating, but it also frightened me. I stopped after ten minutes, looking around and stepping into a room before the turn at the end of the hall.

The room was dark, and obviously not used often.

There were tables and chairs, set and ready to be used if necessary. But a thin layer of dust coated every surface.

At the far end, there was a buffet table with a thick cloth draped over it.

I went to it, my heart still racing and sliding under. There was less dust, and breathing was easier, but the air in the room smelled stale.

I pressed my head to the wall and was shocked to hear voices. Serfs no doubt, gossiping and joking.

I listened before realizing they weren't on the other side, they were a whole room over. In one of the kitchens.

Just what the hell had happened to me after I drank that blood? Was I becoming more like him? I pondered on it as I sat in the dark. I shouldn't have been able to see all that well, but I found that I could. Yet another oddity.

Sanguinius knew what direction you'd gone, and he could tell with relative ease the directions after that for a short time. Now, it could be a matter of using his imhumanly accute senses to track you.

He watched the hands on the wall clock tick by ever so slowly and was on his feet as soon as thirty minutes was up. The game was officially on.

I sat listening to the serfs talk about whatever drama was going on.

The sound of heavy feet didn't register at first.

There had been astartes walking up and down the hall every few minutes.

I almost gasped when the door suddenly swung open. The air was thick with tension and my body went still as the grave.

Under the heavy cloth, it would have been hard to hear if not for the weird effects of the blood, but there was a soft, snorting sort of sound.

He was sniffing me out. Like some kind of hunting hound. It felt more like the sort of thing his brother would have done.

I knew Sanguinius wouldn't hurt me. But the need to bolt for the door was bone deep. The need to flee from my pursuer.

His steps grew closer still. The fabric of concealing me rustled as his wing brushed it.

I could hear him turning over the cloth covering the table across from the one I was under.

"Dove." He cooed sweetly, I know you're in here. "Why don't you come out so we can continue the ceremony together?"

I felt a surge of adrenaline. With his feather poking under the cloth and the rustling of another clothe, I could gauge where he was facing.

The risk had proven worth it. As I crawled from under the table and under another, he'd already checked just in time.

Sanguinius's hearts were pounding. He could smell her, but he was having a hard time hearing over the racing beats in his chest. Your blood had been exquisite, and he was drooling at the thought of tasting other parts of you.

The underside of the buffet table smelled strongly of you. Which meant you had to be close by.

He turned this way and that eyes looking for any minute disturbance.

The rustling of fabric is what drew his attention. His head snapping in the direction of the door.

The corner of your dress vanished behind the door, and his hearts leapt in his chest. He knocked tables out of his way as he began the pursuit.

I bolted, the first crash sending me down the hall as fast as my feet could carry me.

I heard him calling for me, the unmistakable excitement in his voice she he thundered after me.

I ducked into a serf hall. It was thin, and the ceiling was low. I didn't stop, shouting for people to move as I tried to lose him, the game wasn't over till I said it was dammit.

Sanguinius was a man of many talents, but he didn't have his brother Magnus's skill of shape-shifting. The angel growled as his fingers just barely missed your dress fabric.

He rushed down the hall, taking turns on instinct. He knew where it let out, and he knew he could head you off.

He came to a stop at the door to the serfs quarters, opening it and grabbing the first serf he saw by one shoulder.

"Is she here?" He asked.

Of course he didn't have to tell the poor startled woman who.

"Your bride, my lord? No, but I did see her."

"Where?"

"Down the shute, my lord."

"What?"

"Was the strangest thing. She went down the shute we use for the dirty laundry."

He patted her on the shoulder. "Thank you." He took off for the stairwell leading down to the laundry facilities.

I pulled up the comfort pair of shorts and tossed the dress by the corner of one massive industrial washer. That ought to throw him off a bit. The thing probably smelled like me, given that I'd been in it all day, and I was sure that he'd figured out my where abouts by now. Or was about to.

Landing in the laundry hadn't been as fun as I assumed it would be. But there'd been a fresh change of clothes and I wasn't giving up yet.

I was headed for a service door but heard the telltale approach of my husband. The door was across the huge room, and there just wasn't time.

Instead, I made due with the cover of a rolling basket. I made it by the skin of my teeth as he practically flew down the steps.

"Dove? Come out for me, please? I just want to give you the love you deserve." His pleading sounded so sincere I almost did. But I steeled myself, he'd told me how important this tradition was and how he wanted me to take it seriously...and I was having a blast.

I'd never felt so alive before, the chasing the escaping.

Maybe he'd consider this as some foreplay in the future. I watch him from the corner of the basket.

Watching him sniff around until he spotted the dress's fabric. He stalked it more like a cat then a bird.

I crouched and snuck around the basket. Listening as he cooed sweet nothings. The decoy was working. I made it to the bottom of the steps. The old laundry door was heavy, and I knew that it would squeal badly.

Each step up had me holding my breath as I carefully placed each foot. I was only a few steps from the tip when he sprang, tugging the empty dress from behind the washer.

"Dove?" He called concerned. I couldn't help it, I giggled as I shot up the last few steps.

Oh, so that's how it was. Sanguinius laughed and dropped the dress, running up the steps 5aking them multiples at a time.

"Dove!" He shouted after you. Knowing he had to have you now.

The hall was too wide for me to find shelter anywhere, and the hall was long as well. I may not have been all that tired, but I knew I wouldn't make it. Sanguinius's shadow fell over me. His hands reaching and I got a first-hand understanding of what the prey of hawks felt like.

He forced me to the floor, his body coveringine as I writhed and struggled to get away. The game had been fun while it lasted.

"You gave me a good run, my dove.. but I have you now."

I laughed and was lifted from the floor.

Sanguinius carried me close to him as he made his way towards our room.

"That was fun." I kissed his cheek.

He smiled and chirped. "There is still fun to be had."

He pushed his way into our chamber and locked the doors.

"I'm glad you took your dress off, it makes this easier to do." My husband purred.

"Makes what easier?" I chuckled.

He ripped the clothes from my body and dropped me on the bed.

I squealed as I fell, and Sanguinius did much the same to his own clothes in his eagerness to get down to it.

"I've been craving you all day. Since dawn this morning, I've been dreaming of having you."

He grabbed my hips and tugged me closer to him, his face between my legs as he finally got a taste of what I had to offer.

It was like molten lava in my stomach. He lapped at my pussy, rubbing my clit with the tip if his tongue before he plunged the slick muscle into my tight walls.

"Sanguinius!" I gasped, grabbing a handful of his hair and squishing his face between my thighs.

"Dove." He moaned back fucking me with his tongue, lapping up everything I had to offer him.

The excitement of the day and the hunting already had me soaked, and now the love of my life was getting to enjoy me. What could be better?

He pulled his face away, and I looked down at him, face warm with what I was sure was a blush.

Sanguinius's cock was rock hard, he'd never been more excited to do this.

You looked perfect under him, ready and willing to take his cock. He pushed the tip into you. Rubbing his thighs lovingly as you gasped and grabbed his arms.

"I will be gentle."

I nodded, breathing through the pain. It felt like I was being split in two as he pushed in inch by inch.

Once he couldn't push in anymore, he stopped, and I laid under him panting.

The seconds felt like hours. But before long enough, the pain had dulled.

"Please, go slow." I panted.

"I will Dove, I will." He leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

He began slow, pulling out an inch or two, then slowly sinking back in.

It burned, but I breathed through it again. And as before, the burning ebbed and pleasure began to bloom under it. Slowly usurping it.

At some point, the pleasure became all consuming, and I moaned under him. Fuck it was even better than I thought it would be.

"I love you, Sanguinius." I mumbled into his chest.

"I love you too, my dove." He hugged me close, and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he drove us both towards the edge.

I wouldn't last much longer, but I was okay with that. Tonight had been the most memorable one of my life.

Sanguinius was panting, rutting into me faster now as he got closer as well. We came together, both crying out for the world to hear. We held each other, husband and wife, joined fully in union now.

"That was amazing. Can we do that again?"

"Are you good for another round right now?" Sanguinius asked, smiling warmly.

"Yeah, but also the chasing thing. Can we do that again sometime too?"

Sanguinius laughed. "If course my love."

He kissed you again and again as he slid back in, ready to consummate your marriage many more times.

[sepulcher666]

I recount…

I knew I would never be a courtesan of Terra like my mother was. Bless her, the poor woman. I could recount the days she was left alone within the confines of the palace, never allowed to follow her husband onto the Phalanx and never allowed to be seen with him. I think she eventually grew to resent him for it and never let me see him.

I never saw him in the flesh until I had become a full battle-brother of his legion.

She hated me as well but never expressed it to me. I never knew her. But she had the decency to leave me servants to attend to my every need.

I never saw many other children within the confines of the Imperial palace. I was alone. I would view the parades of the Legion Astartes from my balcony and see those behemoths march down the street to cheering crowds.

I wondered, if I became one of them, would I be closer to my father at last? I cut my hair with small, trembling hands and took the most expensive things from my room and packed them. I changed out into something more plain the day before I decided to run away. I steeled my nerves as well as a child could one night and traveled far far away from the palace.

I braved the sewers, the streets and faced violence from the enforcers , arbiters and from those that saw me a worthless brat.

I begged, I had my things stolen and I starved as I made my way closer to a goal that seemed to shift farther and farther away from me.

I eventually stumbled upon a squad of legionaries with the symbol of my father’s legion.

I don’t know what I must have said, or must have did, but I found myself not a day later along boys that must have been my age.

During the weeks that followed I fought hard to survive, I became someone I never knew I was capable of being. I became more and more like my father. And, to my amusement, the examiners called me annoyingly stubborn. And by some luck, I succeeded my trials.

And so began my career in the legion.

I would fight wars that would take me far far away from the place of my birth. And upon the world of Ullanor I would stumble upon my father for the very first time.

I will recount that in my next entry.

Well, It has been too long since I have stumbled upon a trace of my former life. My work takes me far from the Segmentum Solar and with the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum, my work only grows.

To add, I have unexpectedly received summons from Terra itself. I will travel there with my fleets and see what the Regent of the Imperium wishes from me.

End Account