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solspina · 5 months ago

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Rating primarchs based on how good of a boyfriend they would be

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Horus : 8/10

He’s a nice guy for the most part, very charismatic and though very goal focused he’s also kind and open to those he’s closest to. Outwardly, he’s very straightforward, stern, and absolutely ruthless to his enemies. There’s humanity within him though, and he won’t keep his friendly, loving demeanor away from those who deserve it. Find him at a celebratory event, drunk with Sanguinius, moments in which he’s full of nothing but laughter and love for his brothers and the one who stands beside him. His love language is quality time.

Leman Russ : 4/10 (negotiable)

Though he knows love, it seems to be quite strictly familial. He’s described often as ruthless and barbaric, naive and braggish. If you can put up with things like that, I’m sure he would be a fine boyfriend. Similarly enough though, he’s had many women try to court him all at once, and successfully. I can’t promise his loyalty if someone better looking comes along, as no one ever taught him the importance of that. Outside of the constant, lingering fear of replacement, he can have his caring and understanding moments, occasionally bringing you gifts from crusades and sieges on other planets. Maybe his loyalty to the emperor would apply to his lover too, if you tell him what it means to you. His love language is gift giving.

Ferrus Manus : 7/10

Rage is his fatal flaw if we’re being honest. Not towards you, but towards battle. Toward you I imagine he would be more straightforward and honest, though trustworthy and strong willed to make your relationship work. Loyalty will never ever ever be an issue with him, but it seems like he spends more time with war and battle than he does you. He spends time with you when he can, though, and he truly does care. Points off for his temper. He gave his brothers personalized gifts, and i’m sure he would go through many lengths to do the same for you. His love language is gift giving.

Fulgrim: 6/10

He’s constantly trying to be perfect, and he wants whoever he’s with to be perfect too. A lot of the time, it gets to his head. He can be incredibly ignorant quite often, and isn’t very considerate of your feelings. You’re more of an idol to him, a model. You’re human, so he sees you as perfect, something he and his people should strive to be like. Youre idealized, and under rose tinted lenses, this looks a lot like love… Lots of acts of service and gift giving.

Vulkan : 10/10

The only man you will ever need point blank period. He’s patient, he’s empathetic, he’s kind, he’s humane. He’s incredibly easy to love, and he truly is beloved. The Salamanders love you too, sometimes listening to your commands as if they were his. You’re respected as long as you’re under his arm. He wants to understand the way humans feel, especially understand the reason they wrap their arms around each other and sleep with their bodies entwined at night. His love language is physical touch.

Rogal Dorn : 6/10

He’s incredibly loyal, and also incredibly honest, but his seriousness can get in the way sometimes. You love him, very much, but there are times you get into petty arguments and he has to go consult Horus and Sanguinius for advice on what to do. He’s also very reserved at times, a lot like a single dad who’s just doing his best to keep his job and go about his day. Acts of service would be his love language.

Roboute Guilliman : 9/10

Guilliman is a great boyfriend, a great tactician, a great warrior, all of the above. The only reason i’d take a point off is because I believe he may be a little arrogant at times. He believes that his way is the right way, but he’s usually willing to listen to you and your concerns. He’s incredibly intelligent, very sympathetic and understanding of human trials and concerns, and he’s a lot like we are modern times. I think he would look for comfort in a significant other, and his love language is likely acts of service.

Magnus the Red : 3/10

Another man that I don’t recommend being with. He’s more arrogant than Fulgrim. When I said Guilliman believes his way is the right way, Magnus takes it a step up. He thinks he’s ALWAYS right. He cares, and he means well, but he’s way too much to put up with. Highly manipulative and self absorbed, don’t put yourself in that situation. He values knowledge more than he does you.

Sanguinius : 10/10

Besides the fact he’s a vampire, you’re probably the most safe with him. He genuinely cares for you and your well-being, and sleeping next to him at night with his wing draped over you is an absolute dream in a universe plagued by war. His sons may fall to their bloodthirst when they’re on the home ship, and Sanguinius is fast to wrap himself around his human partner and protect them from any and all harm. You hold him through his sorrow every time a mass of humans or his sons lose their lives, and you watch him kneel to offer you his loyalty and unconditional love rather than you offering it to him. He gives both physical touch and words of affirmation.

Lion El’Jonson : 7/10

Of course he has his moments where he can come off as aloof and paranoid, but that’s for the most part only on the battlefield. Outside, he’s incredibly charming and charismatic, but in a noble way. When his paranoia gets to him after an argument, he seeks out Sanguinius and Horus for advice, wanting nothing more to fix your relationship and solve whatever went wrong. He become more secretive as time goes on, but old habits die hard. I believe he’d offer acts of service.

Perturabo : 6/10

He’s incredibly smart, but finds relating to you and your human tendencies incredibly difficult. His moods can shift and change rapidly and violently, but I believe he means you no true harm. He would never hurt you intentionally, often opting to back away and give himself space, sometimes for days. He never returns to you without a mechanically engineered gift, though, one of his design. Alongside a very gentle hug and a conversation about how you care about him, what he loves. You love him, not for his usefulness to the emperor, but for him. His love language is definitely gift giving.

Mortarion : 8/10

He’s very confused as to why you would choose him. He’s disgusting, an abomination, he hated everything from psykers to his oppressors, what did anything matter if he would be left to the mercy of another oppressor anyways? All thoughts he had until he met you. He was cold and hateful to you at first, untrusting, and yet you showed him kindness. You showed him kindness over and over again. For once, it wasn’t just a one time thing. You’re the only thing in this universe who sees him as more than a warlord, more than the embodiment of death itself, so for you he has a soft spot. He hates the idea of having a human curl up next to him, absorbing his warmth and disease alike… and yet you do. You remind him that his touch is not deadly, and he too is capable of humanity. He will be more considerate of his decisions, because for once, something matters. His love language is physical touch, because he’s been deprived for so long, you’re the only one who allows him that piece of humanity.

Lorgar : 5/10

Does he love you? Does he not? No… He needs you… Maybe he just needs space actually.He loves you, he really does, and by god he tries his best, but when you’re as impulsive and indecisive as he is, it’s hard to know sometimes. If you’re okay with it working 50% of the time, maybe more maybe less, I’m sure you’ll be fine. His love language is… uh… well?

Jaghatai Khan : 7/10

Loyal, decently humble, and a relatively peaceful man. Outside of war, he has potential to be great to you. When war is his focus, however. Expect no attention, he’s a fierce warrior and needs to focus on his allegiance to the emperor, that’s what comes first. You follow very closely after, though! He’s quick to praise you for the things you do well and gently remind you of a better course of action when it comes to the things you don’t do too well. Acts of service enjoyer.

Konrad Curze : 2/10

DO NOT DATE THIS MAN. Konrad is a walking red flag. The self loathing, the anger, the angst, the general belief in humanity as a fallacy. He’s also incredibly violent, and may cause you serious harm if you ever managed to anger him. He’s a primarch, and you’re a human. Don’t you dare piss him off. I don’t know why anyone would realistically want that. Please continue to paint him as mean angry babygirl with a soft spot in your fics though. If you think you can fix him, you can’t. The emperor already tried.

Angron : 4/10

Before his conversion to chaos, Angron would’ve been a great boyfriend if we’re being honest. He was kind, compassionate, encouraging. He loved you when you were enslaved beside him, but once he became a primarch and lost everything, his beloved included, he became one of the most ruthless and cruel people out there until he succumbed to Khorne. He doesn’t remember you. His love language was words of affirmation.

Corvus Corax : 4/10

A very melancholic and depressed primarch. He’s very angsty and honestly a major drag to be around. He and Konrad, i feel like, would be better boyfriends to each other than either of them would be to you. Corvus isn’t as violent as Konrad, but he definitely carries on the hatred, the sorrow, and the bitterness. He’s also very sensitive, so expect to be met with either violence or a breakdown if you try to leave. 2 extra points because you may get to keep your life, his love language is words of affirmation, always followed by self deprecation.

Alpharius Omegon : 7/10

He’s they’re a great boyfriend to be honest, though very secretive, and that raises many questions. You don’t know that there are two of them. It’s a secret, not even one that you’re allowed to know the answer to. Alpharius is obviously the more dominant brother, the one who you think has a soft side. He doesn’t. That’s not him, that’s Omegon. Omegon is much more gentle, quiet, and quite honestly a little more touchy. Why? because you make him feel seen. Alpharius is used to the spotlight, so giving him every ounce of your attention feels like the usual, though he still enjoys it very much. Alpharius expresses love through acts of service and gift giving, while Omegon expresses love through words of affirmation and quality time. They make up for everything the other lacks, as long as you don’t know the massive secret they’re keeping from you…

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thethronezone · 9 days ago

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Primarchs and baby's first word

It had been an complete accident. Mortarion were overseeing some neophytes training and had been less than impressed with what he saw, growing more and more agitated by the moment. When one of the neophytes got knocked on his ass, Mortarion growled deep in his throat. "Idiot", he grumbled. "Idiot" repeated the infant in his arms that he had completely forgotten about. He looked down, expression morphing into one of mild surprise. Oh. "Was that your first-?" he started before shaking his head, trying to force down the smile that was threatening to appear. Instead, Mortarion patted his child's head softly. "Good to know you are listening."

Every time Fulgrim saw his child, he made sure to only use 'good' words and he urged his legion and the serfs to do so as well. Words that sounded good, were impressive or had value. He wanted their first words to be something special, something that would define their future. But when their first word turns out to be "purble", well, Fulgrim can't help but laugh, his head thrown backwards. It's so cute, so incredibly charming, that he can't possibly feel disappointed. Purble? Oh, how delightful! Fulgrim will never let them live this down, doesn't matter if they are 5 or 500, he will always remind them that their first word was "purble".

Since Angron worries so about accidentally hurting his child, he spends most of his time with them at a distance. They might be in the same room but he's on the opposite end. He's mostly quiet, maybe polishing his weapons or sharpening a sword, keeping silent vigilance over the child. But one day, the baby starts to fuss in their crib and while they normally quiet down on their own, this time they won't. The baby is fussing, whining pathetically and Angron stares at the crib for a few moments, body tense and fingers flexing. Then, he heaves out a heavy breath, and steps up to the cot, peering down at the child in it. "What?" he questions rather gruffly, unsure what to do, not expecting an answer. The child whines. "Up!" Angron freezes. "What?" he repeats, this time more bewildered than gruff. The child frowns, frustrated by his response. "Up!" Hesitant, he grabs them under the armpits and lifts them up, keeping them at arms length. The frown on their face melts away and turns into a smile, one that he can't help but awkwardly mirror. "Up" they say, sounding more satisfied than they have any right to be. Still, Angron can't bring himself to be too mad about it, even when the nails dig into his head, making his nerves scream with agony.

Magnus had been trying to get his child to speak for some time now. Was it still to early in their development? Yes, but they were also the child of a Primarch and that meant that they developed at a faster rate compared to baseline children. Probably. But no matter how hard he tried, his child would not say a single word, instead they just stared at him with wide eyes whenever he urged them to repeat after him. Sighing, Magnus decided to give up for the day. Standing up, he scoured the bookshelf for a good book to read to his child, when a small voice suddenly spoke up. "That." Whipping his head around, Magnus saw his child pointing at the book he had paused on. "That", they repeated. Magnus laughed and, sitting down with the book in his hands, he came to terms with the fact that his child might do things their own way.

Perturabo had developed the habit of ranting in front of his infant child. He doubted they could understand him but it somehow felt better having someone listening. He really should have been more careful. During an outing (Perturabo had wanted to show his child examples of good architecture), they had happened upon a government official, one that Perturabo had ranted at length about before. Perturabo grit his teeth and mentally prepared for some useless banter before he could excuse himself, when the child in his arms suddenly pointed and, rather loudly, exclaimed "Annoying!" The government official could only sputter in indignation and Perturabo took the chance to offer a very insincere apology before leaving. As he left, he quietly praised his child while making a mental note to maybe be more careful with what he said in front of them.

Alpharius and Omegon had wondered what their child's first word would be, small hypothesizes and guesses shared between them in private. "An object" Alpharius had guessed with fair certainly. "A person" Omegon had in turn contested. Turns out, they were both wrong, as just a couple of days later, their child spoke for the first time. They had gone to see the child that morning and when they arrived at the nursery, the child had already been up, awake and waiting. The child peeked over the edge of the crib and said "hello". Alpharius and Omegon looked at each other, amusement in their eyes. "Ah, a greeting."

Every day Lorgar wakes up and hopes that this is the day that his dear child will grace him with their first words. But when it actually happens, he's caught off guard, as he's in the middle of a sermon for his legion. He's up there, baby in his arms (because every day is take-your-kid-to-work day when you're him), talking about the divine, when suddenly the baby looks up, sees the aquila on the wall, points and says "bird". Lorgar stops mid sentence. Looks out at his legion to see if they heard what he did. The World Bearers are staring at the baby, wide eyed. Smiles widely and addresses the legion with an emotional voice. "It appears my dear child has decided to join the sermon!" The crowd cheers. Lorgar is so proud of his little one. Will probably get them a pet bird or something, seeing it as some kind of sign.

It happens when Horus is spending some time with the Mournival. The baby is in his arms, half dozing off, and he's having a nice chat with is inner circle. Eventually he decides it's time to leave, that he need to put the little one to bed. "Say bye to the captains" he says, chuckling softly, only to go completely quiet and stare like an idiot, when the baby actually says "bye". Then he starts grinning, ruffling their hair, and the Mournival are smiling too, congratulating him and praising the child for being so smart and good. Horus still ends up putting the child to bed but immediately afterwards he sends message to the Emperor and all his brothers, telling them all the story. He's so damn proud.

Konrad wasn't sure if he wanted his child to learn how to speak. It scared him, the idea that one day they might use their words to tell him that they hate him. And he's only recently gotten used to holding them (he never wants to put them down), speaking feels like such a huge leap. But, like most things, Konrad has no real control over this. So when one day, while cradling his baby in his arms, they turn in his arms, nuzzle against him and mutter a soft "dada", Konrad feels like both his hearts have stopped. But it's not dread that makes him freeze up, not fear that makes his eyes water with unshed tears. It's an overwhelming sense of love. He curls over them, his long hair tickling their face, and wishes he could make this moment last forever.

Sanguinius was delighted when his child was born and they had wings, just like him. He would have loved them all the same if they hadn't had the wings but he's always wanted to have someone to share the skies with and now he can do that with his baby. Once they've grown up of course, right now they are much too young. Until then, Sanguinius will share that joy with stories instead. That's why he shouldn't have been so surprised when, during one of these stories, his child started flapping their little wings (still covered with soft dow) and started saying "fly, fly, fly!" Oh, the way Sanguinius had embraced them then, smiling like a fool and laughing softly with tears in his eyes. "Yes, little one, one day you and I shall fly together" he murmured into the top of their head, heart soaring with happiness.

Corvus doesn't talk a lot with his baby. Not because he doesn't like them! Because he does! He just doesn't know what to say. So his kid ends up ends up really quiet. Doesn't even babble like most babies do. And at first he's calm about it, just thinks his child is like him. But then time passes and the baby still remains absolutely quiet, not a single sound and that's when he realizes that oh oh, maybe this is not such a good thing. Straight up sits down in front of the child one day, looks them in the eyes and, once he's sure they're focused on him, practically pleads with them to make some sort of noise. Baby looks at him. Baby thinks. Baby sighs. "Ok." Then goes back to quietly playing with their toys. Corvus is so relieved. Looks like he's not a total fuckup of a father after all! Then realizes that, wait, that was their first word. Silently freaking out now because since when did his kid know how to speak?

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Ferrus hadn't really put much thought into what his child's first word would be, just that it would eventually happen. Maybe that's why he's so caught off guard when, one day, he goes to pick up his child and they flinch when part of his hand accidentally graces their skin, a single "cold" escaping them. Like an idiot, Ferrus just stands there, hands hovering awkwardly, staring at them. Then at his hands that gleam in the light of the nursery. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from cursing. Slowly, carefully, he gathers the blanket around his child so that he doesn't accidentally touch them again. He holds them close, closer than he normally would, one hand cradling the back of their cloth covered head, and stares off into the distance. This doesn't bother him. He's stronger than that. It's fine. He's fine.

Rogal speaks to his baby like they are a fully grown man. He doesn't see the point in 'baby-speak' or simpler, easier words. He will instill in his child the importance of speaking clearly and with purpose. So when his child does not start speaking around the time he expected them to, he's confused and just a bit concerned. Time passes and the concern grows as the child refuses to speak. At this point, Rogal starts worrying that there actually might be something wrong. Then, one day, when he's considering what he might be doing wrong, his child suddenly tugs on his clothes. He looks down, seeing them staring up at him expectantly. "What is it, child?" he questions, not really expecting and answer and almost falling out of his chair when they respond with "Can you tell me a story?" Rogal, bewildered but fighting to retain his cool, asks them why they only speak now. Their answer? "I didn't have anything of importance to say." Fair point, Rogal concedes, feeling like he's age a hundred years in the last minute alone.

Vulkan talks to his child every day and he talks a lot. He keeps a running monologue, talking about everything from what he's doing, what's happening around them, where they are, the weather, some fun memory, what they're going to eat. Vulkan talks in hope that soon enough, his child will respond. He's in the midst of talking about the Salamanders training in front of them when suddenly, one of the astartes brings out a heavy flamer to practice with. And suddenly his child is leaning forward, eyes wide open and waving with excitement. "FIAH!" they shout, causing every Salamander in the training yard, plus Vulkan, to pause and stare at them. The silence only lasts for a second and then Vulkan is trembling with laughter. "That's right, little one, fire!" The Salamanders abandon their training to circle around Vulkan and his child, praising the Primarch's child for speaking so loud and clear. Vulkan is beaming with pride.

Lion didn't feel ashamed or embarrassed over the fact that, most days, he held his child in one arm while seated at his desk, doing paperwork. If asked about it, he would simply explain it was for enrichment. This way, they could learn about duty, about diligence. And if it also just so happened that he could spend more time with his child this way, well, who was going to challenge his decision? It was during one of these moments, where Lion was reading some reports, that some loud aspirants passed by his office door. Even muffled, they made quite a ruckus and Lion's brow furrowed in distaste. However, before he got the chance to do anything about it, the child on his arm huffed and grumbled. "Noisy" they said and frowned. For a moment, Lion could do nothing but stare. But then the corners of his mouth started to tug. "Noisy indeed" he muttered before quietly praising his child for being so sensible.

Now, Leman hadn't been all that concerned about urging his kid to speak. He figured that they would pick up on the words used around them and, whenever they felt ready, they would speak up. That, coupled with the fact that neither him or his legion mellowed out their language when the baby was around, eventually led to the quite comical situation where, upon accidentally dropping their favorite toy, the child's first word ended up being a very loud "FRACK!" Howling with laughter, it had taken Leman minutes to calm down enough to praise his pup for saying their first word. He then picked them up, determined to show his legion the funniest thing he's ever seen.

Jaghatai wasn't surprised when his child's first word turned out to be "faster". It had, however, surprised him when it was quickly followed by "too slow!" Not one, but three words? Ha! His child really didn't to things halfway! Smiling widely, Jaghatai tossed them high in the air, his smile only growing wider when they laughed and squealed with glee. "That's my kid!" he exclaimed before placing them back on his shoulder, a hand on their back to hold them steady. "You want to go fast? Well, who am I to refuse the next great Khan!" His child continued squealing with glee as he ran though the compound, urging him to go faster and faster. The White Scars grinned at the sight and likewise, urged their Primarch to go as fast as he could.

Roboute is at his office, late in the evening, doing the last of his paperwork. He's holding his baby in one arm, preparing to finish work and getting them to bed. They are yawning, stretching, whining a little, clearly tired. Roboute bounces them a little, shushes them softly. "I know, little one, just a few more minutes, then straight to bed." His baby grumbles and turns over, covering their eyes with their hands. "Sleepy..." the mumble and Roboute almost snaps the pen in his hand. He stares, and stares and then stares some more at his child. Then he chuckles, his chest feeling all warm and fuzzy with pride. "Alright then, no more work." He stands up from his desk and, smoothing one hand over their head, takes them back to the nursery, a slight smile on his face the whole time.

#warhammer 40k #roboute guilliman #konrad curze #lion el'jonson #rogal dorn #perturabo #jaghatai khan #magnus #leman russ #sanguinius #fulgrim #angron #mortarion #alpharius omegon #horus lupercal #lorgar aurelian #corvus corax #vulkan #ferrus manus

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hansoape · 3 months ago

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Hand Holding headcanons Primarch Edition

hi hello personal HCs for how the primarchs hold hands lets go (can be seen as romantic or platonic)

Lion El Jonson- He doesn't hold hands. If he wants your attention he'll just grab you or gaze broodily in your direction. If he likes you enough he might awkwardly pat your hand during a moment of severe emotional intensity.

Fulgrim- holds hands like true noble. Barely touching, light. Only using the tips of his fingers. Like how how a footman might assist a princess stepping out of a carriage. All regal airs and barely contained politeness. You WILL help him down the stairs like a good manservant.

Perturabo- Crushingly strong and hot as a furnace. Holds your hand with his entirety. Hands rough and calloused, but oddly comforting. Kinda sweaty. Subconsciously squeezes harder the more wound up he gets. Hand Hold Danger Level of about 6

Jagatai Khan- Has a surprisingly gentle touch but if he grabs your hand its because yall are about to start running so you better hang on. Holding hands with him isn't a comfort its a warning of impending shenanigans.

Leman Russ- 50/50 chance of breaking your hand when he goes to hold it. Too warm and enthusiastic, like getting your hand crushed by a giant toddler. You're not getting comforted you're about to get swung around his head like a toy.

Rogal Dorn- Might not be into hand touching, but also might try. Has to do it right. Proper grip and proper amount of pressure. Perfect on a technical level but emotionally detached. He will also instruct you on your own hand placement, for optimal holding. You WILL get a survey afterwards to rate how he did.

Konrad Kurze- you're never getting that hand back.

Sanguiny- His touch is soft and warm, and he'll hold you for as long as you need him too. Whether its relaxing at home or going to the dentist he will be there, tracing comforting circles on your skin with his thumb. Hand Holding Danger Level of 0. He knows how to do it. You can also hold his hand while he's anxious and he will greatly appreciate it, fingers interlocked loosely with yours.

Ferrus Manus- See's hand holding as a competition. Refuses to control his grip strength. Always keeps his hand in an eagle-claw formation for max grip. Only the strongest, with fingies of steel, may hold his hand. WILL judge you if you complain or try to correct him. Not a fun experience unless you like hand-fighting and arguing.

Angron- Looks scary, like he will bite your fingers off, but is actually great at hand holding. Keeps your hand firmly in place and will help you with anything. Going down the stairs, if you slip, need balance. If you need assurance he'll let you squeeze his fingers as hard as you want. WILL proudly hold your hand and roar at anyone tryna mess with you.

Guilliman- holding hands with him means you're going to be there for a few hours while he explains The Imperium at you. He doesn't comfort you, you comfort him. Rub circles on HIS skin with your thumb. He misses his mom you gotta soothe him.

Mortarian- Both unbearably warm and freezing cold. Clammy, sweaty, skin an uncomfortable gummy texture. Sticks to you when you try to let go. Sometimes his fingers accidentally corpse-lock and you gotta pry them open. WILL forget he's hanging onto you and will drag you along.

Magnus- Hit or miss with him. He's either too distracted to hold hands or suddenly too bashful. The best you can get is him entwining a clawed finger with yours, most likely when you are reading together in the librarius. A reminder of his affection towards you in the quiet moments of your lives.

Horus- Doesn't matter your relationship, will hold your hand like a jealous husband, like you are perpetually at risk of being snatched away. Grip a bit too tight, almost possessive. Will need breaks to keep your circulation healthy. Likes to hold the entirety of your hand in his. Don't lock fingers with him. He's going to hold you in a vice and you're going to like it.

Vulkan- 11/10 the SUPREME hand holder. Absolute perfection. Warm, gentle, makes your hand feel like its being hugged. Strong and protective. Completely engulfs your hand with his. Will hold your hand for as long as you want, doesn't mind he's just happy to be there. Its hard to just hold hands with him as the temptation to fully cuddle is an ever present threat. He WILL hold you like the gentlest softest mattress and you WILL fall asleep in his arms.

Lorgar- Holds your hand like a preacher about to baptize you. Palm against palm, held up in reverence. Not very comfortable. Will continue to hold you there even when your arm goes numb. No moving he's still preaching. What do you mean you can't feel your fingers you better keep holding on if you are truly taking his words to heart.

Corvus Corax- Hand holding will take some coaxing. Starts limp wristed at first, like his heart isn't fully in it. Gets huffy when you don't want to hold his hand anymore because of it. Will get better over time the more you encourage him. Starts to grab your hand when he's not even thinking about it, but won't acknowledge that he's doing it. WILL hold your hand while you explore ancient grave sites.

Alpharius Omegon- Won't hold your hand, but you can watch them hold hands with each other.

#warhammer 40k #40k #primarchs #silly rambling

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moodymisty · 5 months ago

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Misty I humbly request a Leman Russ fluff / lighthearted fic where every time he has to leave for war he gifts her a puppy, but now the sheer amount of dogs she has is a little ridiculous.

Is this just me wanting a massive Viking hubby and as many dogs as I could ever want? Yeah.

🍀

Author's note: Dog time! Very short but, It's cute i think.

Relationships: Leman Russ/Fem!Reader

Warnings: dogs

"Leman, You can't be serious."

The massive Fenrisian wolf pup wriggles in your arm, gumming at your arms and yipping. Russ tosses a hand outward to wave off your incredulous look, mouth agape.

"You always complain about how much you miss when Freya and are the other wolves were pups and you could take them to sleep with you, so here's another for while I'm gone."

While he mentions Freya, the first pup he ever gifted you- you named the dog after an old Fenrisian tale - he fails to mention the five other Fenrisian wolves you technically have.

While many of them are no longer your bed warmers, and now patrol the exterior of the Great Hall protecting it with sharp teeth in the never ending blizzards, they will still come to you barking and wanting affection.

"At this rate, you're going to run out of places to put them and meat to feed them with." Russ laughs, rolling his eyes. He leans forward to roughly pat the large pup on the head, it's ears twitching and he reaches out to try and playfully nip at his hand.

"Then just keep the pup while I'm gone, and then I'll give it to the whelps to train."

One of many things a Space Wolf must go through is working with the massive Fenrisian Wolves, and a lucky few can claim ones as mounts and battle companions.

After petting the pup he kisses your forehead, and leans up to his full height again.

"What. Do you want me to throw the pup back out with the others?" You instantly hold it tighter, it yipping happily in your arms.

"No! I'll do what you said; I'll keep it until you come back."

You had said that about the last one, and now your pack was six. Seven, is what it'll more than likely end up as even when Russ returns from his crusade.

The primarch laughs as your vehement refusal ever after complaining about this, as the cute pup wins out over logic. It licks your face, and you drop it onto the bed where it starts jumping around.

"Why would you just bring one of the grown ones in?" You laugh.

"Because it'll crush me in bed?" It's Russ' turn to laugh now, putting a hand to his chest.

"You have the same risk when you sleep with me, you know." Instead of fumbling over your argument like he had expected you shrug, nodding.

"True... Maybe I should just bring Freya back inside then."

Russ runs a hand through his braided hair and rolls his eyes, lamenting about something involving women, dogs, mjod and wanting to kill something, before leaving.

#leman russ x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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mothiir · 4 months ago

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I have a stinking cold so everyone add to this post how primarchs/other lads would act when you’re ill. I’ll start

the lion: genuine panic, thinks that you are dying. Has not been exposed to baseline humans often enough to see them get ill and recover. You wake up with a cold, all achy-jointed and snotty, and try to drag yourself out of bed to start your duties, only for the lion to grab you by the neck and pick you up for a good sniff. You smell wrong to him — all sour, and your skin is too hot, glazed with sweat. He drops you back into the bed, growls at you to stay put, then rushes off to get Luther

“My woman is dying.”

Luther rushes along with Lion, only to find you very much alive, but a little confused.

“Her heart rate is too high and she smells wrong and she — stop moving girl — she is too hot. What is wrong with her.”

Luther very gently explains what a cold is. The Lion is not happy at the idea that he was perhaps overreacting a tad, and in typical lion fashion he refuses to acknowledge any wrongdoing. Instead he listens intently to everything Luther says you need - rest, ginger tea, maybe painkillers - then shoos his brother out, procures all of this for you, and then shoves you into a nest of pillows and blankets. Clearly whatever illness you have is far worse than other serfs, since it takes a lot to lay you low - this is the closest thing he’s given to a compliment in a while - and you require expert care. Him. That’s him. He will not leave you alone. You get a very good sleep in, but you wake up to him having not moved in six hours, his golden eyes boring into you. He makes sure you eat — “this has optimal nutrition and those green things you like, you will eat it”.

the green things are vegetables. Normally he doesn’t touch them. You are very well cared for. And just a little intimidated. If you try to leave the bed before he deems you well, he will scruff you and drag you back. No. Stay. Bad serf

#headcanons #moth chats #the lion/reader

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ms--lobotomy · 1 month ago

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You know who you are. You know what you did.

Summary: sex pollen lion and leman and you Word Count: 806 Content Warnings: SMUT, Male Reader, Public?, Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiacs, Threesome, Primarch/Reader/Primarch (no Primarch on Primarch action), Ass Play (if you read it a certain way), Praise, Oral (Primarch recieving), Spit Roasting, Double Creampie Image Credit: @squishyowl

You weren't the best with people, but the way they looked at you was not lost on you. Lion's gaze was intense; behind a wall of... well, Lion, was a man ready to eat you up and leave no crumbs left. Despite being the more rambunctious of the two, Leman's gaze was more respectful, steely blue eyes looking to lead you up the stairs or back into his bedroom.

The hunt was supposed to be a quiet ordeal on a quiet planet. The canopy was low enough that Leman and Lion's heads constantly grazed the leaves above them, but you were able to move around with ease. You gripped your weapon; the only ranged thing among the three of you. The others had elected to use sword and axe, heaven knows why.

Leman's head brushed against the top of something, Lion's following not far behind. You noticed some dirt on the top of their heads. Perhaps the dirt of this country was a little lighter, or their hair was darker than you remember. But those questions left your head when Lion stopped in his tracks.

"You," he said, his voice a gruff grunt. "dust that stuff off and come up to me."

You looked at your arms. They were covered in the same strange dirt as the others. You felt your heart rate speed up, your vision blur a little as you complied. In the corner of your eye, Leman was undoing his belt buckle. At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to be a cum dump for these two transhumans.

You looked back up at Lion. He was already hard. He looked down at you, bending to grab your hand and put it onto his bulge. You felt words choke up in your throat, your hand gliding over it as you felt your mind start to go. You felt a warm presence behind you as well-- Leman smacked your ass, and put a finger up your hole. You were thankful you hadn't eaten much.

"Look at him. He's so pretty," Leman said. He idly stretched your little hole out on his finger, teasing one against your cock.

Lion grunted a small "mm" in agreement. He finally let his trousers down, his giant cock erect in your face. Not a thought passed your mind before your mouth was on it, taking in as much of it as you possibly could.

"Don't just mm me, tell me what you think of him!" Leman growled. He slipped another finger inside your waiting hole. You yelped, pressing down further on Lion.

"Fine," Lion said. "He's taking my cock really well. I..."

As Lion trailed off, you let out a little moan, and it was like a dam had broken. He fucked your mouth like his life depended on it, and he'd pressed himself in further and further every time. Somehow, you were able to breathe through your nose like you'd inhaled Primarch cock before.

"Fucker," Leman mumbled, spreading his thick, hairy fingers inside your hole. He curled them, hitting just the right spot. "Well, if he's not going to please you, I may as well." Leman lifted your rear end into the air so you were suspended between Primarchs, being spit roasted between them.

You let out a whine, as much as you could with your mouth on Lion's cock. He fucked you deep on his mouth, as deep as a man like him could. His cock was too big for you to deepthroat in the traditional sense, but it reached as far as it possibly could down your throat.

You went limp, your arms grasping Lion's pants and your legs wrapped around Leman's legs like a belt that was far too small. Leman entered you with a pop, and you squealed on Lion's cock as both of them grunted.

"He's so tight," Leman grunted while he fucked himself deeper and deeper.

"He is," Lion said, "fuck..."

As Lion uttered that last word, he spurted rope after rope of warm cum down your throat. He held you on him, cockwarming him while he throbbed inside of you. Leman laughed.

"You couldn't even last twenty minutes!" Leman exclaimed. He grabbed you off of Lion.

"He swallowed," Lion said, his face reflecting disbelief.

"Heh. You must not have much to offer," Leman replied, pushing you on and off his cock as he fucked you nice and forcefully.

Your eyes rolled back in your skull as Leman lifted you up and down with one hand, toying with your cock with the other. You weren't sure just how much you were going to get out of Leman, but you saw Lion's cock getting hard again.

"He's perfect," Lion said, that animalistic quality you knew and loved was apparent in his eyes.

"You'll have your turn when I'm done with him," Leman replied.

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

#lion el'jonson x reader #leman russ x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #lion el'jonson #leman russ #reader insert #warhammer lobotomy

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farseeryirith · 12 days ago

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Full disclosure - english is not my first language, I have never written reader insert before, I have also never written anything for 40k before either, nor have I ever posted any of the things I've written for other fandoms... But I have spent the last 5 days reading primarch fics and I have caught that bug, so I decided what the hell, whats the worst that could happen?

Anyway, canon lore? What's that?

Sanguinius x fem!Custodes reader Warning: blood (not much, but still) Mostly fluff, I suppose. Is it bad to have a little bit of a crush on your father's freshly baked bodyguard? WHO KNOWS! Angel boy likes the tall lady with the pretty smile that smells... nice

You weren’t sure what to think of this turn of events. Of course, you could never question His decisions, and yet when The Emperor informed you that you were to accompany the Ninth legion into battle against the Orks, you couldn't help but feel some vestigial nervousness - something that would surely go away with time. You were still young, one of the newest members of the Legio Custodes, recently inducted to replace a fallen brother. You had never left the Imperial Palace before, you were yet to see battle, and He had deemed it necessary for your mettle to be tested in combat.

The Emperor had chosen to issue the task of taking you to battle to the Great Angel himself, a show of insurmountable trust - normally you were not to take orders from anyone but the Emperor Himself, follow no other commander. This went against everything you had been taught, but you would never question His judgement. The Emperor had decreed you follow his son into battle, and thus it shall be.

Lord Sanguinius had come to greet you himself at the docking bay and welcome you aboard his flagship, flanked by a cadre of his sons. You could feel your hearts' pace quicken as you talked further into the ship, your serfs following behind. Curse these lingering feelings, you could only hope the Primarch and the Astartes would not sense your anxiety. Leaving Terra for the first time felt strange. Leaving Terra alone without your brothers and sisters felt stranger. You silently thanked everything your helmet concealed your face, lest the warriors before you see you chewing your lips raw from the nerves.

Approaching closer, The Angel walked ahead of his sons and extended a hand with a warm smile towards you.

“Welcome aboard the Red Tear, Lady Custodes.” he says as you tentatively shake his hand. Were you supposed to do that? “It is an honour to host one of the Ten Thousand.”

“It is an honour to be hosted by a son of The Emperor, Lord Sanguinius.” you reply and turn to the Astartes behind him, giving a polite nod. “And to accompany your legion into battle, of course.”

“A lot of honour to be had, indeed.” one of the Astartes speaks up. A jest, perhaps? You turn your eyes back to the Primarch, to gouge a reaction. He gives a small chuckle. Yes, a lighthearted jest, you deduce, and match with your own quick subdued laugh. There was a pause, your slightly delayed reaction seemingly unnerving the Astartes, who look away. Thankfully Sanguinius breaks the tension as he speaks up again.

“Allow me to show you to the quarters we have prepared for, Lady Custodes. We shall be departing soon.”

You are led through the Red Tear to a large room where your serf begins setting up. You find yourself drawn to the window at the far end, and you walk to it mesmerized. You can see Terra growing smaller in the distance and your heart rate picks up again. You reach out to place a hand on the glass, almost as if to reach for the throne world, your home.. You hear Sanguinius clear his throat behind you, and you feel your cheeks flush. Once again you thank the throne for the helmet hiding the embarrassment on your face at being caught in such a childish act.

“I hope the room is to your satisfaction.” the Angel speaks up.

“It is, thank you.” you reply, walking away from the window, flexing your fingers, as if to shake off the nerves.

“Wonderful. I will leave you to get settled it, in that case.” he smiled and turned to walk away before stopping at the door. “It.. would be my pleasure if you were to join me for the evening meal later if you would like?”

“Of course.” you agree, and you note the smile the Angel gives you.

“Very well, I will send for you.” he says as he leaves the room. “ Lady Custodes.” he gives you a nod before turning.

“Lord Sanguinius.” you bow in return, and with that the door closes and you are alone in the room with your serfs.

You are helped out of your armour, which is carefully, ritualistically stored away. You are given your rest attire robe, and your hair is combed through again and re-braided. You notice your bleeding lower lip in your reflection in the window. Damned nerves. One of the serfs makes a remark that you should quit chewing your lips raw and let them heal, but they get silenced with a quick look. This bout of anxiety would pass, you would make it pass.

Sanguinius was not sure what he expected when he was given the task of hosting a newly inducted Adeptus Custodes. It was an honour to know his father trusted him so, yet there was an inkling of doubt in him. Was this to be a test? Were you there to assess him?

These doubts, however, dissipated when he met you. You radiated unease, anxiety even. He did not know Custodes could be nervous, though he supposed he had only met veterans before. You were young, father had told him, newly christened and untested yet, and it was on him now to see to it that you fight your first battle.

There was another thing that made him curious about you. As you walked through the halls of the Red Tear, he could smell the sweet scent of blood on you. It was slight, barely a drop, but it was almost intoxicating, alluring..

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming towards his quarters. He had sent for you to be brought to dine with him, and as the door opened for you to come in, he found himself at a loss for words.

Yet again you defied his expectations. Even outside of your armour, you were tall and of a strong build, but your face bore gentler features, bright eyes, and soft red lips. Perhaps it was foolish of him to assume all your cadre came out grizzled war-hardened veterans like the shield captains and blade champions he had met. He had never considered what a young Custodes would look like. You were beautiful..

“My lord.” you speak up and he becomes acutely aware he had been staring for just long enough to be slightly uncomfortable.

“Lady Custodes.” he shakes off his stupor and stands up to greet you, whilst his serfs hurry around, continuing their preparations of the dining table.

“Your ship is beautiful.” you mention as he comes near. Ah, he sees it now - the thin red line across your lower lip, that you keep biting and not letting heal. The source of the enticing coppery scent of blood that he could smell on you. A nervous habit, perhaps?

“Thank you.” he smiles, as his eyes lock onto your lips. He swears he has more self-restraint than this, but your blood calls to him so sweetly, and your lips look so soft. “Pales in comparison to the Imperial Palace, though, does it not?” he chuckles, trying to distract himself.

“Few things don’t,” you say. “I... I would assume,” you add. He gives you a questioning look and you look away, your cheeks flushing. “I.. this is the first time I have left the palace.”

“Oh..” Sanguinius stares for a moment. He knew you had not left the throne world before, but he did not expect you to have never even left the palace grounds. There was so much of the Imperium and you had seen none of it. Not even the rest of Terra.

“I officially became one of the Ten Thousand six Terrans months ago.” you clarify. “I thought The Emperor had informed you.”

“He did, yes. I just was not awa..” he begins, but a slightly devious thought comes to mind. “I am sure Father would not mind if we are to take a few.. detours on our way back to Terra.”

“My Lord?”

“There could be more Orks hiding anywhere.” he grins. “It would be a shame to not check for ourselves. See the sights.

You seemed to catch on then and hesitantly matched his smile. He would make sure you see at least some of the Imperium to whose ruler you have been sworn to defend. It would be worth it, he thinks, if he gets to see you smile again.

#warhammer 40k #sanguinius x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #custodes reader

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finchly-tintinnabulation · 1 month ago

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- Dignity -

Cato Sicarius x M!Ambassador (Kiran Elander)

Tags: Cato Sicarius Fleas, this shit rated PORN (I promise more plot later), brat taming, praise, fisting, orgasm control

I've gotten the fleas, however I am gay and need to see this man get soft dommed. Heavily inspired by all the x F!Ambassador stuff courtesy of @vyzz-undercover @lemon-russ @moodymisty @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond I blame y'all. Fucking free me. I'm obsessed with both Cato and Kiran now. Thanks to @daily-shenanigans784 for the beta, @cardinalcanis for opening my eyes to big sub marines, and my homies for peer reviewing the sensation of prostate stimulation they will be the death of me

Also @jaghatai-khock u wizard,, how did you know,,

The Chorus: @thisuserislilsilly

- - -

Seeing the cracks finally begin to show as Ambassador Elander rounded on him made Cato Sicarius feel downright giddy, watching the puny man turn on his heel to face him as he stopped in the middle of the hall.

“Diplomacy may not provide such instant gratification compared to your usual cracking skulls and splashing viscera, but you could at least pretend to care.” Elander said icily, his frustration visible just below the surface, pouty lips curled in irritation.

“I am a statesman myself, I simply have a preference for efficiency.” He replied in the airy and detached tone that had finally made headway against the pompous little dignitary, delighting in the mocking imitation of the ambassador’s own placid voice.

Ignoring or retorting Elander’s words hadn’t produced any results, so Sicarius found it downright hysterical that simply belittling him had done the trick after the baseline had so thoroughly gotten under his skin. Theatrically humming and nodding and rephrasing his words for an entire meeting would have been dull if he hadn’t gotten to watch the ambassador’s face turn red, a fitting consequence for how Sicarius felt whilst babysitting him; being unable to be rid of such a thorn in one’s side.

“Of all the childish—“ Forcing a breath through his nose, Elander flexed his fingers in a squeezing motion, as if his pathetically small and soft hands could ever hope to strangle the Knight Champion of Macragge. “You know what? No lunch, go take a shower, meet me in my quarters at 1100.”

No lunch? Sicarius’s expression rapidly soured and he leaned forward to tower imposingly over the dignitary. He hadn’t even eaten breakfast before beginning talks early that morning. “You don’t have the rank to give me orders.”

“It’s not an order.” Elander crossed his arms, his own expression cooling into something Sicarius knew— and absolutely loathed. The bastard must think he’s being clever. “Think of this as an exchange. You have no reason to listen to me; I’ll be giving you one. It’s your choice whether or not to make this more tolerable for both of us.”

“What could you possibly offer me?” The marine scoffed, however his thoughts began to race— without his permission— to things he imagined the ambassador could offer that had been pervading his mind since some little drop of poison had slipped in weeks ago.

Kiran Elander had been an inescapable presence since swearing fealty to Roboute Guilliman and subsequently joining the fold of the Ultramarines, when he should have been indistinguishable from every other serf scurrying underfoot.

The scribes had plenty of reason to be in and out of his Primarch’s office, unobtrusively running papers and scribbling down his dictations, which made Elander’s insistence on banal chattering disruptive on its own. A mere baseline being conversational with his genesire was bound to raise Sicarius’s hackles, an audacity that grated fiercely at his nerves when his time standing guard was otherwise a reprieve.

That talkative attitude extended to every single person he interacted with, serf and Astartes alike, which provided plenty of evidence towards Sicarius’s theory of what a little fraud Elander was. That calm, airy politeness he practiced, the flattery and the warm inviting expressions. Soothing but utterly empty. He’d seen the sharpness through the new drapings of Ultramarine blue and gold, the biting and calculating words he dished out where his Primarch didn’t hear.

But that wasn’t enough, the wretch had also insisted on talking to him, calling out with a pithy little greeting every time he waltzed through the office’s doorway. Feeding him those plastic smiles, asking him useless questions and having the gall to look amused when he failed to sink his hooks into him, trying to lure him into a chat.

How are you doing today, lord angel?

Lovely planet to be deployed to my lord, what do you think?

Care for a mint, Commander Sicarius?

By the Throne, the accursed mints were a whole other problem. Without fail there was always a tin of mints in his pocket, and always one in his sharp little mouth. His jaw was always working as if he was thinking of the next thing to say, pensively sucking on it in a way Sicarius found infuriating, that deft serpent’s tongue rolling it between his teeth and neatly moving it out of the way when he needed to speak.

The scent of menthol followed Elander everywhere, announcing his presence even before he was seen, accompanied by the equally bright and pungent citrus tang of his awfully sweet cologne. Maybe that was where the problems started, sparking some strange urge to grab the ambassador by the scruff of the neck and breathe him in to find out if there was a real man underneath that sugary veneer.

It wouldn’t be difficult, the ambassador looked as though he had never so much as touched a weapon in his life, picking him up would be as easy to Sicarius as grabbing a tissue. Elander was short even for a baseline male, with long legged and slim gangly proportions, favoring dark tailored waistcoats that gave the illusion that Sicarius could wrap his fingers around his slender frail waist with one hand. Speaking of, the Ambassador’s hands matched the rest of him, delicate and small and soft.

Sicarius had never met a man of Elander’s station who appeared so utterly useless in combat. The dusty waves of his hair were so pale as to be almost white, so fair that it seemed they would stain with a touch. A porcelain face pockmarked by moles, split wide by frequent smiles that ruined the illusion of doll-like pink lips. He should be stuffed up on a shelf like one and left to gather cobwebs, to be some pretty ostentatious thing to be admired glanced over, rather than taking up so much space for something so insignificant.

Cato Sicarius had never considered anyone pretty. Let alone a man, let alone a baseline… and he was certainly not going to start with Kiran Elander. The weasley little whoreson.

Yet somewhere between his arrival and now, the bastard had gotten into his head. Those disgusting little lips and tongue were always moving, distracting from whatever it was Elander had elected to drone on about, and now even in his absence Sicarius could imagine them, lurid and pink in his mind. Maybe they were warm… but they were just as likely to be cold and hard like plasteel. Fake. He could picture gripping Elander’s face so hard he shattered in his hands. Throne, if Sicarius wanted to, he could ruin him.

So why was he doing as he asked?

The shower was an exercise in frustration, as none of the amenities in his accommodations were sized for an Astartes. Such a backwater planet was only being returned to the Imperium due to the presence of humans, of course they’d never been graced by the likes of the Ultramarines before. Elander’s presence is merely to not waste ammunition. Still, Sicarius was forced to maneuver his body under the spray much to his chagrin, cursing under his breath every time he headbutted the showerhead or bumped his elbows against the tiled walls.

The frustration had to be why his hearts’ rate was so elevated as he aggressively scrubbed himself down, then toweling dry just as mercilessly until his skin prickled. Frustrated with the fact his curiosity was winning over his indignance as he pulled on a set of fatigues in favor of his itchy dress uniform and set off towards the ambassador’s room in long strides.

Elander didn’t deserve the courtesy of knocking, so Sicarius simply let himself in, growing irritated when he was met with the smell of menthol and saw that the dignitary had been waiting for him. His jacket and waistcoat had been hung over the back of a chair, with Elander lounging sidelong in it, his legs draped over the arm.

“Thank you for joining me, Commander Sicarius. Are you ready to hear my rules?” Sliding out of the chair, the ambassador smiled as he slinked unhurriedly across the room. All of his finery had been shed, leaving Elander in a plain dark blue dress shirt and slacks, the only adornment left being a thin black bracelet.

“The rules of what? Some sort of game?” Sicarius scoffed as he closed the door behind him, cocking his head to look down at the man.

“If it would please your immature attention span, you may think of this as a game.” Hand planted on his hip, the ambassador evenly met Sicarius’s critical glare, expression so placid as to seem bored.

The Ultramarine growled. “You would do well not to mock me.”

“Your cooperation would be appreciated. I have no need to insult you otherwise. Now, are you ready to hear my rules?”

“Concisely, yes.”

“The goal of this exercise is to test your patience, as I want to see you wait to be rewarded. For the duration, I ask for you to follow my instructions and nothing more.” Elander sighed and tucked an errant strand of cream colored hair behind his ear. “If you disobey, I stop. If you don’t want to finish this exercise, you need only say the word.”

“I assume failure to complete this exercise would mean forfeiting the reward?” Sicarius inferred, searching Elander’s honeyed hazel eyes ringed with grey, probing for any signs of deception.

“Correct.”

“I’ll ask you again, what sort of reward could you possibly offer me.”

The ambassador appeared thoughtful, likely because the crafty little bastard was thinking of a way to sound more enticing. Pursing plush lips, he started to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing surprisingly shapely forearms— perhaps he had the ability to pick up more than just a measly stack of paperwork.

“Some playtime with your pleasure receptors.” Elander neatly cuffed his sleeves just above his elbows. “Please remove your clothing and be seated on the bed.”

Sicarius barked out a hysterical laugh, head spinning. This was far more bizarre than any feverish Warp-damned dream his subconscious could cook up. “You’re a whore.” He spat out the accusation before his silence and racing thoughts would betray him.

Merely frowning slightly, Elander raised a brow. “Are you implying that I’m tempting you, Commander Sicarius? Because a whore takes payment for someone’s desire for them, I merely have skills to use for your benefit.”

“Of course not.” Sicarius hissed. Tempting? He, Cato Sicarius, was not a victim of temptation. There was no attraction involved. That explanation was easier than whatever justifications and explanations his mind was scrambling for, and that was good enough.

“Good.“ Elander flashed that inviting conniving smile. “Now, if you’re ready to continue, I recall giving you instructions.”

Removing his fatigues merely required efficiency, but Sicarius felt oddly conscious of how quickly he undressed. Speed could imply anxiety or eagerness, and of course neither of those was the case. However taking his time would be putting on a show for the little slut, a thought that sent a shiver down his spine. Just his spine, certainly nowhere else. There was absolutely nothing exciting about this situation.

There was nothing vulnerable about stripping himself bare in front of Elander, because of course nakedness amongst his battle-brothers was nothing but mundane, and that wouldn’t change in front of a baseline so undeserving of his glory. Surely it should feel the same.

“A beard like yours but no body hair? What a shame.” The ambassador interjected with that grating tone of faux-innocence and curiosity. Sicarius was extremely aware he was being watched as he discarded his fatigues in a pile on the floor.

“Depilatory treatment is standard for the use of a body-glove.” With a grunt he sat heavily on the bed, the springs creaking as he settled on the edge, lounging back on his elbows with knees parted to take up as much space as possible and present an intimidating view. It seemed to be working as the expression on Elander’s face was nothing short of admiring as he moved to stand in front of him.

“Someone’s showing off.” A grin crept across his face and Sicarius let out an indignant growl.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” There was no reason to prove anything so obvious as size to such a puny baseline, Cato Sicarius knew he was impressive, and naturally Elander would too.

“It’s okay to be proud.” As if Sicarius needed his permission. He suppressed a shiver of surprise disgust as Elander’s fingertips alighted on his thighs, so delicate it was like the brush of a feather as they trailed over two pairs of neural ports and down to his kneecaps, pale eyes soft with appreciation. “Such a lovely specimen.”

Whether it was the words or those delicate fingertips suddenly slipping under his shaft, Cato felt his cock twitch, reeling as his thighs shuddered of their own volition. Elander’s hand tightened on his knee, as if to remind him of his presence positioned between his legs. How could he forget?

“You will be still.” The ambassador murmured gently, almost crooning. “Wouldn’t want to explain how I was injured if you couldn’t keep control of yourself. You can be patient for me, right?”

Sicarius grunted and nodded once, not trusting himself to open his mouth and hear his own compliance from it. No, he was merely tolerating this. Not an order, an exchange.

“Very good.” Another traitorous twitch. “Tilt your hips up, please.”

Lifting his pelvis as Elander had suggested, Cato closed his eyes. There was no need to complicate spoil this experience with a view of the bastard ambassador’s face, this was merely a service he could do with his own hand, and certainly didn’t require Elander to be involved.

Yet his hand couldn’t compare to the sensation of those ministrations. Where his were callused, the fingers wrapped sinfully around his cock slid like velvet, soft and warm and precise. They seemed to know his body in a way he didn’t know himself, dexterously squeezing and fondling until Cato began to sigh, his hesitation drowned in new and pleasurable experience. Tension bled from his muscles, relaxing back onto the mattress with a relief he didn’t know he needed.

Then something hot and wet made contact with his glands and those fingertips slid down to uncharted territory and his hips bucked in surprise. Cato’s eyes flew open, feeling cold as those warm touches suddenly withdrew.

“Be still.” The ambassador murmured a patient reminder, one hand resting on Cato’s thigh as the other reached into the pocket of his slacks. “Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

“Are you going to continue?” Despite knowing the rules, he couldn’t help but feel ornery. How dare this feel good? How dare he stop?

“If you can behave. I know you can, you can be a good boy for me.” Okay, the praise was definitely doing something— some sorcery to him, making a heat pool in his gut, a weakness that had gone previously unexploited. This wasn’t the pride he felt after a glorious victory, it was a syrupy sort of exhilaration that he wasn’t quite ready to interrogate.

Especially not when Elander’s next move had him transfixed. Gripping the shaft, he tapped the head of Cato’s cock against his pillowy lips, holding eye contact as his perfect sinful pink mouth swallowed his glans in one go. That mouth had haunted his mind, but only now did it occur to him why. He didn’t go down far, especially with the way those plush lips stretched around the girth of an Astartes, but that hardly mattered when his tongue was doing all the work.

Swirling around the head in teasing circles, playing with the slit, a bouquet of new experiences dragged a helpless groan out of him. Still stroking Cato’s length, there was a massaging pressure at his perineum, gentle circles slowly migrating down.

“The hell are you doing with my ass?” He grunted, but surprised himself by remaining still as velvety fingertips traced around the hole.

“No hope of finding your head if it’s too far up there.” Elander muttered sarcastically, Cato’s cock resting against his cheek as he fiddled with the thing from his pocket, accompanied by the quiet pop of a bottle opening. “This will feel a bit strange, but if you’re patient I promise it’ll feel good. Pull your legs up, that angle should be more pleasant for you.”

“Fuck you.” Gritting his teeth as he did as he was told, Cato craned his head up as if he could possibly see what Kiran was doing between his legs.

“Patience. This will be cold.” Despite the warning, the sensation of a gelled finger rubbing against the pucker of his asshole made Cato flinch, growling low in his chest.

It was definitely strange. He had certainly been examined before, every last inch of him observed and tested, and that was not the way Kiran touched him. Slow and incremental was his work, first massaging the outer ring of muscle with slick fingers slowly warming the lubrication, the pressure of his circular strokes beginning to dip inside.

That foreign sensation was accompanied by more attention to his cock, mouth now beginning to roam its length as Kiran licked stripes up the shaft, and Cato fought between keeping his eyes on the other and letting his hand sink back onto the bed. He was painfully hard, there was so much more he wanted before he was satisfied, and it was ecstasy. Patience didn’t seem like a chore to appease Kiran anymore… it was becoming very appealing. Cato didn’t even mind when the first finger sank into his hole.

Pain was negligible to an Astartes, but the only thing Cato could think of to describe the feeling of being stretched was an ache, the push of tight muscles initially unwilling to yield. Some vague sort of discomfort, and yet even that was pleasurable, enhanced by whatever witchcraft Kiran was doing with his tongue.

“Do you want me to keep going?” The fair haired man asked softly as the intrusion of his finger rocked in and out, to which Cato groaned. “Yes or no.”

A tremor shook his thighs as he felt his muscles unspooling, from his hips downward. “Don’t fucking stop…”

“I said, yes or no.” Cato whined vocalized his displeasure as Kiran’s fingers withdrew again. This pathetic little baseline knew things about his body he had yet to discover for himself, attempting to play him like a fiddle.

Cato was letting him.

“…Yes.”

The approving look Kiran gave him was sin, a warm rush of achievement and pride low in his gut, right where his nerves had been sparking at his touch. To Cato’s confusion he unfastened the bracelet around his wrist with some invisible attachment, then deftly wrapped its soft thin silicone around the base of his cock, where it easily snapped into place. The thought that Kiran’s wrist was comparable thickness to his shaft made Cato dizzy, made his mind flounder at thoughts of holding them for a moment before being brought back to attention.

“So good for me, thank you for using your words. Remember, you’re being patient, and you’ve done such a wonderful job at it so far.” Kiran palmed at the tip, spreading the transparent fluid that had begun dripping from it like another lubricant, his touch somehow even more silky and warm.

Two fingers this time, pressing and prodding and stretching. An Astartes could withstand any temperature, and yet Cato felt himself growing hot. An Astartes never tired, and yet his breaths were rapid, his two hearts quickening. A scissoring motion of Kiran’s fingers made that pleasurable ache grow, a feeling of fullness he wanted to chase as they crooked inside him.

“You crave approval, don’t you? Such a beautifully honed weapon, singing to be used for the glory of battle.” Three fingers, pushing, pistoning. “But there’s an easier way to feel that good, to know that you’re doing what you’re supposed to. So good. So natural.”

Cato couldn’t help it as a wanton moan slipped through his teeth, his head falling back onto the bed, just listening and feeling. An Astartes’s duty was service to the Imperium, and yet this new idea of service…

“It’s a shame for such a lovely weapon to be unused, a blade left unpolished… let yourself be used and adored.” Four fingers, now? It was hard to tell, the slender intrusion was sliding so easily. “You don’t even have to do anything, simply experience your purpose of serving mankind and enjoy it.”

Cato Sicarius had never considered submission to be an option. Defeating an opponent in debate or combat brought the joy of triumph, the glory of Ultramar at his heels. There was something perverse in those feelings coming so easily, through… obedience. It was perverse and it felt wonderful, and so very easy. Obeying and being rewarded and feeling so full as Kiran’s fingers sank into his hole, faintly aware of the obscene sound of his whole hand—

“Good boy.” There was barely enough time for Cato to process the fact that Kiran was wrist deep in him before he was seeing stars, hot sparks coursing up his spine, turning his thoughts to static.

The feeling didn’t let up, repeatedly pressing that spot inside him, the sensation of fullness and pressure building in his gut. Pistoning in and out at a relentless pace as his legs began to shake, eyes rolling as his mouth fell open, dignity forgotten as each thrust drove into him and drew a torrent of gasps and moans from his lips.

“Fu-uck, Kiran—”

“You’re doing so well, sweet thing.” Kiran cooed over the wet and lecherous sound of his ministrations against Cato’s body. “You may move now. Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

He needn’t speak twice. Heels barely kept purchase against the sheets, his hips bucked, and a vicious new rhythm formed. Every time Cato rocked back Kiran’s fingers rammed against his prostate, and thrusting forward had him rubbed up against his palm in exquisite torture, the barest shift making his head spin with pleasure. There was nowhere to move to escape those hands, and it was making him more and more desperate.

Pressure built, his cock red hot even as something felt stoppered at the base— where Kiran had placed the bracelet. He needed something, and he could barely comprehend what it was, only that denying it felt like dying.

“Ah—! Please…” Cato gasped, hips stuttering as he couldn’t decide whether to try and escape the sensation or seek more and more and more.

“Asking nicely, Cato? Do you want to cum?” That was it. He wanted to cum, he needed to, he couldn’t care less about the insubordination from Kiran or the begging he was about to do.

“Mnh… ah, please let me—!” His breath hitched like he was trying to come up for air, like swimming in the seas of his youth, desperate to surface. “I need to cum! Ple—ease…”

“Well, since you asked so nicely. Cum for me.”

Fingers slipped around the base of his cock and in a moment Cato’s world exploded. Release rocked his nerves as his hips snapped up, something white hot and molten coursed through his cock, feeling Kiran stroking him through it as everything else dissolved around him.

His mind was warm, pleasant fuzz, tensed muscles melting and loosening as his orgasm steadily ebbed, laying flat against the bed. The room came back to him slowly, the savory scent of sweat and his own spend registering before he finally opened his eyes.

The sight that greeted him was one that had appeared in dreams he had tried to forget, but was now burning itself into his mind’s eye. Kiran Elander, covered in thick strings of cum, opaque strands in his face and hair, ruining the fine dark blue fabric of his dress shirt. The ambassador’s hazel eyes shone with affection and pride as he wrapped his bracelet back around his wrist, taking a fistful of the sheets to gently press it against Cato’s slicked asshole and wipe away some of the lubrication.

“Was that enough of a reward for you?” Elander looked… smug. Sicarius felt furious.

How dare this useless little baseline think he had any power over him? What sort of games was he playing to think he could get Cato Sicarius to submit to his whims? He could break him.

With superhuman speed he had Elander by the collar, dragging him to the mattress to pin him there, growling under his breath and trapping the little ambassador’s arms by his sides.

Elander should have been fearful, he should be groveling for his life. Instead, after his eyebrows raised in muted surprise, he appeared to simply go numb. Body limp, face blank, staring owlishly into Sicarius’s eyes. It was like he was playing dead, but there was an air of… disappointment in his gaze. Despite everything, it made him feel nauseous and leaden. Not afraid, disappointed. As if he had expected it.

His heart certainly didn’t squeeze at the thought that Kiran had praised him so warmly, only to expect Cato to disappoint him.

Slowly, Sicarius lowered himself to lay on Elander, slipping his thick arms around that trim waist, and after a moment of hesitation began to clean him in turn. He lapped the drips of seed from Elander’s skin, letting his breathing slow as he licked his porcelain-smooth brow. For a moment the ambassador lay stock still beneath him, but ever so minutely Sicarius felt him relax, slim fingers slipping into his hair.

“...You were so good.” Elander murmured, and Sicarius realized he could scent beneath the menthol and perfume. The delicate natural warmth of skin, soft flesh and clean sheets and sweat. He was real.

#warhammer 40k #fanfic #my writing #ultramarines #cato sicarius #oc x canon #m!oc #cato sicarius x oc #kiran #space marine x oc #ultramarine x oc #nsft

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megsdoodletag · 22 days ago

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Ummmmm Morty with... a mortal that Likes Him? 👀 No preference on mortal appearance (blank gray slate works), not necessarily sexual? Totally OK if not I just don't know where your boundaries lie

thanks for asking bout boundaries! For shippy stuff I have less issues with rating and more issues with content, largely because I'm. Weirdly Particular about characterization, esp when it's my version of the character, if that makes sense. So, if I get a request and I personally think 'he would not say that' I probably wouldn't go for that one. if that makes sense. Apologies in advance.

So, speaking of character. Mortarion is not one of the uh. Easier primarchs to hang around. He's Pressed in both the Re- and De- directions and also acts like this:

This man does not say 'lets take Ibuprofen together' because he is too busy flushing his mood stabilizers down the toilet. he thinks taking them would be 'cheating.'

HOWEVER.

All is not lost, we can work with this. He doesn't really hate baselines, and despite his habit of self-isolation, given the way his early days went I'd argue he's actually quite desperate to be social. He Likes People, that's why he became the Reaper. Man specifically likes to have His People, and His People are generally the hardy, direct, loyal type. You understand the legion values, pull off some consistent competency, show you can keep up with the gang, and he's got your back.

possibly related: I think about that excerpt where he rescues a marine by literally scruffing him out of a pile and like dusting him off before setting him down again like 'there u go. continue with your destruction my child.' like. not infrequently.

All this to say, I think with a little bit of ye old human persistence hunting stamina someone could get through to him. Even convince him to use a pillow every so often.

....it still might take him a bit to get a bedframe.

#fanart #wh40k #mortarion #inbox #sorry in order to unlock literally anything remotely cutesy with this guy u gotta get through his 13k years of absolute self-loathing #as one does #and even then he's gonna be a grumpster. this is simply what you've signed up for.#ALSO YEAH sorry i'm. weird about characterizations #if u know of beaned z u understand.#[shudders]#so specific requests are more likely to get nixed than general questions #unless u know my interpretation already #bc that's really what these doodles are to me: my interpretation of the character. which is. as aforementioned. A Lil Specific.#also hey i survived!! fuck u nurgle!!!! [turns around and runs right into holiday scheduling] aw fuck

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sleepyfan-blog · 9 months ago

Text

Tiny Visions

Author's note: Part one of The Emperor of Mankind raising the baby primarchs! Next

tagged: @egrets-not-regrets

warnings: dehumanization of the primarchs, dehumanization of infants, Warp Fuckery

Summary: Several of the Very Tiny Primarchs warp powers begin to manifest themselves at the same time, while still in their gestation pods. The results of this cause the Emperor to order them to be pulled from their gestation tubes as very young infants.

The tireless and careful work of over a thousand years' worth of genetic testing, engineering and tinkering lay slumbering in twenty maturation pods. Hundreds of anxious scientists watched every readout on the monitors, every twitch that the infant super-soldier generals made as they slept and grew in their incubation chambers, worried that if they did not keep their tense vigil, something terrible would happen and one or more of the little ones would be lost, and His Excellency would be furious… Or worse, disappointed that something had happened to one of his currently tiny creations.

Each of the twenty tiny primarchs floated in their numbered pods, what they may dream of was unknown to any of the scientists who kept monitoring them constantly. This project was intensely secret - from the moment that each of them had been brought onto the project (anywhere between months to decades ago) they had never left the underground palace genetics laboratories, lest the enemies of the Emperor of Mankind find out about what was being created in the sprawling complex. The Thunder Warriors were… They had been a success, yes. But their genetic enhancements had been unstable, and they had taken very poorly to the uneasy peace that the Emperor, His Custodes and Thunder Warriors had created across Terra, ending the shattered factions that Terra had long-descended into in the endless Night that Humanity as a whole was only beginning to crawl out of, and only by the grace and aid of The Emperor and the other Perpetuals who had lent their guiding hands and keen minds to the task of Uniting Terra.. And eventually, to reach out to the scattered and lost pockets of Humanity still lost to the Long Night that had consumed the galaxy.

The Primarchs were due to be released from their gestation pods within the next several months, if the meticulously gathered and reviewed data continued to show the signs of their growth and maturation within their tubes at the rate that they were currently growing at. There was some uncertainty as to just what physical age the little soldier-generals would be once they were released from their maturation chambers, given the fact that they would stand larger than even the Legiones Astartes that they would be commanding once fully mature. Still, it was none of their places to question how long the little generals would sleep and grow within their maturation chambers, merely watch and ensure that they got the nutrient slurry infused into their -

Primarch Eight began to thrash in it's sleep, tiny fists flailing, mouth opening in closing and head thrashing back and forth in clear signs of distress, causing dozens of alarms to go off. His dedicated team of geneticists rushed over to his chamber, frantically reading the sudden change in vital signs and movement - the little ones commonly moved a little, but were primarily stationary as they grew.

Primarch Nine began to thrash and wail as well - his tiny wings flaring out and causing him to be propelled against one wall of it's maturation pod and bounce off, it's tiny fists and feet flailing. It's mouth opening and closing in silent wailing. Nine's team rushed over to try and figure out what had set the little general off, their voices low and frantic.

Primarch Fifteen, who was the most deeply connected to the warp according to The Emperor and Lady Erda, turned an even brighter red and began wailing and flailing in it's pod as well, possibly in response to two of it's siblings suddenly reacting in distress to some sort of stimuli that none of the assembled baseline human scientists could begin to fathom.

And then, to the tremendous distress of it's entire team, primarch fourteen decided to Cause Problems because it's siblings were being rambunctious by teleporting outside of it's gestation pod. Again. It teleported several inches off of the ground and would have hit the ground with a wet thud (and probably start to wail at the top of all three of it's lungs) had not a pair of large, darkly tanned hands not suddenly grabbed the tiny primarch out of the air. "Fourteen, what have I told you about teleporting outside of your pod before it's time to leave, hmm?" The Emperor of Mankind rumbled, staring down at one of his future generals.

The baby Primarch with short, ashy white hair plastered flat to his skin by the incubation fluids opened it's golden eyes and stared up at it's creator and Lord. It's gummy, toothless mouth opened and it wailed tiny hands balling into fists as it flailed at the indignity of being cold, as the thick, sticky incubation fluids quickly began to chill the tiny primarch.

"Neoth, give him here, he's cold." Lady Erda ordered, lightly swatting at the emperor, having removed her clean jacket and began to wrap it around the infant primarch, rocking him back and forth, murmuring in a low, soothing voice "Shhh, shhh ,shhh. Mama is here, little one. I know, it's bright and you are cold, and some of your brothers are very upset. That's why mama and papa are here. To see what has upset you so. Come on now, stop crying for mama, you're safe now. There's a good boy."

Fourteen stopped crying at the sound of one of it's creators' voices, golden eyes wide, as a tiny fist was shoved into it's mouth. It leaned it's damp head against her chest, it's breathing slowing down to normal, before it's eyes slid shut and it began to sleep.

The Emperor of Mankind had left Fourteen in Lady Erda's capable hands, walking over to where Eight's, Nine's and Fifteen's teams were gathered and frantically trying to figure out why the three infant primarchs had started to thrash around and wail within their incubation chambers. Apart from distress-related vitals changes, there was nothing that any of the mortals could discern was wrong with any of the tiny primarchs.

"Imperator! We-" The lead scientist started, bowing deeply as he spoke, going silent as the large perpetual raised a silencing hand.

"Eight and Nine are having visions, and Fifteen is currently psychically connected to the two of them. The visions are not happy ones, which has upset all three of them. While I had intended on letting them incubate in their pods until they were physically toddlers…" The emperor's gaze focused for a moment on Lady Erda, who was still rocking a sleeping Fourteen and humming a lullaby to it. A small frown pulled at his lips "Will they be stable, if removed from their gestation pods?"

"S-sire?" Several scientists stuttered at the same time, eyes widening in surprise.

Amar Astarte walked over, grabbing the most recent readouts collected on each of the infant primarchs. "They should be able to survive outside of the pods. I thought that the plan was to wait until they were toddlers physically, before releasing them from their gestation pods? That way they would have a degree of independence before starting to be trained, sir. As infants they will have different developmental and physical needs… Also none of them should be capable of doing much more than rolling over on their own… Warp-based power shenanigans notwithstanding, my lord."

"… Nine and Eight have visions of what will happen, if they stay in the gestation tubes for that long. It is not a future I wish to see come to pass." The Emperor responded, the frown on his face deepening. While he could dismiss Erda from the project - and Amar as well… Part of him would rather that not happen. Both of them were incredibly talented geneticists and incredibly useful to him.

"… There is also the fact that we've been getting some rather… Unusual readings from Primarch Twenty's pod. It's abilities keep us from doing a visual check of it without removing it from the gestation pod entirely, I would advise caution in twenty's case." The geneticist warned The Emperor, frowning a little as well.

"Hmm? No, their readings are fine. They're a perfectly healthy set of twins." The Emperor corrected, placing one hand on the glass of Nine's pod, the other on Eight's as he sent a psychic wave of calm and peace their way, to get the little ones to stop thrashing and crying in their pods. He wasn't expecting three new minds brush clumsily up against his own in response, filled with innocent curiosity and fear. The emperor again pulsed calm-care-safety to the three fussing infant Primarchs. Fifteen - who he had most contact with - settled down immediately. Nine fussed for a couple more seconds before settling down. Eight, from whom the most concerning visions of chaos-tainted Astartes had come from fussed until he reached out to eight's mind once again and sent more soothing thoughts and feelings to the very fussy dark-haired baby. Eight finally settled down.

"… Oh. When do you want to begin decanting, sire?" Amar asked, slightly taken aback at his answer.

"I will need to ensure that the wing of the palace for the twenty of them is fully furnished and baby-proofed… Decant them in two weeks, beginning with One. I will increase the security around these labs and the Gellar field that protect them from outside warp influence. Three full squads of Custodes will be at each location, and I will have Valdor be watching over them directly. Do not interfere with their protective details." The emperor ordered "Back to your standard duties. Eight, Nine and Fifteen are already back in their slumbering states…" He let his voice soften and warm a little as he looked upon Erda, who was still rocking a sleeping Fourteen in her arms. Something about the sight stirred something very old in his heart briefly, but there was much to do, and she was a potential future traitor to his glorious cause. "Erda, the Primarchs' rooms aren't ready yet. Fourteen will need to go back into his pod for his own safety."

Erda sighed, cuddling Fourteen a little closer (the little Primarch whining wordlessly a little in his sleep) before nodding in agreement "You're right. Alright, sweetie, time to go back into the pod. Remember, mama loves you and your brothers." She pressed a kiss to it's forehead as two members of Fourteen's team opened it's gestation pod and brought it over for Erda to lower the tiny general into, which she did without complaint.

#my writing #warhammer 30k #the emperor of mankind #Erda #the primarchs #mortarion #sanguinius #magnus the red #Konrad Curze #Amar Astarte

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