#yandere primarch x reader

[corvusspecialartist]

A Panopticon's Desire: Yandere! Konrad Curze x Artist Reader (Pt: 1)

An artist born. Fire and Blood.. a future changed. Konrad was idling by on his throne. Something was off…. his world… his worthless populace had been fixed though the power of fear. He had very little need of going out to cull the scum. However, it was odd… he saw a future where he was dragged and somehow beheaded. His planet ablaze, but in as soon it arrived it changed… they were chained… locked away to rot. A rare beautiful toy to play with. He shook the vision form his head. NO matter. This future would not come to pass… after all. His spies that were loyal had reported that many of the families… despite going underground… had pooled their resources and planned some form of tribute.

Maybe this was some ploy of their feeble superstitious mind. Trying to appease him, so that just maybe their families would be spared. This would be very much interesting.

You were being smuggled. It was of upmost matter that you were to kept secret. You were a well known artist in the system… with your work respected. However, this would be your greatest job yet! They were offering you, in your view, your weight in gold. All of the materials and lodging were provided. It was surprising for this opportunity to even come up in the first place…your kin had told you about the lawless state of the planet. Yet, when asked about the current state.. your patrons told you that someone else was in charge. But no matter…you made sure to bring proper supplements and glow in the dark paint, to allow the Nostroamon to actually see the art. You have heard that the planet had almost no light, and the people there could see in the dark. A captain came into your quarters running urgently.

"I need you to go and hide immediately… although we have gotten the proper paperwork for you… we needed it to be discreet." you nodded immediately and followed the captain into a small dark closet. Hopefully, your patrons would provide some low-vision goggles in order for you to allow you to see signs more easily. As you were squeezed, you heard the murmured voices. After it seemed like, almost forever. The captain came back. "We managed to get you past customs… I would get ready and brace." After he said that you started to move within the small space… It was quick, but soon an announcement came by on the ship ."We have safely landed on Nostramo." Immediately you got out.. watching as the various serfs go towards your room and gather your things.

You have heard the sordid reputation of the people of this world, and made sure that you brought on very little in terms of valuables. However, as your patrons led you out of the ship…as you took a step foot on this world. It seemed… different… It was quiet. You have heard the stories and the screams and the rampaging and varying explosions… that this planet was crime ridden hellhole. It was impossible… it almost felt as if you were in a dream. It seemed almost fake. You were shown into your quarters… and were left alone for a bit. You packed out the things… and started to sketch. Your nightmares seemed to take a current inspiration.

Sitting down, you started to draw a whirling mechanical tower. It was a grotesque thing that seemed to have one white eye.. It seemed to shine a beam on light… searching. Mouths seemed from the vents and were screaming. You were standing out in the open… as the searchlight swirled closer to you… Running though the warped halls, , as the mouths wailed and cried.. almost as if denied their prey. It seemed to run though closer… hands grabbing various people and consuming them…the mouths screeching and groaning. You had awaken at the time. Maybe this was an omen.

Maybe this was an omen. An alternate future… the canon.. the proper future,where this little thing would be under his thumb. His spies had told him about a recent visa, for a popular artist throughout the system. Personally, he was not a big fan of their art… He had ordered of the visa to be detained. He smiled to himself… when he caught them. This would be a grand cause of celebration… a rare public execution. However, he paused. No. He couldn't do that… drag them in and kill them over some trumped up charges… They were too popular and had backing amongst the nobility, those who had bent the knee to his rule. Honestly, he wished,he wasn't so just. He should have just killed them all. However, a gleaming idea came into his head.. he would pay them a little visit.

[bluetooththereptile]

some warhammer pls…

From what I've seen many writers depict Lion'El as either a very cold and unfeeling being that is ruthless or he is a clueless brute in a super sized power armor.

But from what I've heard and read about the first son, I think he is a very cunning man that his code of ethics controls his every action, he was raised in the jungle for his younger years but my dearies, have you ever read an squire's journey? They made unruly boys into MEN, and the Lion is very much indoctrinated into that train of thinking.

He is more of a darker king Arthur in my eyes, he knows his way in a court, he knows his strength and has wit, he just doesn't deem his brothers or others worthy of his attention, he could very well court a lady in a very proper fashion, and I mean courting to the T of it, so much so that you'd never think there is a beast under the knight that has caged it.

I'd very much like to write a fic about each primarch courting their beloved, and I was thinking to make you dearie readers inhanced humans so the issue of childbirth and ehem...funny activities aren't that far fetched, just like how Lorgar enhanced Korphaeron or how Leman had Enhanced one of his most loyal men back on Fenris, these were adults turned into marines, so it is quiet possible.

[nightscythe]

I’ve been sick for the past two weeks, and it’s got me wondering—how do you think the primarchs would handle their s/o being sick for that long? Would some of them totally panic and try to carry you to the medbay even if you just have a cold? Or would they be the quietly worried type, sitting next to you and acting like they’re not checking your temperature every five minutes?

Would any of them try (and fail) to cook you something? Or maybe sit there reading to you because rest is important? I need to know who’s handling it with grace and who’s acting like you’re dying of the plague.

i hope you feel better anon!! i hope this gives you a bit of comfort ◡̈

pre-heresy primarchs when their muse is sick? just another way of saying that their entire world is shutting down. because they don't get sick so they just can't compute it properly.

cw for sickness/illness of course, worries about death, and alpharius' one is darker.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

the lion: he would never, ever leave your side. he may not outright tell you he's worried but given the fact he's moved in days, its safe to assume his worry has consumed him beyond anything else. actually, the only time he did leave was when you fell asleep one time and he wanted to make you food himself (because, if whoever was making your food before was doing a good job, you'd be better already). he can't actually cook but he does his best for you an it actually turns out well, and when you inadvertently compliment him he decide then and there he will walways be the one who makes your food. convinces himself he's the reason you're getting better in the end. and when you finally find a bit of rest? he finally lets his hands shake because he was worried. tiny over-reaction.

fulgrim: pff, dramatic? that's not fulgrim at all. convinces himself you've contracted the black plague for certain, but keeps up his happy appearance and tells everyone you're going to be fine anyway. no expense is too much, an array of possible things to make you better are presented each day, no matter how many times you tell him you don't need tiny rocks to make you feel better no matter how pretty they were. would probably need shutting down eventually and for you to tell him you would just like him, not everything he can offer. his heart practically melts at the thought, and even if you did have the plague, he'd still risk getting it to so he could revel in how much you wanted him around.

perty: hates more than anything that he can't fix it for you. probably spends more time away from you in an effort to cure whatever illness you have (because antibiotics could surely be more efficient), asking for four updates an hour from his sons. also probably thinks he's useless being with you, so there's no point with you. let's say you have enough of not seeing him and find him, sit beside him and watch him work. he wouldn't notice you at first, so focused on distracting himself from worry that shouldn't even exist to him. but when you place your hand on his, he freezes. what do you need? he'd ask, and when you say you need him, he short circuits for a moment. yes, of course, whatever will help. probably one of the first times he realised it was him that you loved and not his mind.

khan: there's not many times he would show his feelings openly. but he doesn't understand human weakness, certainly not something so mundane as being sick. so when he tries to imagine it in his head, he somehow inflates it to something far worse than it actually is. he makes an effort to keep light banter with you, even jest at how he'd never expected something like this to phase you. he'd want to let you rest, but when you ask him to stay, he'd be the first to sit back down and make sure no one was disturbing him for at least 24 hours. he'd talk to you until you fell asleep and stay by your side until you woke up. the second you feel better he tells you he always knew you'd be fine, but internally he's finally stopped worrying that he was going to lose you.

leman: laughed it off at first (nervously) because he knew you were strong. forgot you were not a primarch and could acually be defeated by something as small as a cold in the more dire circumstances. he'd be quite proactive in trying to get you to recover. no mopping around in bed all day when you could be having a warm bath or sitting beside him eating a good meal. somehow by trying to convince himself everything is fine and normal he becomes extremely efficient in making you feel better because you just feel... normal. but when you really have had enough, and you just want to rest, it only takes one look for him to give in. come here, little one, he'd say as he pulled you into his arms, resting his head against yours, you are strong, you'll be okay.

dorn: he may not have the words to say to you, but he's comfort incarnate nonetheless. he holds your hand, a bit (a lot) tighter sometimes when you show any symptoms of your illness. he asks for things to be brought to you that he knows will help (ie, soup, and even tastes it to make sure its the perfect temperature), he processes every bit of information logically so he knows what could possibly happens. accidentally focuses on the most negative side effects. a side effect of your medication is death? doesn't matter how many times you tell him they have to say that in case you have an allergic reaction, he's convinced himself of the worse. only recovery will remove this fear. is your personal guardian until you feel better regardless.

curze: has no clue what to do. is angry at you for being sick (he told you to wear a jacket when it was cold and this is what we've come to?). angry at himself for not being able to change it (because he should have held you in his arms and forced you to share his warmth). he could just go and check if you needed anything but that's too easy. life isn't that fair to him, there must be more to it. turns his attention elsewhere in ignorant bliss. returns to your bedside in time for you to wake up and still doesn't say anything to you, just watches. if you seem any worse he'll send someone, he's no help in this situation. no, he just goes and procures you a bunch of flowers and a gift to show his affection.

sanguinius: he already treats you like the most fragile thing in existence, so when you actually do show an ounce of weakness? he caves. he will not let you lift a finger. he will not have you bear a single thought without his support. you may just have a sore throat, he'd silence you with a kiss and speak for you, as if he knew exactly what you were going to say. he'd smile sweetly as he did everything in his power to ensure you were recovering (yes, he'd have someone check on you every ten minutes, even has an oximeter on you just in case...). type to lay beside you as you sleep, watch you so closely he can track each of your breaths, shield you from anything the outside world has to offer. and he knows you'll be fine. but whats a better excuse than this to treat you like he always wanted to.

ferrus: well you're not allowed to have anything happen to you, so good luck. he doesn't really know how to tell you anything else. you're not leaving me, he'd say as he sat beside me. and you can tell him over and over its literally just tonsillitis or whatever. he doesn't listen. its like him telling you over and over will somehow indoctrinate your body into listening to him. immediately begins looking into a way to make sure you're not susceptible to illness again, but never leaves your side. it would seem that vaccines need to be made stronger...that is how they work, if they were more effective, you would not be in this condition. how do you tell him you can't vaccinate against every single bacteria and virus. in his own arrogance of telling you you can't leave him, he doesn't worry too much.

angron: it was okay at first. then he really thought about it. he's unable to cope at all. please don't leave me he'd whisper in the dead of night. he's so quietly observant, seeing your fever get worse, how you reached for him as if you wanted him to help. please, my love, tell me you won't leave me. he knows you're sleeping and won't hear him, but he can't bring himself to say it at any other time. he just sits there, his legs and hands shaking, waiting for your fever to break overnight. there were a few times he felt utterly powerless and this was one of those times. and when he finally sees you open your eyes, how you seem just a touch better? every part of his body relaxes. he knows you're past the worst of it. he knows you won't leave him.

rob: brings in the best medicae he knows, stands behind them observing all their tests to ensure he is satisfied they know everything that's wrong and have a complete follow up treatment plan. basically becomes versed in medicine as well so he can form part of the discussions and reassures himself the best that can be done is being done. ignore that all you had was the flu. yeah it sucks but you'll more than likely be fine. he micromanages every part of your recovery alongside the medicae to ensure optimal recovery. does he worry? yes. but he hides it better than the others in front of you. outside your room? he's pacing. he's got about 5 action plans in the works for what to do if you start to feel worse, don't respond to the paracetamol, and if you do get better when he's not there.

morty: it wasn't very often that mortarion felt weak himself. but when you're sick? when he can't immediately take away your pain or your hurt? that's when he breaks. you were used to his blank stare 90% of the time and having to work out how he actually felt. but the second his voice broke, it was obvious - he was not coping well. because he felt responsible for you, keeping you safe, keeping you well, and he felt like he had failed you. he'd personally take control of your recovery. he'd spent each minute with you, never allowing himself to take his eyes off you until he knew you were well again. even if you told him you were okay, he'd shush you, still seeing that you looked tired or your hands shook a little. the only person he could ever trust to help you was himself, and its in this time you see the mortarion that existed behind all of the walls he built.

magnus: he can feel everything you can, so no point lying to him. every ache, every pain - you can't hide anything from him. and that makes it so much worse because he starts to panic even more. he's completely devoted to you and he's not afraid to show it either. he'd lay with you, cast illusions of grandeur to try to make you feel a bit better. craft stories to take your mind off whatever you're feeling. use ancient treatments to offer you any reprise he can. and when you do fall asleep? poor guy just falls apart. he's scared to lose you already and seeing you in any kind of weakened state really sets him over the edge. he's cry whilst holds you, he'd search every future he can to see an outcome. when you wake up and tell him you're feeling a lot better? his heart almost bursts with joy. such a soft huge guy its unreal.

horus: he says he's not concerned (he is) because he's seen men lose most of their body and still survive (yeah thanks for that). he doesn't leave your side though, opting to cancel every engagement he was meant to attend in favour of spending it with you. i know it will pass, sweetheart, he'd say as he wrapped his arms around you and kept you as close to him as possible, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, but i would rather be with you until i know you're okay. he cares deeply about you and he's completely obssessed with you, so of course he's going to worry - but he turns that into extra love for you.

lorgar: he first of all believes that this is punishment for something he's done wrong. he's convinced that the powers above, be it his father or something else, knew that the fastest way to hurt him was through you. when you explain its because you caught it off a serf (an immediately retracted admission because this poor serf was almost about to feel the wrath of a primarch in love), he questions it, but accepts it. he would not feel whole again until you were well - this literally breaks him inside (because he later convinces himself this was fate's punishment and blames himself). he's so caught up in his divine presentation of you that he forgets you are human, his worship doesn't make you invincible. don't expect anything practical from him, he's now making plans to actually make you a divine entity.

vulkan: praise to the one primarch who doesn't overreact. he understands the depths of why you're unwell (be it a cold, a virus, or something more serious) and tailors his approach perfectly, knowing exactly what you do and don't need. and you know his big warm hands are extremely nice to feel no matter what's burdening you. he will give you your space when you need it, especially when you're sleeping so he doesn't disturb you, and when you want his company? he's right there with anything you've previously told him you liked. hot water bottle, blanket, energy drink (poor choice but 1 is permitted), he would have it all. let me take care of you, he'd mumble, pulling you into his arms. perfectly normal reaction, really.

corax: acts like he doesn't care, but he does. sends medicae your way the second he sees a slight shift, even if its just your voice sounding a bit hoarse or if you wince when you move a little. stands at the other side of the room and listens to everything they say with great detail to ensure he carries out their treatment to the best of his ability. if its something small he can sigh in relief for now, but anything else would leave him a bit of a mess internally. because what would he do without you? how can he get through life without you by his side? immediately assumes the worst and becomes a silent observer. makes sure everything you need is at your side immediately when you need it - including him.

alpharius: you needed him so much that he liked it. you always kept your independence around him, but when you were sick? you asked for his help in everything. and he lived for it. so maybe he manipulates your recovery. you thought you'd feel better after a week, but 3 weeks in and you still don't feel 100%. the medicae tells you its just a stronger form of the virus you caught. must have mutated. you're not paying enough attention to notice how they glance at alpharius when speaking. i'll keep you safe, he tells you, locking your door behind him. its not like you could get up to leave anyway, the strong painkillers kept you in bed. i won't let anything happen to you, he whispers softly as he strokes your hair and holds you against him. i won't lose you, as he wonders how he's going to convince you that you're still sick when you have no more symptoms.

[shiyorin]

#Happy Sanguinala, time to meet the Great Angel

#Chaos Sanguinius x Female Reader

#Yep, four of them

#Warning: NSFW, rape, non-con, Chaos Sanguinius, there is a lot of sensitive content,....

Khorne Sanguinius 

The Great Angel, his once-white wings now stained crimson with the blood of a thousand worlds. His noble features are still beautifully but twisted with rage, eyes glowing red with murderous intent. The Blood God's chosen champion, Khorne Sanguinius leads his Legion on a never-ending crusade of slaughter.

Gone is the compassion that once defined him. In its place, a burning thirst for violence that can never be quenched. His laughter is a terrifying sound that sends even hardened warriors fleeing in terror. 

The Blood Angels, once noble defenders of humanity, are now rabid berserkers. Their gene-seed, already tainted by the Red Thirst, has been twisted further. Now, they fall into a permanent state of uncontrollable bloodlust, barely distinguishable from mindless beasts.

The chamber reeked of blood, sweat and sex, a fitting shrine to Khorne's newest champion. Sanguinius loomed over your petite form, his massive frame dwarfing yours entirely. His once-white wings, now stained crimson, twitched with barely restrained violence as he thrust savagely into your tight heat.

Your body shook with each brutal impact, tears streaming down your face from the intensity. But Sanguinius saw only beauty in your pain. He leaned down, his tongue gently lapping at the salty trails on your cheeks.

"So good." he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "You take me so well, my dearest."

The tenderness of the words contrasted sharply with the relentless pounding of his hips. 

Your only response was a defiant glare, your eyes burning with a mixture of hatred and unwanted arousal. Sanguinius smiled, a touch of arrogance curling his lips. He knew you would never admit it, but your body betrayed you. The way you clenched around his massive cock, the breathless moans you tried so hard to suppress - you wanted this as much as he did.

His tongue trailed lower, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw before finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. You shivered involuntarily, and Sanguinius chuckled gently.

"That's it," he purred. "Let go. Give yourself to me."

He nipped at your earlobe, then began working his way down your neck. His lips and tongue moved with exquisite gentleness, a stark contrast to the brutal pace of his thrusts. It was as if he was trying to soothe away the pain even as he inflicted more.

Sanguinius paused at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. He laved the spot with his tongue, the sensation almost numbing. You tensed, knowing what was coming.

With a growl of pure lust, Sanguinius sank his fangs into your flesh. The coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth, and he roared in ecstasy. His hips jerked erratically as he came, pumping load after load of scalding seed deep into your womb.

The world went white around the edges as pleasure unlike anything he'd ever known coursed through him. It was better than any battle-high, more intoxicating than the sweetest victory. In that moment, Sanguinius understood why chaos held such sway over mortals and Astartes alike.

But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

Even as the aftershocks of his orgasm still rippled through him, Sanguinius felt his cock hardening again. The blessings of Khorne and his Primarch physiology ensured he could go for hours, days even, without respite.

He pulled back slightly, admiring the livid bite mark on your neck. A possessive thrill ran through him at the sight. You were his now, marked and claimed in the most primal way possible.

Sanguinius leaned down, his tongue gently lapping at the wound. He could feel your pulse fluttering beneath his lips, the rush of blood calling to the predator within him. But he held back, content for now to simply taste and savor.

"I can give you more.” he said, your answer didn't matter, he would take what he wanted regardless. 

Sanguinius began to move again, setting a pace that had you gasping and clawing at his back. Your nails dig so deep left bloody furrows in his skin, but he feels no pain, only pleasure. He reveled in it, just as Blood God had taught him to revel in all sensations.

Blood and pleasure, pain and ecstasy, it was all the same in the end.

After all, they had all the time in the world. And he had so much more love to give.

Tzeentch Sanguinius

The Ever-Changing Angel. His once-majestic form shifts constantly, his wings are now covered in dozens of ever-watching eyes. These orbs constantly swivel and blink, granting the angel omniscient awareness of his surroundings. The feathers have become iridescent, shimmering with impossible colors that hurt mortal minds to perceive.

His mind, already sharp, has expanded beyond mortal comprehension. He sees all possible futures simultaneously, playing out grand schemes that span millennia. 

Sanguinius speaks in riddles and prophecies, his words carrying multiple layers of meaning. He delights in manipulating events from afar, setting up elaborate dominoes of fate that topple empires and birth new galaxies.

The Ever-Changing Angel’s wings unfurled and shimmering with impossible colors. Each feather held a lidless eye that gazed hungrily at the little mortal bent before him. Your face burned crimson, turned away in a futile attempt to hide your embarrassment from the Chaos Primarch's all-seeing gaze.

The corrupted Angel of Baal gripped your hips, his enormous hands nearly encircling your waist entirely. He pulled you back onto his monstrous cock, stretching your tight pussy to its absolute limit. You bit your lip to stifle a cry, your body trembling as it struggled to accommodate Sanguinius' inhuman size.

Sanguinius began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. He savored the exquisite friction, reveling in your warmth and the way your inner walls clenched around him. His mind raced with possibilities, a thousand potential futures unfolding before his Warp-touched eyes.

In one, he saw you swollen with his seed, your belly distended as you prepared to birth his heir. In another, your body was remade in his image, wings sprouting from your back as you ascended. Still more visions flickered through his consciousness.

You whimpered softly as Sanguinius picked up the pace, your small frame rocking with the force of his thrusts. You felt utterly overwhelmed, filled to the brim with the Primarch's massive member. Despite your training, you found yourself lost in the maelstrom of sensations assaulting your body.

Sanguinius leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back as he enveloped you with his wings. The feathered appendages caressed your skin, each touch sending jolts of unnatural pleasure coursing through your nerves. The eyes adorning his plumage blinked and shifted, drinking in every detail of your face.

As his orgasm approached, Sanguinius' mind fixated on one particular future - you, your belly swollen with eggs, utterly dependent on him for survival. The image sent a thrill of excitement through him, and he growled low in his throat.

"Perhaps." he purred, his voice a discordant symphony of whispers "we should see how well you lay eggs."

With those words, Sanguinius hilted himself fully inside you, his seed flooding your womb as reality itself bent to his will.

Nurgle Sanguinius

The Plague Father's embrace has transformed the Great Angel. Now Sanguinius' wings drip with putrid ichor, his flesh a canvas of lesions that birth new diseases with every breath.

But in this form, the Angel has found a perverse kind of peace. He spreads Nurgle's "gifts" with the same zeal he once showed in defending the Imperium.

He sees beauty in decay, marveling at the complex ecosystem of bacteria and parasites that call his garden home. He nurtures them lovingly, crooning lullabies as he unleashes them upon unsuspecting worlds.

Pale, fungal flowers exhaled spores that danced in the air like glittering dust. The fallen Angel reclined on a bed of writhing vines, his skin now alabaster and crisscrossed with livid scars. 

Underneath him lay you, your petite form dwarfed by the Primarch's massive bulk. Your belly swelled obscenely, stretched taut with the unholy life growing within. Sanguinius gazed upon you with adoration, misinterpreting your revolted expression as one of tender affection.

"My love," he crooned, voice thick with emotion. "How beautiful you are, heavy with our child."

His massive hand splayed across your distended abdomen, caressing the taut skin with surprising gentleness. Beneath his palm, something twisted and writhed, pushing against its fleshy prison. The angel smiled gently, imagining the perfect being they had created together.

You bit back a whimper of disgust as the fallen Primarch's fingers gently caressed across your skin. You remembered all too well the endless, agonizing hours of their coupling, he rutting into you with tireless stamina, his seed flooding your womb again and again until it finally took root.

Now you were trapped, your body no longer your own as it nurtured the abomination growing inside you. You longed for the sweet release of death, but knew that even that escape was denied you. Nurgle's "gifts" ensured you would endure, no matter how your body and mind might break.

Oblivious to your inner turmoil, Sanguinius continued his tender explorations. His hand drifted higher, cupping one of your swollen breasts. They had grown heavy with milk, preparing to nourish the child you carried. 

"So beautiful” he murmured, kneading the soft flesh. A drop of pearlescent fluid beaded at your nipple, and Sanguinius licked his lips in anticipation. Soon, he would taste the sweet nectar of their love.

Leaning down, he took your nipple into his mouth, suckling gently. The warm milk flooded his mouth, and he groaned in ecstasy. It was sweeter than the finest ambrosia, carrying hints of the love that now coursed through your veins. 

You stared blankly at the canopy of fungal growths above, desperately trying to disconnect from the sensation of his mouth on your breast. You focused on the sweet scent of decay that permeated the air, on the squelching sounds of nameless things moving through the underbrush. Anything to distract from the horror of your situation.

But there was no true escape. As Sanguinius' arousal grew, you felt the massive bulge of his cock pressing against your thigh. You knew what was coming, and a small sob escaped your lips. 

The fallen Primarch misinterpreted your cry as one of desire. With aching tenderness, he positioned himself between your legs, his engorged member throbbing with anticipation. 

"I love you," he whispered as he pushed inside you. 

You bit your lip until you tasted blood, refusing to give voice to your pain as Sanguinius stretched you far beyond your limits. His girth was monstrous, and even after countless couplings, your body struggled to accommodate him.

The angel set a languid pace, savoring every sensation as he made love to his bride. His hands roamed over your body reverently, marveling at how small and delicate you were compared to his massive frame. 

In his twisted mind, this was the ultimate expression of their love. Every thrust brought them closer to the glorious future he envisioned, a family bound by devotion and Nurgle's blessings. Their child would be perfect, a living testament to the power of their union.

The angel gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his broad chest. 

"My love" he murmured, stroking your hair. "Our family will be complete soon."

Slaneesh Sanguinius 

The Prince of Pleasure has molded Sanguinius into its ultimate champion. The pleasure angel is a being of otherworldly beauty and horrific excess. His wings shimmer with impossible colors, each feather a gateway to mind-shattering sensations.

Gone is the noble restraint that once defined him. Now, the angel pursues every fleeting whim and desire to its ultimate conclusion. He leads his Legion on endless crusades, leaving worlds drained of all sensation in their wake.

No longer content with mere blood, now he feast on emotions, memories, and souls, always hungry for new experiences to stave off the gnawing emptiness within.

Sanguinius' voice is a weapon in itself, capable of reducing the strongest-willed beings to quivering addicts with a single whispered promise. He revels in corrupting the pure, seeing how far he can push beings before they break.

The pleasure angel stood before the ornate mirror, admiring his transcendent form. His wings shimmered with impossible hues, each feather a gateway to mind-shattering sensations. The Primarch's perfectly sculpted body was a masterpiece of hedonistic excess, every inch designed to evoke desire.

But perfection was fleeting in the realm of the Prince of Pleasure. There was always a new threshold of beauty to cross, another exquisite sensation to explore. Sanguinius' lips curled into a smile as he contemplated his latest adornments.

With delicate precision, he slid a gleaming golden ring through his left nipple. The cool metal sent shivers of delight coursing through his body. He savored the subtle ache, knowing it would heighten every touch, every caress.

Sanguinius traced his fingers along the intricate patterns inked into his alabaster skin. The tattoos shifted and swirled, hypnotic designs that seemed to move of their own accord. They were a map of pleasure, each line and curve attuned to elicit maximum sensation.

His thoughts turned to you, his only lover, chained to his bed. You were so fierce and independent, now trembled at his merest touch. Sanguinius felt a surge of pride mixed with insatiable hunger. No matter how many times he claimed you, it was never enough.

He recalled the way you writhed beneath him, your small form struggling to accommodate his huge cock. The delicious contrast of your petite body against his towering frame never failed to arouse him. Sanguinius' member swelled at the memory, already aching to be buried in your tight heat once more.

With a thought, he summoned wisps of warp energy to caress his skin. The ethereal tendrils danced along his flesh, leaving trails of tingling pleasure in their wake. Sanguinius groaned, imagining your reaction to this new trick. Would you gasp in awe? Whimper in desperate need? The possibilities were intoxicating.

He selected a vial of shimmering oil, specially crafted to heighten sensitivity. Sanguinius poured a generous amount into his palm, then began to massage it into his chiseled abs and powerful thighs. The oil seemed to sink into his very being, setting every nerve ending aflame with exquisite sensation.

His cock throbbed insistently, demanding attention. Sanguinius wrapped his hand around the massive shaft, stroking languidly. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, and he smeared it over the head, hissing at the intensity of the feeling. He imagined your lips wrapped around him, your throat struggling to take his full length...

With effort, Sanguinius released his grip. No, he would save his release for you. The anticipation would only make it sweeter.

He adorned himself with jewelry crafted from precious metals and soul-stones. Each piece was a work of art, designed to accentuate his godlike physique. Rings glittered on his fingers, and chains draped artfully across his broad chest.

Satisfied with his preparations, Sanguinius turned toward the door that separated him from his lover. His enhanced senses could already detect your rapid heartbeat, the sweet musk of your arousal. You might pretend to resist, might curse his name even as you came undone beneath him. But Sanguinius knew the truth, you were utterly, hopelessly addicted to the pleasures only he could provide.

He pushed open the door, drinking in the sight of you bound and waiting. Today, he would introduce you to new heights of ecstasy. Today, he would make you scream his name loud enough to shake the very foundations of reality.

Sanguinius smiled, a gentle smile about to devour his lover. He loves you and it's never enough.

[toto-the-cactus]

Primarchs + Daughters

My perception of how each Primarch would behave when nosediving into parenthood if they had daughters. Enjoy!

I wanna personally thank @moodymisty because a great deal of their works inspired this piece.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Lion El’jonson

The embodiment of 'tough love' made man. Having a daughter doesn’t do much to soften this guy… or at least that’s what others believe. The Dark Angels Legion are probably the only ones aware of the small gestures the Primarch often gives to his little girl in the safety that privacy offers. Where Lion lacks words of compassionate and parental love, he appropriately makes up for it with actions. He isn’t one to go over the top and prefers to give modest gifts to his daughter as the last thing the man wants is to raise a spoiled brat. Father-daughter bonding time can be summarized with strenuous training using the sword. This man will not let his precious Princess go through life without learning how to protect herself, even if he has made an oath to forever shield her too.

Fulgrim

The complete antithesis of Lion. Where this man views the Emperor as the perfection anyone should strive to reach, his beautiful daughter comes close to the second place in fulfilling that ideal. There’s a big fat chance that he teared up a little when his little gem called him Papa for the first time, but managed to wear his ever unshakable mask because he absolutely refuses to break character even in private. Has the mistaken notion that his baby is a blank canvas ready to be painted to its fullest potential; aka, molding her to what HE wants and expects of her. Fulgrim probably spoils her rotten but only through conditions that she must follow, as the Primarch understands the importance of fighting and earning for what you wish to obtain. He makes sure that any of his gene-sons are in her company as he refuses to let even a single scratch happen to his little girl. Honestly, a grown-up version of Fulgrim’s child has the chances to go both opposites of the spectrum with no in betweens: A shy aristocratic lady who is unable to speak her own mind or a completely haughty, sharp and manipulative noble woman. Too much to unpack there, yo.

Perturabo

(Slaps this bastard's head loudly) This bad boy can fit so much family trauma in it! Okay no but seriously, there’s a good reason why so many people agree that this bitch has a thing for gilded cages and all the fucked up poetry that comes with it. The good ol’ classic Greek tragedy of Medea. Perturabo may have big and insane expectations for his gene-sons but when it comes to having a daughter? The apple of his eyes. The sunshine of his life. For this Primarch, his little princess is the only living thing in the entire universe that loves him genuinely and unconditionally, making his love the equivalent of a child crushing a bird between his hands. While still easy to anger and with a resting-bitch face, he is incredibly tame and careful with his girl; always making sure that she is well versed in all kinds of science and engineering that could easily label her as a genius (but we all know how stressful can be to try and live up to big expectations). Most of his Legion finds the child either an annoyance or don’t even care enough beyond the factual point of her being the child of their mighty Primarch, beyond that? This poor girl is probably the loneliest child to ever grace the world. Remember that I referred to this like the Tragedy of Medea? Yeah…

Jaghatai Khan

Probably one of the few best papa-tier out there. This man will see his little daughter and think the only thing a good parent should do: To love and guide. He’ll be not afraid to say “I love you” to his baby girl no matter where they are, but he’ll know when to be stern and wise so she grows to be a fine and humble woman. Honestly, this guy would learn how to make a sling just for the single purpose of having his precious princess close while also being excited to teach her how to ride on a horse like he did in his childhood. The thing that makes this dude the best in this list is that if his daughter ever expresses to follow a different path in life like becoming a remembrancer or anything that doesn’t involve the Imperium, this Chad of a man will look deep into her eyes and tell her that he’ll support her no matter what. The only thing he asks is that she stays in contact as he’ll miss her terribly. Kudos to him, fr.

Leman Russ

Another one for the ‘tough love’ guys list, yo! On his defense! Hear me out… in his defense, this guy was literally raised first by Fenrisian wolves before even knowing what a proper bath entailed, so of course he’ll sometimes be a bit too much on his poor little baby girl. Roughhousing was his best first approach to teach her how to fight, trying to make his little pup have some proper backbone worthy of being called the child of a Primarch. Sometimes he’ll get carried away (either with words or actions) and is in those moments when Leman would learn what genuine and heavy guilt feels like; a very alien emotion for someone as brutal and fierce as he is. There’s no worse feeling than knowing that you are the reason behind your daughter’s tears. No one would ever say it out loud, but the way this giant of a man apologizes is by slowly and silently hugging his little girl while pouting until she hugs him back. He may suck at expressing verbally his love towards his baby, but actions are his best way to communicate and this is something his daughter eventually learns and accepts from him. Forgot to add that the entire Space Wolves Legion are not only suffocatingly protective of their Primarch’s child, but everyone takes turns when she asks them for piggy-rides or let her braid their hair.

Rogal Dorn

I don’t wanna be too mean to this poor man but lord have some mercy, trying to squeeze any emotion that doesn’t range to watching paint dry from this damn guy is already a miracle on its own. He’s probably the kind of dude that’ll leave his poor daughter in the care of his astartes and serfs while he works. Workaholic in bold, yo. It literally will take watching his poor little princess cry her eyes out for him to attempt some bonding time but man he just sucks at trying not to have a stick up his ass (Again, I’m not trying to be mean but god this is painful). This is the kind of man, besides Guilliman, that will search high and low for some paternity books to help him. At the end this father-daughter relationship can be salvageable by having a heart to heart between them both and even then, is the poor girl the one that gives more than she receives. Honestly, any daughter from Dorn has the patience of a saint. Besides this Primarch's ineptitude to properly communicate his feelings, everything else doesn’t change the fact that he loves his little princess and will do anything to make her as happy as possible so he gets some brownie points for the try.

I'll later write the second and third part of this, I swear <333

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

POV: You are five, and are playing hide and seek with your papa. He always beats you in the game, but you are determined to win someday! Right now, he is counting to ten, so you are sneaking around in the hidden tunnels to find a hiding place. You wait for him to come. And he finds you...except it's not your papa. This...person, he looks like your papa, but he's not. Your papa always looked at you with tender eyes, but in this stranger's gaze, you see nothing but demented glee. You don't know why, but you can feel the fright slowly creeping on your back. And then he moves.

Hide and Seek

Summary: You always loved your weird papa. But you didn't know that one day you would be truly scared of him.

Warnings: yandere, kidnapping, dubcon, angst

Word count: 1930

Author's note: It took me a long time to finally reply to this ask. But damn, I'm so glad it didn't get lost on the page. And I was able to figure out exactly how I wanted to write this drabble.

Tag List: @druidwolf21, @kit-williams

And also I want @passionofthesith, @lemon-russ, @moodymisty, @beckyninja, @solspina to see this. Sorry guys, no horny atmosphere. Only fear and angst.

You lived in softness from the moment you were born. The entire floor was covered with warm and plush blankets, pillows. Not to mention the two beds. The entire room was covered with soft cute toys, with which you fell asleep by your side. Even your mommy, a kind and quiet woman, slept with toys in her arms.

You didn't see the world outside the ship. Mommy said that it was very dangerous there. She herself was from a planet that did not want to join the Imperium (you still didn't understand what that was). But daddy came and told them how to live correctly. He fell in love with mom at first sight and immediately took her to his place. To a safe place.

You always thought it was a romantic story. Although mom told you it very quietly. Sometimes she looked sadly at the ceiling and you wondered if she remembered her home planet? Perhaps she missed her parents, but now she has a new home. You and daddy.

Daddy didn't come around that often because he was a primarch. Papa told you that meant he was the most important. He had pale skin, black eyes and slightly dirty hair. His teeth were clawed and he always smelled of something metallic. Daddy said it was blood.

He looked a bit scary, but Mummy said it was because he worked a lot. But thanks to that, you and she lived so well. Your cozy room was soft and warm. Daddy always washed himself before coming in here. He didn't want to "bring dirt into his little paradise," as he liked to say.

He often played with you and had tea party. He told you stories. And he was always touching Mummy. Hugging her, kissing her. One time you woke up in the middle of the night when you realized that strange sounds were coming from the bed. Papa stroked her hair, saying how much he loved her, how obsessed (what does that mean?) he was with her. For some reason, Mom cried.

In fact, you didn’t see the whole ship from the inside (you didn’t even know what it looked like from the outside). Your whole life was concentrated in one room. And yet, when you turned four, daddy started taking you “to a separate compartment”. Especially just for the two of you. You didn’t know why he did it until he told you to hide and you happily ran to explore the territory. You just recently told papa that you and mom often play hide and seek. But there’s so little space that you quickly finish playing.

Then he quickly found you. And the next time. And the one after that. He was so fast and secretive. As if he was born in the dark! But you so wanted to defeat him one day. To hear the cherished “I can’t find you” and proudly come out of hiding.

Now you’re five. And before the next game, you thought about where exactly you would hide this time. In one of the tunnels. When you saw the black depths, you were scared of it and burst into tears. You were still afraid to go there. But… it’s such a good chance to win. Papa will never guess where you decided to hide.

***

It's very dark and creepy in the hole. In other hide-and-seek places, you sometimes giggled in anticipation. But here, you don't want to. It's very dark. And scary. You want to escape from here as soon as possible, but you endure it. You want to beat daddy at the game. And even though you haven't seen him, you felt like more time has passed than usual. But he still hasn't found you. You almost won!

A sudden rustle from behind interrupted your happy thoughts. Your heart pounded and goosebumps ran down your spine. You swallowed, trying with all your might to stay in place. No, you have to win. You can't leave this hole no matter how scared you are. But another rustle makes you squeak in fear. You turn around sharply, hoping to see nothing behind you. To overcome your fear and understand that you can survive this for the sake of victory.

You wanted to scream, but you couldn't make a sound.

There was complete darkness. And yet the black eyes and pale face stood out brightly, as if there was a ghost in front of you. The clawed teeth spread in a smile from ear to ear. The man himself was sitting on all fours, like a dog ready to pounce. Ready to tear you to shreds.

It was papa. No. It was papa's face. But it was not him. He no longer looked at you with gentle and kind eyes. His face was not sad as usual. He was beside himself with delight. Saliva was ready to flow from the corners of his lips, and excitement splashed in his eyes. And something else. A bad word that mom said in her sleep, when she had nightmares. Madness.

“Found.” - the monster whispered softly, as if trying to calm the girl. To make contact with her. To make friends. Before sinking his teeth into her throat. You saw, you saw this desire. It wanted to eat you. To absorb you. It wanted to take you into the darkness of the tunnel and never let you go.

And then it moved.

“PAPA, SAVE ME!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, closing your eyes, feeling tears streaming down your cheeks. You were sobbing like a little child. You were a child. Defenseless and abandoned to the mercy of a monster. Which immediately grabbed you in its arms and ran away laughing into the darkness of the tunnel.

Tears and snot ran down your face in disarray, you cried at the top of your lungs. But you didn’t even think about opening your eyes. You didn’t want to see this monster wearing your dad’s skin on its face. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the suffocating embrace of the monster’s stomach. How it giggled at your fear. It enjoyed it. Enjoyed your fear.

At some point, the monster slowed down and you felt it rise on two legs. Imitating a human. You weren't screaming anymore, your throat was hoarse. But you were ready to start bawling again, just so daddy could hear you. He had to hear, he had to save you.

“Here we are, home.” - the monster cooed in your ear. You trembled, but as soon as you heard the familiar creaking sound, hope appeared in your heart. - “Come on, delicious. Come to mommy.”

You slowly open your eyes and see your paradise. Your soft, toy-filled room. Books with children's fairy tales. Star-shaped lamps. And a little scared, but mostly sad mother. She sobs and stretches out her hands to you. Gentle, caring hands that always stroked you before bed.

"Come here, darling. Don't be afraid." - and her voice is gentle too. She looks only at you. Tries to ignore the monster.

But you are scared. And as soon as the stranger puts you down on your feet, you immediately run into the woman's arms. You hide in her chest, trying to ignore the evil giggling. The monster leaves you, locking the door. But you still hear his terrible voice.

“My girls.”

Your mommy gently rocks you on her lap, continuing to stroke you and kiss your forehead. You are still anxious. You want to forget this nightmare. And you calm down, surrounded by the care of a kind woman. Perhaps that is why daddy fell in love with her. Daddy…

“Mom.” - you finally raise your head and look at the woman with red, tired eyes. - “W-who is this man? Why does he look like papa? And where is papa himself?”

Your mother was always as quiet as a mouse. Neat and gentle, she did not attract attention to herself. She was often sad, especially when papa came. But there was light coming from her. Light that warmed and calmed you. You could always rely on her. But now she was silent. And this silence was tense.

You looked into her eyes and to your horror, you saw exactly the same fear there. Sadness. Despair. She was desperate. You hugged your mother tighter, rubbing her skin with your palms. Maybe she got cold? Maybe she needed to be warmed up?

“Mommy?” - you call her softly and she finally looks at you. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

“Oh, honey.” - your mom took a deep breath and you flinched at the way she said those words. As if she had met that person before. And not for the first time.

“You see, it’s… another papa.” - your mom explains to you softly, continuing to stroke your head. - “He doesn’t come often. I’m sorry you saw him like that. He didn’t mean to scare you.”

The woman said the last words so uncertainly, which made you press yourself closer to her.

“Does he hate us?” - you still remember his crazy look. His grin. How he giggled while you cried and called for papa.

“No, honey. He loves us. But he loves too harshly. Sometimes cruelly.” - you hear a quiet sob and understand that your mom is trying to hold back her tears. - “He’s just very lonely. And in pain. So he wants someone to share his pain with him. To calm him down.”

“And he can’t leave? "He can't leave us with our papa?" - you ask naively, expecting your mother to say the cherished "yes". That these are just temporary problems and daddy will cope. He is the primarch, he is the best.

But your hopes are shattered.

"No, dear." - your mother's voice sounds so quiet and hopeless that you want to hug her. To calm her down as she did you. - "This is your papa too. You will get used to him."

A sudden creak of the door scares you to the point of trembling. Your heart starts pounding like crazy and yet you turn around at the sound. You can't help but do it. You can't help but look because it seems to you that if you don't do it, he will get angry.

Absolutely black eyes are full of such universal sadness that a little more and you will suffocate. Papa did not smile and yet you knew that it was him. The ghost that haunted you. Who wanted to swallow you up and never give you to anyone. You wonder, maybe this is the real papa, and you saw daddy so often because you were little? Because he spared you? You didn't see him as often as mom.

And then it spoke.

"Are my sweet ones scared?" - you want to scream, you want to run away, but mom hugs you tightly, kissing your temple. You need to survive this meeting. And he will leave, leave. - "Well, it's okay, daddy is with you. He will protect you."

Night Haunter enters the plush room and carefully sits down with his two girls. He hugs you tenderly, but you want to cry. Daddy always smelled of blood, but he smells of death.

"Papa" - you squeak like a mouse, trying to reach daddy. Strange and sometimes frightening, but careful with you. Who smiled as if you and Mom were his whole life. Who had goodness in him, at least for the two of you. But Daddy is silent. Instead, a monster answers, a terrible creature who loves you just as much, which makes it even scarier.

“I'm here, delicious.”

[kit-williams]

Oh no there's now two of each Primarch!

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

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

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

Lady Dorn just sighs as now she has to hear her husband in stereo. She just enjoys the bit more affection her not husband Rogal offers her.

Sorsilla doesn't like the way that they both just grin at her like some sort of predator as she doesn't want to let them know she's lost track of which ones is hers.

The Lady of the Death Guard just sighs as she has now two husbands to make sure are okay. Of course she enjoys the amount of flower crowns they rest on her head smiling as she is unaware of the growing madness in the eyes of the newcomer.

Lady Corax just watches in horror as she assumes her not husband says something about her and her husband erupted into violence. She is hiding with Shrike... The legion is concerned.

She looks at the two Alpharius' no one is an Alpharius and the other is an Omegon... The dread she feels is from the fact this means there are four of them running around.

Lady El'Johnson sighs as her Lion snarls at the newcomer as of course he would say having her on his arm was a waste of time. And in retort her Lion shocks her with being publicly affectionate with her... She won't say no to her knight...

Fulgrim had sworn off of marriage as you attend to the two Primarchs as they speak quietly. You were just a serf but you could see the way this newcomer looks at you. You blink as he pulls you into your lap just once again you being treated like a doll for him to fuss over... Why did you feel so warm under his gaze...

Jaghatai happily discusses topics with himself as you're asleep in the newcomers lap having fallen asleep with his fingers running through your hair and gently against your scalp.

"Heel!" Lady Russ says as she pulls on the braids of the overly affectionate Primarch. As the two of them eagerly stole her away with her not husband eagerly asking where Leman found you as they handle you roughly before piling into a side room to rip your clothes and paw at your body.

Ferrus looked as his counterpart as they both knew where they kept you... Both having found you already in their respective universes and both putting you away to keep you safe.

Lady Guilliman looked at the older version of her husband. He never found you... He looks like the weight of the galaxy is crushing him and suffocating him. "Please," he begs softly, "just hold me a little bit more." He holds her close as he savors this dream.

Horus can see the stewing jealousy from himself as he wants to touch you. But Horus knows himself and it won't stop with a touch... Never with you... And he doesn't know if he's willing to share you with himself.

Lady Aurilian shakes her head as her husband at times can be insufferable but now there is two of him crooning your praises. It's adorable and insufferable but it is also your husband and a version of himself before meeting you...

Magnus happily converses with himself hoping to help himself avoid small mistakes. The poor Lady of the Thousand sons is a mewling mess as the two Psyker Primarchs are playing with your soul and you once more orgasm with a scream.

He has the Red Lady take away the pain of himself for a moment. He holds her tight against his chest as she twitches violently in pain, he grabs the stunned Angron's tunic and just tells him where he found you and what year all down to the last details. "Save her from her High Rider" the red angel hisses in pain as the nails bite hard before they return to a full ache as she returns to taking his pain again. Leaving the ladyless Angron to burn that information into his mind for a chance to have relief.

The Lady of the Blood Angels feels anemic as she can see that predatory look in this new Sanguinius' eyes... She knows her husband well enough and by the way they coo at her... She swallows nervously.

The Lady of the Salamanders smiled at her not husband who eagerly gave her hugs. Oh how lovely to meet you before actually meeting you! And he must love you terribly given how he could see the simmering anger from himself as he stole kisses from you much to your delight.

Out of all the spouses only Penelope is vibrating with excitement that there are two of her husband! While the two of them scowl at each other there is just a happily bouncing mortal woman with a chance at a wild and impossible fantasy of hers to be fulfilled... To which her Perturabo just rolls his eyes as she just bewilders the other as she gets to trying to seduce him.

[littledarknesgold]

Mortarion x girlfriend reader When the other villagers saw him as a stranger, she saw him as a man who just wanted to be loved. During a great crusade across the galaxy, on the Death Guard's flagship, Mortarion marries and feels happy for the first time in a long time. Typhus kidnaps Y/N and forces her to enter the service of the god Nurgle under threat of Mortarion's death. Nurgle takes a liking to her and makes her a princess of decay. After centuries in Nurgle's garden, she meets Mortarion and explains everything to him. They both hate their forms, but they have no choice but to suffer forever.

🥸🫶

What is sorrow to the living is joy to the dead.

Warnings: mention of rot and insects, mention of loss, soft yandere.

You were different.

Mortarion knew it from the start, when you spoke to him without fear back on Barbarus. To others there he was as much a monster as his foster father, but not to you.

And when the time came to join the Emperor's Great Crusade, you stepped into the stars as fearlessly as you did that day, stepping out to meet him.

At first, everything was a bit complicated between you, but then it became easier, you got used to each other, liked each other, and then got married. Realized that you can't live without each other.

The Primarch of the 14th Legion never thought he would be ready for such great responsibility, nor did he think he deserved your affection, but you have calmed his troubled soul.

Your souls merged in a sacred marriage, becoming one and it seemed that nothing could separate you, but then the Horus Heresy came, and then, as if that weren't enough, Grandfather Nurgle. But you were together, so it wasn't all that bad, right?

No. Even you were taken from him, his ungrateful son Typhus stole you. That little bastard...

The Swarm Lord hid you in the Gardens of Nurgle, where Grandfather blessed you (or cursed you?) generously.

Mortarion's existence became a torment, not only because of his hideous new appearance, but also because he did not know what had happened to you or where you were. His soul was torn and torn in a fever.

His only source of joy, love and comfort was taken away from him and the Prince of Decay had nothing left to cling to. Until you were reunited again, though now you were more like a larva or caterpillar.

Burying his face in your gelatinous flesh, he realized the rotten tears.

You were together again and he made a promise to himself to get you both out at any cost, even if it was just a lie and you both were stuck here forever.

[kit-williams]

Is very normal about breeding kink Horus

Very normal about Horus being jealous and rough... only thing that would make me more normal was if there was just a possessive hand resting on the throat sort of thing... but like I said I'm normal

May I request a yandere primarch of your choice getting very jealous after seeing you laughing with one of his brothers at a party and then dragging you back to his room after to remind you who you belong to?

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: the community wanted Yandere Horus, so Yandere Horus you all shall have. I hope you enjoy, anon. I'm ok with this, but there's more I wanted to do. But at the end of the day I had to just bite the bullet and post it so I can take a break without this looming over me.

Summary: It's the first real outing since you've been officially named as Horus' beloved, and he realizes how much he dislikes how curious everyone is of you.

Relationships: Horus Lupercal/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Big Dick Lupercal, Takes place well before the Heresy, Yandere, Toxic relationship, That typical sort of yandere dubcon but not really dubcon kinda thing, Breeding kink if you squint, Size kink/Size difference, Getting absolutely obliterated by a ten foot tall man built like a truck, if you squinted hard you could take some dialogue as a bit sexist but it’s a stretch, Aftercare? lmao this is 40k

Word Count: 2714

Perhaps you aren't the foremost expert on parties, but the last you had thought, a party was supposed to be...

Fun.

And lacking in the drawl of military strategy and logistics. This seems more so like an ineffective way for the High lords of Terra and other high value persons of the Militarium to speak to the Primarchs and their captains, but with wine involved.

As the recently crowned Lady Lupercal, many of those high value persons are now eager to make friends with you, attempting to smile as wide as comfortably possible and earn any sort of good will they can. For many of them speaking to a Primarch, let alone making connections of a Legion would be hysterically rare; Though it seems many of them have the idea to do so through you.

Horus had warned you of it, so you suppose you shouldn't be so surprised.

Only just now have you managed to get away from them all, taking solace in a quiet corner of the palace. A Custodes on guard had given you an odd look- and by look you mean just a glance from the corner of his eyes- but he seems content to allow you somewhat near him as long as you remain quiet. Though you suppose you can't remain here for long. You have to be a part of all this, as much as you might dread it.

“Lady Lupercal?”

You turn the moment you hear the distinctive accent of Macragge-born Guilliman, who approaches you as you stand close to one of the palace's myriad of balconies. That title still feels odd to hear. He brushes just past you to stand on it, and waits until you join him. His head is tilted downward at an angle to make eye contact with you.

It's night now, and you can see the lights of hundreds of ships orbiting Terra up high above. It darkens his armor and the lights of the palace cast a harsh shadow on Guilliman's clean face.

"Had your fill of this evening?"

Normally Guilliman is quite forthright, so his small talk is a bit of a surprise. Everything has lead you to believe he was a very politely blunt sort. Though you've only spoken to the Primarch a handful of times, and very briefly.

Only just recently as Horus has made it known to everyone that you are his beloved, have you begun speaking to his legion; And his fellow Primarchs.

"A little bit. I just need a bit of air, and then I'll come back."

Guilliman crosses his arms over the delicate and expensive looking robes he currently wears, having shed his armor for the evening. It must be from his home world, judging by the interesting style and shape.

"I am a bit surprised he's thrown you to the wolves like this. Before, he was quite secretive about you." You doubt Horus would let you leave his sight unless it was extremely important, and it's not as if you can rely on him forever. Or demand him to stay.

"I assumed someone had managed to catch his attention enough for me to get lost." Guilliman shifts his weight slightly, and lets out a very quiet chuckle. It's sincerity makes you smile.

"Don't tell any of the others, but we've all gotten lost our fair share of times in this maze of a palace." He rubs his temple with two fingers. "It just keeps growing, it's like a Labyrinth. I've begun to wonder if Dorn will ever cease."

His genuine exasperation makes you laugh. It's such a human gesture, and such a human problem. It's quite easy to forget they are human, at times.

You hadn't realized you'd been smiling the whole time, but it grows when you see his disgruntled face. It goes away however when he realizes he amused you.

"If I figure it out before you, maybe I'll make us a map." Guilliman smiles.

"I will hold you to that, you know. If cartography isn't yet familiar to you, perhaps you should begin learning."

You were about to respond to him, a smile on your face, but Guilliman turns his head away towards the inside of the palace; Your own gaze follows shortly thereafter.

He must've heard Horus before he could see him, because not moments later you can see Horus walking towards the both of you; His pelt shifts on his shoulders as he does. He makes a straight line towards the balcony the both of you stand on and ignores anyone else along his path.

"Here you are," Horus smiles at you, but it's not his usual one. The one that's warm and casts the room and a pleasant atmosphere. "I see you've been chatting with one of my brothers." You nod with the smile Guilliman gave you still partly on your face, but before you can speak anything more- perhaps what the two of you were talking about- Horus does so for you.

"Perhaps we should take our leave for the evening. It is quite late, and it seems nothing or anyone worthwhile is going to make it's appearance."

He looks towards Guilliman and for a split second it almost seems like an argument is beginning to brew, with the way they're looking at each other; Guilliman is confused and defensive while Horus' jaw tenses. You can't understand how his mood has so suddenly changed, neither can Guilliman clearly, but it seems something has happened in your absence.

Now you stand literally and figuratively in the middle, before retreating your Primarch's side. He will always serve as your anchor, even when he's this turbulent.

Guilliman simply gives a curt hum in response, and seemingly decides to not uncover Horus' sudden change in disposition.

"Very well. I hope the rest of your evening fares you well," He looks down to you, though the pleasant aura he had has now returned to the cold and structured one he is known for. "And I enjoyed our chat."

Horus gives Guilliman no more than placeholder platitudes and farewells, of which the man takes with a short nod, before leaving with you in tow to return to his chambers.

That entire trip to return to them, is intense.

There is no chatter, and Horus doesn't even have the soft upturn of his lips he usually wears. Instead his face his firm, with something clearly boiling beneath the surface. You wonder if it's something from when he was gone that you could ask about, when he isn't in such a sensitive state.

Even as friendly and easygoing as Horus is, his fellow Primarchs are largely not the same apart from a few, and you wouldn't be surprised if one of them managed to- in a phrase not suited to describe a Primarch- pissed him off.

When you enter the deepest most room in Horus' wing of the palace, what serves as his bedroom, you suddenly feel his hand on your shoulder. You would've turned around even if he hadn't done it for you, as he takes a knee to get more on even height with you. But even with it, you still have to almost look slightly up at him.

Suddenly that hand on your shoulder moves to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. That firm, irritated face has been replaced with an angry, irritated expression. His nose slightly wrinkles at the top, brow furrowed.

He holds your jaw tight, but you’re not fooled into thinking it’s anywhere near him putting in effort.

“What is your title.”

You’re confused for a moment, frightened by the look in his eyes, as he adjusts his grip. You try to stay his name, but it just comes out as a confused stutter. He reiterates with more clarity.

“What is the title I gave you.”

You grasp his wrist tight and whimper out:

“L-Lady Lupercal.”

The noise that arises from him is somewhere between a hum and a growl.

“Did you forget it while you were busy being a little coquette in front of my brother?”

You hadn’t; It had been the focus of your short conversation with Guilliman. You’d tried your hardest to be nothing but polite to him, with the formality expected of speaking to a Primarch. But this is all new to you; Whatever Horus saw wasn’t there, and you’re desperate to prove as such.

"N-No, he just came up to me and I was trying to be polite, Guilli-"

He swallows the name of his fellow primarch with his lips, pressing them against your own. It's angry; Forceful. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he takes in heavy breaths, and how tense he feels. You moan softly into his mouth but even the brief moment of pleasure is overcast by Horus’ fuming anger.

He pulls away from your lips with a soft pop, and still in a kneel begins undoing the broach of his cape. Once it falls to the floor his eyes meet yours and he states:

"Take it off."

His sentence is vague and you stand unsure in the gargantuan room, as he now removes his wristguards. Once they're off, he puts a hand on your waist and pushes upward, disturbing the fabric of your dress. You feel it pull and stretch against his hand, as if it’s little more than parchment. He could ruin it all in one fell tear.

"I am being patient with you."

It's hard to disobey a primarch, especially one staring at you with those eyes. The fabric of your dress falls to the floor moments later, undone and forgotten. You step out from the circle it makes at your feet.

You imagine the only reason he hadn't simply destroyed it was after having it made just for you, in the colors of the Sons of Horus and to his exact specifications- their legion mother needed to be in worthy attire he has said- his patience won out over the potential days of headache.

But it feels like a blink you go from standing to being nearly swallowed by his sea of a bed, blankets tussled around your naked form. You think you might’ve backed up until you fell onto it, but it’s all a blur.

"The Crusade has taken much of my time, and since I have introduced you to my brothers, perhaps you have forgotten your place,” He says as he undoes the fastening of his belt.

Even on pieces of furniture meant to handle a man of such size it still buckles and bows underneath his weight, shifting your body as he cages you underneath him. His hand grips your thigh, and the sheer size forces them apart. Your body tenses and squirms underneath him.

To think such a short conversation would've had him so fuming, as his hand presses against your cunt. It makes your lips purse and and words that you might’ve considered saying don’t even leave your lips. His fingers roughly press through your folds curl inside of you, an aching stretch that has you squirming underneath him.

Though it’s not as if you have any chance of moving, even the slightest bit of his strength has you completely at his mercy.

You can feel his anger in every motion, but your blood is pounding in your ears enough that you can barely hear him. You think you might've said his name, told him to slow down, but even if you had he doesn't listen in the slightest.

Pulling his hand away from between your thighs he’s quick to flip you onto your stomach, and you lay exposed before you suddenly feel him press again the back of your thighs.

In an odd, impossible to explain way, you at times almost forget that your beloved towers over you at near or over double your height. That he possesses neigh untenable strength.

Now is a moment you do, as he presses his hips against your ass and buries you in the plush material of the bed.

Your fingers grip the blanket like a lifeline as he buries himself as deep as he possibly can, staying for a moment for seemingly little other reason than to torture you. Even with only the slightest bit of his weight on you, you feel trapped and barely able to move.

It's taken time for you to get used to taking Horus without hours of preparation- and while it still does take time, you'll always feel like he's overtaken your entire stomach. It’s that teetering on the edge of pain that has you gasping, a body not made for him being forced to. Horus is normally exceedingly gentle, but less so tonight. He is at least gentle enough as to not break you.

Whatever he saw that wasn't there between you and Guilliman, he seems intent on teaching you a lesson on not doing.

“Horus, pl-“

His massive hand grips the blanket beside your head as he grunts overtop of you.

“You are the legion mother of my sons.”

Your back arches and lips purse as his cock brushes against places so deep that it almost has your eyes watering. You swallow the massive knot in your throat and try not let out enough noise that passersby could hear.

“You will be the mother of my blooded sons, one day.”

The implication has your heart race with fear and something else as the primarch holds you down. You barely have the time to think about it, it only sends a jolt of feeling right down your spine into your gut.

Given his size it’s so easy to push you around, that he often times has to press on your shoulder and hold you like some sort of toy. Even the softest thrust can push you forward and nearly off of him; You don't have the strength to hold strong against it.

Worn and tired your nerves spark from so much sensation, cunt tightening around him. Horus continues to thrust into you with little care and your teeth grind, toes curling.

It feels good, so good, but it teeters on the edge of dangerous. Especially knowing his mood. Then again, sometimes even the simplest things are dangerous, with someone like him.

The primarch curses and swears in both high and low gothic as he finally cums inside of you, the inhuman amount leaking from you when he pulls out.

Horus looks over you, and it seems whatever you’d seen in him earlier is gone- for the time being. Even if you can't look directly at him, it's almost as if you can feel the emotion in the room change. More odd Primarch things, you assume. Not that it matters much in the end.

You lay tired, legs limp as your body aches.

Perhaps in the moment it may feel good, very much so, but oftentimes your body then reminds you that it isn’t made for a Primarch. Particularly one who decides not to be gentle with you.

There has time where no one sees even a hint of you for days, after he's done with you. He apologizes it for it, but you can always tell with that smile of his, he isn't actually apologetic.

He gently pushes you with a hand to that you roll on your back, and you look up at him worried, wondering if he's still angry.

“I am sorry, my love.” His words are sweet like wine, like they so often are, as his hand not gently holds your cheek. He isn't anymore, and you don't question it. You don't want to bring it back.

Though this isn't the first time he's become this way, though it is the first time he's done something physical in response.

“Now that my brothers know of you, I can’t help but feel as if they might take you from me, once they realize how perfect you are.”

There’s words you want to say, many of them, but you can’t manage it. Only a requited whisper of love is what you manage to say. Horus takes it well and his saccharine sweet smile always manages to pull you in and ignore the things behind it.

“I only wish for you to be mine. Always and forever.”

[wxnheart]

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐

𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟏

【ＥｌｄｅｎＢｏｒｎｅＳｏｕｌｓ】

Godfrey/Hoarah Loux Headcanons (NSFW)

【Ｃａｌｌ　ｏｆ　Ｄｕｔｙ】

Poly Palooza, Ghoapbusters - Ghost x Reader x Soap

Third Wheel's The Charm

Standalone Lists

Muffin Without You - Line Cook!Simon x Customer!Reader

Post-Coital Tendencies - Call of Duty x Reader

Arts and (War)Craft - Call of Duty + Sewist!Reader

Normal!Roach x F!Reader

Grave Affairs (NSFW) - Phillip Graves x Reader

Chaotic Maskwich, TigerKing Edition - Horangi x Reader x König

【Ｗａｒｈａｍｍｅｒ】

Your Favorite Primarchs and Group Chats

Apex Predator (Yandere40K x Reader) - Part 1, Part 2

【Ｃｙｂｅｒｐｕｎｋ】

【Ｉｍａｇｉｎｅｓ】

Untitled #15

Untitled #16 (NSFW)

【Ｍａｒｖｅｌ】

Clinch - Boxer!Miguel x Reader

Untitled - Yandere!Spot x Reader

Polar Opposites - Miguel x F!Black Reader

[corvusspecialartist]

Beautiful Caged Bird:

You were an esteemed fighter pilot. You have served the Imperium well, ever since you were inducted in the Imperial Guard years ago. Coming from semi noble birth, this would have been one of the few ways, you could gain glory for your house. Ever since you were young, and on your home planet. You have always enjoyed the flight patterns of hunting birds, and even kept some as cherished pets. You always thought that they were the most perfect predators, just beautiful. Unfortunately, as you grew older, and life taught you a few things… you were wrong. The perfect avian predator that you knew of, was the Lord Primarch Sanguinius.

You were on campaign when you had met… you and your regiment were fighting a wild Eldar Host To be honest, you never truly liked them bastards, but you were the closest thing that was optimal air support that could be done. You were flying high in the air, approaching certain doom. You flew in formation, but soon you both would break. From previous experience, you knew, despite the thought being mere disgust in your mind… that the Eldar had better flying tech.. but no matter. You were only meant as cannon fodder no more, no less.

Then, as the Eldar came, before your eyes, your comrades were shot down in planes, almost as if a group of falcons were feasting on herd of ducks. But, no matter what, you held firm. Gripping the well-worn controls, you bobbed and weaved, avoiding most of the fire from the enemy craft. You knew the cockpit of your plane as if it was new limb. You swooped down noticing a large robot thing… instinctively you patted the plane purring to it. "Lets do this old girl" maybe, this was a way for you to soothe the machine spirit. You went and started to fly down.. applying as many G's as you could handle bumping up the speed into a dive bomb. The robot thing, turned and almost seemed to face you, but you turned your controls over trying to spin it over. It was no matter, you were a certified ace in the field. You had the trophies as proof.

However, things did not go to your plan. The robot thing moved with lighting speed and soon you noticed that you were loosing altitude quickly. You had to eject. After whispering a quick goodbye to the plane, you ejected from the plane. Honestly it pained you…watching as the plane flew and crashed. It gave you some form of pleasure that it landed in the center of the Eldar. Still… you adjusted trying to get your parachute out. Feeling, the blood go towards your head.. you noted that your parachute wasn't working and you felt the heated air as you started to fall and fall… You turned and closed your eyes, hopefully, at least you took some of the bastards with you.

Honestly, you were expecting brief pain, and oblivion until you felt wind and you started to move in a different direction. Nervously you opened your eyes… it was him.. the Great Angel,Lord Sanguinius. He was almost as perfect and even more so in the pictures… but honestly.. him.. just saving you like that… why you? You tried your best to not to look down. However, he was holding you in the crook of his arm, while holding his spear in the other hand. As you looked up at him, he was moving back to try and place you back in your regiment, at least you thought.

Now, you were in a golden gilded cage, screaming your head off and throwing the priceless art and trinkets at Sanguinius. It bounced off of him with almost a contemptuous ease, he seemed to stand there, just absorbing the hit.. almost as if he was he waiting for this latest tantrum to end. You continued to move quickly, just barely out of the reach of the serfs. Truly, you didn't want to be here, you wanted to be out on the field. The stagnant air within the room, the watchful eyes of both man and machine readying the alarm if you stepped out of the chambers. To add insult to injury, you swore that would could hear beautiful rare bird calls, as they flew down and called the sky their own.. like you used to. You walked up the Sanguinius and tried to push your way past him, but he moved to block you, and soon he quickly scooped you up. In that move you struggled and beat down on his back. He started to hum and soothe, moving you back and forth. His voice, it was so sonorous and beautiful…it knocked you out within a minute.

In your dreams, you were flying your plane… and you were just soaring. Until you saw the Sanguinius appear floating in front of the window. Instinctively you turned and tried to avoid him, but he pulled out the spear and sword and chopped the plane apart. Now you were falling and falling, as Sanguinius flew down and caught you. You pushed away and tried to fall back into the ground. You were at peace in the dream, until you woke up, smothered in Sanguinius' wings. It was comfortable but despite them being placed gently, it felt crushing… you felt your heart racing, as you moved in varying directions trying to push them off." Sanguinius, almost as if he were sensing your distress lifted his wing. You let out a sigh of relief, and let out a small welp as he grabbed you and started to preen over you.

He gave a softening grin. "What's wrong darling?… I heard you scream and freak out.. and are you alright?" You opened your mouth, trying to keep your heart rate consistent. But it would be hard to lie to him, since his abilities.. but he promised to not to read your mind. "It was just a nightmare…. my beloved." You gave a wide mouth smile, trying to sell the lie. Maybe you were trying to convince yourself. Sanguinius got up and pointed to a red dress. It was tailor made with hundreds of jewels and it fit your figure well. "We will be going to an event tonight… many dignitaries are coming. Our ship will be landing on the planet soon…" You nodded dumbly, as he got up and left.

As soon as he shut the door… you swore, but then you stopped… maybe… just maybe with Sanguinius being distracted you could escape. And it is not like he would miss you… You got dressed and started to prepare. Soon you would escape.

At the party, the host went and announced the arrival of Lord Sanguinius.. and with a small snide jab. "And his current consort." You gave a polished smile as you stood near barely hip height with him, and to be honest... he looked almost mythical.. his wings were decorated with finely golden strands with rubies inter spaced which made small noises as he walked. He wore a more Baalite fashion style, which many of the party goers tried to imitate. He wore beautiful embroidered robes with silken golden thread. His hair was curled into perfection, and you could even smell rare perfumes and spices that irradiated from him. It seemed to change depending on the light from black to blonde, he was smiling a warmly as you both went to the place of honor. You on the other hand compared to him, dressed very modestly and seemed to a speck of dirt. But, it didn't matter at the moment. It was a crucial moment... Sanguinius would naturally be distracted throughout the whole party.

It would come to pass, when you were rudely shoved aside, as a group of Navigators came by to Sanguinius trying to curry favor. You noticed his face turn into a light frown. But no matter, you gave a gentle grin to the primarch to try and soothe his temper. While, he had the good grace to not indulge his Thirst, he had to tendency of drinking more blood wine when under stress. In the meantime, you slowly moved away to the peripheral from the crowd, but not so far...You had to be careful, for moving in such a way could attract a knife in your back. But your outfit had come with the most finely protection, worthy of a favored consort.

"It is my turn to speak to the Great Angel! You had your chance!" A haughty nasal voice came out of the crowd. Some poor petty nobleman had tried to shout his way over to gain a rare audience of Sanguinius. But, given how contemptuous.. the party would probably begin with a brawl. Shaking you head, you started to run... you were out of practice sure, but you could find a place. You were dressed too nicely to be apart of any Underhive origin , but maybe you can commission a fighter jet to escape.

Hours upon hours had pasted... based on the way that the noises had become more quiet. You were at least leagues away from the party. You have been trying to stay out of the range by taking dark pathways and trying to avoid servants. You sat down to take a brief break... you were tired and feeling very thirsty... you dared to not drink any of the planet's water. But, you need a place to hide, and so you decided to crawl into a large vent, it was dusty.. long abandoned and based on the older stained.. it was used for servitors. Maybe you could take a brief rest.

You were shocked out of your rest as a loud alarm came out of nowhere. It was

' voice... and it filled you with dread.. yet it sounded so sweet and kind, he tried to call your name and try to bribe you out of your hiding spot. Internally, you just couldn't, you were so close... freedom.

Cursing, you thought about not changing your clothing... but just your luck.. a female servant was walking by your hiding spot. Immediately you grabbed her and put her in a headlock. After a good struggle, she was unconscious. Immediately you stripped off the party goer's clothing and replaced it with the servants clothing. It was mostly clean.. but no matter... as long as you kept quiet. You could at least escape.

A large thumping noises, and soon a large horde of noblemen was running down the same hallway all screaming their heads off. One of them went down the same hallway and took a deep breath. He was murmuring about how the Great Angel went mad. Based on the rambling mess, one of the noble ladies had said within earshot that in no certain terms that you had been assassinated, and that "an ugly peasant bitch isn't worthy of the Great Angel's love" Soon he fell silent as the masses ran by... but your heart started to drop... you heard the beating of wings. It was coming your way.

"Where is the nearest ship-port?" you whispered. The partygoers face twisted as if why would a mere serf ask that, before his face started to grin and opened his mouth. Before you could subdue him. "She's over here! " You immediately started to run full sprint. Your throat rubbing in raw... the beating your heart started to increase faster and faster as you heard the frantic wing beats.. only to collapse. No matter, you could at least crawl. Sanguinius appeared in front of you, white feathers falling as he stood, his hair askew and his wings still flapping despite him standing completely still... You started to weep. No... no... why? He picked you up and purred. "My little Bird where did you go?" "You weren't trying to escape? Were you?" You remained quiet. His mouth opened and now you noticed the heavy smell of blood. "WERE YOU?" he let out a shout, which causer your ears to ring. At your wince in pain, his face started to soften as he cradled over to you. "I'm sorry... I thought that you were dead... and I just cannot live without you." He pet your hair giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

That was a year ago.

Currently you were laying in bed, you needed the rest after all... you were preparing. Soon the door opened and your beloved entered the room. He was carrying a tray full of the finest of food, drink and wine. Sitting down he started to stroke your belly. "Have you come up with a name?" You shook your head as you slowly started to eat the food. As if you really didnt have anything to say, you had to keep the rest. You chewed the food and ate it in the fancy way, and even took the supplements! After all, they tended to even you out! You gave Sanguinius a kiss on the cheek and soon he left.

A/N: This (terrible) one shot is a result from the winner of the poll for the poem inspired for "Caged Bird" by Maya Angelou. Read it here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48989/caged-bird

I will try and write out Corvus' one and soon and write out Part 3 of the Party Planning bit. This is my first time attempting to write Yandere Sangy.

[bluetooththereptile]

Okay hear me out, imagine the song "I need a hero" from Shrek 2, but with primarchs, nothing else said.

Now imagine singing that song over the comms to your primarch, that boi will rip through the walls Kool-Aid man style.

Also there is a medieval version of the song up on YouTube for my dearies that are into Lion'El.

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon]

You never lied. 

You grew up surrounded by lies. By disappointments. A hundred hypocrites and details that didn’t add up. Your father's attempts to mold you into something you were not. 

You were not clay to be molded. No matter how much he pressured you. No matter how he tried to soften or break you. 

You were not a piece of pottery. 

You were lucky when his gaze turned to someone else. The story of your life, in retrospect. The pressures of heir given to a sibling you finally could indulge in the arts you fancied all your life. 

You picked up a brush, and began to paint. 

You were watercolor. Beautiful and messy in your own way. And so so elegant. A careless stroke could ruin or define a whole painting. A hard breath could send drying droplets scattering across the frame. 

A hundred small details building up to a bigger picture. 

Just as you discovered details about a piece as you painted, so did you discover yourself. 

As you discovered yourself, so did the world of artistry discover you. 

Your father showed off your gallery to some visiting Lords. They bought some of your work. They shared it with their friends. 

And on it rippled until you received an invitation to join the Crusade amongst the stars as one of Fulgrims coterie of artists. 

You had your Father's attention again. As he fawned over his "favorite" daughter. You were able to ignore it now. And paint with even more resources than before. 

Gold and purple and silver entered your palette of constant color. 

People took notice of you, of course. You always stiffened under their gaze. An unintentional mask slipped over your face as you picked up on how they thought you should act. Self assured, but not vain. Self aware, but not self depreciating. Frank, but not too much. A well placed joke here, a tale there.

But one thing remained true, you never lied. 

Your skill as an artist grew, as did your portfolio. Now your hands chiseled marble. Worked clay. Placed mosaic tiles. Sewed fabric. Wrote and observed and noted. As your skill grew, so too did your status in the society you were in. First Lords, then Astartes and members of Fulgrims inner circle, and then Fulgrim himself. 

Fulgrim, with his large friendly eyes and soft smile.

You always felt that flaws made the beauty. One small detail out of many that built up to something gorgeous. 

Fulgrim was without flaw. No tangles in his long silver hair. No freckles, scars or pores visible on his skin. 

A massive canvas with not much detail. 

And he was friendly. Too friendly. Always armed with a smile and a compliment. Just a little too excited to be in your presence. A little too quick to wave away your frankness. A little too curious about your process. 

A little too proud to show you his own collection. 

It was beautiful. Bright colors. Serene landscapes. Warriors in triumph. Grand balls. Beautiful animals the likes of which you had never seen before or since. The Emperor himself. Rendered in exquisite detail across every medium imaginable. 

Individually incredible. Together they formed an expertly arranged collage around a statue of the Primarch himself. 

"Tell me, Musa, what is your definition of perfection?" He asked, standing at your side, Looking proud. 

Fulgrim, the greatest artist of all. Fulgrim, who in that moment seemed more distant and flawless than ever.

What your peers would call perfect.

But you never lied.

"To be True to yourself, in all that you do and say." 

It was cathartic to say it aloud. The phrase, the ethos, that defined your life for decades and would- should- have defined it for the rest of your life. 

You turned to thank the Phoenician, but the words died on your tongue.

His gaze was cold and hard. Almost, leering. 

In that moment he seemed very real.

And then he chuckled. Those large soft lips curling into a smile. 

"You are dismissed," He waved you off, and it was hard not to hurry from his presence. The moment you thought you were out of his sight your heart went cold, and tremors shook your body. 

Emperor help you you never wanted to be back in his presence again.

The Emporer ignored your pleas.

Your colors became bolder, your intentions with each piece more clear. Some would say obvious, but many others applauded your brazeness. 

Including the Primarch himself, who more than ever invited you into his presence to perform. 

If you thought you had angered him with your words it was clear you were mistaken. He saw you now more than ever. Smiled at you now more than ever. Everyone knew who his favorite was, and many of your fellows cast jealous glances at you when they thought you weren’t looking. 

Oh how you would have gladly traded places with them. 

The worst though, were the visions. You saw yourself, swathed in purple and gold silk. When you came back to yourself a new painting stood before you.

The silk soaked red.

Something about your proximity to the Primarch caused the curse to arise, and you couldn't say no to his presence.

How many paintings did you throw to the fire for fear your hated gift would be found? You were certain none had slipped through. 

So why, when the Primarch called you to view his gallery once more, did you find yourself staring at painting apon painting of yourself swathed in purple and gold. Your body contorted just as you’d painted. But in these paintings it was not pain or blood. 

But red cords, holding your body in those positions, gazing eagerly up at the Primarch at your side. Arranged so they were gesturing down. Down at the statue that held its hand out to you. 

A statue with painstakingly recreated Sapphire and Emerald eyes that stared into your soul. 

Warmth slid down your arms, and it was the sheer size of the hands now embracing you that kept you from leaping away. You looked up, and for the second time saw Fulgrims true self. 

Cold, consuming, leering. 

First at the statue. Then, lowered inexorably, at you. His warm hands meant you couldn’t shrink away from him. Couldn’t break from that inescapable grip couldn’t stop the cold creeping from your heart. 

“Perfection is to be true to yourself in everything you do. So says my greatest masterpiece. My greatest possession. My most inspiring muse.” 

If only your life had ended then. 

It might as well have. 

-----

I hate the term muse. 

Anyway this is part 2 of the story I started with Phig a bit ago. Not a reboot. We’ll be meeting our half Primarch (Primarchess?) again on the other side of her mom’s backstory. 

Goddess Anon

.

[shiyorin]

#Repost because i accidentally deleted it due to typo

#Yandere au comeback. Angron x F!Reader (Reader is Nuceria noble)

#Don't ask, I just want to cook it.

#Warning: Yandere, dark, a little gore,....

(actually I think it is funny)

Nuceria’s Arena. The air stank. Blood-rust and the sweet rot of corpses left too long under sun. Chains rattled. Crowd roared. Angron’s skull screamed. The Nails bit, chewed, thrilled as he split a man’s ribcage with his bare hands. Red mist. Always red. But through it, you.

You sat high in the shaded tiers, silk draped over sharp shoulders, wine cup dangling from fingers that had never held anything rougher than a jeweled fork. You. Noble. Poison. Eyes like cold glass, never looking at him, only through him. As if he were part of the sand, the gore, the mess of this pit.

He hated you.

(Lie.)

The Nails sparked, white-hot claws raking his brain. Another body at his feet. Another roar from the crowd. His lungs burned. Muscles shook. But you, you didn’t clap. Didn’t smile. Just… sipped. Like the death below was a boring play. Angron’s axe slipped in his grip, slick with entrails. He wanted to hurl it up, up, up into that pristine balcony, watch your silks stain crimson—

(No. No. Want you to see. Want you to look.)

A guard prodded him with a shock-spear. “Move, beast.” The Nails hummed. He almost ripped the man’s spine out. Almost. But then your chair shifted. A flick of wrist. A sigh. Were you…. bored?

******

Night. Chains in the dark. The Nails never slept. They whispered. Kill. Tear. Blood. But underneath, softer, weaker—a whimper. Your face. Your eyes. Why won’t you look?

He’d seen you before, in glimpses. Paraded through streets in a litter, nose turned up at the filth. Once, your sandal slipped, and a slave scrambled to catch it. You’d laughed. High, cruel. Angron had vomited bile that night, Nails chewing his thoughts to pulp.

Now, fever-dreams: your hand, cool on his brow. Your voice, soft: “You’re more than this.”

(Stupid. Stupid. You’d never touch him. He’s nothing .)

******

Dawn. Back in the sands. A fresh batch of prisoners, starving, wide-eyed. Angron’s axe trembled. The Nails screeched: “KILL!” But his eyes dragged upward. There. Silk canopy. Your perfume somehow cut through the stench. Today, your hair was braided with gold wire. It glinted, mocked.

One prisoner charged him, a boy, maybe sixteen, armed with a broken sword. Angron sidestepped. The crowd booed. “Fight, beast! Fight!”

The boy sobbed, swinging wildly. Angron’s fist snapped his neck. Quick. Clean. The crowd hissed.

But you… leaned forward. Just a fraction.

(Look at me. Look at me. LOOK AT—)

Your lips moved, saying something to the slave beside you. Laughing. Always laughing.

******

They brought him to you.

A mistake. A guard’s drunken gamble. “The lady wants a closer view of the beast!”

Angron’s chains clanked. They’d hosed him down, but blood crusted his nails, his teeth. The Nails sang as they led him up, up, up to your private box.

Closer.

Your scent, jasmine, ozone, richness, hit him like a hammer. You didn’t turn. Just waved a hand. “Leave us.”

The guards hesitated.

“Now.”

They fled.

Alone.

Angron’s breathing rattled. You finally turned, and—oh. Up close, your eyes weren’t glass. They were voids. Black. Hungry.

“So,” you said, swirling your wine. “The Red Sand’s champion. Do you know why you’re here?”

He growled. The Nails itched.

You stood, hips swaying, and circled him. “They say you’re a demon. A mindless thing. But I see… fear in you.” Your finger trailed his arm, burned where you touched. “Do you fear me, beast?”

(Yes. No. Want)

You slapped him.

Hard.

His head snapped sideways. The Nails shrieked. He lunged—

—and froze.

Your palm pressed to his chest. Not pushing. Feeling. His hearts jackhammered under your touch.

“Interesting,” you murmured. “You want. Even now. Even… this.” Your nails dug into his skin. “Pathetic.”

He snarled, chains clattering. You smiled.

“Shall I give you a secret, beast?” Your lips brushed his ear. “I’ve watched you. Every fight. Every scream. You’re magnificent… when you suffer.”

Your knee jabbed his groin. He choking.

“But you’re still a dog,” you hissed. “And dogs… beg.”

******

He dreamt of you that night.

(Not a dream. The Nails don’t allow dreams.)

Your hands on him. Not cruel. Gentle. Your voice, sweet: “You’re mine.”

(Lies. Lies.)

In the dream, he wept.

******

You came again. And again. Always with wine. Always with cuts disguised as caresses.

“Do you know what they’ll do to you?” you asked once, tracing the Nails embedded in his skull. “When you break? They’ll toss you to the corpse-wyrms. I’ll watch.”

He grabbed your wrist. Too tight. You gasped, finally, finally looking at him, and he…

…let go.

You stared. Then laughed. “Oh, beast. You’re weak.”

******

The last time.

You wore red. Like the sand. Like his dreams.

“They’re selling you,” you said. 

Angron’s chains shook. 

(No. No. Can’t leave. Can’t)

You stepped close. “Beg me to keep you. Beg, and I’ll slit your throat here. Clean. Quick.”

His mouth opened. Words. He hadn’t spoken in years.

“I….”

Your smile froze. “What?”

“You....” Blood dripped from his nose. The Nails blazed.

You recoiled. “Don’t, don’t you dare say that!”

But he did. Again. Again. Guttural. Broken. Your face twisted, disgust? Fear?

You fled.

******

He never saw you again.

But in the dark, chains replaced by a Legion’s armor, the Nails whispered:

“She’s watching. She’s waiting. Find her. Make her look .”

And Angron smiled, grin teeth, and obeyed.

[hushed-woodsman]

Masterlist 2(Not my work) 18+

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[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Womb

Summary: You become Horus' cupbearer, unaware of the true role he has prepared for you.

Horus Lupercal/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power imbalance, manipulation, forced medical procedures, breeding kink, dubcon

Word count: 4008

Author's note: Well, first of all, this is the most uncomfortable drabble I've ever written. Traitor Horus is a creepy dude. Secondly, I found the song he listens to every time before he goes to see his wife.

Song: Le Destroy - Breed

Crack the whip, break the skin Breed, breed, breed Take it out, push it back in Breed, breed, breed, breed

War spared no one. Neither the weak nor the strong, neither adults nor children. Everyone suffered, trying to find salvation in a Galaxy drowning in flames. You were one of trillions of people thrown out to be slaughtered at the whim of the Emperor and the Warmaster.

It didn't matter who you were in your past life. Whether you had many rights or were almost on the level of serfs. Whether you could provide yourself with everything you needed or you had to work until you were exhausted. All that mattered was that you were weak and defenseless. Meat that could drown the ambitions of demigods.

But instead of sending you to work like other slaves, they prepared a different fate for you. A much more luxurious and safe life than in your past. At least that's what they told you. They promised you a bright future, but you didn't believe a single word of it. How can the future be bright when worlds are burning in the fire of battle, and people are captured on ships like cattle?

You couldn't hope for anything good. Especially when you were told that you would be the personal cup-bearer of the Warmaster himself. The slaves who explained the rules of the job to you, preening you along the way, tried to calm your cries. They said that he was very kind to his personal servants. Besides, he chose you himself. Of all people, fortune smiled on you.

Perhaps you could have believed them, convinced yourself that everything would be fine. But you saw pity in their eyes. Saw relief. "It's good that it wasn't me," they thought. And it would have been better if they had said these words, and not the ones they constantly said out loud.

He likes you.

Damn them, they could have kept silent for the sake of sympathy. But sitting on the floor in the Warmaster's chambers, you wanted to hear their babble again. If only not to sit in this oppressive silence. Perhaps one day you would have been glad to be on the "Vengeful Spirit" and serve the primarch. But now you would gladly refuse such an "honor".

As soon as you hear the door creak, you immediately rise. You hope that your master will not see you trembling. He will ignore your reddened eyes and not pay attention. Hoping that Lupercal will show mercy to you and let you go would be too stupid and naive. Besides, as the slaves said, he desperately needed a cup-bearer.

He likes you.

Looking at the primarch, you were stunned. Thoughts got confused in your head, and your lips parted, unable to squeeze out sounds. Before you stood a massive giant, a creation of the highest human mind. A man who cannot be looked at without awe. One of the best warriors and politicians of the Imperium. The most beloved son of the Emperor. At least what he used to be.

Now before you stood a primarch who looked more like a daemon than a man. Horus' once beautiful face had become gray and old. But even with his short grey hair and wrinkles, the Warmaster looked like an old man, but he wasn't. He still towered over humanity and was ready to live a long, if not immortal, life. His bright, hellish eyes practically screamed it.

It is said that the sight of a Primarch would make weak-willed people weep in awe or even faint. Those who could cope with such feelings still felt the rapture of meeting the son of the Emperor himself. But you felt no awe. Only pure fear.

Horus smiled softly at the emotion he evoked in you. It only made you tremble more. How could such a gentle smile appear on the face of pure evil? As if Lupercal still saw himself as a hero despite the atrocities he had committed.

“Please, do not fear me. I promise I will not harm you.” - the Primarch slowly approached you and knelt down, as if talking to a wild, frightened animal. - “What is your name?”

You barely whisper your name, hoping not to burst into tears. And yet, a small worm of hope stirs in your brain. The Primarch probably knew your name, but still asked it out of politeness. Or out of a desire to calm you down. Perhaps he really will not hurt you?

“A very beautiful name, like its owner.” - your cheeks warm up and, under someone else’s laughter, you shyly lower your eyes to the Primarch’s chest. - “You will have simple duties. Clean the chambers, serve me drinks and food if I ask. And be near. I ask no more. Will you do this for me?”

You nod, thinking over his words, as if tasting them. Such a kind attitude towards you from the Warmaster baffled you. But he has no reason to deceive you. So why not let the man circle you like a wolf in sheep's clothing? As long as he keeps it on, you are safe.

“Yes, Warmaster.” Your voice is quiet compared to the Primarch. You cannot see his terrible face, but you feel it spread into a smile. You imagine it on a younger, truly kind Horus, not on your master.

“I am very glad to hear that.” The man's hand twitches slightly, as if to touch you. But instead, he rises from his knees and walks towards the table, leaving you behind. You inhale, realizing that you have not been breathing at that moment.

***

The job was easy, really. Horus Lupercal didn't ask much of you. Although you had a hard time handling the jug in your hands. But the primarch lowered the cup low enough for you to pour wine into it. He didn't have to do that, and yet the primarch took into account the difference in size.

He might not have cared about your needs. Yet you got the most comfortable, the best room among the slaves. In addition, your quarters adjoined the primarch's chambers. And you did not have to worry about who or what you would meet on the way to your lord. When you realized that the bedding was made of silk, you gulped. As a free citizen of the Imperium, you could not even imagine such luxury.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Your closet (you had a closet!) was filled with a huge number of sets of clothes. Including shoes and underwear. And even though it was obviously a servant's clothing, it was made of too fine a material. Too beautiful. The Sons of Horus pattern stood out in particular.

And that's not even mentioning your rations. Not to mention slaves, many free citizens of the Imperium could never afford such a sumptuous meal. Your entire diet was carefully selected. The food was tasty and healthy, and considering that you were forced to eat strictly at certain times, your stomach was always full.

You felt safe. Safer than ever. And the Warmaster was a kind. Even though you were frightened by his appearance and the deeds he had done, even now he exuded an inhuman charisma that confused you. His care was suffocating, but you could not refuse it.

Deep down, you hated the Emperor's beloved son, now a traitor, for what he had done to your home world. For what he had turned the Galaxy into, which he had once sworn to protect. But alas, with each day that Horus spoke to you, the burning feeling of rage gradually faded.

“You know, my sons used to attend the Iterators’ classes.” - the man’s voice is filled with sadness and you look in surprise at the Warmaster, who has thoughtfully settled into his glass. - “There will come a time when the wars will end, and my soldiers must be prepared for a peaceful life. So I said.”

Lupercal winces and throws back all the liquid before slamming the cup down on the table. You take your time filling it, unable to take your eyes off the man. The conversation is too frank for you to simply brush it aside.

“I love war. It’s in my blood. But I also love peace, I wanted the Crusade to come to an end. And for my sons to receive the recognition they deserved. For all the blood they shed for humanity.”

A wicked grin appears on the old man's face and you clutch the jug tighter.

“But not my father. Not the False Emperor. He wanted to get rid of us as Thunder Warriors. We were always tools, but I did not think he was truly going to destroy us. Did all those thirty years I spent with him on Terra mean nothing? I really, truly, unlike my brothers… saw him as my father.”

A crushing silence falls in the chambers. And although you still feel fear and the thin thread of hatred has not yet completely broken. You already feel something different towards Horus. A bright feeling that you did not think you would feel towards this monster. Sympathy.

“I am sure you would have been a better father.” - the words escape on their own, but you do not regret what you said. You really thought so, listening to the Warmaster's stories about his sons. Even about the “prodigal sons,” traitors like Loken, Horus spoke with unprecedented sadness. And with the hope of meeting again.

You see how something breaks in the man. Was it your imagination or were there uninvited tears in his terrible eyes? But the man only smiles brightly at you and holds out a cup, which you immediately begin to fill. Trying to ignore the primarch’s devouring gaze.

“Thank you, my dear. It means a lot to me.”

It is only praise. Just gratitude for kind words. Recognition from a mortal girl who will continue to remain in the shadows. You repeated all these soothing words to yourself, scolding your long tongue. Only it was too difficult to ignore the strange tension between the two of you.

And this was only the beginning.

With each passing day, you became more and more entangled in the nets kindly laid out by the Warmaster. You were afraid of his behavior, you saw that there was a ruthless monster in front of you. But you couldn’t help yourself, willingly following his lead. There was something bright in the man, which made you simply open up to him.

He increasingly talked to you about his past, hopes and dreams. You listened to his stories with unprecedented interest, akin to awe. Not because Horus chose you as a personal listener or remembrancer, if you could say so. It’s just that at such moments you forgot where you were, drowning in thoughts under the man’s voice.

And if before you tried to behave as quietly as possible, now you did not hold back your emotions. If before you stood still like a wooden soldier, now you could sprawl right in the chair and put your hands under your head. But most of all, Horus liked it when you were located on the floor right at his feet. This is how children usually sit when listening to a fairy tale.

“You had a terrible childhood.” - you purse your lips, pulling your knees to you. - “It’s terrible when your whole life has to be tied to death and battles. Especially from birth.”

“I didn’t approve of such rules either, but they appeared on Cthonia for a reason. Radiation, lack of resources, dangerous lands. You’re right, it’s not the best place for a child.” - the man looks into the distance, delving into his memories. - “But it was my “birth” there that brought peace to this lost planet. And I will bring it again when I arrive on Terra.”

Horus smiles softly at you and you smile back uncertainly. You couldn’t say exactly when you stopped being afraid of his inhuman appearance. And although the Warmaster sometimes withdrew into himself and it seemed to you that he was talking to himself, you became more and more attached to him.

You want to ask more about the gangs, but a sudden knock on the door confuses your plans. You quickly get up from the floor and move away from Horus, looking at him uncertainly. Should you open the door and let the guest in? You had already forgotten that there were other people on the Vengeful Spirit. And not only mortals.

But Lupercal stops you encouragingly with his hand before saying, “Enter.” You turn into a shadow again, and, having glanced at the Space Marine unnoticed, you even want to hide under the blanket, like a little girl.

Perhaps once, like his gene father, he was handsome. But now a man with the same disfigured appearance stood before the Warmaster. The new sewn-on face looked too unnatural on the man. And hearing that the guest was called Little Horus, you only cringed from the specific humor of fate.

But the worst thing was his look. Not because it was blazing with hellfire, not because they were covered in blood. It was just that Aximand occasionally, but still looked. Glanced at you. Like a beast ready to attack. You felt his invisible hands wandering over your body, stopping at places that were especially interesting to him.

When you had to pour wine for Little Horus, it was hard to stop trembling. He was still talking to the Warmaster, but at the same time he was staring at your face. Not at all embarrassed by his behavior. The worst thing was when before leaving, he turned to the Primarch, but he immediately answered “No.” You looked at the Warmaster with gratitude, who was smiling reassuringly at you.

“Please forgive my son. He is not yet accustomed to the presence of women.” - your uncomprehending look caused the Primarch to chuckle. - “I told you that my father planned to destroy all the Legions? It was for this reason that he took away my sons'... desire. So that they would never even think of creating a new generation of men."

The gears in your head begin to turn like a machine. You look at Horus in disbelief. "And you-"

"Yes. I gave them back what was taken from them. Of course, not all of them have fully grasped their new needs yet. And some can be a little... rough. But they learn quickly." - the primarch lowers his gaze to the bowl, speaking too slowly and quietly, almost seductively. - "Though I would welcome someone to show Little Horus what tenderness is. My son has been deprived of it for so long. He deserves a little peace, don't you think?"

Your silent and stunned expression said it all for you. The man chuckles, reminding you of a very pleased wolf.

"Well, all in good time."

***

You are becoming more and more confused. You do not understand what role fate has prepared for you. Why can't life be simpler? The fact that the servant (even though you were the Warmaster's own cupbearer) had her own servitors was already a misunderstanding. But when Horus inquired about you undergoing the necessary medical procedures, it became completely uncomfortable.

You were not tortured. One could even say that they took care of you all these weeks. They conducted medical examinations, treated you extremely tenderly, as if you were made of porcelain. But at the same time, they clearly performed operations. About which they told you nothing, not devoting you to a single detail.

Once you burst into tears in front of one of the medics and said that you were scared. You do not understand what they are doing to your body. But the woman stroked your hair and assured you that all the augmentations were personally approved by the Warmaster. They will noticeably improve your life and make your body strong enough.

"Strong for what?" the woman never answered.

The last time you went to the medic, you woke up in bed, expecting everything to be calm, like the last time. But in your lower abdomen, you felt a pain like you'd never felt before. It was like someone had punched your uterus multiple times, turning it into mush. You quickly pulled the covers away before sobbing loudly.

There was blood between your legs. Too much blood. All the white sheets were covered in it. Where did you get so much blood? Are you bleeding internally? Gasping, you touched your lower lips, unaware of anything wrong, before moving your hands to your stomach. You felt nothing. Nothing. But something was wrong. You couldn't be bleeding that much.

Did they cut out your organs? Did they put something in you? What did they do?!

“Am I dying?” Your muffled wheeze escaped through the flood of tears as you desperately thought about what to do. “I'm dying. Cut it out, take it away. What's inside me? What's there?"

You didn't notice when the medics managed to enter before you felt yourself being pressed hard into the bed. Panic attack. Hormones kicked in. Full compatibility with implants. Bless Chaos. What are they talking about?! But even if you had the strength to resist, it quickly leaves you as soon as the needle pierces your arm.

Darkness covers you. But instead of saving and peaceful calm, you find yourself in a nightmare. You hear the disgusting laughter of the people around you. No. Daemons. They laugh at your sacrifice, at your suffering.

They want to swallow your soul. Tear your body to shreds. But the only thing they can do is drip saliva on you. And laugh. And whisper. About how soft and pliable you are now. How easily you will stretch and fill up. What wonderful meat and functional organs you have. How well you have been transformed into prime cattle.

Into womb.

***

This time the bed is warm. And so damn soft. You feel like you're sinking into it like a little kitten. You wish you could curl up into a fetal position and never get up. But a noise nearby reminds you that you can't hide in this place. That you'll never be alone.

You slowly open your eyes and lift yourself up on your elbows. You realize with surprise that you're right in the Primarch's bed. The man, unarmored, is sitting on the edge of the bed. Bright yellow eyes are watching you. A gentle smile appears on his face.

"See, Sanguinius? I told you she was strong." You looked around the Primarch's chambers in confusion. There was no one else there. A chuckle was heard nearby. "She's so cute under the anaesthetic. Now leave us alone, brother."

You pull the blanket up to your chin, not taking your eyes off Horus. The chambers are unusually dark, only a few lamps are lit. But it seems to you that even if the room were pitch black, you would still see the primarch.

“He’s gone, you have nothing to fear.” - the man moves closer and puts his hand on your leg. It would be easy for him to break your bone. - “The medic has been given a full report on your condition. All operations were successful. But how are you?”

Your heart squeezes from the knife of betrayal. He promised that you would not be harmed. That you would not be hurt.

“What operations?” - your throat is hoarse from tears, and your eyes have long since dried out. - “Horus, what have they done to me?” - panic again engulfed you from head to toe as soon as you remembered the liters of blood. You began to choke from an excess of emotions.

Seeing what was happening to you, the man pulled you to his chest. Softly and tenderly hugging as much as his strength allowed. You pressed your cheek to his massive chest, trying to even out your breathing. The smell of sulfur permeated the clothes and body of the primarch.

“You have been prepared, dear.” - the man’s languid voice envelops you, penetrating into your insides. You want to run away, but Horus squeezes you too tightly. - “Taking a man is quite a difficult experience for a woman. And a primarch even more so. But I want to do everything right. So that our child is born as it should be. Like a human.”

The words left your mind. You felt deceived, so pathetic and insignificant that you had no strength to fight. You could not and did not want to blame the Warmaster for anything. Just let it all end. Just let him shut up. But as always, Horus opened his soul to you.

“I love all my sons. And yet, it was not I who did not raise them. I was not in their lives from the very beginning. I had never had a connection with any of them as strong as I had with my father. I wanted to feel that same feeling, but in a different way. To be an example. To be a mentor. To be a real father. But better.”

“My legacy will not be grown in test tubes and used as a tool.” - the Primarch’s tone darkens and becomes lower, which makes you press yourself closer to the man you want to hide from. - “I will not get rid of them. I will not abandon them. I will be a better father than my own. And you-”

Horus unhooks you from his torso, still holding your shoulders. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears and how your whole body is stretched like a string. A monstrous smile lights up his old gray face, and his eyes burn brighter than ever, promising a future you have never seen before.

The Primarch slowly lowers you onto the bed, undressing you along the way. You can only sniffle and continue to watch. Continue to listen. All the slaves said you were lucky. But no one promised you that everything would be so easy. You yourself are to blame for your naivety.

“My father may not have wanted grandchildren, but Chaos was kind enough to tell me how to make them. The best specimens were collected, capable of enduring surgery and occultism. But of all of them, I chose you.” - a monstrous palm gently touches your cheek. - “I liked you immediately. So pure, so kind, so fragile. The perfect mother for my true sons.”

Your now naked body is covered in goosebumps from the cold. But as soon as the Primarch is on top of you, waves of warmth pass through you. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, but instead of withdrawing into yourself or pushing the man away, you cling to him. Hug him.

You are scared and alone. But beyond these chambers, it is even more terrible. You could have ended your life in grueling work or under the weight of a Space Marine. You could have been experimented on by soulless people or devoured by daemons.

But Horus will protect you. He was evil, he breathed it, he was the very embodiment of darkness. And yet the way he spoke of you with tenderness, the way he touched you... you won't have a better option. You may have fallen into the clutches of a wolf, but with you he would gladly wear the skin of a sheep, if only you were not afraid of him. If only you loved him.

"I'm sorry that you are afraid. You see me as a monster, for I was created for war. But I sincerely wish for peace." - the man whispers in your ear and you are surprised to realize that he is crying. - "And after the death of the Emperor, it will come. I promise you."

You sigh, feeling a foreign organ between your legs. But your renewed body, albeit with a stretch, still accepts the primarch. You say nothing to Horus, instead allowing yourself to cry quietly. While your body fulfills its intended role. And you know that this promise will not be kept either.