#ft. prospero | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nightscythe · 5 months ago

Text

xxxix. frisson

→ horus x maevela [oc, she/her] → 6.3k, nsfw 18+, tw cheating (to a degree) → pre-heresy, before he's warmaster, big man just stole his brother's wife and it may actually be justified in this case (ft fulgrim stirring everything)

“Then a word of advice?”

Horus hums.

“If you are going to steal something from Magnus, at least have the decency to make it worth the trouble. Do not ask me again how she’s doing. Ask her yourself. Don’t just watch her. She is waiting for you, you know.”

Horus looks up to him, ready to argue, but Fulgrim hushes him with a raised fist. He takes a step away, but turns back one last time.

“You lingered, brother, and if I’m not mistaken, so did she,” Fulgrim states, shrugging his shoulders as though the possibility of futures was endless. He taps two of his fingers against his temple, bowing his head back to his brother before he leaves. “I do hope you will not continue to resist forever. It would be such a waste.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Horus had lost his focus some time ago.

Usually welcoming of talks about war, territory, and military strategy, especially in the presence of his brothers, the situation was quite unusual for him. No less because they were accompanied by their sons, and another figure from Prospero that he had met so many times before.

But this was different.

His focus wasn’t lost. It was somewhere else. As Magnus and Fulgrim spoke, his words were what was lost – he’d started by telling them he had many opinions to share and somehow ended up saying little more than yes or no for the past hour or so. His focus was on something else. Someone, rather.

It’s only something small. Fulgrim had made a comment about something related to the artistical choices of whoever dared stand up to him, something of which sparked some humour at the table. He’d then turned to his side and made a private remark to Maevela. She had leaned in to listen to him, her hand grazing the edge of the table as she moved her attention his way.

He'd looked away, noticing his staring when she first made a soft gasp. He found some interest in the rows of books behind her, white noise filling his ears as he tries his very best to read some of the words on the book covers.

Then, she laughs.

He’s drawn back to her, as much as he tried to resist. It’s quiet at first, just a breath, before she lets herself be unrestrained. Her head had tilted back, exposing the curve of her neck that laid bare without any jewels. The movement caught the candlelight perfectly. The delicate line of her throat, the soft rise and fall of her breath.

Something presses tight against his ribs. He’d looked to Magnus expectantly, but there was no reaction. His brother did not even seem to care that she spoke or made a noise. His attention was in the book on the table detailing a list of artefacts recovered. He hadn’t tried to get her attention the entire time they sat there. He never leaned in to speak with her. He barely even looked at her. Horus’ nails dig into his skin as though the pain might ground him, make reality seem more adjusted.

Horus had noticed it before, but this was different. His brother was so openly uncaring and indifferent. Maevela, she was…

She’s so graceful as she listens to Fulgrim. Her hands, so much smaller than his, were restless on the table as her finger idly traces the golden embellishing of the marble. The sun shone against her skin and highlighted her features that stood out so strikingly. Her skin was smooth, yet the hint of a smile remained on the corners of her lips even as she stopped laughing.

And he shouldn’t be thinking that. Not now. There was no reason to. It was ridiculous for someone such as him to be disturbed by such simple emotions.

He had admired her. Always had. She was dedicated and strong, loyal to an empire that many wished to discard her from. She had stood at Magnus’ side and elevated him with the same, knowing smile on her lips as everyone praised him. No one had looked at her the same way. But Horus did.

His stomach twists. Knowing his thoughts she be let go off, he sits forward in his chair and leans his elbow on the table. He looks down at his lap for a moment, clearing his throat and allowing his back teeth to rest together as his jaw sets. When he looks back up, he thinks to look to Fulgrim, always commanding the attention around him, but instead his eyes fall straight to her.

He can’t bring himself to look away. Her silent attention paid to the conversation around her is met with agreeing nods and hums. Her hair, loose to fall down her back, is as white as the frost on a winter’s morning, decorated with simple ribbon to hold smaller braids in place. Her eyes twinkle in the light around them, colour a mix of every hue it seemed, finally settling on the green of the forest trees. His breathing catches.

She looks at him. She noticed.

He looks away quickly, trying to cover up his actions, but he’s returned her eyes to her too fast. She will still looking at him, inquisitively, as if to confirm her own suspicions.

Though her eyes flicker away, his gaze linger for just a moment longer than needed. She shouldn’t have even noticed him, but she did, and she had shyly looked away thinking that maybe he hadn’t noticed as well.

Seconds pass, then he sees it. Her lips, not once moving from their default position before now, curve into the smallest smile. It doesn’t last, certainly not as Magnus looks around to confirm whatever he had uttered before. But he was not imagining it.

And suddenly, he knows.

His heartbeat pounds too hard. He looks away quickly, shifting in his chair again and trying to focus his attention on the paper in front of him. The words don’t even register to him. So much for pretending he wasn’t staring… It felt like everyone in the room had caught him. Especially with how heavy Fulgrim’s gaze on him is.

He steals a glance up to Magnus, expecting to have been caught somehow. Still, nothing. His brother to the left of Maevela was still oblivious to everything going on around him. His brother to the right, however, seemed to know every single thing that was happening in the room right then.

Horus catches the smirk that Fulgrim wears. So observant, so aware of everyone’s personal lives, but especially of the two that he had tried for years to weave together as it became more and more apparent that Magnus and Maevela had left their relationship years and years ago.

Fulgrim turns back to Maevela, murmuring something that only the pair could hear. Horus tries to read his brother’s lips, but he speaks too quickly, lips already contorted by his amusement. Maevela looks back to Fulgrim, brows pulled together and lips already parted, smile beginning to waver. He then asks her something, sounded out careful, as though he wanted Horus to understand. You do realise he was staring, don’t you?

She looks from Fulgrim, to Horus, then down to the floor. She gave no answer that he could see or hear, but he knew she gave one. Fulgrim looks at him once more with his head tilted to the side, pleased with her response most of all. He had been caught, and his scheming brother was going to have everything to do with it.

“Forgive me,” Horus speaks, commanding the attention from the room. All but Maevela look to him, even Magnus seems pleased to hear his voice. He pushes his chair back, clearing his throat, and bows his head to Magnus in particular. “Thank you for inviting me to discuss our plans, but there’s something I need to urgently attend to. Perhaps we shall continue later?”

No one was going to stop him. Instead, they let him leave, and as he turns, he feels Maevela’s eyes on him once more. Curious. Unsure. He hears her shift in the seat behind him, so much more delicate than both of his brothers, like she wished to ask something. No words every come from her, only the voice of his brother again, words silk-wrapped in venom as he stands as well. Horus stops just before the door.

“Give me five minutes,” Fulgrim says, his hand on Maevela’s shoulder. He doesn’t even look to Magnus as he speaks. Both of them look to Horus directly, and he can see it just out of the corner of his eye. “It seems our brother needs time to think about… well, something he wants but thinks he shouldn’t have. Let me speak the truth to him. I will be back shortly.”

It feels like such a condescending hand on his shoulder, but Horus lets Fulgrim guide him out of the room into the hallway, hearing the silence falling behind them. He wanted a moment to breathe, but it would not be gifted to him. His hands feel like they shake a little, his jaw hurts from how tightly it’s been clenched. When Horus finally stops walking, Fulgrim turns all his attention to him.

“In front of Magnus?” he asks, eyes wide. Horus can’t help but rolls his eyes as Fulgrim continues. “Horus, my dear brother, you may carry the emperor’s favour, but do not doubt for a second that Magnus would turn a blind eye to your advances onto his wife. He is just as possessive as you.”

Horus brings his hand to his face, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I do not doubt he would.”

“Then a word of advice?”

Horus hums.

Horus looks up to him, ready to argue, but Fulgrim hushes him with a raised fist. He takes a step away, but turns back one last time.

Fulgrim walks away, leaving Horus stood in the middle of the hall. He does not move, only watches, and as the doors to the room are opened once more, he seems Maevela inside, cautiously looking up to see who would return through the doors. Her eyes search for his own, though he does not linger like before.

Fulgrim stops at the door. Magnus must surely have looked up by now. “What will you do about it now, brother?”

His fingers flex at his side. Fulgrim doesn’t look back. Doesn’t need to. Horus already knows he is smirking.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Maevela isn’t meant to be thinking about him.

She shouldn’t keep replaying it in her mind. How his eyes lingered on her. How he looked from her, knowing he was caught, but looked back again.

But she was.

Over and over and over. Her hands gripped the stone fence that lined the edge of the balcony. The warm evening never helped the blush that spread over her cheeks, the usual breeze failing to show and save her. She closes her eyes, saving herself from the view of Tizca beneath her, and takes a breath.

He always asks me about you.

Of course, it would be Fulgrim’s voice that disturbs any chance she has of peace. Every time they spoke Horus was mentioned. She wasn’t even sure why Horus had been invited here in the first place, lest it be at Fulgrim’s wish. Now his words ring in her ears, never leaving her to the silence she craved. Why did Horus ask about her?

She squeezes her eyes shut, dipping her head ever so slightly as though it would force the thoughts and feelings to leave her. She scrunches her nose, her whole face, tips of her fingers pressing into the stone. Then the door opens behind her.

She turns, quickly, hiding any trace of her thoughts. Her expectations are correct. Though she sees the outline of her husband inside, disguised by the darkness of candles neither of them bothered to light, he never looks at her. Whatever has his attention, it is not her.

“Ahzek is looking for you,” Magnus says.

She blinks. She approaches the door, thinking there would be more. She even tries to speak as almost reaches the door. “Magnus—”

But he doesn’t let her finish. One nod, dismissive, distracted by whatever he worked on, is all he allows her. Just a nod before he turns away, and Maevela is left to her thoughts one more time. He didn’t want to hear what she said. He may not have even cared.

She watches as he walks away from her, the heavy door of the room inside left to close without another glance her way.

He must have seen it, earlier. Magnus was as observant as Fulgrim, maybe even more so. He could not have ignored everything that was right before him. He must have heard Fulgrim’s words, seen the way Horus had walked away… Unless he did not see, or hear. He may have chosen not to see her any longer. That decision may have been one he made a long time.

As much as she knew, she had been able to ignore it. No one dared to speak out of tone with her. Perhaps Ahzek, or Amon, lifelong friends of them both, but that was only friendlier than others. No one had dared to look at her the way Magnus once did, not before Horus did today.

She should have felt sadness for it. To have someone fall out of love with you? It should have broken her. But she knew. It was not a silent change. It was only confirmed now, any of her suspicions were accurate. She had mourned long before today.

She doesn’t dwell on the fact. Magnus had told her to find Ahzek, and she would. That’s what she should do. She trails the long hallways and stairs with the intention of finding the First Captain who usually asked for her to discuss something which would keep her distracted long enough to process today. A new spell, an uncovered artefact, something he would not burden his primarch with but knew she would enjoy.

But fate would not have it that way.

She had been looking at the floor, noting the frayed edges of a carpet, when she heard the footsteps. The sound resembled Magnus, so used to hearing him around there, but when she looked up it was not her husband that greeted her. No, it was Horus. No armour, no elaborate cape with the wolf around his shoulders. Just Horus. Looking at her already.

She feels a unexpected relief wash over her, completed by a flicker of excitement that lays dormant at the edges of her nerves. He was likely going to Magnus. He had permission to traverse these halls just like she did, but unlikely they would just run into each other. Yet Magnus would not have orchestrated this.

There was no planning. There was nothing deliberate. It was just the weavings of fate. His presence had lingered around her since earlier, he saddled each of her thoughts from the moment she was alone. It was deliberate, even if she didn’t believe it so. Inevitable, even.

It should mean nothing. It does mean nothing. As they approach each other, neither utter a word. Even though he doesn’t speak, he slows down, and she feels herself do the same. As if Fulgrim’s word replay to them both. What will you do about it now, brother? Maevela expects nothing.

She sees him nod, a small smile on her lips, and she should expect nothing. She nods back at him. She should keep walking. He should keep walking. Just as she thinks that he has chosen to do nothing, his voice echoes through the otherwise empty room.

“Come look at the stars with me.”

Maevela stops. He says it so easily. Like he’d rehearsed it or said it hundreds of times to her before. Like it’s nothing. Like he knew what she would do already. It should be so easy for her to reply no. That she’s busy, that she’s going to find Ahzek as he requested, like she was told to do by her husband a few floors above them. She shouldn’t hesitate this much.

But she does.

She turns back to him, reaching his gaze with innocent eyes. Her lips part, words ready to be spoken, but she stops them. She doesn’t want to say no. Her uncertainty, her pause, it would have easily been found by Horus. He would have known.

“I shouldn’t,” she says. She stumbles over a few syllables, holding her hands behind her back as she denies one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy. “Ahzek… Ahriman, he is looking for me. I should…”

Her foot shifts forward, though she stops herself again. Even with her excuse, she doesn’t want to move. She waits, watches, wonders. Hesitation is laced in her every word.

Horus nods once. He steps towards her, stopping about a metre before her. Satisfaction lays zealous in his eyes. He does not react immediately, though patience is lost to him quickly – he holds his hand out to her, as a gesture, not a command. An encouragement. An offer. Her fingers twitch at her side.

And she takes it, knowing she had accepted the fate she was promised.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

He had found a quiet spot in the great pyramid the night before. Trying to escape Fulgrim’s incessant words of his future and how he needed to do… something, Horus had walked the halls of the pyramid until he found a balcony, hidden away, likely known to Magnus but not many others.

He’d seen the lines of worry in Maevela’s face. He’d heard Fulgrim’s words repeat in his head. As he stood here now, in the place he had unknowingly found his way to, watching her under the starlight, he realised he had been waiting for this moment all along.

The stars stretch over them, silent witnesses to a moment once forbidden. Though she had not spoken, her mind seemed to have found a peaceful state. Her fingertips moved back and forth on the golden railing, her eyes watching over the horizon as though it had given her the answers she so deeply desired.

He didn’t consider that he may have brought her that comfort. It really hadn’t crossed his mind. Not until he leaned forward, arms crossed as they rested on the railing, shoulders hunched as he brough himself to her level. She looked at him, distracted for a second, and the corners of her lips started to rise.

“I bet you have walked every street in this city,” he says, words absent of any emotion. He focuses on a quiet street, somewhat at the edge of his vision, where a couple walk together, hand in hand. “I have always been envious. Prospero is one of the most beautiful places I have come across.”

Maevela hums. She leans forward too, though looks in the opposite direction to him. He tries to follow her gaze, though where she focuses he cannot be sure. “One day I will see Cthonia, and disagree with you.”

“I highly doubt that,” Horus comments, “it’s nothing like this. Only the streets of Macragge may match this. You should be proud.”

“Magnus should be proud.”

“You had no part in its making at all?” he questions.

“A very limited part,” Maevela tells him. She sighs as she leans back from the railing, avoiding his eyes. “One day I may see Macragge, too.”

Horus holds his answer. He watches her, his hands hesitant to reach out to her as much as his mind tells him to do so. Her arms cross over her chest as she looks back up to the sky above them, the light of the stars catching her eyes as she travels the distance between each one. He sees the sting of a tear form in her eyes, though before she allows herself to be seen in that way, she blinks it away quickly. He doesn’t comment, allowing her to think she was quick enough to conceal it.

“I will take you.” Horus does not expect an answer, he was stating a fact. He’d travel to the ends of the world to make up for the hurt hidden deep within her. He didn’t need her to tell him everything. Just a moment with her and he could see it.

He watches as the starlight catches in her hair, the soft shimmer of the gems on her dress. She belongs to Prospero, to this world of golden light and endless knowledge. Yet there was something else in her, something untouchable. Something no city could ever match.

“Though the beauty of any of those cities, even the splendour of Prospero, pale in comparison to you, Maevela.”

Her breathing stops. She does not look at him, only to the sky, the distant stars, anything but him. He felt his gaze wonder across her. Her hair still the same as before, resting on her shoulders covered by pale blue, chiffon sleeves, the same material that hung dutily over her chest to cover what he dress did not. She has a cuff on her upper arm, a haematite band with a sprinkling of deep sapphire blue gems attached. On her chest lays a small pendant, an obsidian eye motif attached, and another below with a small tablet with an inscription in Prosperine that he could not read. On her fingers, a gold ring with two intertwined serpents, each biting the others tail, one with a ruby eye, one with a sapphire eye.

As she dips her head forward, a loose piece of her hair falls from behind her ear. She does not notice immediately, but as a soft breeze wisped over them, Horus reached to her. He brushed the hair back behind her ear, his fingers lingering by her. She doesn’t stop him, she doesn’t ask him what he’s doing. She shifts her head towards him, exhaling a slow and quiet breath, as if weighing the moment before it breaks.

He doesn’t think. He places his hand on her cheek, fully this time, and turns her towards him. He’s so careful that their skin barely touches. His fingers merely brush over her skin. Neither speak. There’s nothing to say. They just watch each other, eyes boring into one another as though everything made sense. In that very moment, he saw everything.

He leans in, slowly. He stops, maybe a centimetre from her lips, expecting her to pull away. He feels her breath shudder, her fingers trembling as she curls her fingers into fists at her side. When a second passes and she doesn’t move, he presses his lips onto hers, allowing his eyes to close. Her head tilts ever so slightly to the left wanting to feel more of him. His hand moves, floating over her waist until he finally sets it down, tips of his fingers pulling her closer to him, their bodies just touching.

As he starts to pull away, he feels her follow him. She tries, so softly, to keep him there with her, to chase the warmth of her lips on his. Just for a second, but long enough for him to realise. His hand still holds her waist, not letting her move from before him, the hand on her cheek slowly falling down so his thumb rests on her jaw. Her arm starts to move, like she wants to reach for him, but she stops herself.

He knew then. He knew the truth of everything. There was no turning back.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

She had turned to leave. An unbroken silence had left neither wishing to make a move. With whatever courage she had, she turned to leave him. But he would not have just let her walk away.

“Maevela,” he says, his voice low.

She stops but does not turn around. She feels his hand on her, fingertips ghosting her wrist at her side. He does not pull her back. He does not force her. She could easily have walked away, left it at that, never spoke of their kiss again.

She exhales. Shaky. Unsure of what to say.

He breaks the tension for her. His voice barely reaches a whisper. “Stay.”

She looks back to him, turning slowly on the spot. Her heart leads, her body follows. She knows she shouldn’t return to him. She shouldn’t stay. But her once soft green eyes have darkened to the colour of a pine tree, the feeling bubbling within her something she does not want to name. “Horus…”

“Just stay,” he murmurs. He takes a step closer to her, brushing his thumb over the inside of her wrist. He would be able to feel how fast her heart races. The space between them shrinks before she can react. She would not stop him, even if she could. “For a little while. Stay with me.”

She trailed behind him as they endured the slow walk to his temporary quarters. No word was spoken, no shared looks. They did not meet another as they followed the path, the silence crackling around them, air thick with unspoken meanings and feelings. He’d shut the door behind them, the click of the lock bouncing around the four walls.

It was like they had never know what to do with each other. She stands in the middle of the room, glancing around at everything that decorated the area, a room she had walked past a thousand times before yet still looked out of place in. He just watched her. He sat at the edge of the bed, waiting, like he wanted to speak but was unsure of how to say it.

What will you do about it now?

She doesn’t hesitate any longer.

She crosses the space between them and kisses him. Gentle, first, then desperate. His hands cup her face, holding her as though she would vanish if he lets go. Her hand falls into his tunic, fist clenched around parts of the material to hold him closer. She twists her hands, trying to feel more, trying to satiate the desire pooling at the pit of her stomach as she tasted more of him. Her lips, swollen, prickled from the stubble that lined his jaw and upper lip, hungrily reach as much of him as he can.

She pushes him down onto the bed. He watches her, fascinated by her movements, allowing her to crawl back over him so her knees are either side of his body. His hands find her hips to pull her back to him, and she lets herself fall to him, her lips chasing his again like she’s already starved.

He says her name, somewhere among her kisses, only managing a word between breaths as she feverishly looked to feel everything she can. She never answers him, only kisses him harder. Desperate for him. Needing him. The only time she pulls back, takes a good look at his face, he seems dazed. His eyes are wide, his lips a dark pink and gapped.

She kisses his lips once, then presses her lips softly up his jaw, reaching his ear. She doesn’t breathe for a moment, but then she tells him. Any restraint she held, it was broken in a second. “I want you.”

His eyes flash obsidian, her heart thumps. She doesn’t register his movements. Both his hands grasp her, flipping her onto her back, allowing his body to straddle hers now. His hands cover her lower arms, his entire being pressing her down into the mattress like this is where she would forever stay.

His lips ghost along her throat. A stolen kiss on every part of her skin. He’s so agonisingly slow that she wants to whine, cry, but she can’t bring herself to. Her pulse pounds below his mouth. Her name is on her lips.

“Tell me again,” he breathes, almost growls.

And she does.

Over and over.

Like a broken record. Not that he cares, he never tells her to stop. He listens to her. Drinks it in as his hands worship her skin, racing every part of her body as though he would commit it to memory. His lips are softer than she thought they would be on her neck, or her shoulder, on her chest – until they aren’t any longer.

He presses her into the bed, his weight, his heat, every part of him surrounding her. She gasps his name between kisses, breathless as she drowns in him.

“Look at me,” he says against her lip, a subtle vibration between them as his voice reaches a new low, thick sound. He did not request it. He commanded it. She obliged in a heartbeat. “I want to see you as you realise.”

Magnus had never looked at her like that. Like she was the only thing un the universe that mattered. Like he would burn the galaxy is eh asked. Like he would tear apart the very fabric of fate itself just to keep her.

She shudders beneath him at the thought. She could never walk away from the feeling. She could never again see him the way she once did. But she didn’t want to. Not now. Never again.

Her eyes never leave his. Her hands sink into the sheets at her side, gripping the material and twisting it in her fingers like it would tether he back to reason or reality. Her thights turn inward, her body signalling just how badly she needed him. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. His lips curl into a smirk.

His hands roam her body. Slow. Deliberate. He would not be cruel, but he would not give her space to think, to regret, to remember a time before him. He discards the chiffon cover over her. Reveals her dress below, white, innocent, leaving little to the imagination. He would not starve himself any longer. She was his to consume.

His fingers trace the edge of her dress as he the length of her neck. He pulls the straps down her fingers, he lets his teeth nip at her skin gently. She doesn’t move, she lets him undress her, though when she feels his weight fully against her, how badly he wanted this obvious through his loose clothing, she shivers beneath him.

He lifts his head to look at her. His eyes a midnight black, his lips swollen and red. He breath trembles, catches in her throat as he withdraws. To the side of the bed, between her legs, kneeling so graciously. He pulls her thighs, moving her body so she’s just on the edge as well. Her dress is pulled away, tossed to the side like nothing.

Heat floods her face. She turns, wanted to hide the flush that was apparent, but he does not allow it. A simple call, ordered to her. “Don’t look away.”

She nods. Once. She won’t disobey. She doesn’t look away. She just watches, following his eyes as he looks back to her body. A simple pair of shorts. Her final barrier. She does not stop him as she tears it down, leaving her bare, ready.

She swallows, her fingers still clutch the sheets around her, but she doesn’t take her eyes off him. No matter how hard it is to stare him dead in the eyes as he parts her thighs moves his soft kisses up her thigh, then his tongue, and then his fingers.

Her body is so warm. Soft, pliant, trembling. She tries to breath, she closes her eyes for just a second as some kind of reprise. She had never tried to imagine this before. She hadn’t considered that she had already given herself to him, and this was his prize.

He presses two fingers between her folds. A simple hum, followed by a smirk, at how her body had reacted to him. Before he continues, he brings his fingers to his lips and tastes them. Another hum. Her cheeks flush a deep pink. He doesn’t care.

Maevela gasps as his fingers enter her. Just two, but they aren’t small. He turns his hand over, so his thumb can find her bundle of nerves, so he still has access to her. His fingers curl, and she feels her body clench around him. A whine, whimper, she’s not even sure, leaves her lips as she lets her head fall back. His thumb rubs circles to torment her. His other hand rests on her thigh and traces her skin with soft movements.

She tenses, just for a moment, her thighs shifting as she began to feel things that hadn’t been there in years. She turns her legs inwards again, but he stops her. She opens her eyes to him, noticing his movements have stopped almost completely. His grip on her tightens. His look was enough. “Be still, my love.”

She obeys.

Oh, she obeys.

His fingers work at her. Her hands twist into the sheets further as he adds a third, thumb flicking her in the most sensitive way. Just as she thinks it can’t be worse, he can’t take her any further, he replaces his thumb with his tongue, his lips around her in the most beautiful way.

Her head spins. She makes the smallest of sounds, her knees bending involuntarily as she curves her body into his own, wanting more, needing more. The further he goes, the more she comes undone, the closer she comes to the knot in her stomach breaking from being so tight. The louder she gets. The whinier her cry for more.

And then he stops.

“You are not thinking of him,” he says, lips glistening with her slick beneath the lights around them. Her breathing is so heavy she can’t reply, but she knows it is not a question. Her lips part, but she can’t speak. Her fingers digging into her thigh become tighter. “Tell me.”

“No,” she chokes out, feeling his tongue across her.

He pulls his fingers from her promptly. “Say it.”

“I am not thinking of him,” she finally confirms, wishing to feel him again.

A smirk ghosts over his lips. He releases her thigh. He moves back from her. Before she can protest, ask him why, he strips the tunic covering his top from his shoulders, little care for the buttons in his way. Each item of his clothing removed, agonisingly slow, but a final moment for her to turn away.

She doesn’t. She wouldn’t.

And his voice, dark and laced with triumph, whispers a final claim, his whispered promise. “You never have to again.”

He moves with purpose. No hesitation or doubt. He knows and he wants to devour her. His hands trace over he skin, slowly, as he places himself above her. Still afraid to take her eyes away, not wanting to disappoint him, she cannot look anywhere but right at him.

It is like he is the first to ever touch her skin. He maps it all. He wishes to know everything. In that moment, he was the first. Nothing like this has occurred. This was different.

His lips find the curve of her throat, the hollow beneath her collarbones, and the trembling pulse beneath her skin. She burns beneath him. He looks to her with concern, only for a second, then he knows.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, breath hot against her skin. She shakes her head no, but can’t find any words. He stills her shaking body with his grasp, though each touch makes her want to lean into him. It amused him, somehow. “You want me.”

She hums. His hand that cups her chin and makes her look to him causes her to gasp.

“Say it.”

“I want you.”

His hand reaches down, guiding his cock so the very tip sits at her entrance. She exhales sharply, her head tilting back, her body aching beneath his touch. She arches her back, expecting more, wanting more, but he was the one in control here. He was the one that would give her what she wanted.

“Who do you belong to?”

She barely whispers her answer. “You.”

He would not need to hear it twice.

A gasp leaves her lips as he pushes his length into her. His head falls to her, pressing into her shoulder and neck as his hips fall flush against her. He doesn’t move. Just for a moment, just until he thinks she’s settled.

He raises his head. His eyes search for hers, seemingly wrecked when he finds her. He lets his forehead rest against hers. It was so plain. So ordinary. Yet it meant everything.

He pulls out from her, slowly as before, a knowing smile on his lips. Her hands find his bicep, nails catching his skin, digging in further as he ruts into her, then again, the again. He had conquered the stars, and now he had conquered her.

She moans his name. He must like it. Every time the sound leaves her lips she speeds up. He well and truly ends up fucking her. Devouring her. And Maevela? She can barely breathe. She forgets anything other than him. His love for her. His body. Him.

He brings his lips to hers, feverishly kissing her as his legs begin to stutter. He would not last long – yet neither was she. Masterful with his hands, equally so with his body. He waited for her, a small sign as her whines, moans, whatever they could be called, become louder, harder to conceal behind a veil. Her body shakes, closer to coming undone.

He does not let her breathe. He does not let her think. His hand, large, wraps around her own, entwining their fingers as he starts to falter. Just one look in the eyes, the rope finally snapping, every part of her coming undone. It gets him, too. He holds her, fills her with his warmth, and stays even longer until he knows he is fully spent.

But his body was not done, she knew that – he knew that.

He pressed another kiss to her lips. Whispered her name as dark as the midnight sky. He had waited so long. This was not ending so soon.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

a/n: thanks for reading! promise I didn’t just main character maevela extremely hard. I had to destroy her and magnus’ relationship for a reason. m41 will be kind to them!!!

#horus x oc #horus x reader #primarch x oc #primarch x reader #horus lupercal #warhammer 30k #warhammer 40k #primarch #lua.wrt

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