#I will reference Nykona in everything with Corax I swear to god because I love him

[moodymisty]

Hi absolutely love your primarch fics

Could i request a corvus corax x reader. The poor bird boy needs more love. Maybe something fluffy i do adore the fics where the primarchs are more human and they get a break.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: Ok so I decided to kind of combine these two also, since they both seemed to work together. This isn't fully NSFW, but there is some lewd elements. I hope that is acceptable to you both.

This is also my first time writing Corvus, and I haven't delved into his lore like I have with some of the other legions. So I apologize in any deviations from his canon and any inconsistencies in this fic apart from the obvious 'primarchs in love' ooc-ness.

Summary: Diplomacy has always been dreadfully boring.

Relationships: Corvus Corax/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW but it's pretty vague, I dunno what to call this I guess fingering? But it's not? hand grinding/rubbing I guess It'll make sense I promise, Voyeurism kink, General 40k mentions so war death all the usual

Word Count: 1714

"You shouldn't have brought that thing here."

The rattly, nearly wheezing voice comes from somewhere out of your sight, and you don't pay any mind to it from how mumbled and furious it seems. You assume it's directed at another, and not yourself. No one has any possible reason to speak with such anger at you, after all; At least as far as you're aware. The fabric of your clothing is wrinkled at the front, and you brush it to flatten it. Perhaps you shouldn't have walked ahead.

"Are you deaf, girl?"

Suddenly you look up, and see someone standing to your side. The source of the voice earlier, you presume, judging by it's similar rasping tone.

Head to toe they are adorned in various cybernetic enhancements, even more so than what is visible to you, judging by the odd, inhuman bulging beneath his ornately decorated copper robes. The metal, hooked fingers of his left hand gesture to the raven perched comfortably atop your left shoulder.

"That, shouldn't be here."

The small metal tubings coming from his neck seem to muffle his speech in some way, and there is a distinct tremor to both his motions and his speech. You don't know if it's the sheer volume of his anger like an engine overheating about to explode, or simply something his extensive cybernetic work has yet to or is unable to fix.

The raven, still unnamed by you, snaps it's beak in the direction of the man's metal finger getting too close to itself and it's keeper, letting out a squawk when the man instantly retracts his hand back close to his peculiarly shaped torso. The raven only then returns to preening your hair, or at least attempting to.

"I think I can bring it where ever I want, thank you."

With no surprise he seems completely shocked by your adamant refusal to listen, no doubt not expecting it in the slightest. You don't know if he hasn't noticed the Aquilla and the symbol of the XIXth on your clothing, or if he just simply doesn't care.

"Unbelievable; You embarrass yourself acting such a way- And where did that, thing, even come f-"

"It was a gift."

The sharp corners of this fortress's halls effectively hid Corvus for a good while until he was quite close, the pitch black of his armor seemingly almost eating the light that shined onto it instead of reflecting it. His hair does the same, flowing down past his jaw and laying against the collar of his armor. He is followed by a retinue of seven, Nykona included among them. Despite all the other Astartes leaving their jetpacks behind because of such tight quarters, Nykona elected to still wear his. The advantage of his skill with it is too great for him not to have for any possible scenario.

Even if this world seems intent on coming peacefully, someone like Corvus is going to take no chance on the matter. You would be of no surprise to find out that there with Raven Guard scattered across this fortress, and along the rocky faces surrounding it.

The man looses color like a draining sink, what little blood left in his body leaving his face and worsening his pallid complexion. He instantly moves to bow, before rising, pointing towards you and instantly breaking any previous respect he might have gained.

"Lord Primarch?! What is your r-"

"That raven was my first courting gift to her."

As if his face couldn't get any paler, it somehow seems to upon the realization that he'd just insulted the new lover of the Primarch who holds this world's neck in a noose trap. The Shadow of the Emperor sits moored just in the planet's outer atmosphere, ready at any moment. Corvus need only give the word.

Had Corvus the desire, he could simply level this rock until it was nothing but ash beneath the treads of his boots. But he was perhaps a bit more human than some of his brothers, and given the planet had relatively vast infrastructure and plentiful resources, he had elected diplomacy. To make use of said infrastructure, rather than simply leveling it and starting over.

You hear a soft sound; The crackling of a vox channel being used between the Astartes helmets. It's a subtle sound you've gotten keen to. They're talking to each other on their private channel, but about what you have no idea.

The one left of Corvus, not Nykona, is who speaks up.

"What are our orders, My Lord?"

Corvus gestures down the hall at the end of which lies the grand meeting room you had been moving towards, before getting interrupted. The counciler that once had the intent to scold you now stands frozen, fearful of the Primarch's lack of interest in his existence.

"Two post at the door. The rest with me."

The Primarch begins walking forwards and nearly through the man, had he not stumbled out of the way.

Corvus need only take one look at him, to send the man scuttering back towards his peers. You follow beside Corvus, and one of the Astartes slows his gait ever so slightly to allow you to do so.

The four Astartes spread across the meeting room once you enter, all placing themselves near points of entry like windows. It's nowhere near as large as something you would see on Terra, but it's more than sizable to need a few Astartes to cover it's corners.

However, you had entered the room with five- you notice a group of candles almost blow out from an invisible wind, but you elect to look away from it.

A myriad of profuse apologies on behalf of and from their compatriot fill the air, mixed between bowing and spouting of enough titles to fill a stew pot; Only once it concludes do you finally sit. They must've heard the altercation from moments ago, and you struggle not to show amusement at the theatrics. But after that moment, only a feeling of boredom remains.

In the deep recesses of your mind, perhaps one sicker than you might wish it, you lament Corvus's choice of diplomacy.

It's longer, far more tedious, and has you spending all of your energy speaking with stuffy priests and diplomats that has your mind aching in either boredom or annoyance. Or at worst, anger. Like moments ago in the hall. With something such as war, the goal is at least on first impression, simple and obtainable. Diplomacy requires a firm hand, yet gentle, and results in having a legion of Astartes figuratively chomping at the bit.

Thankfully, Corvus has Imperium agents and his own diplomats to do most of the gentle talking. Corvus is far too blunt and tight lipped for these sorts of things, and you aren't on your best behavior after the incident in the hall. You swear that man might actually just collapse dead if Corvus spares him one more glance.

But the Primarch seems disinterested, though not much to your surprise. What is a surprise however, is when he seems to decide to find a way to occupy his mind elsewhere. On matters perhaps a bit more interesting to him.

His hand lays on your thigh. It's heavy; The ceramite of his armor adds a considerable heft. You look up at him curious and receive nothing back in return. He has always been impeccable at hiding his emotions behind an mask of complete indifference, and only sometimes does it fall off. You only catch his dark eyes for a moment before he looks elsewhere, the sunlight colored through the stained glass and shining on his pale skin.

His hand trails further up your thigh, though it doesn't much have to given the sheer size of his hand in comparison to your body. He might perhaps not be the largest of all the Primarchs, but that doesn't mean his body is any less gargantuan compared to your own.

The raven, which has been largely silent since sitting, shifts from your shoulder to his, content with it's higher perch. Your clothing bunches and wrinkles underneath his armored fingers, before the outside of his armored palm presses against your cunt. You feel a jolt of lighting go up your spine, and it's a struggle not shift your shoulders forward as he applies a non-stop pressure to your most sensitive areas.

You put a hand on his fingers and attempt to peel them away, but they stay firm. It's like trying to pry away the fingers of a marble statue. There is absolutely no chance in doing so and now you sit at the mercy of whatever he wishes to do to you. A question that will get no answer, as you glance upward again his watch his stoic face glance from person to person. As if completely unaware or uncaring of what he is doing.

He is intent to try your patience, it seems. You lean slightly forward as your nerves make you fear of anyone being able to see what's happening beneath the table; As you know there is at least one cloaked Raven Guard somewhere in the room. If he was behind you, he would be easily able to see. Especially as The Primarch's hand begins to move, unsatisfied with simply forcing his way into the front of your mind with just his still pressure. Each movement he makes makes your body feel hotter, like you're going to boil alive despite the cool air

"And mandatory requisitions..."

Negotiations seem to be doing well, from what murmurs you pick up. But you're too busy tensing your thighs as Corvus rubs the side of his hand against your clothed cunt to notice. His armor is unyielding, pressing against you firm and forcing your thighs apart slightly no matter how hard you fight it. You'd be hard pressed to have anything come to mind at this point. Slowly and with every muscle in your body tensed, you attempt to let out a deep, heavy sigh without casting any interest your way.

You cross your ankles, and put your chin in the nook of your index finger and thumb, placing fingers over your lips in an attempt to simply look bored. Your other hand grasps onto the first two fingers of his hand for dear life, desperately trying not to even make a single movement out of place let alone make a noticeable sound. You can feel the way your undergarments slide against your cunt, soaked and crying for it to stop, and for it to continue until you finally come.

"We can construct a new harbor..."

You've completely lost the path of what's happening around you, thighs quivering from how tight you have them pressed together around Corvus' hand. But his hand still moves between them up and down against your clothed cunt, unimpeded.

A harsh breath is all you let out of your nose as you feel your stomach tense as you come against him through the layers of fabric, feeling like you're being watched by a million eyes. But none are, except for him.

Through that flawless, neutral expression, he glances downward at you before he pulls his gauntlet from between your thighs and rests it back against the massive wooden tabletop. You could tell the look in his eyes. He lets you settle down from the high in silence, in a room that feels like a stage. You have no possible idea of how long you'll be stuck here, as your clit throbs in aftershocks.

You look away from his dark eyes before they trap you for good, and lament the wet, sticky feeling against your undergarments as you shift in your seat.