#The Warmaster's Wife

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Despite never having watched Dune, I’m obsessed with The Warmaster’s Wife (I literally read it at least once a week! I was wondering if uou could write a something in the same ‘verse as that from your prompt list - either 13 or 16!

Aw thank you so much 🥹🥹🥹

While you may hardly have noticed your husband's absence just a year ago, his lack of presence is like a void now. You know, logically, that he's likely alright. He's not in some far-flung corner in the galaxy. He's merely on the other side of the planet, on maneuvers with his men.

Still, you can't help but wonder if he's alright. If something were to go wrong, how would you know? Who would tell you?

--

When you hear the click of the door lock a day sooner than you're meant to, you leap up out of your seat, practically charging down the hall. You hardly get a glimpse at Gurney before you're wrapping your arms around his shoulders, drawing him close. You hear the clatter of Gurney's things hitting the floor, and the thud of the door shutting behind him before he takes hold of you.

"Are you alright?" You mumble.

"I am. Are you?"

"'m fine. Just missed you something fierce."

"I missed you, too, sweet girl."

You smooth a hand up his back, resting it on his nape and allowing your eyes to close. You revel in the feeling of his body against yours, the rise and fall of his chest as he draws in a deep breath. You turn your head, peppering kisses along the side of his face, elating in the feeling of his cheek shifting as he smiles. He tips his head toward yours, pecking your lips gently, then leaning in for another kiss. You sigh softly, smoothing your fingers through his closely-cropped hair.

"You ought not hold me too long," He warns against your lips. You draw back just a touch, expression twisting in confusion before he adds, "I smell like a goat."

You giggle, cupping his cheek.

"Not nearly as bad. But I won't begrudge your cleaning up."

You step back, taking hold of his hand, urging him on before he can take his things up.

"I'll take care of them," You add, glancing back toward him. Gurney squeezes your hand, raising it to press a kiss to it.

"You're too good to me."

"Hardly," You mumble, turning away as your face heats at his tender praise. You lead the way into the bathroom and let go, walking to the tub and turning on the taps. You sit on the edge, adjusting the temperature and running your fingers under the stream to ensure it's not too hot. You glance back, gaze sweeping Gurney's body as he undresses. You avert your eyes again as he turns toward you.

"Set?" You ask.

"Yes."

You smile as he leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You reach back patting his cheek gently. His beard is overgrown a touch, but you don't mind it a bit.

"Take your time," You urge as you stand. "I'll start dinner."

Gurney doesn't let you go right away, instead resting his hands on your hips and drawing you close. Your gaze slips closed as his lips brush yours, then press warmly. You groan softly, sliding your hands over his biceps.

"You're certain you can't join me?" He murmurs, toying with the tie on the back of your dress. You blink up at him, at his sweet, desirous eyes, then bite your lip and nod a little.

"I suppose I could be persuaded."

[moodymisty]

Request: Horus, full-on breeding kink, no teasin' or quickies. Straight up pound town on his wife. The full Lupercal Special. Leave that woman whimperin' and unable to walk. Put a baby in that oven Mister Warmaster 🫡

Author’s note: I know it would largely be a horrid idea but I’d let all the Primarchs knock me up tbh.

Relationships: Horus Lupercal/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Breeding kink, Size difference, Slightly rough sex

Horus watches his men work, detailing their upcoming route as they prepare to depart from Terran space.

While the primarch is more than capable of multi-tasking, of listening into multiple different voices all giving out different information with ease, he also finds himself drifting off a bit.

Due to the length of many of these crusades, Horus sometimes elects to leave you on Terra in his personal wing of the palace. You don't like it- he doesn't either - but knowing the danger of these unknown paths he does it for the sake of your safety.

He may not particularly like Dorn, at least his stiff and unfriendly personality, but he knows the man has built the greatest and most impenetrable fortress humanity has yet seen. It's one of the few places he can leave you where he won't worry.

This last evening, his final one with you for what will more than likely be months, he made sure to make it one that would be remembered.

"Horus! M-more, please, more!"

Knees almost by your ears Horus drove his cock into you as deep as he could possibly go and past it, listening to you squeal as the thick base of his cock stretched you almost impossibly wide. You felt so tight, warm and wet; Horus wonders in a sadistic, selfish way if your body has been ruined and reformed to fit only him by his rutting.

With each thrust the bed groaned, creaking and cracking for mercy. Imperium builders struggled to form beds that looked appealing to the eye and the aesthetic of the palace that could also hold the full weight of a primarch, and settled somewhere in the middle. Though that middle ground didn't account for the added force Horus has put onto it, the frame threatening to break if he continued.

"Greedy, greedy girl. I spoil you too much,"

Horus chuckled at you, at the way one of your hands gripped his forearm as he pressed your left thigh against your stomach. The other laid in a similar position, knees by your ears, while your other hand grasped the pillow behind you for some semblance of support against him.

"You want me to cum in you again? Are you going to command a primarch?"

Horus loves to joke that you are his princess; His love that he'll give the very stars to if you only asked. That it's cute when you try and command him with your quiet, gentle voice.

You nodded, squealing and moaning as Horus thrusts into you and his hips slapped against your bruised thighs over and over. He forced his cum out of you each time, what wasn’t shoved out by the size of his cock and leaking out of you was sloshing around inside of you, filled to the brim.

"I want to come back from this crusade and see you with child. I am going to make sure of it."

You incoherently whined as your nails dug into his skin, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust.

He felt the way you tighten around him as you cum again, tears pricking in the corner of your eyes as his movements overstimulated you to almost pain. He could hear the dryness in your voice, from your whining and moaning, and you'll surely lose your voice tomorrow.

He had told you that you could be as loud as you wanted, but he wonders if you know that with astartes hearing, it's quite possible the guards outside could hear you. You would surely perish of embarrassment, but Horus is a boaster- and would love nothing more than for the entire palace and everyone inside of it hear how much you love when he fucks you.

“One more, Horus please one more,”

Horus chuckled. He wanted to give you one more; To fill you up one more time. He refuses to believe the Primarchs are sterile. You will get pregnant- he refuses to give in.

“Are you sure you have room? I don’t want you wasting it.”

He could feel how sticky you were, how much of his cum he had fucked out of you.

But he did give you one more despite his teasing, and one more after that, and only then did he finally pull out of you and listen to you whine in pain as the head of his cock popped past your entrance out of your abused cunt. More cum leaked from you without his cock to bully it inside, though he was sure it was only a fraction.

You fell asleep not long after.

He rose from his bed before the sun had risen, waking you up. The sleepy look on your face was so endearing as he kissed you goodbye, and you indeed had a sore voice. He had warned his men stationed as guard for his quarters that you were feeling a bit tired, woman’s troubles, and needed needed a few days of rest- they wouldn’t see much of you those few days. They didn’t pry or have any context and blindly accepted Horus’ orders, before he left some of his men on Terra and boarded The Vengeful Spirit satisfied.

"Will Lady Lupercal be alright on Terra?"

Tarik is the only member of the Mournival currently at the holotable, looking at his primarch with a typical astartes neutral expression. Horus' attachment to you has seemed to spread to them in some odd way, as if his geneseed did more than just alter their appearance; That they share a little bit of his emotions as well.

"I made sure she has everything she needs, she'll be fine."

Tarik gives an unimpressed hum. Horus raises his eyebrows and looks at the man curiously.

"You don't agree with my choice?" Tarik shakes his head, adjusting his jaw with a soft crack.

“The choice was not mine to make.”

Horus laughs. He can hear the discontent in his son's voice quite easily.

“She will be fine. I am sure we’ll have a letter from her soon enough.”

Returning back to the topic at hand Horus slots the memory of the previous night firmly in the back of his mind, where he could return to it later. These crusades always try his patience, so it'll be something to keep with him in those frustrating moments. To keep in mind what he has waiting for him.

He eagerly awaits for that letter; Hoping for it's content to show if all of his hopes and effort finally paid off.

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 4

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Mentions of Cannibalism, Choking

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Ok, so clearly I'm a big fat liar. I'm sorry this chapter also took ages. I think I'm just a slow writer lmao. Anyway, it was fun writing this so I hope you guys enjoy it. As always, thanks for all the lovely comments I appreciate them a lot. Take care and have a good one!

"Where is he?" you snarl as you march through the halls gripping Iassa's choker. "Where is the na-Baron?" Your voice a threat.

"He is doing his morning drills, my lady," Zora, your new servant chases after you, growing increasingly panicked, "he trains with the Warmaster."

You pick up your pace, "Take me to him." When Zora hesitates, you yell, "Now!"

When you arrive, Feyd-Rautha is sparring with who you assume to be the Harkonnen Warmaster in a shallow recessed pit in the center of the training room.

"Where is she?" you call from the doorway, your voice filled with vitriol.

Your unexpected presence catches Feyd-Rautha off-guard and his sparring partner manages to cut his right abdomen through his shield. He growls at the Warmaster and snaps his head to you, "I am preoccupied at the moment, my lady."

"Where is Iassa?" your glare pierces through him.

"Who?" he asks genuinely confused.

Your grip on the choker tightens, "Don't pretend. The servant girl assigned to me. You left this in my room, didn't you?" The realization he had snuck into your quarters while you were asleep quietly creeps on you. "What have you done with her."

"Ah," he tilts his head, ignoring his bleeding wound, "I thought about just cutting her tongue out." A smirk grows on his lips, "but my darlings were hungry."

It was only then you noticed his concubines in the room, lounging in a corner of pillows. Their sharp-toothed grins only stoked your fury.

You scoff in anger, "because she revealed your farce? Are you so insecure?"

Is cocky expression evolves into a glare. "Leave us," he orders, eyes staying on yours. Servants flood out of the room asking with the Warmaster but it seems his pets were exempt from this command. "Why do you cry for a girl you knew less than two days?"

He was right. Why do you care so much? You were hardly 'close' with Iassa. You've had servants on Caladan and you were never particular with any of them. Would you anger for them the same way? Why must you suddenly be a paragon of justice? And at the risk of the Harkonnens' contempt?

When you remain speechless, the na-Baron continues, "You may not be familiar with slaves but here, their death is inconsequential—save for the economics of it all."

"Is that so?" You look at his pets then back at him. Your breath is dragon-like and your tone hardens, "then relieve your concubines."

"What?" Feyd-Rautha's low voice echoes through the room. His concubines hiss at you from their raised platform.

You stand taller, shoulders back, still clutching Iassa's choker in your hand, "If I am to be your wife, I demand you take no other women."

He takes a moment to determine how serious you are being, then decides it doesn't matter. He walks up the steps surrounding the pit and you aren't given time to react before he has your neck in his grip. "You are in no place to demand such things, Atreides." His black gritted teeth at the last word match the darkness of his voice.

Your hands fly to claw at his wrist, "How dare you lay a hand on me." You struggle against his unrelenting grip, "Let go of me!"

He leans down to your ear, "You're a feisty one, aren't you, little hawk?" You feel his hold continue to tighten and panic rises in your chest. Before you can be rendered speechless, you make a decision.

"UNHAND ME."

The Voice echos from your mouth seizing Feyd-Rautha's mind and his hand releases your throat. As you gasp desperately for air, he attempts to recover from the haze of the mental intrusion. When he finds his bearings, you see the thrill in his dark eyes. Witch, you can almost hear him say.

"Aren't you just full of surprises," he smirks.

"And I will have many more," you say bitterly. Straightening your dress, you regain your self-assured stance and meet his eyes with a cold stare, "Be rid of your harpies before we are wed or I will kill them myself."

You don't spare his concubines a glance as you turn to leave. You don't see the way Feyd-Rautha looks at you, head tilted, as you storm off.

You dismiss Zora and lock yourself in your chambers. Sprawled out on your bed, you stare up at the dark gray ceiling and question what could have possibly possessed you to challenge Feyd-Rautha the way you did. You go back and forth on whether or not it was an overreaction but eventually chalk it up to the Atreides' fiery defiance. Certainly, it wasn't the brightest decision but you sense that your father and brother would not have condemned it. Your heart is still pounding from the encounter. And the flicker in Fey-Rautha's eyes—you dismiss the idea that he might have enjoyed it.

You had hoped to hide your mother's training for longer. She had trained you and Paul in The Voice and Prana-Bindu. As a high-born lady, you could have been sent to a Bene Gesserit School in your formative years, but it was decided against due to Baron Vladimir's thinly veiled aversion to The Sisterhood. So, Lady Jessica resolved to teach you in secret. You were grateful for it anyway as you didn't have to be separated from your family. You think about how your mother would be able to continue to train Paul without you. You had always been more adept at The Voice than him. Now, he has the opportunity to surpass you. The thought triggers your competitiveness against your sibling but the feeling quickly melts into melancholy. You miss him. You miss all of them.

Is this to be your life? Married to a twisted psycho who feeds his concubines human flesh and kills people you care about? You sit up and place Iassa's choker carefully in the drawer of your nightstand. You hoped she didn't fear you as she did the Harkonnens.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. You had really hoped no one would bother you for the rest of the day but then you feel the emptiness in your stomach. You had skipped breakfast that day to confront the na-Baron. When you open the door, Zora is holding a covered tray which you assumed, and hoped, to be lunch.

"Would my lady like to eat in solitude?" she asks after she sets your meal at the small table in your quarters. Your heart sinks. She is so young.

"Ah no, I would like you to stay if that's alright." You sit at your table and cut into your food while Zora stands politely to the side. "I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. The na-Baron—my fiancé—he has caused me some aggravation."

"It is quite alright, my lady," she says, her head bowed low.

After your meal, you ask Zora to fetch you various projections on the planet of Giedi Prime from the Harkonnen archives. You were hesitant to make the request considering the fate of your last servant but you hoped you managed to convince Feyd-Rautha you were not to be trifled with. Besides, what harm could you do by learning about flora and fauna.

You spent the rest of the day watching informative holograms about your new home's ecology and biodiversity. Apparently, one of the planet's greatest exports is wood from the Pilingitam tree which is prized for its pliability when freshly cut but sturdy hardness once aged and dried. It was also anti-fungal and naturally fire-resistant. It was a surprise you didn't see much of it. Everything in the fortress was cold stone and concrete. You wonder how beautiful furniture made out of Pilingitam must be when carved by a skilled artist.

That night, you make sure to lock your door and fall asleep to images of sprawling landscapes.

The following day was similarly spent, watching projections about Giedi Prime's geographical features. You were left undisturbed save for Zora's quiet knocks on your door to serve your meals. Your life as a baroness is days away so you might as well educate yourself. Although, you suppose you should probably focus on politics and history more than the planet's Obsidian Planes but you weren't really in the mood to learn of the Harkonnens' gruesome past right now. You would cross that bridge when you got there.

Come evening, you hear an unfamiliar knock at your door. Zora had already brought you dinner earlier so you are wary as you crack open the door.

"Hello, little hawk." Feyd-Rautha's tall figure looms past the doorway.

You stare him down, making no move to let him in.

He tilts his head slightly, "Would you really kill my darlings?"

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove

[lemon-russ]

The Unfathomable Burden Of Premonition

I had cursed thoughts and now curse them unto you :') Short and sad. (Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers)

CW: Sad, mentions of death

Ao3

Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye

Song: For the widows in paradise for the fatherless in ypsilanti - Sufjan Stevens

Even if I come back, even if I die Is there some idea to replace my life? Like a father to impress Like a mother's mourning dress If you ever make a mess, I'll do anything for you

Sanguinius paced the elegant nursery.

The tiny, cherub like form of his infant son lay peacefully in his bassinet, a cradle of gold bars and red silks. One of his sons- the 7 foot tall astartes variety, not to be confused- had created the bed for his newest brother of sorts when Sanguinius announced that their Legion Mother was with child. They had all been so excited, and excited more when the baby was born with two little feathered wings, like Sanguinius himself.

The Greatest Angel, they jokingly called his son, playing off Sanguinius’ own moniker of The Great Angel.

He stepped to the bassinet's side once more, carefully leaning over and stroking the chubby cheek of his sleeping child. Little wings splayed, cherub-like cheeks and golden curls so much like his own. The only thing he'd gotten from the Legion Mother was his eyes.

Sanguinius wondered how else his son would be like him. Would he be creative? Empathetic and kind? Would he be wracked with the deep, gnawing rage Sanguinius had to constantly subdue? Or worse, would his dreams be plauged with visions of things yet come to pass? Things the Angel now grew increasingly concerned were going to happen, instead of his normal omens of things that may or may not.

No, these new dreams were far too specific. No vauge metaphor, no blurry half remembered shapes. A clear, defined vision of his brother, the warmaster himself, standing over Sanguinius’ corpse.

Would he see his sons first birthday, he wondered. He knelt beside the cradle, laying his arms and head on the side so he could watch the tiny movement of the baby's belly as he breathed.

His wife had explained many of her homeland traditions for children, and a first birthday was a large celebration. She already was planning for it, and their child was only a month old.

He gently pet his son's gold curls. Maybe the vision of his death happens centuries from now. Maybe his son will become a strong, grown man before he is forced to handle his father's demise. Or maybe it happens soon, and he misses all the milestones a baby goes through as they to navigate their new bodies and the world around them.

When his wife told him she was pregnant, one of his first thoughts was how excited he was to have someone to fly with- if the child had wings, she had told him with a gentle smile. But of course his child would have wings, he had told her, they will be more of an angel than he ever had been. He wouldn't have been surprised if they'd have come out with a golden halo of light to match.

Flying lessons. He hoped he got to give his son flying lessons someday. It had been trial and error for him. A lot of jumping off things and not quite making it. His primarch durability helped, but they didn't know the extent that his son inherited that resilience. If he couldn't teach him the tricks to taking off and landing, would he have to repeat Sanguinius’ methods? He imagined the little cherub flinging himself off a tall rock, flapping his wings and crashing to the sands. A smile crossed the Great Angel’s face at the thought of the little boy finally staying in the air for a moment before falling once more. He'd be so excited, just like the first time Sanguinius had managed to flap mid air.

He'd write a guide, he thought. Just in case. A manual to flying, assuming his son had similar wings to his own. Then he could at least have guidance while his poor mother watched him careen himself off of cliffs.

He swallowed back a growing lump in his throat, reminding himself he had no idea if he'd be gone sooner or later. It was just as likely that he expirenced all the wonders and tribulations of fatherhood as not, he lied to himself. The growing bookshelf of handwritten tomes in the corner of the nursery were just safeguards.

There was a good chance his son would never need to sit by the little library and read his father's notes on dealing with a red thirst, should he inherit it. Hardly a chance the boy would borrow a leatherbound tome from the Legion Mother's desk, then sit in his fathers old office, a tear stained journal page open, reading about his father meticulously sculpting a rose from gold to present to his wife as his son painted his mother a picture of the flower for her birthday.

A tear fell to the bed, discoloring the deep red silks of the baby's sheets. Sanguinius sighed, dabbing his eyes and composing himself. He gently leaned in an kissed the infant's tiny forehead before crossing the elaborately decorated nursery and sitting back at the little writing table he'd brought in. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before picking his pen up once more and returning to the almost filled pages of another leatherbound book. What had he wanted to write? Ah, yes- he thought, as he titled the top of the page “Lessons in flying”.

Sanguinius turned back a moment, eyeing the strewn toys of the nursery. The walls were decorated in the finest gifts his genesons had been showering the child with. Many paintings depicting a cherub in golden light. One statue was a recreation of the baby in his fathers arms, moments after being born. A large, hand sewn plush bear sat in a corner, guarding the babe from bad dreams.

There was very little chance his son would need these notes and lessons and journals, he once again lied to himself. He should be relaxing, maybe spoiling his wife, maybe trying to get his own neglected work done. He watched the baby breathe those tiny, fluttering breaths a moment more before turning back to his writing.

Just in case. He will write everything his son may need to ask a father. Just in case.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

His Moon

Summary: Horus learns that Lorgar has a daughter. The thought of his own child takes over his mind.

Horus/fem!OC, Emperor and Lorgar's daughter (OC, platonic), Lorgar/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, kidnapping

Word count: 1002

Song: The Cure - Lullaby

This fic was born because of this beautiful post.

The Warmaster looks at one of the many contracts and freezes, unable to sign. Memories of brighter days on Terra capture Horus. The primarch simply cannot, cannot sit behind the documents. The title of Warmaster weighs heavily on his shoulders. The responsibility of continuing the Crusade as a leader weighs heavily. He wants simple human affection.

Horus loved his sons. Everyone was dear to him, especially the members of Mournival. Yet they were war machines. Perhaps much better than ordinary people, but the primarch was connected to them only by gene-seed. Pure science and controlled selection.

It was not the same as the childhood of the primarch himself. When his Father taught him astronomy, the art of war and told him stories of the past. It’s an unforgettable feeling to look at the man in front of you and listen to his every word. While you yourself are still a boy who has not seen the world and has not known its taste.

Neither brother could understand Horus. Couldn't take the place of the Emperor's favorite son. Because that's how it was. The Warmaster was found before anyone else - and therefore Terra is not just a home by name. No matter how hard some of them, especially Lorgar, tried to earn the Emperor's love. All their attempts were doomed to failure.

Even worse, the primarch of the Word Bearers had caused real anger with his behavior. Horus thought that everything would end with the burning of the Monarchy. Until he was told interesting news. Lorgar had a wife. One of the civilians of Colchis, with whom he... fell in love. And he took her to himself. But that was not all.

She was pregnant with the primarch's child.

Something clicked in the Warmaster’s head and he decided to visit the Imperial Palace. Discuss new trade routes, diplomatic meetings, military tactics. Horus did not want to show his excitement. But he so wanted to see a new life. From his primarch blood.

***

“Her name is Erda.” - The Emperor cooed over the cradle with a toy in his hands. A sight unusual even for Horus. - “Unlike all of you, she grows much slower. Even than an ordinary person. But this has its own joy. She will stay this small longer. Isn’t she a beauty, my son?”

It is difficult to discourage a primarch. But little Erda did it. Unfortunately for Lorgar, his daughter will remain on Terra with the Emperor forever. Daughter. Horus says the word again in his mind, tasting it. It sounded like family; love is hidden behind this word.

She is very small, half asleep, but still carefully watches the wooden horse that her current father carved. The girl was bathed in love from birth. And although she was surrounded by the gold of Terra, her lullaby, soft blankets and toys emitted a moderate light. Gentle. Almost lunar.

The girl reaches out and grabs the horse. Smart eyes wait expectantly for some action. Until the Emperor, with a smile that even Horus has not seen, begins to squeeze her. Erda bursts into laughter - the most beautiful melody the Warmaster has ever heard.

"Yes. She's a beauty."

 And Horus can't help but want to take her. But she is still not his child.

***

There is a stir in the chambers and Horus looks up. A smile spreads across his face by itself. The serf girl cleaned his armor with zeal, wanting to scrub away the hardened dirt. The primarch liked best when it was she who looked after his armor and cleaned his room.

At first, the primarch thought that the reason was that she was the best at performing her simple duties. But no, other serfs did a better job. The man had to admit that he simply enjoyed her company. She was nice. A pretty and kind girl - her quiet presence was calming.

Everyone had to look at him with adoration. The Warmaster deserved it. And the serf was no exception, but her devotion was more tender. As if she was always nearby, as if it should be so. If Horus had any tempting thoughts, he suppressed them.

But now... they came out again, taking over his mind. Lorgar was not afraid to admit that he had fallen in love. He lost his wife only because he was terrible at his duties. His pathetic brother incurred the wrath of the Emperor only because he could not renounce the senseless traditions of Colchis.

But Horus was the favorite son. Horus was the best among his brothers, a magnificent warrior and politician. Everyone loved him and everyone wanted to please him. It was not for nothing that his Father gave him the title of Warmaster. The primarch worked as hard as he could, couldn't he take some nice little liberties?

The girl stops and looks sharply at the primarch. Apparently she felt someone else's gaze. Horus can't help but stare at the way her cheeks grow warm and her hands clutch the rag to her chest. So fragile and tender compared to him. She needs only the best care. Especially when her belly will be filled with new life.

"My Lord?"

Even though she is a serf, Horus wants to do everything right. The girl was already amazed by the primarch’s aura. There was no point in putting pressure on her or forcing her to do anything. A man could be a Warmaster not only on the battlefield, but also in romance.

And he really wanted to win such a little heart. Besides, then Horus will have a story for their child about how he met his mother. Omitting details about the imbalance of power.

“Have you ever thought about becoming a mother?”

The last word permeates the entire essence of Horus and he can barely restrain his carnivorous smile. Soon, very soon, his Luna Wolves will be holding a little brother or sister in their arms. It just needs to wait.

And then a lullaby will also appear in his chambers.

[ms--lobotomy]

WH40K MASTERLIST

PRIMARCH LISTS "Would you still love me if I were a worm," [gn] First Kiss [gn] How many geese do you think I can take in a fight? [gn] Bear Prep Time [gn] Primarchs and Praise Kinks (NSFW) [f] Are y'all down for some heresy? (NSFW) [f] PRIMARCH COCK (NSFW) [gn]

EMPEROR OF MANKIND Perpetuals [f]

MALCADOR THE SIGILITE Girldad (Platonic) [f]

LION EL'JONSON Building a Family (NSFW) [f] He's Old Now, That's Pretty Cool [f]

FULGRIM Insecure [gn] - [x] [x] Daemon (NSFW) [f] How to Handle Someone from the 3rd Millenium? (feat. Guilliman) (NSFW) [f]

PERTURABO Caught Princess [f]- [x] [x] Slice of Life [gn] A Gift (NSFW) [f] Legion Mother (NSFW) [f]

JAGHATAI KHAN Riding (NSFW) [f]

LEMAN RUSS The Thing You Told Me Not To [f] Wife Guy Leman Russ (NSFW) [f] Sandwich (ft. Magnus, NSFW) [gn] Sleepy (Drabble) [gn]

ROGAL DORN Falling Asleep [f] Fertile (NSFW) [f]

KONRAD CURZE Follow Me [gn] Y'ALL FUCK (NSFW) [f] Under the Weather [gn] First With a Partner [gn] Finger [gn]

SANGUINIUS "I have done nothing wrong in my life," [gn] Bleed [gn] Egg (NSFW) [f] Get Bent Bald Boy (ft. Horus) [gn]

FERRUS MANUS Nightmares (NSFW) [f] Episode [x] [x] [gn] Eurydice [gn, they pronoun used] Under the Table (NSFW) [f?]

ANGRON You Smoke Angron Out And Then He Eats You Out (And More) (NSFW) [f] First Night (Post Nails) [gn]

ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN Painfully Hard in Public (NSFW) [f] How to Handle Someone from the 3rd Millenium? (feat. Fulgrim) (NSFW) [f]

MORTARION The Merman [gn, afab body]- [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8 (NSFW)] [9 (NSFW)] Aftercare (NSFW) [gn]

MAGNUS THE RED Sandwich (ft. Leman, NSFW) [gn] Pounding Magnus the Red in the Butt (NSFW) [m] Sick [m]

HORUS LUPERCAL Warmaster (NSFW) [f] Belt Loops [m] Songbird (NSFW) [f] Get Bent Bald Boy (ft. Sanguinius) [gn] Hope You Don't Have Tokophobia For This One [f]

LORGAR AURELIAN Ancient Lullaby [gn]

VULKAN "IMMA BEAT YOUR ASS UP" [f] Sleeping In (NSFW) [m]

CORVUS CORAX

ALPHARIUS

EZEKYLE ABBADON Companion (NSFW) [f]

CALLADAYCE TAUROVALIA KESH Go get Him, Cal! [gn] gay sex (NSFW) [f]

CATO SICARIUS I don't even know. It's smut. Have fun. (NSFW) [f] Peg That Blue Boy (NSFW) [gn]

TYPHUS THE TRAVELER Lab Rat (NSFW) [f]

OCS Hutri (Iron Hands, quasi-husbandry?)- First Minis- [x]

Aion (Alpha Legion)- [x]

...and more to come! remind me to pretty up my list i have no idea how to do that on mobile

[egrets-not-regrets]

My silly thoughts on Guesthouse of the (Lost) Astartes Series

Tagging: @kit-williams, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog,

@bispecsual, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts

Here are some of my own thoughts/headcanons/comments while writing this story:

Erriox loves Lenora very very much, and Lenora feels the same. Though it took them longer before their bond truly became a mate bond. Whereas Alcyon and Malaran has an intense bond with Amelia and Ben respectively, resulting in Malaran considering Ben, his child, and Alcyon considers Amelia his mate/wife within a very short period of time. It wasn't exactly difficult for Alcyon to take the role that Amelia's ex left behind, to be honest.

Potential number of Ben’s dads = - 1 + 2. Problem here would be that Malaran and Alcyon might start butting heads if Ben starts calling either of them 'dad'. Especially if Ben starts calling Alcyon 'dad'. As chaos space marines are rather possessive of their bonded humans.

The deeply religious consider chaos space marines as demons and of the devil. Any one who is bonded to one are either ousted or must be 'saved'. Since Ben is the firstborn (only) son, they were trying to 'save' him from Malaran's 'influence'. His mother (Amelia) already 'fell' (bonded with a chaos Iron Warrior), but since she's the wife and not truly family, ousting her was not a big issue. They can raise Ben themselves to make sure he walks the right path in life.

Erriox just wants to mack on Lenora. Malaran's a prick for calling him out.

Alcyon, despite being a chaos space marine, has some degree of propriety. Put it this way: say he has it in his head of wanting to bend Amelia over the admin desk of the medical wing and take her right there, he'll think it, but he ain't gonna say it out loud or at least not until when they're in private. Malaran doesn't have as much of a filter.

Lenora prefers that Amelia remember her as a responsible adult, and not take children for high-speed joyrides chases on winter roads. She is a decent driver, but even that was pushing her skills to the limit and she heavily relied on luck to get them through okay.

Erriox has seen Lenora drive, but never like the Tokyo Drift stunt she pulled. Poor man darn near had a heart attack. That was the first time he had to confront the fact that Lenora could've gotten seriously hurt or killed before his eyes and there was very little he could do to stop it as he was also dealing with the Black Templar at the time.

When Erriox and Malaran took a long time to get back to the base, that was the first time Lenora got scared that Erriox was going to die or was dead. To say the least, both of them had some reservations of this whole plan at some point, despite only outright saying so at the end.

Don’t leave a mess in Apothecary Osteron’s medbay. Medics are scary when angry. I picture him as a mix of Ratchet from Transformers and Unohana from Bleach. He has health and safety standards and it is important to keep his medbay clean. His poor staff JUST cleaned it, he's not about to make them do it again. Might as well get the three knuckleheads to do it since they were the ones who made the mess.

Alcyon once made children cry when he went to the medical ward to pick up Amelia, because he was so intimidating.

Also, Alcyon can’t purr like Malaran or Erriox. Man’s still learning. Amelia finds his attempts to purr cute and endearing despite sounding like something between a broken engine, snarl, and the lowing of needy tiger (or a lowing cow).

Warmaster be like “This bunch of chucklefucks just haaaaad to start shit with the goddamn Black Templar.” Now he has to do PR and negotiations to avoid too much bad blood with the Imperial Fists in the city. All he wanted was just one week without drama. His dang fault though. This wouldn't have happened if Amelia wasn't banned from contacting her son.

Amelia knows some Gothic. She knows enough, but not a lot. That's why she was blushing when Malaran made that comment.

Does she know that Alcyon pretty much considers her his mate/ wife? Yes, from his actions, but Alcyon had never outright told her. Sometimes he would call her by those names in Gothic as a term of endearment, but never told her what they mean. However, like she mentioned in the chapter, the wounds left by previous relationship is still pretty fresh. While she loves Alcyon deeply and returns his affections, at that point, Amelia's still pretty hesitant about calling Alcyon her lover.

Malaran can and will start shit, especially if it has anything to do with Ben. Also, he can be a little shit sometimes.

Meaning in floriography of the little bouquet of yarrow (Achillea millefolium) and dandelion on Alcyon’s desk. Dandelions symbolize hope, strength, resilience, and renewal. Yarrow has the double meaning of love and healing, and can also mean “I love you in spite of everything” or everlasting love. Like dandelions, it is also considered a tough hardy weed, which is representative of Alcyon’s physical character and th resilience of the bond itself.

Alcyon gifted the flowers to her as part of his apology for the fallout from his fight with the Black Templar at Ben's school. That was a massive fuck up on his part and he knew it. At first Alcyon didn't think much of it and thought that was in his right to challenge the Black Templar, with the intention of winning back Ben for Amelia, only to realize that it cost her the last chance to see her son. With Amelia not wanting to be near him nor see him for an extended period of time, and the bond backlashing onto him, it was causing Alcyon to start to lose his mind. Luckily, Osteron intervened and managed to convince Amelia to at least meet with him again. From there, Alcyon slowly made amends for his mistake. He fell hard for this woman and formed such an intense bond, so it was something he couldn't easily give up. His brothers advised him that human women loved flowers, so he ended up picking a bunch that was available at the time and gifting it to Amelia. It wasn't much and the way he presented them to her was kind of awkward and intimidating, but it was a start and his apology was genuine, and Amelia was touched by the gesture. To say the least, they spent that night making up for lost time in his room. She decided to the flowers left behind on his desk, to add "a pop of colour" to the grey utilitarian style of the room. Alcyon couldn't help but indulge her request. He later learned about the symbolic meanings of the flowers that he gave Amelia, and found it amusing and ironically fitting for what he was trying to say when he gifted them to her.

I think that bonds can be negatively affected and broken not just by death and distance, but also by major emotional trauma. Intense bonds, like between Alcyon and Amelia, are affected by the consequences of emotional trauma more harshly than normal bonds. How it could be saved just depends on how resilient the relationship is between the two parties and/or if they are lucky enough to have someone to intervene before that bond is broken. On the other hand, it is entirely possible that the affected space marine will hunt down his bonded human in an attempt to either save the bond from being broken or quell the psychic backlash. (Possibly becoming yandere in the process)

Love to know your thoughts as well!

[fractured-shield]

made more picrews again oops

it kind of hits different to actually visualize it but damn, idhren's wife and the guy he was with* before her really could not have more opposite vibes. i mean except for the "they both died and left him behind to grieve" part

*warmaster maithyr was driven by revenge for his husband's death and trying to lead a war and wanted a physical distraction from both, which he found in the council mediator who was a convenient sparring partner already...idhren came to love him, and thought he could be content with being what maithyr wanted, knowing he'd never reciprocate. he broke it off shortly before the war's end, shortly before maithyr died

oh yeah i also made another therien one. this is specifically from when she has different armor for Symbolic Purposes for the last little while. the armor choice is actually a very heartwarming statement on her part

tag list: @just-emis-blog @orions-quill @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle

[ilisteria]

“You are destined for things much greater than a mere cupbearer of the Warmaster, little one. There are plans for you, promises of status greater than mere serf or concubine,-”

I assume that you implied here that the reader has some sort of concubine adjacent role when they’re serving Horus. But I also find the idea that the reader isn’t in any kind of sexual relationship with Horus, and instead this is just Erebus’s version of a freudian slip, to be very funny. Like the guy got too excited and mentioned his intentions with you far too soon.

“Hello spouse- I mean spouse- I mean spouse-I mean spou- I mean… serf.”

Oh hey I didn't expect anyone to actually comment anything about the piece lmao

So the whole cupbearer/wife/personal serf thing is supposed to be a reference to some of the Horus x reader fanfics by people like moodymisty and I didn't think of how it would come across when read without that context.

The Freudian Slip interpretation is funnier though - I'd imagine at a later point the reader would be sitting in his lap post-Isstvan V and asking him what in the world he meant by that quote, and he'd raise an eyebrow and go "You weren't fucking the Warmaster?" in genuine confusion.

"No? He only thought of me an obedient servant, no more and no less."

"I believe I have been lied to..."

"So that entire incident with the room was an elaborate courting scheme?"

"...I suppose so, but it was not deception when I promised a greater fate, little one."

"And is the fucking me part necessary to the plan?"

"It was an...adjacent benefit."

"Does that mean you don't love me? :("

Cue intense sighing from Erebus

[what-the-flux]

Asura Appreciation Week Day 1 - OC Talk!

I cannot start off this week without talking about my man, the myth, the legend and my main for so many years, Oort the Truncheon! (and also the old namesake of this blog). Here is an (extremely simplified) history lesson (big post incoming and no read more EXPOSITION OR DIE): Born and raised in the outskirts of Rata Sum as an only progeny, his parents were prestigious researchers and scholars and were overachievers, accepting nothing less from their son. He had the best education possible and was accepted into the College of Dynamics, but he had become disillusioned with the whole system and asuran society in general and had no interest in being stuck in a lab or as he put it "a toady to the witless." He was always brilliant at metallurgy, fabrication and golemetric construction but he cared little for his studies as college wore on and he became unruly and a hard student to handle for his professors and his parents. He switched majors to Statics, coasted through before eventually dropping out right before he could graduate. His relationships with his parents and faculty and many of his peers shattered, he took up residence in the Undercube for a time and made a name for himself as a laborer and blacksmith, albeit with a foul and dangerous temper so had few friends. He ended up getting mixed up with a mysterious asura that won his trust before eventually blackmailing him and framing him for crimes she had been committing and revealing herself to be Inquest to boot. He ended up serving a stint in prison in Peacemaker HQ as a result.

Once out of the clink, Oort wasted no time in distancing himself from Rata Sum. Carrying not much more than his toolkit, a warhammer he forged himself and the clothes on his back he struck out for one of the furthest places away from Metrica he could manage: Hoelbrak. There he at least got along with more norn than he ever did with fellow asura and met who would become one of his closest friends and adventuring buddies. They traveled the length and breadth of the Shiverpeaks, Ascalon, the Steamspurs and the coastline of the Sea of Sorrows. She eventually joined the Priory, he the Vigil. Oort at this point had a bit of a reputation as being a competent but ruthless adventurer and his superiors were nervous he'd be a loose cannon but he quickly proved his mettle and reliability (though still hotheaded and with a habit of back talking), eventually earning the title of Warmaster. Though he himself is not the Pact Commander, he was present at all of the major campaigns and events that would transpire right before and after the forming of the Pact: Claw Island, the assault on Orr, the Fall of Zhaitan.

Over time and through the war in Maguuma, Warmaster Oort was renowned for his unwavering courage, ferocity, tactical mind and uncanny ability to survive things that would fell lesser individuals. Despite the conflicts and death and harrowing life he lead, he had time to fall for a powerful necromancer and would eventually marry, though sadly this relationship would also end badly for him later on. He would continue to serve in the Vigil with the events of Path of Fire into the Crystal Desert, collecting kills, scars and world weariness as he went. It wasn't until his worst near-death experience during the fight with Kralkatorrik in Thunderhead Keep and being buried under rubble and knocked into a coma for a week where he started to seriously evaluate the direction his life was taking. After Dragonfall, he declared he'd be going into semi-retirement from the Vigil.

This marked another low point for him. His wife had up and left, finding new ventures in an enclave in the Mists. He, knowing only conflict and battle now and being constantly on the move, was adjusting badly to a more peaceful life. He struggled for a time with the monumental trauma he had been carrying for so long but with the support of his new partners and the friends he had made over the years (whether he realized this or not), he would pick up the pieces of his broken self and built a homestead in Timberline Falls and find new purpose as a grandmaster weaponsmith and metallurgist, the passions he's had for his entire life finally realized.

That being said, his story is far from over. He still goes out and helps his partners Penny and Jaxxu with missions abroad, and he's been known to be convinced to help adventurers with especially dangerous ventures. And who knows what direction SotO will take and what sort of involvement he'll be in? (for those of you who read all this and stuck to the end, thank you so much for letting me ramble about one of my favorite and nuanced characters I've ever made.)

[fernsplaysthings]

Quick lil' sketch for today.

Faerylie // Sylvari // Revenant - Herald // Vigil - Warmaster

And also Ateyla's wife of a good many years now.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I just finished "The Warmaster's Wife". And

1. I never thought I'd feel those sweet, warm flutters in my stomach for Gurney Halleck, and yet here I am 🙃♥

2. I absolutely DREAD the concept of arranged marriage because my parents were married that way (most marriages in our country are still arranged) and lets just say I don't recommend that. I have also given up on finding love – because you don't really have much energy after spending seven years investing in someone only to find out you were just another notch in their belt. I still dread the idea of having to go through an arranged marriage because what if he is someone like my father (I ABSOLUTELY don't want that)? But this fic gives me hope that maybe it won't be all that bad. That it's possible to build and grow love this way too. That maybe there's a chance that love will still find me.

What I'm trying to say is, THANK YOU ♥

hi i have reread this ask many times and every time i have it makes me go like that ^^

[moodymisty]

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Brain rot brain rot brain rot

Summary: Sanguinus pins for someone he knows he cannot have; Horus’ lover.

Relationships: Onesided Sanguinius/Fem!Reader, Horus Lupercal/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Pining, Guilty wank, Masturbation, Sanguinius is in love with Horus' beloved and he's so torn about it, Does yanking one out to the thought of fucking your pseudo-brother's future wife qualify as a warning?

The door to Sanguinius' private chambers closes behind him with a heavy slam that shakes the wall, sending the Blood Angels outside to high alert. Sanguinius winces at how much he threw the door in his anger. Now they all know he's irritated. They’ll surely ask about it later, and he’ll have to brush it off or come up with some sort of excuse to keep his captains and commanders from worrying.

Rarely does Sanguinius let his gentle facade crack, but he couldn't help it. Not this time.

Sanguinius smiled as Horus approached him, a wide smile on the Warmaster's face. His expression was warm, pleased to see him.

"My brother! How are you?"

Horus came in close and raised his left hand, clapping Sanguinius' right shoulder and holding it there. Within moments the angel's face had faltered, as the sweet scent covering Horus' hand hit his nose.

It's you.

He smelled the gentle flowers of your perfume, the salt of your sweat, and overwhelming it all was the saccharine sweet scent of your cunt on his fingers.

Horus had pleasured you so recently, the bastard might have just done so and came to talk to him, while you were still panting in another room.

Sanguinius struggled to maintain his composure- as anger, loathing and jealously all heated to a boil within him. He had tried to ignore the obvious fact for months that Horus could touch you so intimately, unlike him. But to have it shoved in his face, to flaunt what he can't have, Sanguinius wanted to do nothing more than rip away his hand and shove Horus away from him.

Out of all of them, Horus was one of the few who actually seemed to enjoy the chatter, the parties and the diplomacy. At least outwardly; Horus has always been very good at hiding how he actually feels. So of course he would be the one out of all of them to find someone. You were the daughter of a lord, owning one of the galaxy's largest trading ports. Some of the materials needed to make rations for the astartes comes from your homeworld. It worked perfectly; Horus had closer command over the ability to feed his ever growing legion, and you both had fallen for each other like star crossed lovers.

If his relationship with you was purely transactional, diplomatic, Sanguinius could feel less guilt slipping between to steal a moment of your time. But he's barely spoken to you without Horus around. You smile at him politely and given him the proper respect; He's heard you utter his titles with only respect and reverence. All the while you stay latched to Horus' arm, the two of you deeply in love; And you none the wiser that an angel pins for you.

Why does he need you so badly? Is it because he knows he can't have you? Or because you speak so sweetly, and he sees the way you look at Horus and he wants that for himself. He’s wanted it since the first time Horus introduced you.

Sanguinius will never forget the day Horus proclaimed you his beloved, and he realized he was too late.

Sanguinus throws his weight down on the edge of his bed with a thud, it creaking and complaining under his abuse. The fabric of his clothing wrinkles underneath him, bunching upward. He puts his head in his hands, elbows digging into his thighs.

He sits in silence, the feathers of his wings tight and pulled close to his body, until he shifts his legs and groans at the feeling.

He's been avoiding thinking about it. Hoping it would go away. He can feel how hard he is against his thigh, the smell of you had triggered something deep within him that was uncontrollable.

It wouldn't be the first time.

Almost angrily Sanguinius pulls at his clothing to free his cock, and groans angrily at the way he'd already leaked against his thigh. His one hand still supports his head as he wraps the other around his shaft, with little gentleness or care. Unlike what he would imagine you would do- with the soft, delicate fingers of your own hands.

He would be so gentle with you; His hands would never bruise you, his fangs would never scar you. Unless you wanted those things, to have him treat you roughly. Then he would of course oblige.

His fist tightly slides along his cock, other hand pushing a chunk of hair from his face. His leaned posture makes a pocket of hot air in front of his face, flushing his skin. His hips nudge forward, trying to drive himself deeper into the warmth of own hand. His thumb brushes over the head of his cock, his slit, and he bites the inside of his bottom lip.

If he had done differently, would you be with him instead? He remembers shortly before you’d met Horus mentioning he needed to speak with planetary governors and Sanguinius had gave a pitying laugh; If he'd joined Horus, would things have changed? Would you be wearing gold and red instead of green?

Sanguinius groans, feeling his cock throb in his hand. It's working, he feels himself getting closer and closer stomach getting tighter, but it isn't what he wants. It will work, but he knows well that it won't leave him satisfied. if anything he'll feel more empty than he was before, until it eventually fades for more pressing matters.

But stars, if he closes his eyes tight enough, clenches his hand enough, he can just maybe imagine what it would feel like if it was you. It isn't warm enough, tight enough, wet enough, but he can just barely trick himself. The feeling of you underneath him, of him slowly trying to push his cock into you; It would barely fit but he's sure if he went slow, you could take it. Your legs would struggle to fit his hips between them, but you would try to open your legs as wide as possible just to fit him.

You would sound enchanting the entire time, he's sure of it. Your voice is so soft and sweet in comparison to the booming voices he's used to, he'd struggle not to be overwhelmed by your soft cries as he fucked you and pushed you to your limit. He knows you would already be so tight, but to feel your cunt tighten around him as you came he's sure he'd barely be able to handle it; His hand moving quicker over his cock as he loses himself in his own imagination.

He would fill you to the absolute brim until you mewled helplessly, stuffed full of his own cum and forced open by his cock. Afterwards you'd look up at him- only him. Maybe you'd beg him for more, asking your angel to fuck you again and again and again until you could barely walking without feeling his cum leak down your thighs, dripping from your sore little cunt.

Or maybe you'd raise a hand up, tuck a piece of hair behind his ear as his crown braids unraveled, before you hand gently brushed along the soft feathers of his wings. You'd smile again, maybe laugh, and speak his name. He's only heard you say it twice, every other time you've always called him Lord Primarch, and he has that moment seared into his memory.

"Thank you, Sanguinius."

The angel swears, biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes the bitter iron of his own blood. His cock throbs and pulses as he finally cums on and over his hand, letting out an uncharacteristic moan at the feeling of overwhelming release as his hand continues to slide up and down his own cock to milk himself dry. He hadn't realized how long it had been since the last time he'd done this; He'd never felt much desire to until you.

Finally he dispels himself from his own memory and opens his eyes, instantly coming face to face with mess on the floor and staining his boots.

Sanguinius sighs. He is quite the angel.

He knows he should return to the Red Tear; They are due to depart and return to Baal. And you'll return with Horus to the Vengeful Spirit, laying in Horus' bed as the Warmaster kisses your skin, and not him.

Getting up he rustles his wings to right his feathers, adjusting his clothes. He finds something to clean the evidence of his shame away and then once he's done, he leaves his quarters to go pretend he is happy for Horus once more.

[pyreofsunflowers]

Wives of the primarchs AU - Maisara Lupercal, wife to Warmaster Horus

AU tldr: Before even Horus was found, the Emperor and Malcador would have conversations about the Primarchs (what they would be like, how easily they would come to the Imperium, and of course the impending doom of the Heresy.) At one point, while the Emperor was speaking his worries of his son's tempers, Malcador suggested giving them wives. A good wife can keep a man in check, more so than his father or brothers.

The Emperor thought Malcador was joking at first, but as the Sigilite explained further, the Emperor realized he was serious. Instead of brushing off the Sigilite's words, the Emperor listened and allowed Malcador limited access to his genetech. Thus, each primarch was given a wife perfectly crafted to suit the ideals of himself and his home world's culture.

Maisara was a woman of many talents. The most visible being her beauty - after Gloria Maisara was regarded as the most alluring of the wives. But below the surface was a sharp mind poised for tactical thought, Maisara was a key player behind the scenes of many of her legions operations - earning her the nickname Warmistress after Horus' coronation.

As Horus fell to Chaos, Maisara followed him into the depths of worship, following her husband and the Gods with the upmost of loyalty. However, all was not well aboard the Vengeful Spirit. Horus' and Maisara's only daughter had fled the battleship in secret as her loyalties remained to the Emperor. And Ezekiel Abaddon was beginning to take a liking to his commander's bride. After Horus' death, Maisara fell into a bleak depression, but her suffering was not over - as Abaddon forcefully took her for himself and in the last years of her death she endured horrific abuse.

Maisara and Horus had one daughter, future Saint and Martyr Jessahla, and one son, Lieutenant Canaan of the 1st company.

I'm currently taking a break from writing, but I do plan on eventually starting again (there will be a post). But if you would like to read what's already been written, I shall direct you here. Https://archiveofourown.org/series/2698501.

This is just a short blurb for context. Please ask any and all questions!

[corriinos]

a starter for @atredieswarmaster

Irulan had been made a prisoner, a hostage of a war that her father began and Paul Atreides meant to end. She could not change that, could not go back in time and urge him to reconsider his choices. All that she could do was make the best of the cards that she had been dealt, which was why when Paul, the self-proclaimed Duke of Arrakis, had declared that he was to take her to wife, she had remained quiet, silent as a field mouse. It had taken every ounce of restraint to not protest, to voice her discontent, but she had managed. Because even though she could not save House Corrino, she could save its bloodline.

Marrying Paul would ensure the continuation of that line in some capacity. Mayhaps not the capacity that she would have preferred, but it was enough. It had to be. It was with this in mind that she greeted Paul’s trusted friend and confidant — Gurney Halleck. “Warmaster,” she breathed his title, a title that held respect, reverence. “Might you tell me where we are going?”

[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.