#divider by @squishyowl

[nevesmose]

Perturabo was silent for a long time, his attention completely focused on the disassembled objects spread out before him.

"No, Fulgrim," he said eventually. "I am not fun at parties. Why do you ask?"

The Primarch of the III Legion smiled. "No reason in particular. I merely wondered if you'd like to take advantage of so many of the family being close by."

Fulgrim stepped away from Perturabo's worktable, elegantly avoiding the discarded parchments and empty grey plastek sprues littering the room.

"Goodnight then, brother. I shall leave you to your..." he paused briefly, for once unable to find the right word. "Figurines," he finished.

"They're miniatures," the Lord of Iron said bitterly. Fulgrim gave the briefest of shrugs and left the room.

Oh, Perturabo, he thought fondly as his brother's door slid closed. Don't ever change.

"I told you he'd say no," a rough, low voice called from further down the hallway. "If it was anyone but you he would've started throwing things."

"Very comforting, Ferrus." The two primarchs walked together for a few moments in a close, pleasant silence. With anyone else Fulgrim would have found the quiet oppressive, felt the need to speak, to act, to perform in some way.

It had never been like that with Ferrus, and in his introspective moments he treasured that quiet as something uniquely theirs.

"How goes the process of civilising our newest brother?" Ferrus asked.

Oh, Konrad, Fulgrim thought. Please change, even just a bit.

"He has been a challenge," Fulgrim admitted. "More so than I expected."

"Really?" Ferrus asked, amused. "I thought you relished a challenge."

"Not this one," Fulgrim answered. "Have you ever considered the logistics of bathing a fellow Primarch?"

"I could be persuaded," Ferrus said.

Fulgrim gave him a pointed look. "Not like that. I mean someone of our size and strength who adamantly refuses to even consider basic hygiene. And our father wants me to turn this... being into a capable leader of his own Legion."

Fulgrim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"At the moment it's a miracle if he sleeps through the night without some kind of outburst. His latest development is wandering the corridors to scream at every mortal he sees about the exact time and nature of their deaths."

"You must be tired."

Fulgrim laughed bleakly. "Tired," he said, as if it were some arcane alien concept. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"Come in, then." Seemingly without intending to, they'd arrived in the hallway outside Ferrus's chambers.

"The Gorgon of Medusa invites me to his quarters," Fulgrim said archly. "People will talk. What scurrilous rumours they might spread."

Ferrus shrugged. "Let them."

The room was cool, sparsely lit and, with the exception of Forgebreaker in pride of place on a wall rack, minimally furnished. The opposite of his own in every possible way, but at times like this Fulgrim found the contrast refreshing.

Ferrus flung himself down onto a primarch-scaled couch as Fulgrim's gaze was drawn to the incongruous sight of a rectangular open-topped frigerator unit containing ice and several glass vessels.

"And what might this be?"

"Oh, that," Ferrus said. "One of the latest archaeo-tech recreations based on analysing residues from ancient Terran artefacts. It's an alcoholic drink somehow brewed with crystals."

Fulgrim took a single delicate sip and wrinkled his nose slightly.

"Apparently it was extremely popular on old Earth, but only for a very short time before something else replaced it. Magnus would be able to tell you more."

"I imagine he would," Fulgrim said, turning his attention back to Ferrus. "But with the greatest of respect to the Primarch of the Fifteenth, I don't particularly care about Magnus just now."

For a long moment neither of them said anything. Then Ferrus slid back on the couch, legs parted, and patted a hand on the seat just in front of him.

"Come on, sit down."

Fulgrim quirked an eyebrow.

"Did I stutter, Phoenician? Sit down. You need to relax."

"If you insist," Fulgrim said. He moved to sit cross-legged in the space between Ferrus's legs. After a moment's hesitation, he leaned his full weight back against Ferrus.

"There you go," Ferrus said, starting to run his hands through Fulgrim's long hair. "You don't have to be perfect every single moment of the day."

"Perhaps," Fulgrim replied, closing his eyes. "But then what would I be instead?"

What is this called, he wondered, sudden and cold. What are we doing? The idea threatened to ruin everything if he dwelt on it. To ruin this, whatever it was that he and Ferrus had.

We're Primarchs, he thought. There isn't any existing human word or concept for what we are or choose to be, other than what we decide for ourselves. Like the first ancients naming the stars.

A single cool metal finger poked him gently in the back of the head. "You're thinking," Ferrus said. "I can tell."

"Congratulations. I knew if you saw other people do it you'd eventually start to recognise the signs," Fulgrim replied without any real malice, tilting his head back as Ferrus's hands resumed their movement through his hair.

He felt Ferrus's chest move behind him as he laughed. "You wound me, Fulgrim. I'll withdraw from society to weep and write poetry."

"Anything but your poetry, I beg of you," Fulgrim said quietly. "The galaxy isn't ready for that level of pain and suffering."

[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.

[ms--lobotomy]

@avggendelmain YOU.

Summary: Curze's pinky is gone. I wonder what that could mean?

Word Count: 842

Content Warnings: Konrad FUCKING Curze, Body horror, mention of cannibalism and all that jazz, reader is SASSY this time around holy shit, what he's planning is as much of a shitshow as it can be with this man, war criminal uppies

Image Credit: @squishyowl (new dividers eeee)

"Your finger," you started, looking at the missing pinky on his left hand. Your eyebrows furrowed, and your mouth hung slightly open. He was standing in the doorway and leaning on it with his right arm. He had a devilish smirk on his face, trailing his left hand up and down his hips as if he wanted you to notice the missing digit.

"What about it?" he asked, his sharp teeth bright against his pale face. He was wearing a simple tunic and linen pants with pockets, along with a bright red cape that contrasted the darks of his clothes. It was a very fancy outfit for a man who typically walked around naked.

"It's..." you trailed off, folding your own hands over your stomach. You felt yourself moving slowly over, as if you weren't in control of your own footsteps. Soon you were inches away from him.

"Go on, spit it out," he said. He drummed his remaining fingers against himself before kneeling down. Even kneeling, he was the taller one.

"It's gone." You grabbed for the collar of your shirt with one hand, shakily reaching out to his with the other.

He grasped your hand, hard, and a shiver went down your spine as he all but confirmed your fears. His smallest finger was gone. Your look of primal terror was met with a calm smirk, teeth disappearing behind faint lips.

"It'll grow back," he mumbled, pressing into you. He got up and walked forwards, prompting you to walk backwards and fall onto the hardwood floor. He leered above you. His long hair framed your face, and you felt his breath hot on your cheeks. "There is something more pressing at hand."

"More pressing than losing a finger?" you asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. You've seen him eat people, flay people, and generally do multiple unkind things in quick succession. Some of them were in your name. And in your right mind, you knew that sassing him would be a bad idea. But nobody in their right mind courts Konrad Curze and lives.

"More pressing than that," he says, clearing his throat and moving off of you a little bit. You panted, exhaling deeply.

"Who died?"

Konrad let out a little chuckle, turning into a hearty if off-putting laugh. He threw his head back, and your expression turned into one of bewilderment. You felt your heart pound in your chest. Someone definitely died, and Konrad definitely had a hand in it, if an incomplete one.

"Konrad, cut the shit and tell me who died."

As Konrad composed himself, you propped yourself up on your elbows behind you. He smirked at you again, and you two made uncomfortable eye contact before he spoke.

"Nobody died, my beating heart," he said quietly. He straightened himself out and reached inside his pocket. Inside was a pale box; it may have been completely white had it not had little scars hatching it. There was a beauty mark, for lack of a better word, on it.

"That's skin," you stated.

Konrad's smile widened. "Do you know whose it is?" he asked, his other hand grasping for the side of his shirt. Your mouth opened slightly.

"Konrad, keep your shirt on. It'll heal faster." You felt the words tumble out of your mouth before you could do anything about it.

Konrad huffed. "You're no fun," he mumbled, before he stood up. He offered a hand to you. "Take it, and stand."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, taking his hand. He pulled you up, standing himself. He towered over you, relishing the moment before he knelt in front of you. His cape folded against the ground, and he looked down at you with pitch black eyes. He grabbed the top of the box with the other hand, and you knew what was going to happen.

"You are my heartbeat," he started as your eyes widened. "you are the red in my veins, the taste of iron in my mouth. I don't think I could be anything without you. So please," he said, before saying your name. He opened the box to reveal red muscle encasing an off-white band that was perfectly your size.

"Will you marry me?"

Your mouth hung open again before hesitantly reaching out to take the ring. "Konrad..." you began as two of your fingers grasped the smooth, dry material. "You already know the answer." You took the ring, and put it on your finger. As expected, it was perfectly encased.

You grinned and opened your arms up to him. He wrapped his arms around you, dropping the box to the ground as he raised you into the air. You laughed, relaxing into his touch as he spun you around. He pressed his head into your shoulder, where your skin was exposed right up next to the neck. He grazed his teeth against you in an almost-kiss, and you wrapped your arms around him.

"Don't worry," you said. "You won't hurt me."

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

And also @whorety-k because they inadvertently helped me write Konards better :)

[kit-williams]

Transactions

Male Lead: Konrad Curze/Solruthis Uadasha/The Night Haunter (Sol being his nickname) Female Lead: Reader/Sorsollia (sun that illuminates) CW: SEX, Obsession, baby trapping, yandere, not exactly dubcon but some sexual boundaries aren't respected Word Count: 2256

Know what the best thing about Dividers are... I can use them when I don't wanna spend time talking about the boring stuff

Again using this for the Nostroman words (I included translations this time)

thanks @squishyowl for the lovely 40k dividers

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

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

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

You took to him like flies do to rotting meat and he was pleased with that. Conversations dragged on and beyond what they were meant to as more often then not you would stay in his presence as you worked on the more tedious duties being a scribe brought you. But this allowed you to get closer to him which he wanted.

You paused as he was talking about something and you looked at him. He knew that look, a dark smile passed his lips, "What did you think of me like Lorgar? Unaware of such capricious and often bawdy thoughts and glances of the opposite sex?" He gets up slowly walking over to where you worked, "Or would libidinous fit better?" He leans in watching you get smaller as he enters your space more and more, "Perhaps even concupiscent!" He trills before mouthing the back of your neck and smelling that sharp change in your scent.

"I just... I..." You stutter as you are flustered and squirming as one of his hands comes and cups your breast.

"It's alright if you made that mistake. Unlike you mortals sex isn't as... required to function as most of you need."

"Sol you know its more than that." You say as if stating the obvious.

He grinned into your hair playing dumb as he knew Nostromo was far from normal or sane. Seeing what items you needed to keep yourself sane in the dark ship as your room, like the other non natives, was so much brighter than most. Its why he called you his Sorsollia. "No Sorsollia I do not know. Upon Nostromo sex is a transaction like many things. If I gave you sex either it is because I am after something you have or you are giving me something I want." He explains as she looks up disappointed.

"Surely just love and affection can be a reason to have sex. I really doubt-"

"Perhaps amongst the hill people." He hums softly, "But I smell your desire..." and your fecundity, "Do you want to partake in the transaction?"

You shake your head surprising the Primarch yet again, "Solruthis Uadasha, I don't want anything other than affection and actual I suppose desire and care. I don't like the idea of sex just being a transaction between us... like what do you feel like you owe it to me?" You look up at him bewildered as he continues to have a soft patient smile.

"Slightly." He admits as for him he was indebted to you. You were freely giving him affection and treating him like a human like an untrained whore giving too much and not getting enough money for it. But he was ready to make up for it by paying you back with giving you his baby. How adorable you are looking up at him horrified at that revelation.

"Sol." You say sadly.

He cupped your face, "Easy solution to make me not feel this way... stop being so affectionate." He says knowing you won't do that.

"But... I want to be... can't I just give you this freely."

"You would be called very unflattering things back on Nostromo."

"Well good thing I'm not Nostroman." You said back unflinchingly and as if you didn't have to think about it.

His eyes sparkled with deviant delight. And this was why he adored you and exactly why he had given you sugar pills in place of what you were using for birth control. But his little Sorsollia was a forgetful thing as you weren't using it as often... but that only benefited him.

"I've warned you Sorsollia it's transactional..." He whispers leaning in and kissing you as his hair falls free of the loose tie he had it in the black strands caressing your face, "I just want you to keep treating me like you do." He admits with sincerity.

"Sol... you don't have to do this if you don't want to I'll still give you everything I do." You say continuing to damn yourself to his side... damning yourself to being the object of his love and desire. You damned yourself to being the object of his obsession... to be the object of his gaze... to be the object that would truly be the only good thing he could have as a reference for all the disorder and disgust this universe would have. You would be the one thing he could have that no one else would take from him.

"Sorsollia I will do my best to not see it as... transactional... just-"

"A mutual exchange of flesh?" You try to make it better and you do... you always do.

"Hardly mutual."

"How come?"

"I don't think you realize how big I am." He takes your hand and puts it against his crotch.

"I don't see how..." Your eyes widen and he just smiles.

"I am unaroused right now do you still want to try?" Bless the human spirit as you nod and he just grins as he cups your chin trilling down at you. "It will hardly be mutual as I believe I will be... ruining your body for the next man for a long while."

How cute you looked sticking your tongue out while thinking before those beautiful eyes of yours sparkled and you nodded as he ushered you away to lay with him.

How pretty you looked in the pitch black room eyes darting around wanting some bit of light... the flutter of your singular heart made him feel something delightful. He hands you his shirt and in return, after you fiddle with the buttons of your own, you hand him your own. Little transactions you played up the benign discomfort for not participating in it as he drank the sweetness of your reassurances. Greedy slovenly thing he was taking so much more from this... but he would make up for all the unasked for humanizing of him.

His hands wandered over the contours of your naked body... feeling each curve and pressing against the skin. His fingers dipping into the V between your legs his fingers probing. His mouth presses a kiss into the side of your head as he pushes a finger inside of you as you whimper with pleasure. "Say my name." He growls into your ear.

"Solruthis... Uadasha." You moan as his fingers feel so big... you try to grope him but he keeps himself away.

"Not that one... say the other name."

This causes you to pause as he watches you look up at him, where you think he is, "But you aren't that name."

"I want to hear it from you." He pushes his finger deeper and deeper in and listens to you whimper and moan, "I want to hear you say it with the same care and affection in which you call me Sol."

You pause for a moment as if debating on if he really wants to hear it but your mouth moves in its pleasing shapes, "Konrad... Konrad Curze!" You say with such affection... you say with such adoration and tenderness that is the opposite of the cold impassiveness that name was thrust upon him.

"Oh my Sorsollia!" He moans kissing your neck as you feel weightless and dizzy as soon you are pressed onto the bed his cock pushing against your entrance. "Your songlike voice makes hearing that name so bearable."

You giggle as it was very clear he was using his time with Fulgrim to good use, "How very poetic."

"Gothic is far too plain you need to learn Nostroman then I wouldn't have to speak like Fulgrim." By how he speaks you can imagine his nose wrinkling. You can't help but giggle as Sol... Konrad could be affectionate... in his own way. You wonder in that moment when the last time a man's cock had rubbed against your folds raw. You can't help but close your thighs together. You feel his dark grin press into your skin, "Sorsollia... are you scared to take me?" His tongue pressed into the pulse of her neck feeling the quick fluttering pulse.

"Yes..." You say softly.

"Jasha (Good)" He says biting into your skin as he pushes in. You writhe under him, panic floods your basal brain. He learned quickly you fall back on instinct when pain is applied. You bleating his name as your nails try to dig into his flesh trying to pull away. Seconds bleed together for you till the tightness gives way, "Corshia Sey (Breathe now)" He coos to you as he holds you tightly.

Tears slip from your eyes as you lay there trembling bleating in pain unable to see the malicious grin from your lover above you. The way those black eyes of his fixate on your tears... the way your heart beats quickly... almost the same quick beat of fear. "Shhh Sorsollia Shhh you're okay. You feel so warm so tight." He says to you as you twitch and whimper in pain as he stays so still, "Wont it be nice when you can just handle me easily?"

You whimper out and nod. He runs his hands over your body and seduces you with morbid poetry. His tongue running over your salty skin before darting into your mouth as he finally begins to move. "Sol!" You gasp out causing him to chuckle.

"You can call me Konrad you know." And yet he adores as you try to call him Konrad but slipping into that chant of Sol... Sol... Sol! Sweat rolls down your skin as his warmth overwhelms you. The pained whimpers soon turned to wails of pleasure unlike the wails of screams and the shrieks for mercy as you scream for more. The pain long passed leaving only a heated pleasure in its wake.

You ride him, as best you can, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down on him as you arch your back, your breasts bouncing as you make your noises, your body going ridgid as your toes curl from an orgasm... he flips you over as your eyes glaze over at the sound of the wet slaps as his cock jackhammers into your body. His nails dig into your flesh as he knows your scent will linger in this room for so long, he hardly uses it, but he might have to if the smell of you is going to stain his bedding.

His mouth moves over the hollow of your throat mouthing it... sucking on it... his spine arching to move his mouth against your flesh. The discomfort worth the way your eyes sparkle as he fucks you dumb... his long tongue pushing into your mouth as you grab a fistful of his hair trying to keep him close. He grins at your boldness... the breakdown of decorum he will allow for now in the darkness of this room after all you tend to be good either way.

He pulls out hearing you whine as he bends you over and fucks you like the animals that you two are. Whining and mewling like a bitch in heat. He once more bites your skin hearing your shriek again causes him to bite down harder for a moment as his completion hits him and he cums deep inside of you. His biting causing you to orgasm as well.

You whimper and bleat out in pain, Konrad can taste blood in his mouth. Konrad rolls his jaw forcing his saliva ducts to work more as he can feel his mouth go numb slightly as he runs his tongue over the bite mark. You flinch and twitch, "It tingles." You say your voice hoarse from screaming.

"That means its working," He slurs slightly explaining how he got his saliva to overproduce the mild anesthetics and painkillers naturally found in human saliva.

"You're just an elevated human." You say with a smile as you feel him tend to your wound. Your eyes closing as you feel so tired after that full body experience. "So... have I shown you that sex doesn't have to be a transaction?"

You can't see the wild smile on his face, the madness in his eyes, the craving inside of him to give you more then the simple mess between your legs as a showing of his affection... perhaps some bone trinkets made from his own bones... but that will be for later for when he can make sure you will be his forever. "It will take more than one encounter like this Sorsollia." He says calmly as he was an expert in hiding his true perverse excitement.

"It's a start." You say with a smile struggling to get up before his large hand pushes you down.

"Rest Sorsollia. I'll clean you up. At least let me take care of you..."

"Is this to make you feel better about the transaction?"

"Yes." He lies as easily as he kills.

You take his hand and gently kiss his knuckles. "Thank you Sol. I just need a little bit after that." As you quickly close your eyes and your breathing shifts

He smiles wickedly at to be in his aura for so long... any primarch aura does things to people. It took you such a long time to no longer feel that unnatural fear. He'll make sure to clean you up... and to make sure that things eventually will take. He contains his giddiness allowing the darkness to hide his emotions from your sun gifted eyes as he vanishes into the dark to collect things. 

[aqua-the-smiter]

Got sick of watching everyone bully Cato, so here's me being nice to him. Cato Sicarius X female reader. Warning, some real Nurgly imagery in the beginning. Organ music in the beginning - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoSR1zG3H78 Divider by the always lovely @squishyowl

It wasn't always screaming he heard. Sometimes it was singing.

In the dark of that cursed ship, in the blank quiet as it floated through the Empyrean, the hollow rooms would echo with music. He was the only one who ever heard it. He was the only one who knew about it. When he was alone, when the most recent crisis had abated. When there was silence, when all was still. In the empty galleries he heard it sing. Whispering melodies that haunted his hearing.

He'd only ever followed it once. It had been driving him mad, hearing snatches of a song when he was alone.

It tickled his mind like fingers brushing directly over the meat of brain. Like it was beckoning him over with a "come here" gesture. He knew it had been a terrible idea, but the infernal singing had gotten on his nerves. Frayed them. He was fraying. Everyone was. At least, everyone who wasn't already dead.

So he had followed it. Followed it far too close to the sealed off areas for comfort.

It was starting to hurt to listen to. There was something warm and wet in his ears. But the tune stayed gentle. The singer's voice was soft, the instrument that accompanied it almost tender. Sweet. He couldn't make out the words, like he was listening to them underwater. He didn't recognize the language. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. The knuckles going white under his gauntlet.

If you asked him why he followed it, he wouldn't have been able to answer it. He still couldn't now. Even though it was far away and behind him.

The room was vaulted and dark. Lit by weak candle stubs that guttered at the slightest gust. It was long and narrow, and at the end was a hunched figure playing a pipe organ. It was shrouded in shadow, and oddly misshapen. Singing along. He still couldn't make out the words, the lyrics more muddled than they had been before. The music was louder. It felt like his ears were full of water, but it was sound instead of water. He could feel himself singing along even though he hadn't even noticed his mouth moving. And he still couldn't make out the words. Even when they came from his own mouth. His vision blurred, his throat felt raw.

Only on his second glance did he realize the organist it had more arms than any human should.

He blinked hard. Once, twice. Clenching his jaw to keep it from moving. To stop himself singing.

The walls were glistening now. Covered in stringy flesh and glaring eyes. There were men in the walls, rotting men in the walls and on the ceiling and floor. It bloated near the ceiling, but then as it crawled down it festered and softened. Growing blackened. The ceiling dripped expired fluids. The floor was both soggy and crunchy with thick, black, dead strips of muscle and fat.

The organist turned to face him. Slowly, with the slimy noise of raw, wet, moving flesh. It had no face. It had too many faces. All swirling and flowing together like melting fat. Too many arms, too many eyes, too many teeth and maws. There were more rotten men making up its form. Men and marines. He could see the colors being leeched out of shards of ceramite. The paint bleeding into the surrounding meat, which twisted, contorted. It didn't really have a form so much as a vague outline, a lump of amalgamated meat and metal and teeth. Every single eye was a different color. Some wept pus or blood. All stared right at him.

The stench or the organist worked its way past his respirator just as the sound worked its way into his ears. It was putrid. The whole creature was putrid, and so was its music. But that wretched stench. Like it was crawling into his nose and down his throat. All the way into his stomach, settling there with the weight of a brick.

Somehow some of its arms continued to play. All of its mouths continued to sing. And he still couldn't make out the words. His eyes felt wet and sticky, his vision oddly red. The reek of iron filled his nose and mouth, along with the smell of rot. His ears felt plugged and wet.

Fleshy hands reached out to him. From the walls or the organist, he couldn't tell. Before he could think his sword was in his hand. Glowing blue against the fleshy color of the dark room.

Severed limbs fell to the floor. More took there place. More and more. Even as he cut and cut and cut. The dead men were crawling out of fleshy cavities in the walls. In the floors and ceiling. Wriggling out like maggots from a corpse. Extracting themselves with a wet pop.

They littered the floor, wherever his blade struck home. Cato fought on, not thinking. Nothing registered but the feeling of blade through gristle and bone. He heard nothing but the music and the roaring in his ears. He blinked, hard.

The room was empty. For a moment it was a plain, small box of a room. No organ, no organist, no flesh.

He blinked again. No it wasn't.

It was empty because everything but him was dead. The dead men were dead once more. The organist lay in pieces. Its infernal music had ceased. But the noise had not.

He heard screaming, from all around him. Daemonic shrieking and battle cries.

"My lord!"

He turned to look. Two of his battle brothers stood in the door way, gazing around in horror.

"They've broken through once again! We need you."

Cato nodded. He could feel blood still dripping from his eyes and ears. The song still running through his head. "I will be there."

He could still recall that song with perfect clarity. It was not always screams he heard. Sometimes it was that song. Over and over again. Looping.

Thankfully he had never started to sing it.

He sat on a marble bench in some hall in the Fortress of Hera. On his other side was a tall window. The sky of Macragge was overcast, and pouring rain. It made the corridor dark. Raindrops studded the glass.

Cato's armored shoulders slumped as the memory ended. Slowly, he rested his head in his hands. Fingers tangling in his hair. Gripping at his scalp.

He really hated that song.

"My lord?"

Cato sat up, and shook himself out of his thoughts. Trying to bring more present information to mind. You were standing in front of him, his helmet cradled gently in your arms. You were a serf of the Ultramarines, born and raised on Macragge. While your brother had joined their ranks as a scout, you were a woman. But you had wanted to be close to him, so you volunteered to become a chapter serf in the Fortress.

That was how he'd met you.

You held out his helmet to him. "Your helmet is all finished, Lord Sicarius."

Right. He had asked you to take it to get the plume repaired. It had been starting to get very ragged. You had hummed as you walked away with it, and your singing was just about the only music he could stand these days.

You had been so pleased when he asked. You were very fond of Cato Sicarius, although you weren't quite sure why.

"Thank you, my lady." He said, extracting it from your hands and setting it on the bench next to him.

He was quieter than he had been when you first met him, years ago now. You had only been 18 then. He didn't speak with the same bravado in his voice, or walk with the same swagger in his step. When he'd returned to Macragge, he had seemed...muted. Something had broken inside of him, draining some of him away.

Maybe that's why you liked him more now. Immediately you cursed yourself for the thought. He hadn't been the nicest of his battle brothers, but he wasn't unkind. Perhaps a bit more dismissive, but you weren't offended. He was a space marine, and a captain.

But when he'd come back he'd seemed to soften to your presence.

Cato inspected the plume. It was perfect, made of soft red and white fibers.

"Is it satisfactory?" You asked.

He nodded. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Lord Sicarius."

"You may call me Cato. I have told you this."

"A-apologies. It's so...informal. It will take some getting used to. But...anyway. If your plume lost any more bristles it would have looked more like a toothbrush."

He snorted a laugh at that. You said so many little things that simply amused him.

Maybe that was why he liked you. You never tried to pry into his mind. You were simply...there. A sweet, gentle presence.

"Not an inaccurate assessment."

He smiled, but it looked far away. Hesitating for a moment, you reached out a hand.

"Are you well, Cato?"

He stared at it. It was so small. Delicate and soft, with long, nimble fingers. Gently, impulsively, he took it in his own huge gauntlet. Squeezing it with the utmost care and control over his strength. Reassuring you.

"I will be fine." He said.

Will be. You noted. Not am. Although even if he had said that, you would have wagered it was a lie.

Extracting your hand, you place it against his cheek. You could feel his warm skin and beard on your palm. At first he looked confused, then like he wanted to protest. Conflicting emotions chased themselves across his face.

But finally, they settled on gratitude. And...something else that you couldn't quite identify. It made your heart give a girlish little flutter.

Cato placed his hand over yours. "Thank you." His voice was barely a whisper.

I love you.

[remembrancersticky]

I had a shower epiphany a few weeks ago and have just been working on cranking out this oneshot. Oh, I had so much fun with this. Thanks to @squishyowl for the dividers! They are very pretty!

You get dragged along for a fishing trip, scent a space wolf, and he carves your name onto his (metaphorical?) heart. Fenrysian is just Norwegian here for the sake of simplicity. Very fluffy given this is 40k. TW for hunting, non-sexual nudity, and cannon-typical violence. Asmundr art here and here.

Space Wolf OC(Asmundr) x Serf!Fem!Reader - SFW - 2.8k Words

The world of Silġ was not the coldest you had ever been to. But it was still the thickest part of winter on this side of the planet, and you could feel the moisture of your breath catch and freeze against your eyelashes when the wind shifted.

You waddled behind the three wolves you served today, waylaid by the heaviest furs and boots you owned and the sled-cart you pulled along behind you. The blizzard that had raged for the last month ended a few days ago, though the warp storm that trapped your ship here had not. The sky still sputtered out a sporadic scattering of snow, powdering the dense ice on which you tread.

The three in front of you wore no more than training armor and pelt. You were envious of their enhanced thermo-regulation as you flexed your fingers to stave off the chill that had seeped through your thick mittens.

“Here,” the venerable veteran, Ægir, announced, stabbing his chainsword into the ice.

You slowed as you caught up to the group and looked about. You were the only thing besides flat ice for several kilometers in any direction.

“Finally!”

The youngest, Asmundr, was not known to keep his opinions to himself at the best of times. He was brash and stubborn in every aspect of his life. He was the one that insisted you join them on this venture.

The company and ship’s crew were trapped on Silġ until the warp storm passed. You had already been stuck more than several weeks and many of the younger warriors were antsy for activity beyond their regular training. And, while rations were not depleted, it did no harm to secure supplementary provisions while they were available. Ergo, the Wolf Lord had allowed the formation of a few small hunting parties.

While you assisted the entire pack as your services were needed, Asmundr had all but named you as his personal serf. Not that he had asked anyone in particular, nor would he ever be granted a personal serf given his rank and status if he had. He was simply dogged in requesting your time, specifically. Not that you minded spending so much time with him; he had grown on you quite a bit, and you enjoyed the stories he would regale you with as you cared for his armor.

And so, here you were. Accompanying the small expedition on their fishing trip. You had given up on getting an explanation for exactly what you were meant to do beyond ferry equipment or attend to whatever unfavorable task may arise. Frankly, it was simply a nice change of pace from the monotony of the last few weeks, nice to be away from the stagnant air of the ship, and you were thankful to have been allowed to attend.

Hodr swiped his boot along the ground to disturb the thick layers of snow and reveal the solid ice beneath. Though not as old as Ægir, the scars upon his face told a story of numerous battles fought with unfettered ferocity. He was cold, stoic, but on occasion you glimpsed something wild lurking deep within his eye.

After stomping solidly on the ice without so much as a crack, Hodr gave a nod to Ægir, who activated his chainsword.

Still stuck in the ice, the blade began throwing up shards of ice and compact snow. You turned slightly and covered your face with a mitten to prevent anything from lodging in your eyes. You felt the pitter patter of debris against your form suddenly disappear. Looking up, it seemed Asmundr unthinkingly shifted his position to effectively shield you from the onslaught.

“Mortal,” Hodr called, as the roar of the sword died down. “Bring the pick and shovel.”

You pulled the tools from the sled and made your way to the hole-in-progress. In order to support the weight of three space marines (and especially the earlier stomping), the ice was undoubtedly thick. This pass with the chainsword had not even been close to reaching the water below. Hodr reached down to grapple with the large slab of ice that had been cut away while you worked on extricating the smaller shards. Once the site was cleared, Asmundr gently pulled you a step back as Ægir began his next series of cuts. This process repeated three times before a sufficient opening was formed.

Standing, you wiped the snow off of your knees and pushed the ice shards nearest the opening away with your boot. Suddenly, you felt something thick and heavy land across your back and weigh down on your shoulders. You were almost embarrassed about the surprised yelp you let out, but it was worth it to hear the youngest of the wolves let out a full bellied laugh.

“I trust you to keep this warm for me, vennen min!” Asmundr’s voice bounced with mirth behind you. You rearranged the large pelt he had thrown on you as you turned to face him. And quickly decided to look anywhere else as he undressed to the fullest extent possible.

“O-Of course, my lord.” You elected to keep your head pointed towards the sky as you extended your hands to take the remainder of his clothes. You could clearly hear the other two wolves snickering behind the sound of blood rushing through your ears. It did not seem nearly as cold out as it did just a few minutes ago.

Asmundr placed the wad of clothes in your hands with a smirk before leaning into the sled to fetch his polespear.

“Be ready, brother,” Ægir said as he nudged Hodr bodily. “You’ll have to make up the pup’s slack.”

The young pup bristled in agitation before he sharply pivoted on his brothers with a note of forced laughter. Coincidentally, you suddenly received a full view of all his glory.

“Ha! Afraid you’re not gonna be able to keep up, old man?”

You forced your eyes not to wander below his ribs, which was very difficult as he stood with his chest puffed out and fists confidently resting on his hips. Your face felt so hot that you thought the ice would melt under your feet and swallow you whole.

Despite your years in service to the Vlka Fenryka, you doubted that you’d ever understand just how…comfortable they seemed to be in their plain skin. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact they were Astartes, specifically. You’d imagine it would be difficult to feel vulnerable in any state with the physique of one of the Emperor’s Angels.

“Worried that you’ll drive the best game away in your haste.” Hodr’s voice sounded suddenly closer than you anticipated. Your heart jumped when you felt his hand reach around from behind you, lifting your chin to look Asmundr in the eyes and gently squishing your cheeks together. “It just won’t do if there isn’t enough to go around.” The narrowing of the younger wolf’s pupils was almost hidden by the steam billowing from his flared nostrils. “We can’t have thralls of skin and bone.” His whisper tickled your ear, sending a shiver shooting up your spine.

“I do not leave her wanting,” Asmundr snarled, closing the distance and gripping Hodr’s wrist tightly. You could hear something creak beneath your chin, but the grip on your face never tightened.

“Prove it.” You could hear Hodr’s grin as he finally released you.

Oh, something in Asmundr’s eyes sparked as he threw his brother’s hand away. He spared you a brief glance as he squared his shoulders and quickly cracked his neck.

“Time me!” Asmundr yelled back to Ægir as he raced to the opening and jumped into the abyss.

The air was pregnant with silence for a moment.

“Well,” Ægir laughed, rough and gravelly, “He should be plenty motivated now!”

Ten minutes. It had already been ten minutes.

A space marine could hold his breath for approximately twenty-five minutes, or so you’d been told.

You had heard from one of the company’s Kaerls that she had once heard a story of a chapter that regularly held their breath for the better part of a standard hour. You thought it sounded a bit outlandish, but you prayed now it was true as the minutes continued ticking on.

The first several minutes were spent in a bit of an awkward silence. Or, at least, you felt it was awkward. You busied yourself by meticulously folding Asmundr’s clothes and running an inventory of the little equipment in the sled before cleaning the hole of any lingering debris. You noted that Hodr’s gaze seemed to return the distant tree line frequently while Ægir whittled away on a piece of bone.

“It’s been ten minutes.” The booming voice of the veteran seemed to rattle through your chest, and you nearly lost your footing at the sudden announcement.

 The undignified sound you made as you recovered your stance drew a chuckle from the eldest wolf.

“I’m curious,” Ægir said, pointing his knife in your direction. “What do you suppose the pup’s hunting for right now?”

You stared blankly at him.

“Fish, my lord?”

That veteran laughed, tried to control himself, and began laughing some more before he started coughing.

“You’re not wrong, thrall,” he conceded. You watched a flock of dark birds chitter and flee their roost in the distance. So far away they were like a smear against the sky.

“You know,” he started back up, dropping his gaze to return to the bone figure he was making. “I was out on campaign with the pup.” A thin flake fell away from his hands. “And it was fierce, to be sure. Well, while we were holed up in some throne-forsaken pit, the daft boy starts singing. Badly, mind you, and quiet, but singing nonetheless. And so, I ask him ‘Boy, what do you think you’re doing?’” Ægir looked up and you realized that you’d thoughtlessly drifted closer as the veteran continued. “And do you know what he tells me?”

“No, my lord.”

“He says, ‘Well, that little serf sings this when she’s in the armory, and I thought maybe it would help me focus.’” Another flake fell from his hand as he scoffs, “Focus, my missing big toe.”

Ægir looked like he was about to continue, loudly, but shut his mouth and looked past you a moment before you heard it.

A loud wet thwacking noise echoed across the empty plane and time seemed to pass slower than usual as you saw a vibrant, gleaming, blue fish that could rival the stature of terminator power armor surge out of the icy depths and caress the grey sky, before making its arched decent like an angry torpedo with needlepoint teeth.

You hadn’t survived this long in such a cruel galaxy without any wits at all, and ran to give the beast a wide berth upon its impact with the surface. Its furiously flailing body splashed little droplets of water against your form, which froze solid in the cold air.

“Ha! No wonder he likes you so much,” Ægir ribbed at you, as he seamlessly stabbed the wriggling thing through the back of its head, piercing whatever brain it could have. “You scurry about like ei lita kanin!”

The burning retort that had definitely been on the tip of your tongue was tragically cut short by a sudden series of muted vibrations that traveled up your legs. Something was hitting the ice…

Your feet were moving before you could think. What help could you realistically offer Asmundr from here? You could not dive into the freezing water, you could not drag him back to safety, you could not even pull his body up onto shore without dislocating your shoulder in the attempt. But you knelt stupidly by the hole anyways; you had to be as close to his side as possible, in case he needed you. Because you would do all those useless things if he so much as hesitated in telling you not to.

Not long after, the surface of the water began bursting with bubbles of air from the depths, bringing with them deep oily blood. You called out to him, as if he would be able to hear you meters away and underwater.

“Mundi! Are you okay?!”

Time seemed to drag on for an eternity as the bubbling died down and the water remained still.

You had just started to loosen the straps of your outermost layers to dive in yourself when a crimson streak began racing towards the surface. You could feel your heart fall back into place.

Asmundr’s red hair clung to his forehead and neck as he beamed at you in pride. Or, as best he could.

The spear he lifted out of the water held four native fish, each easily as long as your arm and thicker around than both of your thighs. A massive bony fish with pearlescent armor still wiggled in his maw, cracked where his fangs dug tightly into its flesh. He threw the spear up onto the ice before hefting his bulk out of the hole.

Sitting on the ledge of the ice beside you, he pulled the fish from his teeth. His smug smile showcased the gleaming red that clung to his canines and dripped down his chin. He glanced about briefly before his expression morphed into one of confusion.

“Where’s Hodr?”

Oh. You hadn’t even noticed he’d left.

“Not far,” Ægir said. “He picked up a scent while you were out.”

“Are you okay, Mundi?” You had been keenly looking him over for any obvious injuries he may have sustained since he surfaced. He didn’t seem any worse for wear, but maybe he just rammed the ice with his thick head. You stood up to get a better look. “It sounded like you hit the ice pretty hard.”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t near the ice at all.” Rivulets of water trickled down Asmundr’s body, his core temperature just enough to keep the water from freezing against his skin in the cold air. “Are you sure you’re not the one that hit the ice?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed by his teasing tone. You were just relieved that he was okay.

Asmundr’s gaze turned sharply from you to the horizon at a noise you could not hear.

“Finally done batting that pest around, Hodr?”

You turned towards Ægir’s call and watched as Hodr dragged along an enormous, white-feathered land-shark behind him.

“Six minutes,” the wolf bellowed, shaking the leg of his kill. “How long was the pup?”

“Thirteen minutes!”

Something rumbled deep in Asmundr’s chest at the veteran’s announcement and he huffed in irritation. If you hadn’t just been willing to throw yourself into the icy void after your companion out of shear worry, you would have found his pouting cute.

“Mundi,” you started softly as he plopped himself away from his brothers to work on his kills. He did not look up. He was still wet and bare and the wind was still so cold and you did not think you could handle the implausible thought of him catching a chill.

“Mundi, you need to dry off,” you chided as you unwrapped the outermost fur you wore from your waist. It would be warmer and drier than the one he placed on your shoulders, which had kept you plenty warm, but also collected a non-insignificant amount of flurries.

He grumbled something as he continued to work on dislodging his kills from the spear.

You pursed your lips before running the fur across his shoulders and up his neck, before tousling his hair the best you could. You left the fur draped across his shoulders, which he gripped closed across his chest with one hand. He remained incredibly tense before in-taking sharply and shaking his upper body vigorously. You did not escape the resulting splatter.

He tilted his head back to look you in the eyes, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you recognized amusement and joy in them.

“I’m keeping this!” Asmundr announced, sounding very pleased. “But you have to hold onto this,” he tugged slightly at the pelt that still engulfed the entirety of your upper body, “for me, in return.”

The request turned something in your chest.

“Of course,” you agreed, and you couldn’t help the smile on your lips.

 He smiled up at you in turn, his eyes softening as his gaze lingered. In that moment, it felt as if something in the universe had clicked into place. After a few seconds, he abruptly looked back down and dragged the armored fish over to him.

“And,” he drew the word out for a long moment, as he began carving familiar runes into the pearlescent plating with his spear. “You need to make good use of this.” He passed you the fish barring your name, and you had to steel yourself to keep from tumbling under the weight of it.

[egrets-not-regrets]

Dandelions and Yarrow (3)

Their deep root systems that allows them to withstand drought and poor soil conditions.

Amelia is finally home and gets to meet the newest space marine to settle in Gannet Point. Hurricane Alcyon storms the medical wing of the base. Erriox only wants to go home to his bonded.

**Dialogue in Gothic language is bolded and italicized. **

Author’s Notes:

TW angst

Thanks @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for letting me use Jophiel! Poor Erriox deciding to go through the medical wing on his way out was a poor decision.

Just a few points:

This takes place before Ben/Malaran “Orca” Blackspike storyline.

Amelia is bonded to Alcyon, a chaos Iron Warrior. These two share an intense bond that teeters on the point of becoming a mate bond.

Alcyon has a pretty good grasp of the english language. He usually communicates with Amelia in english and other Astartes in Gothic.

Thanks to @squishyowl for the divider image!

OCs: Alcyon (chaos Iron Warrior), Amelia Plover

“Mom!” Amelia walks swiftly towards the older woman waiting in the airport and pulls her into a tight hug, “I missed you so much.”

Mara chuckled, hugging her daughter back lovingly, “I missed you too, fledgling. It wouldn’t have killed you to call a little more often, though.”

Amelia smiled sheepishly, “Yeah… sorry.”

Her adoptive mother patted her back before pulling away, smiling back at her, “I’m glad you’re here safe and sound. Ready to go?” She asked.

It was as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Amelia straightened as she walked alongside her mom to the car, “Let’s go home.”

They pulled up to Mara’s house where a very tall, rather handsome looking, armoured angel with large white wings waited at her aunt’s door. He looked at Amelia, then at Mara, and then at the luggage in the opened trunk, “I help.” He said, easily grabbing the luggage. Mara unlocked the door and the angel followed them inside the house, gently setting Amelia’s luggage down by the stairs.

Mara greeted him warmly, “Hello Jophi!”

“Thank you for your help.” Amelia said. She couldn’t help but smile. Recognizing that he was a space marine, she wondered if there were also other winged marines like him. He looked so young though, much much younger than Alcyon. Kind of adorable, really.

The winged Astartes smiled back, “You’re welcome.” He replied in stilted English. He then turned to her aunt, “Hello Auntie Mara! I am here for cookies?”

“Cookies? Ah… you mean these?” The older woman pointed at the cooled danishes and butterfly curls on the cookie racks. Jophiel nodded. Mira explained, “These are pastries. Cookies are the ones you ate in class.”

Amelia smiled, watching the space marine’s wings twitch and fluff excitedly, “Yes! I am here for the pastries.”

She helped her aunt pack a box full of the pastries then passed it to the marine.

“Your English is improving, Jophi!” Mara smiled, complimenting him. She then gasped, “I forgot introductions! Amelia, this is Jophiel, he’s been coming to my classes to learn english. He helps with heavy lifting around the house and baking sometimes. Jophi, this is Amelia, my niece and adopted daughter.”

“Daughter? Niece?… Cousin?” Jophiel asked.

Amelia laughed and said in Gothic, catching the winged marine in surprise, “You can call me “Cousin” if you wish. Did Mara adopt you too?”

“Yes.” He replied happily, switching to Gothic as well. Mara’s eyes crinkled with amusement and waved at the two, “You kids have a nice chat, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” before leaving to package more pastry orders.

The two waved back before continuing their conversation. Jophiel gently touched her shoulder, pointing to the matching side on his neck, his voice serious, “You are hurt. An Iron traitor hurt you?”

She forgot how keen space marine senses were. Amelia wasn’t quite sure how to respond without the possibility of causing Jophiel to seek out Alcyon for revenge, “He is my bonded. We were rough with each other when we were mating.” She cringed inwardly at her own explanation, it’s like trying to explain sex to a younger sibling. A very big augmented younger sibling.

Thankfully, Jophiel wasn’t ignorant about what sex was nor did he ask for more details. He only looked rather confused and a little more than slightly concerned, “You wanted that?” He asked incredulously.

Amelia covered Alcyon’s bite mark hidden on her neck with her hand, ignoring the slight touch of pain from the tender spot, “Yes. I wanted it. Can we stop talking about this? This is embarrassing.” No, she didn’t want it, at least not at the time, but to preserve her own sanity, she was not about to have another Astartes thrown into protective overdrive on her ass about it.

Jophiel sighed, reluctantly dropping the subject. There wasn’t much he could do about his cousin being bonded to a chaos Astartes, especially when the chaos marine wasn’t present; it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t say nothing about it though. He thumped his chestplate and said, “If that chaos heretic hurts you and you need help, you let me know.”

While Jophiel’s attitude towards chaos space marines was very similar to her ex’s Black Templar, he was a lot more kind about it. Amelia smiled up at him, “I will. Thank you, Jophiel.”

“You are Mara’s daughter so therefore my cousin, it is only right that I protect you too.” He gently grasped her hand with his own.

She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze, “Thank you.”

The angel-like marine poked his head into the kitchen to say goodbye to Mara before taking his leave. Then waved at her before leaving through the front door. She waved back, going to join her aunt.

“He’s a very sweet young man. A little skittish and shy, but a very nice boy.” Her aunt smiled warmly, “When he first arrived, people around thought he was actually an angel until Nemoth corrected them.” She chuckled.

“I can see that.” Amelia answered.

“Nemoth is still around?” She asked curiously.

Nemoth, or rather Nemoth Bassanar, was a Primaris space marine of the Dark Kraken chapter, who appeared, injured and confused, near Gannet Point many years ago. The townspeople at the time barely knew what a space marine was, but nevertheless took him in and healed his injuries. He then integrated himself with the village and soon became a beloved member of their little community.

Nemoth held a great love for natural history and wildlife, and was fascinated by the creatures that could be seen in and around Gannet Point. He could sometimes be seen assisting the fishermen and biologists or leading guided tours to see the seabird colonies and the northern gannet colonies from where the town got its namesake; if not teaching forging and metalwork at the local community centre. To say the least, Nemoth had been an integral part of almost all the children who grew up in Gannet Point in the last two decades or so.

“Yes! He’s running the decorative metalwork class at the community center around seven tonight. You should go join. I’m sure he won’t mind. He’d be happy to see you. And you might as well help me deliver that box of pastries over there to him as well.” Mara smiled.

Amelia hugged Mara warmly, relaxing as her mother hugged her back, “Thanks Mom, I’ll go do that.”

**************

Alcyon stormed into the medical ward heading straight towards Eric, a fellow medical technician who Amelia worked with.

“Where is she?! Where is Amelia!” He demanded, looming over the reception desk. Eric jumped back in shock.

“She’s on days off. She’s not here.” The tech replied, confused and frightened, quickly reaching for the panic button.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing!” Alcyon growled, grabbing Eric by his front lapel and roughly lifted him up to eye level, ignoring the panicked reactions of the human staff and patients, “Amelia tells you everything! Where did she say she was going?”

Eric wheezed, trying to grab onto the chaos marine’s gauntlet to relieve the tension of his clothes strangling him, “I don’t know. She never said anything about that!”

The chaos Iron Warrior shook the poor medical technician, “Then where would Amelia disappear to?!”

“Disappear? Amelia’s gone?” The young man looked concerned and perplexed. He clearly had no idea that Amelia had left.

“LET ERIC GO RIGHT NOW!” Osteron's voice boomed.

Alcyon snarled irritably, releasing Eric from his grasp. The medical aide fell to the floor, rubbing his throat.

The chaos Iron Warrior bared his teeth, closing his eye briefly to stay the pounding in his head and ignore the ache in his chest. He knew it was from that tattered bond of his. He needed to find Amelia; her presence could fix this, somehow, or at least soothe this pain, this constant aching.

Where was Amelia? Why did she leave? The thrumming of his frayed bond called out to him to find her. Find his bonded. Fix what was broken.

How dare she leave and not tell him where she went! Didn’t she know how this bond affected him? Did she want to kill him? Did their bond and everything they had meant nothing to her? Where did Amelia go?! He needed her. He needed her to stay with him, to mend this bond. He can’t let this break. He’ll have to go home and restart his search. Once he finds her, he will never let her out of his sight. Keep her under lock and key if he had to.

Osteron knew something was very wrong with the chaos Iron Warrior, “Brother Alcyon, stay where you are!” He barked at him.

Alcyon ignored him and turned his heel to leave the medical wing.

“You two! Help me restrain him!” Osteron ordered.

Kalium quickly passed his bonded youngling to one of the nurses before going to capture the wayward chaos marine. Seeing that he was the one of the two Astartes that the apothecary was referring to, Erriox sighed and went to aid his brothers, his hope of going home to Lenora early quickly dashed.

Recognizing Kalium as the one who he’s seen being friendly flirty with Amelia and lingered around her unnecessarily (in his opinion) when she worked, Alcyon roared, “You! You’re the one who tried to steal my MATE!” and launched himself at the offending battle-brother, knocking them both down.

The other Iron Warrior tried to roll him off to no avail, “Don’t blame me! You’re the one who hurt her! That’s why Amelia left and didn’t tell anyone where she went! Wasn’t it?!” Kalium accused the older chaos marine.

Alcyon saw red.

“Everyone! Get into a room!” Osteron ordered. Doctors, nurses, patients, and techs scrambled to move to safety as a brawl erupted in the medical wing.

The chaos marine kicked Erriox off before turning his full attention to trading punches with Kalium. Metal screeched as Alcyon’s claw grazed his helm. Kalium managing to dodge the blow in the bare milliseconds the chaos marine stabbed down towards his face. His eyes widened in alarm when Alcyon used his claw with more dexterity than he ever thought possible, deftly releasing his helm and flip it off his head, the helmet skidding down the hallway before coming to a stop. Erriox quickly took advantage of their position and pinned the chaos marine, grabbing his metal claw to keep his battle-brother from stabbing Kalium with it. Osteron pinned his legs.

Alcyon switched to punching Kalium in the face with his other fist instead. A sharp sensation made him hiss as Osteron plunged a needle deep into his neck, injecting a strong tranquilizer into his system. Despite that, he managed to free one of his legs and back-kicked hard against Osteron, sending the apothecary to his knees.

“Say her name again and I will rip your tongue from your mouth!” Alcyon raged as he struggled harder.

Kalium grappled Alcyon’s one arm and leg from underneath him, keeping his other elbow under his brother’s chin to prevent the chaos Iron Warrior from biting him, snarling back, “You don’t deserve to be Amelia’s bonded!”

Erriox was nearly bucked off the chaos marine at that statement.

“Damn it, Kalium! Stop egging him on! Calm down Alcyon!” Erriox yelled irritably from Alcyon’s other side, struggling to take off his prosthetic metal claw, “How long Osteron?!” He called out.

“Twenty seconds!”

Nowhere had there been someone calming down when being yelled at to calm down if his chaos battle brother, nearly throwing him off again, armour and all, was anything to go by. Erriox smacked Alcyon in the back of his head hard in retaliation though it seemed to do little to dissuade his struggling. Osteron scolded him, “Stop that! We don’t need to add a head injury on top of what is going on!”

His skull is hard enough to take it, Erriox thought crankily. Grumbling, the Iron Warrior threw away the metal claw he removed then forced all of his body weight on top of the thrashing chaos marine. It was so tempting to repeatedly punch him in the head to knock him out faster… but Osteron wouldn’t approve. Kalium, being very glad that he wore his armour today, finally managed to slip out from under Alcyon, and pin down his other side. Eventually the chaos marine struggled less and less until he went fully unconscious.

“Strap him into a bed and put him in Room Five. This tranquilizer only lasts thirty minutes at best.” Osteron urged as they hauled the unconscious Iron Warrior onto a bed and wheeled him into the room.

*************

Amelia took a deep breath as she opened the door to Nemoth’s classroom. The Dark Kraken dark eyes brightened as he welcomed her warmly, “Amelia! It has been a long time!”

“It’s good to see you again, Nemoth.” She smiled as she put down her mother’s box of pastries and hugged the Primaris marine.

He hugged her back, saying, “Welcome back.”

“Thanks. I brought the box of the pastries that you ordered.” Amelia gestured to the box on his desk.

“Yes, thank you. Your mother’s baked goods are delicious. Would you like to stay for this class? It’s decorative metalwork for beginners so I can’t see why you couldn’t join us.” The tall space marine asked her.

Amelia considered that for a moment and agreed, “I would like that.” She paused, “Would you be free to talk after class? I would like your advice on something.”

“Of course.”

That decision was well worth the experience. Amelia had taken a few metalwork classes from Nemoth when she was young, so his class was a wonderful refresher. After the class ended, the roomed cleaned up, and the students have left, Amelia stayed behind to chat with the Dark Kraken.

“Something troubling you?” Nemoth asked her. He could detect the scent of an Iron Traitor on Amelia and his sharp eyes could make out the dark bruising and light scarring on her neck that she hid under her makeup. The Dark Kraken frowned slightly, “Did a chaos Astartes hurt you?”

Her eyes widened and she stuttered in embarrassment, “Uh… no, not like that. My bonded is a chaos Iron Warrior and… we were rough with each other during sex.” She quickly ended, her face going red. It wasn’t the entire truth, but it wasn’t exactly a lie. And it was horribly embarrassing to explain it to the space marine who watched you grow up.

Like Jophiel, he asked with a worried expression, “And you are ok with this?”

“Yes. I agreed to it.” Amelia replied, blushing heavily, looking away from the space marine.

Nemoth sighed, his pale hand patted the seat beside him, “Sit beside me. I know it is not for me to judge what you do with your bonded Astartes, but I would caution to not let your Astartes be too rough, worse injuries can occur accidentally if he doesn’t mind his strength.”

“I will be careful.” Amelia said as she sat down in her seat.

“What do you want advice on?” The Primaris space marine asked, getting straight to the point.

Amelia told him the story about how her ex-husband’s Black Templar Astartes started to cut off access to her son once they had divorced, and how she had tried to remain in contact with her son, resulting in Alcyon’s eventual fight with the Black Templar which caused them to be banned from her son’s school, ending at the big argument that she had with her own Astartes.

The furrow in his brows deepened the longer he listened, “This is troublesome indeed.” Nemoth hummed, “I have two questions: One, did you contact your ex-husband to discuss this issue? It seems like the Iron Tr- Warrior acted on his own, so it is not entirely your fault. Two, your bonded Astartes, did he harm you too?”

“I’ve been in contact with him and while he understands my issue, he and his family still went ahead to file a restraining order against me. Safety reasons, they said.” Amelia spat bitterly. Her voice cracked, “They threatened to take Ben away! And that I’ll never see him again!” Tears ran down her cheeks as she started to bawl.

“I don’t know what to do! Where do I even start?”

A large warm hand rubbed circles on her back as she shuddered from the intensity of her crying, finally releasing so much stress and frustration held within her.

“It’s ok, let out your sorrows.” Nemoth said, handing Amelia a kleenex box, “It is a lot to keep inside. I gave your mother contacts for a few lawyers who specialize in Astartes and human law when she asked for help regarding your matter. Apologies, that is all I could do to help you.”

She wiped her face and smiled wanly at the Dark Kraken, “Thanks Nemoth. It’s somewhere I can start with. And to answer your second question, no, he did not.”

Nemoth raised a brow but did not push the issue, “If you ever feel that your Astartes is a danger to you. You can contact me. Alright?”

“I will. Thanks Nemoth.” Amelia affirmed.

He put his hand on her shoulder, worry seeping into his voice, “Be careful that you don’t fall into the same corruption that led your Astartes into chaos. The humans that have been corrupted in my time do not meet good endings. I don’t wish to see any of the children I’ve watched growing up become beyond saving.”

Amelia patted his hand, “I won’t, I promise.”

****************

Lenora quickly picked up her phone, hearing the familiar ringtone from her Astartes’ call, “Erriox?”

“Lenora. I will be staying at the base for several more days to keep watch over my battle brother.”

Her brows furrowed with concern, “Are you both alright?”

She heard a huff at the other end of the line, “I’m fine, my brother… is not well.”

“Alright, take care of yourselves. I love you.”

“Same to you.” Came Erriox’s warm reply, “I will come home as soon as this is over. See you then.”

[qcontinuumumum]

So i was inspired by @squishyowl dividers and made a few of my own for the xenos

Harlequins

Craftworld Eldar

[lazywriter-artist]

Unconventional Company

Warhammer/Helldivers/Halo crossover + writing warmup

Slowly Night clutched its wispy black tendrils around the planet and travel became difficult, forcing the Trio of trained soldiers to set up camp for the night. Seated around the fire the Space Marine would reach back into his satchel, digging out a large book as he leaned back some.

His voice, cutting through the settling air, rumbled the question “So pray tell guardsman, have you all finished your prayers? I hadn’t seen even a single one before battle…” He questioned, strangely nonchalant for how confused the other two were left. The other armored figures glanced to each other with small shrugs.

“prayers?” The spartan echoed, he had heard of a variety of religions back home and on various planets but with the mystery shrouding this giant already he really hadn’t taken the ‘marine’ to be much of a religious man. The Helldiver didn’t seem to be a fan of this topic however as he crossed his arms, leaning back with an aura of disapproval. He didn’t really trust this brick wall much already. Was too big of a guy. Never took off his armor…maybe he was an automaton. These prayers sounded very UN-democratic. Hmph.

Though their confusion deepened as the marine looked appalled, gently digging out an almost rosary like item with a large double headed eagle attached “ahah…yes?— your prayers to the God Emperor?” He pressed, the duo again glancing to one another.

“Doesn’t sound very democratic-“ growled the Helldiver as the marine gave off a sudden menacing aura. The spartan swiftly clapped the back of the helldiver’s helmet with his armored hand, clearing his throat to try and recover the situation, “Right! Right!! our prayers! How could we forget!?” He’d swiftly nod with growing anxiety as the Helldiver grumbled in complaint over being hit. The spartan wasn’t about to be ripped in two by this muscle man freak in super armor because the quack Helldivers like this one couldn’t see the writing on the wall.

“How indeed.” Snorted the armor clad wall of a man before allowing his original aggression, hesitantly, to fall away. “But it is only natural when fighting for the God Emperor.” He nodded matter of factly.

“For Liberty ya mean.” grumbled the Helldiver, receiving another smack to the helmet as the spartan cleared his throat once more “RIGHT! Yes! Perhaps you should lead us through one? We are a bit rusty—“

He gulped, worried of the marines reaction, hoping this would smooth it over. Even still he braced for the worst until— the marine seemed to light up? “Of course! I always am ready to show guardsmen new prayers for our God Emperor!” His deep voice bellowed as he would readjust to be closer to the two.

Despite the Helldiver disliking the idea the spartan forced ‘convinced’ him to go along with it, if only to just please this ‘Space Marine’ into not crushing them under his boot— and he had to admit, it was kind of endearing the joy the marine displayed as he traced over the strange words within his book, explaining these ‘prayers’ he picked out for them and how to say them.

…Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad?

Lovely dividers by @squishyowl (Imperial) and myself :) (Helldiver)

Yapping below the cut

Oh BROTHER this one took a lot. Idk y but hey it happens (mostly due to my inability to stay on a project for too long—) but anyhow

This bad boy had say in my inbox for a WHILE and in my notes even longer….i think I ported it over to tumblr around the time I made the original au post, meanwhile it’s been written since about I first made the au, so woof a while ago

This bad boy took a few months on and off again to complete just due to my spelling and grammatical errors and the whole not working 100% of the time on it X.X

But here it is!!! Idk if it was obvious but the crossover is a really fun idea to me and I definitely wanna do more with if- so we shall see 🥰

I’m just a big huge sucker for sci-fi stuff especially sci-fi battle stuff and these three being big poster children for that idk how I couldn’t

Anywho- thank you all for reading and u all are so cool and thanks to my moots who proof read it for me 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶✨✨✨💪💪💪💪

Everyone have a good day 🫶

[two-reflections]

Visions in the Blood

[Summary: In the ruins of war, a selfless offer of blood and a holy vision of their primarchs forges a deep bond between two members of the Deathwatch, Techmarine Adathan and Apothecary Julen.]

[Rating: M, M/M, Oneshot.]

[Tags: Blood Drinking, Visions, Suggestive Themes, Comfort, Light Masochism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Battlefield, Ambiguous Relationships.]

AO3 is back!!! Their scheduled downtime finished early!

And with it... This was written for Marine Meat Monday, a weekly challenge by @tagedeszorns, following the prompt “Blood Angel weirdness”. Adding Imperial Fist weirdness was my own contribution. Thanks to @squishyowl for the dividers!

I'm considering writing a smuttier followup to this one, so please let me know if that's something you'd be interested in. ✨

[nevesmose]

From birth, it seemed, all Nostramans understood the concept of a protection racket. In her more introspective moments - rare, now, and getting rarer with every mission - Revila thought this was perhaps what made her people such effective warriors in the Great Crusade.

She sat, flight helmet on and spinal plugs engaged, cocooned in the silent near-darkness of her cockpit. Around her, the hangar bay of the VIII Legion strike cruiser Acerodon was as calm and quiet as she had ever known it. Only a few servitors, techpriests and legion serfs still moved around, making last-minute checks and benedictions to either her own vessel, a sleek Wrath fighter craft, or the single midnight-blue Thunderhawk being readied nearby.

Only two vessels would take to the void this night.

The planet they orbited, Revila knew, had been first brought to compliance by the Ultramarines. A reasonable show of force and reasonable discussion between reasonable fellow humans had won the day. 

Yet another leaf was added to the XIII Legion's heaving laurels and the world's tithes had been meticulously provided. For a time, at least.

Then, just as reasonably, the inhabitants decided that they would, on balance, rather not take part in the Great Crusade. Pict-captures had been broadcast across the sector showing a statue of Guilliman being craned down from its plinth in the planetary capital and the new planetary governor, if the title still applied, making an address to his people.

It was this footage that had captured the interest of the Night Lords - the Astartes had found it so compelling that they watched it over and over again, the same loop of the Thirteenth Primarch being hoisted up into the air to rotate stoically in the background of the governor's speech.

In mortal humans, Revila thought, this could be seen as uncharitably crowing over another's ill fortune. Of course it would be singularly unhealthy to be overheard accusing the Astartes of such pettiness, and when asked about it they merely insisted they were being conscientious warriors in the mould of the Ultramarines themselves, making sure to take in every detail of the enemy before making their attack.

On Nostramo, people who developed stiff spines about their gang debts tended to find themselves losing their kneecaps, or fingers, or eyes, or family members until they changed their minds. The same concept applied here, she thought.

But you can't kneecap or flense or blind a whole planet, some people said. Revila agreed up to a point - your arms would get tired eventually - but she knew, had seen herself, that the VIII Legion could and would if they felt it necessary.

In this case they didn't feel it necessary. A more merciful, exemplary act was planned instead. The Night Lords would give the rebel governor one last appearance on all of his planet's pict and vox channels, putting their trust in his world's inhabitants to choose the correct course of action afterwards. Few other Legions would show such benevolence.

The Wrath was ratcheted into launch position and Revila found herself looking directly down at the pristine blue-green orb below. She realised distantly that she didn't even know what the planet was called.

"Thirty seconds to launch, Violator One-Seven," the voice of Acerodon's flight controller grated through her helmet vox feed. "Good hunting."

Not important, she supposed. It would have a new name by sunrise.

[lemon-russ]

Your lion fic was beautiful. May I request more? Anything will do really. But here are my requests.

Lion angrily jerking it after experiencing one (1) emotion

Lion aggressively cuddling you. You're not hurt or sick or have lost feeling in your lower body temporarily, he just wants to be close to you. And be an ass about it.

You wear his legion colours/symbols and he gets really horny.

40k Lion reminiscing about an old lover from 30k (using that term loosely, they were probably just fuck buddies) and maybe they meet again in 40k. Let's say a perpetual reader.

Anyway these are just my brainworms. Feel free to ignore.

And yes, I am aware I have a thing for stoic men losing it and being absolute freaks. I am currently in search for a good therapist.

Sorry for the delay, but I feel adjacent to a human today, so I finally finished this! Also the way you presented it made me snort laugh haha, the kind message into "angrily jerking it" lmfao

Anyway here's The Lion straight jorkin' it (I like all your suggestions and might come back to the colors one especially!)

Tags: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk

Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers!

Lion El'Jonson X Fem!Reader

CW: Lion straight up jorkin' it. That's all.

Stupid woman, Lion thought, slamming his chamber doors closed.

He started angrily undoing the belt of his tunic as he marched to his bed, fingers frustratingly fumbling the latch in a hurry.

Stupid, infuriating woman.

Guilliman had sent a representative to give The Lion updates about some missions the Ultramarines had been on, just the average doldrum of war talk. But the representative he sent was his little Ambassador pet.

“My Lord?” You had said, looking up at him between explaining supply lines, “You seem very tired. Did you not rest well?”

He’d been shocked by the simple question. He had indeed been without a proper rest for a bit too long. But, no one ever asked such things about him. He was a god to most baselines, infallible and untiring, beyond mortal needs. But you spent a majority of your time around his brother, so of course you could read him better than a random serf could. And you’d been… concerned. For him.

“Wh- I…” he had stuttered, caught off guard. That annoyed him. Being flustered by a tiny baseline woman’s concern for him annoyed him. The pang of unnameable emotion that shot through him annoyed him. The sudden pulse of pressure below his stomach, especially annoyed him.

“Don’t be daft woman-” he had spat back. You’d just smiled softly at the verbal attack, soft eyes scanning his face, studying the circles forming under his eyes. Then for some warp damned reason, you had gone and made him a cup of recaff. You placed it in front of the flabbergasted Primarch and returned to explaining your papers like nothing had passed.

Stupid woman.

The minute you’d given him a quick aquillan salute and been on your way out the door, He had turned on his heel and stormed off to his quarters, leaving confused serfs in his wake as he pushed them aside, some even falling to the floor. “No one disturb me.” He had growled, stalling their pursuit of him.

He finally pulled his pants down, holding his tunic aside as he knelt on his bed. That feeling that you had invoked in him had shot right between his legs. The whole rest of the meeting, he was struggling to focus on anything but how hard you had made him.

He grasped himself, groaning at the friction at last as he stroked. Your image assaulted his mind. You leaning over the table just enough that he could see down the far too loose tunic dress you wore. He growled remembering that glimpse of your breasts, infuriatingly framed in ultramarine blue. It should have been HIS colors.

He grasped himself tighter as he assailed his aching cock, falling back on his pillows. It should be Dark Angels green you were in. No- it should be nothing at all. You should be naked in his bed. You should be panting in his lap-

His hips bucked himself fruitlessly into his hand at the image. Your sweet face, flush and gasping as you rode him. Did you look at Guilliman the way you’d looked up at him? Did you fetch him drinks when you noticed he was worn? The thought enraged The Lion. How dare you go back to the Macragge’s Honour, back to anywhere but his bed.

He gripped the sheets, yanking at his tunic as he frustratedly picked up speed, ignoring the slight soreness from his calloused palm attacking his cock without anything to help the friction. It wouldn’t be an issue if it was you on him instead. He bet you were plenty slick, and tight-

He felt his balls start to tighten, drawing in a hissing, ragged gasp through grit teeth. His bed creaked with the cadence of his hips jerking up into his fist. You should be here. You should be wrapped around him, holding on for your life as he used you like a cocksleeve- he imagined your small hands splayed over his stomach for balance, trying desperately to hold yourself down against his bouncing.

He fisted his cock faster, frustrated by the sub-par sensation of his own rough skin, barely slicked with his pre-cum as he drove himself forcefully toward an orgasm. He was frustrated he’d immediately given in to such base instincts. He was Frustrated you could drive him to this with one little question, with one sweet look.

His mind flooded with the image of you giving him that little smile, eyes soft and concerned in defiance of his sharp words-

He let out a snarl as the heat in him snapped, shooting his spend over his stomach in jerking pulses. A few more hard pumps on his cock drained him, shuddering and mind blank, before he collapsed back on the bed, legs shaking and ragged gasps wracking his lungs.

He lay panting, covered in his own seed, twitching his hips up in the aftershocks. This was your fault. You stupid, damnable woman.

He groaned and let his arm fall to his side as the sensations eased from his need-drunk mind.

He had a very stern demand to draft. If his brother wanted him to keep playing nice- which he had been, he’d been very cooperative he thought, he earned some credit- If Guilliman wanted Lion to keep his word about their plans and supplies and defenses-

Then the cost was merely one insignificant little diplomat woman.

[lemon-russ]

hoooo boy. It is 3am. I started this at 1am. Almost stream of conscious writing. Lots of sex. Like, 3k words of sex. And I got emotional so like. Bone apple teeth, you heathens.

Fuck forgot tags, its too late lmao: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye, and thanks @squishyowl for dividers

Part 17/ ???

< previous || next >

Ao3 || Taglist request ||

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Sex. Just. Lot of sex.

Summary: Cato and ambassador reunite

word count: 3,219

Song: Like Real People Do - Hozier (even get some easy listening with all this porn)

There is a sharp knock on your office door, making you jump a little. It wasn't Guilliman's knock.

“It's Open” you call out, standing and trying to tidy yourself and your desk. You'd been daydreaming and doodling again, not actually working, and tried to hide the evidence of your slacking with other papers.

Your door slides open, and to your surprise, Cato stands there, leaning in the door jamb, smirking.

It takes you a moment to process what you're looking at, but in a second you're scrambling around your desk, knocking papers on the floor as you sprint to the door.

Cato looks a little surprised himself when you fling yourself into his arms. He catches you, chuckling as he lets you cling to him.

“You weren't worried, we're you, little Ambassador?” He asks through a soft laugh.

You pull back and look up at his face in astonishment. “You're- You're home!” You gasp in shock.

“That I am.” He said smoothly.

“You found a ride? From all that way?” You ask, leaning back in to hug his chest.

He chuckles and pets your hair. “That I did. Surely you didn't expect the Captain of the Second Company to be bested by, what, finding a ride home?” He replies with some disbelief.

You laugh, burying your face in his shirt and sighing as you take in his scent, like wood and spices. For a second you realize he must use cologne to purposely smell nice, and almost laugh at the thought of him preening himself so much when he acts so aloof.

“I didn't think you'd like, die-” you say, muffled by his fatigues shirt. “-but I also expected you to take longer getting back.”

He pulls you back to look at your face, smiling and sighing as he lifts your chin. “Ye of little faith, Ambassador. After sorting things out with Titus, I had secured a ride home by the next morning.”

You smile wide. You were surprised to see him but, he's right, as much as he is cocky, it isn't unearned.

“Still,” you say, leaning your face into his palm as he moves to cup your face, “I'm so, so happy to see you.” You say softly.

He makes a soft hum, “And I have been loosing my mind missing you.” He says, mirroring your tone.

He lifts you up a bit and takes a step into your office, hitting the control panel on the door and setting it to locked. You raise an eyebrow and look up at him curiously.

Before you can formulate a question, it's already answered by the look in his eyes.

Hunger.

“Cato…?” You ask anyways, but squeak when he picks you up and plops you on your desk. He cages you in with his arms, towering over your little human size desk and grinning ear to ear.

“I have really missed you, my little Ambassador…” he says with a huskier tone. He moves his mouth to your neck and starts trailing warm kisses down.

You shudder, chuckling shyly. “Seriously? I worry for 3 days, thinking you were dead on some back water agriworld-” you stifle a gasp as he nips at your throat gently, “-and th-the first thing you want to do is-”

“Fuck you? Yes.” He purrs, pushing you gently onto your back on the desk. You flush, but it isn't not working on you. You feel your core warming as his hands roam up your curves and he nibbles at your collar bone.

“I walked into my Primarchs office today expecting to be given a death oath.” He says in a low voice.

You gasp softly. You thought he'd be in trouble, but, a death oath? A chill runs down your spine at the thought of your Cato having to swear himself to a suicide mission for the dishonor of bedding you…

He sees the look of worry in your eyes and gives you a reassuring smile. “Ah, don't stress about it. I was being a little dramatic.” He chuckles.

He goes back to kissing down your chest, humming happily and tugging your shirt away. “But dramatic or not, I thought I was going to at worst be sent to die, and at best, never see my little Ambassador again.” He sighs against your skin. “Though I think I'd prefer the death oath to knowing you were there and I just couldn't be near you…” he murmurs between kisses.

You let out a sigh, running fingers through his hair, letting yourself be comforted by the fact that he's here and safe right now. “So… you're not in trouble…?” You ask.

He grimaces, resting a cheek on your breasts and looking up at you. “Well, I mean, I'm suspended for a minute. But, thankfully a little diplomat worked her magic over on Guilliman.” He said with a smirk. “He said he, what was it, pinky promised not to kill me?”

You chuckle and blush a little. “Hey, you're not supposed to know that. The contents of a pinky promise are highly confidential.” You tease.

He grins up at you, nuzzling into your chest. “Well, thanks to you, I'm not only not going to be killed in some fashion, but I've been given permission to keep seeing you.” His expression softened into one of warm admiration. “Have I ever told you you're quite skilled at your job…?” He chuckled.

You gasp and put a hand to your chest, mouth agape in feigned shock. “Captain Sicarius! Was that… was that a genuine compliment?!” You say aghast. “And of my silly diplomacy skills, no less! Don't I recall you once saying my job was, what was it-” you tap your chin. “Ah, ‘frivolous and a waste of imperial resources’ I believe were the words…”

He rolled his eyes, laughing gently. “Oh be quiet, don't make me regret being nice” he said, turning to playfully mouth at your chest with his teeth.

You laugh and push playfully back on him. “What? I'm just trying to get clarification, because surely the great Cato Sicarius isn't actually admitting some things can be talked out-”

You're interrupted by him tugging your shirt up and snapping your bra off in a quick motion, making you melt into giggles as he pulls you closer to the edge of the table by the hips.

“You can be quite mean to me, you know that?” He chuckles playfully, mouth assaulting your breasts and making you giggle harder, punctuated by light gasps when he finds your nipple.

“You-” you gasp, “you're calling- me mean-?” You stifle a small moan as his hand finds your other breast and starts playing with it in tandem.

“Yes.” He says between kissing and sucking your nipples. “Quite mean, actually. You're a little bully.”

You laugh and give him a small smack on the shoulder, only eliciting more chuckles from him.

“No no, you aren't turning this on me Cato Sicarius!” You try to scold between breathless giggles. His hand has started working its way under your pants and tugging them down, which greatly distracted from your indignant rage. “You're the bully here- you tripped me for fun! You would hide my paperwork and tell important nobles crazy rumors about me!”

He pops his mouth off your breast, laughing in a low growl as he tucks you further against him and finally pulls off your pants. “You have no proof that you weren't raised on an agriworld entirely dedicated to manure farming.” He says with a mischievous grin.

You huff and smack his chest uselessly. “That's not even a real thing! And you didn't say ‘manure farming’, you told the planetary governor I was raised as a shit shoveler!”

“Tomato tomato.” He says, flippantly waving a hand. You start to growl out an argument but your words die in your throat as he tugs off his pants and kicks them to the side in one movement.

“We're-” you rasp, eyes glued to him stroking himself between your knees, “We're coming back to this later, I won't forget it.” You manage.

He rumbles a low chuckle in his chest, pushing your knees apart. “Oh, of course. Can't miss an opportunity to berate me, can you, little bully?” He needles at you playfully, but your frustratingly are having trouble keeping your thoughts straight while his fingers are trying to work into you.

He makes a happy hum as you interrupt yourself with a sweet, soft moan when his finger gently pushes into you at last.

“What was that, Ambassador? It sounded like you had a well thought out argument to make-” he chuckles as he pushes it deeper into you, pulling another noise from your throat.

“Y-you- mmhhhf-” you moan, squirming under him as he leans in and starts kissing you across the neck and jaw.

“Speak up, Lady Ambassador.” He chuckles, “why, this is no way to conduct yourself in a negotiation, making all these noises…”

He cuts off your next attempt at words by capturing your mouth with his own, and pulls his finger free of your clasping depths. You whimper against his mouth at the emptiness, but you aren't left alone long as you feel the head of his cock prod at your now somewhat more prepared entrance.

He releases you from the kiss, pulling back to grin mischievously at you. “Well?”

You blink, bleary eyed and confused. “…well what…?” You rasp breathlessly.

“Well, aren't you going to defend yourself against all my ‘bullying?’” He teases, rubbing his head along your soaked lips.

You blink again. “D…defend….” You frown, “What- you're the one who always bullies me-”

He stops you with another kiss, making you whimper a needy noise. “Well, maybe do your job you're so good at, hm?” He grumbles in an amused tone. “Go on, negotiate.”

The gears slowly turn in your hazy brain. “Negotiate… so you'll fuck me…?” You mumble.

He pushes the head of his massive cock just barely into you, making your hips instinctively rock, seeking more. He holds you by the waist and chuckles. “That's right. Maybe if you can argue your way into it, I'll bully you over it less.”

You frown, furrowing your brow. “You are such a brat, Cato.” You sigh.

You try and think through your sluggish, hazy thoughts. To negotiate, you just need to know what the other actually wants, and what they aren't willing to give up. Cato might think himself clever- and in all aspects of war he is. But when it comes to emotions, especially his own? The man barely figured out he liked you romantically, then was snappy while fucking you in a cave.

You clearly have the advantage.

“Fine.” You say, crossing your arms and putting one leg over the knee of the other. “I don't feel like playing your games today, Cato. You can't come into my office, days after me worrying for you, toss me on my desk and then push me around.”

He frowns, hands still holding your waist. “What?” He asks flatly.

“I don't want to play this game.” You repeat, huffing. “You can go. Find me when you actually want to fuck me.”

He looks like he was slapped. “You-” he sputters. “You're not serious.”

You shrug, turning your face away. “Nope, lost your chance.”

His mouth falls open a little. “I- I mean- I was just joking-”

You shrug again.

He frowns, scrunching his forehead hard. “Come on, little Ambassador, I just thought we were playing-” he says, voice tinged slightly with desperation as he rubs your crossed knees.

You pout. “I dunno. Didn't sound like playing.” you huff.

He frowns harder. “I- I mean- I'm sorry. Please don't throw a tantrum.”

You give him a small scowl of annoyance, and he snaps his mouth shut so fast you can hear his teeth click. “Sorry, sorry, not a tantrum-” he says, nervously clearing his throat. “Please, can we just…?” He smiles nervously, rubbing your thighs.

Your suppress a smirk. He's so easy to tease.

“Please what?” You say, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

He blinks at you, then grimaces. “Oh, come on-” he starts before you smile and shake your head.

“You won't be coming on anything if you can't use your words. Go on, Captain. Negotiate. I'm open to begging.” You smirk.

His jaw falls open again. “You crafty little-” he shakes his head and sighs, leaning over your legs. “Please, little Ambassador?” He says, cheeks tinged pink.

You grin. “Use your words, Captain.”

He groans. “Please can I fuck you?” He mumbles, cheeks warming further.

“You don't sound like you want it very badly.” You say with a mischievous grin. You uncross your legs.

He sighs and smiles, eyeing your teasing sex before leaning over you again. He cups your face, leaning his lips down to your ear.

“I need you, my little vixen.” He whispers with warm breath ticking your ear.

You swallow to sooth your suddenly very dry throat. “Oh-?” You rasp.

He prods at you with his head again. “Mm, I need you. I've thought of nothing but how you feel wrapped around my cock for three days…” he purrs, nuzzling your jaw. “Please, please let me have you…” he whispers huskily before nibbling at your earlobe.

You have a split second thought that you may need to get rehydrated after this with how quickly wetness rushes between your legs at his sweet, desperate words.

He feels your slickness and chuckles, rubbing the head of his cock between your lips and making lewd, wet noises from it. “Is that a yes, little vixen?” He rumbles softly.

“I- I suppose- I think I can spare a moment of my- busy schedule-” you barely rasp out.

He grins against your neck. “Then we have come to an excellent, mutually beneficial agreement. I suppose my earlier praise stands, you're pretty good at your job.” He teases, then lines himself up and pushes into your slick entrance.

A deep, husky groan is ripped from your lungs as he stretches you. Your hands instinctively cling to his neck and tangle in his hair.

“Uhnf- Cato-” you moan, head falling back and hair cascading across the still paperwork covered desk.

He lets out a deep, primal groan of his own, voice shuddering. “By the throne, you feel-” he moaned gruffly, “-amazing- I don't think I'll ever tire of this feeling-”

He sank deeper, filling you in a way you've been craving since he last had you. He bottoms out and sighs. He pants softly and grins down at you, flushed and squirming and panting little hitching noises.

“Holy Terra, you're beautiful like this.” He says almost dreamily. He tucks some hair behind your ear. “You're mine, right?” He purrs, rocking slowly in and out of you.

Your eyes roll back a moment as he starts to move. “Cato-” you groan.

He chuckles again. “That doesn't answer my question, my lady~” he slows his movement, making you whimper. “Tell me you're mine.” He demands in a soft, heady voice.

Your mind wipes blank a moment. “I- I'm yours-” you rasp, and you're rewarded with his cadence picking up again.

“That's right-” he pants, falling forward to cage your head in with his arms. “Mine-” he growls. “A-again-”

You gasp needily as his hips start slapping to yours faster, the sound of your thighs meeting his muscular stomach echoing with his balls slapping against your ass as he moves.

“I- I'm yours-” you pant out again, “yours- yours-”

He lets out a primal noise as he curls around you and begins hammering into you, losing himself in instinct. “Mine, mine, mine-” he snarls softly into your ear, pulling you sharply down to meet him every thrust like a toy. You worry a moment as you hear the wood creak on your poor desk, but it's drowned out in your mind when he slams back into you.

You feel your mind going hazy, lost in the feeling of being stretched over his cock over and over. As your gasps get higher and higher pitched, he pulls back just a little to watch your face with a dazed smile. “Mine…” he murmurs, cupping your chin and tilting yor face to meet his eyes. “I want to watch your face when you come for me.” He rasps huskily between pants. “I want to see that sweet face fall apart with how good I make you feel. How good it feels when I make you mine-” he growls softly.

You feel your stomach tighten at hia words, and its hard to keep your eyes on his as you feel your orgasm edge closer each deep thrust. “Cato-” you gasp. “I- I- unff-”

He grins at you, eyes lidded and breath coming in ragged gasps. “Good girl, look at you, so pretty like this-”

You whimper again, fists grasping desperately at the papers on your desk.

“Cato-! Cato!” You pant.

“Cato- I- oh throne-” you desperately grab for him and he holds you up by the back so you can press your forehead to his, looking up desperately into his eyes.

You gasp sharply as you feel the tightness snap in your belly, your walls squeezing his still pistoning cock in you.

“I love you-!” You cry out as you come.

He stumbles for a half second, eyes going wide and jaw slacking. Then he follows suit with you, and you feel him start to twitch in you as he snaps back into thrusting.

“Oh, throne-” he groans your name, then pants it hazily as you feel the full force of him like you haven't before, filling you to almost uncomfortable tightness before his come can spill out from you.

He hilts into you a few times more before collapsing around you, one knee on your desk, elbows holding him from crushing you while he gulped air like he was drowning.

Your fuck hazed mind slowly catches up with you.

Did you just-

During sex--!?

Your delirious warmth starts creeping with cold panic as you look up at his face- but it's quickly stopped when his mouth crashes into yours.

His tongue pushes needily around yours, and you quickly return it best you can, losing the fight against his aggressive, possessive need.

He breaks the kiss, both of you gasping, and holds your face between his hands.

Your eyes go wide again when you see his eyes are wet with unshed tears. He's fighting back crying clearly by the way his mouth keeps trying to tug down at the corners, the way his forehead is scrunched between his brows-

“I love you, too.” He whispers.

You don't realize you're crying until his thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Much more softly, he leans in and kisses you again

[lemon-russ]

I have finished the Leman Russ smut from the poll. A vague followup to the first Russ breeding kink fic lol. I have a clear bias here.

(Thanks for the divider @squishyowl :) )

Leman Russ x F! Reader

Ao3

CW: BREEDING KINK, YOU ARE WARNED, Pregnancy, sex obviously, straight smut, Size kink, fingering, praise, again I cannot stress enough how breeding and pregnancy kink this is.

Somewhat sequel to this one, if you squint. Natural consequences lol.

Word count: 1,726

“My little wolf mother” he murmured into your ear as you stirred awake. You hum and smile, rolling over in his arms. He has to reach over and help you, gently taking some of the weight of your belly so that you can move more freely.

He curls around you, pulling you against him so that you are resting on his arm, and gently runs his hand over your swollen belly.

“Did you sleep well, my little love?” He mumbles into your hair as he kisses the top of your head.

You hum happily. “Mm, mostly. The baby kept me up a bit.” You say sleepily, snuggling agaunst his broad chest.

“He's a feisty one.” He says happily, smiling down at your bump.

You giggle softly. “Or she.” You add.

He frowns. “Nonsense. It will be a strong boy, feel how he kicks!” He says playfully, rubbing his hand over your belly as the baby moves under his palm.

You chuckle, enjoying the feeling of his hand rubbing soothing circles.

“And if it is a girl?” You ask, smiling up and running your hand over the stubble on his jaw.

He smiles a wolfish grin down at you. “Then she will be the toughest and strongest girl on Fenris.” He says, leaning in to kiss your neck, scruffy jaw scratching your face as you giggle.

He kisses the crown of your head and gently untangles himself from you, tucking you back into the furs. “Stay in bed, I’ll be back with some breakfast for you.” He says as he heads to the door.

You pout and watch him leave, but cuddle back into the soft bed and rub your belly absent mindedly. Your primarch husband has gotten so protective since you got pregnant, and has taken you to this safe little cabin to pamper you while you’re in the last stages. Of course he has midwives ready to help when the baby comes, but for the most part you two are having a little honeymoon before the baby is here.

Of course the privacy is nice, since Leman can’t keep his hands off you. It’s been a month of sleeping in, being fed whatever he scavenged and hunted, and him seemingly trying to put another baby in you. You joked with him that it doesn’t work like that, but he just joked back it doesn’t mean he can’t try.

You fall into a light nap, and wake to the smell of meat sizzling over the fire.

You yawn and smile as you attempt to roll towards him, and he chuckles and offers you a large hand so you can sit up.

“That smells wonderful, love.” You say. You’ve been craving rabbit, and you’re sure Leman has hunted out the whole forest for you by now. He probably has to go miles away to find them for you still.

He grins and offers you a skewer of meat, which you happily take and nibble on.

“A proper little wolf in there.” He chuckles. “Making their mother crave wild meat. They’re going to be an excellent hunter.” He says with pride, biting into his own meat.

You giggle, and jump a little when the baby gives you a firm kick to the ribs. “Ah-” you grumble, hand going to rub the offending spot. “I know, you’re tired of being in there, I’m tired too.” You playfully scold your belly. “So hurry up and get out so we can both have more room.”

Leman frowns a little, reaching over to snuggle you into his lap and rub your bump. “Calm little one, you hurt your mother like that.” He says with soft admonishment. “She carries you, feeds you with her body, protects you, and you kick her ribs?” He chuckles.

You smile and giggle. “Oh, they don’t know, they’re just getting cramped.”

He hums, nuzzling your neck again, taking your empty skewer and tossing it to the fire. “You know what the midwives always said helps move things along?” He says with a sweet grin.

You roll your eyes, but smile. “Is there anything you think about besides feeding me and fucking me?” You chuckle as he lays you back on the furs, kissing up and down your neck and shoulder.

He makes a low growl in his chest. “Mmm, no.” He murmurs against your skin, tugging off your sleep pants.

You hum a happy noise back as his hands quickly find your nub, slipping under your panties and making gentle circles as he nibbles at your neck.

“I just love seeing you so heavy with my child” he grumbles into your ear, looking pleased with himself when his fingers draw a small gasp from you. He gently bites your shoulder, growling happily and sliding a finger between your lips.

“You- are terrible-” you giggle weakly between gasps. “I’m a little worried- you’ll never leave me not pregnant after this”

He rumbles a pleased noise and bites a little harder on your shoulder, only releasing a moment to reply, “Don’t tempt me love, I think you’d be happy here, cared for and pampered.” He bites again and teases your entrance with his finger.

You groan a little as his finger works its way into you, gently rocking in and out of you and making wet sticky noises. He shifts himself over you so he is straddled over you, and moves his other hand to your swollen breasts, massaging them with a calloused palm. The rough skin runs over your sensitive nipples, making you moan a little and involuntarily rock your hips on his hand.

He smiles, then pulls your shirt off over your head, taking a moment to admire your chest. “Mmm, this is my second favorite thing that has changed.” He says in a happy, low rasp. He palms your breasts a little more. “So big now. So sensitive. Your belly is my favorite, but this is a close second.” He grumbles, and lowers himself so he can suck on your other nipple.

You whimper a noise at his warm mouth attacking your sensitive flesh, but he only responds by sucking harder and letting his wolf fangs graze your skin. You gasp and shiver at the feeling, not enough to hurt thankfully, and melt under him as he pushes a second finger in you and rubs your clit with his palm.

“Leman-” you groan, feeling that feeling in your lower belly coil like a spring. “Leman, please-”

He growls, nibbling at your nipples. He curls his fingers as he pumps them in you, hitting that last spot every time he pushes them into your increasingly slick hole. “Good girl” he growls, “That’s it, I love seeing you fall apart for me” he grumbles as he picks up speed.

You buck your hips as much as you can under the weight of your belly, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Leman, yes—” you gasp, mind going fuzzy as he hits all of your sensitive spots at once. You match the rythm of his fingers and feel the heat build around them, and when your walls start to clench around him, he growls a rumbling noise, and pulls his hand out.

You gasp and whimper at the sudden emptiness, but hold your complaints when you see him fumbling to pull himself out of his pants.

He pushes his already hard cock to your entrance, and you almost come just from the friction of rubbing on his pre-cum dripping head. He shifts you under him so he isn’t putting pressure on your gravid belly, carefully cupping a hand under your ass to move you against him.

He slowly works you over his head, grunting and having to take breaks to calm himself. The feeling of being stretched makes your mind go blank, already so close to the edge of coming that it feels like torture when he has to stop and let you acclimate to him.

“How-” he growls, working himself a few inches deeper. “Do you always stay- so tight, little love-” he groans as you clench around his cock.

You can’t actually form words enough to answer, trying to roll your hips onto him. He helps, gently lifting your ass with his hand to assist your attempts at riding him. He chuckles. “You are so gorgeous right now, little love. Belly huge, eyes glazed over…” he pushes himself the rest of the way that he can, which is only about a third of his length with how the pregnancy affects things.

You cry his name as his free hand plays with your clit again, and he growls a loud, deep sound as he feels you come, your walls squeezing around him as you pant and wiggle your hips. He gently pumps in and out of you as you ride it out. “Such a good girl for me-” he grunts through clentched teeth, trying to be gentle. “Always so needy for my cock, always wanting to be filled even when you’re already so full-”

You shake as you come, soaking the furs and his hand below you, and he leans down and gently bites at your shoulder as you do. “Good girl, thats it- come for me-” he murmurs between bites.

His hips pick up their pace, stretching you over him faster and harder as he looses some of his control. “Yes-” he growls, “I’m going- to keep you pregnant-” he rumbles and bites your shoulder a little harder, making you gasp. “I’m going to make sure you’re always like this for me-” he growls more, then bites your shoulder hard as he bucks deep in you.

You feel the pulses twitching from him, pushing though your overstuffed hole, and feel his hot seed fill you and then leak out in pumps, no where to go in your already stuffed body. His teeth grip you as he jerks against you, growling ferally. Eventually his cock stops pulsing and he unlatches his teeth, groaning your name and slumping to your side. He grumbles and pulls you to his chest, still dazed and occasionally twitching his hips up into you. “My little love…” he mumbles, kissing your hair. “My little wolf mother…”

[lemon-russ]

True Son of Horus

-holds up frying pan as shield- look, I'm just as much a victim to these sad things as you guys, I wake up with terrible ideas and they just appear on my phone. If I don't share I think I will face 100 years of curses. I don't make the rules (I do make the rules)

It's super short

Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye, and thanks for dividers @squishyowl

Horus x F!Reader (Sort of)

CW: Death, Sad, very sad, mentions of blood and wounds, Loss of an adult child

Song: Youth- Glass Animals

Fly Feel your mother at your side Don't you know you got my eyes? I'll make you fly You'll be happy all the time I know you can make it right

Legion mother.

Thats what they'd taken to calling you, once upon a time. Their gene father's wife, their Legion Mother.

Then you'd became a real mother. You'd raised your boy and he became the pride of the Luna Wolves. The apple of his Father's eye. 

You wish you knew then. You would have run. Fought. Cried, screamed, escaped. Oh, you had loved Horus. But if you only knew what he would do.

He stands over the body of his brother, The Great Angel, as his own Father confronts him about his treachery.

You didn't know of course. He didn't tell you anything important. It was always don't fret over it my love. Always placating you, pampering you, hushing you. And you let him, because things were so easy.

You can't hear what Horus is rambling about through the ringing in your ears. Your vision tunnels as you scoot forward on your knees over the hard, textured metal floor of The Vengeful Spirit.

Your shaking hands brush the cold, pale cheek of the boy you made with your own body, so many years ago. Forgotten by his father now, left aside in a pile of other corpses of forgotten sons. But those were Sons of Horus in name only. Gene Sons.

This is The son of Horus. The son of the Legion Mother. Your son. Forgotten, eyes wide and staring at nothing.

With trembling hands you lift his head into your lap. You hear the conflict nearby escalate, but again cannot hear the words. You close your son's eyes. There, he's sleeping now. You can't kill an Astartes afterall. They are strong and fast and heal so quickly. That's how Horus convinced you to let your baby boy be modified at the tender age of 10. He will be strong, invincible, immortal, he'd told you.

Yes, he will heal. He just needed his eyes closed so he can rest and heal. He's sleeping. He's sleeping. He's slee-

You don't realize your lips are moving, repeating the phrase aloud until someone touches your shoulder. You yank away. They want you to abandon your baby boy at a time like this? When he needs to rest on his mothers lap and heal? Just like when he was small and got a flu- something he hadn't had to worry about in decades thanks to his geneseed implant- he use to come to your side and lay in your lap, seeking the healing warmth of his mother's embrace. You'd pet his hair like you did now, murmur lullabies to help him sleep, just like you do now. He's so peaceful. You'll need to get him a bandage for the head wound, it looked like a nasty one, but that is alright, you will mend him just like when he had a scraped knee-

The hand on your shoulder starts pulling harder, tearing you from your sleeping boy. 

Through the echoing ringing of your ears you hear a new sound over the shouting of Horus and his father. A wet, screeching sound like a metal sheet being torn in half, or almost what your old planets tales might call a banshee's wail. It was not good to hear the cry of the banshee, it means someone you know or yourself will die soon. You worry for your sleeping baby boy in the back of your shattering mind.

A hand clasps over your mouth and the wailing muffles. 

"Please, Legion Mother, we have to go now-" and insistent voice urges you. Was that Levi? He's your son's best friend, and a good boy, you've known him nigh most his life. He was a neophyte with your son.

"Levi, he's so tired, we have to take him to his bed-" you say, trying to crawl back to the motionless form.

Levi picks you up, and the banshee starts wailing again in the echos of your ringing ears.

"Legion Mother, enough! We have to leave now-" he damands, clamping a hand back over your mouth as he throws you over his shoulder.

You reach out as your sleeping boy grows farther and farther from you. Distantly you hear shouting, and metal on metal. Levi turns a corner and your son is torn from your eyeline. 

You'd go back.

You'd warn yourself.

You would find the day you sobbed and held the tiny, distinctly human baby in your arms and you'd tell yourself to run. Horus hides things. Horus wanted to make your baby into a wepon. Horus would fight his own father over the corpse of his brother, yards from where his own flesh and blood son lay lifeless sleeping on the cold metal ground of a warship.

Your baby boy. You'd have gone back and told yourself they would take your baby boy, and you'd have to watch. 

[kit-williams]

Husbandry Angron part 2

Part 2 to this fic

For @egrets-not-regrets for helping me here is your reward for helpin me.

@liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Thank you @squishyowl for the dividers

Dozens of apothecaries and human brain surgeons were there in the large surgery room in the base, curtesy of the Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists making it in such a short amount of time. Waiting in the wings were flesh crafter sorcerers as there was little chance for failure as this was a primarch. They had to try their best as they were going in blind.

With his skull cap removed they could see the mess... "Jesus Christ." A surgeon said looking at the mess... a mess of wires and brain matter barely holding together.

"Um, is... is his skull cap growing back?" Another human said noticing how the bone was slowly stitching itself back together and regrowing.

"Yes it is." the head apothecarian said walking up and taking a look as he was in full armor, "Get the flesh crafters on standby." The chaos space marine ordered as why he was head surgeon? He had worked with the consortium.

The humans were the ones who were mostly going to be working on the primarch given their small deft hands could be delicate in this situation. Hours dragged on and metal was removed leaving gaping holes in his brain to which the sorcerers and his own natural healing factor worked hard to repair. This meticulous surgery pushed the limits of what was thought possible for both humans and Astartes... they were dealing with a Primarch and whatever genetic monstrosity it meant to be a primarch curtosey of the Emperor. Several powerful sorcerers sat around the building all pooling the warp and keeping it stable so that the flesh crafters could utilize it with ease.

Apothecarians all communicated on the private vox channel when the humans would pause having to remove the regrowing skull cap or when they were stumped on how to remove a particularly tricky nail. Oh there was one from each legion, minus the World Eaters, sometimes there were even two from the same legion; one a traitor and the other a loyalist. But, outside the building were gathering war hounds and world eaters... they gathered like lost dogs just limping their way here... all there and all silently hoping...

Angron opened his eyes as he could hear the gentle click of knitting needles and a calm beat of a heart he knew over the white noise that the dozens of medical machines had become. He sat up looking toward the click of the needles...

"Welcome back." Your soft voice greeted his ears as there was a gentle smile on your lip, "It's been a few days and in that time, let me tell you, I've met more space marines than I've ever seen." You say as you put down your project. You wait a couple of beats and your smile falters as Angron continues to sit there, "They..." He could hear your swallow, "They said there might be..." again you swallow doing your best to stay strong, "unknown side effects." You finally walk closer, looking up at him as your tiny hand rests on his, "Angron?" You say softly.

For Angron... he was overwhelmed by the fact that there was no longer any pain... his mind rushing trying to think of how to react and interact when there was no pain at the base of it all. He picked you up and held you close, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, as large tears rushed down his face. Words... oh so many of his brothers were good with words in any occasion by here words would do him little good. As Angron wept in joy... joy... he could finally feel another emotion again without pain after so long.

The devourer of worlds... the warlords of madness and bloodshed... so many of them subjected themselves to the nails but now... so many of them came to get them removed. Feral Astartes came to get them out. As once more they came to him like a dog to follow their father. A legion of beaten dogs they were... but they were dogs who could still wag their tails.