#peturabo x reader

[moodymisty]

Hi, if you're still taking requests for warhammer, would you be willing to write an x Reader with peterturbo or knorad?

Author's Note: Ok, so I decided to go with Perturabo, simply because as fun as it would be for me to write a Konrad fic because I enjoy writing horrible bloody angst, I didn't know if you'd be comfortable with that damage, anon. But then again... You did request him. (I also have no right to diss tastes in primarchs I love Angron lmao)

Anyways, ✨ Perturabo ✨. Enjoy. He's a raging cunt. But I love him uwu

Summary: Peturabo learns of Dorn's ascendancy to Praetorian of Terra, and you attempt to flee the boiling rage.

Relationships: Perturabo/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Perturabo's shit fucking attitude, Romance mixed with toxicity, Yandere!Perty if you squint real hard, General 40kness aka mentions of war and death, This would probably classify as an abusive/toxic relationship lmao, Witnessing Peturabo's slow descent into chaos IRL

Word Count: 1095

The library aboard the Iron Blood is monstrous. Any library you perused as a child has always paled to such a degree, that you need not even bring it up in comparison. Shelves tower over you that even looking fully upward doesn't show their full height, and behind them massive stained glass windows showing the unforgiving void of space. Stars glitter in the distance, or the occasional planet. Be it inhabited or not.

Little servo-skulls buzz overhead, most of them holding some form of parchment as they go about their secular duties. There's a Tech Priest fiddling away with their business that looks in your direction for a moment, before going back to their work. You can hear the faintest humming coming from them- mumbling in what you can only guess is machine language.

You could get lost in it all. Which is partly the goal.

You're avoiding him.

You had the moment you heard it, mumbled by Astartes having just felt their Primarch's own wrath.

Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists, has been cast to construct the Imperial palace of Terra.

The moment you'd heard that news coming from the lips of a battered Iron Warrior, rattled physically in his armor to such a degree that he seems to have some form of brain damage, you knew you'd hear it from Perturabo's own booming voice if you didn't run. To be at the end of a Primarch's own barely contained rage, not even considering the idea of physical violence, is enough to make you scatter to hide from him. There's no amount of love that could smother that primal fear.

In the shadowed alley between shelves and shelves of tomes, your eyes cast towards the floor.

You remember one night when he was listless, he had knelt at your bedside and took your hand in his own- speaking of his plans to build a palace so obscenely grand all else would pale in comparison. Bath houses, amphitheaters, training arenas, it was like he was there himself, in the vast ambition of his own mind. Denied ambitions for Olympia mixing with his endless ambition for the future.

He promised you some of them that night; Saying things so grandiose you found yourself nearly crushed underneath the weight of them. He was promising you so, so much, gifting you a gilded future with a stern, far off look in his eyes and his fingers now tight around your jawline. Your own fingers had gently laid against his hand, so much smaller and softer than his own.

To have that dream shattered, so suddenly and so wretchedly by the man who's been Perturabo's similar in a way that infuriates him to no conceivable end; You know just as well as anyone else aboard the Iron Blood that he was to be avoided.

As when Perturabo is angry, there’s almost always a layer of bitterness underneath. A gripe, vile taste in his mouth, defeat from once again being assigned a role he seems hateful of. Or a role he's been denied.

The book bindings feel cold against your fingertips. These are largely battle logs, transcripts of recent battles created by the Tech Priests aboard. Most knowledge about the Iron Warriors history is stored much more safely in the chapter's Librarium. It's not to say these aren't interesting however; As someone who's duty is to the collecting of this information, you find the whole thing to be intriguing. But perhaps now isn't the time to take such interest in it.

You hear footsteps. Far too heavy to be any rank and file Astartes, and they hammer down with a level of anger that has your head shrinking into your neck.

You barely have time to pull your hand away from the tome binding you'd just been fondling, before you see him. You're instantly in his shadow, the light between these massive isles far dimmer than what is in the central area. And unless you were to try and dart right between his legs, you've nowhere to run. It's not as if you want to run from him, you love him, but you know how he can lose himself at times.

"You are avoiding me." You can see the barely contained anger on his face. You don't know if it's at Dorn, or at you.

"Why." You hold your voice firm so it doesn't crack, refusing to allow it to.

"I thought you would want your space." His brow furrows. The scars across his face shift, the one across his lip most so. You can always feel that one in the rare moments you kiss him.

"So you know." How couldn't you? The entire Imperium is privy, something this significant has spread over vox and every other form of communication at disposal. They all know Dorn is the Praetorian of Terra, not Perturabo.

Damn them to the Warp. He doesn’t need any of it. All he needs are the plans in his head, and you.

He kneels before you, and it takes everything within you to not do a back step. But when he reaches a hand out towards you, you gently take it. Your feet move of their own accord as he pulls you closer to him, until his armored shin is nearly touching you. Peturabo has always been massive- he's a primarch, but his armor adds so much bulk that it makes him nearly inhuman.

"I will give you all of that which I promised you."

Your eyes catch his, pools of brown looking down at you. His warmth is in there somewhere, you think; Can you find it? Or is it already gone?

You try to whisper his name, whisper Bo- but it comes out so quiet that your voice doesn't even sound out, your lips just forming the silent word as a fruitless, pathetic effort. His hand is tight around your own, it almost begins to hurt. You doubt you'd be able to yank it from his grip if you'd even wanted to.

"No matter how many planets I have to level, or how much blood I need to spill,"

This isn't for you; This is for his own endless ambition, his own need to prove he's everything that he says he is and so, so much more. His hand finally lets go of yours and cups your jaw- but the metal is cold and unforgiving like iron, so unlike the rough, scarred but warm skin underneath. He's promising you the future but you don't want it, you just want him.

"You will have it."

[moodymisty]

Hi, i was wondering if you could do an x reader for dorn or mabey peterturabo again. I just love these boys

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Hey anon, I just posted this Dorn fic here, but I feel a little bad leaving you empty handed and I do love me some Perty, so here's a little tiny snippet I didn't know what to do with.

Relationships: Perturabo/Gn!Reader featuring Sanguinius

Warnings: Perturabo. Sanguinus being a bit of a cunt (as he should be) and poking Perturabo's fragile ego

"Ahh, so you must be Lord Perturabo's littlest warrior. We were wondering if we'd ever catch sight of you."

Sanguinius looks down on you with a gentle smile. You assume the 'we' he refers to is his fellow Primarchs, an idea of which makes your stomach twist and turn in your gut.

"I hope he hasn't been too inhospitable since," He glances away, his miffed expression cues you into what he's more than likely referring to. His wings gently shift, the feathers fluffed out comfortably. The golden armor he wears reflects the cold sunlight of Terra and gives it a golden sheen, his pelt cape shifting as he favors leaning on one leg.

You haven't looked directly in his direction since he joined you on the massive balcony, and you turn to bow and speak with the proper prose. It's the least you can do after being surprised with his arrival. You'd barely even heard his footfall before hearing him speak, his gentle but firm voice had nearly startled you out of your basic wits.

"He's been well, Lord Primarch."

It's the least you can do in the presence of the angel; You hadn't been expecting him and you feel so hideously under-dressed, tongue twisting to try and form the proper words.

The Angel manages to both soothe your nervousness and heighten it, as the corners of his mouth turn upwards and he lets out a small laugh.

"I do hope Perturabo doesn't demand you speak to him with such theatrics; He's always been the stauncher of us a-"

"Sanguinius."

The angel turns to the entryway from where he'd come, blonde hair falling over the collar of his armor in waves. The larger Primarch moves closer looking directly at Sanguinius, but the angel is effortless in deflecting the irritation Perturabo throws at him.

"There you are. We were just talking about you."

Peturabo is already in a foul mood, and to find his winged brother sniffing around you and using that silver tongue of his only serves to stoke that already fueled fire. Sanguinus' smile drops just a tad as he realizes Perturabo's discontent figuratively spilling over onto the marble floor.

The Hammer of Olympia steps closer to you and with one massive hand, places it on the railing; Separating you from Sanguinius and obscuring most of your form. The silent display of possessiveness is a bit surprisingly to the angel, as you watch his expression change.

"Am I not allowed to jest with my brother and his beloved?"

The two of them are completely at odds with one another; Though Sanguinius knows well that Perturabo is being tested. He simply finds it amusing to make him bristle. The air around you is so thick you swallow heavily, watching the two of them.

You could never tell another Primarch to cease, nor would Perturabo ever forgive you for the stain on his honor of trying to fight on his behalf. It would also be a dream to even entertain the idea of him taking the higher ground and not attempting to pick a fight with Sanguinius, of whom glances down at you and watches the way you get swallowed by Perturabo's shadow.

But now you stand in the vicinity of two near demigods, sweating hands holding onto the railing of the balcony as the angel continues to nettle Perturabo.

"Fine fine, I'll take my leave."

Sanguinius looks outward over the balcony before glancing down at you. His expression is unreadable- a flawlessly gentle smile and soft eyes as he looks over Perturabo's massive arm. He squares his shoulders more so in preparation if Sanguinus attempts to move closer to you.

"Enjoy the palace, little warrior."