#rogal dorn x reader

[solspina]

Rating primarchs based on how good of a boyfriend they would be

full send no context

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Horus : 8/10

He’s a nice guy for the most part, very charismatic and though very goal focused he’s also kind and open to those he’s closest to. Outwardly, he’s very straightforward, stern, and absolutely ruthless to his enemies. There’s humanity within him though, and he won’t keep his friendly, loving demeanor away from those who deserve it. Find him at a celebratory event, drunk with Sanguinius, moments in which he’s full of nothing but laughter and love for his brothers and the one who stands beside him. His love language is quality time.

Leman Russ : 4/10 (negotiable)

Though he knows love, it seems to be quite strictly familial. He’s described often as ruthless and barbaric, naive and braggish. If you can put up with things like that, I’m sure he would be a fine boyfriend. Similarly enough though, he’s had many women try to court him all at once, and successfully. I can’t promise his loyalty if someone better looking comes along, as no one ever taught him the importance of that. Outside of the constant, lingering fear of replacement, he can have his caring and understanding moments, occasionally bringing you gifts from crusades and sieges on other planets. Maybe his loyalty to the emperor would apply to his lover too, if you tell him what it means to you. His love language is gift giving.

Ferrus Manus : 7/10

Rage is his fatal flaw if we’re being honest. Not towards you, but towards battle. Toward you I imagine he would be more straightforward and honest, though trustworthy and strong willed to make your relationship work. Loyalty will never ever ever be an issue with him, but it seems like he spends more time with war and battle than he does you. He spends time with you when he can, though, and he truly does care. Points off for his temper. He gave his brothers personalized gifts, and i’m sure he would go through many lengths to do the same for you. His love language is gift giving.

Fulgrim: 6/10

He’s constantly trying to be perfect, and he wants whoever he’s with to be perfect too. A lot of the time, it gets to his head. He can be incredibly ignorant quite often, and isn’t very considerate of your feelings. You’re more of an idol to him, a model. You’re human, so he sees you as perfect, something he and his people should strive to be like. Youre idealized, and under rose tinted lenses, this looks a lot like love… Lots of acts of service and gift giving.

Vulkan : 10/10

The only man you will ever need point blank period. He’s patient, he’s empathetic, he’s kind, he’s humane. He’s incredibly easy to love, and he truly is beloved. The Salamanders love you too, sometimes listening to your commands as if they were his. You’re respected as long as you’re under his arm. He wants to understand the way humans feel, especially understand the reason they wrap their arms around each other and sleep with their bodies entwined at night. His love language is physical touch.

Rogal Dorn : 6/10

He’s incredibly loyal, and also incredibly honest, but his seriousness can get in the way sometimes. You love him, very much, but there are times you get into petty arguments and he has to go consult Horus and Sanguinius for advice on what to do. He’s also very reserved at times, a lot like a single dad who’s just doing his best to keep his job and go about his day. Acts of service would be his love language.

Roboute Guilliman : 9/10

Guilliman is a great boyfriend, a great tactician, a great warrior, all of the above. The only reason i’d take a point off is because I believe he may be a little arrogant at times. He believes that his way is the right way, but he’s usually willing to listen to you and your concerns. He’s incredibly intelligent, very sympathetic and understanding of human trials and concerns, and he’s a lot like we are modern times. I think he would look for comfort in a significant other, and his love language is likely acts of service.

Magnus the Red : 3/10

Another man that I don’t recommend being with. He’s more arrogant than Fulgrim. When I said Guilliman believes his way is the right way, Magnus takes it a step up. He thinks he’s ALWAYS right. He cares, and he means well, but he’s way too much to put up with. Highly manipulative and self absorbed, don’t put yourself in that situation. He values knowledge more than he does you.

Sanguinius : 10/10

Besides the fact he’s a vampire, you’re probably the most safe with him. He genuinely cares for you and your well-being, and sleeping next to him at night with his wing draped over you is an absolute dream in a universe plagued by war. His sons may fall to their bloodthirst when they’re on the home ship, and Sanguinius is fast to wrap himself around his human partner and protect them from any and all harm. You hold him through his sorrow every time a mass of humans or his sons lose their lives, and you watch him kneel to offer you his loyalty and unconditional love rather than you offering it to him. He gives both physical touch and words of affirmation.

Lion El’Jonson : 7/10

Of course he has his moments where he can come off as aloof and paranoid, but that’s for the most part only on the battlefield. Outside, he’s incredibly charming and charismatic, but in a noble way. When his paranoia gets to him after an argument, he seeks out Sanguinius and Horus for advice, wanting nothing more to fix your relationship and solve whatever went wrong. He become more secretive as time goes on, but old habits die hard. I believe he’d offer acts of service.

Perturabo : 6/10

He’s incredibly smart, but finds relating to you and your human tendencies incredibly difficult. His moods can shift and change rapidly and violently, but I believe he means you no true harm. He would never hurt you intentionally, often opting to back away and give himself space, sometimes for days. He never returns to you without a mechanically engineered gift, though, one of his design. Alongside a very gentle hug and a conversation about how you care about him, what he loves. You love him, not for his usefulness to the emperor, but for him. His love language is definitely gift giving.

Mortarion : 8/10

He’s very confused as to why you would choose him. He’s disgusting, an abomination, he hated everything from psykers to his oppressors, what did anything matter if he would be left to the mercy of another oppressor anyways? All thoughts he had until he met you. He was cold and hateful to you at first, untrusting, and yet you showed him kindness. You showed him kindness over and over again. For once, it wasn’t just a one time thing. You’re the only thing in this universe who sees him as more than a warlord, more than the embodiment of death itself, so for you he has a soft spot. He hates the idea of having a human curl up next to him, absorbing his warmth and disease alike… and yet you do. You remind him that his touch is not deadly, and he too is capable of humanity. He will be more considerate of his decisions, because for once, something matters. His love language is physical touch, because he’s been deprived for so long, you’re the only one who allows him that piece of humanity.

Lorgar : 5/10

Does he love you? Does he not? No… He needs you… Maybe he just needs space actually.He loves you, he really does, and by god he tries his best, but when you’re as impulsive and indecisive as he is, it’s hard to know sometimes. If you’re okay with it working 50% of the time, maybe more maybe less, I’m sure you’ll be fine. His love language is… uh… well?

Jaghatai Khan : 7/10

Loyal, decently humble, and a relatively peaceful man. Outside of war, he has potential to be great to you. When war is his focus, however. Expect no attention, he’s a fierce warrior and needs to focus on his allegiance to the emperor, that’s what comes first. You follow very closely after, though! He’s quick to praise you for the things you do well and gently remind you of a better course of action when it comes to the things you don’t do too well. Acts of service enjoyer.

Konrad Curze : 2/10

DO NOT DATE THIS MAN. Konrad is a walking red flag. The self loathing, the anger, the angst, the general belief in humanity as a fallacy. He’s also incredibly violent, and may cause you serious harm if you ever managed to anger him. He’s a primarch, and you’re a human. Don’t you dare piss him off. I don’t know why anyone would realistically want that. Please continue to paint him as mean angry babygirl with a soft spot in your fics though. If you think you can fix him, you can’t. The emperor already tried.

Angron : 4/10

Before his conversion to chaos, Angron would’ve been a great boyfriend if we’re being honest. He was kind, compassionate, encouraging. He loved you when you were enslaved beside him, but once he became a primarch and lost everything, his beloved included, he became one of the most ruthless and cruel people out there until he succumbed to Khorne. He doesn’t remember you. His love language was words of affirmation.

Corvus Corax : 4/10

A very melancholic and depressed primarch. He’s very angsty and honestly a major drag to be around. He and Konrad, i feel like, would be better boyfriends to each other than either of them would be to you. Corvus isn’t as violent as Konrad, but he definitely carries on the hatred, the sorrow, and the bitterness. He’s also very sensitive, so expect to be met with either violence or a breakdown if you try to leave. 2 extra points because you may get to keep your life, his love language is words of affirmation, always followed by self deprecation.

Alpharius Omegon : 7/10

He’s they’re a great boyfriend to be honest, though very secretive, and that raises many questions. You don’t know that there are two of them. It’s a secret, not even one that you’re allowed to know the answer to. Alpharius is obviously the more dominant brother, the one who you think has a soft side. He doesn’t. That’s not him, that’s Omegon. Omegon is much more gentle, quiet, and quite honestly a little more touchy. Why? because you make him feel seen. Alpharius is used to the spotlight, so giving him every ounce of your attention feels like the usual, though he still enjoys it very much. Alpharius expresses love through acts of service and gift giving, while Omegon expresses love through words of affirmation and quality time. They make up for everything the other lacks, as long as you don’t know the massive secret they’re keeping from you…

[moodymisty]

Would you be comfortable writing some courting headcanons for the primarchs?? Thank you!!

Author's note: Here you go, they're sort of random but I hope you enjoy them.

Warnings: Fem!Reader for some like Lion’el because of words like Legion Mother, A few very slightly lewd remarks

Fulgrim:

The primarch who out of all has most devoted himself to things like the arts is nothing short of overwhelming, when he first expressed his desire for you. Flowers, paintings, clothing, food, whatever it is you enjoy, all of it gets gifted to you with no small amount of theatrics. Though thankfully, Fulgrim knows when to turn it down a bit, and you can enjoy his company. Even then however he is still very intense, kisses on the hand, the lips, and gentle caresses abound as he woos you with his silver tongue. His legion is also one of the few who at the start know about Fulgrim's intentions, and actually takes it decently well. Far better than other legions, when finding out their Primarch is indulging in romance. You are the socialite, the shining star in a room and the talk of everyone there, and Fulgrim will have it no other way. But as much as he does all this, he finds it cute if you’re shy or nervous about it. Shyness isn’t in his dna, so he finds it very adorable. You often get purfumed, hand written letters when he is away. Fulgrim has quite the way with words, and many of them you’re glad the one who reads them are him and you.

Perturabo:

He might be a petulant manchild at times, but when the mood strikes him Perturabo can be a bit softer. It helps that you're one of the few people he trusts, now that the two of you are so close. Though it may often be more trouble than it's worth, with how often his mood changes. Perturabo can go from lavishing you with Olympian clothes to sulking in his workshop for hours if not days, leaving you to eventually wander down there and find him, and bring him out of his petulant sulk. A gentle hand on his own, asking if he can explain to you what he’s working on tends to help. Perturabo also becomes very possessive of you, not long after he starts courting you. If Dorn, Sanguinius or Lorgar so much as look at you the wrong way, he's more than ready for a fight. He has one person in his life who hasn’t wronged him, who actually respects him, and he isn’t losing that. Those softer moments with him as he speaks of his plans for amphitheaters and bathhouses while you lay in his arms are worth it, however.

Lion’el Jonson:

Lion'el is, complicated. Part of him wonders how he even got here, something as frivolous as romance was never a significant part of his mind. But here he is. He can’t complain, as he’s become so used to you now that often times, his nose wrinkles anytime he’s away and casts sight on an empty bed. He doesn’t say anything about it, however. Part of him laments he isn't able to give you rides on horseback, as he's far outgrown the horses he rode in his younger years. Though he can walk beside you, even if his men think it's demeaning of his position. Is painfully blunt about some things, and extremely obtuse about others. He wishes to marry you? Blunt. You get a military parade dedicated to showing the galaxy the Dark Angels new Legion Mother with no warning. He wishes for you to wear the colors of his legion and match him so when you arrive on Terra everyone knows who you are with? Vague and obtuse, he will grunt about every option until you choose the one he likes.

Rogal Dorn:

As with all parts of his life, he's extremely stoic and at first, you don't think anything's changed. He's the type that listens to the things you talk about, and silently gives them to you. For instance as a newcomer to Inwit it's incredibly cold, but your current dress just doesn't cut it for the harsh wind and un-acclimated body. You find a new one on your bed three days later made perfect and exactly how you like it, but Dorn says nothing about it. Those few late night moments alone when he brings you into his office, and you sit at his desk while he works are some of his favorite. Dorn gets to feel you safe in his arms, and while he’ll never say it out loud, he is overwhelmed in his love for you. Does not tell any of his fellow primarchs about you. The day they realize Dorn has a beloved is a stressful one, they’re all sneaking around trying to get information about you, and Dorn almost has to lock you in his quarters and shoo them all away. Is surprising talkative in written word. His letters or anything else tend to be very long, talking about the ins and outs of his legion, and their current progress. You’ve never heard him talk half that much in person, it’s sweet. Though once in a while those letters can get a bit salacious; And Dorn is nothing if not detailed.

Leman Russ:

This man's declaration that he wanted to court you was as brash and blunt as he is. You're pretty sure he was half way into sleeping with how drunk he was at the time, a massive hand on your shoulder as he smiles with a red face. Granted when he sobered up he was far more, romantic about it. By his standards. He still stunk of mjød, but at least he held your hand. From that moment on however Russ isn't a man shy of showing off, and wastes no opportunity to plop you in his lap and give you a kiss, pick you up off the ground, or say something far too inappropriate for the current locale. Whether it's day two or day two hundred, he finds keeping himself off of you too much trouble. He’s the type to make others turn away with how overt his affection is. Every one of his kisses and hugs feel like he’s treating it as the last one he’ll ever do. Loves when you comb and braid his hair. It takes awhile and he has no patience for it, but he enjoys when you do it.

Ferrus Manus:

As a recurring theme with all of these, Ferrus finds it a bit hard to show how he feels. While he has moments where he cracks a smile, often times he’s largely stoic. As such, he never really asked you to be with him, it was something that simply progressed overtime. He doesn’t invite you into his quarters and his bed if you aren’t his beloved, he assumes it wouldn’t take a genius to figure that out. Late night workshop time is a must. Ferrus can spend days in there with no issue, and oftentimes you have to come and climb into his lap if you want any time with him at all. He doesn’t mind as as long as you’re quiet; Though over time he’s begun to enjoy explaining his plans to you if you aren’t asleep. If you are asleep, sometimes he gets a bit emotional and talks or thinks to himself. He never thought he’d have someone like you when he lived on Medusa, he just needed to survive. Is actually somewhat hesitant when you first are together. Ferrus is well aware of his size (both out and in the bedroom, or any other local where he deems sex a daring and intriguing idea), and often tries to be quite gentle. It took a bit of coaxing to finally treat you like you weren’t made of glass. You get surprise gifts from Fulgrim at times. Some are sweet; Some are… They’re hidden until Ferrus returns from where ever he’s currently away to at the time and you can surprise him.

Horus:

The same as Fulgrim; Excessive and grandiose, but unlike Fulgrim, there's a tad more subtlety to it. But only a tad. Horus still is eager to show off the love of his life (and so much more that he’s kept just in his head shh), but he’s aware that sometimes you require a bit more subtlety. For a primarch, he’s quite the romantic. Though there’s only so much you can do when you have thousands of gene-sons waiting on orders and don’t exactly get why their primarch is holding your tiny hand and helping you walk down the thunderhawk’s ramp. You can do it yourself, they think. He can also be quite a bit grandiose in the theoretical sense. Horus seems to have your entire future together planned, and he’ll speak it to you during very late nights with stars in his eyes. To marry you, to bring you into his legion as the mother of his gene-sons, to give you your own child one day. He’s more than a bit overwhelming, but it helps he’s so charismatic.

Angron:

I... I hope you're patient. Angron isn’t one that is fond of things like romance. For multiple reasons. One being that it brings him pain because of the Nails, and the other being that in many ways, he doesn’t feel like he deserves it. He’s a slave, he’s a monster, he’s a man who failed his people, men like him don’t get to have someone like you. But you stay anyways despite the fear of him loosing control of the Nails, and eventually Angron supposes that there’s more annoying people to have around. He’s far more applicable to this in his early days. The Nails haven’t degraded his mental state yet, and his legion is still fresh faced and eager to prove their worth. If Angron accepts you, they will as well then. The downside is that many of the primarchs worry about Angron’s relationship and subsequent attachment to you, and the danger it brings. Some for your safety, but mostly for the fact that now that Angron is so deeply attached, if something were to happen to you it would well be within the possibility that Angron would completely loose control of the Nails, and become an unstoppable threat that would have to be put down. On the other hand, it seems that you can calm him down a bit, as much as the Nails will allow, something that not many are able to do. A double edged sword, your love is to him. Often times you have to restrain him during anything, strenuous. It’s for your own safety, though it seems like Angron doesn’t hate it either.

Roboute Guilliman:

The most traditional out of them all. He follows the 'rules' so strictly you have wonder if he's following some sort of manuscript. Your relationship progresses at a very methodical pace, which is a bit odd but you find it oddly sweet he puts so much thought into it. He does little more than hold your hand, kisses and anything heavier are strictly private; If it wasn't for the longing, puppy dog look in his eyes, no one would guess you two were anything more. He's not overt about it like Horus or Fulgrim, but you are still absolutely smothered in gifts. From jewelry to clothing to weird purfumes he's been gifted by high lords attempting to earn his favor through you (Guilliman has made it very obvious that he's not the type to be swayed by gifts but they hope you are and will put in a good word with your beloved), you quickly find yourself constantly or the receiving end of some sort of lavish gift. Roboute is very much in love, it's just hard for him to admit it. As you come to understand his own little love language is the day he's a very happy man. On a bonus note: It is very easy to get this man to completely melt for you. If it’s been a stressful time for him and he’s stressed, giving him a bit of a hand will make him a bit bashful, but overwhelmingly thankful.

Sanguinus:

As kind as he is beautiful, Sanguinius is one of the more heartfelt ones around. Romance abound, the angel and you are the textbook example of star crossed lovers the moment he proposes courtship to you. It almost makes some of the primarchs jealous at how incredibly perfect your love for each other is, like your feet don’t touch the ground He loves to pick you up and give you a hug or a kiss, wrapping you in his wings. He always says it's just so you feel safer, but he also likes the bit of privacy, hiding you from the worlds in his arms. You also enjoy playing with his wings when you’re in private, as they’re quite sensitive. A side note; He thinks it's cute that you use his fallen feathers as bookmarks and quills, and he now gifts you a few of his fallen primary feathers every now and again for you to use. You’ll know about the Red Thirst eventually when you’re with him. Sanguinius won’t ever ask for assistance, but if you were to offer a bit of blood? He’s incredibly careful, but the blood of his lover is nothing short of ambrosia and he will dutifully treat you afterward for sating his appetite.

Jaghatai Khan:

As one of the more reasonable primarchs, Jaghatai is a steal to have as your lover. He’s personable and kind, and funny to boot. He enjoys making you laugh, something his sons have picked up on. Sometimes they’ll tease you (or more likely unsuspecting commissars) when you’re in their company. If he's not able to hold your hand, he'll have a hand on your shoulder or back, always close to you whenever you're both together. He’s extremely dedicated to Chogoris, and it’s incredibly important to him that you adopt some of the culture he grew up in. You don’t have to, but it would make Jagahatai an extremely proud man if you attempted to understand Chogoran. He’s also private; His fellow primarchs don’t even know of your existence let alone close relation to him until you’re well into your romance, and Jaghatai has thoughts for no one else but you.

Konrad Curze:

Konrad’s romance is as toxic as he is. But at the same time, it’s like a drug you can’t get enough of. Because you’re fucking terrified of him, but the man is obsessed with you. Not many of the other primarchs understand the soul crushing, teeth grinding obsession Konrad has for you. He’s willing to fall to his knees and submit to you as long as you tell him you love him, and that he's worth more alive. But if you tell him you don’t?… You don’t want to tell him you don’t. Konrad is painful. He holds your hand too tight, kisses you too rough, bites you too hard. He doesn’t mean it, you don’t think at least some of the time, but he’s so caught in this obsession with someone trying to save him that his martyr complex melts away for a bit and he’s this self-loathing, sad excuse of a man. You almost pity him as much as you love him. Making him happy has become an arduous journey for you. Is the exact opposite of the others in wanting to show you off. You’re hidden for ages, until the primarchs realize Konrad has someone at his side. They worry, but they know separating him from you would cause more harm than good, and you keep Konrad’s emotions a bit more in check. And in the eyes of a few individuals, your safety serves as a good threat to keep Konrad and his unhinged legion on a leash and working towards a desired goal. A note; Konrad is surprisingly selfless in regard to more intimate matters. And he likes to bite. Your thighs don’t get much reprieve from him.

Vulkan:

Sweet as sugar, no one is as good at a proper declaration of love or desire to romance like Vulkan is. No matter how much it breaks his back he’ll always hold your hand, give you a kiss, or pick you up to bring you with him across the Flamewrought or the Terran palace. Besides perhaps Sanguinius and Lorgar, no one is as star-crossed in love with you as Vulkan is.

He’ll do anything for you, if you just ask. He often paraphrases that he would shield you from any threat, but sometimes you fear he’d do it literally. Less seriously he loves to gift you various things, your favorite being a necklace. You never thought he’d be able to work at such a small level, but Vulkan is nothing if not skilled. He got quite the reward the evening he gifted it to you.

Is one of the quicker ones to get serious. Talks of marrying you, writing you down in the history of his legion as their Legion Mother, Vulkan is quite eager to tie himself to you, and you to him.

Corvus Corax:

Corvus is private, and also quite slow to trust. Even slower to admit he likes someone, let alone enough to express that he’s in love with them. Many moments with him are often spent in his private quarters or somewhere else alone, where only you have eyes on him.

Is one of the few primarchs conscious of the fact that he isn’t really meant to exist, and that he’s forcing it by being with you. Your body often bruises and aches if he isn’t careful with you, and it secretly pains him that the one person he loves is so easy for him to hurt. Finding out about this feeling he has swiftly turns you into a mess of reassurances that quickly overwhelm poor Corvus, and while he still feels it at times, he appreciate you trying to soothe him.

Loves to write you letters. He feels like it means more to put the effort into handwriting, and when you send him one back, it’s like he can feel your touch on the paper. One time you left a lipstick kiss on the parchment and the man was insufferable that evening from how pent up he was, unbeknownst to you millions of miles away. You paid for that transgression dearly one he returned.

Lorgar Aurelian:

Lorgar is yet another primarch who is sweet as sugar. He also has quite the way with words, though unlike Horus and Fulgrim, it isn’t intentional. He’s just very passionate and verbose. Is also very touchy. Loves to pick you up and kiss you, show you off to others. He’s so stupidly in love and everyone around him is almost annoyed by it. He just loves his tiny little goddess so much, you bring him light he didn’t know he needed. Lorgar is also very affected by his religious trauma. His self flagellation both emotional and literal has always been an issue. You’ve had nights where you’ve put ice on his back after he whipped himself bloody, crying over his wounds. If it isn’t bad he encourages you to not weep over him, and if it’s worse he often times is beating himself up over worrying you. Being with him is stressful emotionally, to say the least. In another path, he often time beats himself up over the idea of corrupting you with sinful thoughts. Though that doesn’t really stop him, especially if he comes to his quarters one evening seeing you wearing all white draped across his bed. Lorgar will sin alright, but he does it while speaking prayers to save his own soul as he worships you. He’s one of the quickest Primarchs to want to marry you, to make you his own and to bring you closer and closer to his side.

Mortarion:

Mortarion isn’t an easy one to love. He doesn’t really consider the emotion valuable until one day he suddenly realizes that you mean something to him, more than just another baseline human does. Like Ferrus in that he never does the official courtship nonsense, and just upgrades your relationship in his head overtime. Someone who isn’t his lover doesn’t spend hours in the Pale King’s study watching him work, keeping one of his hands in their lap while he uses the other. Is a bit of a pushover in some ways, and takes his self loathing a bit too far sometimes. You’ve learned that sometimes he needs you to kiss him and tell him you love him more than anything else, to get him to stop sulking. Everyone is extremely surprised he found sometime. Let alone someone so personable. Fulgrim jokes that Mortarion should just send you instead of himself to Terra when the primarchs meet up to discuss things, as you’re easier to deal with. Mortarion hates when things like that are said, and he’ll hide you from the world obsessively for awhile after. He loves you, but sometimes for him love and possess get intertwined in his head when he thinks for you.

Magnus the Red:

Isn’t the worst beloved to have, but he has his quirks. He can be a bit stuffy at times, and often times forgets that relationships needs nurturing to grow. Magnus often times gets stuck in his own head and forgets everyone around him, including you. Loves to show off his warp magic to you, especially if you show literally any interest at all. He’s so used to everyone fearing it, fearing him, hating psykers no matter what, that any interest by you gives him hearts in his eyes. You’ll be up all night listening to him read you tomes. Which you don’t mind, it often helps you fall asleep. Since Magnus can change his size, he knows exactly how to make your squirm. You know you’re in for a wild ride when your beloved becomes bigger than Ferrus and starts taking off his armor.

AlphariusOmegon:

The twins are complicated. Given the primarchs consider you only Alpharius’ beloved, you spend more time with him than Omegon. As such, sometimes Omegon can get a bit possessive whenever you two are together. You don’t entirely blame Omegon for it; His other half is the one holding your hand and showing you off, joking about marrying you to his fellow primarchs. As such, those topics tend to be a minefield in your weird little relationship. They often use you to get information about the other Primarchs. It seems your smaller stature makes them almost seem like you're less of a threat, and get a bit more talkative around you than they are around whatever twin is currently frontfacing. You hate when they ask this of you, but you have no power to refuse them. As the twins are extremely meticulous and through, they've been careful to not show anyone how in love with you they really are. If they how just how much Alpharius loves you, it would be easy for you to be used against them. So affection is limited, and they put up an aura that you're not much more than an arm piece when in view of others. They eagerly make sure to show you this isn't the case in private, however.

[ms--lobotomy]

Are y'all down for some heresy?

NSFW under the cut. Don't say I didn't warn you.

LION EL'JONSON - "Stay quiet," he grumbled. He pushed you against the wall and kicked your legs apart before tearing off what garments you were wearing. You wanted to open your mouth, but a large hand pressed against it, almost obfuscating your entire face. He unzipped his leather trousers with the other hand, only pulling them down far enough to reveal himself to you. He didn’t prepare himself before he went in, and it hurt. His hands moves towards your wrists, and he held you up against the cold wall as he went in deeper, and deeper. You relaxed into his grip and kept your lips sealed until you couldn’t, and the moan that escaped you was nothing short of content.

??? - SEX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FULGRIM - Intricate knots kept you suspended in the air as he ran his hand along your collarbone. You wanted to cry out, to beg him, to scream that he should get on with it. But there was a gag in your mouth, impeding your speech. His hand ran lower, down to your breast. He hovered slightly above it, a smirk dusting his face before he squeezed your nipple and you let out a little whimper. His hands trailed lower and lower before he reached between your legs, sticking a finger in. You couldn’t make any comprehensible sounds with that gag in your mouth, but he still knew that you were finally enjoying yourself.

PERTURABO - You were situated atop him, with his hands on your waist. You needed a little bit of help moving up and down. He was difficult to straddle as he was twice your size, but you made it work. He moved you up and down on him, stretching you out. Between the little noises that you made, you managed to eek out a few words. "Oh, you're doing wonderfully." He froze, holding you down on him. Maybe it was the almost pleading expression on your face that did it, or the words themselves. Either way, you saw his expression soften for just a moment before you felt him slam you onto himself, hard.

JAGHATAI KHAN - You hadn’t had the idea to stop until your clothes were cast to the side of the bike and you were sitting on his lap, facing him. You looked up at him as he brought you down upon him. You let out a quiet whimper and felt your face go warm. “Let it out,” he told you softly. It took you a few seconds to do so as he raised you up and down on him. Your hands trailed to his chest as he started to go faster. And faster. You were practically howling by the time he was done with you, finishing inside of you. You felt something wet and sticky dribble down your leg. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said, picking you up and putting you back down before he went to grab something to clean you off.

LEMAN RUSS - Your face went warm when you saw his sons staring at you, leering at you. You still pulled your shirt over your head, and you didn’t say anything as he grabbed you by the shoulders and pinned you down, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. One hand roamed down your body, the other pushed your legs apart. You looked to the side, towards his sons. They were talking amongst themselves, and more importantly, staring at you. As Leman put a finger between your legs, you let out a delicate moan. You knew it was going to be a long night.

ROGAL DORN - He had you right where he wanted you, tied down to his bed with a toy between your legs. He watched as you squirmed and writhed as you had been doing for the past couple of hours, unable to turn the device off. You moaned, looking up at him. He was looking at you as warmly as a man like him could, his expression soft and loving. He made his way over to you, kneeling over you. He put a large hand to your cheek, and you leaned into it as you climaxed yet again, loud and hard. He chuckled. "You're beautiful when you climax."

KONRAD CURZE - His fingers dug into your legs, breaking your delicate skin. He was coarse and rough and he threatened to snap your body in half. Blood lightly glazed his fingers as he slammed himself into you, with no care to how you may be feeling. A ravenous grin graced his face. Tears began to well up in your eyes as you gently called out his name. His grip moved up to your arms, just above your hands, and it once again drew blood. You looked up at him, barely able to keep your eyes open. "Please," you begged, as he started to go faster inside of you. He grunted something in his native Nostraman as he finished inside you, burying his face in your neck.

SANGUINIUS - You tried running and you tried hiding, but when the Brightest One wanted you, he wanted you. He’d excused himself from his previous calling and roamed the ship looking for you until he had you exactly where he wanted you. He’d pinned you to the wall, ripping off your clothes with a wild desire in his eyes before he sank his teeth into your neck. You winced as he siphoned blood from you, and you gently clutched the back of his head. You ran your fingers through his hair as he planted kisses lower and lower on you, using his teeth. You knew it was going to leave a mark, but you didn’t struggle against him as he made his way between your legs.

FERRUS MANUS - He pinned you to the wall as if you were an object with one hand and planted his other right on your throat. His metallic hands were cold and slippery against your skin. He tapped his fingers against your neck, teasing you, before he grasped your neck and air became nothing less than a privilege to you. You gasped for air, but nothing came through your windpipes. “Winded?” he asked, blood rushing to your face. Your hands instinctively grappled for his, but you didn’t want to choke out your safe word. Not yet. Before you lost consciousness, though, he let go of you. You collapsed to the floor and gasped for air, clutching your chest. He grabbed your jaw and tilted your head up to look at him. “You’re cute when you’re winded.”

??? - I think they need to check my apartment for a gas leak.

ANGRON - Here he is, the Red Angel, restrained before you. You felt his face. It was warm. "You're going to be okay," you cooed, planting a kiss on his scarred lips. You took out some lube, and rubbed it on him. He throbbed in your hands. You saw his face scrunched up in pleasure before he let out a moan, low and guttural. You paused to plant another kiss on his lips before you went back to him. He writhed in the intricate ropework you had done on him, but nothing broke. "You're doing so well," you said. He grunted in response. Before long, you'd finished him, and the noise that he let out was nothing less than beautiful.

ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN - Before you even had time to think about it, he’d cast his paperwork aside, stripped your clothes off and spread you out over his desk like a delicacy. He slid a finger over the area between your legs, and you could see a slightly devious smile cross his face before he stuck it in. You let out a yelp and clung to the sides of his desk before he put his other finger to your lips. “Ssh,” he said. “We wouldn’t want anyone to hear us, right?” he asked, pushing his finger all the way up. Your face scrunched up as he went up and down inside you. A few times you got close to revealing your whereabouts, but you managed to reel it in.

MORTARION - Not many people got to see the Pale King’s lab, but you were one of the lucky few. You rubbed up against him, time and time again. You did this until he pushed his materials aside, set you on the counter, and pulled your clothes off. He pulled his mask down and put his mouth on yours, sliding himself in. He trailed kisses down you, stopping briefly at your nipple, before he spread your legs open. "You did this to yourself," he murmured, before he put his tongue between your legs and you let out a loud moan. You knew that you were going to be here for a long time.

MAGNUS THE RED - Here you were, bound via warp magic (for lack of a better term), Magnus in front of you. You shivered, bare as you ever were, and he grabbed your hands before he kissed you, rubbing himself on you. He was only slightly larger than the average human now, able to comfortably fit inside of you once the time would come. You let out a little moan, and he chuckled at you. "Sensitive?" he asked, before sliding into you. Your fingers interlocked with his, and you threw your head back in pleasure. He chuckled. "Look at me," he said, grabbing your chin and tilting it down to look at him.

HORUS - You cried out, in pleasure and in pain. He'd pried your legs open as if it were nothing and forced himself in, not even bothering to prepare you for the experience. And here he was now, looming over you, smile cocky as ever. You swear the two of you were going at it for hours, his breath hot on your neck and his hands effortlessly pinning you to the bed, until he suddenly slowed down. He shoved himself in you once, then twice, then three times. You looked up at him with wide eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, but he spoke first. “You’re going to make a great mother.”

LORGAR - He wanted to fuck his problems away, release all of his frustrations onto you, but he simply couldn’t. You were already whimpering underneath him, tears gathering in your eyes, and he was being as gentle as he could be. His hand grazed the side of your face, and you leaned into it. A tear fell from your eye. “You’re taking it so well, my love,” he cooed, wiping your tear away. “If only you could see how gorgeous you look.” Your face went warm, and you turned your gaze to the side. With one hand, he turned your head back towards him. “Look at me,” he said. “Let me watch you come undone.”

VULKAN - You looked up at him, your face scrunched up as he struggled to fit it in. Your hands were intertwined, his massive hands engulfing yours. You whimpered and moaned as he slowly slid in, pressing hard against your walls. He leaned down, his lips grazing your ear. “Good girl,” he said. “Just a little more, okay?” You gulped, and you nodded as he pressed into you. He pressed a kiss to your neck as he pulled himself out. It was much easier for him to put himself in you this second time, stretched out on him. You looked down at him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

CORVUS CORAX - He sat next to you, staying close by your side. Your skirt was shorter than usual this meeting, and you had “neglected” to put on underwear. As he talked, he slid a finger between your legs, and started to make a motion as if he were beckoning someone over. You tried not to make a face as you looked at everyone else at the meeting. Nobody was looking at you particularly funnily. As he stopped speaking, he slid another finger in. You looked up at him, and there was a slightly bemused smile on his face. Your face went warm as he stuck another finger in.

ALPHARIUS - There were lookalikes all over you, touching you, inside you. You could barely handle the one in your mouth, but there was one in each hand, one in your chest and one between your legs, buried to the hilt. And when he had spilled himself inside you, leaving that mark that you belonged to the Alpha Legion, another took his place. Your hands began to tire, though, and your eyes began to droop. You looked up, as much as you could. The one in your mouth took himself out, and cupped your face. "Tired yet?"

[scriberye]

Vows (2/?)

────────────────────────────── ROGAL DORN x F!READER ⚠️ Romance, Cheating/Infidelity, Loveless Marriage You've come to terms with your lot in life, trapped and isolated in a loveless marriage for political gain. Until one faithful evening when you meet Rogal Dorn and a romance blooms that you must both keep secret. a/n: Half way through I realized my version of Dorn is extremely touch-starved. chp 01

“Another letter, my lady,” the maid announces, her curiosity barely concealed. She hands you the letter bearing the seal of the Imperial Fists.

It’s hard to mask your eagerness to read the letter. Ever since that fateful night at the banquet, Dorn has faithfully written you letter after letter. To prying eyes, the letters are mundane, typical letters between friends, conveying nothing of importance. But you caught on there were more, another message hidden between the lines. You nod to the maid, dismissing her.

The moment you’re alone, you crack the seal and read the letter. As expected, it’s an innocent request for your aid on a project. But you scrutinize it, decoding the hidden message within:

Come to me. I miss you.

You clutch the letter to your chest with a heavy, lovesick sigh. Through these secret letters, you’ve fallen hopelessly in love with him. And who are you to deny the summons of a Primarch?

Carefully, you fold the letter and place it with the others in a hidden drawer of your desk. You tidy up your appearance and take the moment to collect yourself before hurrying to the palace, your heart aflutter with longing.

When you arrive, Sigismund is there. Even with his face hidden by his helm, you recognize him by markings of his armor. He is as imposing and disciplined in his stance as his gene-father, and you can feel his gaze on you, assessing and measuring your worth.

He’s been waiting for you.

Sigismund greets you with a curt nod, foregoing any pleasantries and greetings. You fall into step beside him as he guides you through the corridors of the palace, past grand statues and ancient relics.

At last, he stops in front of a door, turning to face you. “The Primarch is within,” he says.

You nod, your heart fluttering with excitement to see Dorn again. Sigismund opens the door and waves you inside. It closes behind you with a thud as you enter Dorn’s office. You had expected a mess, yet it is anything but. It’s meticulously organized, with everything in its rightful place.

But it’s Rogal Dorn’s towering presence that draws your eye. He traded his radiant, golden armor for more humble, and comfortable attire, suitable for someone who spends hours sitting and designing. He turns to face you, one fist held in the other hand. It’s only a moment, but you think you catch sight of a fleeting smile, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared.

“My lord,” you say, bowing respectfully. “It is an honor. How may I assist you?”

Dorn gestures you closer. “As mentioned in the letter, I require your assistance in refining these defenses.”

You nod and move closer, joining Dorn by his desk. But you pause. There’s no mortal sized chair for you. Everything in his office is built to his scale — grand and massive, and far too large for you.

Dorn notices your hesitation. “Apologies,” he says. “I hope you do not mind.”

Before you can grasp his meaning, his large hands encircle your waist. You gasp and instinctively clutch his hands as he lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the desk. Heat floods your face, and you fidget with your gown, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles, trying to steady your wildly beating heart.

“Is this acceptable?” Dorn asks, taking his seat with grace and composure.

“Y-yes, my lord. Thank you.” You reply with a delicate squeak. “Where shall we begin?”

“Here,” Dorn says, leaning in close, pointing at a section of a schematic. It’s unnecessarily close. You can feel the heat radiating off him, and even the faintest hint of cologne.

The air is thick with an unspoken understanding. It’s a charade. These discussions of defense and strategy are an excuse to spend time together away from prying eyes. And you play along, offering your thoughts and observations, which he seems to consider in kind.

The tension only grows. Dorn continues to lean close to you, even as he reaches around you to grab something else on the desk. And once, his fingers graze your legs, lingering longer than a heartbeat. You realize that he’s doing it on purpose. Every touch, every lingering glance is calculated, but restrained. His jaw clenched tight.

Dorn’s self-restraint snaps when your hands touch, reaching for the same parchment. The moment your eyes lock with his, a rush of heat rises in your cheeks. Slowly, almost reverently, he cups your cheek.

You press your hand against his, holding it there, nuzzling into his palm. He’s so warm. The heat of his skin, and the callouses on his fingers, and the way he looks at you with such tenderness and love. The intensity of it all is enough to make your heart flutter.

“Rogal,” you breathe.

At the sound of his name, a sound escapes Dorn, akin to the wounded cry of an animal. He sweeps you up in to his arms, his lips claiming yours in a fierce kiss. A massive, powerful hand presses against your back, pulling your body flush against his chest.

You bury your hands in his hair, tugging him impossibly closer, as if you could meld together with him. He plunders your mouth with his tongue. Every stroke of his against yours is intoxicating, leaving you delirious and wanting more. His kiss grows more frantic, more insistent, as his own wants spur him on.

Breathless, you break away with a gasp, your lungs burning with the need for oxygen. Dorn’s lips continue their assault, burning a trail down your throat and over your collarbone.

You sigh longingly, pressing a kiss upon the rise of his cheek, guiding his lips back to yours. This time, his kiss is tempered, his hunger for you is not as ravenous. The kiss breaks again, your lips lingering against his.

Reality crashes back around Dorn, his expression torn between what he wants and what he should do. You run your fingers through his hair, hoping to soothe the turmoil, though your heart aches knowing you’re the cause.

“I want you, but you are not mine to take,” he says in a low tone, his voice pained.

“You have my heart.” You cup his face in your hand, stroking along the firm line of his jaw. “And I gladly give you all that I am.”

“It would be cruel to free you from one husband, only to shackle you to another.”

“But this husband would be my choice,” you respond firmly.

Dorn closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, they burn with determination. “Then I will find a way,” he vows.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The desire to possess (Part 3)

Summary: You realize that you are locked in the claws of a monster and pray that your beloved will save you. But will he come?

Perturabo/fem!Reader, Rogal Dorn/fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, yandere, possesive behavior, obsession, kidnapping, dubcon, branding

Word count: 3009

Song: Rammstein - Amour

I had inspiration as you can see.

You have always loved creating small sculptures, carving tiny scenes on marble. Because it was beautiful and elegant. To fit entire worlds and plots in such a tiny space. Yes, you were a small grain of sand in a huge ocean. Insignificant. And yet your sculptures have won the hearts of many people. Including the master who proudly showed your work to the primarchs.

They liked it. The primarchs themselves liked your creations! It has to say that you didn’t like war and prefer to study outposts and structures from books. You were not eager to get involved in the Crusade. But when you saw Perturabo, your feet carried you to him. He was your hero, your idol. While still a student, you wondered whether it was worth it for you to continue working as a sculptor. Will you find your place in this Galaxy?

But when you saw the images of the Iron Lord's structures, you were amazed. And inspired. As then in the Palace, albeit with fear, but still sincerely telling Perturabo about your hope to capture his campaign. A tiny hope of stepping onto the Iron Blood glimmered within you.

But destiny gave you another path. You had to work under Dorn on the Phalanx. Rival of Perturabo in siege and architecture. Life can be unpredictable.

As are your feelings for the primarch. Surprisingly, you did not feel the same awe of him as other mortals. He was your lord, an incredibly tall, strong and influential man. But you didn’t want to cry when you saw his demigod shade.

Quite the contrary. While creating a bust in Rogal's image, you couldn't help but notice his humanity. And when you started talking, you couldn’t help but fall in love with him. He was kind. He fought and killed and subjugated systems. And yet Dorn was against genocide and always wanted to bring the world to harmony. And always leaving behind buildings - a symbol of a new future. And you wanted to share it with him.

***

“I have feelings for you. It’s been quite some time now and I intend to connect my life with you.” - the primarch with a stoic face looks into your eyes, almost without blinking. - “This is a serious proposal and I ask you to treat it accordingly.”

To be honest, it was a little scary. How you were unexpectedly called into the primarch’s chambers and you saw a man dressed in golden armor. His eyes did not glow with rage, but the determination in them was visible from afar. For a second you thought you were going to be executed.

You are silent, not knowing what to say until you notice one detail. Rogal also didn't say a word after his speech. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, his posture doesn’t change, patiently waiting for your answer. Answer. He didn’t intimidate, he didn’t confront you with your new role. He confessed his feelings and hoped that you would answer them...

Surprisingly, you feel... calm. You don’t tremble or cry with emotion, you don’t burst into laughter, but you smile softly. The Primarch blinks in surprise before his face takes on a peaceful expression. The answer is clear without words.

Rogal kneels and you approach him. Your hands touch. His are gigantic and clad in golden armor. And yours are small and covered with dust from work. Your first kiss did not happen soon, as did your first intimacy and conversations about the future.

Everything was truly innocent and beautiful that day.

***

It was a moment of true happiness. It seems like it's been so long since this happened. And now you are sitting in the corner of the room (judging by the details and drawings, this is a workshop) and trembling with fear of the unknown. These were not the chambers of the Praetorian, but the chambers of a primarch, whom you so desperately wanted to serve to in the distant past.

“My brother is cruel and merciless. He looks more like a war machine than a man.”

You remember how Rogal admitted to you that his rivalry with Perturabo was personal, almost childish. They were similar in some ways, but still different. The primarch did not try to turn you against his brother. And yet you were afraid of Perturabo when you met him at one of the events. The anger with which he looked at Rogal. And the worst thing was the contempt with which he looked at you... it was then that you realized how lucky you were to receive his refusal to become a remembrancer of the Iron Blood.

But the worst thing happened after Horus' betrayal. Then you learned the details about the burning of Olympia and other planets. How the Iron Warriors committed genocide, and the survivors were taken into slavery. This was not the hero you read about with such enthusiasm. He was a monster.

And now you were in his clutches. Despite all the protection of Dorn, Perturabo still captured you. The Iron Lord wanted so badly to humiliate his brother. Destroying Greystone won't be enough for him, no. Surely he will think about building his own masterpiece. And at this hour you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to you.

You will probably be tortured. Maybe he'll display your corpse at the main gate as a trophy, a sign for the Praetorian. Or he will turn you into a servitor or a diabolical machine. It was not for nothing that the primarch left you alive.

The iron door opens with a creak and you can’t help but turn towards the sound. Perturabo, as if nothing had happened, goes inside and locks the door. He wears no armor, only Olympic-style clothing. The man twists his neck until it cracks before turning to look at you. You just look at him like a hunted animal. Even when he approaches you, leaving very little space between you.

“I see you better now. You pretty much ruined my plans with your hysterics. But I shouldn’t demand too much from a fragile mortal girl.” - the man firmly pronounces each word, clenching his fists. You can’t understand whether he’s angry with you, or just talking condescendingly. - “Get up.”

You barely obey. You get up on weak legs and hug yourself by the shoulders. His presence is terrifying. And at the same time, you feel that he doesn’t want to hurt you. But this is just ridiculous, he is a primarch, a traitor, and you are a mortal, a remembrancer of Dorn, you are nothing to him.

“I want you to repeat it.”

"What?" - you look at him in confusion.

“Repeat what you told me back in the Palace. Why do you want to serve me? I want to hear it again.” - the man frowns at what he thinks is your ridiculous question. - “On all the worlds, I have always given only one chance to surrender. Either they used it or accepted the consequences. It's the same system here. Either you talk or I use your mouth differently.”

You sob loudly, not wanting to know what he plans to do if you refuse. Tears are streaming down your cheeks and you are trying to say anything other than sounds of despair. You feel Perturabo looking at you carefully. He waits until you test his patience and do not follow a direct order. Finally you speak, trying to remember that very request. The time when you were naive and happy.

“I-I studied all the strongholds you b-built on the conquered worlds. All, uh, all outposts were created with perfect precision to torment the enemy. No living creature can compare to your s-siege prowess.” - you babble, feeling like you can’t hold back your tears. Salty drops randomly flow down your cheeks and you hastily wipe them away.

“I-I-I, ah, I was delighted when I learned about your exploits in the vastness of the G-galaxy. Siege of Incaladion, Bernean and Morningstar Campaign. I read everything about you, all your campaigns.” - you gasp, tears blur your eyes and you see almost nothing. Your voice constantly breaks and you almost howl. - “It was because of you that I decided to become a s-sculptor. When I saw how functional and at the same time beautiful your buildings were. And... I want to serve you. P-please, uh, let me be your l-personal remembrancer. Please."

With the last word, you begin to cry uncontrollably. Feeling weak in your body, you try with all your strength to stay on your feet. Throat hurts from emotions. After some time, you calm down and realize that all this time the Iron Lord was silent. Waited patiently for your hysteria. Or he was thinking about it. Or trying to hold back your emotions.

"Yes." - a tense male voice sweeps across the room with a breath and you shudder from the surge of unrest. - “Yes, you will serve me. My remembrancer, my consort, my slave, my treasure. Only for me and no one else.”

With slow steps, the primarch approaches you until he kneels. You continue to look at the floor until the man lifts your face by the chin. You have no choice but to look into his eyes.

When a man attacked the fortress of Dorn and killed your bodyguard. When he grinned at the sight of you. You thought you imagined what you saw. You desperately didn’t want to see WHAT the primarch had turned into, so you avoided looking at him. Rogal did not scare you, he did not deceive you.

Perturabo's yellowed eyes burn with hellish fire. Extremely pale skin appears with black bruises under the eyes. The primarch was always harsh and cruel. But now it smells of death. More than ever, he now looks less like a primarch and less like a man. But the worst thing was the terrible desire with which he looked at you.

“I'll drown worlds in blood for you.”

Before you even had time to scream, you felt his mouth on your lips. His giant arms wrapped possessively around your waist. You grunt in pain. The way he squeezed you, the way he invaded your mouth with his tongue. Dorn was too gentle, too careful with you. The Iron Lord wanted to take you whole.

You barely free your hands from under the primarch’s mass so that he doesn’t crush them. Palms instinctively rest on the man’s shoulders. You want to push him away, you want to take a breath of air and run away, but you don’t have the strength. Perturabo either misinterpreted your gesture. Or it provoked him.

He pulls away and you take a deep breath before yelping in surprise when he suddenly lifts you up and lays you down on the table. At the same time, throwing things off the cold surface so as not to interfere. The man tore your top dress and you close your eyes.

“Look at me,” a menacing voice rings out with such cruelty that you cringe. But you still follow the order and look straight into the primarch’s eyes. - “I want you to watch."

Rogal was not your master. He was a primarch, but he didn't look down on you, he tried to understand you. But even if you shout it at the top of your lungs, it will not give any result. It is not the Praetorian who is obsessed with conquering you, but the Iron Lord. And you have nothing left to do but watch.

Perturabo squeezes your sides and you whimper from the rolling pain. You know the primarch is gentle with you in his own way. There will be bruises on your skin, but anything is better than broken bones. The man’s mouth greedily kisses and licks your collarbone until it moves to your breast. The Iron Lord bites and leaves hickeys on the tender flesh. His marks are large and painful due to the size difference.

You start crying again in pain. From the shameful pleasure that your body experiences to relieve discomfort. From longing for a loved one who is sure that you are safe. And from uncontrollable almost animal fear. Because you were forced to watch. Because while Perturabo is using you as he pleases, he continues to look straight into your eyes.

The Iron Lord enjoyed your whimpers, your body, your submission. Enjoyed the power and enslavement of a mortal girl. Enjoyed the victory over his sworn enemy, planning new atrocities.

This torture continues for a long time before Perturabo leaves your stomach with a pop. Thumbs stroke your womb while yellow eyes glow with hellfire from terrible anticipation. You shrink all over from a frightening premonition and unconsciously try to move away from the primarch. But the man’s grip is too strong, even though he didn’t even put in a little effort.

The Iron Lord looks at your lower body for a moment before raising his head. His face is absolutely stone, there is not a hint of anger or smirk. Humanity is lost and an iron monster emerges. His cold and loud voice makes your blood run cold.

"You belong to me."

***

Your collarbone still hurts. The Black Mark of the Iron Legion is ugly and you're grateful you can't see it. Perturabo branded you like a slave. Although, given your situation, you were. He kissed you tenderly, somehow imitating Dorn's touch as if he had seen you alone. After which he took you to new chambers so that you could rest.

He turned off the light so you could sleep. And, it would seem, after the pain, mental and physical, you should have fallen into a serene sleep. But you couldn't. Thoughts rushed about like animals in a cage, concentrating on one ray of hope. Rogal. Soon he will know that you are missing. And even if not, he will still follow in the footsteps of his enemies, you know him.

You sob again, curling into the fetal position. The bed is gigantic, you seem so small on it. But it was not made for a Primarch or a Space Marine, no. You managed to look at it before the Iron Lord left you alone in the darkness (alas, the portholes with a view of space were not provided for on the Iron Blood due to their impracticality). And besides, as a true sculptor, you only had to touch the furniture to feel all the subtlety of the work.

Perturabo carved every detail. Birds and flowers, scenes with battles and dates. Images of the sun and moon and stars. Not to mention the fact that the bed was shaped like a shell. It was practical so that you could easily get off or climb on it. But the size could fit an entire primarch there.

He made it especially for you. And judging by what was going on in his workshop... for the two of you. No no no. You no longer had the strength to cry and you wanted to be persistent for the sake of Dorn. Still, the knowledge that the Iron Lord had been planning to steal you away for a long time, not only to mock his brother, but also for his own pleasure, made you sick.

Perturabo regretted turning you away at the Imperial Palace. He regretted that he had alienated a woman who sincerely admired him. He was jealous that his brother got you. The one who always received everyone's admiration and wore the mark of the Emperor with honor. Who not only fought, but also created something beautiful. He didn't truly love you, he wanted to have you as his favorite property. For eternity.

The last thought gave you chills. You were an ordinary girl. A fragile mortal. A remembrancer who never took up sword. No wonder you were easily wounded when an assassin from a recently conquered planet snuck into Dorn's chambers. He easily cut your throat. And you died. And didn't.

Rogal saw how life left you and how it returned to you. It was a miracle. Which, alas, could not be ignored. Malcador the Sigillite told you two that you were one of the Eternals. You were cursed to live forever. And blessed. After all, this meant that you could spend your whole life next to Dorn. Rogal promised the Emperor that you would not distract him. He will continue to serve the Imperium with all his zeal. And he will be able to love you. But now you are in the hands of the Iron Lord. And the thought that you could not leave his Eternal Fortress even in death was terrifying.

You mentally rejoice that even though Perturabo tore your top dress, he still left you with a skirt. Your hands reach into your pocket and you pull out a tiny marble tile. You press your lips to Rogal's face carved into it and inhale the scent of the mineral.

Before the primarch's departure, you specially made this tile. To preserve his image and hope that everything will be fine with him. That he will survive on Terra and will definitely return to you. This was your best work. Rogal did not pose. He slept while you carved his peaceful face.

“Please come to me.” - you whisper quietly, putting all your hope and love into the words. Fingers gently trace Dorn's perfect features. The marble is pleasant to the touch, but when you close your eyes, you imagine Rogal’s warm skin. - "Come to me. My love, I'm so scared. So lonely. Save me. Protect me. Come to me."

You say your personal prayer with sentiment until the sound of footsteps is heard. The door opens slightly and light enters the dark room. The heat of hellfire scorches the coolness of your chambers, enveloping the dark figure of your tormentor. You forcefully press the marble to your chest, hoping to hide the last piece of the home from the Iron Lord. His eyes are filled with a sense of awe out of self-deception and exaltation.

“You called me.”

[wxnheart]

*Dry heaves and coughs this up exactly like 4:22 in that one sam o'nella tanzler video* (in case link dies and people don't know what the fuck I'm talking about)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ks219IgrXhM

In the realm of wish fulfillment fantasy there is nothing saying Rogal Dorns cock isn't thick. Not painfully so but magically whatever the exact measurements are needed for it to be deliciously filling without being painful. (and that is with him being bigger than any human man). His thrusts fit his personality too (because that makes sense, shh). I imagine him not actually being fast and rough - anywhere from slow to maybe slightly fatser than average, probably somewhere in between, but very deep and thorough, just like he is with his duty, and deliciously filling. The kind where he's not technically doing "much" but it's an exponential pleasure coming from that girth - again magically the exact size needed to be extremely filling but not painful- that fill, those thorough yet gentle movements and his abdomen against your clit. Getting spooned by this man would also be amazing. Getting spooned by any primarch would be with something this large protecting you, but Dorn with all his focus on fortifications especially so. I see fanfics portray him as kissing the readers neck, I like that, would feel good. The level of dominance can be whatever you desire, maybe he's raw dogging you and blowing your back out, maybe the above happens with him moaning and panting into your shoulder while you pull his hair and call him a good boy, whatever you want.

If only he wasn't emotionally retarded.

-🟩

I think a more apt saying when thinking of Dorn is "Still waters run deep". He's someone who feels very strongly and passionately, and sex is arguably when he's at his most passionate. He demonstrates his love through action more than words, and what better way to show his affection than through firm kisses and his body intertwined with yours?

Do I think he's a vocal lover? Depends.

Do I think he has moments where his lovemaking is desperate and longing? Oh, absolutely.

A headcanon that I have is that immediately after sex, while you're panting and coming down from the high of your orgasm, Dorn will simply stare and take everything in. He thinks you're a marvel to behold post-coitus, and without saying a word, he'll swoop down and kiss you. It isn't firm like his kisses usually are. It's gentle. Reassuring. Loving.

[lxvvie]

Being in a relationship with Rogal Dorn would consist of:

sidenote: I wrote this entire list while listening to this as background music. It's somber and... resolute. Like Dorn.

You being unaware that Dorn was attracted to you because he doesn't show it much. In your opinion. If you were to ask Dorn, however, he was quite obvious in demonstrating his affection for you.

Practicality defining your relationship. Dorn is a provider by nature. What he gives is nothing fancy or elaborate. Whatever you need, he will provide within reason.

Dorn being quite selective in who you meet out of all his brothers. You actually met Roboute Guilliman first. Should there be any moment where Dorn absolutely has to be in the presence of Perturabo and the Iron Warriors, however, you. are. on. lockdown.

The Iron fists being... wary of you? They don't know what to exactly do with you. They respect their Rogal Dorn's relationship with you, but... you're dating their dad. Hm. Opinions vary but they do their best to make sure you're protected in his absence.

Teasing Dorn for his stone-faced countenance. He entertains your humor, though. You could crack a joke and he'd just stare at you as if waiting for the punchline (which is awkwardly hilarious). However...

...It turns out your stoic lover is quite the jokester himself. Dorn excels in deadpan humor and has been known to throw a double entendre or two your way which you only get later. He may not be too reactive to your laughter (depending) but it's music to his ears nonetheless.

You asking him about his life on Inwit before the Emperor and Dorn indulging in your curiosity.

Not being the most affectionate publically but Dorn does hit you with surprise kisses. It's you two alone, away from the watchful eyes of his beloved sons, and Dorn quietly steps to you before leaning down and capturing your lips with his own...

Dorn using you as his personal blanket. By that, he's his most comfortable resting when you're asleep on top of him and his arm is wrapped securely around you. Oh, don't forget about all the covers you two are under as well.

Finding out that Malcador and the Emperor knows about you. You. YOU. Apparently, Dorn has spoken of you in their presence.

You also find out that Dorn's quite sentimental, too. He has your keepsake (a small trinket you said reminded you of him) stored in his personal quarters. You thought nothing of it but for him, it was everything.

[angronsjewelbeetle]

Hiii!!! I've been reading your courting headcanons and I LOVE them!!! Could you write a Rogal one???

🥺🥺 it means so much that you enjoy my writing, it really does 💛

Rogal Dorn Courting Headcanons

-Rogal is...awkward.

-poor guy,, he's trying his best.

-words of affection are not his strong suit, so he relies mainly on gifts to convey his emotions

-the first thing he ever gifted you was a pebble. It's smooth and round, and it's a cool brown colour

-he has another pebble, one he keeps on him almost all the time - you won't find out about that one for a little while yet.

-it's murky, but it matches your eyes, you realise when he finally shows it to you.

-he's had that pebble in his pocket for the whole time he's been courting you.

-the next thing he gives you is a soft sweater, it's a little awkwardly knit, like the needles were too small for their user...

-yeah that's right, he knits.

-the needles were too small because he was making it to your size, and if he'd used his needles, the holes would be far too large for you.

-always offers to cook for you. Almost every time he sees you.

-makes sure you stay hydrated too. He becomes a constant reminder for you.

-gets shy around physical touch.

-fucking LOVES IT tho.

-Physical Touch and Gift Giving are his love languages.

-please do the thumb thing to him. You know the one. Rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. He fucking melts.

-he's got a fossil collection! He will rather proudly show them off to you, fishing them delicately from the plush velvet casing so that you can get a proper look at them

[whorety-k]

PLEASE SOMETHING WITH DORN with Sabaton - Stalingrad. I wish for something more militariastic.

Or Sisters of Mercy - Marian with Angron...

This is delicious and as much as I love Angron, I have to go with the Dorn ask for now. I might revisit this ask with Angron later because I am actually goth irl and I love the Sisters of Mercy.

Let's play spot the Sabaton references!

Pairing: Rogal Dorn and Guardsman!Reader (gender neutral)

Song Inspiration: Stalingrad - Sabaton [Youtube] [Spotify] “Oh, it’s colder than hell / … Are you playing? / Do you follow the conductor’s lead? / No one knows you. / No one cares about a single violin.”

Warnings: Great Crusade Era, Near-death experience, mentions of death, medical recovery and injury, open ending

Word Count: 1.5k

The chill of the winter bites to the bone, the ensuing blizzard buffeting against any skin exposed by your uniform. Gale-force winds force you to hunker down behind an icy stone half-wall— the only cover you’ve had for hours.

This mission was supposed to be a simple in-and-out ordeal: putting down the scant resistance groups hiding within the slopes of the snow-laden world you stood on. Intel suggested groups of six-to-ten insurgents taking refuge in caves along the alpine slopes, spaced out far enough and so under armed that the work should have taken the twenty squads of Miltarium tasked to them no more than a day to wipe out.

Well, you suppose, the intel had been grievously wrong.

Your entire unit to be cast back within hours of fighting. No one could have known about the underground tunnel systems the rebels had already established within the ice long before Imperial forces had set foot upon this world, but you and your men had been the first to find out. An entire fortress was concealed within the landscape. 

You try to look for any movement around you. The crossfire only ended yesterday evening, yet already the corpses that had been buried in layers of frost and ice. What good was a sergeant of ten dead? 

Grim reality bites into you: if you fall asleep now, frost-bitten and unprotected, you are not waking up from this. Such is the life of a guardsman. The officer’s final words before the blizzard cut off all vox communication were to hold the hill, and you were not one to defy orders For days, you have held your post as the lone survivor. It would not fall under your solitary watch, even if your body is exhausted. Even if the siren call of sleep reaches deep into your soul. 

…Even if a few moments of shut-eye wouldn’t be so bad.

You hallucinate a crunch in the snow, weary eyes unfocused across the crystalline landscape. This is the end, you think. You must be dying and living through your brain’s final few minutes before shutdown to be seeing the sun’s rays shining through the maelstrom. The golden waves creep closer, blurred masses that reflect like a god. 

But there are no gods. You know this.

Your limbs are almost too heavy to move, almost unable to reach towards the sun as it reaches toward you. It takes every bit of energy left in your body to raise an arm towards the yellow mass, and your muscles given out entirely when you feel it take your hand. The burn of frigid metal bites through your glove as the golden light envelops your body, and you feel your leaden body being lifted before the world finally fades to black.

The lack of light bothers you first. Transitioning from snow-blindness to a warmly-lit room forces you to strain your eyes as they crack open.

Then the burning.

For a solid minute, every nerve in your body flares as if you’ve been flayed, muscles spasming as you arch off of the giant bed you’re placed upon. Pins and needles stab deep into your extremities, molten lava from toe-tip to the crown of your head. It doesn’t even register that you’re screaming until your throat is already raw and sore, a large hand pressing you firmly back down into the cot. 

Your eyes snap open and you grab at the wrist of whoever is touching you, going yourself completely still when the face of a frustrated Astartes finally comes into focus. The deep brown eyes of the Imperial Fist carry a silent challenge for you to do that again. Despite the uncomfortable tingling covering your body, you do not.

The Astartes tunes his vox, turning away and muttering a curt, “Notify Lord Dorn that the Guardsman is awake,” before he returns his attention to you. His gaze cannot be described as caring, but he looks over your form regardless, gloved hands lifting your tired limbs to look closely at the angry red patches blotting your skin. You realize from your limited experience that he’s an Apothecary. 

“Am I–?”

“You are expected to relay the details of the failed mission to Lord Dorn so that the job can be finished, and then you will be placed into Militarum hospice.”

Your mouth clamps shut. That’s... blunt, but enough of an answer for now. The Apothecary turns away and exits the room, leaving you alone in your temporary chamber. 

You had never been around a Primarch before. Rumors about each of the Emperor’s sons had spread throughout the entirety of the Astra Militarum, whispers of who they may or may not be. The insanity of Curze, the wrath of Angron, and the charisma of the Warmaster himself were all well known, but no measly rumor could have prepared you for the overwhelming presence Rogal Dorn carried with him.

The door of the ward opens with a hiss, and your head snaps to the side to regard whoever had entered. You have to look up an extra few feet to meet the piercing gaze cast your way, but when you do, you are filled with an overpowering sense of awe. Gleaming golden armor gives way to ivory skin crowned with a shock of white hair. Deep-set brown eyes with the warmth of quenched steel pin you to the oversized cot. A barely-there twitch of an eyebrow is all his face gives away.

“It is a miracle you survived,” Rogal Dorn’s tempered voice says. From a fellow guardsman, you might have thought it was an expression of gratitude. From the Primarch before you, it was as blunt as the blow of a hammer. 

“My lord–” You attempt to rearrange yourself to bow or kneel to show reverence, but a gold hand stills your motion. You return your eyes to the giant of a man before you, waiting for him to speak.

Dorn approaches the side of your cot, and only then do you see the two Space Marines flanking him. How had you missed them? “You are aboard the Phalanx,” the Primarch begins, “You are the only guardsman recovered that survived transport, so it is vital you relay every bit of information from the mission that you can recall.”

You stare for just a beat too long before you find your voice again. Sloppily, you begin your tale: successfully flushing a nest of rebels before an ambush overtook your squad, forcing you to fall back. Your squad’s attempt to regroup with the rest of the unit, only to find that most of them had already been overwhelmed by insurgents. Seeking shelter in a tunnel of ice and finding the structure within, then being forced back yet again. Taking a hill and holding the position until only you remained. Dorn fills you in that the Imperial Fists had found you there, half-frozen to the stone wall you were sheltered behind.

At the end of your story, the look in those brown eyes seemed to have softened marginally. “Many others would have succumbed to the elements long by the time you had been extracted,” Dorn states, pausing to reflect before finishing with, “You did not.” 

It takes a few moments to register that the Primarch of the Imperial Fists was complimenting you. You bow your head and stutter out, “I-It was important that I fight until my last breath, my lord. The line had to be held.” 

Rogal Dorn nods. You think it might be in approval, but getting a clear read off of the Primarch is about as easy as the mission you just fought through. “I will see to your service being rewarded. Rest, guardsman, and we will revisit this later after the Militarum confirms your promotion.” His words take you by surprise, a warmth blooming in your chest. You don’t know what to say, so you furiously nod your head. The Primarch gives you another look up and down, eyebrow twitching again. You don’t have the mental clarity to question it.

He’s already turning to leave the room when you get yourself together enough to call out, “Thank you, Lord Primarch!” Dorn turns his head back to glance at you a final time, giving you a firm nod of acknowledgement, before his golden frame disappears into the doorway. The two Imperial Fists behind him follow suit, and once more, you’re left alone in the room with too much to think about.

Promotion. You were being promoted for your efforts. You should celebrate, really, but somehow that wasn’t what had taken you the most. What had the Primarch meant when he said ‘revisit’?

Your tired brain could barely keep up with the weird whirlwind of emotions coursing through you, and you stave off a headache as you lay back down on the cot. You were told to rest, and you were not one to defy orders.

[solspina]

solamen solis, symphonia perpetua

within the warp, anything is possible. the mind is a webway of its own. this is simply a documented recollection of happenings within the great unknown, a place to remember and relive - a guide to solspina’s blog

requests: OPEN

waitlist: 7

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

i have decided to reset my blog, and therefore have reset my asks as well! because of this, i will be opening my inbox to requests. please send something in! i’d love to write your ideas out :D

please read the rules before requesting from me, and please be kind when asking!

18+ preferable. I mostly write fluff and do not take requests for explicit smut, but NSFW themes may be requested and incorporated into certain works

be respectful. im all for being a chill and laid back blog, but not tolerate any harassment toward myself, others, or this community. we are here to have fun.

I write mostly in 3rd person. i say this because i would like my work to be accessible to everyone! whether it be self insert or OC insert. if you want specific pronouns used, ask!

be specific! i want to produce works that YOU enjoy reading! because of that, please be as specific as possible when requesting, and i will do my best to give you the elements you ask for!

Masterlist (WIP)

Space Marines

omission in angelism - luis dante

Primarchs

where is a line for justice drawn? - magnus the red

never again will i be gone - roboute guilliman

[moodymisty]

Hiii!!! I LOVE everything you write since I followed you a long time ago. I would like to read something about Rogal Dorn. I can't find ANYTHING about him and i just can't stop thinking about him.

I don't mind if it's smut, whatever you feel confortable with, but if it can have a little bit of fluff i would LOVE It.

Thank you for everything.💞

Author's note: Ok so I am deciding to do an idea i have for awhile, that I believe someone else posted but I cannot remember who. anyhoo, enjoy. Perhaps it's not as fluffy as you might have wanted, but fluffy Dorn is sort of awkward, nice Dorn so I hope you still like it;;

Relationships: Rogal Dorn/Fem!Reader (reader is a remembrancer)

Warnings: Perturabo calls you a whore but other than that nothing really of note

"I never did thank you properly for all of the clothes, Lord Dorn."

You look up at him, golden armor still shining in the relative dimness of the bridge- to only get a light nod of his head in response.

Inwit is freezing, unfathomably cold, and the clothes you had worn previously on Olympia failed to cut it. That had been a very quick, and very upsetting realization. Dorn had- in his stalwart silence - requisitioned you more only a few days later. Many more, custom-made. They were lined with warm furs and comfortable, built for hard winds and ice, trapping your body heat close to you. You had taken some of the layers off since you were arriving to Terra, a planet with a much more tempered climate. You don't miss the burning of your cheeks and frozen snot, but you do miss the planet overall.

Terra... Coming here makes you nervous. You know who is going to be here. Take a few deep, self-assuring breaths before looking in Dorn's general direction. The large glass viewport at the front of the bridge illuminates most of the floor, casting you all in a variety of colors.

"Lord Dorn, may I ask you a question about something?"

He turns to you, looking down at your hesitant expression.

"Did Perturabo make you beg permission to speak to him? Just ask it."

He did, more often than not. You remember more than a few instances.

"Well, he was actually going to be what I wanted to ask about."

You twisted your wrists in your hands, trying to do some sort of fidget to focus on while Dorn had his full attention on you.

"Has he always hated you? The entire time I was in his company, there was always just undertone of pure, seething hatred for you, but whenever I saw you, you didn't seem to even care."

There are a few other Imperial Fists on the bridge, watching as Terra comes into view. You're in the process of getting caught by the planet's orbit and mooring close enough to come down to the surface. You can see the palace already, even from this far, a golden target that is still growing larger with each day.

"Perturabo has always been that way, yes."

Dorn turns to briefly give an order to a questioning Imperial Fist, before returning to you and his explanation.

"He sees competition in my existence. I don't care."

Polux approaches, choosing to stand on your opposing side and wait patiently for his moment to speak. You give him a brief smile as greeting before returning your eyes to his primarch. Dorn looks forward and out the viewport, watching the palace of his design inch closer and closer.

"Sanguinius and Horus' rivalry is even matched. They both find growth from it. Perturabo's rivalry with me is a childish urge to beat me into the ground and prove to everyone that he is better."

You don't disagree with him in even the slightest. Perturabo was always so desperate to beat Dorn above all else, even to the detriment of other facets of his life.

"Despite the fact that he isn't?"

Dorn looks at you fully again, eyebrows raised and you swear, you swear, the inkling of a smile on his face.

"You have spent more time with him than I. Do you think that?" He turns on his heel slightly, armor shifting and clanking against eachother to face you more.

"Do you think The Emperor was right in claiming me Praetorian over him?"

You've been with the Imperial fists for a few months now, and this is far from the first time you've spoken to Dorn. Far more than you ever interacted with Perturabo, despite the fact that Dorn is known for being tight lipped and humorless.

You nod.

"Yes, I do. Perturabo's plans are always so complex, and he hinges them and his entire self worth on being better than you. And when he fails, he sulks." You smile. "I don't imagine you or your sons to be the type to sit and pout if something went wrong. You would all be too busy trying to correct it."

Dorn looks down at you, face as stoic and frozen as you've become quite used to. You don't know entirely what he's thinking, but you don't get a chance to ask before someone else's voice interrupts you.

Polux has a younger astartes walk up to him, stating some information that flows in one ear and out the other for you before walking away. He turns to the both of you, looking two his primarch but referring to the both of you.

"My lord, we are ready to depart for the palace. Is she accompanying us?"

You've never stepped foot on Terra before, to even come into it's orbit is an idea that you could barely handle; Alongside the fact that the primarch and his captains have little need for you there. You gather yourself, preparing to return to the Librarium aboard the ship to continue your work before Dorn's voice stops you in your tracks and sends almost every emotion through you at once.

"She is. Let us go."

Your first time on Terra was going well, in the first hour or so.

Dorn isn't much of a communicator, so he has spent the long of it conversing with his men, giving orders even while not aboard his ship. Either orders given to send back to the Phalanx, or to the Imperial Fists on Terra assisting with the Palace construction. You stand idly by and occasionally draw, or write something down that interests you.

The smoothness stops however, when Dorn looks away abruptly. His sons are confused, before they also perk up not a moment later. You look to Polux, as you know he's the one who will most likely acquiesce to your questions.

"What is it?" You say. He tilts his head vaguely in your direction, but doesn't actually look at you.

"Primarch Perturabo is on his way. He must've heard we had arrived," Polux takes a breath, presumably steeling himself for whatever is to come.

"His... footsteps are quite loud." Not a few more moments later now even you can hear them, and then see him shortly thereafter.

Perturabo storms closer; You can tell by the red flush over his tanned skin, that he is beyond furious.

Dorn looks down at you, and points behind him. His voice leaves no room for question, not as if you would even considering doing so in the first place.

"Go to Vulkan."

The Salamander's primarch had finished speaking to Dorn not long ago, now standing across the massive open area that you presumed served as a training ground for the astartes. You do as your now primarch commands and rush towards him, feeling his eyes on him as you approach.

"I am terribly sorry to bother you Lord Vulkan, but My lord Dorn told me to-" He ushers you closer with a hand, his voice gentle despite his overwhelming size.

"I am well aware of your circumstances, and what is more than likely about to play out. You can stay here with me."

You take refuge close to the Salamander's primarch, both standing and watching as Perturabo confronts Dorn. Multiple of his Imperial Fists straighten up and hold themselves at the ready, prepared to fight for their primarch if it ever be needed.

"Dorn!"

A disrespectful finger points his way, but Dorn pays it no mind. The white fabric of Perturabo's Olympian clothes flow softly and comfortably in the gentle wing, in contrast to the sharp, unforgiving features of his face.

"You think you can just steal from me now? Are you truly so bold now that you're praetorian?"

Dorn only speaks up when Perturabo is close enough that he doesn't have to yell.

"She wanted to leave."

Dorn speaks plainly, bluntly, as if he's just totally uncaring of the conversation.

You've learned over time that Dorn is far from emotionless; He merely doesn't waste it on things he deems pointless. This is pointless, and so he only speaks with the most blunt, monotone voice. It pisses Perturabo off to an unfathomable degree.

To think he was so upset about your departure without his dismissal. He had been nothing but cold and cruel to you, despite the fact that you were merely there to document his legion's progresses.

"I don't care what she wanted. She was indebted to my legion, and I will not tolerate deserters no matter how useless I think they are,"

Perturabo yells. Once his frustration at Dorn is exhausted enough that his attention can be deviated, he turns his gaze to you.

It feels like the gravity of a planet is pushing down onto you, the sheer weight of his anger. Even from so far away. Even the weight of Primarch Vulkan's hand on your shoulder does nothing to shield you from it.

"I hope you heard me, you lying, traitorous little whore. I hope you know I'll wring your neck myself when I catch you."

It takes every bit of energy to avoid crumbling instantly, at the threat of a primarch. Thankfully he leaves shortly after, storming off with the flowing white fabric of his clothes flowing behind him.

Vulkan sighs. You think he said something to reassure you, but you can't hear it over the thumping of your heart in your ears.

"I truly don't think there is much we can do to change him." Corvus- whom you've only just realized was here the entire time with a startle upon hearing his voice - shakes his head.

"His desire to be superior is tripped up at every point by his insufferable personality."

Vulkan looks down at you as an Imperial Fist approaches.

"Are you alright?" He says, and the caring nature of it is a bit overwhelming.

"I, I hope so." Vulkan doesn't laugh, but there is a softness on his face as he smiles at you. Corvus simply watches, and you once again realized that he was there.

"We all know Dorn. He has mentioned you quite a bit,"

"For him," Corvus adds. Vulkan gives him a quick look before turning back to you.

"I do not think he would ever allow anything to happen to you."

The reassurance of a primarch is a feeling next to none; But so it's the threat of one. They both battle in your heart and soul as the Imperial Fist reaches you.

"Lord Dorn is going to have one of us escort you back to the ship."

You nod, looking up to Vulkan to thank him. He simply smiles and speaks before you have a chance to give any gratitude.

"Stay safe, little one."

You follow that Imperial Fist back, before he leaves you on your own close to your quarters. Once you get into them, the door shutting behind you with a hiss, your chest starts to tighten like something has a hold on it.

Every Iron Warrior now likely knows that Perturabo wants your head on a pike. You try to steady your breathing, dumping your papers onto your small desk and sitting on the edge of your bed with a soft thud.

It's getting harder to breath, you swallow a massive knot in your throat. You try to shake your leg, dig your fingers into your palms to stop the feeling, like your heart is going to explode, the thumping of blood in your ears-

It starts to level down after awhile, the room steadies and no longer is spinning. Once that happens, the tears actually start to come, and you keep trying to wipe them away each time a few fall.

You don't regret leaving the Iron Warriors; Olympia. You don't know what Dorn saw in you that was enough for him to offer you a place but you don't regret taking it. His legion's treatment of you compared to your time on Olympia was incomparable, but the petty nature you had witnessed from the primarch was now focused on you; Your betrayal of fleeing to Dorn.

You have your arms wrapped around yourself, tightening them as someone opens your door. Your momentary startle fades when you realize who it is.

It's Dorn. You don't know when his presence stopped being so intimidating, even as a primarch; Perhaps it's the time you've spent with him recently that has gotten you used to him.

"You have been crying."

It would surely be easy to tell- you can still fear the wetness of tears on your face. You take a deep breath and clear your throat to try and speak normally.

"Primarch Perturabo wants my beaten corpse at his feet, and I don't, I don't know what to do-"

He comes closer, face neutral and stoic. You try and contain the emotion on your face.

Stupid, all of it, is what Perturabo would've said to you. You were always a stupid, pointless inconvenience forced upon him. But yet one he was still so upset to see leave.

"I knew very well how he would behave when I offered you a place here. I will not allow him to harm you."

In his own, odd way, the sentence calms you. It's not a lie, it is the utmost truth put into blunt, simple words. You sniffle and unwrap your arms from around yourself, returning to some level of normalcy.

"Thank you..." You say, and Dorn- to your surprise - kneels.

"Do not thank me for something I should do. I put you in this predicament and made you an enemy of him."

Dorn is quiet for a moment. You look at him questioningly, but he doesn't seem to notice. Then suddenly a hand rests heavy on your shoulder, and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

It's only a split second, it's chaste and quick, and he pulls away as a string of spit snaps between you both. You barely even have a chance to process it all; A primarch just kissed you. You had liked him, but you firmly pushed those thoughts from your mind for the sheer absurdity of them.

“You shouldn’t cry.” At first you think he’s telling you not to be weak- To suck it up.

“I, should not have allowed him to speak to you that way. I allowed him to make you cry.”

Crying is nothing; the fact that he has said he would protect you from an enraged primarch that by all intents and purposes you betrayed, is more than worth its weight. You don’t care about the crying.

"I'll be fine. I just needed a minute, and," You laugh. "Hopefully that's the last time I ever see his face." Dorn doesn't smile, but his voice has a gentle tilt of amusement that makes you smile a bit wider.

"I admit I would be jealous of you if that were to be the case."

You don't envy that he will have to continue to deal with Perturabo, especially now that your presence has created a deeper rift. Alongside his duties as Praetorian.

Dorn rises up from his knee and reaches out a hand.

"I am going to speak to my men about progress of the Palace walls. Come with me."

You take his hand, and you expect him to just allow you to pull yourself up, but instead he wraps his fingers around it and holds your hand, guiding you out of your room. He lets go moments after, but the gesture was there none the less.

[ms--lobotomy]

I probably can't do all of them, but I promised @kit-williams that I'd at least do Dorn. So here I am.

Summary: Rogal Dorn knows what you are (ovulating)

Word Count: 1164

Content Warnings: BREEDING, that hormone smelling stuff they can do I suppose, office sex, more anatomically incorrect stuff because apparently y'all are into that, praise, female reader

Image Credit: @squishyowl

The office was large and suffocating. Of course it was, it was built for a man maybe twice your size. You'd forgone the crowded halls of his wing of the Imperial Palace and shut the door. You'd quickly noticed that you were at eye level with the desk at which your husband worked. He was out of his normal golden armor, this time sporting a simple shirt and leather trousers. He turned his head at the sudden noise, first looking at the door before looking down at you.

"Why do you call me in?" you asked, slowly pacing towards him.

He slid his papers to the side, crinkling them before turning to you. He slipped his hands under your arms and picked you up, setting you on his desk. He ran his hands along your sides, pushing your shirt up. He was silent for a few moments before he spoke.

"You're fertile," he said. His voice was deep and reverent as he moved a hand up to your face. "I can smell it on you."

You felt your heart speed up in your chest. "Oh?" you asked, putting a hand over his. His hand engulfed you, and yours was laughably small against his.

"My lady," he said. "If I could have you here, would you be willing?"

You looked up at him. Even when he was sitting in front of you, you had to turn your neck to look up at him. His expression was ever stoic, but there was a softness in his eyes that you didn't see often. With his hand in place, he ran a thumb down your cheek.

"Please," you replied softly.

He leaned in, hands placed close to your legs. You wrapped your legs around him as he went in for the kiss. He was rough with you, his tongue soon parting your lips. You let out a whimper, grabbing at his shirt to pull him closer. His hands trailed up your sides, pulling at your shirt. He pulled away, looking down at you.

"Your shirt, my lady."

You lifted your arms as he pulled it off of you. It fell to the floor, out of sight and out of mind. He fiddled with the clasp of your bra before unclasping it, pulling it off of you with ease. One hand slid along your body, and the other caged you underneath him. You shuddered as your face went warm, placing your hands on his chest before he began to gnaw at your collarbone and you relented. Your hands ran through his cropped hair as he pressed kisses against you, leaving marks with some of them.

"Nngh... Rogal..." you moaned.

"Quiet," he commanded. "There are people outside."

You yelped as he bit your nipple, thankfully not hard enough to puncture you there. He stayed there for a while before he moved to the other one, giving it the same treatment. Despite the fact that you were wearing pants, you felt a finger press between your legs. You let out another moan, high pitched and feeble, before he released you and tugged at your pants. Before you knew it, they were off, along with your underwear, and his head was between your legs.

"Lay down, my lady," he cooed.

You looked behind you. There were papers and inkwells there. "But your papers..." you said quietly.

He slid his office supplies to the side, and you slowly laid back on the desk. It was hard against you, but the feeling of your husband between your legs more than made up for it. His tongue soon grazed your entrance, and you let out another moan.

He pulled back for a brief moment. "Remember. There are people outside."

He pushed himself in deeper, holding you down at each side. You writhed in his grip, holding onto his forearms like a lifeline. He pushed himself in until you came on him for the first time, his name on your lips as you threw your head back in pleasure.

He pulled back after a while, looming over you. You were out of breath as you looked up at him. His hands left your sides to push his pants down slightly to reveal himself to you. He was thick and throbbing, and let you look for a few moments before pressing himself against your entrance.

"Please," you cooed as he rubbed himself on you. You grabbed his shirt and looked up at him.

"Come sit on me," he said, taking you off of the table and placing you on his lap. He lowered you down on him, prompting yelps and squeals from you. You were stretching out on him, a bulge forming in your stomach. You buried your head in his chest as you sunk down on him, muffling your moans. With one hand he brought you down, with the other he ran his hand through your hair.

"You're taking me so well, my lady," he grunted as he slid all the way in. He kept you there on him for a few moments, running his hand up and down your back before sliding his hands to your hips to lift you up. You could only choke out muffled moans in response.

A rare smirk dusted his face. "You look gorgeous like this," he said, pulling you down again. He went in a little easier this time, and you stretched out a little less. Your face scrunched up against him and you clutched his shirt even tighter.

"Rogal..." you managed to choke out, stars in your eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, pushing himself in and out. You looked up at him and opened your mouth to speak, but you were only able to manage a loud moan. He let out a chuckle as he drilled you even faster. You looked up at him as he planted a kiss to the top of your head.

He had a Primarch's endurance, and while you knew he was enjoying himself, you got the idea that all he wanted was to pump himself into you one last time, filling you up. You lost track of time as he worked you on that chair, until he started to speed up. By this time you were practically a drunken mess on him, eyes drooping in euphoria.

"How much do you want this?" he asked, finally starting to show signs of tiring.

You couldn't formulate a coherent sentence, instead letting out more pitiful moans. Your hands and head were pressed against him, anchoring you.

He smirked as he released himself inside of you. You squealed as he throbbed inside of you, releasing more with every pulse. He held you down on him, staring intently down at you as your eyes scrunched shut. While liquid dripped down your legs, he held you close to him, once again running a hand up and down your back.

"I could not have asked for a better mother to my children," he said as you leaned into him.

[scriberye]

Vows (1/?)

────────────────────────────── ROGAL DORN x F!READER ⚠️ Romance, Cheating/Infidelity, Loveless Marriage, Emotional and Physical Abuse by a Partner (Arm Grabbing, Threatening Tone) You've come to terms with your lot in life, trapped and isolated in a loveless marriage for political gain. Until one faithful evening when you meet Rogal Dorn and a romance blooms that you must both keep secret. a/n: Half way through I realized my version of Dorn is extremely touch-starved.

Your husband lets out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Must you always take so long?” he snaps at you, tapping his foot against the floor. “We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry up.”

You sigh, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m almost ready.” Turning back to the mirror, you adjust your gown once more. It is lovely, hugging your body in all the right places. The fabric is silken and wispy, modestly cut, though the front dips dangerously low in the front. Still, it’s not too scandalous for a married woman.

“Finally,” he mutters something unintelligible under his breath, turning sharply and storming off. You fall into step behind him, following him to the Imperial Palace. He doesn’t even pretend to compliment you, and the pang of disappointment and hurt hardly registers anymore. There’s no love in this marriage. He only married you for the power of your family.

The sight of the Imperial Palace never ceases to amaze you, grand and majestic against the starry night sky. It fills you with hope for the Imperium and the future of mankind. Your husband grips your arm, tight like an iron clamp, and drags you back to reality.

“Make sure you don’t embarrass me,” he hisses in your ear, hot and unpleasant. You flinch, yanking your arm free of his hold.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dear,” you reply, your voice dripping with venom at the forced endearment.

“You had better not.”

No sooner have you stepped inside the banquet hall does your husband vanishes from your side, darting off to chat up influential figures within the Imperium. He doesn’t even pay you a second glance. Free of his presence, you drift to the side of the hall framed by towering windows.

High-ranking officials, nobles, and heroes of the Imperium crowd the hall, conversing and laughing. You recognize a few faces from years of social posturing, but they’re all strangers and not someone you would seek for companionship.

You stand alone, back against the window, and occupy your time with people watching. Maybe, if you could spot a Remembrancer…

Then you see him — Rogal Dorn. He stands away from the crowd, his stern gaze sweeping over the room. He’s a statue compared to the man talking animatedly beside him. The Primarch of the Ultramarines speaks at Dorn, gesturing and waving his glass of wine. And Dorn listens, nodding occasionally, but his attention is on the gathered crowd.

His eyes find yours staring back at him, and for a moment your heart stops. A fierce blush blooms over your cheeks and you quickly look away. Before you can even entertain the thought of hiding behind the buffet table, Dorn has already excused himself from Roboute’s presence and is walking toward you. The crowd parts for him, his presence drawing everyone’s attention, curious and wondering what the Primarch is doing.

He stops in front of you, shielding you from the view of the gathered attendees. Slowly, conversation returns to the hall once it becomes clear nothing of interest is happening. You swallow and look up at Dorn. He inclines his head in a respectful nod.

“My lady,” he says, his deep voice rumbling down to your bones. He offers you his arm. “A moment of your time? I’d like a word with you.”

You’re in no position to say no. You nod, wordlessly placing your hand upon his offered arm. Dorn escorts you out of the hall and out into the night, ensuring you’re away from prying eyes.

“I have heard a rumor that you once defended your home against an uprising,” he says after a moment of silence.

You blink in surprise, recalling that distant memory. It had been before your marriage, your father had left with his forces leaving your home undefended. The enemy saw it as an opportunity but hadn’t expected your resistance. It was a minor thing in your eyes, hardly deserving of reaching the ears of a Primarch like Rogal Dorn.

“Please, my lord, whatever the rumors say, I am certain they’re greatly exaggerated,” you reply with a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

“Perhaps,” Dorn agrees, “but it is true that you did.”

You sigh, wondering what he intends with this conversation. “I did not do it for praise or glory, if that’s what you’re implying. It was my duty in my father’s absence, and I carried it out. That’s all.”

“Not everyone would have the courage to do what you did, it is a rare quality.” Dorn’s expression softens, the hard lines of his face easing as he looks at you with an emotion you can’t believe — desire.

A blush creeps up on your cheeks at the unexpected praise and turn of events. “Thank you, my lord. It means a lot to hear such words from you.”

There’s a sudden burst of music from the hall, spilling out into the serene night air. The people inside sound more rambunctious than ever, voices louder and ringer with laughter.

Dorn glances back at the hall, observing the dancing figures through the towering, arched windows. “Would you care for a walk in the gardens?” he asks, turning his attention back to you.

You nod, smiling. “I would like that very much.”

Dorn offers you his arm once again, and you take it eagerly. Together, you move away from the banquet and into the quiet embrace of the palace gardens.

The moon illuminates the path as Dorn guides you through the twists and turns until you come upon a secluded bench at the edge of a lake. Despite being made of stone, it’s still much too small for Dorn, so he remains standing while you take a seat.

Silence settles between you both. The night air is chilly, making you shiver, and you instinctively rub your arms for warmth to ward it off. “I’m amazed anyone could endure the winters of Inwit. They must be far colder than anything here on Terra.”

Dorn hums softly. His eyes are fixed on you, yet there's a faraway glint in them, as though he's lost in a memory from long ago. “They are more extreme, yes, but we endure and are stronger for it.”

“It must have been difficult.”

“It was,” he admits, his tone softer, touched with a bit of affection.

Oh, you hope you’ve been reading his cues correctly. Your heart races as you venture into a potentially dangerous situation. “Forgive my presumptions, my lord, do you know how we endure the cold here on Terra?”

Dorn’s brow arches. “Enlighten me.”

“We spend time together to create a sense of coziness and warmth in our hearts,” you begin, your voice trembling both from the chill and your boldness. “Sometimes, even in the coldest places, we must create our own…” You falter, locking eyes with Dorn’s intense gaze, “… our own heat.”

“I see,” he says, his voice low. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over your cheek. His expression is contemplative, as if he’s weighing what is appropriate, and what the consequences would be if he dared.

You lean into his touch, craving more. If only he was your husband.

His thumb grazes your bottom lip, sending a different kind of shiver through you. Throwing caution to the wind, you press a kiss against his thumb. Dorn’s breath hitches, his eyes narrowing, a conflict of duty and desire warring inside of him.

“You do seem cold,” his voice is rough, strained, his desire winning out. “Let’s see if I can warm you.”

The sound of approaching footsteps breaks the spell. You and Dorn jump apart, as if burned, and your heart sinks as the familiar figure of your husband appears from behind one of the towering garden hedges. Dorn’s expression immediately becomes guarded again.

“There you are,” he barks. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Do you have any idea how it looks for me to be wandering around alone?”

You take a deep, calming breath, rising from the bench. “I was just speaking with —”

“Lord Dorn!” your husband interjects, his voice rising in pitch. Your mouth snaps shut, your lips pressing into a tight, thin line. He hurries forward, nearly tripping over himself in his eagerness to win Rogal Dorn’s approval. “It is such an honor that you would speak to my wife. She has always admired you.”

Dorn inclines his head, polite but reserved. “It honors me to hear that. She is a remarkable woman.”

There’s a subtle warmth in his voice, and the praise brings a rush of heat to your cheeks. Your husband stammers, “Indeed, she is! I just hope she hasn’t bored you with her conversation, my lord.”

A flash of something raw and seething ignites in Dorn’s eyes, constrained as quickly as it appears. He remains composed, his voice is calm. “On the contrary, it has been quite enlightening.”

“That is… good to hear!” The overly confident, smug smile on your husband’s face falters. He clears his throat, awkward and forced. “Well, by your leave, it is time for us to hear home. Come along, dear.”

You don’t want to go home with him, but you force your feet to move, following behind your husband. You steal a final glance over your shoulder, your heart tightening.

Dorn remains by the bench, unmoving. His gaze follows you, heavy and intense — unrelenting, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. This won’t stand.

[lxvvie]

What is your filthiest Primarch x reader fantasy?

I don't think it's incredibly filthy, but either Rogal Dorn or Rouboute Guilliman being absolutely done with the bullshit one day and they take their frustration out on the reader.

They damn near pushed everything on their desk to the floor, and the next thing you know the reader is lying on it half naked and trying not to scream the place down because their beloved primarch's head is buried between their thighs and that tongue is WORKING.

Bonus points if Dorn or Guilliman tell them to be quiet or he'll stop right before they cum (he won't).

But oh, go on ahead and pull their hair too while you're at it. 😊

[angronsjewelbeetle]

Behold! Writer's block has fucked off just enough for me to spit out a MerMay piece!

Uh, potential TW: non-sexual Nudity, I’ve kept it as vague as possible, body is undescribed aside from pointy ears because I am weak to those...

Transmarinus | Rogal Dorn x GN Selkie!Reader

Part one of hopefully more. This was enabled by @ms--lobotomy and @angronscoffinnails mwah I love you

The sun is pleasantly warm against your skin, waves lapping at your feet; it’s the first time you’ve been up to the surface in a while, your glossy pelt is drying within view on some of the rocks nearby, spread out like a truly luxurious fur coat - you chuckle at the passing thought and rest your head back against the soft sand, eyes slipping shut as you drift gently into Somnus’ sweet embrace as the sun pours down upon your bare skin.

The persistent lack of warmth is what brings you back from your slumber, eyes squinting for a moment before you register why the sun is hidden. What you had previously thought to be clouds turned out to be a very muscular, very much imposing man. He’s wearing what appears to be a soft sailcloth around his wide hips, hair as pale as the sand beneath you, shoulders tinged pink from the harsh sun - it’s about lunchtime, you figure. Your ears prick up at the sound of voices beyond the rocks and then- oh. Oh, no. He’s holding your pelt. He speaks, a timbre as deep as it is rich, the end of it lifting - a question, you think as he offers your pelt to you. Your eyes snap up to his face, which seems as serious as anything, he goes to draw your pelt away but you snatch at it, launching up from the sand in desperation, your legs fail you, weak with unuse. “No!” you yelp, he steps back in surprise, dropping it; you grab it, clinging on tightly, tears pricking your eyes. Someone calls out - another man’s voice, he turns towards it, glancing past the jagged rocks, he replies, raising his voice; you scramble to yank your pelt on, and then haul yourself towards the water. He doesn’t move, his back still half turned to you as he talks. Your tail splashes powerfully against the surface, sending a tower of seawater into the air as you shoot downwards, back to the safety of your underwater cave.

“What are you doing!” Guilliman calls, shaking his head and chuckling as a large wave sprays Rogal’s back, wetting his simple robe. He shakes his arm, “I thought I saw something,” he calls back, glancing at the ocean, a furrow in his brow. “Well come back! The food is nearly ready!” Fulgrim calls, a hand on his hips, brandishing a paintbrush in one hand, another tucked behind his ear. Rogal shakes his head again, scratching the back of his head - the person was gone, the sand mussed with their desperate footprints.

[wxnheart]

𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐃 - Perturabo and Rogal Dorn

'Let me out,' you wanted to scream from your gilded cage, a mantra of torment that's fallen on deaf ears. 'Let me out and I will be whatever you want me to be. Just stop. Stop and let me be free.'

You prided yourself on your observational skills so why couldn't you see this? How the hell did you find yourself in the crossfire of this... this senseless rivalry?! And so you lamented in your cage.

It had been an honor to serve the Praetorian, his stoic visage refreshing amidst resplendent gold. What an honor it was to behold his creations, to see worlds built anew in the name of the Emperor. What an honor it was... until it became one no longer.

There were whispers coated in murmurs and crafted in hushed tones, enigmatic glances, and scoffs. You thought you were crazy, you thought legion politics were beneath you all until you realized it came directly from some of Lord Dorn's most trusted. You didn't understand, didn't want to know until you saw for yourself.

Until you saw him, the Praetorian, stoic amidst resplendent gold, watching... you. Unabashedly so. 'My... My lord?' you asked, tentatively. And still, he stared, brows slightly furrowed until he didn't. Until he spoke your name and you felt it rumble throughout your entire being, until Dorn nodded slightly, as if to himself, and carried on with his duties. You tried to ignore the stares of the other occupants in the room but it was too much. The shame burned your cheeks and made you feel small. And it was only the beginning.

This damned war had cost you everything. Anger and sorrow seemed to be the two emotions you vacillated between. But what an honor it was to serve him, the staunchly loyal Praetorian whose contributions prevented Terra from falling to the hands of Chaos, what an honor it was to have survived, to play a part in watching the Imperium be built anew. What an honor it was... until it was one no longer.

You wanted to laugh to keep from crying. You would've done both if you weren't so damned scared. Of what exactly, you would never know.

You berate yourself constantly. In hindsight, you should've known something was happening when you saw the Imperial Fists more often than not and when you found your work personally supervised by the Praetorian himself (you always avoid his gaze). You should've known something was happening when you were suddenly isolated away from the others and became fodder protected by titans. You should've known something was happening when, in a flurry of bright flashes and loud blasters, thick fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist and absconded with you in the confusion.

You laughed afterward, mirthless and scared when you were brought face-to-face with the hulking Primarch. You felt tears of indignation and anxiety prick your eyes and blur your sight as you beheld the icy glare. Perturabo. The name felt metallic in your mouth and clouded your senses like smoke.

Perturabo. The Hammer of Olympia. The Traitor. You wanted to cry to keep from laughing again. But what good would that do? You figured he'd only brutalize you like he did that one poor bastard not too long ago. And so against your better wishes, you laughed mirthlessly. Again. And what good that did in the face of Perturabo's rage.

Reality was a blur until you found yourself cloistered in this... room. This prison. This cage. Iron and... and gilded. Emperor help you. You recalled the words of the Hammer, recalled the disgust in his voice, the crazed look in his eyes. 'It is true what they said about you...' What?

His imposter bastard of a brother was besotted (what?! LORD DORN?!). The Hammer proclaimed that Dorn was pathetic, a weakling, undeserving of such praise and adoration, undeserving of the reputation he built. You recalled the rant as Perturabo all but destroyed the room, recalled his screams that Dorn would know true loss, that this would be the greatest of fortresses, one that he would fail to penetrate. He had all that Dorn wanted. He had it all and would never give it back.

You had some nerve, alright. You had some nerve to ask the Traitor what made him dare think Lord Dorn would even consider accepting his challenge.

"He would," the Traitor replies smugly, "because I have you. And you will witness true craftsmanship." And you will be mine. Emperor help you.

'Let me out,' you scream later from your gilded cage, a mantra of torment that's fallen on deaf ears, 'Let me out and I will be whatever you want me to be. Just stop. Stop and let me be free.'

Perturabo smirks, cold eyes filled with dark humor, hatred, envy, and want. Perturabo smirks and awaits the rage he knows is coming. Perturabo smirks and reasons that if you did not want to bear witness to his magnum opus, he'll be damned if you ever laid eyes on Dorn's ever again.