Just Me

Lieutenant Demetrian Titus stomped his way to the ships Reclusium, his expression already practiced and oozing a resolute calm, inwardly though, his mood had soured. The Chaplain was running him through the ringer and attempting to snuff out his life in any way possible. With every victorious return, Leandros would remain silent, staring as the veteran climbed down the ramp of his thunderhawk. The spiteful man would simply nod in icy approval before retreating back to his post, acting as if this was not the third fatal mission he had assigned Titus.

And now, for the umpteenth time, Titus was called to the Chapter's Rectory. Something needed to give. In his "absence" Leandros had become a well-respected leader and mentor to the younger generation and, besides Titus' own grudge against the Chaplain and even Calgar's taciturn approach to dealing with the man, Leondros' standing amongst his brother's was as strong as any Head of Worship could be.

Gritting his teeth and setting his jaw forward, Titus calmed his raging heartbeat and forced his expression into that of neutral compliance. Whatever lecture or thinly veiled threat Leondros would have for him, the former Captain of the 2nd company would not give him a reaction he could then use against him. Coming to the large decorated doors of the Rectory, Titus gave a deep breath before pushing them open.

Lost in his own struggle for self-control, Titus missed the familiar smell that was known to set his blood aflame in other, more pleasant ways. Stepping foot into the opulent quarters, Titus was slapped across the face with a vision he felt he would should've only see in his nightmares:

You, naked and whimpering, hands held behind your back with one large gauntleted hand, your hips being forced to grind against black ceramite with the other, and the most delectable sounds of sobbing gasps and whispered pleas falling from your tear stained lips.

"I must say Titus out of all your sins, I find this to be your most daring act of heresy yet." The measured and infuriatingly calm voice of Leandros brought Titus' brain back into working order.

Curling his lip in a ferocious snarl, the lieutenant took a threatening step toward his superior.

"What is this?" He rumbled, his vision almost turning red when he heard you call out his name. Your voice was hoarse, as if you had been crying for hours. How long had Leandros been tormenting you for? The trailing rivulets of your arousal across the Reclusiarch's armored thigh hinted at the extended period for which you had been occupied.

Leandros did not answer Titus, instead, he turned his cold, distant eyes to you. Removing his guiding hand on your hip, Leandros lifted your chin with a single finger, forcing you to look directly at him.

"The lieutenant has never been quite good on the uptake, little one. A shame you've been saddled with such impotency for a master." You closed your eyes as your only form of protest. Titus was kind to you. Even when he had taken you to his bed, he never once treated you as anything less than human.

"Release her Leandros, your vendetta is with me." Titus was nearly vibrating with rage at watching his serf be used in such a way. To have your delicate body be forced against the unfeeling coldness of ceramite...he only deigned to touch you when he could feel your skin against his own. With you, Titus was more than a killing machine or angel for the Emperor. With you, he could be just a man. Watching Leandros disrespect such a sacred privilege was almost heartbreaking to witness. Your legs were shaking from fatigue at being forced to straddle the veteran's large thigh, Titus could only guess as to what other horrors Leandros had enacted on you in his absence.

Leandros dragged his gaze from you to land on Titus. The hatred there was palpable, but mixed with it was something else, something Titus couldn't quite decipher. With clenched fists and barley controlled breath, Titus watched as Leandros lifted you effortlessly from your perch and turned you around to face him.

You mouthed an apology to the former Captain, but Titus shook his head, he would hear none of it. You were a victim in all this, a pawn in Leandros' twisted and obsessed goal to punish him.

Leandros forced one of your weak legs to spread across and hook onto his opposite knee, leaving your center spread and exposed for Titus to see.

The lieutenant inwardly cursed himself as he felt a sudden and instinctual reaction from his own body. He needed to get a hold of himself.

"Your presumptuous attitude has always been your downfall Titus." Leandros admonished evenly, one of his gauntlets steadied your body at the waist while the other moved to idly stroke at your opening. You flinched at the harsh cold of metal plating, and Titus lurched forward a step in response. Leandros did not pause in his ministrations. Instead, he maintained his steady strokes and kept his intense stare on Titus.

"Space Marine's should be completely removed from baser pleasures. As an Angel of the Emporer, we are held to a golden standard of self-control and are expected to be above such debauchery." Leandros spits the last word, slipping his middle finger smoothly into you cunt. You let out the tiniest whine as the cold digit forces room for itself. The Reclusiarch pumps his finger slowly, allowing your slick to coat the unyielding ceramite.

Titus was conflicted to find his attention was barely focused on whatever nonsense Leandros was spouting, instead, his vision zeroed in on the scene of your tight cunt swallowing the large digit. He swallowed heavily as he watched your hole snug tightly around the digit, pulling and pushing with Leandros' motions, the muscles of your cunny desperately trying to keep the finger inside its convulsing walls. He knew first-hand how tight and greedy your beautiful little cunt was and as your smell and the sounds of your whimpering filled the dimly lit room of worship, Titus became all too aware of just how stifling his own Armour was.

"...When I had heard talk of you having a little pet serf from your subordinates, I was not the least bit surprised. You had always been too connected with baselines. Letting their own narrow worldview influence your priorities." Leandros paused at the sound of a particularly strangled sob erupt from you, watching with uncharacteristic interest as your hips began to shift and jump in time with the thrust of his finger.

"And yet," Leandros said softly, watching as you slowly and deliciously unraveled in his lap. "when I found myself face-to-face with your newest form of insubordination, I couldn't help but understand the temptation." Digging his finger deeper, Leandros observed in barely contained curiosity as you cried out at the delectable curl of his finger within you. Several beats of silence passed as both Marine's simply watched as you came undone on Leandros' finger.

As your hips bucked and a fresh set of tears fell down your cheeks, Leandros gave a single huff of amusement as you slumped against his armored chest. He refocused his gaze back unto Titus. "I shall leave this newest offense between us, brother." Titus stiffened at the familiar term of comradery .

"Why?" He spat, though he already knew the cost of Leandros silence.

Sure, he has a very… overbearing of the codex but that is his belief. It is his duty; not only to his Primarch but also the Emperor himself. He will not befall them. He will not befall to chaos. He is a chaplain. Nothing lesser to be influenced.

Except by you: a serf.

You were something he couldn’t describe. Even if he had read a thousand scriptures to learn of everything possible or maybe listened to the Apothecary too much. Nothing could describe you. The one that listens to his preaching of an Ultramarine’s duty in the back of the room. The one that seems to take his attention away more often than of the Lieutenant Titus. He seemed… put off some say.

Though, to you it felt like he was judging you hardcore with those red visors of him glaring at you just like he does with the Lieutenant. The simplicity of his gaze setting your skin aflame while the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Usually, you’re not so put off by any stare that comes from a marine or anything that matches that rank, but again. Leandros is a chaplain: a warrior with higher power than a Battle-brother, Lieutenant or Captain. He has the complete right to judge you for whatever sin you may have done. Even if you haven’t done anything remotely interesting to him.

With all that staring, you begin to think you’re really in deep shit. That you have done something wrong. That you may have created a sin you didn’t know about to get the attention of the chaplain out of all Astartes. Your mind scrambling every day, every hour to find a mistake or flaw you might have made within that time period that you feel his heated gaze upon you, and you know it’s him. For others simply do not care much for you. They walk past you as they do their duty and you do yours, and that’s the only thing you can do. Is do your duty while the chaplain watches. Waiting for a mistake in you in particular. No longer eying Lieutenant Titus down…

This little thing goes on for months, and the stress of him watching you has definitely got you a couple of times: things slipping from your hands, an un-calculated step, even a bit of sleep deprivation. The red glow of his visors judging you even while you sleep. A nightmare you had woke up once or twice to, and it’s impossible not to grow a bit weary of the Chaplain after that, but how do you to avoid him when he actively seeks you out?

You’re not sure if he does it consciously or not, but other serfs tell you of his particular attention on you. Some feeling pity with others tease you greatly for it. Cooing at you and giving you playful pokes, saying “looks like you have gotten yourself a big playmate.” and “He’s following you around like a puppy!” or something along those lines. You don’t care too much for their teasing for your face is already red at their first words.

Leandros finds it a bit amusing, however. To see the other serfs teasing you about something that makes your buccaes brighten with a red-ish color. What he doesn’t think is amusing is how you seem to walk away from him now. Never attending him in his speeches anymore and that irritates him more than it logically should. He should not care if a single surf wasn’t listening to him but unfortunately? He does. It bothers the holy Emperor out of him.

“Serf.” He calls out to you. Not to the many other serfs that work around you and part when he steps forward. His armor giving a dull thud with each step he takes forward to reach you.

You, on the other hand? Wish he wasn’t calling for you. Well, he wasn’t, but it wasn’t an easy mistake to make of who he's talking to when all the other whispering and giggling serfs quickly disperse when he comes fourth with that stoic, demanding attitude of his. That gaze of his visor set on you as you turn to try and properly greet him (at most you gave him a glance before looking down at the ground.) Setting you up in all sorts of flames and tingling nerves.

“You haven’t been attending my speeches.” He says boldly, seemingly not embarrassed by what he says like any space marine, and that makes you wonder if they are not made to catch those sudden hints from loved ones that would throw to one another… Yet they can know the slightest movement of an attack?

“My lord, I’ve simply been busy.” Is what you could come up without blabbering about how he's been stalking you in your dreams too, and it's been freaking the fuck out of you. He will either take pride in that, or he will think there is something actually wrong with you.

“Taking to other serfs is not busy.” He states, shifting his weight as he tilts his helm. His hood following the motion, and you feel more judged than you had ever been. Of course he overlooks your schedule too!

“Baselines have a social need. Forgive me, my lord.” You nod at him in respect. Keeping your gaze to the floor. Most of what you’re seeing is the boot of his armor. He can’t get you for that, can he?

He shifts his weight again, folding his arms. A moment of silence going between the two of you as you think he’s pleased with that answer.

“You could have come to me.”

By all the Thrones! He was correct, you could have gone to him but what would he be able to provide besides a talk of purity? Besides that, why would you want to go to a Chaplain to discuss a potential… health matter? You rather go to the Apothecary for that. They would look at you as if its normal. He would probably look at you as if you truly did sin.

“It’s not known that a serf would go to a higher rank for a simple talk, my lord.” You pull the rank card, and this time it's the lower rank rather than a higher rank.

“…Hmm, I then commend that you talk to me rather the serfs that you play with.” He commands of you, cutting all your attempts short before simply leaving you where you stand. His steps long and calculated. Creating a faint echo.

This bastard.

Unable to reject the Chaplain himself, you attended to him rather getting comfort from the serfs as they still manage to tease you while they pass by. Confused when they say, “Looks like you’re his little serf now.”

You’re sure if this was another legion they wouldn’t be so mocking, but you ignore them. Trying to steady your heart when you come to the Chaplains’ quarters once more. Knocking on the door and waiting for his word before entering.

“My Lord?” You call out, slowing stepping in and closing the door behind you with a dull thud. Your eyes keen to find the Chaplain hidden in his quarters. “I have brought you another cloak, just as you requested?”

You don’t see him anywhere, and that confuses you when you just heard his voice seconds ago through the door. Your hands fiddling with the thick cloak in your hands. “My Lord?”

“Over here, serf.”

You follow the sound of his voice. Your eyes skimming over his quarters. Hands tightening on cloak because of your own nervousness. Only to find him by a dark wooden room divider in nothing but a loin cloth covering his manhood.

“M-My Lord!” You stammer, quickly looking away. Using the cloak as cover. Your cheeks instantly going up into flames at the sight of the Chaplain. A Chaplain that was half naked in front of you. “Y-you are not dressed!”

“This is nothing?” He sounds genuinely confused. Not comprehending what the problem was as you can hear him take a step forward. Maybe even tilting his head. Those neck muscles flexing at the simple movement- No. No romancing the Chaplain out of all the marines and people. “Are you appalled?”

“What?! N-No! My lord…” Your eyebrows rise up in surprise at his question. Daring to look over the shelter of the cloak and angle it where you only see his head, nothing else. Trying to explain yourself in a way he can understand. “It's a… respectful baseline thing! Uh… to not see another so vulnerable.”

“I am not worried if you lunge at me.” He huffs, folding his arms again. His light brown eyes narrowing at you. Displeased that you have voiced such a thing, but then again? You did say it was a ‘respectful’ thing to do for a baseline. He supposes he can let that slide…

“I wouldn’t do such a thing!” A gasp leaves your lips at the absurdness. You against him? Never! You’ll become a pile of a bloody, mauled mush! As if you wanted to be remembered like a piece of a sticky substance on the floor! “Couldn’t!”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Chaplain Leandros asks… amused? His muscles tensing as he moves forward again, right in front of you. Taking the cloak out of your nervous hands and draping it over his shoulder. His being standing proudly in front of you while you struggle on not looking at him which eases him a bit. It means truly, you weren't going to do something drastic. That perhaps… he can trust your word.

“You are dismissed… little serf.”

The next time you find him… vulnerable is more in a pleasing way. His hands covering your thighs, squeezing them. Feeling how soft the flesh of a baseline truly is as he kneels between them. Simply massaging them… for now.

“My Lord?” You question the Chaplain of what he’s doing. Looking down at him. More comfortable saying his title with how close you two had gotten. He was a surprisingly good listener… You would question on how he advises you though. Not that you would admit such… incompetence.

“The baseline flesh is soft.” Leandros, the Chaplain himself states. Seeing nothing wrong with how he does so too. Almost scientifically, logically. His eyes enraptured with how your flesh moves much more than his own battle-hardened skin. “…Squishy.”

You almost laugh at that. Amused at how clueless even Chaplains could be. I mean, Space Marines were baselines once, no? You might have to search the library or perhaps ask him of how that process is. That is if you’re able to hear of their creation that is.

“That depends on the baseline, my Lord.” You say amusingly, letting him explore the anatomy of your body. Perhaps too much that it dares to please you. “…Some are plump, some are skinny. Others are muscular and fit.”

He hums and gently squishes your outer thigh, knowing how much pressure to use. Holding briefly before letting go. Watching how your skin recolors itself from where he leaves his handprint. The blood quickly rushing back to give your skin color once more. “Does this… touching do something to you?”

Yeah, of course he’s paying attention on how your skin twitches when he skims a little too close to your inner thigh, or how your heart beats faster when you hitch your breath. By the Throne, he can probably smell your arousal.

“N-no.” You lie, and you swear he senses it with how his gaze hardens at you. At your dare- your sin you tried to do right in front of him: A Chaplain. God, this is what you chose to lie to him about? The sudden stimulation he was, quite possibly, unintentionally giving you? Oh, you should just dug yourself into a hole and put yourself in it while you had the chance.

“You lie, little serf.” He immediately calls you out. A little growl rising at the back of his throat that makes you instinctively shrink back from where you are seated: upon his bedding. Both of his hands wrapping around your thighs with ease as if they were mere sticks, squishing them with restrained warning. “You dare lie to your Chaplain?”

“N-no, my lord!” A stained stammer leaves you. Body unsure if you should lean forward, face your judgement or stay where you are and cower away from him. “It’s just- it’s just… personal, my lord. Intimate…”

“…” He stays silent for a moment, as if thoroughly processing your words that could or could not be truth. This was the only lie you had told him. He knows it… Therefore, your lie was a truth that he had caught. He was doing something “intimate” to you. “Do you find this… rousing, little serf?”

A deep blush erupts on your cheeks at his simple yet such a bold question. Eyes quickly look away from him. You know space marines are not meant for simple things. Those subjects were beyond them, and to hear it from a Chaplain was just a big ol’ bamboozle and an embarrassment.

“Answer me, little serf.” He commends of you. Squishing your thighs again that it makes you shake in both fear and excitement. You’re not sure if you could please the Chaplain of your answer however…

“Fine, do not speak.” Leandros huffs, sounding grisly that it pulls at your heart and the air from your lungs. His hands hooking around your waist and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. “I’ll play this little game of yours.”

His next sudden movements surprise you when you feel how his rough hands slide over the skin of your legs, up and down. Sending a pleasing tingle through your nerves, and you can’t help but open yourself more to him. “M-my Lord?”

“Quiet, serf.” A snap from him. A demand, and it shuts you up quickly. Knowing when to speak and knowing when not to. Yours eyes watching how he’s so… gentle with you while he explores you. Trailing the tips of his fingers up and down your body. Seemingly fascinated with how you react to his touches. How you subconsciously keen for more of his calluses palms. Hands squeezing some plump flesh here and there, even hovering over your chest. Pausing, asking for permission with his eyes, and he hums. Pleased when you move right up against him for him to freely feel and squish as he pleases.

He listens to the quiet noises that leaves your lips that you bite in order to muffle them. Eyes intently studying you. Watching every twitch and hearing every hitched breath. Learning your soft spots quickly. Teasing them, brushing his fingers over just to listen to more of those sounds he slowly gets attracted to…

Leandros needs more. More of you.

Trailing his hands back down your sides, he pauses at your thighs again before he hooks and brings you impossibly closer again. A yelp of surprise and excitement leaving you as you find yourself laying on your back. The rather luxurious fabric of his bedding more comfortable than a typical battle-brothers cot as the Chaplain leans over your abdomen. A warm exhale from him ruffling the clothing there. Your legs trapped under the strength of his arms, and it makes you realize… He could do anything to you.

“You smell sweet, little serf.” His comment didn’t fail to make you feel… impossible under his care. The thumbs of his hands digging lightly into your stomach, circling. His gaze focused on where you smell sweet from before he leans into your lap, inhaling you through the article of your clothing. The simple heat of his breath making the fabric hot and moist. A shiver running through you despite the oddity of his actions.

“My lord, are you sure?” Your voice comes out strong despite his intimate interest in your body. The nerves of your body wanting to rut into him but you stay still. Not willing to even be punished for that. Who knows what he could do to you? Pull you over his knee, squeeze your neck, make you suck-

“I know what I’m doing.” He gruffs at you. Narrowed eyes looking up at you, and truly… He looked like he was hunting you. His split-second gaze making you entranced like a prey frozen in front of a predator before he looks back down again. A hand tugging the helm of your bottom clothing to the side. Exposing you but still in the confines of your clothing.

Leandros lower himself once more. A squeak leaving you as a wet, thick heat gives a tentative lick up your slit. Eyes widening in surprise, even when knowing what was coming moments ago. Stammers leaving your mouth, not really comprehending that a Chaplain was- is eating you out. “M-my Lord!”

He groans in response, giving another lick before smothering closer. Nose poking into you. Lapping at your folds more eagerly. Arms wrapping around you as if you’ll escape him, and finds that little bundle of nerves quickly and becomes attentive to it. Sucking and lapping like a dog. Pulling all sorts of pretty sounds out of you he’s never heard before, and he likes it. He wants more of you. He wants to devour you like your some High-Lords’ meal. He wants- Throne. He just wants you. You have been in his mind like the codex itself since the day you started to attend his speeches.

“Hold me.” He suddenly demands of you, giving you a narrowed glance from below. Somehow gaining a sense that you wouldn’t touch him. Probably because he is a Chaplain. One a simple baseline like you shouldn’t touch a Son of Guilliman like him but he wants you to. You’ll be a blessing, a saint if you do. He will even call you so in times like these as he wishes to feast from you again and again. Is this how baselines… What was the word? Mate?

The Chaplain pushes that curious thought away quickly. The taste of you climaxing on his tongue that delved between your folds, exploring that little cunt of yours with a zealous fashion sending him into a different realm. A feeling perhaps? He doesn’t know what to name the feeling he’s having… High? Floating? Oh, but he definitely likes the feeling of your thighs squeezing his head. He did tell you to hold him, but he didn’t think you would do it with your legs.

“I-I’m sorry!” He hears you stammer and he’s almost confused. Why are you apologizing? Why are you opening your thighs? Not squishing him with them? “I didn’t mean to do… that so quickly.”

He pulls away slightly, licking his lips. Staring at your folds. Mind trying to recount something he might have done to make you apologize, and he comes up with nothing. He didn’t punish you. You weren’t hurt. He made sure of it. What are- He huffs, his hot breath touching your wetness. Was this a trick? To make him go away from you. To dismiss you? Abandon you?

“You will not fool me, little saint.” He growls, leaning closer again to your core. Eyes staring up at you, daring you to disobey. To lie to him again. “Give me another taste. Then, you can apologize.”

You can only gasp out as he doesn’t wait for an answer from you. His tongue diving back in for more. Your thighs going back to squeeze his head at the overstimulation that's going to come over you this blissed session. Something that you might have to teach him of…

||Tagged|| @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.||

Subguinius....Suckguinius...

Delectable....

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sanguinius is a master of aftercare. He's hyper aware of your needs, both as a baseline human and as a woman, and he's hyper attentative in meeting and exceeding them. All of this becomes especially true if during your session he was a little more feral than usual. He'll clean you both up, get you water or whatever else you might need to help recoperate. Then, he'll cuddle you close in both arms and wings and tell you how grateful he is to have you in his life, both as a lover and a wife. He may also need some assurance from you about his performance, as well as assurance that he didn't hurt you or distress you in any way.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His mouth and hands for the pleasure they bring you, and his wings for the pleasure your touching and cuddling in them brings him. As for his favourite part of yours? Frankly, Sanguinius loves every part of you. Though your thighs and hips will always hold a special place in his heart. He loves to hold them, to feel them buck and tense against his grip as he's either eating you out or sheathed inside you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Sanguinius likes to keep things clean, so unless you request it, he's finishing inside you and he's cleaning up quickly after. He loves the smell of you, though. Oh my god, does he love the smell. And the taste. It satisfies him more that blood does the Red Thirst.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Sometimes, he has some of the most depraved fantasies about you. Or, more specifically, the things he might want to do to you. They come from the animalistic, bestial side of him: the same part which the Red Thirst comes from. He'd never tell you about these fantasies, though, not even once your well into your relationship. He's afraid if you knew, you'd judge him for it. Or worse, you'd become scared of him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Sanguinius had never known love or desire before he met you. He understands sex in a basic, academic way, but he's never experienced it before. I could see him being a little insecure about this- he doesn't want to disappoint you, nor have you think less of him or judge him for it. But, of course, you feel nothing of the sort and you will reassure him as much.

After that is resolved, Sangy is a quick learner. He's very receptive to what you want and need, and with your support and guidance, comes to understand his own desires just as well as he does yours.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary because a) he wants to see you, b) it lets him hold you tight, c) he needs room for his wings to puff up and shiver, and d) it gives you access to mark up his back or touch his wings, both of which he loves.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I don't see Sanguinius being 'goofy' per say, but if it feels right in the moment, he might crack a joke or make a humourous remark. For the most part so, I see him being on the more serious side. Purely because he gets so wrapped up in the moment that he doesn't even think to try and be humourous.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Sanguinius is SO well-groomed. He takes pride in his appearance- not in a vain way, just a regular, self-care, self respect way. And that totally applies to downstairs, too.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ha! What a silly question.

Sanguinius is THE romantic. He doesn't just "have sex": he makes love. And this isnt just for your benefit, either. He loves intimacy. He values it. He needs it from you just as much as you need it from him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He never felt compelled to touch himself until he fell for you. He knew about it, had maybe experiemented once or twice with it, but he never wanted to until he laid his eyes on you. Or, I should say, until he saw you in a psychic dream which forsaw you becoming his wife.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Hunter/prey role play: Sangy is the hunter, you are the prey, he chases you down and takes you wherever he catches you, right then and there. We here all know that Sanguinius has a possessive, feral streak when it comes to love, and he would absolutely get off playing out a fantasy where he could fully embrace it. He may not even be aware that it is a kink at first, but very quickly, he would come to realise that it is.

EDIT: After seeing a couple of comments and having a moment of hindsight I decided I needed to put another thing here for Sangy. Menstruation. I mention it a few times in other hcs, and absolutely it is another one of those undiscovered kinks of his. As ashamed and frightened of the Red Thirst he is, your time of the month is the perfect, if not the only, opportunity he gets to satisfy it in a safe way. And the fact that you willingly offer yourself up to him? That you're the one to talk him into it? The fact that you know how desperate he is for relief, even though he does everything he can to hide it from you? Just thinking about it is enough to make him hard.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Your bed. It's comfortable, it's safe, and it's your shared, private place. What can I say, Sangy is sentimental like that.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When he feels or smells that you are aroused or ovulating, seeing you in anything that either shows skin or hugs your curves just right, any and all teasing that you partake in, be it verbal jabs or suggestive touching. He's good at hiding it, but you can always tell when he's "going"- he gets this feral glint in his eye that always breaks through his poker face, no matter how hard he tries.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

The hunter/prey dynamic kink aside, Sanguinius would be absolutely against feeding from your blood during sex. If he's eating you out while it's your time of the month, that's another thing: that is a natural process and not the result of him biting you or anything like that- he's not 'preying on' you. But any other feeding/blood-related stuff, Sangy would not like.

Now, I might be contrarion for suggesting this, but let me cook for a sec. Sanguinius' red thirst is something he is ashamed off, and it's something that if stoked too much could put you in genuine danger. The added emotional and physical highs of sex are only going to exacerbate that. Even if you said it was okay, Sanguinius would not feel comfortable indulging the thirst in such an explicit way while he was with you. You are his lover- not a blood bag. He doesn't want to associate you with feeding because he does not want to risk loosing control of the thirst one night, potentially hurting or even killing you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to give rather than receive, seeing as it gives you so much pleasure. And once you've shown him what to do, he is very, very good. Be mindful of the fangs, however- Sangy can be a bit nippy if he gets carried away, especially if it's your time of the month.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sanguinius is both an angel and a beast, therefore, he gives you both and he does them just as well as each other. It all the depends on the mood you two are in.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

I don't see Sangy being a huge fan of quickies. If he's having sex with you, it's either to make love to you or to absolutely ravish you (best of both worlds, remember) and he can't do either of those things if you've only got a few minutes to spare. If given the choice between a quickie before leaving for a mission, or waiting until he returns to then have you, Sanguinius will choose the latter every day of the week.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Sanguinius would be game to experiment so long as it doesn't involve anything that could hurt you. Even in the bedroom, he's protective of you. The only thing more important to him than your pleasure is your feeling safe with him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

During the Siege of Terror, Sanguinius fought hordes of daemons and chaos space marines for literal days on end, all without tiring. That stamina is absolutely translating to the bedroom. He could fuck you for hours, only having to rest for minutes between rounds.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Sanguinius doesn't own toys, but if you do, he would use them on you. He might even ask if that was something you wanted to try. Sangy doesn't have an ego- if using your toys on you will bring you pleasure, he'll do it, because bringing you pleasure is the only thing he cares about.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

I see Sanguinius being a bit of a tease. It's sweet more than unfair, though. All a part of his way of showing affection. If anything, the teasing is his way of signalling to you he wants to have sex, and the nature of the teasing will tell you whether it's the making love kind or the ravishing kind.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

As he becomes more confident in the bedroom, Sanguinius would become louder. I'm thinking growls and hisses that devolve into moans the closer to climax he gets. Extra volume if he's in a feral mood, too.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

His wings, particularly feathers closest to the bone and the spot where they connect to his back, are super sensitive areas. Touch him there, and he'll melt. No matter what position your in, no matter how feral he's getting, you run your hands down those lesser covert feathers or claw you nails into the spot between his shoulders where his wings attach to his back, and you will reduce him to a moaning, shuddering mess. Every time.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I mean, come on. A) he's a primarch. B) he's an angel. C) he's literally considered in the canon as the Emperor's "perfect son." His body is a work of art. Every. Single. Part.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I'd say it's fairly stable most of the time, but it would spike in time with your own cycle. When your menstruating or ovulating, he'll be able to detect it, and lemme tell you, it would make him FERAL.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

"Move"

Falling to your knees you barely had time to register the impact before a shadow fell over you and the rope was pulled taught.

"Get up"

You looked up at the chaplain, staring into the bright red eye lenses embedded in the skull faceplate. Heart pounding in your ribcage, your body begging you to get up and run, to scrabble and kick and scream.

"Chaplain please, I haven't done anything."

Instead you allowed him to yank you to your feet, dragging you up and pulling you against his body. The robes over his armour smelt of gun smoke and incense, heady and thick it overwhelmed you until the bite of his voice brought you back.

"You know exactly what you've done" He hissed, leering down at you. "I've seen you, heard what you say when you think no one can hear you"

He reached up and grabbed the edge of his helm, releasing the seal with a sharp hiss.

"You think I don't know what you do, sneaking around in the night "

Leandros scoffed at your reddening cheeks and your half hearted splutters, turning from you and hauling you onwards down the corridor. He ignored your whines and cast his eyes around, settling on a heavy ornate door towards the end of the hall and storming towards it with you in tow.

"Chaplain I swear I didn't-"

You were unceremoniously shoved into the room, fear sending shivers down your body as you stumbled forward, your face hit something hard and warm.

"Behold, brothers!"

You reeled away in a panic, staggering back and realising far too late you had barrelled into the muscled side of a marine. Clad in simple robes, his face was young and unscarred; a new recruit no doubt.

He wasn't alone.

5 or 6 men stood in the dark room, faces illuminated by flickering candle light and the flash of a servo skulls neon optic light. Stumbling backward as apologies fell from your lips, you felt your back hit armour.

Leandros placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, shoving you towards the centre of the room. The marines separated before you as the chaplain led you through the middle, each one looking at you with a mix of curiosity and detachment.

You were pushed unceremoniously through the small gathering, towards a candlelit alter at the rear. Ornate silk coated its surface, and the ultramarine standard fluttered on the wall, the omega symbol stark white against the vivid blue in the dim light.

"Lord chaplain, please"

Leandros halted and turned, his back to the alter and you pulled to his front.

"You know why you are here, brothers"

His grip tightened and the seams on the shoulder of your dress began to groan and pop.

"You are here to witness the heresy of this welp and to learn to resist her sirens call"

"What?!" shock and fear gripped you as strongly as the marine, your body started to shake, tears pricking your eyes.

"She has lured one of our brothers away from his path and will seek to do the same with you!"

The gathered marines shook their heads, some scowling, others baring their teeth and spitting on the floor towards you.

"Have mercy, my lord" you cried, leaning back to look up. "Please, I'm not a heretic"

"We shall see" he hissed under his breath. "Strip"

You stumbled over yourself in your hurry to obey, pulling the robe over your head and tossing the fabric aside before clamping your arms over your chest and crossing your legs.

"This..." he prowled around you in a circle, dragging his eyes up and down your form and sneering before he continued "Woman seduced one of the emperors angels, luring him to bed her"

A shocked hiss rose from the crowd. Leandros settled behind you, using his calloused hands to pull your arms away. You flushed under the gaze of so many marines, unsure if you were embarrassed at your nakedness, or the heat that rose in you when your chaplains hand ghosted along your ribs.

"She used our love of humanity to beguile him"

He released you, stepping back to lean on the alter, legs stretched out before his as he propped his weight against the metal.

"How?" asked a marine, frowning beneath his crop of blonde hair. "How did this baseline corrupt our brother"

Blinking between the youth and Leandros, you struggled to stop your body from shaking. The chaplain tilted his head and pushed himself back to the alter, sitting on the edge causing the metal to groan and creak beneath his weight.

"I will show you. Here serf. Now"

You tentatively stepped towards him, still clutching your hands to your chest. Evidently not moving fast enough, his hand shot out and pulled you towards him. You yelped, feeling your muscles tense as you were pulled upwards.

The chaplain perched you on his lap, nudging your legs open wide with his muscled thighs and using his thick, metal coated fingers to hold your thighs open.

"This is how"

Leandros spread your legs wide, exposing you to the marines who huddled close to glare at you with suspicion. You struggled under his grip, trying and failing to squeeze your legs shut.

"Be still" he hissed, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "This is your penance for the filth you encourage"

"I only-"

"Don't pretend you don't like it, your depravity is rolling off you in waves"

You paused, confused until a marine elaborated for you.

"She smells sweet" he muttered, leaning in and running a finger up your thigh, causing you to shiver.

"Baseline arousal. Its how her body dulls your senses"

The Neophyte nodded, eyes wide and pupils dark as he huffed your scent before falling back.

"Are you enjoying this that much?" Leandros whispered. "You have brought shame to yourself and yet your body is begging for attention"

His fingers slowly moved, one towards your core, the other sliding up to cup your chest and holding you still.

"Look brothers" He barked, using two of his fingers to spread your dripping cunt, your arousal shining on his ceramite gauntlet. "See how she seeks to tempt you."

The young marines muttered amongst themselves in assent as the chaplain continued.

"See how she seeks to pull you away from your duty"

Leandros slid his fingers up and down, teasing your hole and gliding up to your clit, pressing and circling. You gasped, hips jerking forward and one of your hands shot down to grip his wrist.

A murmur went through the gathered marines at your movement.

"Look, brothers. See how she writhes beneath the chaplains holy touch" one whispered, almost in reverence as he watched Leandros roll your clit softly.

"Do not fall prey to a base lines beguiling charm" Leandros preached, continuing to rub at the nerve, his other hand still on your chest kneading your breast, armoured thumb stroking across your skin. "Lest you lose sight of the reason you are here! What is your duty?!"

"To serve the emperors will" The marines called back

Leandros nodded.

"Good. Now go forth in his holy name knowing you are clear of mind"

The new recruits cheered and slowly filtered from the room, casting lingering glances back at you shaking and mewling. One paused, cocking his head before asking:

"What will you do with her?"

The chaplains eyes dropped to you, flushed and shaking in his grip.

"I will cleanse her unclean thoughts, so She might have a chance for redemption. You may go"

The door closed behind the last ultramarine with a loud click, leaving you alone with the chaplain. You didn't move, hardly dared to breath, feeling his chest rise and fall against your back.

"My lord"

"Silence"

His finger probed at your entrance, slowly pressing in one joint at a time. You gasped and arched your back, feeling the ribs and groves in the ceramite and plasteel rubbing across your walls.

"Listen to you, whimpering like a bitch in heat" Leandros growled curling his finger, exploring. "I've seen you limping from his room in the twilight hours, thinking no one will notice"

You cried out as his finger pressed into a soft spot, making your toes curl. Your grip on his wrist tightened and your nails dragged across his vambrace with a screech.

"Is this what he does to you?"

His voice had dropped low, huskiness settling in his tone as he thrust his finger in and out of your heat. His continued to slowly stretch you with long, drawn out drags in and out of your drenched cunt. HIs breaths felt hot heavy on your head, fluttering across you scalp and his hips jerked as your back arched and you cried out.

"Does he make you feel like this?"

Your head span and blood thundered in your ears, racing around your body as he dragged you towards your finish.

"Leandros. Leandros, please"

He suddenly pulled out, leaving you teetering on the edge of finish. You choked back a whimper and ground your hips against him, chasing the high.

"Why are you punishing me?" You sobbed, desperately reaching for contact, anything to tip you over into release.

"Oh This was never about punishing you"

One of his hands found your chin, pulling your eyes up to meet his.

"It was always about punishing him. But now? Now this is for my own enjoyment"

He drove his finger back into you, sliding another one in alongside it and pressing them into your sponge walls, caressing the one spot he found so easily that would have you reeling.

He growled as you came, feeling your body shake and your walls clench around him through the haptic feedback of his armour, Arousal soaked down his wrist and coated your thighs. He continued to plunge in and out of you, revelling in the tears spilling down your cheeks and your panting begs for him to slow down.

"Isn't this what you wanted? To be dabased by an astartes?"

HIs lips had found your neck, peppering the skin with open mouth kisses and nips, his tongue dragging at a hot strip up your throat towards your jawline.

"You taste as sweet as you smell" He groaned, nuzzling his nose under your ear and inhaling deeply. "I wonder if the rest of you is as sweet"

You didn't react when he lifted you and placed you on the alter, kneeling at the base and propping your feet up on his shoulders. Fingers still glistening with your release bruised your hips, grounding you as he buried his face in your heat. Devouring you like a starved man, his tongue lathed and lapped, flicking and rolling over your clit and lower lips, groaning and huffing at the taste of you on his tongue.

Your voice gone, replaced with breath moans as you reached down and dragged your fingers over his buzzed hair, legs shaking and quivering with exertion.

"Its too much" you finally croaked, choking as he pulled another orgasm from you and growled when you tried to scrabble away from him. "Please, please I cant ah-!"

"No" he snarled, pupils blow, hyper focused on your body, how pliable you were under his hands "Not enough." He rose to his feet, your juice still coating his chin and reached down to release the groin plate from his armour.

"I'll send you back to him with my name on your lips and my spend dripping down your thighs, little serf"

"Leandros"

You both froze. A smirk drifting across the chaplains face.

"Titus" He chuckled, finally wiping you from his face. "I was just enjoying a conversation with your serf. He turned slowly, stepping back to reveal you sprawled out and exhausted.

"It looks like you were enjoying something else" The lieutenant snarled, storming into the room and slamming the door so hard it rattled on its hinges.

"I was about to"

The two marines glared at each other, tension settling in the air so tickly you could cut it with a chain blade.

"Dont worry brother, i had every intention of returning her to you"

"She wasnt yours to take"

Leandros laughed and swiped his fingers over your twitching clit, making you squeal and jolt.

"Isnt she?" He sneered, sliding his hand along your stomach, over your breath and towards your chin. Pulling you upright he slammed his lips into yours, pressing his tongue into your mouth before pulling back, leaving you breathless.

"It seems like she might be"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

***

“I have not returned here since the passing of my youngest grand-niece,” he said apologetically. “I am afraid it has lain empty for… longer than I care to remember.”

You smiled up at him. “The Chaplain said it was my duty as your wife to bring light and life. I might as well start here.”

A look of awe came into his fiery eyes. “My wife.”

Then he scooped you into his arms and carried you, giggling, across the threshold.

***

The great door, carved with twining dragons, swung open to reveal your husband. He still wore his wedding robes of deep green and ebony, though now loosened to display the muscled expanse of his chest. They revealed the new brand placed on his chest between his two hearts.

Your heart leapt at the sight.

He carried two bowls of what smelled like stew in his hands, one significantly larger than the other. Nudging the door with his foot, he frowned at the creaking of the hinges.

“One more thing I need to repair.” He rumbled.

“How long is the list now?”

“Too long.”

You laughed and beckoned him closer. He approached, handing you one of the bowls. The spicy scent filled your nostrils and your stomach growled.

“Throne, I haven’t eaten since last night. Did you make this?”

How strange it was to see a fierce Space Marine look bashful. “I did. I hope I was successful, it has been some time since I cooked.”

“It smells wonderful.”

 You dug in, using flatbread to shovel meat and sauce into your mouth with reckless abandon. After a moment, you realized he watched you.

You swallowed and blushed. “Not very refined of me, is it?”

“You honor me with your appetite.” A mischievous glint came into his eyes. “I can fetch water if you require it.”

“Nev,” you scoffed, “if I haven’t grown used to spices by now, I never will.” You gestured toward his own bowl. “Now eat!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled.

You ate in silence. But not the cold, empty silence you’d known before. This felt… comfortable. You snuggled up to his side, basking in his presence. Inhaling, you could still smell the red-hot metal from a few hours ago, when the two of you stood, facing each other across a fiery brazier.

***

The emerald green robe covered you from neck to foot, thick material meant to protect your skin from flying embers. A veil likewise concealed your face and the sweat rolling down it. If not for the priestess assigned to fan you from behind, you felt you might have fainted from the sweltering heat.

The Chaplain’s chanting seemed never-ending. You barely understood the prayers, rumbled in the ancient Nocturnean tongue you’d only recently begun to study, but knew he asked the Emperor to bless your union. 

You managed to pick up the words “fruitful” and “womb” and blushed.

Finally, the elder Salamander ceased and approached the brazier. Your heart leapt to your mouth as he lifted a branding iron from the flames and held it out for you to take. Somehow, your fingers remained steady as you grasped the handle with gloved hands.

The Chaplain switched to Gothic. “Repeat after me, child. With this brand….”

You prayed your voice could be heard over the crackling fire. “With this brand, I seal you, Nev’ran, to me. Fire-forged in bonds of duty and love, unbreakable forever more. In the names of Vulkan our father, and his father who sits the Golden Throne eternal, I do this.”

Nev’ran opened his robe, and you pressed the brand to his flesh.

He never broke eye contact, even as his skin seared. The love in his gaze burned away your nerves.

Then he took the iron offered to him and repeated the same vow. The sincerity in his words brought tears to your eyes, and you opened your own robes. He lifted the brand, hesitating as an unspoken question passed between you.

You nodded slightly. You wanted this.

Still, the pain almost caused you to cry out. You squeezed your eyes shut, sucking air through your clenched teeth as the smaller brand pressed into your skin. Almost as quickly as it was there, it was removed, and the priestess behind you stepped forward to smear a numbing salve over the burn.

“Joined in fire!” The Chaplain intoned.

The chapel rang with the cheers of those who’d come to witness your union. But you only had eyes for your husband.

***

Nev’ran swallowed the last few bites of his stew without tasting them. His eyes fixed on you. His Diamond.

My wife.

He still had trouble processing the fact. It seemed only yesterday you kissed him for the first time, as a corrupted colony burned beneath them. The dragon within had demanded he make you his without delay. The man had urged patience. Despite your smile, you had been fragile.

He remembered having to restrain you as you scrubbed your skin raw in the baths that first night. He remembered the many nights that followed, when you had clung to him, seeking refuge from relentless nightmares. 

He’d held you as you cried, watched over your battered mind and body as you slowly healed. 

Nev’ran thanked the Emperor every day you’d shown no signs of corruption. If you had… if he’d been forced to….

He pushed the unbearable thought away.

“What has you looking so glum?” Your voice roused him from his reverie. “Regretting saddling yourself with me already?”

Shocked, he prepared to refute such a preposterous statement. Then he saw your smirk.

“You are teasing me.”

“I am.” You laughed.

By Vulkan’s burning eyes, I love that sound.

Setting his empty bowl aside, he caught you up in his arms, burying his face in your neck. You squealed as he wiggled his fingers against your sides.

“Dangerous to tease a dragon, my love.”

He continued his assault against your sensitive body until you writhed in his grasp, tears of laughter running down your cheeks. His own deep guffaws mingled with your sounds of mirth. No longer the sad, fearful ice maiden. Freedom from the shackles of your old life had transformed you. You glowed with an inner fire he’d always known burned somewhere deep within.

Finally, he relented. You lay limp and gasping in his arms. 

“I… should never have… told you I… was ticklish.”

“A mistake I intend to exploit.” 

“Cruel dragon.” You pouted.

He relaxed his grip. He should’ve known better. 

With a triumphant cry you lurched upward and poked a finger directly into a neural port on his abdomen. Sensation ripped like wildfire through his nerves, sending sparks through his brain. Vision blurred as his abdominal muscles contracted involuntarily, a deep groan tearing from his throat.

“Throne! Nev, I’m sorry!”

He panted. Soft little hands cupped his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to press so hard! I-”

Your words died as his eyes snapped open. He saw the light in your eyes, the pulse in your throat. He followed a bead of sweat as it rolled from your neck down between your breasts.  

Over your brand. His brand.

“Diamond….” He growled.

That scent… my mate’s scent….

Grasping the back of your head in one hand, he covered your mouth with his own.

***

You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t care. Everything in you surrendered to the man kissing you like he meant to devour you whole. 

I’d let him.

You’d been starved for his touch. First there had been the interviews with the Chaplain of the Salamanders’ 4th Company. The man’s grimness intimidated you at first, before you learned of the deep kindness behind his stoic facade. He’d explained to you what it meant to be the wife of an Astartes, the difficulties you would experience, the trials, the expectations. 

He’d emphasized the need for discretion when the Company encountered other Chapters or Imperial agencies.

When he found your responses satisfactory, he moved on to Chapter history and customs. The lectures lasted the entire remainder of the trip to Nocturne. In your brief moments of respite, when you took meals with Matia and Lili, you’d joked about feeling like a neophyte.

Matia had recounted tales of her own instruction with the Chaplain, after Hur’reth’s proposal. Though, already being a daughter of Nocturne, you doubted her education had been so exhaustive.

Lili mostly remained quiet, still mourning the loss of her family and home. She’d been taken in by an older serf couple aboard the Flamewrought, and seemed to be adjusting well last you saw her.

With everything, you and Nev’ran had been lucky to snatch a few scant minutes together each day. Though you’d made sure to make the most of them.

You moaned into his mouth, hungry for more. You ran your hands over his hard chest. Even now, his sheer power amazed you. Your fingers traced the bumps and ridges of innumerable scars and brands. Each a testimony to his prowess in battle.

An image of him tearing through a horde of monsters to reach you sent heat rippling through your veins. You trembled. When his tongue pushed past your lips, you welcomed it. 

Then he pulled away and you whined, clawing at his chest to pull him back to you. Another growl rumbled through him.

Next you knew, you lay flat on your back on the firm mattress of the bed. He crawled atop you. His movements reminded you of some great predator, and a primitive part of your brain shrilled a warning. But desire overruled all caution.

“Nev’ran….”

His chest heaved like a forge’s bellows. Flame danced in his eyes. Rocking up on his knees, he stretched forth huge hands and grasped the edges of your robe.

Then, all at once, you were no longer in the bedroom. No longer on Nocturne. The mattress beneath you turned to slimy stone. The hands on your body turned cold and hard. Mad eyes leered down at you from a cadaverous face.

“NO!”

***

The cry extinguished Nev’ran’s ardor like cold water. He jerked back, watching in bewildered dismay as you clawed out from under him, curling into a trembling ball.

“Diamond?”

You stared through him. “Nonono…!”

“Diamond, what is wrong?” He pivoted, searching the chamber for any threat that could explain your panic, hands reaching for something to use as a weapon. 

A whimper drew him back. You’d covered your face with your hands. Your shoulders shook.

Realization struck him. He’d encountered enough traumatized baselines in his long years of service to know the signs. So he moved slowly, approaching but not touching.

“It is all right. You are safe.”

The salty tang of tears filled his nose. Your whimpers turned to sobs. Everything in him screamed to pull you into his arms, but he forced himself to remain still.

“I am here. Nothing will hurt you.”

He repeated the words over and over again, hearts breaking, until at last you seemed to hear.

“N-Nev’ran?”

“Yes, Diamond. I am here.”

Your hands dropped away and you stared at him with wide, wet eyes. Then you threw yourself into his arms.

“I… I’m sorry.”

“No.” He wrapped himself around you, armoring you with his body.

“I just… when you touched me I saw… him.”

Nev’ran fought the rage threatening to erupt like a volcano within. 

I should have taken my time with that abomination. I should have ripped him limb from limb and fed him to the fire like kindling. I should have-

“I ruined everything.” 

Your tiny voice shattered him. “No, Diamond. No! Nothing is ruined. I should have realized you were not ready. We will stop.” He tucked your head beneath his chin.

For now, this is enough.

You were silent for a while. “I… I don’t want to stop.”

He loosened his grip as you pulled back to look up at him. The determination in your eyes made him smile. He cupped your face, wiping away the remainder of your tears with his thumb.

“Do not push yourself. We have time, and I desire nothing but your pleasure.”

He watched the color return to your pale face. You settled on your knees, head barely reaching his chest, and reached out to run your fingers over his skin once more. He sucked in a breath, body stirring. Your hands fell to the cloth belt at his waist.

He covered them with his own. “You are sure?”

You nodded. “Yes but… I’ve never… you know I’ve never….”

You’d told him of your inexperience. The thought of possessing what no other man had touched made his dragon purr. 

But he would not be selfish. “I should not have lost control before. We will go slowly now. Tell me what you want.”

“... can I see you?”

Throne, she cannot know what she does to me.

He let her untie the belt, and shrugged his robe from her shoulders. As custom dictated, he was bare beneath. She stared. His shoulders tensed.

“I know this old drake is not much to look at.” 

***

Your mouth dropped. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be! 

You’d thought the merest glimpse of his chest arousing. And now that he knelt, completely unclothed, before you, heat pooled in your lower stomach. He was an ebon statue come to life. Worn, perhaps, and cracked, with edges softened by time. But these details only made him that much more striking. 

“You’re beautiful.” You breathed.

You hadn’t thought it possible for his face to darken even further, but it did.

“That is… not something I have oft been called.”

You barely heard his words, eyes drawn to what bobbed between his thighs. Hard and thick and huge.

“Throne….”

Nev’ran said nothing, but you felt his tension like an animal poised to spring. You knew he wouldn’t, though. Not without your consent.

“Can I touch it?” You blushed at your own words.

“Please.”

His deep growl made the blood rush in your veins. Reaching out, you ran a single finger down its length. He whined.

You jerked back. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.” He seemed to shake himself. “And no. Forgive me, Diamond. It has been so very long since….”

Pleasure. I’m giving him pleasure.

The thought sent a rush through you. You cupped your hand around his length, your fingers unable to meet, and stroked.

He threw his head back with a gasp. “For the love of the primarch, woman!”

“I’m sorry-”

“Do not be. I am yours to explore, only,” he gave a breathless laugh, “I do not know how much more this old body can take.”

“Stop calling yourself that. You’re in your prime.” Growing bold, you stroked again. 

“Ahhh,” he moaned, eyes snapping to yours.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked desperate. “May I see you now, my love?” 

You hesitated only a moment before slipping your own robe off your shoulders. Despite the warmth of the room, and the heat radiating from your husband, your skin pebbled. You found you couldn’t look him in the face.

What if he doesn’t like what he sees?

You needn’t have worried.

“Vulkan’s burning eyes,” you shivered at his drawn-out sigh, “you put your namesake to shame, my Diamond.”

“Nev, touch me?”

He groaned. “Tell me where.”

Biting your lip, you motioned to your waist, and gasped when hands encircled it. Calloused skin pressed against yours, thick fingers sank into the flesh of your belly. 

“So soft. I’d almost forgotten.” He seemed to speak to himself.

Reaching up, you could barely brush your fingertips over his cheek. “Nev’ran, higher.”

The hands slid up your abdomen, over your ribcage, and paused beneath your chest. “May I?”

“You may.”

You gasped when he caressed your breasts. He squeezed gently, cupped, and lifted. When his rough thumbs brushed over your hardening nipples you gasped out loud.

“Do that again!”

He chuckled and obeyed. Now it was your turn to throw your head back as you basked in pleasure. Your eyes opened to find Nev’ran bent nearly double, face inches from your chest.

His eyes searched yours, and you nodded. Then his lips closed over your nipple and you moaned. You could have spent hours like that, with his mouth alternating between your breasts. But far too soon he pulled back.

***

Nev’ran revelled in the dazed look on your face, a look he’d put there. The memory of your fingers on him spurred him on. His dragon roared to take and claim. 

But he would be patient.

“More?” You whispered.

He smiled and released your breasts, sliding his hands back down your body until his thumbs rested on the crease between your hips and thighs. He pressed further. You stiffened, mouth opening. Your scent thickened.

“May I touch you here?”

No sooner had you voiced assent than he cupped your mound. He stroked the soft curls there, drinking in the sounds you sang for him. 

“So sensitive, my Diamond. But there is more and better to come. Let me show you.”

When his fingers first encountered your wetness he had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek. He wanted… wanted. 

But I will… maintain… control.

And so he slipped his fingers between your folds in measured strokes while your cries drove him to the brink of madness. He found the little nub that gave women such pleasure, proud of himself for remembering correctly. When he rubbed a finger against it….

Your back arched. He had to quickly stabilize you with his other hand to keep you from sprawling back on the bed.

“So sensitive.” He murmured.

And then he continued, his member throbbing in time to your cries.

Your little hands gripped at his wrist, not attempting to push him away, but clinging for support as he pleasured you. 

“N-Nev’ran!”

Throne, say it again.

“I know, my love.”

“I feel, I feel-!”

“Let it come. I have you.”

You sobbed, your nectar soaking his fingers as you shook apart in his arms. And then you went limp.

He removed his hand and gathered you against him, feeling the wild fluttering of your pulse.

“Are you all right?”

It took you a minute to answer. “That was… it’s never felt like that before, when I used my own-” you stopped, eyes darting away.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to your forehead. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Diamond.”

He let you rest for a bit, cradling you close. His own body screamed for release. But he would endure.

“Would you like to-?”

“Yes!” 

***

You hadn’t thought anything could be better than what you’d already experienced.

“Nev’ran!”

A low grunt came from between your thighs. You’d been placed farther up the huge bed. Your husband stretched out on his stomach before you, head buried between your legs, tongue buried in your core.

“Oh, Throne! Nev’ran!”

You’d blanched when he first told you his intentions. Of course, you’d heard rumors growing up. Like any young girl you’d giggled with friends over stolen novels full of flowery language and ridiculous metaphors. But you’d never quite believed people actually did such things.

Your hips jumped as Nev’ran’s tongue pressed deeper, deeper than your own fingers had ever gone. The unexpected heat of the organ only added to your pleasure. That, and his fingers circling your bud in relentless circuits. 

The way he held you down with a single hand spanning the breadth of your waist, the way he devoured you like a beast, growling and snarling…!

And yet the fear did not return. You were prey and you were safe, at the same time.

Another press of his fingers and you felt the coil within wind even tighter. 

“Nev’ran, I’m-!”

It snapped.

When you returned to sensibility, your husband leaned over you, stroking your cheek.

“Are you all right? Was that too much?”

Your heart swelled at the concern on his scarred face. Instead of answering, you lifted yourself with all the strength you could muster and pressed your lips to his. He tasted of smoke and spices and something that had to be your own musk. 

“I love you, Nev.”

His great arms cradled you. “And I love you.”

You snuggled into his embrace. Your body felt molten and heavy. Liquid cooled between your thighs.  And yet….

“Nev?”

“Mmmm?”

“Shall we… continue?”

“You are certain?”

You felt a sudden burst of frustration. “Yes! I am! I want… I want everything, Nev’ran.”

He lowered you back onto the mattress. The look in his eyes almost burned you in its intensity.

“You know what will happen.”

You nodded, eyes travelling down to his swollen member. 

Dear Emperor, that has to hurt!

“It will… go inside.”

You didn’t know how. But other women, hundreds of women if Matia and the Chaplain were to be believed, had taken Salamanders before. So there must be a way.

He nodded, almost solemn. “I will use my fingers first, to prepare you. Then I will enter you. There may be pain-”

“I don’t care. I want it.”

“If it becomes too much, tell me, and I will stop.”

“It won’t. I-”

He grasped your chin, making you look him in the eyes. “If it becomes too much, TELL ME, and I will STOP.”

“I… I will.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

Your core clenched in anticipation.

***

Nev’ran rose back up onto his knees and looked at the woman beneath him. Sweat streaked your skin. Your hair cascaded about your head in unruly tangles. Reddish marks covered your breasts and thighs. He winced at one hand-shaped bruise forming over your waist.

I must be more gentle.

Licking the last of your juices from his lips, he reached for the small stone table next to the bed. You hadn’t noticed the jar he’d brought along with the food earlier. Lifting it, he poured its viscous contents over his fingers.

His member throbbed when he spread your thighs once more, revealing your swollen, dripping center.

Just a little longer.

You whimpered when he stroked you. 

“Breathe, Diamond.” He murmured, before pressing a single finger inside.

Having his tongue inside you had been hard enough, but the tight, wet sensation of your core around his finger nearly undid him. He found himself having to take his own advice, expanding his third lung to drag as much oxygen into his body as possible. 

Your soft cries didn’t help matters.

I want to be inside her. I want to fill her until there is no room for anything else. I want to mold her body to my shape. My precious little mate.

His dragon clawed at his control.

A second finger. You gasped as he scissored them, working you open. Not quite enough yet. The image of you tearing as he took you quieted the beast within.

I will not allow it.

In and out he moved his fingers. A preview of what was to come. To his amazement, he felt your body tightening once more.

“Again, my love?”

Your frantic nodding brought a prideful smile to his lips.

He had done this. Centuries the elder of many of his battle brothers, and he still knew how to drive a woman half-mad with ecstasy. Faster and faster he moved his fingers, curling them within, searching for that spot he remembered. 

“Can you take another, my Diamond?”

“Please!”

“Throne.” He groaned and slipped third within.

You took him more easily now. He pushed deeper with each thrust.

Where is it? There!

A patch of spongy flesh. He pressed.

“Nev’ran!”

Liquid gushed around his fingers for the third time, your fragrance nearly overwhelming him. Panting like a beast in rut, he worked his fingers through your climax, finally withdrawing when you lay boneless before him.

And yet, when your eyes opened, he still saw desire. “Nev’ran, more.”

Forget orks or tyranids or any of the other horrors he was bred to fight, you would be the death of him. 

He poured more of the viscous liquid over his member. Slipping his hands beneath your knees, he lifted your legs until they pressed against your chest. You winced, and he allowed you time to adjust to the stretch.

“It must be like this, or on your hands and knees.” He growled. “Choose.”

“Like this.” You panted in reply. “I want to see you.”

“Relax your body as much as you are able, and breathe deep.”

He lined himself up with your entrance. Both hearts pounded like hammers on anvils in his chest.

Then he pushed in, his groan mingling with your cry as your body struggled to take him. 

“Tight. Throne, so tight.” Nev’ran fought to hold onto rational thought as he sank inside you, inch by inch. 

Slowly, Warp damn it! Slowly!

“Is this… all right?”

You didn’t respond. He glanced down to find you with your eyes tightly shut, teeth clenched as you breathed in short gasps.

“Diamond!”

He hadn’t meant it to come out so harsh. But his control frayed more with every passing moment. It had been too long.

Your eyes snapped open. “It… stings.”

“Too much?”

Do not tell me to stop. By the Emperor and all the primarchs, do not tell me to stop!

“No….” The word trailed off into a long moan.

His eyes fixed on the place of your joining. More and more you took, your entrance stretching around him. 

So good.

Had it felt this good before? He couldn’t remember. His mind filled with the tight, wet heat of the present. Nothing else mattered.

An eternity seemed to pass before he looked down and found himself fully seated inside you.

The dragon emerged. “Mine.”

***

You couldn’t describe the feeling. The stretch. The fullness. The heat.

Oh, Throne. The heat!

You burned from the inside out. Your brain sparked like a damaged cogitator.

“Nev’ran, Nev’ran, Nev’ran!”

You couldn’t tell if you merely thought the name or spoke it aloud. He was all. Everything around and in you. Only him.

And then he moved. In and out, like a piston. Your body screamed, in pain or pleasure you couldn’t tell. The two sensations melded. You wanted him to stop. You wanted him to never stop.

“Mine.”

Did he say that? Did you think it? It didn’t matter. You agreed.

“My mate.”

You wanted to say something, anything. But only screams and moans passed through your lips. You couldn’t catch your breath.

“Only mine.”

Finally, your brain formed one coherent thought. “Yes! Yours!”

A hand slid under the back of your head, yanking you upward. You had the briefest glimpse of wild red eyes before a mouth slammed into yours. You clutched at the short-cropped hair, digging your nails into the scalp.

All the while the piston within you never faltered.

When you grew faint from lack of air, the mouth moved to your throat. Teeth sank into your skin. You felt claimed. You wanted to claim in return.

A memory flickered and you raked your nails down the impossibly broad chest, searching, searching for….

There!

Fingers sank into neural ports and the dragon roared.

The piston sped up. Whatever coherent thought you’d managed to gather splintered into a million fragments. All you could do was cling to your mate and feel and feel and feel. 

The volcano within erupted without warning.

You saw white. You heard the snarling of a feral beast. You felt molten fire pulse into your womb.

Then, everything went dark.

***

You stumbled into the Apothecarion, gasping for breath. “I’m here, Nev’ran! I’m sorry for being late. I was helping Lili and Matia with the children and I-”

Your words halted with a gasp.

The medical center of the Flamewrought, usually so austere, now gleamed with the light of a hundred candles. The surgical tables had all been pushed to one side to make room for a low circle of cushions surrounding-

“Where on Terra did you find flowers?!”

Nev’ran stood to one side of the cushions. He was unarmored, dressed in a simple green tunic. In one hand he held a bottle of wine. In the other, two glasses. They looked comically small in his hands.

His smile almost looked nervous. “Do you like them?”

You approached the bouquet of pale blooms, reaching out to stroke the petals. “It’s been so long.”

“One of my Brother Techmarines’ wives has a small garden on one of the lower decks. It is something of a marvel actually, she uses heat lamps and water condensers-” He seemed to realize he was rambling and cut himself off. “Anyway, she graciously gifted me a few.”

“A techmarine with a wife who likes flowers.” You laughed. “That sounds like an interesting pair.”

“That they are.” Popping the cork on the wine bottle, he filled a glass and offered it to you.

You accepted with a grin. “And where, might I ask, did you acquire this?”

He chuckled. “Apparently there was a particularly grateful planetary governor a few years back who offered almost his entire wine cellar to the Company. The Captain accepted a few bottles just to stop him groveling.”

You raised the liquid to your lips and your eyes widened. “I can’t say I’m an expert, but this is delightful.”

Nev’ran motioned for you to recline on the cushions. He settled next to you with a groan. 

“How I will get up again, I do not know.”

You rolled your eyes. “You are not that old, Nev.”

He humphed and you giggled. 

For a few minutes you simply drank together in silence, enjoying the way the candle light reflected off the white blossoms. Finally, Nev’ran cleared his throat. 

“I have made you something.”

You gasped when he produced a small, ornate box from the folds of his tunic. “Is this where you’ve been this last week? Nev’ran….”

He held it toward you, and you could have sworn you saw his hands tremble. “Please, open it.”

You did. And your heart all but stopped.

There, nestled amidst velvet padding, was a necklace. A single diamond the size of a bird’s egg nestled inside a net of silver mesh, the whole thing hanging from a chain of the same metal. 

“Oh…!”

Nev’ran reached out and took your hand. “Among the Salamanders, it is customary for a man to craft a gift for the woman he… that he wishes to marry.”

You couldn’t breathe.

He continued. “I love you, Diamond. From the moment I saw you, I knew I was destined to keep you warm and safe. I have done battle for you, and I would do so a thousand times without hesitation. I cannot offer a life of ease, but I offer all that I am.”

You would never forget the look in his eyes when he asked. “Will you marry-?”

“YES!”

***

Nev’ran lifted the glass of water to your lips. “Easy now, slowly.”

He watched you gulp the liquid down, then gently lowered you back into the pillows he’d piled around you like a nest.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mmmm.” Your eyelids fluttered. “Tired.”

“Sore?”

You shook your head. “Prob’ly tomorrow, though.”

He winced. By the time he’d come back to his senses, you’d been unconscious, his seed pouring from your core. It had been the closest he’d come to panic in long years. But several glasses of water, a nutrient bar, and a change of clothes later, and you smiled at him like he hadn’t ravaged you like a rutting beast a mere hour earlier.

“You are sure you are-”

“Nev’ran,” you sighed, “I’m fine.” Your lips quirked upward even as your eyes closed. “That was wonderful.”

He felt a rush of pure male pride. “Was it now?”

“Mmm-hmm.” One eye opened. “Not bad for an old man.”

He stared at you for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing. “Diamond! You really will be the death of me!”

You reached for him, and he lowered himself to his side next to you, pulling you tight against his chest. “Sleep now, my love. We have a week to enjoy ourselves.”

And then it would be back to the Flamewrought, to battle. His duty still remained. 

Nev’ran looked down at the precious gift he’d been given in the form of this woman. At least, this time, he would not be alone. You mumbled something, and his hearts skipped a beat.

“What was that, my love?”

Your hand drifted to your stomach. “I hope it took.”

His eyes moistened. “I hope so too.”

“What do you want?”

“Hmm?”

“Son or daughter?”

He laughed, even as a single tear ran down his weathered cheek. “Healthy.”

“Good answer.” You snuggled closer. “Love you, Nev.”

He wrapped his arms around you. “I love you more than my own life, my precious Diamond.”

He watched you, memorizing ever feature, until your breathing deepened. “No matter what comes, I will keep you warm. Always.”

And the Dragon and his Mate rested.

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Lion El’Jonson - I

(Shared sensations)

Crawling under his skin filled his every waking moment. Skin that was warm to the touch of every serf, apothecary and otherwise but felt freezing cold beneath his fingers.

Once upon a time it had felt warm, and he’d felt the kiss of sunlight against him even in the cold depths of space, and he’d felt the soft slip of silk against his own - all sensations he’d shared with them.

He would apologise to them over and over, for feeling what he felt, for the pain he endured in battles, for the cruelty of being bound to him.

You would always wave him off with a smile, swat at him for being silly, reassure him that loving him was worth every moment of agony, of the grip of steel in your fingers and rivers of another’s blood that graced your skin.

Never in those days had he expected to pay tenfold for every lingering gentle moment you’d given him with the constant chilling pressure of your stone coffin on his back.

'Sleeping' was nice, he could almost, almost pretend he was resting with you, that you were finally together again at last.

Fulgrim - III

(Flowers appear where soulmate gets injured)

At least of all the possible soul markings he could have had, they were beautiful, worthy of display on his skin.

Flowers blossom in the most predictable and oddest of places. A rose bush on the back of his arm, forget-me-nots blooming where his lover skinned their knees. They all fade, but he admired their beauty as they last, often sketching them to reminisce on their strange charm and allure at later dates. 

What did you think of the flowers he gave you for mere moments in comparison to your slowly healing wounds? Sometimes he healed so quickly you might not have even noticed delphinium weaving up your torso before it disappeared, and he could imagine your panic at seeing lilies blossoming around your head as he was shot.

Still, he loved the idea that the two of you had gifted flowers to each other long before ever meeting, like the romantic lovers of old, and it was only right he should have such a perfect way to identify you.

He doesn’t find you before the heresy, he doesn’t find you before Rylanor finds him, but when he recovers? He’s determined.

You were the one pleasure he had not yet found, the one ecstasy he was yet to enjoy. Yes, he would find you and teach you the meaning of bliss, of the excess he deserved from you.

It would not be an easy task, scouring the galaxy for you, but he would not leave his search empty handed. He would simply have to make the task easier, make you easier to identify.

The blade doesn’t even register as painful as he carves marks for him to match onto himself.

He just can’t wait, and when he finds you, he can even decorate himself better too - he’s already begun designing how he wants trails of flowers coming down from around his horns, creating designs on his scales, oh he will look so perfect.

Perturabo - IV

(Shared dreams)

Dreams were a waste of time, sleeping was a waste of time. 

There was always work to be done.

He had no use for the weakness that came from sleeping, from the exposure, the vulnerability it presented - if it were not for the biological requirement he would have done away with it all together. He could only be grudgingly thankful that his superior genes meant he needed very little sleep, and when he did, he was rarely cursed with such frivolity as dreams.

Until recently. 

Now, wherever he slept, he dreamt, but these dreams weren’t his own, they were not the past, the present or the future certainty of iron. They were another’s dreams, infecting his own, weakening him with laugher, and sunlight and- 

He slept less. 

Already he slept little, but now he pushed his primarch biology to the maximum, using every advantage, every stimulant, pushing himself beyond the maximum of exhaustion and ignoring what came when he closed his eyes.

It worsened. 

Butterflies haunted him, a swarm of great yellow swallowtails fluttering in the corner of his eye, disappearing when looked at.

The phantom touch of a hand caressing his chin.

A whisper asking him why, begging him to come to bed.

Another cup of recaff is brought to his workshop, he ignores the ribbon swaying in an invisible breeze on the handle.

Jaghatai Khan - V

(Compass tattoo points to them)

The fields of Chogoris were perfect as always for riding, the thundering of hooves carrying him far over the barren grasslands. He had no destination in mind, just a simple ride where his hair could flow freely through the winds, but like always he found himself wandering in the direction it pointed. 

The compass had been a constant companion on his wrist, a marking that the tribal leaders told him would bring him a fortune greater than any lands he conquered.

It did not sit idly on his wrist, luckily not pointing so some distant planet across the galaxy, but only across the mountains and great blue seas. He took great pleasure in seeing it move, pointing across the horizon as he wondered where you were exploring today, hoping you had the same wanderlust and need to run as he did.

When he found you, he found perfection, a person made wholly for him. You matched him at every turn, supported and uplifted him, and better yet like him you did not age. His compass stopped spinning, morphing into a stunning tattoo that captured the very essence of the two of you combined.

It pained him greatly, when he had to leave you behind in charge of ruling Chogoris in his absence, but coming back to you with the galaxy a safer place and the knowledge that one day he’d be able to take you to see the stars by his side, once these crusades were over.

You didn’t age, they had all the time in the galaxy once his work was done, and he could not think of anyone better to take care of his beloved home planet.

The heresy was a mess, he worried for you constantly, but you were safe, Chogoris was safe, and he was to return to reinforce the Yasan sector where his homeworld resided now that it was all over.

You were not safe, you were GONE! 

The Great Khan raged, he knew what those foul eldar did to those they took.

The Drukhari would know no peace, they would know nothing but pain, and he swore unto every power that he would find you once more - what he wouldn’t give to have his compass back, what he wouldn’t give to have you by his side once more.

Leman Russ - VI

(Shared tastebuds)

He has no idea how he’s ever meant to find his mate. Not that it stops him from trying, just that it’s a stupid idea trying to find a soulmate among quintillions of humans by tasting what the other eats. 

Another downside being that their diet is decidedly shit.

Wet slop, wet slop, wet slop.

It’s always the same, no native fruit, fauna, meat - just wet slop, once a day, every other day. Which of course, narrowed it down to just over half of the human population’s factory workers or something similar.

While the slop wasn’t tasteless per say, at the very least he was providing interesting flavours for them, fresh meat, ale - everything you need in life.

More wet slop. 

Though he supposes it's a lie to say that’s all he ever tastes, on occasion the taste of harsh copper tinged blood fills his mouth, and he knows for certain it’s not his.

Wet slop, wet slop, slightly drier (but still pretty wet) slop.

He never thinks to complain about wet slop again when he starts tasting the dry, ashy mix of militarum rations, he can only hold on to some dying hope that his mate will preserve. 

Even knowing what fate it is that awaits them, he can’t wait to take care of them properly, he’ll make sure they never eat slop again.

Rogal Dorn - VII

(Timer counting down to meeting)

Tick, tick, tick. 

It makes no sound but he can mentally hear it ticking down constantly, like a metronome. The inevitability of his demise marching towards him, one tick at a time.

Ticking down to the moment he meets his soulmate, his other half, the one who will ‘complete him’. 

He’s heard the stories of people never having a care in the world about soulmates who meet them and fall in love. Worse yet, he’s seen it happen in even the most stoic of his brothers and sons. 

It was the ultimate distraction, and he had to ban the practice for the sake of the legion.

Tick, tick, tick.

Dread looms over him as he tries to shove the feeling down and finish the blueprint in front of him.

He must not lose focus, he must complete his mission, he must stand strong.

He can’t afford to love somebody, not with his duty. 

There is a plan in place, at least. Once he meets them, he will inform his most loyal sons, who will dutifully escort them away, off planet if necessary - relocate them somewhere remote and far away, never to inform him of their location. 

He will remain steadfast.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…

Konrad Curze - VIII

(See in colour when soulmates first touch)

Inky blackness spills across his hands out across the deep grey cobbles, accompanied by the flooding taste of iron on his tongue.

Another worthless piece of criminal scum brought to justice. His rancid little accomplices would meet their swift ends soon also. 

The night is silent except for their screams, the snapping of their bones, the squelch of their organs. And the slowly fading gurgling of their victim in the alleyway behind. A shame he had been late to kill them before they inflicted their crimes upon the world, but at least they could die knowing justice had been served.

He organises the drab grey corpses to be skinned before deciding to drag the victim over to see his work, a rare act of kindness, showing at least someone his great deeds and handiwork. They might have lived if he sought medical attention for them first, but then one might have gotten away…

More pitch black liquid was leaking from their mouth, interspersed with little white bubbles now fading. He could hear their heart stuttering as he reached down to pick them up, they had only moments now - and red exploded across his hands. 

Sanguinius - IX

(Red string of fate)

He spends his youth chasing it down across the sky, flying up as far as the atmosphere will allow him before diving down and letting it snap back. 

It was a guide to him, across the barren landscape - that single, unbreakable red thread that ribboned through the air with him wherever he went. He never felt alone with you tethered to him, no matter how far you were.

He grows older and sees more of the universe, and of the future, and the happiness wavers, but meeting you is still the single best day of his life. You’ll be happy together for as long as you both live. 

Time seems to pass in a dreamlike state, living together, loving together freely - he understands the word ‘soulmate’ now.

Even with his inevitable doom on the horizon he takes great joy in living life with you, knowing at least he can make arrangements to keep you safe and cared for in his absence. 

It’s late 003.M31 when he sees it, and feels it will be soon.

How could he ever bear to tell you?

No, no, it would break you. Instead, he’ll ask his closest brother to take care of you for a short while, Horus would keep you well in his absence, he would make sure you were alright for him.

He’s alone, the thread snapped and tattered not meters out in front of him, leading to the cold void of space, like the void where he should feel you.

Blood fills the room, blood fills his lungs, he can just barely distinguish the thread from the red around it. He closes his eyes and hopes he’ll see you when he opens them.

Ferrus Manus - X

(First touch makes skin bloom in colour)

His fingertips are a dull black, bleeding the way up his hands and fading towards his wrist. Everyone who looks at him knows what it means - soulmate. He’ll touch them somewhere and mark them forever, and his own stains will bloom to light with colour.

Stoic as he is, even he can’t help but feel an undercurrent of excitement, there is someone out there for him, someone who will match him pace for pace, who will understand and balance him. 

He’s observed soulmates from afar on Medusa as he became a folk-tale, seen how they improve upon each other. The idea of someone existing who he could improve and would in turn improve him was thrilling.

They were gone now, after the fight.

It was a gruelling one, the great silver wyrm Asirnoth was not an easy beast, and though victory was ultimately his, as he examined his newly coated necrodermis he couldn’t help but wonder if the price was far too steep.

In their absence, he would simply have to pick up the slack in improving himself, there was no place for such weakness.

Angron - XII

(First words written on body)

Words plastered across his skin in angry red, the red of his own fresh blood, “My deepest apologies, my Lord, I didn’t mean-”

The words confused him as a child. Would he overhear them spoken from the mouth of another tortured soul to a cruel master, only to never see them again as they were torn apart? There were no happy endings for soulmates among slaves, there were no happy endings among slaves full stop.

Nothing removed the words, no cut or injury - it would just scab right over and words reform over scarred skin.

He spent every day waiting in agony for the words to start burning, for they day he’d hear them uttered, but that day never came.

He eventually understood what the context would inevitably be once his genefather retrieved him. 

He also understood something else, he did not need some silly little soulmate just waiting for him to wrap a hand around their neck when the nail bit. 

Roboute Guilliman - XIII

(Recieve things the other loses)

The 41st Millennium was exhausting.

A crumbling Imperium, dead brothers, fanatical worshippers, constant pain and exhaustion, the armour of fate-

Quite frankly, when he caught whichever son, serf or other decided pranking him was a good idea theoretically or practically he was going to wring them by the next.

It started with a child’s pacifier on his desk. Is that what they thought of him now? In secret? A petulant child? Perhaps they were instead mocking his father.

Following that, the occasional child’s toys or items would appear in his quarters, on his desk, in his bed, on one occasion in his bath. 

The investigations turned up nothing, and the entire Macragge’s Honour was on tense high alert. His sons were furious, running everyone ragged with increased patrols and interrogations.

Worse yet, someone had begun stealing from him. 

Just little things he thought he’d misplaced in his exhaustion at first, but then they couldn’t be found. A report here, a cup of recaff put down and never picked up again there…

Finally, after several long years, the rumours escape from the tight circle of sons when a colourful toddler’s sock is seen on his armour while he gives a speech. 

However, what follows is not what he had expected, the serfs watching were celebrating for him - a rare soulmate bond, receiving your other half’s lost items. He feels a little foolish for not having put it together in hindsight, but still such a bond was a rarity compared to a red string or first words, he had never assumed he would…

Still, the relief is palpable, and he feels himself growing excited over the thought of a soulmate, someone to be his other half in a lonely galaxy. Soon enough you’d be old enough to communicate through lost items - those missing reports might very well be a boon if they led you to him.

It sets him at ease to know you’re well cared for, the quality of items found indicates you’re from a good, moderately wealthy family and will likely have a good quality of life.

You must be seven or eight when he finds a piece of parchment in the armoury. He sees colourful scribbles and his heart soars, a drawing for him to treasure till he meets you. He mentally calculates the space he’ll need to make to display it on his office wall, should he have it framed perhaps-

It stays in his quarters, buried at the bottom of a hidden lock box, never to be seen again.

A drawing of a happy family, he supposes. A perfect family, if the ears weren’t quite so long.

Mortarion - XIV

(Body switching)

Everybody knew that on midnight of the Terran new year all soulmates switched bodies for 24h until you met them in person. It was always utter pandemonium, from active warzones to school teachers, once both partners were of age, no one was safe.

Mortarion had thought he was safe, and had thought incorrectly. Even being a daemon prince of Nurgle could not save him from the machinations of fate.

He hadn’t kept track of the date, so it was even more jarring when he woke up on a small, battered palette, back aching and joints popping, wondering what had happened in the warp to bring him to such a place.

A mundane room, on a mundane hive world, in a mundane body. A weak, fragile human body, not a weapon to hand. Panic begins to seize him, weak, weak, weak- he was weak all over again, and nothing he could possibly do would give him strength.

It’s an effort that leaves fingers bleeding and lungs heaving to rip out meagre furniture, piling it against the single door, barricading him in for the duration. He could endure a single day, he could- 

It would be every year now. He was bound to this fragile little mortal shell. By the Grandfather- they, they were in his body. So preoccupied by his own predicament he’d failed to even consider that another was in his body right now.

He could only imagine what they were feeling, the confusion, the horror, the revulsion. Being trapped in his rotting, decaying body, the sick scent of putrefaction, being stuck in the garden - without the mental blessings or fortitude to endure his fate.

He could endure a single day trapped in the horror of your failing mortal body, but could you withstand his corruption, what had he made of you? 

Magnus the Red - XV

(You each have one of the other's eyes)

Which one, which one. 

If he got this wrong - if he got this wrong he lost them forever, the potential of ever meeting them was gone.  

But it was his fault, he had to save his legion, his sons, and he was fairly sure he was right… No, he was sure he was right.

The ceremonial knife hovers over his right eye, a trade, a price he must pay to save his sons from the flesh-change. 

An eye was a heavy price for anybody to pay, but for someone who shared a pair of eyes with their soulmate? If he cut the wrong one out he would never be able to find them, that was the true price he paid here today, losing the chance to meet his other half.

He was always confident, thus far he had always known best, but deep down, in his gut, he had a sinking feeling he couldn’t shake that no matter what he did he would get today wrong in one way or another.

He switches, the blade lingering over his left socket, hands shaking.

There just wasn’t enough time, he had to choose now… 

Horus Lupercal - XVI

(Timer counting to the other's death)

It’s saddening, understandable, but saddening. He looks down at his wrist to see his mortal soulmate’s time ticking away, second by second. He knows precisely when they’ll die, which is in 6 years, 2 months, 11 days, 4 hours, 32 minutes, and 12, 11, 10... 

He’s come to terms with it, he’ll enjoy the time he gets with them, after all - they’ll be meeting for the first time shortly, and he’ll give them a better life than any human could ever dream of having for what’s left of it.

It’s bittersweet meeting them, but there’s something wrong, the look of vague horror on their face, he doesn’t quite-

He looks down at their arm, at his timer, the countdown to his own demise. He promised himself he wouldn’t but he can’t stop himself.

He- he’s a primarch. He- 

Why does he only have 15 years left.

Lorgar Aurelian - XVII

(Writing/tattoos appear on the other)

The last thing he was expecting to wake up to was neat calligraphy on the inside of his wrist, ‘Are you in a cult or something? Do you know how weird it is to walk about with crazy symbols all over your face?’

He stares in shock for a long time before falling to his knees before the altar in his room, praises for The One falling from his lips in prayers and hymns and thanks.

The One had seen fit to bless him with a soulmate, the greatest gift, a second half to his soul. After so long without he had thought…

No matter, he could write with them, speak with them. They clearly did not understand, but that did not matter, they would come to learn through him. 

Kor Phaeron would be so pleased, he had always admonished his lack of soulmate bond as a flaw within him to be punished, one strike for every day he went unblessed. A mark that he was not devout enough to be honoured with such a boon from The One.

He begins to write, paragraphs forming over every free inch of skin, ‘My dearest beloved, we have so much to speak on. These markings are of no mere false cult, you should bear them with the utmost pride as they-’

Vulkan - XVIII

(Shared feelings and thoughts)

Feeling his soulmate’s strong emotions and the occasional smatterings of thoughts to go along with them often happened at inopportune times, but never failed to make him smile - after all, he had a beloved little treasure waiting for him somewhere in the galaxy.

He was even managing to narrow down planets based on thoughts you’d had about the weather, terrain and such…

It pulled him through the hardest of times, your happiness, kindness, those little thoughts you unwittingly shared pushed him forward through the worst of the campaign, even your sadness, or anger reminded him of what he was fighting for, and it made him happy still to help you through it.

He’d found a correlation, the stronger your emotions, the more he felt them, with little wisps of thoughts to match.

Long nights are spent wondering what you feel from him, whether his joy at experiencing the bond bleeds through, whether feeling his strength makes you feel safe. When you finally meet you’ll be able to talk to each other from across the galaxy. He could speak with you while fighting campaigns, not having to truly leave you - he was so lucky to have such a bond.

Fear. Fear, fear, fear, fear. 

You were deathly afraid, so afraid it had his own hearts pumping as if he were in the midst of death throes in a fierce battle and not relaxing in the forge. Your thoughts are no help, an indecipherable jumble of utter terror.

In his mind’s eye he sees the snapping of jaws, wild and demonic in nature, and then he doesn’t feel fear ever again in his long, long life.

Corvus Corax - XIX

(Shared tattoo/marking)

Long, dark tendrils, stretching all the way down his right arm and half his back in a dizzying pattern of feathers, swirls and concentric shapes. A soulmate tattoo, or so he’d been taught by the slaves of Lyceaus that raised him. His soulmate would have the other matching half.

Many long nights were spent envisioning the type of person you’d be: a painter, who would be the soft lover to his harsh edges, in another fantasy you’re a fearsome warrior, battling alongside him.

He always imagined in every scenario that they represented freedom, the freedom he’d achieve for everyone.

He never imagines he’d meet you like this.

You’re everything he ever wanted, a freedom fighter, a radical, rising up against the unjust, and you’re here with him, on Lyceaus. By some cruel twist of fate you’d split through his fingers, having never been found despite being on the same desolate mining moon.

You were also dead. Slaughtered. A casualty. You’d died for freedom and you’d died a slave.

Face down and unmoving on the cold metal floor, blood pooling beneath you and hair splayed out wildly around you from the odd angle of your fall. Your half of the tattoo is deliberately exposed on your back.

He wonders if you looked at it and dreamt of freedom too.

Try as he might, after the battle no one is able to identify you. Everyone who knew you is dead, records are lost or destroyed - you remain nameless.

Alpharius/Omegon - XX

(Name on each others wrist)

It was rare, but not unheard of, to have two names on your wrists.

Alpharius & Omegon.

They weren’t on opposite wrists like two names traditionally were, but instead together on your left with matching handwriting and flourishes. 

You don’t find them, however, they find you. 

Life is a whirlwind those first few weeks, folded into cargo boxes, moved through ships, passed hands at least a dozen times before finally arriving in your new ‘home’. 

It was easy at first, understanding the need for secrecy when they tentatively explained the situation to you. 

It got harder very fast. No more family, no more friends, this room was your life now, and they were your only point of contact with the world at large. It wasn’t that they didn’t love you, or you them, it was just difficult. 

Long hours away, severe isolation, all the secrets weighing heavy on your heart and head.

You wish you could remember what sunlight felt like.

Slowly, slowly, you stop responding to much stimulus at all. You don’t greet them at the door with zeal, you don’t respond when they ask questions, eyes blank.

Later, you wake up alone in a hospital. Spotty memory, no recollection of the planet you’re on, a mysteriously full bank account, house deed in your name, the feeling you should be remembering something important, and a missing left hand.

Bonus: The Emperor

(Shared injuries)

The sheer panic in the throne room the day that the first injury appeared on him from absolutely nowhere was completely unparalleled. Custodes were shouting orders, apothecaries were being summoned, the whole palace was on high alert for an invisible intruder of some sort.

Meanwhile, the Emperor himself was staring down at his freshly skinned knee with a sort of strange excitement not seen before in many a millenia. 

The hunt to find you is immediate, not only since you inadvertently pose a great threat to the Emperor and thus Imperium with your ability to inflict your own injuries onto him but because he wanted you - he’d only waited tens of thousands of years to meet the one destined to be his other half, the one worthy to the the soulmate of the Emperor of Mankind.

He never gets to meet you, but sometime in the 35,000 you are brought to him, alike in corpse-like nature. Despite this, you’ve been dressed up in exquisite finery, fit for your role.

The custodes climb the golden throne, gently nestling you onto his lap, carefully pulling a skeletal arm around to support you.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Vulkan timed the machines with your breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Your heartbeat, the soft rhythm, accompanied the monotone sound, telling him you were in a deep, restful slumber. A healing sleep. 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He sat on the chair that had been brought in for him, elbows on his knees and hands clasped at his chin. He hadn’t moved since he had returned from his duties, the meeting with the elders and his officers. He had made sure everything was in order so he wouldn’t be interrupted. He needed to stay with you. He promised to be here when you wake.

The bed was too big for you. It was made for Astartes, of course, but Vulkan demanded you receive the best care, and that meant you would be placed here in the Apothecarium instead of a baseline hospital. His sons, thankfully, had thought ahead and prepared the necessary equipment for you well before your arrival. They had admitted they hoped it would never be needed, they wouldn’t abide risking their Legion Mothers health by being ill-prepared or leaving you in the hands of other baselines who weren’t part of their legion and didn’t understand how valuable you really were.

They forgot about the bed, though.

The thought almost made him smile.

The injuries weren’t serious, really. Vulkan knew that. He had read over the medical report dozens of times. Every update or change he was alerted to, no matter how small. He knew you were alright, all things considered. The worst was the broken pinky finger, and that was only a minor oblique fracture. The rest were mostly bruises, a few stitches from where stone had cut or embedded itself into your flesh, and a general stress from the encounter. You’ve had and walked away from worse on the battlefield. He knows this.

But you were meant to be safe here. This was his homeworld. Where his influence and strength was at its greatest. The seat of his power. Yet here you lay, in a medically induced sleep to aid in your recovery from an encounter with a salamander.

He knows, logically, that it was a complete accident. A one-in-a-million chance. A random happenstance. A prime example of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He couldn’t have known what would happen. It was no one's fault, except whoever hadn’t put up the perimeter defenses properly. That issue had been dealt with.

Vulkan still felt like it was his fault. He failed to protect you. He hadn’t been there. The only reason you were still alive is because Kessok had been with you. 

His hands tightened their grip as he watched you sleep. His mind mulling and gnawing over every injury. As much as it wasn’t productive, it helped him ignore the swirling mess of conflicting instincts and emotions in his head right now.

He hated that he wasn’t there. He was disappointed that it was one of his sons, not him, that was there to save you. He was proud his son had protected you. He was awed by your defense of Kessok. He was terrified when he saw you sitting in front of a dead salamander. He was worried for you while you lay here resting. He was honoured by your offering.

‘By the Great Forge, your offering…’ Vulkan closed his eyes as the memory replayed in his mind again. Both you and Kessok sitting in front of the dead beast, wounded but victorious, smiling in relief and triumph. His focus was on you, however. Your smile, the way you reached for him even as he pulled you into his arms, how you relaxed the moment you were safely in his hold, the pride with which you presented your courting gift.

He shifted slightly in his seat as a slight discomfort began to grow, even as he scolded himself for it.

‘This is neither the time nor the place.’ He thought as he opened his eyes, focusing on you again. ‘It is inappropriate.’

Vulkan couldn’t help it, despite his self-admonishment. You didn’t know, not truly, what you had done. You gave him one of their most ferocious creatures, something that would provide food and materials for his people and for his personal use, if he so chose. You removed a threat to the community. You had defended the city and its people. More directly, you had defended one of his sons. 

Kessok’s helmet had been recovered, which had been idly recording despite not being worn, a habit the young Astartes had developed, which allowed them to capture the encounter. The angle and positioning had not been ideal, but it allowed Vulkan to witness most of the fight.

He saw how you had attracted the beast's attention when it focused on the pinned Space Marine. Saw how you used the environment to your advantage. Saw you drop and disappear under the beast's bulk, only appearing again in a mad sprint towards Kessok somewhere off-screen. He saw the stone pierce the salamander's skull as it chased you, tumbling out of frame. 

He felt something primal well up as he recalled the details. You were so clever, so brave, so fierce. You had taken his sons as your own, and protected them as such. You were strong and beautiful. The thought of you protecting your own brood of little ones -that he would give you- made him stifle a groan. That thought immediately followed one of you quickening with his child. Growing round and soft, safe and warm and always within reach.

Slowly, he stood. Mindful of the tubes and machines as he stepped closer. He placed a hand on the wall above you as he leaned over your sleeping form. Peaceful. Bruised, but beautiful. His free hand slowly rose, the back of his knuckles grazing your cheek, careful of the scratches there.

“You do not know what you do to me.” He breathed, voice barely a whisper. The cold prickle of anxiety melting away in the face of the warmth that bloomed in his chest. It spread steadily, like lava pouring in the rivers of his veins. 

“I will not abide any threat to you. I need you safe. To be far away from danger.” He paused as he watched your eyelids flutter as you slept, your face turning slightly towards the warmth of his hand. Even in sleep, you reach for him. “I want to lock you in my chambers, away from anything that could do you harm, never to leave except with me at your side. It is selfish, I know. I cannot stand the thought of losing you, now that I have been confronted with the possibility. I want to keep you close, safe and warm and content. Forever with me.”

He closed his eyes and breathed. Slow. Steady. In. And out.

“But that would kill you. I know it would. You would hate me, and that…” He swallowed, unable to speak as his mind recoiled at the prospect of such a horrible fate, “I can’t. I can’t smother your light for my own selfish wants. I want to, but I love you too much.”

It was a terrible truth, his only mercy is that you were far too deep in your dreams to hear him.

***

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