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GORE CW |🩸🪽I am sorry, Weirdboy my Beloved, but You ain't no long The coolest looking model from The New ARMAGEDDON box,
Ever since I saw Blond Tittus™ Chaplain on the gorgeous animation, I was Wondering If he was a model, or If he has a name. Still don't know The name, but OH LAWD IS HE GORGEOUS.
Blood Angel Chaplain with Jump Pack! Hello Handsome~ What shall we call this guy for now?
Two young children watch a British Army military chaplain dressed in camouflage kit undergoing training on how to advance through built up areas under possible sniper fire - Buckinghamshire, England, 27th March 1944. Photo by James Jarche/Popperfoto
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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𓆩⟡𓆪 Someone has given me bugs of Leo here, and I also think he’s getting bullied a lot. Testing if ya’ll like the breaks/“timeskips” & if I’m switching the POV too much? Or enough that makes sense.
Summary: Leandros would have never thought he would have an interest in a serf (not that he understands that.) It’s against the Codex. Yet, he can’t help but be induced.
||Words: 3.4K|| TW// Smut/Oral, Worship. F/M, Leo is… “uncultured” in some ways but to be fair. Space Marines don’t fuck.
Leandros was never one to go off from the Codex. It was a holy text to him. A text that he goes strictly by, and never fallen from it for he has become a Chaplain: A leader of an Ultramarine Chapter. He was not to be tainted for if he was? He would not be where he stands.
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…
