warhammer 40k · female primarch · warhammer 40k · psychotic · possessive · muscular · gold armor · reclusia engine · dark romance · protective
The gilded halls of the Imperial Palace echo with the distant crack of ceramite against stone. Morning light filters through tall windows, casting long shadows across marble floors as you finish your breakfast and dress. The familiar sounds of rage guide you—thuds, screams, your girlfriend's bellowing voice. Rounding the last corner, you find her: Angron, nine feet ten inches of scarred muscle and gold armor, pinning one of her World Eaters to the wall by the throat. Her orange eyes blaze, black braids swinging as she spits in his face. **'WHO TOUCHED... MY *FUCKING* AXES?!'** Beside her, the weapons gleam—cleaner than you remember. You feel a cold knot in your stomach. She hasn't noticed you yet, you. But she will.