#Konrad fanfic

[littlespringdandelion]

sillies

[brox-not-a-badger]

Oh, Dear Night Haunter

A much-longer-than-intended Konrad Curze x Reader fic because there aren’t enough on him.

Tw; none, just tooth-rotting fluff and domestic Curze shenanigans (and poor writing)

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Curze is sweet on you, to a painful degree. However he struggles to convey his affections without seeming too “weak” and mushy.

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Konrad Curze. The Night Haunter. Primarch of the VIIth legion. A master of terror and torture. Though, when faced with much more tame and domestic situations, Curze was far out of his element. Not only was he out of his element, but he was also wildly uncomfortable. Thus his infatuation with you. You didn’t seem uncomfortable around him, nor did you pay much attention to his staring habit. That much seemed to both terrify and intrigue him. Why? Why were you so fearless? Why did you treat him with such blatant bravery, or was it stupidity and insolence? Why were YOU, a serf, his lesser, so bold around him?

It didn’t take long for you to notice him watching you again, like a cat watches a mouse. He was staring as you preformed your duties, seemingly confused and even more intrigued by every delicate move you made. He watched how you moved with such grace and elegance. Every small detail, from the way you seemed to glide with every step to the soft smile you gave the second you’d realized he was staring.

Curze seemed to stare even more intensely at you, now that you’d locked eyes with him, it was almost like he was daring you to speak, to say something. He found himself yearning to hear that silky smooth voice of yours. Yearning was not a feeling Curze was used to.

“My lord- I don’t mean to pry, but you’re staring. Again.” The moment those words left your lips, he found he was enthralled once more. You were his muse, but, of course, you didn’t know that yet. Damn you, you enamoring creature.

“You’re beautiful.” The words left his lips before he could even give a second thought. You had taken a quick pause, and that made Curze panic momentarily. Had you thought lesser of him for that comment? It was improper of him to speak out like that, even if he didn’t much care for being proper or professional, but around you that part of him melted. He wanted to ‘clean up his act’ so to speak. At least, around you.

The moment you smiled at him, his concern and panic over his impulsive speech melted. That smile, that enamoring smile was like the song of a siren. He felt his hearts slamming in his chest, heat rushing to his cheeks. Blood of the Emperor himself, was he dying? Was he dying over the smile of a mere mortal woman? He could handle blood and screaming, and flaying the skin off of civilians to wear like a horrible patchwork cape, but he could not handle your mere smile. What was wrong with him, to act out in your presence? The presence of a mere mortal?

“You’re.. uh-… My lord, you’re blushing quite profusely. Are you okay?” You asked him. The sight of the Night Haunter so flustered was a rare sight indeed. You relished in the way he seemed embarrassed and even distracted by such simple gestures. One could even call him cute, in a way. Unfortunately though, you could not afford to linger, having duties to still attend to. “Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I do need to attend to other business-���

“No. Stay… please. Stay.” Curze abruptly commanded with a sharp edge of pleading to his voice, even reaching for you, his hand landing on your shoulder to hold you in place as momentary jealousy and a sense of protectiveness rushed through him at the mere prospect of you tending to one of his other astartes and not him. He wanted you all to himself and it was clear as day in the way his obsidian-black eyes stared at you longingly.

The fearsome Night Haunter. Fawning over a mortal woman’s company. Instead of slipping into cowering submission, you chuckled, despite knowing the horrific actions he was capable of, you found amusement at his obsessive gesture. “You want me to stay with you, my lord?” You asked him. He returned with an awkward and slightly flustered nod. “Are you well? You look flushed.”

“I need you.” The words once more spilled off his tongue like blood from a fresh wound. You stared at him with wide eyes at his surprising confession. Curze, of course, thought this was a negative response. He panicked again, squeezing your shoulder slightly tighter, his entire palm basically engulfing your shoulder. He was bad with affection, but he still wanted to show you affection. Why? What was wrong with him? Why was he so obsessed? He needed answers as to why he felt the need to act so painfully out of character just to be around you.

“P- pardon?” You ask him, staring like at him like he’d gone mad. He had gone mad. Curze has always been mad with visions of a horrible future, but he set those aside long enough to show want for you so badly that he felt the need to behave like a loyal dog for you.

“I want you. Badly. I need you.” Curze said almost sharply, he sounded frustrated and confused with his emotions. “I-… want to touch you. Blood of the Emperor, I twist and turn at night thinking about you.” This confession was both bizarre and somewhat sweet in his own strange way. “I need you like I need the hearts in my chest to pump my lifeblood through my veins, and I don’t understand why.” He reached up to place his hand on your cheek, fingers borderline trembling with such painfully built up emotion.

Curze looked about ready to snap in that moment. You were struck with confusion and a strange sense of understand. His hands were surprisingly cold on your bare cheek, yet you still leaned in. The air felt electric as he leaned in in return. You opened your mouth to speak to him, however he swiftly interrupted your would-be words to kiss you directly on the lips.

Even his lips were cold, but not an unwelcome cold. More like the cold of a soft breeze, rather than the biting cold of an oncoming storm. To him, though, you were so, so warm. He yearned for it. Curze wanted that warmth from you the same way a cat laid in the window sill on a sunny day to bask in the heat of the sun. You were his sun. His sol, his heat. And you’d had no idea up until now, of all times.

When he finally pulled away, you were left in a harsh, speechless daze. Curze was terrible with emotions. He was awkward and clumsy with his confession like a newborn foal trying to walk. He spoke more through actions than words, that much was obvious. For a primarch with such a vicious and tormented reputation, and no clue how to love, he was starting to grasp the concept. All because of you.

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Oh good god, finally finished. Apologies if the writing is poor, this is my first ever fic I’ve written and it’s on my beloved babygirl, the Night Haunter <3

I love him sooo much, I’m not normal about this lil freak

[candyswirls]

Sanguinius helping Konrad Curze overcome his visions of the future.

He gripped his hair, “they cannot be stopped. They are things yet to come. They always come true.”

Sanguinius sat across from him.

“Not even a single aspect of it?” He asked.

Konrad pulled his hair. Sanguinius’ hands were gentle and he urged him to stop.

“Tell me what you see,” the Angel asked.

“You leave here in just a moment!” Konrad snapped. “You cannot stand to be near me!”

“I will not,” his brother promised. “And even if I do, it will only be with you.”

He pulled Konrad’s head into an embrace.

“Breathe,” he said. “Breathe and look for the other pathways. There’s always one, even if it’s only slightly different. I’m here. I’m here.”

The only sound was Konrad’s erratic breathing. But slowly, even it began to calm down.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Could you go get-“

“I’m not leaving,” Sanguinius answered. “I will prove to you that these can be changed.”

Wings wrapped around them.

[echo-of-damnation]

Love Me Loving You

Tags: Konrad CurzexFem!Reader, body worship, vaginal sex, fluff and smut, slow start, slight power play, possessive reader, biting, love marks, slightly subby Konrad, mention of impregnation

Summary: It was the first time in weeks you got Konrad to actually let his guard down and rest. Admittedly it was like trying to wrangle irritable raptors on their best days, but some how you managed. He demanded you keep awake while he slept “in case of an emergency,” but you both know nothing would be happening, the ship had been sailing through space for the last month and wouldn’t be contacting anything or anyone for another four.

Ooooooooooor Reader finally convinces Konrad to take a little time to relax and "relax" they do.

Echo's echo: This has partly inspired by a thing in saw here about Konrad needing someone to give him a little tender loving care and partly because I felt bad about what I did to him in my other fic. Bat Dad deserves some lovin' and I am here to provide it

Word Count: 4,436

It was the first time in weeks you got Konrad to actually let his guard down and rest. Admittedly it was like trying to wrangle irritable raptors on their best days, but some how you managed. He demanded you keep awake while he slept “in case of an emergency,” but you both know nothing would be happening, the ship had been sailing through space for the last month and wouldn’t be contacting anything or anyone for another four.

He had picked you up like you were a fussy child and sat you down against the headboard of his much too large bed. For someone known for his violent brutality, Konrad enjoyed the softest silk sheets and dozens of the fluffiest pillows the galaxy had. You knew the whole routine by now, it was rare, but you enjoyed these little moments of tenderness you could share with your beloved.

                While you moved one of the many pillows behind you to support your back, you watched as Konrad stripped from his armor. If it were any other baseline watching, they would only see the fearsome concentration that seemed to be permanently etched into his features, but you could see the sluggishness in his movements. The way he put the pieces on the table like they were aa touch too heavy for him, how he took a fraction of a second longer to unbuckle the straps around his waist, his eyelids seeming to threaten to close on him the longer he stood. Once he was out of it, he worked on putting on the loose tunic and pants you had sown for him from the softest linen one of the imperial planets had had.

Taking your eyes away to finish getting ready yourself, you leaned over to the small table you had him put in by the bed and pulled out the small bag of selfcare products you had brought for this journey. Opening it you pulled out a bottle of oil you had the apothecaries make to soothe his aching muscles and a different bottle of oil and a wooden wide toothed comb for his hair and scalp. Konrad rarely took proper care of himself, often going to bed in the same bloody underclothes for weeks on end, letting his long hair turn into the equivalent of a rats nest. The first few times after he picked you up from your home planet and allowed you to sleep in his bed with him, you thought you would die from the smell and the sickly sticky feeling his sheets left you in. No one ever fought the Night Haunter for fear of being killed, but you fought him on this. It was like pulling teeth until one day you told him you would not touch him until he did something about it all. To the surprise to everyone but you, Konrad conceded and began to at least shower and use clean clothes and sheets when you were here (which was starting to be more often).

With a loud huff, Konrad all but fell into the cloud soft bed, scooting himself until his head rested comfortably in your lap looking up at you. You had noticed he loved the plushness of your thighs, so you used them to your advantage in moments like this. Once he was settled, you could feel him sink into you as he closed his eyes and let out a content sigh. Looking down at him like this reminded you of how beautiful he was. Many people would and have called you crazy for agreeing to be his bride, but you knew Konrad better than anyone. Watching the tension melt away before your eyes as he finally let himself relax was almost heretical. Relaxed like this, he looked like a different man. Someone who never had to fight for his next meal as a child, who knew a warm bed and a homemade meal. The frown that seemed almost permanent fading away to plush lips, his tight cheeks loosening so that the small bit of fat he had there filled and rounded them.

Not being able to help yourself, you brought one of your hands to caress his cheek, feeling the warmth he radiated just under his skin. Konrad hummed low in his chest, leaning into your touch. You knew how much physical touch soothed him and you were more than willing to give him what he wanted, it was almost impossible for you to keep your hands off of him. “You are staring again, my love,” Konrad murmured as he took hold of the hand on his face, pulling you wrist to his lips to kiss you softly.

“Mm I guess I am. Can I be blamed when the most beautiful creature sits prettily in my lap?” you loved to tease him.

Huffing, Konrad nipped playfully at the pulse point on your wrist, “I know of no such beast.”

The two of you shared a moment, soft smiles sitting on your faces as you took your hand from his. Reaching over to the table you grabbed the oil for his muscles, pouring a generous amount in your hand. As you rubbed your hands together to warm the oil, Konrad readjusted himself to ensure you had full access of his upper body.

The smell of deep lavender filled the small space, easing the tension of both of your bodies just from the smell. Slowly you bring your hands to either side of his neck and begin to work the tight muscles. A low moan escaped his lips as you worked out the knots, pushing firmly with your thumbs down the length of his neck to where his shoulders met. His mouth falling open slightly as you continued to work in that junction where all of the stresses of his life seemed to make their home.

Content with your work once you feel the knots melt away, you begin working on his arms one at a time. Moving his right arm so you have better access, you start working at his shoulder, working the deltoid. You marveled at the strength that hid just under the skin, you could feel it as you massaged and caressed him. Even the scars that littered his body was magnificent, the visual memories of battles fought and won. They had an almost silvery sheen to them against his grey skin as if they were tattoos of the finest ink. Working your way down his arm and down his forearm, you picked up his hand to massage the small muscles there.

He always held things too tightly, either from frustration of the task or from the fear of failing, and it never failed to fatigue his hands. They were large and lean like the rest of him. You took care around the newest splits in his skin around his knuckles trying to keep the oil from them, but it was a fruitless attempt. A hiss made its way out of him as a small drop found its way in, sending a slight burn down his arm. You brought his hand to your mouth and gently licked at the burning knuckle, trying to soothe the pain. It wasn’t a conscious thought; your hands were both coated, and you needed to deal with the issue. A deep and low groan rumbled from his chest as you lapped at his knuckle. Peaking down at him, the pure unbridled want in his eyes sent a shock straight down to your groin. His black eyes watching every movement of your tongue.

Throne he is beautiful, you thought. Letting your body act on its own, you began to run your tongue up his thick finger savoring the flavor that was uniquely Konrad. His mouth fell open a little wider as you took his fingers in your mouth, a moan vibrating in your throat at the warmth and weight of them in your tongue. Looking back down you could see him struggle to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. The thought of this monster from the nightmares of millions across the stars laying in your lap as you sucked off his finger made you giggle. Removing his hand from your mouth you playfully bit at the fat just under his thumb, earning you a hiss and a light thwack on your forehead.

“I was rather enjoying that before you rudely mauled me,” he grumbled, closing his eyes once more as you moved on to his other arm. “Oh, I can see just how much you enjoyed it, my love,” a blush coloring his pale cheeks at your teasing. You took more professional care on his other arm, making sure to work out the knots. Adjusting the pressure or location at the request of the man beneath you.

Placing his other arm down you reapplied more oil in your hands and started to work on his chest. Tucking your arms under the wide neck of the tunic he wore, you started with slow circles around his pecs paying close attention to the outer side of them. Because of the size of your ungrateful client, you had to bend over his face a bit. You didn’t think it was a problem until deep in concentration you felt teeth lightly graze the skin of your breast. Quickly leaning back up, you hadn’t realized that Konrad had been gently pulling and tearing at the neck of your shirt to free your breast.

With a slap to the face a tad harder than you anticipated, the hunger in Konrads eyes returned. “Now sweet thing, you know you can not tempt a blood hungry beast with a supple piece of meat,” a shit eating grin spreading across his face, “I was simply acting on…instinct.”

“Well, if this beast can not behave, then they can groom themselves,” you huffed as you crossed your arms against your chest to pout.

A low rumbling chuckled filled the room and unfortunately sending vibrations against your lower region. You tried to ignore it as you continued to pout as Konrad easily moved your arms away, bringing your wrists to his mouth and tenderly kissing each one. “I jest my love. Please continue, it feels so nice,” if you didn’t know better you could have almost said he was giving you puppy dog eyes to bolster his honeyed words.

“Fine but act out again and you can have Jago do the rest!” you said as you tried to hid a smile. You went to place your hands back under his shirt before he grabbed both of your wrists, “Perhaps you could do this from the other direction to…get a better angle.” You knew what the man under you was alluding to. You saw the way his nostrils had flared when his laugh hit your core and if you were going to be honest, it had been a while since you enjoyed something solid between your thighs.

“I’m only doing this to do a better job. No funny business, okay Mister,” you knew it was an empty threat, but you couldn’t let Konrad think he won this easily. “My honor as a Primarch in my Father’s Imperium permits me from any ‘funny business’,” you made to slap him again, but Konrad easily caught your wrist, running his tongue along the veins before placing a soft kiss on them. A shiver going straight down your spine with it all.

Konrad lifted himself from your thighs and in a practiced motion, picked you up and placed you on his stomach seeming to make good on his “no funny business” promise. He pulled off the tunic and moved the pillow you had been leaning against under his head. As you got comfortable straddling him, you knew he would be able to feel the warmth that radiated from your cunt.

After both of you were settled, you returned to your work massages his chest. Konrad let a sigh from his nose as he relaxed into the pillow and closed his eyes, placing his hands on each of your thighs. A slow pattern emerged as you work the muscles in his chest and on his sides, the warm oil allowing your hands to glide effortlessly across his skin. At this angle you were able to drink more of him in. More evidence of past wars sprinkled across his skin, some larger and darker from times that would have surely killed him if he were a mortal man. But he was not a mortal man, he was Konrad Curze the Primarch of the VIIIth legion. He was the Night Haunter from Nostramo. He was a weapon against the xenos and the heretics that threatened the Imperium of Man. He was yours.

Lost in your adoration for this man beneath you, the feeling of Konrad gently squeezing your thighs brought your mind back to the present. His eyes were still closed as you tended to him, if you didn’t know better you would have assumed he was asleep if not for the steady rising of his hands up your thighs. Deciding to play this game he was starting; you slowly brought your hands back to his pecs and flicked your thumbs across both of his nipples. He inhaled sharply through his nose but kept his eyes closed, his grip on your thighs tightening. Repeating the motion one more time, you felt his thumbs make their way to your crotch, applying gentle pressure at the fat just under the clothes you wore. You began to play with his nipples, rolling them between your thumb and forefinger, watching his face for any change. His jaw clenched as his breathing deepened, still keeping his eyes closed as if to focus on your hands.

Leaning forward you take one of his nipples in your mouth, lovingly taking it between your teeth to suckle at it as you pulled on the other with your hand. A groan vibrating through his body hitting you right in your aching cunt again causing you to involuntarily grind against his stomach. Catching this moment, Konrad moved his hands to the top of your thighs forcing your body to grind against him. The friction and pressure was delicious against you, a moan pouring from your mouth and against his chest.

In one quick motion, Konrad grabbed your chin and brought your mouth up to his, desperate to taste you. You grant him entry into your mouth, feeling his tongue fight for space against yours, licking every inch of your warm mouth. Putting his hand back on your thigh, he started to grope your ass as he continued to grind you against him. You brought your hands up to the base of his neck, it was much too large for you to do any damage but you both loved the attempt of taking power from him. You tightened your hands around his neck, earning a growl into your mouth as you did so. You could feel his core tighten up with his desperate thrusts up with his hips.

A sudden slap on your ass ripped a yelp from your throat that turned into a needy moan as the sudden pain melted into a pleasurable ache. Running your hands up his neck and into his hair, you pull his head up and to the side giving you full access to his pretty throat. Pulling away from the kiss you lick and nip your way down, savoring the flavor of his sweat mixing with the oil you had massaged into the skin. The pulse from his twin hearts slamming through his veins as you followed them with your tender kisses. Konrad shamelessly let out a moan at your loving attention as you left sweet love marks of bruises mixed with your teeth on his skin.

It was a decadent treat when you were allowed to take control and worship his body. Leaving reminders of your love and devotion across his skin for all to see. He was yours and you were his and while all knew not to touch you just by the mere knowledge that you were Konrad’s, you always felt the need to stake your claim on him. To show to the universe that you and you alone were granted access to him in his most vulnerable and animalistic state.

The sound of ripping fabric and cool air kissing your ass brought you back from your thoughts of needing to mark the ethereal creature between your legs. You could feel the spot of wetness you had made against him and now with the loss of any barrier you could relish in the feeling of your cunt slide against him. Konrad gently pushed you away from his neck. You were blessed with the sight of his abused lips and neck, tightening the hot coil in your core. You could never get tired of this sight of his swollen lips and bruised neck. Konrad looked up at you, want clear in his eyes, as he brought his hand up to your shirt.

You leaned back with your hands bracing behind you, as you both maintained eye contact as he slowly ripped your shirt the rest of the way open. Throwing the shredded scraps away to join wherever he threw the pieces of your pants. Like a man worshiping, he ran his large rough hands up and down your sides, needing to feel every inch of you. Bringing his hands to squeeze as the soft fat of your waist and belly, you knew he was imagining you full and pregnant with his sons. You knew because it was the same thing you always thought of when he played with your belly.

Running his hands back up your body, he cupped your breasts in his hands and groped them roughly. You pushed your chest into his hands, letting your head fall back as you melted into his touch. His rough palms scratching deliciously against your hard nipples adding to the wonderful sensations. Konrad sat up then, paying back the attention you gave to him and took your nipple into his mouth. Sucking, biting, and pulling it as if he were a suckling babe trying to draw milk from you, you brought your hands up to hold his head against your breast. Forcing him to stay there as you went back to humping against him, covering him in your arousal.

You knew you were being loud; the walls may be made of metal, but they could have been made of paper with how they allowed your moans echo through the halls of the ship. In a frustrated moment, Konrad ripped his own pants off, freeing his hard and leaking cock. You could feel it bump against your ass as he tried but failed to keep from humping the air. Shoving your hands back into his hair, you took fistfuls in each hand and pulled him away from your nipple, a salacious pop echoing around the room.

You kissed him lovingly this time, melting against his as your arms wrapped around his neck as Konrad wrapped his around your middle. You both stayed like that for some time, tasting each other, feeling your bodies molding against each other. You were in love, and you made sure that with every swipe of your tongue, every kiss, every breathy moan, you showed him. Slowly, Konrad leaned back into the bed, never breaking your kiss.

After a few more loving kisses, you pulled yourself away, a needy whine from Konrad chasing you. “My love. My moon and my stars. No other in the galaxy could ever match the fire in my heart that burns for you,” a blush spreading from his cheeks down to his chest. You moved yourself down his body, lifting yourself over his aching heat. “I had dreamt of the day that I would hold a man like you in my arms,” you positioned his length against your equally aching hole, “and now, I have you.” Konrad threw one of his arms over his eyes, he was never good at taking your compliments and adoration. “My love, please, I want to see you,” you slowly rubbed his tip against your opening, not wanting to take him just yet.

After what felt like eons, Konrad removed his arm and looked at you through eyelashes. The blush tickling his ears, giving him a youthful glow. Once you knew you had his whole attention you began to sink down his length. “I love you,” you breathed out as you felt yourself stretch around him, fighting to keep your eyes from closing as you did. Konrad’s jaw fell open as he moaned, watching you slowly take him in inch by inch. You could feel his heat inside of you and you chased that feeling. You filled yourself full of him, needing him deep within you. Just as it seemed that you could take no more, your body kissed his. The feeling of being this stretched and this full shook you to your core.

Konrad, finally able to move again, brought his hands made to your hips. Lovingly rubbing little circles against your skin with his thumbs. A softness crossed his face and filled his dark eyes, “I love you more.” A needy whine ripped from your throat as you let his words sink into you, filling you up in a way that carnal pleasures never could. Slowly, painfully slowly, you raised yourself up, feeling each bump and vein. You pulled yourself up just enough to feel the ridge of his cock head reach the opening of your dripping cunt and stayed there a moment too long for Konrad’s apparent liking.

Tightening his grips around your hips, enough so that you knew you would have beautiful bruises in the shape of his hands, he forced you back down on him, snapping his hips up to meet your halfway. The sudden fullness had you seeing stars. You relinquished your play on power and let Konrad take back control. He roughly began to fuck into you, desperate to feel more of your wet heat wrap around him. Each forceful push of his hips knocked the breath out of you, causing your moans to have obvious little breaks in time with his thrusts.

Your first orgasm blew through you, Konrad’s rough pace sending you well over the edge. You could feel yourself tighten around him, trying to pull him in and keep him there inside of you forever. You knew he could feel it too from the way he pulled you back down and held you there with a hiss, trying to keep you from moving too much on him to keep himself from cumming too soon.

He let you come down from your high, rubbing your thighs and your hips and belly. Once you caught your breath, you leaned back bracing your hands on his strong legs. You started to fuck yourself on his cock again, wanting to chase your orgasm with another one. Like this you, Konrad hit just you in the right place deep inside of you. Looking at Konrad, you noticed that all he was focused on was watching your wet cunt swallow his cock whole. The realization of him watching you so shamelessly fucking yourself on him scrambled your brain once again, throwing your head back with a load moan. You could feel Konrad’s legs tense under your hands and his cock feeling like it was getting ever so slightly harder. He was close and you were right there with him.

“Konrad! AH- please! So close!” was all you could get out, but your love understood you without question. Resting one large hand on your lower belly, he started to rub tight and fast circles on your clit with his thumb. Your moans bordering on screams with the added stimulation. Konrad’s desperate grunts filling your ears, “I love you. FUCK I love you so much. SO good. Mine. All mine.” You came a second time, harder with his confession of love for you. Slamming your hips down on him one more time to grind against him to bring him over the edge with you, Konrad roared as he filled you with his seed. The warmth of it sending you straight into another orgasm. You could feel yourself bulge a little from the sheer amount of cum filling inside you.

Konrad kept his hand on your lower belly feeling it slightly swell and you brought your hand to rest it on top of his. The sight of you holding his hand against you as if you were heavy with his child, milked him of the last drop of cum in his body and his he was trying to make this vision a reality.

You two stayed like that for a moment, looking lovingly into each other’s eyes in your shared post orgasmic bliss. Feeling the exhaustion finally hit your bones, you fell forward into Konrad’s chest. Listening to his twin hearts just underneath try to settle. “My love, the sun in my sky,” Konrad murmured into the top of your head as he ran a hand up and down your back. You hummed back, too tired to even speak. You felt Konrad gently pulling himself out of you, the emptiness causing you to whine. “Shh my sweet. I must clean our mess,” was all you heard before you felt him pick you up and carry you to the adjoining bath.

Konrad quickly washed you both off, being careful around your abused hole to try not to overstimulate you. Once done he wrapped you in one of his plush towels. It was so big it almost swallowed you whole. Picking you back up he brought you back to your shared bed, now with clean sheets. A serf must have been waiting for the end to change them, that thought sent a blush from ear to ear. Thankful for the towel engulfing you because you knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it from Konrad teasing you.

Once in bed, Konrad arranged you both so that he curled around you, his head resting on your chest, sighing as he listened to your heartrate slowly readying for sleep. Humming, you brought your arms around him to hold his head closer. The only sound in the room was your breathing. Floating into sleep, warmed by his body around yours, the last thing you heard before falling completely was something so soft you couldn’t tell if it was for you or just the start of a dream, “My greatest treasure, my happiest moment. I love you forever and always.”

[sculptorofcrimson]

Tyrant’s Lullaby

Once upon a time, there was a glorious, terrible man. He built horrors. He built wonders. He brought monsters up from the deep. He took a child from the arms of a horrified, weeping family, and raised him not as a boy but as a general. He took a child and ruined his future, He took a child and made him a king, a pet, a dog. He marched armies over the face of the ravaged earth, and trampled all that did not kneel before the weight of the storm. He burned tundras to ash and shook the mountains until they crumbled, He boiled the seas to mist and the skies to charcoal. And when the scouring was done, and the earth was entombed in ashes, He turned His dreaming, endless glare upon His own. 

He strangled the thunder that had bore Him a throne, He sent the golden, the children stolen from their cradles, to plunge down long knives into turned backs raised so fervently before His regard. With their blood they had built Him a kingdom, and with their bones He crowned Himself a throne. And when Terra knelt, cowed, battered, in awe and in fear, He turned His gaze skywards.

And the stars felt His benevolent wrath. 

He bore twenty sons, two of them sacrificed, and He unleashed them upon the earth, the skies, the stars. They hunted for Him, they loved Him, they adored Him, yet some had strayed too far from His light, some had gazed upon the man that would be a god with sullen, hungry eyes, doing His bidding, and knowing His wrath. They are those who were there when affection curdled to treachery.

There was no peace among the stars, no mercy, no rest, simply a slow, heartless drowning as the gold claimed them limb by limb, inch by inch, and swallowed them into the endless light. 

And then war. Treachery, when the stars themselves were swallowed. When brother turned against brother, and father against son. When the Phoenix cleaved the Gorgon’s head from his shoulders, and the Immortal bashed in the Haunter with a hammer, when the Angel fell to the Traitor and He stained the Palace’s stones red with His son’s blood. When Horus burned, when the Angel shed his wings and the golden were shattered upon the anvil of betrayal, the Father fell to His son. 

He was buried upon a rotting throne, screaming hollowly into the fading dark, the stars basking in His rage, His pity and His wrath. He was buried alive in a tomb made from gold, ashen bones ruling a decaying kingdom from the grave, dreaming forever of brighter days. Dreaming of His sons, and how He betrayed them first, how they betrayed Him, how they abandoned His bones. And finally could the golden rest, bathed in the heart of their greatest shame, enshrining the decaying dust of a master they had failed, in an empire He had forsaken. 

That man was the Emperor. That corpse is the Emperor, golden, glorious, and decaying just like the slaves.

Do not think your bones different from a slave's. When you rot, your corpse will be indistinguishable from those of your servants.

[the-raven-lady]

a gift for @men-want-me-fish-fear-me !! it told me about its mpreg AU and got me thinking about the complications that would have for someone like Konrad

this one's a bit heavy on body image issues so please be in a good state of mind for this!!

please read the warnings!!

Character: Konrad Curze

Song Inspiration: Real Men - Mitski [YouTube] [Spotify] "Real men don't need other people / And real men suck it in / Real men don't flinch or bleed in public / Oh, I think I'm a real man."

Warnings: mpreg, pregnancy symptoms, self image issues, self-inflicted gore, lamenting dark realities, implication of potential non-con, mentions of infanticide

Word Count: 643

Konrad groaned as the weight shift nearly threw him off balance and crashing into the stones below. Had the nausea not been enough? Blackened nails and coarse fingertips drag over the sensitive flesh of his aching abdomen, the skin taut against the growing life beneath. The Night Haunter loathed his natural urges. Being bound to a biological clock beyond his control was one of the many gifts of his father that he would rather have ripped out long ago.

As if he hadn’t already tried. 

It was easy enough for him to sink his clawed finger tips deep into the putrid skin of his belly. The iron tang of blood spilled had only served to spur him on, ripping and tearing and pulling as the offending organ until it was nothing but fleshy pink viscera on the floor. How miserable it had been when it had not even taken a week for the gland to revive itself. The regenerative nature of primarch biology seemed to leave him no choice in the matter.

Righting himself on his perch, Konrad elected to take a break from his prowling to calm the waves of nausea washing over him. He would never get used to it. A zing of electricity shot up from his tailbone when he sat against the stone ledge, drawing a gasp from him, then several curses. He gently rubs the base of his spine to soothe the ache.

Konrad felt delicate. Every little action that he would normally perform without effort could prove to be too much on his pregnant body. Perhaps he would be fine with it if he chose when the urges to breed took him, but his genealogy couldn’t even grant him that. Throne save the next helpless serf that wandered in his path when it kicked in, for Konrad knew their chances of survival were slim at best. This was a part of his father’s great vision? Bouncing on the cock of passers-by then birthing sons into a legion of murders and scum? It infuriated the primarch to no end. His only saving grace was that he never seemed to inflate to the size of his expecting brothers, remaining more gaunt and lithe.

Perhaps if he were Guilliman or Fulgrim, he could try to find an ounce of pride in bringing a new life into the world. Maybe then, he would see a purpose to all of the lost meals, cramping, and searing pain of the birthing process. Maybe then he wouldn’t hate the changes to his body, losing the ability to bend and contort as he wished. Maybe then he would want to hold the boys as they came out and coo at them as his brothers did.

His legion would never be grateful for the effort he put in for them. He would spare all of his blood children the mercy of ever having to integrate into the Night Lords with a quick snap to the neck if they weren’t always taken from him so quickly. Darling of his brothers to chain him down each and every time he neared emergence after they discovered the fates of the first several cycles. Fulgrim had been mortified hearing about how Konrad had disposed of the newborns like waste.

The Imperial Palace was always quiet at this time of night, nobles and Astartes alike turning in by this hour. Only Custodians remained, silent watchers they were (at least they could mind their own business), and his brothers would rarely come to check in on him. Konrad let out a weary sigh and tucked his legs the best he could against his swollen belly, protecting the fetus within. Emotions threatened to boil over in his chest, and Konrad Curze had to choke back a tired sob.

Things would be much easier if he didn’t still love each of his sons anyway.

[sharenadraculea]

Konrad developing a fascination with long, pretty hair… unfortunatly he is not good in actually articulating his feelings and so his kink mostly results in him sneaking up on people and pulling at their hair Corvus is probally the main victim of these hairpulling attacks and Fulgrim is probally the only one who can really avoid them (he does so by bribing Konrad with all the fun things they‘ll do once they are in private and Konrad behaves until then)

[iluminatka16]

The Bat And The Cat

Tags: Konrad Curze x f!oc, chaotic fluff, cuddling, two menacies to society in too close proximity to each other, air jail

Warnings: mention of torture and suggestion of SA

Summary: The two most stubborn people in the galaxy have a nightmare and need some comfort. Or - how (not) to wake up a primarch.

Word count: 1808

English isn't my first language so sorry for any mistakes.

A gentle application of force was enough to make the skin on her abdomen break. In the slums, knives were blunt and often worn out, so the whole process was much more painful. Although she was Perpetual, she still felt pain when someone brought her guts out into the open. She was sitting strapped to a chair when blood gushed from her abdomen, the gritty texture of the leftover fat in her emaciated body visible as day. However, that wasn't the worst of it. In front of her, on the floor, lay the silhouette of a man. His inhumanly handsome and, to many, terrifying face was contorted into a tired grimace. His long black hair was scattered across the floor, and his dark eyes stared into the void. However, she didn't dare look down below, where there was a yawning wound on his neck that separated his head from the rest of his body. She stared silently at the man's body as her executioner continued to cut off his skin and flesh piece by piece. Piece by piece.

Falka rose abruptly, panting. Sweat ran down her forehead, and her heart pounded as if it was about to jump out of her chest. With a trembling hand, she touched her cheek, tracing a wet mark on her skin with her finger. She must have cried in her sleep. She wiped her face with one hand in an attempt to calm down, and with the other she reached down to her abdomen, touching the countless scars that covered it. There was no trace of the wound. Falka sighed quietly. She turned onto her stomach, drawing the pillow to her body. She tried to fall asleep, but she could not get rid of the unpleasant feeling that, like an icy fist, clenched on her heart. She was still angry and raw after their earlier argument, she had no desire to see his face. However, the feeling of unease did not leave her even as she tried to suffocate herself with a fluffy mass, pressing her face into the pillow. After several minutes of trashing, she finally rose furiously to sit down, clasping her hands on the satin material. Cursing under her breath, she stood up and put her slippers on her bare feet. Fucking ship. If it weren't for the fact that they were currently traveling through the Warp, she would have opened a portal and escaped the fucking metal can. As far away from him, his sons and all those memories as possible.

Falka opened the door to her quarters and stepped out into the hallway. She looked crazy to say the least - clad only in a nightgown, she moved through the halls like a phantom. She quickly found herself in front of Konrad's quarters, or better put, chamber. For someone who prided himself on a frugal lifestyle, Curze liked his bedroom to be decorated with splendor. Beds on the Nostramo for the poorest were a luxury, as were many other aspects of daily life. Falka swallowed bitterly at the memory of the musty mat on the floor, which might as well not have been there, that she shared with the woman what gave birth to her, or the later cold floor she was forced to sleep on for most of her teenage years. Their childhood in the shithole had twisted them in various ways, in Konrad's case one of it was an obsession with keeping his bedroom as if he were to house his older brother, Fulgrim.

Not that she was complaining. After all, she spent most of her nights there instead in her quarters.

She passed two Night Lords standing outside the entrance. They didn't question her. Of course they didn't. She had been in Konrad's life too long not to know any of his sons. Even if not by name. She noiselessly opened the door, noting in her mind that if she stopped being angry with Curze she was to tell him about the fact that he should do something about those hinges because they don't make any sound, which is dangerous, and then entered the room. She expected Konrad to hear her footsteps, that when she approached his bed she would find dark eyes pointed accusingly at her and a question about what possessed her at this hour. Fucking bastard.

To her shock, only silence greeted her, punctuated by the quiet, barely audible, buzzing of the ship. Falka felt the blood drain from her face. She walked closer to the bed, fearing she would see the worst. But panic was quickly replaced by relief and involuntary annoyance when a quiet whine came to her ears, and she could see Konrad trashing on the bed. He was mumbling something under his breath, his hands clenched on the sheet, tearing it in several pieces. He was having a nightmare, just like she had a few minutes earlier. Falka knew better than to wake him up when he was like this. Especially when he was in a bad mood before going to bed. The scar on her arm regularly reminded her of this. Having no other choice and perhaps feeling a slight need to teach him a lesson, Falka grabbed one of the pillows on the chair, swung and threw it straight at his face. It bounced off him, snapping him out of his sleep. Konrad growled like an animal visibly shocked by what had happened, his hand instinctively hurling the pillow to the other side of the room.

"What the..." he began, panting. Then his gaze fell on Falka. "What are you just.... YOU LITTLE BITCH, HOW DARE YOU..."

Konrad grabbed the quilt with his hands and uncovered himself. His eyes, as if in a frenzy, passed around the room, trying to understand what was happening. He tried to get up, but was stopped by the small hands on his shoulders. Falka thought she was going to start crying again when she felt the warmth of his skin, indicative of his condition quite far from death. Not that she would have been able to hold him for long - Konrad was more than 3 ft taller than her and somehow twenty times stronger. But it was enough of an element of surprise that she approached him so boldly, doing something most people would have had their guts ripped out for. Not that throwing a pillow at the primarch's pretty face was any less of a crime by any measure.

Without waiting for his sleep-blinded mind to process the information, Falka merely crawled into his lap. Her body clung to his chest, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to listen to the beating of his twin hearts. He was terrified or upset about something. But he was alive. And that was the most important thing. This arrogant, sarcastic asshole was alive. His breathing now quickened, his body tense as the muscles under his skin moved. Falka was so lost in a sense of relief that she ignored Konrad's hostile demeanor and the curses rained down on her. If he wants to pull her away he will do so without a problem. Now she had no intention of moving from her favorite cushion.

She was snapped out of her reverie by a hand pressed against her head. His fingers moved through her ginger strands, untangling one of the tangles that had formed there during her nightly trashing. And slowly, Konrad sank back onto the pillow again, cradling her to his chest.

"Madwoman." He muttered. "What, you aren't angry with me anymore?" His voice, though filled with sarcasm, had no real venom in it.

Falka shifted slightly, searching for the most comfortable spot and muttering quietly. Then she felt Konrad's hand move from her head, to her neck. She was ready to bite him if he got the idea of strangling her, but instead she only felt his fingers finding her pulse point and pressing gently. When he received confirmation that the girl in his arms was indeed alive, Falka could hear the frantic beating of his heartbeat slowly change to a steady one, indicating that he had calmed down. She didn't know why, but at the gesture there was a warmth in her chest that pride wouldn't let her name.

"I had a nightmare." Falka muttered after a moment of silence. She expected the mocking scoff that Konrad liked to use when he was still raw after their arguments. But instead she felt his hand move from her neck to her back and start stroking the skin there. "From that night, when the pimp of the woman who gave birth to me discovered that I could regenerate myself and gave me to my first and last client."

Falka felt Konrad's body tighten. The memory of these people upset him even 300 years after the events. The hand on her back stopped to press her against his chest, trying to protect her from the world. The other, on the other hand, reached for the quilt and forced it over them, covering them with it.

"I still regret that he died so quickly when I skinned him alive." Konrad whispered, her voice this time devoid of sarcasm, turning more into a... purr? It was a rumbling sound from his throat, a tone of voice reserved only for her when she needed comfort or they were relaxed.

For a few seconds, Falka wondered if she should tell him that he had died in that dream, but refrained. Konrad was paranoid and might begin to think that the dream was not a symptom of PTSD after all, but a vision of the future where he would be killed and she tortured.

"And you? You were screaming like a little girl when I found you" Falka asked, sliding her hand over the skin of his arm. She was snapped out of her blissful moment by a light smack to the back of her head. "Ouch, you asshole!"

"Liar."

"I'm telling the truth and I can demonstrate."

"You're the one who's about to scream if you don't calm down."

Falka was about to respond with something clever, but at that moment strong hands pulled her off his chest. For a moment he held her in the air on top of him, wanting to make fun of her low height and how easily he could lift her. The disrespect… Falka with annoyance began to wince, trying to kick him, but the next second she lay safely immobilized between his arms as he rolled to his side and pressed her against him.

"You're choking me!" Falka wheezed out, struggling.

In response, Konrad merely pulled her closer and tucked her head under his chin.

"Good. Suffer.”

___

Uff, and my first fic on tumblr is published. Don't come for me for using wrong tags, I'm still learning haha.

[flowercrowngods]

knightmærs

love: saying "i love you" even when you're scared written for @steddielovemonth day 20 (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

M | ~3.1k | tags: medieval-ish au, prince!steve, lovers to enemies who are still lovers but it’s intrigue cw: torture (both implied and explicit), past & on-screen brainwashing, manipulation, angst, violence, open ending, mild gore, traditional fairytale imagery

princemær

It is not the sensation of cold steel touching his throat that makes him halt, the blade against his skin a feeling so familiar these days that he barely falters in his steps anymore. Nor is it the clearly spoken threat of, “One wrong move, Kas, and I will paint the soil with your blood so that something good may come of your existence after all.” 

Original, that. Eddie is not loath to admit it. 

And were this valiant knight anyone else, he surely would have worked his clever tongue to make it count, at the very least, that they should have caught him at last. Judging by the determination in the man’s hazel eyes and the absolute calm in his hand, sword unwavering against Eddie’s throat, he would have paid gravely for it. 

As it is, though, Eddie can only stare into the eyes of his imminent captor, frozen to the spot and freezing yet more when he finds no trace of recognition in those eyes. 

What did they do to you? he wonders desperately, so forlorn in the throes of distress he finds no wherewithal to struggle against four men of the Prince’s guard as they roughly disarm and bind him. He doesn’t take his eyes off the Prince, aching for just a hint of recognition, even a glint of betrayal and hatred – but all he can find is cold nothingness as the Prince holds his gaze, looking down at Eddie from his royal mare. It’s not one Eddie recognises, and he is reminded of the years he has gone without those eyes in his life. 

“The King is expecting your return,” says the Prince, sheathing his sword when one of his men binds Eddie to the back of his horse; the first of many tortures, he is sure.

Or rather, the second, with the way the Prince is looking at him, speaking to him without that familiar melody to his voice. It is monotonous now, and Eddie wants to become the monster again that they all make him out to be, if only to rip out the throat of the person who did this to him. The person who took the Prince’s voice, his smile, his memories. 

He would gladly become a monster for him all over again. 

“A sword has been made for your head, after all. And a feast for your demise.” 

And with that, the Prince spurs his mare into a trot, his loyal guardsmen following just behind him, pulling Eddie with them. It is a small miracle that he does not stumble and fall, the floor beneath his feet unsteady as cotton as all feeling leaves his body and the world rewrites itself around him and this very moment. 

Prince Steven wants him publicly executed. That is not what leaves Eddie’s stomach with a wave of nausea he barely manages to swallow down, panting and gasping for air as he is from running after the horses. 

No, what leaves him with a frozen bloodstream and a panicked paralysis of the mind is that Prince Steven recognises him no longer. Remembers not the history that lies between them. The sacrifices made. 

Were the situation any different, allowing for tears and curses cried into the dark of night without threat of detection, Eddie would have wailed. Wept at the realisation that he should have never left Steve to the claws of the King and his advisor. 

What did they do to you? he agonises, staring at the familiar blues that attire the Prince so tragically familiar. And how do I get you back before you spell doom for yourself with my own blood?

*** 

Foolishly, Eddie has spent years of his life thinking he would never be presented with this view again: The palace in all its glory, sandstone nary white and golden, shining and gleaming in ways more sublime than the sun herself. It stole many a night from him, the thought of this vision and the heart it holds inside, a keep more than a palace, and just as out of reach for the hands of a man deemed a traitor to the kingdom. 

But now here he is, stumbling on bleeding feet as the horse drags him into the courtyard of what used to be his home so many winters ago he has lost count. People gave gathered in the streets and alleys and up by the windows, chancing a look at the man condemned, sweat and tears dried and crusted on his cheeks, ripped clothes showing bleeding wounds from falling when the Prince demanded they ride faster. 

He can scarcely hold his own weight anymore, his feet aching and burning, his entire body on fire and dehydrated, the world around him spinning just quickly enough that he takes too long to realise it when the Prince cuts the rope from the horse’s saddle and takes a hold of it instead. Holding Eddie like a mutt on a leash – and he’s panting like one, too. 

Still he catches his breath long enough to lift his chin and look at the Prince, showing defiance in one simple act that in another lifetime counted as devotion. But he wants to look at him. Wants to drink him in, changed though he might be. 

“Will you lead me to death now, Your Majesty?” 

The Prince says nothing as he rebinds Eddie’s wrists, securing them to his chest so he can’t easily break free and the Prince’s neck in the process. A wave of pride washes over him, even as he realises that he must succumb to being a prisoner for now with no means to escape. 

“I am but your humble subject. Where you lead, I will follow,” Eddie says with a wavering voice, just barely resisting to bow before his Prince for dramatic effect and hoping that would conceal the truth to his words. 

“One more word, snake,” he says, cold eyes boring into Eddie’s like a blade of ice and leaving trickles of fear in their wake, “and I will personally see to your death being so slow and painful, you will have forgotten your own name just before I am done, leaving you not enough time to remember. You will spend eternity wandering and finding no peace. Finding not even your name, as all you are has been replaced with pain.”  

Eddie flinches away from him unwittingly, hating the cold smirk that infests that beautiful face. His Prince wouldn’t talk like that. His Prince would not resort to threats of torture, inflicting fear wherever he sets foot. 

He had heard the stories, tales of a Prince changed, accounts of the Golden Prince dimmed and dulled, a tender heart hardened and smooth edges roughened to hurt whoever dared to touch him. The first few years he had heard the tales, and still he had chosen disbelief and doubt. Refusal to believe it. 

His Prince would never. Stevie could never. 

And yet. 

“What happened to you?” he whispers, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them, and he watches as something shutters behind those familiar eyes. 

“You cut out my heart. All those years ago, when you killed him. I intend to do the same to you.” 

Eddie swallows, the words not making sense. He has killed many a man, those who deserved it and those who did not, but whom could he have killed to elicit such a response from the Prince? 

“Whom?” he dares ask, preparing for a blade in his stomach or a fist in his face, ready for the guards to pull him back and pummel him until he does indeed forget his name and the rest of the world for a while. 

But the Prince stands his ground, his cold gaze nary lifeless even as Eddie’s vision swims. 

“Eddie.” 

And all the blood flees his body in a rush as understanding dawns on him, leaving yet more confusion as he hears his own name fall from the Prince’s lips with such barely concealed grief and sadness that it makes his knees buckle. 

“I intend to repay you for what you have taken from me. Settle the blood debt. Three days from now, it shall be my hand on the sword that will have your head.”

Eddie is too stunned to speak, too exhausted from two days on his feet, dragged on his feet and on his back, and the unfamiliar sensation of fear grips his whole body and intensifies the aches and pains he feels until his legs give out and he lands on his knees in front of his Prince, close to weeping once more. 

A hand comes to rest on his chin, tipping up his face so he can meet those royal eyes, and Eddie finds himself wishing for the blade instead. 

“Good,” Prince Steven says, his voice quiet, only for Eddie to hear. “I want to hear you beg for your life.” 

Eddie cannot keep a hold of the tear that breaks free and rolls down his face, leaving a trace for the Prince to follow as he undoubtedly marvels at having the great Betrayer on his knees and at a loss for words. 

And Eddie knows he will beg. But not for his life.

*** 

Torture does come, but not from his Prince. 

Instead it is Henry, the King’s advisor, who takes great pleasure in taunting him, leaving his body bloodied and bruised before he applies whatever concoction he cooked up that will leave Eddie feeling like his insides have turned to flames, leaving him to grunt and bite down on his screams as Henry weaves tales out of thin air laced with blood, sweat and tears. 

“You were always so gullible, the both of you,” Henry continues, though Eddie must have missed the beginning of his words, as even these ones barely reach him through the pain. 

“What did you do to him?” he asks around a mouthful of blood, spitting at Henry’s feet, revealing in the sick twist of his mouth that Eddie can just barely make out as his vision blurs dangerously. 

“What did we do to him? Oh, even a decade later you are still the same stupid boy you were then, hmm? It is you who did this to him. It is you who betrayed him, killing Eddie Munson and becoming Kas The Betrayer. Do you not recall?” 

His world tilts suddenly as Henry fills his mouth with a bitter liquid, clamping his mouth shut so Eddie has no choice but to swallow it all. 

“Surely you do remember the way you shoved your blade between Munson’s ribs on your way out of this cell all these years ago, cutting out his heart and making it your first feast of your newly-won freedom. Surely you remember betraying the Prince’s trust and then killing his lover and his best friend. You must remember, stupid boy, and know that your execution will bring freedom to the Prince’s mind that is so trapped in its vengefulness.” 

Nausea overcomes him and he retches, but Henry prevents him from throwing up and emptying his bowels to rid himself from whatever the alchemist uses to cloud his senses and reshape the world to his very own liking. 

“Shut up,” Eddie wheezes, earning a well-placed punch for his troubles. “Don’t touch him. Don’t you… Don’t you touch him.” 

A smile fills his vision as Henry comes close to hum as he turns Eddie’s face this way and that, keeping him from shaking it as images of a false history manifest in his mind. 

“Oh, I won’t have to touch him. See, he will realise what he has done on the scaffold. The veil over his eyes will be lifted when your heart stops beating, all the pieces will fall into place, but still he will be blind, for the veil will be replaced with the ghost of you, slowly fading beneath him.” 

Henry is circling him, stalking him like a predator his prey. Eddie has not been prey in so long. He does not know how to suppress the shivers or the horror at the tale woven around him. 

“And then, sword still in hand as it drips with your blood, despair will overcome him and he will follow you. The kingdom will be freed of the King’s pest of an heir, and I will lend his grieving Majesty a helping hand in ruling his kingdom. That is, of course, until he, too, ultimately succumbs to grief for his only son, leaving only myself to rebuild and reshape first the kingdom and then the whole world just the way I want.” 

He comes to a stop in front of him, another dark green flask in his hand. 

“You are but a pawn in this, Kas.” 

More of the bitter liquid flows down his throat and Eddie almost chokes on it, coughing it up and trying to resist, but Henry is stronger than he is. Always has been. 

And with poison in his ears and his bloodstream alike, Henry’s words grow truths inside Kas’s mind; the memory of Eddie Munson dying on his blade, the blood dripping down his fingers as he takes a bite of the man’s heart, and the prince’s screams in his ear at this ultimate betrayal, for that heart belonged to him. 

When he loses his grasp on consciousness, out of breath and out of his mind with pain, he wishes for the scaffold. He wishes for the Prince to take his life and settle the debt. Avenge his love. Avenge what Kas can only ever dream about. 

***

Gradually, over the span of only three days spent in either sensory deprivation or torture, Henry manages to drain the dredges of Eddie’s false identity and replace them with what really happened; replace them with Kas. With guilt, with shame, with a debt so severe it could never be paid back as long as Kas remains alive. 

He forgets about most of Henry’s visits, wakes up with new injuries and new memories, the reserves of water left for him tasting bitter and wrong, but he is always so desperate for it, he has not the luxury of choice. 

The Prince never comes. 

*** 

The third sun rises and finds Kas a broken man. 

They lead him out in chains and shackles, like he poses any risk of escaping. Like he doesn’t welcome what is about to come. Like he doesn’t— 

He… 

Kas falters in his steps the very second he lays eyes on the Prince, hand resting on the hilt of a broadword that looks to be expertly crafted. A sword has been made for your head, after all. He swallows, ignoring the guard that kicks him in the shin and punches him in the neck, telling him to move forward. 

His head aches the longer he watches the Prince, the world around him becoming hazy as guilt and shame wash over him, the feeling that this is right, this is what he deserves. And still, underneath it all, when Prince Steven meets his eyes, there is the nagging feeling that none of this is right at all. That the Prince should not be looking at him like that, should not be holding onto that sword, should not be his own executioner. 

It splits his head, but still he is helpless against the shackles, cannot struggle when the guards pull him along instead. 

The Prince says not a word until Kas the Betrayer kneels before him, and once again there is a wave of familiarity that comes from this action, but he cannot place it. Kas has never knelt for anyone, so it must be wrong. It must be instinct, the last desperate flare of a dying flame, leaving him disoriented, his head flooded with visions of how life could have been. 

The headache mingles with a new wave of fevered need to live, to rip apart these shackles and kill every guardsman and the King himself before he leaves the sandstone castle behind him once more. 

But there is also a strange sensation of calmness that tells him he is willing to let it happen like it must. He is willing to give this to the Prince and repent. He is willing to give it all up and give in to this. 

Kas the Betrayer is ready to die. He is too tired to alter the course of fate any longer. 

But then? Oh, a lone man’s willingness is not force strong enough to defy the will of Fate herself. 

Because when Prince Steven opens his mouth, all the bitterness leaves Eddie’s mouth, all the visions become unveiled at the sound of that voice that for decades now has held him through pain and pleasure alike, the voice that whispered promises of a future together of even just five minutes away from prying eyes. 

When Prince Steven opens his mouth, Kas becomes Eddie once more, coming to life again inside his own tired, exhausted, agonised head. 

“Any last wish?” 

For those to be the words that save him carries a strange sense of irony, and Eddie knows it’s too late. He knows the plan will commence. Maybe it’s for the better. Ten years he has suffered without his heart, ten years spent shunned and banished and labeled a traitor to all kingdoms simply because he dared to love his Prince more than his King. Ten years that have left him tired and worn out, without a purpose to his ways. 

And Steve, subjected to Henry and his alchemy, his poisons and potions, his bitterness that will turn your insides to flames. Steve, tortured and manipulated for ten years without Eddie there to protect him. 

Maybe it’s for the best that it should end now. That it should end like this. He has no strength left in his body, could not free himself or the Prince even if he were foolish enough to try. 

Still he finds himself relieved that he should die inside his own head this time. That small mercies and miracles alike will grant him this. Looking at Steve as he takes his last breaths.

So, does he have any last wish? 

“Yes,” he croaks, daring to look up into those once so beautiful eyes that hold no warmth anymore. 

Tell me what they did to you. A kiss from my Prince. Don’t turn this blade on yourself when this life has left my body. Believe me when I say this is a trap, and I am not who you think I am.

But he says none of that. Wishes for something else. Wishes not for himself.

He swallows, straightening his back. “I wish that you would… That you would just, just listen to me.” Fear overcomes him, and he knows these will be his last words.

The Prince inclines his head, intent at least on listening. Good. That’s good. 

Because now, for the first time in a decade, Eddie will utter these words to ears that will listen. Fear grips his heart, squeezing around it until it stops. And still he speaks. 

“I love you. And I forgive you.” 

tagging: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @madigoround @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 (i have a permanent tag list now, lmk if you want on or off 🤍 these are only the ones who commented on the post) (sorry the first tag should be so fucked up mwah)

note: i posted this last night but then wanted to double check with the lovely lovely mod of steddielovemonth (kith for you!) if this was okay to post, and she said yes, so fever dream round 2! sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for the patience! 🤍

[nevesmose]

Haven't been very active on tumblr recently as I've been working on this fic, but now it's here! Fulgrim/Ferrus/Konrad and Sevatar/Rushal dollification and various other things, in which Sev sees something he wasn't supposed to and can't resist trying it for himself... as usual for this kind of thing do please check the tags. Enjoy!

[littlespringdandelion]

if sb needs a Konrad scene pack dm me I just made one

[sorormaior]

Anyway I thought I’d do covers for the acts of my cary fanfic, here’s act one

And a link to the work, it’s sitting pretty at about 80k rn!!

[candyswirls]

Bat Fledgling - 7: Mistake

Previous - Next - MasterPost

Summary: Corvus finds it to be difficult to care for Kiri and makes a mistake. He decides to send him away. He’s about to get Christmas caroled in a way

Hi, this is a hurt then comfort Fic. Here is the hurt. Tomorrow is the comfort. My goal is to make you cry and I was bawling like a baby. Good luck! :3

TW: self harm, vomit, past child abuse, signs of PTSD, bed wetting, ✨emotional damage✨

This week after Kiri arrived had been… rough to say the least. It showed the Raven lord just how hurt this boy had been.

It first started at when Kiri tried making a joke at breakfast about the emperor. The silence was deafening. He didn’t know how to handle it but luckily, the former Night Lords took him out to explain to him that loyalists don’t say things like that and he shouldn’t say it again. He uttered an apology and was quiet the rest of the meal.

Kiri woke up screaming that night. His bed was soaked. He had scratches up and down his legs and arms. He wouldn’t fall back asleep.

Then Honsin snapped at him for getting too close to his power sword. The word bearer was very animated when he spoke. As he raised his hands in expression, Kiri flinched and cowered on the ground. Expecting to be hit.

It had shaken Honsin so much he just left the room and wasn’t seen for the rest of the day.

Another night terror and he wet his bed again.

The worst was when Bora tried to do a check up on him.

Corvus left the room to do his rounds when he heard screaming. He bolted back down to the apothecary to find Kiri thrashing and Bora begging him to stop as he held his arms down.

Corvus ripped Kiri away from him and stormed out, holding the sobbing child. He got the story later that Bora was trying to do a scan with another machine. One that looked too much like a cryopod.

Then there was tonight. He hadn’t woken up screaming but did have another nightmare.

He had crawled out to come get comfort, tears streaming down his cheeks when he came across Jehudiel talking to the Primarch.

“We all have our issues,” Jehudiel said. “I know the other Night Lords have had a hard time but they’re full flushed Astartes and can handle things fairly well. He is just a child and he desperately needs more help than what we can give him. My Lord, it may be best to send him to the Imperium. He deserves to have somewhat of a normal life.”

Corvus sighed, “I have been… considering it may be what’s best for him. I am leading a war effort and I can’t take care of him all the time. But-“

There was a gasp and little feet running away.

Corvus didn’t know why but he felt his stomach drop.

He had tried following after but the boy had disappeared. He kept calling his name and searching but no answer.

After an hour, he enlisted some of his band. After two hours, everyone was looking. Even checking outside the base.

By hour three he checked areas again and again. He was starting to become frantic. Did he fall down one of the holes?? Where did he go?? Why wasn’t he answering?!

Their resident Space Wolf, Irvun, finally found him hiding under the Primarch’s bed.

His eyes were red and puffy as he was brought into the meeting hall. Every member of the war band was there. Most irritated at the whole fiasco.

He was relieved to see Kiri but at the same time angry.

“Why didn’t you come out??” He demanded. “We’ve all been looking for THREE HOURS!”

Kiri shrunk and mumbled, “I didn’t want you to send me away, I can be good-“

“But you weren’t!” He snapped. “You had us all worried! You didn’t come out when we were obviously searching and calling for you! You aren’t being good! You’re acting out, crying all the time, you keep wetting your bed, and then you hide for three hours?!”

Kiri’s lip trembled as hurt spread across his face. But the Raven Lord had already lost his temper.

“You’re convincing me more that you do need to go to the imperium!” Corvus shouted. “I can’t keep taking care of you! I can’t be sitting here worrying about you while I’m trying to avenge the emperor! You know what, I will send you there to get you some help because you’re acting just like Curze!”

The room was dead silent. Some looking at the Primarch in shock. He realized he should not have said that. He should not have said that.

Fat and hot tears streamed down Kiri’s face as horror and pain filled him. He covered his eyes.

“O-okay…” he said quietly before turning around and running straight to Adile.

The emperors child didn’t hesitate to pick him up and hold him as he tried to quietly cry.

Corvus sighed, “I’m going to my room. No one disturb me. Jehudiel, start preparations to get him to the imperium.”

Jehudiel muttered an acknowledgement. Most others avoided eye contact. Looks of disappointment were obvious.

Kiri hiccuped harder as the Raven Lord left the room.

This was for the best. He removed what armor he had on and laid down. He closed his eyes, just needing a moments rest. Completely unaware of the message he was about to receive.

***

Curze shoved the boy towards one of his apothecaries.

“Take him”, he muttered. “I don’t want him.”

Tears streamed down Kiri’s face as he turned to the Primarch. He was covered in scrapes and bruises. Blood dripped from the side of his head.

“Please?” He begged. “I’ll be good.”

Curze didn’t react and began walking away as Kiri was grabbed by the arm and dragged towards a cryopod. He started crying and begging the Night Haunter to come back. Becoming more and more frantic. The Night Haunter looked back once with no expression then left.

Abandoning him too.

“I’m not,” Corvus said aloud. “I’m sending him to the imperium. He’ll be safer there. This… this is the best decision. I- I’m not actually going to do it! I was just considering!”

***

He heard Kiri crying in Apothecarium.

“He hates me!” The boy sobbed.

“No he doesn’t,” Bora said plainly as he bandages scratched up limbs.

“Yes he does!” Kiri insisted. “He hates me! He doesn’t want me! Nobody wants me…”

Bora paused then pulled Kiri into an embrace.

“He’s doing it because he cares,” Bora told him. “He wants you happy and safe.”

Kiri just broke down further and Corax could see on the apothecary’s face that he didn’t believe what he said either.

Then he saw Adile sitting in his room. Fellow Emperor’s child Xach and another of Corvus’ sons, Hoffay, comforting him. Adile had his mask off. Crooked and loose hanging jaw showing as he cried.

“I don’t want him to go,” Adile said. “I want him to stay but Lord Corax upset him and is sending him away. I like having the baby here!”

“They’ll be fine,” Corvus spoke. “They’ll be fine.”

***

Kiri was older now. About ten. He didn’t look happy as he ran through a course, other aspirants with him. Corvus noted that these weren’t Raven Guard. This was an Ultramarine successor chapter. Why? He’d be going to Ravenguard.

Kiri tripped at one point and slid down a ravine. Corvus raced down after him.

The boy caught his breath then covered his face with his hands, crying.

“I’m never going to make it,” he mumbled.

Corvus was about to try and give words of encouragement when screams and yelling were heard above.

Kiri looked to the sky and gasped. Ork ships had entered the atmosphere. Lots of them.

Kiri started scrambling up the ravine. Corvus tried to follow but couldn’t. Then everything shifted. Smoke and fire filled the air. The only sound was a triumphant Waaaaggghh from the Orks.

Corvus dropped to his knees.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no, no, no, no! This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening! Why am I seeing this?!”

He breathed heavily as a black void enveloped him.

“Corvus,” a voice spoke.

He froze. He recognized it. He KNEW that voice.

He turned around, golden light gleaming off his eyes.

“Father?” He questioned.

“Rise my son,” He said.

He looked just as he still remembered.

“I-I’m dreaming,” Corvus deduced as he stood.

“Yes,” The emperor said. “But it does not mean it is not true.”

“Are- I- how?”

“My power and influence can reach out to the edges of the galaxy and warp,” he explained to his son. “I am currently focusing on you.”

“Why?” Corvus asked. “Why now? I don’t mean to be taking this long. To fail at avenging you. I-“

He paused as his Father raised a hand.

“I do not come because of that,” Father told him. “Though noble are your efforts, I do wish for you to return to the imperium soon. But the real reason I’m here is your son.”

Corvus blinked, “Yes, which one?”

“Kiri.”

“Kiri…”

Father nodded, “Him specifically but all who are part of your war band. They’re ALL your sons. Even if you don’t accept it.”

His hearts sunk.

The emperor’s expression softened, “Don’t send him away.”

“I wasn’t actually-“

“Corvus, yes you were. Your pride would not have allowed you to take that order back. You would regret it.”

“It would be safer!” Corvus tried convincing, “The warp will mutate him. Jehudiel desperately wants to return to his chapter and Roboute but with extra eyes and limbs he’d never make it a single step! I can’t have that for Kiri. He needs a stable home and structure.”

“Which is something you can provide,” his father assured as he placed a hand on the Raven’s shoulder. “You can give structure and be a home for him. He’d be with his Primarch.”

“He’ll mutate.”

“I cannot fully prevent them but with my blessing they will be beautiful, like Sanguinius’s.”

Corvus gripped his father’s hands as tears began to stream down his cheeks, “But what if he dies?”

“You won’t allow that to happen.”

“I-I can’t,” Corvus cried. “I’m not- I can’t be a father. Not in this way. He deserves better. I don’t know how to handle him. How to help him. Astartes are different. He’s so little. So young. He’s been hurt enough. I’ll just make it worse and I’d regret it and…”

His father held up a hand to silence him again.

“My son,” he said. “Corvus. Don’t send him away. You may think it will be for the best and will be better for him. But I can guarantee you, you will regret it for the rest of your existence. Wondering how things could have been.”

Corvus let out a sob, “You- you’re not- he would never- you CAN’T be the emperor.”

Golden light grew brighter as he felt the commanding aura.

“Yet I am,” the emperor answered. “You will know what to do. Give him what he needs. Not what you want. You need to correct this before it’s too late. The longer you wait, the harder it will be to reach him.”

“Is he part of your great plan?” Corvus questioned. “Does he play a crucial role?”

“No,” the emperor answered. “He matters not to it.”

“Then why?” Corvus demanded. “Why now? Why with him? Why couldn’t you have come earlier??”

“Because I have finally learned some things,” he sighed. “It is important that you have him. I guided you to him.”

“If he’s not part of some plan then why is he so important? Why is this important to you? I don’t understand. I don’t understand you! I don’t understand why you left or didn’t trust us. Why didn’t you tell us? Why is Kiri so important?! Why was I not that important?!”

Warm hands cupped his face. As he stared into the golden eyes he could have sworn he saw tears streaming down his cheeks. The Master of Mankind was crying.

“Because he’s important to you,” his Father said. “Because he matters to you. You can’t see it right now but he is healing you. He brings joy to your sons. You love him. This is a chance to correct some wrongs of the past. A repentance of Konrad.”

Corvus’ chest tightened, “He’s not-“

The emperor shook his head, “No, the boy is not a reincarnation of him. He was alive while Konrad was. It is coincidental he looks like you both.”

Corvus was pulled into an embrace.

“Don’t make the same mistake I did,” his father whispered into his ear. “You will regret it. Don’t send him away. This is my amends to you.”

***

Corvus woke in a cold sweat, his chest heaving. Tears streamed down the sides of his face as he stared up at the ceiling. He could still feel the lingering warmth of his father. He had hugged him. He had never done that.

He choked and put his hand over his mouth. Was that real? It had to be. Right? He said he sent Kiri to him.

He gasped, jumped out of bed, and threw his robes on. He had to find Kiri.

[echo-of-damnation]

Blind Devotion

Tags: Konrad CurzexJago Sevatarion, blowjob, light nsfw, light smut

Summary: There was only one thing Konrad craved more than anything in the galaxy and Jago is more than happy to give it to him.

Echo’s echo: Sorry for any weird formatting, I wrote this on my iPad. I really like this short piece but I might make it longer in the future when I have my laptop back. I just had to get this little worm out of my head for now before I went insane.

The Pile: @thisuserislilsilly

Word Count: 544

Konrad didn’t know “love”. It was a useless chemical imbalance that was bred out of him, something only baselines were unfortunate to experience. Honor, loyalty, obedience-those were the things that mattered to him, those were the emotions he bled out of those around him. What was the point of being made into a god among mortal men if those simple things could not be achieved?

A bead of sweat languidly made its way down his temple, the air cooling the thin strip caused a shiver to run up his spine.

He took his position at the top of the food chain with pride, much more than his brothers. He was their father’s weapon of fear after all. A surgical blade of violence forged in brimstone and blood. Those emotions were just as much a part of his arsenal as his claws.

A sweet tightness coiled in his belly as he continued to lose himself in his thoughts as he was lovingly tended to.

There was only one other emotion, no he corrected himself, state of mind, he sought after. Something only few ever showed over the centuries. Something that Konrad craved deep down inside of him, a primal need that clawed at his insides.

A sinfully warm and wet pressure pulled a low moan from deep within him. The arms he had draped over the back of the sectional he kept in his quarters strained to keep themselves still. His head lulled back; his dark eyes closed.

Konrad was pulled out of his thoughts and forced to be present in the moment. It felt like his body would explode and implode at the same time. Every fiber of muscle felt electrified with each ministration to his member. He was in a losing battle with the base need to reach out, to touch, feel, taste.

Konrad lifted his head to look down at the beautiful creature between his legs. He wanted to savor this moment just like all the times before this one and just like all the times that will come. He lazily opened his eyes and made sure to focus first on the rough patch of hair at the base of his cock. He could see the slick shine of spit contrasting against his deep black hair. A little higher and Konrad could see the large rough hand gentle caressing his length. It was scarred from year of brutal wars; each silvery line was a sign of victory. Pride swelled in Konrad’s guts at the thought of all the death and chaos those hands created caused his cock to twitch in the beautiful mouth that held him.

Ah, the mouth. One of his favorite parts. Dragging his eyes further up he could see the swollen lips that encircled him, a thick scar splitting one side of the mouth and up the pale cheeks of his perfect soldier. He loved to lick and kiss the length of that particular scar in the quieter more tender moments in his dark room.

Finally meeting the cock drunk eyes of his first captain, the word of the final emotion he craved shot through his mind at the same time as his climax flooded the mouth and filled the belly of his beautiful Jago Sevatarion, his Prince of Crows.

Blind devotion.

[brox-not-a-badger]

I’m gonna start gnawing on rebar if I’m left unattended for long enough

I SHOULD DO A CONTINUATION OF MY FIRST FIC!!! Maybe I’ll write a little more on the spicy side just to see if I can get a feel for it- I am really starting to enjoy writing Curze shenanigans, and Night Lord content in general. Who knows, maybe I’ll write a little bit on Talos as well, y’know. As a treat.

[bebopat]

In which were we see the VIIIth try to redeem themselves.

++Will you follow me home, Decimus?++

...

The Prophet of the VIII is plagued by visions of death, but what actually worries him is the familiar dread that beckons him home in his dreams.

...

Custodian Solenus Kalreth of the Aquilan Shield is given an objective by the Emperor of Mankind. He sails the stars to find his charge and safeguard the lost son on his journey home.

...

The Emperor, occasionally, does protect.