passionofthesith

[passionofthesith]

Mother

Part 1

You died. To the Primarchs you were like a mother. They came to say their last goodbyes to you. Angst.

@ghrgrsfdesfrfg @w-40-k

Lion El'Jonson

The Lion knelt besides you with perfect knightly grace, his head bowed in respect. His hands, those weapons of war, trembled as he reached out to touch your folded fingers.

"Mother" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I came as soon as I could. I know... I know I'm too late but I had to tell you."

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"I brought you something. A flower from Caliban, from the grove where you said you wanted to walk someday. I know it's just a simple thing but you always said the simplest gifts carried the most love."

He placed the white bloom in your other hand, his fingers lingering on yours.

"I was your knight, Mother. I was supposed to protect you, to come when you called. I was too far away, fighting battles that don't matter now. Forgive me. Please forgive your failed knight."

A single tear fell onto your joined hands.

"I love you, Mother. I should have said it more. I should have said it every day."

Fulgrim

Fulgrim approached with a canvas in his hands, his features streaked with tears he made no attempt to hide.

"I finished it" he said, holding up the painting, your portrait, now complete despite the scar his chisel had left which fell from his hands when he heard the news of your death. "I know it's not perfect but you always said my imperfections made my art more beautiful."

He set the painting where you could see it... if you could still see.

"You were my muse, Mother. Every beautiful thing I ever created was because I was trying to capture even a fraction of the beauty I saw in you. Not just your face, though you were lovely, but your soul. The way you saw wonder in everything."

His voice broke.

"I wanted to paint you forever. I wanted to spend eternity trying to show the galaxy what real beauty looked like. But I can't... I can't paint you anymore. How do I create beauty in a world that doesn't have you in it?"

He touched your cheek with infinite gentleness.

"Thank you for teaching me that love was the greatest art of all. I'll try to remember that even when the world feels ugly without you."

Perturabo

Perturabo stood besides you with his hands full of blueprints, dozens of them, architectural plans that represented years of work.

"I brought you the designs" he said, his voice rough with emotion. "All of them. The gardens you wanted to see, the palaces I designed with rooms full of light, the cities where children could play safely in the streets."

He spread them out around you, a paper ocean of dreams made manifest.

"You were the only one who understood what I was trying to build. Everyone else saw weapons and fortifications but you... you saw homes. You saw beauty. You saw the future I was trying to create."

His massive hands clenched into fists.

"I wanted to build you a garden, Mother. A place where you could walk among growing things and know that they were protected by walls that would never fall. I wanted to give you peace made manifest in stone and steel."

He knelt besides you, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I don't know how to build without you to build for. What's the point of creating something beautiful if the most beautiful thing in the galaxy is gone?"

He pressed his forehead to your hand.

"I love you, Mother. You made me feel like an architect instead of just a destroyer. Thank you for seeing the dreams in my blueprints."

Jaghatai Khan

The Khan came to your side with wind-tousled hair and dust on his boots as if he had ridden hard to reach you.

"I'm sorry I'm late" he said, sinking to one knee beside hs you. "I was riding when the news came and I... I couldn't stop. I rode for three days straight, hoping that if I was fast enough I could somehow outrun this reality."

He took your hand in both of his.

"You understood why I had to ride, didn't you? You never asked me to stay, never tried to cage me like the others did. You knew that the hunt was part of who I was and you loved me anyway."

His voice grew thick with emotion.

"But I should have stayed more often. I should have sat with you in the gardens and let you braid flowers in my hair. I should have told you about the sunsets I saw on distant worlds, should have brought you stories from the wind roads."

He lifted your hand to his cheek.

"You were my anchor, Mother. The fixed point that let me range so far because I always knew I could return. Now I'm lost in a way I've never been before and I don't know how to find my way home."

He took a shuddering breath.

"Ride with me in spirit, Mother. When I race across distant worlds be the wind at my back. That's how I'll carry you with me, in the freedom you gave me to be who I was meant to be."

Leman Russ

Russ approached with something clutched in his massive fist. When he opened it, it revealed a small carved wolf, no bigger than his thumb, crude but heartfelt.

"I made this for you" he said, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion. "I know it's not much. I'm not... I'm not good with the gentle things like Fulgrim or Vulkan. But I wanted you to have something."

He placed the tiny wolf in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

"You were the only one who wasn't afraid of me, Mother. When I was young and the wolf was strong, when I could barely control the beast in my blood, you would run your fingers through my hair and tell me stories until I was calm again."

His voice broke.

"You called me your wolf-son and you meant it as a loving thing. Not as something to be ashamed of but as something precious. You made me feel like the wolf and the man could exist together, that I didn't have to choose."

He rested his forehead against the edge of your bier.

"I howled for you, Mother. All the way from Fenris to Terra, I howled. And for the first time in my life the howl felt empty because you weren't there to answer."

His tears fell freely now.

"Pack bonds are forever, Mother. Death doesn't break them. You'll always be part of my pack, the heart of it. I love you. My pack loves you. Forever."

[passionofthesith]

And awaaaayyyy we goooo!! I’m hooked. Fully invested already. An Ultramarine with a little bit of a hot head and a slightly impulsive heart. I’m in love. Again.

𝕺𝖋𝖋 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖉𝖌𝖊

Author's note: The first chapter is done! I really hope you guys enjoy this! Relationships: Damarion(Ultramarine OC)/NightLordSerf!Fem!Reader Warnings: Blood, Brief mentions to unconsensual sexual content, The sorts of things you'd expect being a Night Lord serf Word Count: 2911

Guilliman reads the report in his hands with an inhuman level of efficiency. His eyes gloss over each and every word darting from line to line, faster than any baseline could ever dream to process. Through this he remembers key pieces of information to form his conclusion once he finishes the hundreds and hundreds of lines within a few moments. Statistics, casualties, recorded vox chatter between astartes- all memorized.

-recovery of valuable data successful

-investigation of reason for ship’s abandonment conducted

-no signs of external attack. Suspected internal conflict

-survivor found

-plans for extraditing survivor to nearest habitable colony delayed

Guilliman diverts his eyes from the information in his hands looks to the marine in front of him. He stands stoic and at attention, hands behind his back as he stares at Guilliman and awaits a response. The primarch gives him a momentary once over, looking at the condition of his armor and the look on his face.

He’s young, but not that young. His scars are somewhat minimal, mostly surface level; A helmet is locked onto his belt not far from a basic issue combat knife. A standard, by the books Ultramarine. Nothing particularly special.

“This… survivor; You found them.”

The marine nods. Damarion; Guilliman remembers the name from the report. He spoke on vox that he found a survivor amongst the derelict ship after hearing screaming he soon located the source of. He shifts his weight from one ceramite boot to the other.

“Yes. A serf.”

Guilliman tenses and loosens his jaw, continuing to watch the marine intently. He raises a hand and rubs his cheekbone. He supposes this is the sort of mess he gets bestowed with whenever he dares to muster a thought of being bored. Curse it all, he should've perished the thought before they set off.

“A singular serf? They managed to survive whatever happened on that ship? I was informed it looked like a battlefield.”

Damarion takes a step closer and his hands drop from behind his back, going into a slightly more casual pose as he begins to explain.

“It looked as if the crew formed two separate hierarchies and slowly killed each other off. The rest either escaped or perished somewhere else.” Guilliman hums. Seems sound enough. The Night Lords are far from unfamiliar in terms of infighting, and the idea of them slowly killing each other during a power vacuum is not one that he would blink much of an eye at.

"We were in the barracks hall, one of the quarters had been locked from the outside. I heard yelling from the interior." That was shortly before they managed to get inside, and presumably found a disheveled, hungry serf. Locked inside for safekeeping by the owner, Guilliman would presume.

“Alright. What is his name?”

Guilliman’s brow furrows in confusion when the marine becomes… Nervous.

He shuffles a bit and it makes his armor plates clank against each other, pursing his lips. He suddenly has a bit more trouble looking his own primarch in the eyes, shifting from side to side.

“She… Doesn’t have one.”

The look Guilliman gives him only further heightens the marine’s unease. The two look at each other at odds in a sort of standoff, but not from a personal conflict. Guilliman hadn't expected the serf to be female; Even if there wasn't much reason why he shouldn't. He prods for a bit more information that wasn't in the report.

“What do you mean she doesn't have one?”

The marine clears his throat awkwardly, habitually covering his face with an armored fist for a moment.

“She claims that she doesn’t remember it. That they gave her a new name when they took her for a serf.”

Guilliman raises his eyebrows; He supposes that along with whatever she's encountered, one might be forced to no longer use their own name, or forget it outright. It would be one of the milder things he’s heard in terms of the abuses that baselines face when under the ‘ownership’ of the Sons of Kurze. It seems serf might not be the correct term. Guilliman attempts to pry even further.

“And what was that?”

Damarion suddenly regains any nervousness he’d previously lost, and opens and closes his mouth not unlike a fish suffocating on a beach. It takes a moment before he actually begins speaking again.

“With all due respect My Lord, I cannot repeat it to you.”

Guilliman now grows multiple more layers of confusion, quickly growing frustrated with the roundabout way this conversation is going. Why will one of his men answer an extremely simple question?

“You can’t?” The young marine swallows thickly enough that Guilliman notices his change in demeanor. “And why not?” His brow furrows as well.

“It was, something related to her reproductive organs.”

Guilliman doesn't recoil, but disgust quickly paints his face. He knew that Curze’s sons lacked honor, but it seems the surprises are neverending. He never hears the end of their horrors and abuses against human life; If anything, they only seem to grow like some sort of malignancy.

“Very well.” Guilliman takes a habitual glance towards the datapad, despite the fact that he’s long since memorized the information contained on it for this particular excursion. “And you denied the process to have her transported to Macragge?” Damarion curtly nods once more and returns his hands behind his back into a proper formal stance.

“I wish to take her on as my own serf.”

Guilliman wants to rub his temples and sigh. This all is a mess- But at least it will be this marine’s mess now. As long as he isn’t having to continue dealing with this, then the primarch supposes there is no harm then just letting this young marine have away with it and forgetting this all has happened. If something inevitably goes awry, one of his captains will deal with it.

“Very well. I do not have the time to deal with a singular serf. if this is what you wish, by all means. Just keep her out of trouble.”

Damarion nods. He can work with that.

He hopes.

Leaving Guilliman's office with a respectful bow, the first thing he does is return to his own quarters- knowing you'll still be inside.

Half of the reason that he decided on taking you on as a serf was ever since finding you, you've latched to him incredibly hard. But at the same time, you're horribly frightened of him. It’s as if since he’s established he won’t immediately kill you, he’s proven to be the safest option. But the Night lords surely instilled a heavy, all-consuming fear of astartes in you, and everything about him down to his smell sets you off; It doesn't take much to send you cowering into the corner as if he is going to wring your neck.

You are now his serf, and he will expect a particular decorum from you, but the last thing he wants is for you to fear him.

When he enters his quarters he hears you jump, eyes wide with fear that only calms a bit when he's someone you recognize. The rag is tight in your grip, and it takes him to notice his quarters is immaculate in comparison to how he left it. Every corner is cleaned, the cot blankets are refolded and the floors are spotless. Your voice is still a bit scratchy when you speak.

“Hello Master.”

He winges a bit at the title. Lord was acceptable among the Ultramarines and commonly used by the serfs, but many preferred just their rank or family name. It was something they were used to being called. Master had a connotation to it that he wasn't fond of, particularly when coming from a sickly serf currently on her hands and knees cleaning the floor like a single spot found would spell her own demise.

“Get up off the floor.”

He gestures bluntly, wanting to get you off of sitting on the cold metal floor. You keep refusing to sit on anything else.

But instead of getting up you just cower, looking up at him worried as if you were about to get beaten into submission.

“I'm sorry, I cleaned everything and I didn't want to dirty it.”

The room is indeed spotless, he's surprised you managed to do so much in such a short amount of time. Not that there is much in his quarters to clean; Ultramarines tend to forgo trophies and excessive keeping of things that do not provide any worth to them. The room now reeks of harsh cleaning chemicals that burn his nostrils, and he notices the skin on your hands is inflamed. You've surely been in here this whole time, just toiling away. Damarion doesn't even remember a time you've left his quarters; You're far too frightened to do such a thing so soon after being brought back from the derelict vessel.

“You did fine. Now get up off the floor.”

You slowly rise up, fiddling with the front of your new clothes. Shrinking like you're prepared for a beating, Damarion feels a bit ill at the idea that such a thing was a regular occurrence for you. You still have bruises that he’s noticed already, ones so new that only recently had they begun to fade.

Wilting like a flower, your head lowered into your shoulders and your voice quiets enough that his ears need to prick up in order to hear it.

“I'm so sorry, I'm just a stupid-” He groans and raises his own voice, cutting you off.

“Quiet with that woman, you're fine. Just sit on the cot.”

You suddenly begin look at him like he just asked you to dance. Your eyes dart around his face, and he feels as if you’re checking to see if he’s laid out a trap for you. Not being taken for his word is aggravating him, but he holds it in.

“What? But that's yours…”

Quickly reaching his wits end, he attempts to find more rope in it anyhow and hold strong. Had you been anyone else he would’ve long since pushed you off, but he just…

He can't get visibly upset. The last time he did you cowered like he was going to kill you, and he would rather not see that again. He doesn’t like the feeling of fear like that; From assuming his so monstrous that he would crush you simply for annoying him.

He put this on himself. He supposes this is his punishment for his impulsivity.

“Yes it is, but you can sit on it. Were you only allowed on the floor?”

You nod. He should’ve assumed as such. What callous tyrant would beat his serf within an inch of their life enough times that they now cower in fear at any astartes, with the wounds to prove it, but allow them to sit on his cot? Much to his surprise, your voice raises a bit and you provide a bit of context to your odd behavior.

“My master only let me onto the cot when he wanted to use me.”

Damarion resists the slightly hot feeling in his mouth at such a casual admittance. Use you… the implication was easy to understand. You look at him blankly unaffected by such a thing, before skittering to sit on the edge of the cot.

“Is that what you want from me?”

He sees you reach for your the top of your robes and start to undo it, and jolts towards you before he can fully register the affect of such a quick motion. It causes you to skitter backwards in fear; Your clothes are partly undone and bunch awkwardly.

A pair of marines passes by his open door during this, seeing him reaching for a serf cowered in fear and attempting to undress herself.

“Do not-!”

He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. He attempts to remember his training, remember the many times his superiors told him to keep hold of his temper as he straightens up.

The marines pass. He knows he'll be hearing from his superiors about this. He’s already gotten in trouble enough times, whats another he supposes.

“Do not do that again. There is no need to undress yourself.”

He's going to need to somehow get a second cot. Or by Terra, at least a blanket for you to lay on. He would feel like a monster for making a sad, beaten serf sleep on the cold metal floor.

The other serfs might be able to get you something, perhaps.

Going near the serfs quarters had been an odd affair for him; He's never seen the place. When he ordered what he wanted done, it hadn't taken long for someone to inquire about the reason.

“You are the one with the serf from the Night Lords ship?"

He didn't confirm or deny it- he had no desire to do such a thing to a random serf. Though the confirmation that the news is spreading is, abit concerning.

Of all the things he would be known for, it wouldn't be his valor it would be for his...

Wrapped tightly in the tattered remains of your robes he carries you cradled in one arm- the other holds his bolter. He doesn't look down at you, and simply continues forward as he follows his squad. They all look at him curiously.

...Moment of impulsivity.

Satisfied with this success, Damarion goes to have his armor removed. This mission was the last of his current rotation, so he's due to be removed. It's a long process, and doing so gives him plenty of time to think. The mechanicum that begin the process pay no mind to his unfocused eyes, his body going through the habitual motions as piece after piece is taken from him.

He regrets doing this. Taking you.

You would do better tossed in with the other serfs. His eyes stare of at nothing as he feels the electrical jolts of his armour disconnecting from his armouring suit. For a brief second it feels like he's missing a part of him, but that feeling fades after a moment each piece is removed.

They always said he had a temper. Was impulsive; Too brash for an Ultramarine. He made a split second decision to the Primarch himself and now there's no way he can go back.

You'll settle with time.

Baselines might not be as stoic as them, but you're flexible, adjustable. And this ship will surely prove more pleasing than whatever it was like with the Night Lords. It won't be long until you begin to behave normally. Like a frightened animal, you just need a bit to realize you're safe.

You had acted surprised when he had lights in his quarters, and whenever he returns to you, he finds them off. He's seen you squint almost as if your eyes hurt because of the lights, and Damarion assumes you spent much of your time in at pitch black.

He makes a discontented sigh at no one in particular once his armouring suit is peeled from him and detaches from his ports. His skin almost feels odd now that it touches the stagnant air, and that brief, uncomfortable feeling of now being out of his armor lingers for a few minutes before it fades. What remains however, is his desire for a shower. The stench of him is now unsealed and he wants for not much more than to not stink like a sewer. That becomes his first order of business once the Mechanicum are finished.

Once he is clean and covered in his casual linens, he returns to his quarters to see you sitting on the ground again, and the spare bedding he had requested is sitting folded on his cot. You seem to have made no attempt to touch them, and if anything, you seem to be actively avoiding even looking at them. He gestures vaguely.

“...They are for you.”

The way your voice pitches when you look at him gives him an odd feeling.

“Really?”

You hesitate grabbing them for a moment after he nods, before you finally pull them off his cot and make almost a sort of nest on the floor. He watches for a moment out of just sheer curiosity, before throwing his weight onto his cot.

He is able to slow his own brain instantly and soon after fall asleep, though unbeknownst to him you stay awake for a good bit longer. You watch him intently to make sure he's really asleep, fiddling in the corner on your blanket. The idea of sleeping in the same room is still unsettling. The dim candles that are lit provide just enough light to see most things, but not strain your eyes.

Only once you know he's asleep, do you attempt to get some sleep yourself. The fear still remains, an astartes is in here your body is tight like a spring, but eventually the fatigue takes over and everything finally goes black.

[passionofthesith]

no other life but ours

→ sevatar x reader (she/her) → 3.8k, nsfw 18+ → during...pre...heresy? before thramas, remembering his old friend that he definitely didn't love. key word devotion

“Don’t forget me,” he whispers onto your lips, swollen from his erratic movements earlier, dried out from his own touch. It feels pitiful as you squirm beneath him, enthralled by his movements, growing used to the pain and the stretch of his altered body. He almost growls as he feels you rock your body into his. “Don’t… forget this.” 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

He felt nothing.

Or at least, that was the lie he told himself. 

The air inside the Nightfall is stale. Heavy. The scent of old blood and engine oil suffocates every sense. And yet, something else seeps through the cracks of reality. Memory drags him back—back to a time before war, before fate. 

He leans against the bulkhead, arms folded and held discarded at his feet. Through the smallest slit of void glass, he sees the abyss of the universe behind them, any light swallowed by the eventual darkness in its path. The only reason they shone still was that no one had destroyed them—yet. 

He hated looking at them, yet his eyes were fixed on them. They mocked him. Remind him of the home he once had. The life that he lost. The light he had destroyed. 

He thinks of you. For a moment his eyes become unfocused, the hum of the engine taking over as his mind drifts. Time had blessed him with enough of a pause for one memory to come back to him.  

“Another fight?” You had asked him, looking across to him with a frown. He had been too interested in the stars then, wondering what the vast expanse of the universe had to offer. He’d ignored how you were so fervent in your movements, rushing to his side when you realised his cheek was bleeding. He’d only looked down to you when you spoke again. “Do you not care?”

He'd laughed at you then. Asked you candidly, “why would I care?”

You’d traced your fingers over the cut, so soft he could barely feel it. His blood was cleaned up and you’d applied something to the wound that meant it stung a little less. He’d watched you, examined every movement you made, and still at that time he had lost to his own stubbornness and nihilism. 

“Because I care,” you’d answered. It wasn’t something he didn’t already know. Every time you’d say the same thing, and he’d look the other way and pretend to himself that his feelings were weakness. This time, you’d taken it further. “You fight like you have nothing to lose.”

He remembers the smog that covered the streets. How he’d almost choked on the dust and grease that lined the air as he’d fought with a man over something completely irrelevant. The rooftop he usually found you on was the smallest escape from that. No matter what he did, no matter how he felt, he had always found himself walking up the metal grated stairs to the side of the building, knowing you’d be at the top waiting. 

Yet, he had the audacity to tell you what he honestly thought, “maybe I don’t have anything to lose.”

“You do,” you had answered him. He should have known it then. He should have realised. He should have listened. 

Because the truth was, he hadn’t killed a man over something irrelevant. He’d killed a predator out of fear that you’d be a victim. He’d almost ran all the way back here in fear that he wouldn’t find you here. When he’d found you, he felt relief. He felt… weakness. 

Purpose. Peace. Devotion.

A conversation behind him distracts him momentarily. He looks back over his shoulder, but nothing catches his eye. He can’t bring himself away from the pointless memories flooding his mind. He tries, so desperately, to not think about the past. This had been bred out of him. He had been built to not feel. Yet he did, because he remembered everything he had felt before – but he only now understood it. The purpose of protecting you. The peace of knowing you were there. How he had once devoted himself to you. 

Beneath the plates of his armour, in the middle of his forearm, was an old, hidden scar that was barely visible without prior knowledge. He hadn’t seen it, or thought about it even, in years. It wasn’t one from his time in the legion, nor one from a fight on the streets of Nostramo. It was from you. 

He knew he was leaving, ready to begin his training as a scout in the legion. He was older than the others when selected for the process, so he had more time than expected. He wasn’t sure if you understood properly that he was leaving, that you were unlikely to see him again. You’d stayed with him, you’d never wanted to leave. 

He shuts his eyes for a moment. He revels in the brightness that comes back to him. The familiar scent of the smog replaces the blood and fuel. Your laugh, like a church bell in a village. 

He’s back on Nostramo in a second. The air, thick with smoke and burnt metal. The stars ever-present above. 

“I won’t return here to see you have fallen to one of those common street scum,” Jago says, picking a black handled and bladed knife from the canvas roll bag left on the edge of the rooftop. He holds in by the blade, careful in his movements as he passes it to you. “You will need to protect yourself.”

You raise an eyebrow, not yet taking the knife from him. “I already do that.”

“Perhaps.” He hadn’t yet revealed the true reason she was kept safe from the cruel world Nostramo had to offer. “I would… feel better knowing you had learned something from me, though.”

You nod, taking the knife from him and holding it loosely in your hand. The knife felt cool in your palm, the black handle worn smooth from use. The weight of it was foreign, but his eyes—watchful, measuring—urged you to hold it tighter. 

“A good start would be to hold it tight,” he says. You look from him, down to the knife, and back to him with a slight smile, adjusting your grip so it is somewhat tighter in your hand. He tries his best to hide his amusement in return. “That will have to work. Keep that one with you. When you go out at night, when you return from work or whatever keeps you busy, you hold that in your hands in your pocket and you prepare to pull it on anyone who comes within a foot of you. Understood?”

You nod once. 

“Aim for the lower arms, or their thighs, anywhere with a major artery or somewhere they hurts. You know what people are like down there. They care little for you, or even themselves.” He demonstrates the slashing of the knife with an empty hand, gesturing for you to copy. Though your actions seem feeble compared to his, he doesn’t comment. “Try it on me.”

“No,” you tell him, “I’ll be fine. I’m not going to end up harming you because of your irrational fears.”

He hums. “They are not irrational, and you wouldn’t be fine in any situation.”

“I will be fine,” you tell him again, reasserting your position. 

“You will be killed.” His words are the truth he knows. He moves towards you, stopping a couple of feet away, arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t need to harm me. Just try it.”

Though you don’t appear happy to oblige, there really isn’t another option for you. You haphazardly copy some of his actions, little effort behind his movement, making sure to keep your distance from him. Of course, that meant your movements were poorly timed and executed with little precision – something he noticed immediately. 

“At the very least, the birds and the cats will be scared of you,” he remarks, holding his hand up for you to stop. He grasps your wrists with both his hands and moves you to a better position, one much closer to him but appearing far stronger. “Again, but like I’m a human, not a small animal.”

You nod again this time, copying the motions with more precision. Feeling more confidence, you had move ever so closer to him, but as quickly as that feeling came it was gone. He had barely felt the slice of the knife across his forearm, breaking the skin but barely cutting him deeply. He wouldn’t have reacted, if not for you panicking and ushering him apologies over and over. 

He had tried to tell you it was fine, but you didn’t let him get a word out. You ripped the bottom of your top, which was the closest you had to any kind of bandage, rolling it into a ball and holding it against the wound as you told him sorry a few more times for good measure. He didn’t care. He was only glad to see you could protect yourself.

As you hold the ripped piece of your clothing against his arm, trying your best to save him from any unnecessary blood loss, he can’t help the quiet stare aimed down at you. He’d felt your fingers on him a thousand times before, rushing to help him with a wound he’d got on the streets. Yet he could feel something different building behind each movement. 

“I’m…” you look up to him with wide eyes, lips slightly gapped as words fail you. He offers you a small smile as he shakes his head, trying to pull his arm away. You don’t let him though. You never let him. “Let me help.”

“I’m fine,” he tells you, honestly, though doesn’t pull his arm back again this time. He lets you inspect the wound, small as it may be, and press the clothe into it some more. “When someone actually becomes a threat to you, do the same, but actually hurt them.”

“That didn’t hurt?”

He shakes his head. “No. You can’t hurt me.”

You look back to him, slower this time. Your hands stop working around his arm, the slight stinging from the cut ceasing as well. Though he hadn’t thought of it, the implied meaning of his words had caught you off guard. 

“Will you come back?” you ask. 

He pauses for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to come back?”

“To Nostramo?” he asks, recalling the number of times he had told you how badly he wished to leave and explore what the galaxy had to offer. The answer was no – but that wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “Or, to you?”

You pause. Your gaze shifts down to the ground. For years, it had been a silent acknowledgement. He wasn’t sure if you had hidden your feelings because of him, or his future, or whether they only existed for him. The longer you waited to answer him, the more he felt like it was the latter, until you looked back up to him and placed your hand gently over his chest. 

“To me,” you affirm, “would you come back for me?”

For a moment, he doesn’t think. He lets his body, his heart, take over any action there was left in him. He leans down to you, stopping only millimetres away, as the sound of his heartbeat filling his ears. Any last sentiment of restraint disappears in seconds. 

He presses his lips to yours, heart throbbing, thoughts still leaving him. The hand on his chest is pressed a bit harder, the tips of your fingers pulling at the fabric which covers his skin. His hand, so much bigger than your own, reaches up to up your cheek, holding you tightly against him as though to tell you the answer to your question. Forgotten is his arm, the cut, what had happened – all the existed was you. 

He can barely feel you through his calloused fingers, but the warmth is unlike anything the world could otherwise offer him. After a moment, he pulls back from you, your breath hitting his skin as another reminder as to what you meant to him. He still holds you, too tight for someone who claimed not to care, but soft enough to show you his despair.  

There’s no other meaning behind his movements. The recklessness at his fingertips as he pulls you back to him and kisses you once more. This time, he holds you with both his hands. Forgotten is your apology, or the world around you both. He acts on impulse. Desperation. 

“Jago—”

“Don’t,” he tells you, lips ghostin your own. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine. Your hand still grips his top, almost willing it off his body. The other hovers over the waistband of his trousers. “Tell me to stop. Tell me.”

You shake your head. “No. Not now.”

“Good.”

His breath was warm against your skin, each exhale laced with a hesitation he refused to voice. His hands, calloused from years of combat, explored with surprising reverence—an unspoken prayer written in touch. The universe outside ceased to exist, the endless abyss forgotten in the feverish need between you both.

He wasn’t even sure how it had escalated. One moment, a breath shared between you. The next, hands roaming, cloth discarded, the heat of skin against skin branding itself into memory. The smaller moments had been wiped from his mind by time—but not the way you had looked at him, as though he had been something worth holding onto.

He’d run his hands over your body, feeling the curves of your bones beneath the tips of his fingers, watching as you shivered in anticipation from the way he hovered over your nipples. He’d seen women before. But you were different. H wanted to understand every inch of you. As time passed, he only remembered you for the statues held on terra of an old world that worshipped women as the most beautiful pieces of art. 

And then you were on the floor, and he was about to have his way with you. 

It didn’t seem to matter that the floor was covered in stones, ash, and chips of cement. You ignored it for him. 

Somewhere below, the streets of Nostramo carried on in their endless cycle of blood and ruin. The distant shouts, the clang of metal on metal—it all faded into nothing. Up here, on this rooftop, there was only him. Only you. Only the desperate press of bodies and the silent, wordless promise that neither of you could speak.

His fingers curl around the band of your own pants, underwear too, pulling them over your hips and dragged down your thighs with little care for the burn it leaves in its wake. He can feel you watching him, though he never looks up to you. He edges your legs apart, estranged movements catching you off guard. His frantic, primal movements were not typical of the man he had been trained to be. 

He can feel you wither beneath him. A stolen glance as he looks up to you reveals the most innocent eyes; the keenest of lips. He spares any pleasantries. Two fingers part your lips, already slick with need, before stopping on the nub. He flicks it once, twice, exulting in the whimper that leaves your lips. He feels a smirk rising on his lips, though it lasts only a matter of seconds – his hunger, desire, had taken over. 

“Shall I stop?” he says, moving closer to your core. You shake your head, softly telling him no as you practically hand yourself to him. He doesn’t need a second confirmation. 

He lays his rough, cracked lips on the inner of your thigh savouring the taste of flesh that remained untainted. He feels you move beneath him and brings his hand to your thigh to keep you still. Just a taste, he wanted. Just to know what it was like before everything changed. 

“Please,” he hears from above, faltering his concentration momentarily. He looks up once more. “Jago. Plea—.” 

He wouldn’t have made you beg. That wasn’t him. Not with you. 

His tongue feels so hot against you, so big. One lap is all it takes to have your back arching, his tongue flat against you, then pointed directly over your nerves. He wonders, he fucking wonders, why he hadn’t ever done this before. He was controlled, he was patient, but throne it was more than anything he had ever seen before to have you falling apart at his fingers. 

It wasn’t practice. There was nothing that prepared him for this. It was sheer instinct. Need. He wanted to hear you cry for him, whine, moan his name over and over. 

Nothing is skilful about what he does, nothing even makes sense. He treats it like a kiss, though eating you out is nothing more than savouring the taste of someone he… loved. 

He hears you whine as he pulls away, his lips glistening with your wetness. His sinful eyes meet yours, darker than before, and its like he had killed a man for this first time again. But now, it was not death, it was something far more meaningful. 

“I want to come back,” he says as he picks up your thighs. He pulls them over his shoulders, so your sex is right beneath his face. He leans down for another taste and feels his own hips twitch as you cry from the vibrations of his words. “I want to come back to you.”

He feels your hips tighten around his head, impatient to his touch. He felt sloppy. Imprecise. His tongue had lost any direction, he just wanted everything you could give him. He corrects his earlier words without missing a drop. “For you.”

He pulls away a moment later. He can hear the disappointment in the breath you take, eyes searching for his to discover why he had stopped. Why had he left this so long. Why had he waited until now.

“I need more,” he tells you, honestly. You rush to nod, allowing him to set you down on the ground with your legs still parted for him. He hastily unbuttons his trousers, not caring to remove them, only pushing them down far enough to not interfere. His yearning couldn’t be hidden. He kneels between your legs like its his god-given right. “More. I need…”

The words never come to him. You’d opened your legs just a bit wider, flashed him the eyes that had brought him here, and he had forgotten everything else he wanted to say. He doesn’t even think to prepare you. He forgets how much bigger he is now. He just wants. 

A choked whine leaves your lips with as he enters you. His cock pulses, begging for sensation, but he stops at just the tip. He cared, he didn’t want to hurt you. Yet he could only wait a second before the rest of him is shared.

He can feel your body seize beneath him, unable to move; not wanting to move. Your eyes are shut, embracing how all of him feels. Goosebumps travel down your skin, and though you suppress the shiver across your body, he feels you clench around him, and it makes him fall to his arms above you. 

He holds himself on one hand as the other finds your own. He almost pins you down, entwining his fingers with your own as he pulls his hips back and drives his cock into you again, quicker this time, more forceful. 

“Don’t forget me,” he whispers onto your lips, swollen from his erratic movements earlier, dried out from his own touch. It feels pitiful as you squirm beneath him, enthralled by his movements, growing used to the pain and the stretch of his altered body. He almost growls as he feels you rock your body into his. “Don’t… forget this.” 

It was never meant to be kind. Throne, he wishes he’d have taken the time to tell you just how much he loved you, but he never knew himself. In that moment, he just wanted to feel you, to not forget you, to hold onto a memory for the rest of his life. 

And he did. 

He felt the throbbing in the pit of his stomach. The way your breaths barely made it to the surface before another game. Just the galaxy surrounded you both. Just you, Jago, and the stars. 

He had felt your body clench onto him, hold onto him as you released every second of tension and feeling gathered over the years together. But it was the way you moaned. His name, or possibly just a sound – he had always told himself it was the final time he had heard you utter his name.  

A pathetic whimper leaves his lips as he feels his own cock twitch, spilling his own warmth into you. He didn’t move, keeping himself buried in your deepest parts, staring down at you with absent and longing eyes. 

Not another word was said. 

He’d considered it. Thought about telling you, revealing to you that this was more than just friendship. Protection. He didn’t just want to do this because it happened. It wasn’t natural course of events. 

But he had hesitated, and he’d thought about it for too long. There was no more talking. No more feelings. 

You both laid there, the stones, ash and chips of concrete grating both of your backs as you laid on the rooftop, looking at the stars above. The wide expansive universe that he wanted to explore so desperately. The light of the stars yet to be destroyed. The abyss of the darkness behind. 

He was meant to forget. You. The moment. He was never meant to think of it again. The morning had come and taken him to his new life. 

Yet, as he stared through the slit of void glass into the abyss, he remembered it all. 

“Daydreaming, First Captain?” a voice interrupts. It brings Sevatar back to reality, the cold edges of the voice ringing in his ears. He looks around at his brother, though pays little attention. “You’ve been requested at the bridge.”

He only nods in response. 

The thoughts are shaken from his head. He didn’t need to remember. He didn’t even need to care. Not about the moment, or about you. So many years had passed, death would have come for you by now, if not another citizen of the home you once shared. He’d asked you to not forget, him, the moment you had shared, but he did not doubt you had moved on. Found a new person to clean up, to cherish, to love. 

But he did not forget. 

He never moved on. Never found another. The Legion was his life, his father was his ruler, the Emperor his distant god. And as he stood there, staring into the abyss, he knew—he would never stop looking for you in the spaces between the stars.

He did not feel for them. He did not need to be mocked by the stars as a reminder of what could have been. A reminder of his hesitation, of his failure to acknowledge just what it meant. 

He felt everything. 

✧.✧

a/n: oh yes baby I wrote it!! i have been thinking about this man for days. i offered to buy my boyfriend night lords armour. think i'm a bit unhinged but ITS DONE BABY. hope you liked it!! I will post more x you instead of OCs as sometimes I get a bit lost in my dreams (promise) 🖤💙

[passionofthesith]

I will never not reblog this beautiful man

Illumination

Hey, so I've not posted in a few days because of the very limited electricity availability we have in Kyiv due to r****an shelling of our power plants, AND the massive heat wave over Europe on top of that. The other day I only had 4 hours of electricity available out of 24. Of course I have to be ironic about it and post this artwork from 2021, called "Illumination". (I'm cringe, but I'm free). This was inspired by The Long Night by Aaron Dembski-Bowden, one of my all time favourite pieces of Horus Heresy literature, though I especially recommend it as an audio drama, which I believe was it's originally intended format. So there you go, our boi Jago, he's naked, bright light is hurting his sensitive little eyes, bon appétit.

[passionofthesith]

Marine Meat Monday: Alastor Rushal and Jago Sevatarion and their fucked up power dynamic. Again.

[passionofthesith]

The Sacrifice of Sanguinius

[passionofthesith]

Reader: I'm sorry that you're forced to accompany me on this diplomatic mission, but my husband was adamant about being followed by some of his sons…

Titus: My Lady, this will be an honor for us.

Chairon: To know that we were chosen by the Primarch himself!

Gadriel: *Secretly very, very happy to be there.* It is better to move forward, my lady. We don't want to make you wait.

Reader: Oh wait, Lord Calgr had informed me that this was supposed to be a four-man mission?

Titus: Our missing brother must be on his—

very soundly stomps in the distance

Malum Caedo: TITUUUUUUS! WE'LL WORK TOGETHER AT LAAAAAAAAAAAAST!

[passionofthesith]

I don’t know who is responsible for this masterpiece of Konrad Curze- if anyone knows please, I beg of you, please tell me. It does things to me. I would like to think this is pre- destruction of Nostramo. He looks relatively healthy and with a grip on his sanity. He’s beautiful is he not…

[passionofthesith]

Entombed

Reader x blood angel (Kezellon/ Cassor)

Summary: encased in ceramite and steel, the loss of your warmth drives an angel to despair

Tw: angst, canon typical violence

A/N: not proof read as always

Spoiler warning- expert taken from deathstorm.

Tags:Tags: @beckyninja @moodymisty @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lemon-russ @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst @kit-williams @iluminatka16 @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @bookandyarndragon @thisuserislilsilly

"You're very funny"

Your voice was breathy as you stifled a laugh, your hands pressed softly to your lips as your cheeks flushed.

"well I have been told that before" the astartes purred, leaning towards you with bright eyes. Sitting bare chested on the edge of his bunk, He ran a scarred hand through his short crop of blonde hair as he watched you buff a stain from his crimson pauldron.

"hmm, in that case I shouldn't mention it again. It might go to your head captain"

His grin spread as you hummed, his blue eyes sparkling as he propped his elbows on his knees. The bed creaking slightly beneath his mass as he moved.

"Oh come now, when has anything ever gone to my head"

"Kez, please. Everything goes to your head"

"I could simply order you too"

You paused, eyeing the blood angel as he continued to smirk at you. With a sigh you tossed your rag to the side and rose to your feet, clutching your hands together as you stepped towards him.

"Oh captain Kezellon! masterful Kezellon! The finest captain to have graced the second company, nay! The imperium!"

You collapsed into laughter as he grabbed your waist, heat from his body mixing with the cold bit of connection ports as he pulled you flush to his chest.

"that's quite enough of that" he snorted, nosing your hair.

"Oh captain, my beloved captain" you cooed, falling into his arms like a damsel, closing your eyes and placing the back of your hand to your forehead in a fainting motion.

"Alright alright. The men will wonder what im doing to you if you don't settle"

Opening a single eye, you sniggered. "I'm sure they're already aware of exactly what happens in here, you're not exactly quiet when i-"

You squeaked as he flipped you in his arms, laying you flat against the mattress as he leant over you, propped up on his forearms.

"you're one to talk, I seem to remember you being quite vocal when i-"

He cut himself off with a warm kiss against your neck as his palm splayed across your thigh, hot even through the cotton trousers.

"Kez" you gripped his face, pulling his lips up to yours as you combed your fingers across the rough stubble on his cheek. "You need a shave" you whispered against his lips. "You make planet fall in 4 hour"

"do you want me to stop?"

A soft sigh and your fingers dancing along the muscle and sinew of his pecs was the only answer he needed as he held you close, tasting you like it was his last night alive.

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"Captain Kezellon: 2nd company prepped for deployment. Awaiting your presence in hanger bay 5, thunder hawk alpha 5 5 7 2"

The tinny voice crackled through the speaker as you fastened the scarlet cape to the captain's shoulders, running your hands over the rough fabric before letting it flutter down.

Rising to his feet, Kezellon turned, looking down at you. Resplendent in thick armour of scarlet and gold with his blade and bolter fastened to his hip, you admired him for a second before nodding.

"All set"

"Walk with me?"

You hurried after him as he headed towards the hanger, jogging to keep up with his long strides. Around you the bay bustled with activity, astartes hunkering into the bellies of storm birds, hefting huge artillery shells and testing the sights of glowing plasma rifles.

You came to a halt as you reached the 2nd chapters bird, his squad already loading up as he approached.

"We feared you would miss the fight captain" one shouted, his voice broken and metallic through his helmet.

"Why? Hoping you could claim the glory?" Kezellon laughed back, clapping his brother's shoulder.

"This is a simple fight" he continued "elder incursions. We land, take them out and be back in time for your next sleep cycle, I know you like your beauty rest Gallus"

Gallus turned to him, a huge scar marking his once handsome face, ending at the point where a metal optic fused to his skull.

"I'm plenty handsome captain, I think you're the one who wants to get back to bed" he mused, nodding at you.

Your cheeks flushed as his squad laughed. Gently cursing at the sniper in low Gothic, you stuck your tongue out at him before looking back to the captain. His own face was creased as he laughed and placed a weighty hand on your shoulder, glancing down at you softly.

"Mount up brothers, the assault begins."

You stared as his men loaded into the thunder hawk, placing guns and chainblades between their legs as they took their seats.

"I'll be back soon"

His voice was soft and low, meant only for your ears as he watched you, his helmet clutched tightly between your fingers.

"I know"

With a deep breath, you plastered a smile on your face and stepped towards him, magnetizing the helm to his thigh.

"please be safe"

He nodded. "I always am"

Tears pricked your eyes as he stepped up the ramp, hanging on to walls as the jets ignited.

"Don't worry little serf, we'll look after him"

You waved as the door to the thunder hawk slowly sealed. The engine roared and they were gone.

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Claxons and shouting filled the air, flashing red lights pulsing in your vision as you raced through the ships halls weaving between serf and Marines alike.

Your lungs screamed for air as you ran through the astartes quarters, checking room after room in a blur until you saw anyone you recognized.

"Gallus? Gallus!"

The marine turned, his brothers pausing with him as he stopped. The brothers were splattered with gore and crystalized xenos blood, dents and gashes rent their armour in a dozen places.

"My lord, forgive me" you panted, skidding to a stop. "But please, where is ke- Where is captain Kezellon?

The marine stared at you for a moment as his brothers shared uneasy glances.

"He was wounded in the fight."

You heart stopped, darkness crowding your vision as you staggered.

"What? Is he ok?"

Another pregnant pause before he answered.

"He isn't dead"

You sunk to the floor sobbing. He's not dead, he's alive, he's ok. A million emotions flooded you as you clung to his words.

A bloodied hand gripped your shoulder and you looked up.

"We will send for you when he is settled. Return to his quarters for now"

With a nod you clambered to your feet, rubbing away streaming tears as you stumbled back towards kezellons room"

"you should have told them the truth"

Gallus shook his head.

"No. It is a bitter pill to swallow. Let them dream for a little longer"

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"Kez"

Silence

"Kezellon?"

You stood in the dark of a sepulchre the scent of burned promethium and astartes sweat still hung rancid in the air along with something new and unfamiliar. Welded ceramite, melted plasteel and incense, mingled with sacred oils and unguents

The hulking mass of metal stood in the center, silent and proud it was adorned in holy Scripture and blessed seals of wax.

You stared up at the thin slit in the face plate of the dreadnought, peering through the gloom for any sign of life.

"Are you there, Kez?"

The silence was deafening, wigging heavy on your shoulders as you slumped to your knees with a muffled whimper.

"li-ttttt-le ooonnne"

The groan of gears and whine of servos accompanied a voice you almost recognized. Blinking up through wet lashes, you watched as an optical sensor whirred and span, landing on you with a click click click.

"Kezellon, is that you?"

"You---- are------ hee--re--"

"yes, I'm here" climbing to your feet, you shuffled forward, dragging your fingers along the rough carved metal of the chassis. The faint grinding and hiss of a piston as his arm moved, a sword sized talon spinning for a moment before slowing and tracing a line with surprising softness across your cheek.

"Yo---oou caaa--aaa--mme for me-ee"

Tears flowed freely as you listened to the faint wheezing of the sarcophagus embedded in the metal tomb, the hum of electric almost drowning it out.

"Yes, yes I came Kez, I'm still here"

"M---y vvv-ooi-ce"

"The tech priests said it would come back soon"

The dreadnoughts optic flashed green, buzzing as it zoomed in on your wet face.

"I aaaa---mmm---- noott the saa--ame"

"I know, it's ok, you're still here"

"I still serr---rve"

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Over time it grew a little easier.

Every day was a little easier.

It warmed you to witness his brothers visiting his holy sepulchre.

"A true honour" they chimed "A fate only for heroes"

But it was still of little comfort.

At night, when the small room was empty and the litanies of preservation had long been changed and fallen silent, you would sneak in, seating yourself at the collosus' feet.

Tonight you watched amused as his dagger like claws neatly sliced and apple into perfect equal segments. You popped a piece in your mouth, before asking:

"Can you... Feel anything?"

The faint sound of grinding gears and you realized he was laughing.

"I can. I can feel everything more acutely than when I was-" he chewed the last word "Alive"

You reached up, tracing your fingers along the underside of the crimson hull, following a faint, intricate knot of cravings.

"So you can feel that?"

"intimately"

You snorted, pressing your forehead against massive clawed leg.

"But it's not the same"

Sadness tainted his voice.

"I feel it, even the smallest whisper of your breath, but it's not the same"

There was an odd noise echoing through the machine, it set your nerves on edge and made your chest ache.

"It's not the same as holding you"

You stepped out from your seat beneath him, allowing his camera to capture your face in its lense.

"If I had known. If I had known that night was our last-"

"I know"

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"I've been assigned to a new astartes"

"hmmm"

You kept your eyes fixed to the ground, scuffing the front of your foot against the floor as you spoke.

"His name is Ephrael. He's been very kind to me. He knows I come visit you and said he will make sure to keep my evening as free as possible"

"little one"

"And I don't want you to think anything will happen between us, because it won't and i-"

"little one"

His voice echoed from his speakers, halting you mid sentence.

"I will be sleeping soon"

"What?"

The dreadnought took a step forward, the ground shuddering as his axles groaned.

"I will be sent to rest, until the next time they need me"

"I...I won't be able to talk to you?"

"no"

Through the static green of his lens, Kez could see the tears pricking at your eyes.

"For how long?"

"I don't know"

Whatever heart the dreadnought had left fractures as you pressed your face against the cool ceramite of his arm.

"This will be our last night. All over again"

"I am sorry, little one"

"It's ok, I'll wait for you."

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"Dreadnought Kezellon, join us honoured brother. Sate your rage against the heretics and aid our cause"

Kezellon optics whirred to life and gears began spinning as he shook the drowsiness from his frame.

"How long" he croaked, voice hoarse from disuse.

The helmed astartes looked up at him from where he knelt.

"My lord?"

"how long have I been asleep"

"5 years, my lord."

Only 5. You would still be alive

"Where is my serf" he wheezed, spinning his bladed hand and warming his cannon.

"they're gone"

His camera spun to the new voice, a familiar voice.

"Gallus?"

The 2nd company marine stepped forward, the same scar still straining his face.

"Ephrael succumbed to his thirst. We found them in his quarters. Your serf didn't make it"

He stepped towards the door, frowning over his shoulder.

"I am sorry, brother"

The kneeling astartes clambered to his feet as the dreadnought stepped forward. Silent rage and grief fueling his steps.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

"lead me to the slaughter, brother. That I might slake my rage"

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.Karlaen could smell the incipient blood-lust in the other Blood Angel’s sweat, and see it building in his eyes. He hesitated, wondering if he should order the sergeant to step back. Would that stop him? Would he listen? Or was he already too far gone? 

Before the question could be answered, something black smashed into the charging carnifex from the side and sent it slewing through a column. The carnifex rolled to its feet in a cloud of dust, but its attacker was on it before it could move. Metal talons, each as long as a sword blade, flashed out, carving bloody tracks in the carnifex’s flesh. The alien reared back, screaming in rage. Its cry was answered by its opponent. 

‘Come, traitor. Come to Cassor. Come and fight, come and die, but come all the same,’ the vox-speakers mounted in the Dreadnought’s hull crackled. ‘Come and meet thy doom, dogs of abomination. Come and feel the angel’s wrath, curs of Angron. Come screaming or in silence, but come so that Cassor might lay thy hearts at Sanguinius’s feet. The walls of the Palace stand, the Eternity Gate remains barred and Cassor will break thy crooked spines across his knee.’ 

The Dreadnought, hull painted black and daubed in red, set itself as the carnifex charged towards it. The talons mounted on the ends of the piston-like arms rotated and flexed. Then one rose, revealing a storm bolter mounted beneath the claw. The storm bolter spat, and the carnifex shuddered as its already abused flesh received new punishment. It crashed into the Dreadnought and drove it back into a statue. The Dreadnought shrugged off the blow and rammed itself into the carnifex’s gut, lifting the beast into the air momentarily before smashing it down onto the ground. 

‘By the wings of the Angel, it’s Cassor,’ Alphaeus breathed as he watched the battle unfold before them. Karlaen did not ask him how he recognised the Dreadnought, for there was only one Cassor. 

Cassor the Chained, Cassor the Mad, Cassor the Damned – whatever name he was known by, he had been one of the greatest warriors ever produced by the Blood Angels, even before he had been interred in a Dreadnought sarcophagus, to rise and fight again after his death on some far-flung battlefield.

He was also a warning, a testament to the dark truth that even the dead were not truly safe from the curse which afflicted the Sons of Sanguinius. For almost three centuries after his death, Cassor had served the Blood Angels from the war machine’s sarcophagus, until that final, fateful day at Lowfang. In the early hours of the battle, his mind had shattered, though no one could say why.

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Gone. gone.gone.

Youre gone

And I am all alone.

Your laugh echoed in his mind as he drove his talons into the xenos' throat.

Gone. Gone. Gone

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Louis Dante read through the list of the honourable dead, sighing with each name he recognized.

"cassor?"

His guard nodded.

"The damned one has finally fallen"

Dante scratches his chin before picking up a quill and scribbling out the name.

"Before he was Cassor, he had a name. I would return that to him."

On the parchment scrawled in thin red ink:

Kezellon. Captain on the 2nd company.

[passionofthesith]

Hello there, I know it was a commentary, but nevertheless:

Continuation of "Fitful dance": One of Emperor's sons (Sanguinius) went near his quarters and palmed his mouth to not make a sound because he accidentally saw the fckd up shit Emps did to his “wife” and how she scratched him with her nails to make him feel at least some discomfort when he had her under him(add smut in this scene). And he don’t know whether to tell his brothers or try to help his mother-in-law all by himself. In the end he decided to tell Horus and Guilliman and they had to calm their winged brother because he was shaking so much of what he saw

“Man, you be cookin’. I also really appreciate y’all’s patience. Also, pc is being weird.” - Ichor

Summary - “Sanguinius finds out more than he should and consults to his brothers.”

|| 1,100+ - Words || - {Chapter V}

TW // Noncon, Yandere.

“Brother I…” The Angel pauses, his mouth opening and closing. Unsure of what he’s about to reveal is something he should really talk about. His eyes occasionally flickering from the group up to his fellow brothers: Horus and Guilliman. “Our… mother… She’s is not treated right.”

“…What?” Guilliman is the first one to respond. His eyes full of rightful confusion as they had all thought this… baseline was something to their father: The Emperor.

“What do you mean, Sanguinius?” Hours pops in quickly. His eyebrows too, risen up in confusion. “This is heresy you could speak of.”

“…I…” He tries to start again but fails. His eyes closing tightly as he recalls the foulness of the holy. His wings giving a twitch and his jaw clenching. This was something that truly bothered him. Not some annoyance. This was something that… disturbed him.

He… remembers the way you sound. You sounded… pleased, like any other baseline would with a god or lower. That part didn’t bother him, for he has heard the ways of Slannesh and forbidden baselines going at it when they think no one is around, but… what did bother him? Was how he saw it.

Yes, saw it.

It wasn’t an honestly good favor of the fates of him at the time as he was sure the area around was rather private and sealed, but he had the unfortunate timing to… stumble upon it. Upon his father and you doing the deed, and he would have left it be and be embarrassed later on, but…. He couldn’t.

It wasn’t out of unholy arousal or to watch it or something similar that kept him in place, but the way you looked distressed; out of it even, like you weren’t completely there. You weren’t enjoying it. You almost seemed broken in his eyes, but… he has seen you smile. He has seen you be happy around them: his brothers and his own sons, praising them, encouraging them on their own little quests.

Yet, has he ever really seen you smile at the Emperor? His father? Praise him? No… he hasn’t. It was something most over looked for his father had everything, he is the pinnacle, and it took a moment to really capture what was truly going on once he caught sight of the… assault.

He leaves quickly after a moment of hesitation. His pace swift against the floor. His head giving a few shakes while his mind is trying to rid of your moans that were sounding more like obvious cries of help to him. To help you in that moment of bareness, and he would have! If only you weren’t the Emperors wife.

“…Mother is not treated right.” He states again, opening up his eyes. Looking straight at his brothers to let him know he’s serious. He’s never one to lie.

“Can you be more abrasive, brother?” The Warmaster asks his feathered brother. Shifting his weight. Unsure of what his own brother speaks of is true or not for their father was righteous, wasn’t he? His sea-green eyes giving a quick glance at his other brother: Roboute Guilliman.

“She-“ Sanguinius pauses, trying to voice it in the best way possible, but there was honestly no “best way” that he could. Nothing about the subject that he would be speaking of would be. “Sweet as our mother can be… the relationship between her and our father is not… true.”

“Can you clarify just a bit more, Sanguinius?” Roboute asks for more clarity on the situation. Shifting his weight as well, trying to understand this potential heresy one of the most trusted sons is saying.

“I’ve… passed their quarters-“ Sanguinius starts again, inhaling. Does he have to actually spell it out for his fellow brothers that seriously don’t get the hint? “It’s not what it seems. Mother is not pleased. She needs help.”

Roboute and Horus give a look to one another. Silently communicating with one another, trying to understand if their golden brother has finally met his end with chaos itself before something seems to click inside of their minds. Horus eyes widening a little.

“You don’t mean?” Horus asks, looking back at Sanguinius. Leaning forward a little like he was a female wanting a bit of some gossip. Though, the simple nod he gets from his feathered brother doesn’t make the sudden situation pleasing. “So, you mean to tell us that our father has been fucking our mother unwilling?”

“I- well, you didn’t have to put is so crudely.” Sanguinius retorts, folding his arms across his chest. His wings giving a little puff. “But… yes.”

“Yet, mother seems happy?” Roboute can’t help but put out. A bit… bamboozled by this admission. “Well, around us at least.”

“Exactly, Roboute.” Sanguinius points out, shifting his own weight this time. “Have you ever seen her happy around the Emperor?”

“I, well-“ The Primarch of the Ultramarines pauses, recalling the moments of him and mother, and when she wasn’t there but with the Emperor before he slowly shakes his head. “…No, I truly haven’t.”

There is a long silence that passes over them for a second with Horus and Roboute wondering where it even went wrong, and when it even started. Sanguinius? He can’t seem to get his mind out of the bedroom. Again, he wasn’t aroused by the sight, more… traumatized. He could see the heavy claw marks you left on the Emperors back into order to try and dismay the god… It was clear you were… struggling, even silently.

“You alright, brother?” Horus speaks up after a moment. Carefully watching Sanguinius. Seeing how his wings seem to give a bit of a shiver as he recalls something. “Shall we talk about this in a more… private area?”

“Really?” The Angel raises his brow, not expecting that from the Warmaster. He would giving it a good chance they would think he would be going mental for even saying such about their father.

“Really.” Horus nods, moving to Sanguinius side. Ready to follow his lead. “How about you, Roboute? Or does your paperwork matter more?”

Roboute can sense a bit of sarcasm or tease within the Warmasters words. His eyes moving away from the two, thinking before returning to them and slowly nodding. “I… suppose this is a more important subject.”

“Good.” Horus nods back, giving Sanguinius a pat on his shoulder as the Angel seems to relax a little by their answers and perhaps their support. “Seems mother has our favor.”

“@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000, @passionofthesith, @insanity6666, @ilovewolvezz.” - Tagged

[passionofthesith]

Just finished "Lord of the Night"! and my question is: Why are not all of you reading it rn? If you're a Konrad Curze/Night Lord fan in particular - damn you can't imagine the Night Lord fanservice, or the Curze insight. Zso Sahaal is Goodest Daddy's Boy, Mita is BAMF, and Krieg Acerbus is a major, major, MAJOR SOB. Also, really good fast-paced, pleasantly emotive in parts writing.

Do yourselves the favor and Ave Dominus Nox.

[passionofthesith]

Leandros

I love him so fucking much

I really do blame space marine two

tw: some smut

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @ms--lobotomy @nekotaetae

@sleepyfan-blog @remembrancer-of-heresy @felinisnoctis @solspina @the-californicationist

@beckyninja @superunkn0wn @bookandyarndragon

thank you to @bispecsual for helping me brainstorm for this as half of this is her help with her lovely brain worms

thanks to @squishyowl for the ultramarine borders

And special thanks to @kumratart for their recent pictures of Chaplain Quintus to actually to get me to write about Leandros he has been hunting me for so fucking long

There was a Chaplain named Quintus of the noble second company of the Ultramarines... who had fallen in love with a serf under his care. He had so desperately wished that she was the one actively and eagerly seducing him so that he could reject her advances and dismiss any temptations that she offered him. But no it was not like that she simply existed. She existed for many many years in service to maintaining the second company chapel. A rare honor for mortals in this sacred space for only Astartes.

She helped craft the ornate candles that burned during his sermons and other special days, having an eye for detail that he lacked and delicate hands for delicate work. She was far too friendly and smiled too much at his brothers when they came to seek his help. The feelings that flaired in his chest whenever he would watch her talk with his brothers, parroting his sermons, smiling at them... the nasty possessive feelings in his chest when he would find them knelt before her with their head in her lap as she offered them comfort in such a painfully human way.

Though there was a panic he held when he had caught Lieutenant Titus having her attention and all she said of her interaction with him was, He's good hearted but sad... I hope he feels better soon. He was her shadow in a way she either she did not say anything about it or was oblivious to his presence with her. Having watched her pray time and time again with a simple metal Aquila and feeling jealous of the metal when she would bring it to her lips to kiss as she prays. Oh those ravenous thoughts of his that rush through his mind of wishing to know what her lips feel like against the metal... would she whisper such devoted words to him? In his deepest most fevered thoughts he wonders if her lips are as soft as they look, curled around holy words and warming the frigid gold of her rosary. Pressing such words against his own lips and reverent, supplicant kisses to his skin.

"Chaplain Quintus I've finished the tasks assigned to me. Is there anything more you need of me?" She says tilting her head with a smile on her lips that from this angle were unobscured by her hood and she was smiling at him. She smiled at everyone he reminded himself but he treasured those smiles greedily. 

"No." Please stay with me longer... he so desperately wanted to say... but instead what came out was, "Do you wish to pray together?" 

He swears he could see her eyes light up and once more that smile of hers... "Yes. I would like that my lord." 

It would have to do for now...

Her voice fluttered like a soft sigh compared to his passioned sermons... but he knew how she was with him. She hung on each word. Her hands clench tightly together as she was as caught up in her fervent passions that he could incite into his brothers... how her eyes glittered under her hood as she watched. But here with just the two of them her voice was not drowned out by the calls of his brothers.

He touches her without speaking untying the rosary around her hip. The panic jump of her heart as her hands shake with forcing herself to remain clasped together and to not question the good chaplain. He pulls out something he had been working on for her and wraps it around her hip instead. Her Rosary and the Aquila on her person was lacking in his eyes... he opens her hands, silently wishing that he could feel the flesh of her hands against his as he placed the hand carved aquiline eagle into her hands as its talons clutched the ultramarine omega. She deserved to be draped in the symbols of the chapter.

The gasp that leaves her lips as she runs her fingers over the eagle's breast, all carved by his own hands. "My lord Quintus... it's beautiful."

"It is far more befitting of your station as my personal serf and the Prioress of this chapel to have this." He swallows the lump in his throat as he pulls off his helm, placing it on the stone in front of them. She had adverted her gaze, to respect his station as Chaplain. He gently moved her chin up to have her gaze at him, "You may call me Leandros when we are alone..."

He savored the way she spoke his name. Of course she would say his name he was the chaplain and her master. But... How she said it sighing with a smile as she prayed for his protection because that's how often he heard her say it... No he did not lurk outside of the prioress' room near the chapel... He certainly could not hear the wet churning and the way his lip curled back as he ran his tongue over the top of his mouth tasting the air... He certainly did not hear her whimper out his old name in a climax.

His eyes did not dilate when she opened the door... he was done with this ritual of listening to her reach that completion moaning his name. Swapping between Quintus and Leandros... he was tired of returning to his room and pleasuring that sinful flesh of his until it hurt.

He did not purposfully cause her such bodily betrayal by doing things that she subconsciously enjoyed... the way his voice would dip lower with her... his hands, though armored, would brush away phantom candle ash or fix the 'skewed' rosary on her hip. Though tonight was a blessed night as she had tripped and his hand shot out wrapping around her waist, his armored thumb resting under her breasts and the rest of his hand splayed out over her stomach. He pulled her back to him asking if she was alright... and she was quite flustered.

She looks up at him opening the door as she tries to remain calm in her post climax haze as her legs feel weak and her robes disheveled.

"My lord what do you need?"

"I heard my name." Leandros speaks wearing robes and a cloth covering over his face.

She pales before clearing her throat, "I can assure you Lord Quintus that I had not said your name and when I had it was during prayer."

She was ill prepared for him to rush into her room and close her door, "You cried out Leandros. And I can smell the stench of sex upon you."

She shook afraid of what was going to happen as she stuttered and tried to explain, he did not want that and simply pulled her into a kiss as their hands quickly pulled and tugged at their robes leaving bare flesh against flesh.

His hips stopped with a shutter as his seed sputtered into her warm opening. She panted clearly tired from their bodily union. She gently moved him out going to collect something to clean the both of them with. Leaving Leandros to another internal panic… what had he done? He caved to the temptations of the flesh and while he felt better no longer feeling that gnawing craving… he had dragged her into this. He had sullied her with his wanton longings… he had overstepped the bounds in being her master and her being his charge to partake in the mortal decadence. "Do you wish for me to clean you my Lord?" She asked but there was such a difference as she said my Lord it was in that tone she took when instructing him during the copulation. His eyes focused on the bruising that would be hidden under her tunic as she walked with a slight limp and yet her mouth still curved into a smile.

"Yes." He said as she offered him some water placing his mouth on the rim of the cup where hers had been once again feeling as if he was pressing his tongue against her mouth again. He could feel the damp cloth against his cock as she cleaned him.

"I suppose this was a one time thing that you needed?" She asks.

He is silent for awhile... "I am unsure." There was nothing in the Codex Astartes about this and this was not the clear degeneracy of Slaaneshi corruption... he was certain that if it was he would want more of it so why did he feel shame.

"Master Leandros?" His eyes darted to her now concerned face, "Are you alright?"

And for the first time in a long time… he was honest with himself, "No… no I don't think I am." And he melted into her embrace as her fingers moved over the top of his head brushing his short hair as she tried in her very human way to soothe him.

[passionofthesith]

This won’t leave me alone.

Night Haunter: “Russ, don’t you ever get frustrated that you can’t make women into Astartes? It’s driving me mad. My First Captain has several sisters, all of whom are as crazy as he is. But I can’t add them to my Legion. What was He thinking?”

Russ: … thinking to himself that it is annoying, but does the galaxy really need more Sevatarions in the VIII?

[passionofthesith]

My first venture into the Alpha Legion. What a fun ride! Of course I’m familiar with the Hydra bois but this was the first time I went on an adventure with them. Kassar and his Harrow staged a heist right under none other than Kharn’s nose while engaging Primaris marines for the first time, too.

Full of action, personality, drama and not a little snark Shroud of Night was a winner.

[passionofthesith]

Delicious heresy

Hello! Can I ask for some love for Grimaldus from 40k? I swear by all Grimaldus is especially so slept on!

Hey Anon!

I 100% agree!

Hope you like it!

--------------------------------

Repentance, acceptance.

Merek Grimaldus/ reader

Written as F but can be read as GN (I think?)

Tw: mild pain/punishment, brief mild persieved threat, wax play, sexual content.

Tags:Tags: @beckyninja @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lemon-russ @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst @kit-williams @iluminatka16 @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond

The jagged stone flooring of the keep felt rough against your bare feet as you were hauled along the dim passage. Cold black ceramite bit into your arms and rope burned into your bound wrists as the astartes dragged you through the flickering candlelight, tugging you along as you struggled to match his pace.

"Move" he growled, his voice hissing through the respirator of his helm as he yanked you into step beside him. You lurched forward, jogging to stay upright.

"My lord please, where are we going"

Servos and pistons whined as he ignored you and continued powering down the corridor, the clash of plasteel and metal on the flagstone ringing around the hallway as you approached a heavy door of dark oak and reinforced iron.

Your heart was thundering in your chest, pounding against your ribs as he threw the door open and tossed you through. Landing with a heavy thud, your hands burned as they skipped across the worn carpet. You made to raise your head, only to have the air pushed from your lungs as a gauntleted hand shoved your face back down to the floor.

"That will be all, Varik"

The fingers clenched around your skull for a moment before the crushing pressure vanished, followed by the retreating thump of heavy feet and then the slamming of the door.

The soft sound of ink scrawling across parchment was the only noise aside from your shuddering breaths as you sat in silence. Hearing your blood rushing in your ears, you kept your forehead pressed to the floor.

"Are you going to stay like that all night?"

You jumped at the voice, deep and gravely it reverberated through you and you paled as you recognized the owner.

Slowly lifting your head, you allowed your eyes to track around the room. Dark stoney walls, lined with bookcases stuffed with leather bound tomes. The faded red carpet beneath you was well worn and frayed from wear, coarse to the touch. Towards the rear of the room stood a huge heavy desk of carved mahogany, softly lit with flickering scarlet candles and heavily laden with document and flashing data slates.

Behind it, with his chin resting on interlocked fingers, sat the voices owner.

"Forgive me, Reclusiarch Grimaldus"

The chaplain watched you silently as you slowly looked at him, cocking his eyebrow slightly as you held his gaze. Brown deep set eyes considered you from beneath heavy brows. A long scar twisted across his cheek and over a broken nose, curling the corner of his lip slightly.

After a moment he sighed, leaning back in his chair as it groaned beneath his weight. Black robes spilled around his as he ran a hand across cropped dark hair.

"You know why you are here, I presume?"

You shook your head, your knuckles clenched against the rough cotton of your black smock as you swallowed dryly.

"I don't, my lord"

Grimaldus considered you for a moment before rising to his feet. His pace was almost leisurely as he walked around the worktop. You watched as he picked up a yellowing report, glossing over the fine scrawl before looking back down at you.

"You've been accused of treachery. Threats against my life, made by my own serf"

Heart in your throat, your mouth hung open as a cold sweat broke out across your body. Your jaw worked as you tried to find words, any words, to refute his claim.

Silence.

"Nothing to say?"

"I'm not a traitor, my lord, I have served you faithful for years"

"My officer heard you himself, is he lying?"

He eyes swept over the report again, flitting between you and the writing as he read the accusation.

"You have no idea what I would do to Grimaldus if I ever got my hands on him"

He tapped the document.

"He wouldn't know what hit him"

You spluttered as he tossed the parchment back to his desk, leaning a weighted hand against the surface as the paper fluttered down to join the pile.

"that's not..." You trailed off as a flush rose in your cheeks.

"Not what?"

You looked down, refusing to meet his steely gaze as you twisted your hands, ignoring the sharp pain as the rope bit further into your wrists.

"Do you know what I think?"

Grimaldus stepped forward, smothering you in his shadow as he looked down at you.

"I think it's true brother Varik heard what you said"

He leant closer, the heat of his breath brushing across your skin.

"But I don't think he understood what you said"

You gasped as he grabbed your chin, twisting your face up to look at him.

"I dont think it was a threat, was it"

Panic rose in your chest and tears pricked your eyes as you tried to shake your head, held fast in the chaplains iron grip.

"No, my lord"

"I think you were having filthy heretical thoughts about your lord, weren't you."

His grip tightened on your jaw, wringing a soft cry from you.

"Yes my lord" you whined, clinging to your smock as the tears trickled down your cheeks.

"I see"

He hummed as you sobbed softly in his grip. Turning your head, he mused before releasing his grip.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No. I have never doubted your loyalty to me"

A weight left your body at his words.

"however, we shall have to cleanse those thoughts"

You chanced a quick glance at Grimaldus as he rose back to his full height, striding back to his desk, the fabric of his robe twisting around him in a whorl of obsidian.

"Strip"

"w-what?"

The astartes looked over his shoulder towards you, a slight frown across his face as you spoke.

"Are you deaf? I said strip"

You sat dazed for a moment at his request before staggered to your feet as you rushed to obey. Hands still bound, you struggled to pull the shift off over your head before finally tearing the fabric apart and slipping free.

Pressing your arms together to hide yourself, you shuffled in the spot, desperately ignoring the heat rising in your body as the reclusiarch turned to face you, his eyes wandering across your body and lingering on your hips and chest before landing on your face.

"On your knees"

Dropping to the floor with no hesitation you knelt with your chafed hands resting on your thighs, watching wide eyes as the marine approached you with a lit candle in hand.

"Prayer cleanses the body, but pain cleanses the soul" he uttered, tilting the candle.

"Do you repent?"

A whimper fell from your lips as a splash of hot red wax fell across your chest, splattering across your clavicle and down your breast bone before cooling.

"Repent"

The whimper turned into a soft groan as another drop of wax fell across the top of your breast, warm against your skin, the pain quickly fading to pleasure as it trickled and solidified across the sensitive skin.

Grimaldus' face contorted as he tipped more wax across your chest, watching as it slid down your chest and along your stomach.

"Repent" he whispered, his voice almost choked as the ruby parrafin splashed across your thighs and you writhed under the contact.

"Yes, yes" you sighed, breathless as heat rose in your core, wetness pooling between your legs.

The chaplain stood over you, chest heaving as he watched you shiver below him. You blinked up at him, tears drying on your cheeks as the wax cooled across your body.

"I repent" you crooned, doe eyes wide as you spread your thighs, giving the marine a full view of your arousal.

With a yelp you were hoisted to your feet, the rope binding torn asunder as Grimaldus threw you onto his desk scattering pens and ink as your ass hit the wood. His hands flew to your thighs and his lips crashed against yours, squeezing the fat near your hips as he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

Your fingers dug through his short crop of hair as you returned the kiss, moaning into him as he pried your legs apart. Standing between them, his fingers roamed across your skin. Your body shuddered as you felt him grind into you, hard and hot against your core whilst his lips trailed down your neck.

"Grimaldus" you whispered, wrapping your legs around his hips, trying to pull him closer as he mouthed along your collar, rough fingers pinching your nipples as he sucked a bruise into your flesh. He pulled away, freeing himself from his robes and palming his cock before sliding himself through your wetness, huffing as he felt you arch into him.

"I will cleanse you of these impure ideas" he growled, notching his tip against your dripping entrance. "And I will cleanse this foul curse you have placed on me"

Your head fell backwards as he pushed into you, the burning slowly fading out to a delicious fullness as inch by inch he sheathed himself. He stilled as he pushed himself flush against your body, his face dipped to your shoulder as he bit back a groan, choosing instead to mar your skin with his teeth.

"Merek"

His resolve snapped and his head shot up as you uttered his name, almost tenderly. He pulled backwards before mercilessly driving himself back in, his nerves on fire as he felt you clench around him with each thrust.

"Yes, yes, don't stop" you cried, clawing at his shoulders as he fucked you, his dick dragging against the soft spot that made you spasm and writhe.

Calloused hands found your hair and pulled you to face him, your eyes meeting as he rutted into you with heavy breaths.

"I've wanted you for so long" he blurted, his thumb ghosting across your cheek with unexpected softness. "These thoughts of your corrupt me every day"

He thrust deeply, eyes lighting up as you croaked at the pressure.

"With this, I will cleanse us both"

You came undone as he kissed you warm and sweet, contrary to how his hips slammed against you with abandon. The Templars hips jerked as he felt your walls grip his cock as you came, his thrusts becoming erratic as his end followed. Ropes of cum filling you before he pulled out, painting the last of his spend across your chest and belly.

You lay sprawled across his desk, Merek leaning over you as you both heaved in heavy breaths of hot air.

"It didn't work"

You turned to look at Your lord as he hovered over you, admiration and conflict on his face as he looked over the mess of your body before hauling himself upright

"my lord?"

"I still want you. I want you more than ever"

Sitting up and reaching out with a shaking hand, you cradled his face, tracing your fingers along the map of scars on his taught skin.

"I want you too"

"This is heresy, you- you're"

You cut him off with a chaste kiss.

"I'm yours"

Reclusiarch Merek Grimaldus considered you for a moment, before a rough smile creased his lips

"yes. Yes you are."

[passionofthesith]

A strange Tithe

When the time of the tithe had come again, Amuun Tychar had not expected to be carted off to the flag ship of another legion, or that they would be joined by the chief librarian Te Kahurangi, who had been cryptically vague in his whispers about their upcoming duties. Even when pressed further he simply quieted after whispering to them in that harsh whisper that they would know in time. That their orders came down from the Shade Lord, Tyberos, himself. Amuun had looked down at his unarmored form and imagined that whatever was to come could not have been a trial of combat. Surely, even with how old and how sparse their gear was they had enough to armor those going into battle. Still he prepared for anything as the drop ship's door hissed open to allow them to leave into the larger ship beyond.

The inside of the ship had been bright and full of colors and sound, not at all the dim, quiet and meditative sort of their battle barge. It pressed on his senses like a physical weight.

He had been silent as his brothers and he were lined up in rows to be looked over by the astartes of the Dawn Seekers. Each in turn chosen by one of the battle sisters of the chapter and led away.

When he had been picked there was a strange tremor in his hearts. She was a towering figure. Heads over him, and even still there was something in the emerald depths of her eyes that seemed to suggest that what she was leading him towards was not in fact any sort of danger. Her fingers had entwined with his as she held his hand, guiding him down halls and towards what appeared to be living quarters. “My name is Violet. I just thought you should know given what you’re here to do.” The warmth of the expression she gave him after she said that made his icy core feel unusually hot. No woman in his memory had smiled at him like that. Not the serfs who served on the barge and he did not remember his life before his days as a neophyte. This was his first time in the company of a woman who wasn’t a baseline.

“My name is Amuun Tychar.” His voice was rough from disuse, but Violet hadn’t seemed to mind. Once she had stopped and led him into her quarters it became known to him what this tithing would truly intend. Amuun could never have guessed what was intended for him within those quarters was glorified mating. He still wasn’t sure that he was truly lucid, that this wasn’t some bizarre warp born dream.

His artificially sharpened teeth sank deeper into the flesh of her neck as he rutted his hips into hers. The salty iron of her blood was so hot on his tongue as flickers of memories played in his mind. Her hip raised to meet his and his eyes rolled back into his skull as her fingers pressed him further into her neck, pressing his teeth incrementally deeper, forcing the fresh clots to burst open. Is this what it was like every time to lay with another? Amuun couldn’t think straight. Her warmth was all consuming, distantly his mind thought that his body had not ever been this hot. He drove into that heat, wanting it to fill all of him. A thumb hooked in the side of his mouth, forcing his jaw down with a gentleness that shook Amuun from his stupor. He released the bloodied flesh and his eyes rolled forward to meet the emerald gaze of his lover. Her hand cupped his cheek and she guided his lips down towards her own. Pressing her mouth to his, he was uncertain what she wanted as he tried to remember what this gesture was for. He fumbled about, matching her motions until it clicked. A kiss, she was kissing him. He still fumbled with the rhythm of the gesture but his understanding made it easier. “I apologize. I have not done this before, any of it.” Violet smiled and ran her thumbs over his cheeks. “It is alright, Amuun. You are doing splendidly.” Her praise stirred something within him and he felt deeply pleased by it. He let his lips fall back to hers as she moved her arms to wrap around his shoulders. Spurred on by the approval he rutted harder and was rewarded with a moan of satisfaction by the large woman beneath him. 

His body sang with endorphins, her lips and body melding with his as he bred her. His body knew somehow what it needed to do. Perhaps from her blood, and he rooted himself deep within her as his body reached its peak.

Violet kept kissing him. Her lips sweet as she pressed her tongue into his mouth, he accepted it, learning from her soft caressed how to kiss this deeply.

He desired more, rolling onto his back she mounted him, her hands resting on either side of his head as she gazed down and smiled at the carcharodon. “You want more?” She asked. He gave her a silent nod, his cock staying as hard as he was willing. She lowered her weight onto him, letting his cock bury into her depths, he sighed and relaxed. Violet rode him, her body heat a balm to the coldness of his soul. He’d not known that there were female astartes out among the stars. Her smile and green eyes were like sunbeams shining through the surface to his deep sea. His hips thrust up to meet her descent and she gasped sweetly. She wanted to mark him, to bite a furrow into his neck as deep as he had marked hers. But she could not, she was not to mark or claim him. This was a transaction, and while s pleasurable one, it was still for the benefit of his chapter.

She came on his cock, with a soft moan of his name. He held her down, filling her again. His body shook as his claws raked down her beautiful skin. She would leave this coupling with reminders of it. He would be sure of that.

They spent what felt like the whole day cycle together. And perhaps they had. But he wished for more time. A selfish desire.

There was a knock at the door as he laid there in her arms kissing her and holding her close. It was time to go. She looked sad for a moment giving him one last kiss. “I will remember this time we shared. Thank you.” He dressed and left her chambers to rejoin his brothers. Violet sighed as the door shut behind him. “No, no you won’t.” She laid back on the bed, the burning of the bites and scratches the only sign that a shark had ever swum in her waters.

Amuun was ushered in front of Te’ Kahurangi, freshly cleaned and feeling oddly light. “Have you completed the tithe?” The librarian inquired, Amuun nodded. “I did as instructed.” “Good.” Te Kahurangi reached out and touched the younger astartes forehead with one long finger. There was a swirl of confusion in his mind and the briefest sense of loss and deja vu. Then nothing. He stood before his chapter chief librarian, cold and having never known the warmth of the sun in his waters.

The primarch herself had seen to it that new armor was loaded with the carcharodons as they departed. Perhaps that was what they had been here for. New armor from another chapter of outcasts.

Still there was an itch in his mind. He shook it away, clearing his mind and returning to the same deep calm that he’d felt before they’d arrived.

What a strange tithing.

[passionofthesith]

When the nap is too long.