#sevatar x reader

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─────────────────────────── JAGO SEVATAR x GN!READER ⚠️🔞 Explicit Sexual Content, Predator/Prey, Violence, Blood It's a tradition on Nostramo for a groom to infiltrate and kidnap his future spouse from their family home. If he succeeds he's worthy, or he dies trying. a/n: Sevatar chases you around a ship. Good luck, Heretics!

You stand in the hangar bay of the 114th’s ship, trying to come to terms with what the hell just happened. Moments ago, Sevatar had announced over a ship-wide vox cast his intention to marry you. The next thing you knew, you were plucked from the Nightfall and transferred to another one of the smaller ships.

Tovac Tor, Captain of the 114st and the closest person Sevatar considered a friend, took it upon himself to act as your guardian, whatever that meant. “Stay close,” he orders you. “And follow me.”

You follow, taking the chance to look around the unfamiliar ship. Night Lords linger in the shadows, red lenses glinting and eager. There’s a strange lack of human crew, no lumbering servitors. They’re all strangely absent.

“Captain,” you call out, trying to get your ‘guardian’s’ attention. “Would you mind explaining this tradition to me?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Tovac hums thoughtfully, his pacing unchanging. He doesn’t even look back to acknowledge you. “It’s pretty simple. Sevatar is going to fight us to get to you, and if he wins you’ll be his cute little human spouse.”

“And if he doesn’t get to me?”

“He either succeeds or dies trying.” Tovac replies with a shrug, leading you onto the empty command deck. There’s not a soul here either, just the persistent hum of the ship’s system and flickering lights on the control panels.

“Where’s the rest of the crew?” you ask.

“You’re full of questions.”

You shoot him a sour look. “Of course I am, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Backtalk. I see why he likes you,” Tovac remarks, a hint of amusement in his tone, adjusting the lightning claws on his gauntlets. “We moved them below deck. They’re not family so their participation is not required, and I can’t risk… collateral damage.”

That’s some relief. The crew is safe and not decorating some Night Lord’s armor.

Suddenly, the klaxons blare, signaling Sevatar’s arrival. You inch back, heart pounding, as Tovac takes a battle stance, energy crackling across his claws. His breathing quickens. You can see it in the way his armor moves. He’s excited.

The door slides open, and out from the shadows, Sevatar appears, blood still fresh on his armor. His chainglaive revs and snarls. A shiver runs down your spine. But those cold, dark eyes aren’t on you — they’re on Tovac, the last obstacle blocking him from getting to you.

“Run!” Tovac shouts, standing between you and Sevatar. You don’t need to be told twice. You turn and bolt from the command deck, escaping down another corridor with your heart pounding in your chest. The sound of their violent clash echoes behind you, fading as you get further away.

Your mind races, trying to think of what to do next. In your frantic searching, you find a storage room and dart inside, seeking a hiding spot. The room is cluttered with containers and equipment, and you squeeze yourself behind a stack of crates. There’s a maintenance hatch nearby, offering a potential escape route should you need it.

The door hisses open. Heavy ceramite footsteps echo in the room as he draws closer. They stop. Silence.

“You can’t hide from me,” he taunts you, his tone almost sing-song. “I will find you.”

And you know he’s right. Sevatar is relentless and you’re his favorite prey. Your breath catches as the footsteps come closer. You press yourself up against the wall, hands clamped over your mouth to stifle your breath.

The footsteps stop.

With a sudden, violent motion, Sevatar kicks the crate you’re hiding behind, sending it flying into others in a cacophony of noise.

“There you are,” Sevatar says. He towers over you, blood drip-drops from his armor onto the floor. He reaches up, releasing his helm with a hiss and tossing it aside, revealing the twisted smile on his handsome features. You bite your lip. He spots the hatch next to you.

“Oh, don’t even think about it, sweetheart.”

You slam your hand against the button, opening the hatch and throw yourself into the tunnel, scrambling to put as much distance between yourself and him. Sevatar reaches in after you, one massive hand feeling around as he reaches for you. He grabs your ankle in an ironclad grip and you let out a startled gasp.

He yanks you back through the hatch; you scream and claw at the metal for purchase, but to no avail. Sevatar tosses you onto the cold floor, and you push yourself up onto your hands, chest heaving.

“Jago…” you gasp, eyes wide. His eyes wander shamelessly over your body, hungry and possessive. His smile widens as looms over you, unlatching his codpiece and tossing it aside with a clatter.

His hands are on you in moments, ripping at your clothes and exposing your naked body to his gaze. You suppress a shudder as the cold gauntlets run up your legs, leaving angry red welts in their wake. You let out a small whimper. Sevatar squeezes the flesh of your thighs, forcing them open and up.

Sevatar looms over you, leaning down to press his cold-scarred lips against yours. It’s a shockingly tender kiss by Night Lord standards. But you fight back, not content to let Sevatar just have his win. You push against his chest, knowing full well that it’s futile against his size and the bulky armor.

You bite down on his lip — hard. The bitter tang of blood floods your mouth.

He recoils with a hiss. And to add insult to injury, you spit the blood out — it connects with his cheek, leaving a crimson streak. Oh. A dangerous glint ignites in Sevatar’s eyes, a delicious blend of predatory delight and dark amusement.

“Oh, little one, you are going to pay for that,” Sevatar says with a smirk. He rears back and grasps your waist, hauling you back and up onto his lap. You bite back the urge to moan, feeling the stiffness of his cock pressing against your thigh.

He forces the head of his cock into you, and slowly, painfully, sinks himself deeper into you. Each little thrust is deliberate and rough, making you feel every inch until you’re as full of him as your body will allow.

“O-oh! Fuck! Jago…!” you cry out, pushed the limits of where pain and pleasure mingle together. You grab onto his wrists, grounding yourself as you breathe through the overwhelming sensations.

“That’s it,” he says with a grin. “You’ll behave next time for your husband, won’t you?”

He starts to move inside you, his pace quickly becoming relentless and brutal. The storage room fills with the sound of heavy pants, and breathless gasps echoing off metallic walls. The crack and hum of his armor. Your torn clothes rustling. And the slap of skin as his hips pound into yours.

Sweat coats your skin, trickling down your forehead. Finally, it becomes unbearable; he pushes you over the edge, your body trembling and shaking as you cum with a cry of pleasure. Sevatar doesn’t stop though. He tightens his grip on your hips and jackhammers himself into you. With one final, brutal thrust, he stills, and a deep, satisfied groan echoes through the room as he fills you with his release.

Slowly, he pulls out of you and you collapse back onto the floor. The cold mingling with your sweat soaked skin and sending a chill through your spent body.

“Still with me, love?”

You hum weakly, lifting your hand enough in a half-hearted thumbs up. “That’s one way… to propose,” you say as your voice cracks, rough and strained from the screaming.

Sevatar laughs. He leans over you once again, kissing you again, and this time, you don’t bite him. You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Let’s get you back to the Nightfall,” he murmurs, pecking your lips a few more times, “and I’ll drown you in the baths.”

Your laugh turns into a fit of coughing. Sevatar pulls away, your arms slipping from around him and he gazes at you in a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. He hunts down his missing codpiece and attaches it, before pulling his helm back over his head and sealing it with a hiss.

He returns to your side and scoops you into his arms. Exhausted, and a sticky, hot mess, you nestle in against him, soaking up the cold touch of his armor.

“If that was a traditional proposal, what’s a wedding look like?”

[moodymisty]

Knife play with sevatarion? Love me some problematic Nightlords.

Love your work!

Author’s Note: tehe i just love him <3

Relationships: Jago “Sevatar” Sevatarion/Fem!Reader

Warnings: A bit lewd but not nsfw, The consent is dubious so tw dubcon, Violence, Knife play (no cutting in this one), Stalking, Predator/Prey kinda dynamics, General 40kness, Sort've vaguely implied relationship of somesort with Sevatar

You’re always hypnotized by the way Sevatar flips around his blade.

Handle, tip, handle, tip,

He flips it around between his fingers like a coin trick, armored fingers more dexterous than you would ever have imagined them.

He wields it with a surprising gentleness, despite his nature. He does the mindless gesture quite often, and you find yourself distracted by it whenever he's near you. More than once you've had to snap yourself out of it, fix your gaze and try to remember the last words whoever had been speaking to you said.

Even Sevatar has caught you once. Though you hope he just thought you were zoning out, bored out of your mind from whatever you were supposed to be doing.

"Your legion doesn't bring you out here quite often, does it?"

You quickly pull your eyes away from the knife, and you swear, you swear, you hear Sevatar chuckle. But when you look, his face is the same deadpan it always is, watching you and everyone who comes close like a sentinel.

"Oh um, yes; The Night Lords tend to travel in systems quite far away from Terra, so I don't get many chances to step foot in the palace."

The man you were speaking to nods, and you’re thankful the conversation ends on a somewhat normal note not long later. You don't know how much more you would've been able to maintain interest, and not let your eyes wander. Though they do, not moments after the man turns his back on you.

Handle, tip, handle, tip

This whole evening has been a mess, you’re not sure how much longer you can entertain nosy lords, and commissars with far more free time than yourself.

"...Finally..."

The moment you return to your quarters it’s like a weight was lifted off your chest, and you debate what you want to do first. Do you want to take your dress off and get ready to sleep? Or go and-

The sound of heavy ceramite boots suddenly rings in your ear, and a primal sense of flight triggers in your body. Your head hammers and you go to scream, but a hand slaps over your mouth. You swear your heart stops; Like you're dead but still seeing and thinking.

“It’s me.”

Sevatar laughs at your fear, and the sound rumbles your chest. You know he can hear the racing of your heart from the fright better than you can even hear it in your own ears. “The others know you’re off limits.”

That doesn't mean the other Night Lords haven't tried to take a bite of you. The younger, Nostroman-born ones are eager to rip you to pieces, while older Night Lords like Sevatar attempt to maintain some form of obedience and structure.

Sevatar raises his other hand in front of you, knife held between his fingers.

“You want this, don’t you.”

Handle, tip, handle, tip,

“You don’t think I can’t smell how fucking wet you get whenever I toy around with it?”

He grips the handle to stop flipping it, pulling it closer to your jawline. The tip tickles your skin, sending shivers through your body. His hand slides off of your face, letting you breathe better.

“I’m going to cut that dress right off of you.”

With rough and seemingly careless handling Sevatar throws you onto your own bed, caging you to it with his own body. The tip of his knife presses against the underside of your chin and you're forced to tilt your head up and expose your neck lest he pierce your skin, and he slowly drags it downward- watching your skin ripple like the surface of broken water with bumps from the cold metal. It passes the dip of your collarbone, and he adjusts the tip to be a bit more parallel to your body as he cuts through the fabric of your dress.

It was a beautiful dark blue, but its little more than tatters in seconds as he cuts it clean in half and pushes the parts away to reveal your body. He laughs at the sound of the threads ripping and snapping, you don’t know if it’s at the flimsiness of your dress or the way you look up at him.

“You know how much I have to fight to keep the others away from you?”

His knife trails up the center of your stomach, slipping between your breasts underneath your bra. He pulls upwards and you whimper as the fabric digs into your back, but eventually the material looses out to the sharp blade and snaps in two. He takes the tip of the knife and brushes it against the side of one of your breasts and laughs as you writhe underneath him.

You don't know why you trust him as much as you do. Why screaming was never even a thought in your mind. Then again, would anyone come if you did?

“Too bad for them you’re off limits. I don’t share.”

Your legs are curled up between his, shaking from the cold of the ship and his blade.

“You’re too much of a good girl for me to let them break you like everyone else. They don't know how good of a catch are.”

With one yank he straightens your legs out, slipping his knife beneath the fabric and slicing your underwear. He tugs them away after, throwing the broken fabric aside. You're thankful you have spares, given he's reduced everything you've worn to ribbons.

Satisfied with your exposed body he puts the hand holding his knife close to your head to support himself- a subtle reminder that he still has it. He watches you glance towards it before looking back up at him.

You want him. You hate that you want him, terrified that you want him and how much he's obsessed with you; But you still want him. He's overtaken your entire vision and your entire world.

“I smell how wet you are. Tell me girl, what else is in that head of yours?”

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Eternal Night (Part 5/Finale)

Summary: After the destruction of Nostramo, Sevatar gets emotional and wants to see you.

Jago Sevatarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, power imbalance, violence, predator/prey, stockholm syndrome, noncon

Word count: 2581

Song: She Wants Revenge - Sister

Still he pulled back the sheets And said, "You better lie down, 'cause the angels are watching," She closed her eyes and said, "Quit the talking You can hurt me, do whatever you like,"

Sevatar had long since left the captain's bridge. The legionnaires lowered their heads, trying not to look at the man. The serfs, almost crying and trembling with fear, fled to their holes. Even the most fearless brothers tried not to get in his way, feeling the wrongness and creepiness. It was as if his dark soul had found a way to spill out. The air shook with his Gift, which he could not contain due to strong feelings.

There was little that surprised or awed the First Captain. His mind worked differently. The man still remembered the Zoa Tower, which Shang called beautiful. Sevatar could not understand how one could define something or someone as beautiful. However, now he could fully realize this when he saw the destruction of the world.

Nostramo, a world without sun and law, was destroyed no more than an hour ago. But Sevatar still saw the destruction of the universe before him. What was created by the Galaxy over millions of years disintegrated in a matter of minutes. How the threads of life were cut, tectonic plates shifted, and magma flooded the planet like blood.

It was a wonderful sight.

A sight that haunted him even after the world was left in ash, the ships set off far from their home system. Even when the first captain gave the order to kill every dissenter at Nightfall. Be it mortal or space marine. The primarch's order was law and they had to obey.

His family had long since died, and distant relatives served the Night Lords right here. Besides, he never liked his hometown. Tall mines in which one had to work until exhaustion. The smell of adamantium and black clouds full of toxic rain. The only thing he will miss is the crows.

Sometimes the man regretted that he had not taken them with him on the ship the last time they were on Nostramo. But years of self-control and meditation helped him cope with the consequences of the Gift. And with you, he completely forgot about his curse for a while.

You. Your image immediately appeared in his head when the red glow of the burning world disappeared from his black eyes. Sevatar immediately realized that he wanted to share this moment with you. He wanted you to feel the same way he did. A man wouldn't risk taking you to the porthole. He only liked to see you in his chambers. But maybe you can see it in his eyes?

Sevatar slightly opens the door to his quaters and remains on the threshold, not daring to enter. You sat at the very end of the room, legs crossed and ears covered. Rocked like a child, hoping to calm down. You felt Nightfall being torn apart by the countless number of weapons that were used. Heard the despair of the planet being destroyed.

If you were a psyker, did you hear the screams and tears of the dying?

You feel how the air in the room is changing, how your hair is electrified from a strange sensation. As long as you dare to look at the returning man. Your eyes, filled with fear, light up with a spark of hope.

“Is it over?” - much to the space marine's disappointment, yes. Apparently his face spoke for him because your eyebrows immediately furrowed. - “Sevatar, are you fine?”

The last time anyone showed concern about his condition was his mother. Huh, Sevatar didn’t think about her for many years. It's not that he misses her. But you appeared and images of his mother hugging him in the hope of easing the pain began to emerge in his mind. You did it better.

“Yes, little mouse, I’m fine.” - the man succeeds before going inside, locking the door. - “Now finally help me take off this armor.”

You quickly jump up and rush to the space marine, attentivelly and extremely carefully helping the man remove the second skin. You are too weak for such weight, but your delicate fingers easily cling to the necessary parts, giving the man the opportunity to remove the armor. You both are silent, each thinking about your own.

“That chronicler that we hung at the entrance. What did she do? - the words cut through the silence like water through a stone. Sevatar was about to leave, having discussed all important matters with the primarch, but a question arose by itself. He didn't even understand why he asked it. But worst of all was Konrad Curze's smile.

“Oh, she took part of the report on Piamen joining the Imperium. To make a list of questions and write a book. But without asking my permission and taking away important documents, theft was committed. The criminal deserved her punishment.”

Sevatar raises an eyebrow at the primarch's excuses. Not that he regretted the death of the annoying remembrancer. He didn’t care, besides, an order is an order, it must be carried out. It was just that he was partly amused by Curze's attempts to justify his thirst for violence as a noble act. The Night Lords were justice, but there was no point in denying their dark desires.

“Be that as it may, everything turned out only in your favor.” - pointed teeth stretch to their full length, like a crescent moon. - “No more keeping track of a useless crew member. And you began to sleep more often, didn’t you?”

“Are you scared?” - you nod confusedly and the man chuckles. He shouldn't have asked such an obvious question. Even though you were safe and began to perceive Nightfall more as a home, you were still an ordinary serf girl. For whom Cheraut Incident is akin to the end of the world.

The fact that Konrad Curze almost killed his brother, after which he hastened to hide in his native system, raised trepidation among mortals. The Night Lords were only too happy to mock their cousins, but even they were surprised at such a sharp attack from the primarch.

All the time on the way to Nostramo, the ships languished from human fear and the gloomy anticipation of the space marines. Opportunities to bring justice to their home world. Final and irrevocable judjment at the cost of billions of lives.

“The whole planet was thundering. And people screamed so much. I think I can still hear them crying. Or maybe my imagination is running wild, I-I don't know. I never would have thought that one of the worlds of the Imperium would fall in this way.” - you pull your head into your shoulders, putting the last detail back in place, realizing what you just said. - “Beg your pardon, my lord.”

“Hmm, it’s even a pity that you were hiding here. Seeing the whole world die is an unforgettable feeling. Especially if you came from it. Imagine if Terra was also destroyed.” - Sevatar grins, enjoying your surprised look.

“B-but that won’t happen, the Emperor won’t allow it.” - you were so frightened by the very thought of destroying the heart of the Imperium that you began to contradict your master. But Sevatar was in a good mood and he even liked your hope, flimsy as dirt.

The first captain doesn't answer you. Doesn't know what to say to this. If the Emperor so wishes, Terra can be destroyed in a matter of minutes. Or, on the contrary, the Legions would line up to protect the planet. But first and foremost, Sevatar served Konrad Curze. He was ready to carry out his orders first and foremost. Like now they have already destroyed the world. Their former home.

The man sits down on the bed, not taking his eyes off you. You fiddle with your hands, not daring to approach Sevatar until he gives you an order. Obedient girl. As you promised, you served him well and he appreciated it. Maybe he should have sent you to bed or touched your tattoo again as usual.

But today Sevatar was overwhelmed with feelings and he realized that this was not enough. He needed more. He didn't know what exactly he wanted from you. However, the desire to devour you took hold with incredible force as soon as he remembered the death throes of Nostramo.

The man pats the bed next to him. Sevatar chuckles as your eyes widen. Just like a crow. It's not that you were afraid, but the first captain's behavior was unusual. Even if he cares about you, the unknown is always scary. Especially on the Night Lords' ship.

You purse your lips and hesitantly approach the bed before lowering yourself onto it. The air filled with heat. The man continues to study you, not knowing what to do with you next. Until an idea comes to mind. Spontaneous and foreign, but it’s just right for a space marine. After all, why not satisfy his curiosity.

“Take off the top.” - you shudder, unable to understand the order. But your hands still reach for his shirt, as soon as Sevatar frowns. His voice drops, almost sounding like metal scraping. - “I won’t repeat it. Strip.”

You quickly remove the cloth, trying not to anger your master, looking at him carefully. Waiting like little prey to see what the predator's next move will be. But the snap of man's fingers pull you out of thoughts and you almost whimper, removing the fabric covering your breasts. You want to hide from the examining gaze, hug yourself with my arms. But you don’t do this, unable to move.

And Sevatar looks at you, unable to understand his train of thought. And why did he order you to do this? The body is like a body, ordinary mortal skin, on which it is easy to leave bruises (he can already see a couple) and easy to remove. The flesh is soft in comparison. Two bulges that reveal your femininity. Nothing special, he had seen naked bodies more than once in skinning pits.

But he can't turn his back on you. Something about you touches him. Sevatar clenches his teeth, almost growling. You cower, finally covering yourself, as if in one moment the man will tear you apart. In part, that's what he really wanted to do. Sink his teeth into the flesh, tear out pieces of meat, bury himself in your hair and remain in your scraps for an eternity.

Hearts sound loud and fast, echoing in a man’s head as he moves closer to you. Unwanted thoughts take over the mind, throwing all irrationality to the wind. He must touch you. He must tear you apart. Should kill you. Must be inside.

You can hardly breathe when a heavy hand touches your shoulder, caressing the tattoo. But this time Sevatar doesn’t turn you around with your back to him. Quite the opposite. With his other hand, the Space Marine throws your arms off your breast and presses your waist to him. The little heart is beating fast like a mouse caught in the clutches of a beast. The cheeks warm with the realization that the man is wearing only a loincloth.

The silence is abruptly interrupted by your short scream as Sevatar sinks his teeth into the line connecting the shoulder and neck. He was too cautious and careful so that you wouldn't break. But it still hurt you. The man licks your wound, enjoying your sobs. He fixes his gaze on you, hoping to see your suffering. And freezes.

Your eyes are wet, your mouth is slightly open. You were hurt, but there was something else in your face. Soft and gentle, long forgotten and buried in the depths of the minds of the Night Lords. But even as a mortal boy, Sevatar cannot remember a similar look. Only his mother looked at him like that, but still there was a difference. You didn't see him as a son.

You raise your hands and run your fingers over Sevatar's shoulders. Tender, fragile fingers that have never known hard work, have never held a weapon in their hands. Until you finally lock them behind his neck. You press your whole body against him so that he can feel your breasts.

For the first time in a long time, the man's breathing becomes unbearable. But not from pain, as usually happens in battle or because of the Gift. Sevatar would even say that he feels better than ever. His hearts began to beat even faster, and heat rushed through his body. You hissed in pain, feeling the hot skin beneath you. But you still clung to him.

“I can break you.” - he won't kill you. He won't let anyone hurt you. Any man who dares to look at you or speaks to say goodbye to his life. - “I am your master. And you are mine. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

He didn't like to share. Never lived in the slums of the night city. Not now, when he took the place of first captain. If he wanted something (and this rarely happened), he devoured it without leaving a trace. The Terminators were loyal only to him. And you. You should have given yourself to him too.

Sevatar watches with a sigh as your eyes fill with tears, rolling down your cheek. He instinctively licks them, touching your cheeks with his tongue and lips. Your eyes. And your lips. The last part of the body especially touched his nerves, but the man restrains himself so as not to rip out your lower face with his teeth.

“Do whatever you like.” - you pronounce the cherished words with a breath and a groan. Before fearfully and hesitantly rushing towards the pale face of the killer holding you captive. Your lips touch the scar on your chin. - "I'm yours."

You're a good girl. You are very very good. It’s even a pity that you fell into the hands of a beast who can barely control himself. Which knows only how to kill, cut and torture. But he will learn. And may it always hurt you, you will enjoy it just like now.

Sevatar tilts you until your head hits the pillow. The man settles on top of you, squeezing your waist and shoulders. He runs his fingers over the tattoo. He remembers, no, he studies what has eluded him all these years. What he was deprived of as an Astartes.

His hand lands on one of your breasts and squeezes, making you squeak, digging your nails into his shoulders. A bloody grin runs across Sevatar’s face, causing drops of your own blood to fall on your face. His hips move against yours on their own, as if imitating a process erased from his code.

This is only an imitation perverted by chemical treatment. And even so, Sevatar realizes a simple truth. He wants to be inside. He wants to take his sword and plunge it into you up to the hilt. He wants to fill you up so that liters of blood pour out of you.

Sevatar peers into your face before burying his nose in your shoulder with a groan. The whole body and mind are overwhelmed by a contradictory feeling of peace and rage, merging into a strange symbiosis. There is a confession on the tip of his tongue that he wants to say, but he can’t because he doesn’t know what the words are. Only one thing comes to mind.

“Call me Jago.” - the man almost closes his eyes from the coming sleep. Ahead there was only eternal night .

“This means?”

“Yes.”

[pallysuune]

Summery: The Raven takes you to his master - who's your new master too! You're just happy to be alive. But then you accidentally walk in on the two of them having some "private time"

Pairing: Sevatar/fem!Reader/Rushal

Warnings: Dubcon, little bit of blood, Sevatar and Rushal being Sevatar and Rushal. Smut.

A/N: Here's that part 2 for you all! I'm so glad you enjoyed the first one, and I hope you'll enjoy this one, too.

The Raven took you out of the maintinence corridor, pulling you by the hand. You even resorted to trying to grab a pipe to keep him from pulling you out. The Astartes sighed, reaching past your body to gently, but firmly, pull your fingers from around the pipe, one by one. You gave a desperate little sob as you were forced to let go and he began to lead you away once again. It wasn't long until he was pulling you out of the hatch to the maintinence tunnel and into a larger hallway where he could stand up fully. The Raven straightened, looming over you.

"I-" you started, the word halting sharply. You didn't even know what you were going to say, but your voice crumbled in your throat as he looked down at you. His expression was blank, but all the scarring turned it into a gruesome looking frown. You shifted uneasily back away from him, but he still had a hand around your wrist. You couldn't get away.

He paused for a moment, just looking at you. Then, the Raven sighed, bent down, and yanked you over his shoulder. You let out a startled squeal. Any idea of escape was shattered as he curled an arm around your thighs, clamping them in place. You were left hanging over his shoulder, staring down at his ass.

Not a view you ever expected to get, frankly.

The Raven carried you through the halls. You heard a few deep snickers from Night Lords you passed, but any serf kept their heads down, not even daring to look at you or the man carrying you. As you hung over his shoulder, you realized that you didn't actually know his name. A serf wasn't important enough to be told about new recruits, even when that recruit was a defector from another legion. And you'd only ever overheard Night Lords calling him 'the Raven', and sometimes talking about his relationship with the First Captain.

"Um..." you started.

He turned his head slightly toward you. You watched the sway of his long hair.

You figured you were going to die soon anyways, so why not go for it? "What's your name?"

He just looked forward again.

Well, okay then, you thought.

You spent the rest of the trip in silence.

The Raven brought you, unsurprisingly, to the private room of the First Captain, Jago Sevatarion. The one man you were trying to hide from.

Sevatar was out of his armor, sitting in a large chair and looking at a data slate that was immediately put aside when the door closed behind you and the Raven.

"Found a little mouse for me, have you?" Sevatar purred.

The Raven nodded, and then slipped you off his shoulder. You were set on your feet just in front of him. Large hands settled on your shoulders, holding you in place.

Sevatar rose from his seat and stepped close to you. Your heart pounded at being sandwiched between the two of them. You were trapped, ever instinct in your body screamed that you were in danger. Sevatar reached out, taking your chin between his fingers and tilting your head up to look at him.

"Are you afraid, little mouse?" he drawled, with a smirk that was absolutely wicked.

One you found inappropriately attractive, considering the circumstances.

His thumb pressed against your bottom lip softly. "I know you are. I can smell it," he smirked. His eyes held yours. He drew his thumb down so the nail pressed into your lip. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. But your heart raced all the same.

"Rushal," Sevatar said. You were confused for a second, before your scattered mind realized he was addressing the marine standing behind you, his hands still on your shoulders. Sevatar's gaze was still boring into yours. "What do you think we should do with our little mouse here?"

The hands on your shoulders tightened slightly. Sevatar finally looked away from you, lifting his head to look at the Raven. You were too afraid to look back at him, so you had no idea what Sevatar saw in his face, but Sevatar smirked. He released you, turned, and strode back over to the seat he had been in before.

"You will be my personal serf from now on," he said over his shoulder, casually. "You'll remain here with me, there's no need for you to report to anyone other than me now."

"Wait, what?"

He turned to look at you as he sat down, arching a brow. "Was I unclear?"

You shook your head so quickly and frantically, you probably would have fallen over if Rushal didn't still have his hands on you.

"Good. Now go fetch some armor polish."

You hurried to scramble out of the room.

*~*~*~*

Despite your initial fears, things turned out to be rather uneventful as Sevatar's personal serf. He preferred tending to his weapons himself, as well as the skins that decorated his armor. You were left to clean his armor when it needed it, straighten his room, and fetch things for him. You also tended to Rushal somewhat. He'd never had you clean his armor or anything, but you brought food or drinks for him as well as Sevatar. After several days, you realized you were less likely to be hurt or killed by the Astartes, and more likely to die of boredom when left to your own devices.

There was one thing that was certainly not boring - over the few days you had worked for him, Sevatar had made it quite clear that he wanted you.

You hadn't yet figured out if that meant sexually, or if he wanted to eat you.

Most of the time, you were in his room, working or passing the time, but he did allow you to eat one meal a day with the other serfs, letting you have some social interaction. Theoretically. Except, since you had become Sevatar's personal serf, none of the general serfs wanted to interact with her. It was as if they were afraid that they would draw the attention of other Night Lords. As if your status was somehow contagious.

One night you got tired of sitting and eating by yourself and decided to just finish your meal in Sevatar's room.

You opened his door and shut it behind you before turning - and promptly freezing, dropping the plate of food you'd brought with you from the mess. The clatter of it hitting the floor made both men glance at you.

Rushal was sitting, naked, on Sevatar's lap, his back to you, giving you a surprisingly lovely view of his back and ass, all impossibly pale skin and hard muscles and the glint of metal. He blinked at you, unashamed, but surprised by your presence. His lips - and Sevatar's - were smeared with red from where Sevatar had bitten his lip and drew blood.

Sevatar himself was lounging on the chair like a king in a throne, wearing only a pair of shorts from what you could see. His skin had only slightly more color than Rushal's, and his normally neat hair was a mess. His hands were still resting on Rushal's hips. He watched you intently with a look you could only describe as hungry.

His lips stretched into a grin. You could see blood on his teeth.

The sight snapped you out of your shock and you jumped, spinning around to put your back to them. "I'm sorry, sir! I-" You cut off, not sure what else to say.

You heard a deep chuckle behind you. "Are you? There is a way you can make it up to us, you know," Sevatar purred.

You felt heat rush to your face immediately. Your heart skipped and stumbled over itself.

"I know you want to. I can smell it," he continued.

He was right, you couldn't deny the thought had set off and fluttering tingle of arousal all through you.

You hestiated, and then turned slowly toward them. They were still sitting exactly as they had been before, watching you. You wet your lips.

"How?" you asked softly.

Sevatar smirked wider and held out a hand to you. A silent order to come over. You slowly stepped closer. As you reached them, Rushal slid off his lap, stepping back. It took a great deal of effort not to look over at the Raven, who moved to stand just to your side. Still naked.

You stopped in front of him and Sevatar leaned forward, grabbing your arm, pulling you into his lap. You gasped, your legs forced wide by the size of him beneath you. You could feel the hard press of his cock against you, impossibly large, separated from you only by thin layers of cloth. You squirmed on his lap, trying to get more comfortable, drawing a deep rumbling from his chest. He yanked you forward, his lips slamming into yours. His tongue shoved into your mouth, filling it with the coppery taste of blood.

Rushal's blood, you remembered.

The Raven pressed against you from behind, as silent as he ever was. He was kneeling, his chest pressing against your back as he reached around you to grasp your shirt and unceremoniously rip it open. You gasped, startled, while Sevatar only chuckled against your mouth. Someone's hands, you couldn't be sure who's, cupped your breast, squeezing it gently. A rough thumb rubbed over your nipple. Rushal's scarred, rough lips pressed against the back of your neck.

You knew then that you were done for. These men were going to kill you. Just in a very different way than what you'd expected.

There was nothing to do but lean into it. You kissed Sevatar back, leaning into him. One of them pulled at your pants, ripping them and your panties. You tensed as a finger brushed along your sex. Warm and rough, it traced along your lips, spreading them, and grazing your clit. You gave a shuddering sigh against Sevatar's lips.

A thick finger worked it's way into you. Fucking you slowly. Sevatar's finger, judging from the palm that pressed to your sex and ground against your clit as it did. You moaned, breaking the kiss to tip your head back, panting. Another finger teased your entrance from behind before Rushal slipped his fingers into you, too.

Both of the Astartes fingered you. You could barely comprehend what was happening at the moment. Not that you were doing too much thinking, at the moment. The sensations reeling through your body were just too much, too potent. Teeth nipped at your throat had enough to sting. Fingers pinched your nipple.

You were pushed to the edge. Your body was theirs to play with, and there was nothing you could do about it except grasp on to Sevatar's shoulders and hold on, screaming out your pleasure as you came around both of their fingers.

Hazy, you slumped back against Rushal as both of them slipped their fingers free. Sevatar reached out, snatching up Rushal's wrist and pulled his hand to his mouth, sucking your essence from his finger with heavy lidded eyes. You felt the soft moan that rumbled through Rushal's chest behind you.

Releasing his lover's hand, Sevatar sat up, pulling himself free of his shorts, and reaching for your hips. He lifted you and pulled you over him. You felt the velvet-smooth press of his cock head at your entrance, pressing into you, as he pulled you down onto him. You gasped, stretched around him, filled more than you could ever have thought possible.

Sevatar groaned, biting down a little harder on your neck this time, beginning to fuck you deeper and rougher with each moment. You mewled and moaned, your hips rocking desperately against his, lost in the muddled mix of pleasure and pain.

Sevatar's lips trailed up your neck, nipping at your earlobe. "Don't you think you're forgetting someone?" He purred.

Before you could respond, his fingers curled roughly in your hair and yanked your head around. Your eyes fluttered open to the sight of Rushal standing just beside you. His eyes were hooded, heavy as he looked down on you bouncing in Sevatar's lap, his hand curled around his cock, stroking himself. Your eyes trailed down the tense, trembling muscles of his stomach and abdomen, locking on his manhood. Your breath hitched. Without thinking, you leaned a little closer to him, opening your mouth as wide as you could.

Something sparked in his eyes, and he shifted closer, guiding the head of his cock to your mouth. You wrapped your lips around him, tongue teasing over the tip before you dipped your head, taking more of him. He groaned deeply, remaining still, letting you take him at your own pace.

Sevatar's hands dropped to your hips, gripping right enough they would surely leave bruised. Rushal's hand took their place in your hair instead. Sevetar bucked up into you roughly, where Rushal gave only the slightest flex of his hips. The contrast between the two of them was enough to drive you wild.

The three of you found a kind of rhythm, with Sevatar fucking you, and you bobbing on Rushal's cock. It was heady, intoxicating, the air filled with the scent of sex, and all three of you making the most obscene sounds. You couldn't last like that forever, pleasure pushing you to the limit once again until you felt like you were going to shatter into a million pieces. You whimpered around Rushal, your eyes squeezed shut. Tears beaded on your lashes. You came again, your pussy squeezing tight around Sevatar's cock, your keen of pleasure muffled by the one in your mouth.

Sevatar growled beneath you, and you could feel him throb inside you as he came, pumping you full of his release.

At almost the same time, Rushal pulled himself free of your mouth, taking himself in hand again, closing his fingers around the cockhead, grunting as he came into his hand. Your eyes fluttered open just in time to see, and you watched, mesmerized by the sight.

Hands slid from your hips to wrap around your waist and Sevatar pulled you down against his chest, still buried deep in you. You sighed, letting yourself relax on him as you felt Rushal step away from the two of you. Drowsy, you barely noticed when he returned a few moments later, and rested lightly on the arm of the chair, leaving back toward Sevatar. One of them was stroking your hair, but you had no idea who.

"Sleep," Sevatar rasped, amusement in his voice. "I'm sure we'll have more for you to do later."

You didn't doubt him in the slightest, and decided to take some time to rest while you had it.

[mothiir]

So how would a non-con totally casual affair between Sevatar x reader workout?

Fair warning, this turned into a bit of an essay :’)

In the books, it’s pretty strongly implied that there is something ‘not quite right’ about Sevatar — maybe he’s a sociopath, or maybe it’s just the general uncanniness of being a psyker. However, its enough for me to think that he probably isn’t the sort to muck in with his brothers every time they take a world and find some pretty women — I’m not saying that he disapproves, more that he just considers it all a little dull. Rape is just one of many crimes that his brothers commit, and most of his sexual appetites have probably been sublimated either into bearing the colossal weight of holding the majority of the Night Lords’ common sense, or into fighting back his latent psyker ability.

So, in a pre-heresy world — just because I like writing about things before everything crashes and burns (and because I don’t want to learn the heresy lore, there’s so much of it) — Sevatar is focused largely on torture-kill-flay. He also suffers from crippling migraines from said repressed psychic ability. The only thing that soothes the pain is the sound of crow wings flapping; back on his home planet he fed the crows bits of corpse, and although I’m not sure if he brought them with him when he travelled off with Konrad I’m going to say yes, because crows are great.

The reader is probably fairly new to Night Lord service — a conscript from one of the more compliant worlds, rather than a trophy of conquest, because Night Lord trophies don’t tend to last long. You’re doing your best to adapt to your new reality, keeping your head down, avoiding notice. The other serfs warn you that there are really only a few ways to deal with the inevitable attentions of bored Night Lords: get really good at hiding, deliberately make yourself look as unappealing as possible, or find one of the more tolerable Astartes and hope that he can be convinced to protect you in exchange for your body. That last one comes with considerable risk — Astartes are fickle, cruel things, and stories abound of poor women being bedded one day and flayed the next.

You have chosen to hide. That is why you find yourself in a corner of the Night Fall, eating the scraps of your breakfast, when you see a crow. For a moment, you think you’re hallucinating — then you realise that no, that is really a crow. They’re found all over the galaxy, spread by long-forgotten human colonisers, though this one is a little larger than the ones you are used to. Still, you give it a crust of bread, because it looks skinny, because you want to, because even now in the belly of hell you want to try and hold tight to the last lingering shreds of your decency. You are human, no matter how the creatures around you act.

It becomes a habit. You sneak off to feed the crows, and they come to recognise you, cawing in excitement when you arrive. You can never feed them more than a little bit of bread or some scraps of meat, but they don’t seem to care. They perch in your hair, peck at your ears, yell at you and at each other like fishwives announcing their catch. You imagine that they are treating you to all the latest gossip, and find yourself talking back to them. You tell them that you are lonely. That you are frightened. That even the other humans here are warped and bitter, and you pray that you will die before you become like them. And then you admit that isn’t true: that you don’t want to die. You want wings, you say, wings and keen black eyes. The freedom of a bird.

It’s all nonsense, of course, and you know in your heart that it cannot last — you’re certain that soon one of the other serfs will see you sneaking off and move to eliminate the birds, seeing them as pests. But, selfishly, you cannot bring yourself to stay away from them. Once or twice they bring you gifts in return for food: a veterbrae you’re almost certain is human in origin. A bit of skin, complete with tattoos. You graciously accept both, discarding the skin at the first opportunity, but keeping the bone. At least the bone doesn’t smell of death, and you can pretend it is something else. You keep it in your pocket, where it is swiftly worn smooth by your grasp.

And one day, it all changes. You sit in your usual place, with one crow in your hair, another in your lap, when the cawing starts up once more. Not a warning, but a welcome. An unseen door opens; the flock descends, and you’re left with two birds and the rabbit-pulse of your heart on your tongue. You don’t know who the First Captain is — your new masters haven’t really informed you of more than what is needed to do your duty — but you know that he is a Night Lord, and that you are dead. You wonder if he will spare the crows — you hope he will. Or maybe they will escape, with black wings and swift talons, and —

He’s feeding them. You freeze, once again thinking that this isn’t real, you must be hallucinating, and one of the crows takes advantage of your sudden lack of movement. She pulls a strip of flesh from the hunk of dripping red meat Sevatar holds, and flutters over to you, taking up position on your shoulder.

She then tries to ram the meat into your mouth. Crows, after all, are clever birds, and this one has been a mother thrice over, and she knows what starvation looks like. To her, you are a frail flock member, a chick in need of fattening up — and crows share with those who share with them. When you recoil, hand coming up to block her insistent jabs, she chatters impatiently, and pecks you smartly on the cheek in reprimand.

Sevatar laughs at the display. You’ve never heard a Night Lord laugh, because you’ve never been in a situation they find entertaining — which is much to your benefit, because those situations normally leave serfs dead or wishing they were. The sound distracts you, and the crow mother finally succeeds in jabbing the meat past your teeth. Horrified, you swallow, praying it isn’t human, and wondering if that’s it — if you are already dead, and this is some absurd afterlife hallucination.

For his part, Sevatar is interested. It takes a lot to ignite any curiosity in his jaded mind, but here you are, like a flash of iridescence on a magpie’s wing; something bright amongst the monochrome.

He has you feed the crows with him, noting how gentle you are with them, even when they leave your hands bloody with acquisitive little pecks — nothing malicious about it, only that they are scavengers, and sometimes you do not magic the food up fast enough. You tell him your name and your position in a trembling voice, and he informs you that you have been reassigned. You do not question this. You do not question much — it’s how you have survived so long.

He takes you to his quarters, and of course you fear the worst at once, doing some mental arithmetic — he seems to be almost eight feet tall, and preportionately large everywhere — but he directs you to a (slightly stained) sofa and throws a blanket at you. He doesn’t trust the other serfs, he says, not to have a go on you. You flush, assure him that none of them have even hinted at it, and he looks surprised. Normally the older servants go straight for the pretty new girls.

Congratulations, you’re now Sevatar’s personal serf. It’s a fairly easy job, all things considered. No heavy lifting (he can take his own armour off) and no caring for human hides (he can tan his own cloak, thank you very much). On your first day polish his armour obsessively, because you don’t have much else to do. He asks you why you have repainted his pauldrons and you have to — gently — say that no, that’s just the colour they go when they are clean. He has you prepare food for his crows, and you learn that they are his, and in no danger from anyone. No one will touch them, because they know better than to incur Sevatar’s wrath.

On the second night, he comes back late from a meeting with his father, with a face like a thunderhead. Blood drips from his eyes, and his face is twisted in bestial agony. You want nothing more than to cringe and sob, but you think of the crows — of how merciless they are to their prey, and how mewling only proves that you are something to be devoured. Instead you greet him, and ask if you can help. He shows his teeth, but lets you stroke his hair, and rub his temples, and although he doesn’t go so far as to fall asleep in your lap he visibly relaxes, his breathing evening out. You ask if that is all he needs of you, and he says no, and bids you remove your clothes.

It’s not unexpected, and not completely unpleasant — though it is painful. Sevatar is large, and although he does try to open you up on his fingers — using his own armour oil as lubricant — he soon loses patience and pushes himself inside. You grit your teeth against a wail of pain as his cock bullies past tight walls, his breath humid in your ear. He takes you from behind, mantling you like a great bird of prey. He tells you how good you feel, how tight and sweet, and you feel him smirk into your nape when you start to cry. You do cum before he does, driven there almost out of self defence, your whole body one taut nerve. He follows you over the edge, spilling inside and remaining there as his hearts thunder against your back.

The next day, he tattoos you with a mix of his blood and ink, across your abdomen and down your leg. The tattoo takes far longer to heal than it should, because he can’t seem to stop licking at it — but it is the closest you can get to safe here, and for that you are thankful.

[moodymisty]

(really sorry if this is sent more than once, firefox crashed right when I hit Ask so im re-sending it just in case)

Local Konrad apologist here to request a continuation to your 'Sevatar hunting you' oneshot you posted awhile back. sfw or nsfw, either is fine

(if you dont want to continue that plotline, np!! Just literally any Sev content would be hype as fuck, not gonna lie. love that man sm)

and i hope you and your pidges have a wonderful day❤

Soft continuation of this request

Author's note: Hell yeah I’ll continue that one! I love Sevatar <3 I hope this is ok! It didn’t quite flow the way I like but I don’t want to hold it up forever

Relationships: Sevatar/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lewd kind of, Violence and gore warning, Pet play technically? Sev calls you his little pet, Dubcon, Biting

When Sevatar had captured his prey, he made sure not to let it go. He dragged you back between his teeth to his den aboard the Nightfall, and you haven’t seen a Salamander since.

Sevatar has done much work in making sure your base needs are tended to- such as food and water to keep you healthy and soft - while on the Nightfall.

You are most likely the most well kept baseline aboard the ship, and many others refer to you snidely, jokingly, as Sevatar’s prized little pet.

He does a lot of prowling around to keep other Night Lords away from his catch, predator proofing his quarters.

While most Night Lords would hesitate to disobey him, or tread in quarters not their own or of their stature, Sevatar knows that his little pet is worth the risk.

You’re soft, clean and fragile, and unlike many of the serfs aboard who know how to hide and not be interesting enough to toy with, you whimper and cry and beg enough to make an Astartes mouth wet with drool and his hearts pump faster.

You don’t do as much anymore- With the Salamanders long gone that wound has faded, and you know despite his demeanor, Sevatar doesn’t break his toys. He seems to take quite good care of them actually, and despite the wounds he leaves in your body, the food he gets for you and the quarters you live in is almost comparable to life with the Salamanders.

Sevatar is returning to his quarters, looking downward at his knife when he feels as if something is off. He puts his knife back in its sheath, turning the corner to finish his trip to his quarters.

His body goes rigid when he notices the door is open, locks busted and completely torn apart. Only one glance inside confirms you’re gone. Your scent is fresh still however- this only just happened.

Sevatar runs down the halls, slamming into the shoulders of other marines who quickly try to give way to him, and halfway through the hall a singular Night Lord yells:

“If you’re looking for your pet, the idiot is taking her towards the barracks.”

He also hears the same man mumble about how he warned the thief, and that he wants to see his how Sevatar will display his guts for being a blackhand.

He catches up with the thief in the halls, spotting him carrying you with a hand clamped over your mouth. The other arm is around your waist, legs dangling and kicking uselessly.

Sevatar approaches him from behind and pulls out his knife and closes the distance lightning quick, slicing the wrist around your mouth so he doesn't crush your head. The Night Lord instinctively drops you- Sevatar hears your yelp as you crumble to the metal floor and presumably twist something - trying to defend himself first and foremost. Sevatar had the advantage however both in surprise and sheer strength, and within moments manages to get the slightly smaller Night Lord on the ground.

You can only watch as the two throw punches and tear at each other, eyes wide.

You hear the crunch as Sevatar’s knife drives through ceramite armor, reaching the black armoring suit underneath. The younger Night Lord attempts to clamp onto Sevatar's body but his one wrist is mangled and won't listen, while the other attempts to grab his neck in a desperate last ditch effort.

The first stab managed to crack ceramite armor like the outer shell of a bug, it takes a second blow for him to stab through his black carapace, and reach his organs. The marine lets out a shout as Sevatar's gauntlet gets covered in bright red blood, and you can only watch in a frozen stare as he mangles the younger night lord's body into a crushed, bloody mess.

Sevatar finishes by standing up, and grinding his head into the floor with his boot, splattering blood all over the floor.

A few Night Lords pass by, rolling their eyes at the mess and speaking along the lines that he had it coming, for disobeying Sevatar.

One also mentions that Sevatar wasted a meal by crushing the Astartes like that, and even just the implications of him feasting on the man’s brain matter has bile rising in your throat.

Blood is still on your face from his initial attack, alongside whatever splattered your way as you laid on the floor and watch him crush your kidnapper. Sevatar leans closer, and he laughs when he smears it across your face with his gauntlet.

He’s examining you for any damage, and other than a sprained wrist from when the Night Lord dropped you to the floor, you’re unharmed.

“Messy.”

You say nothing, but instead lean forward and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. Sevatar noticeably stiffens.

He supposes in your mind he is your savior. The Night Lord who had broken into his quarters more than likely wanted to toy with you for a bit until you broke, then throwing you into the garbage.

It’s good to know that you’re attached to him. That you know he is your best option, and that you won’t consider trying to sneak off. While he loves it when you cry, when you beg him to stop, there’s also a part of him that loves that you want him. How lately, some of your begging has turned into cute little whimpers.

Picking you up off the ground to return to his quarters you latch to him like he’s going to drop you as well, arms around his neck.

He likes the feeling.

Perhaps some of the other Night Lords would prefer it if you ran, if you hated him, but Sevatar wants you to want him. He wants to feel that rush.

He hasn't had his armor off in about it a week, but they're safe enough in Imperium space; He can take it off for a bit.

He won't let you out of his sight while he does so however, setting you down right in front of the armoring platform as he has the serfs and mechanical arms take away piece after piece of ceramite. It can sometimes take almost a half hour to armor up a marine, removing the pieces is significantly shorter. He leaves his black armoring suit on to take off in his quarters, and pushes you back there like he’s herding an animal.

He looks briefly and notices how that Night Lord broken open the lock; He'll remember that.

He watches you quickly scurry inside of his quarters, his den, sitting on the bed and trying to pick at the astartes blood coagulating on your face. You look so small on the massive bed, and the way you curl your legs up exaggerates the difference.

"I was asleep when he broke in... I didn't have time to hide or find you."

Sevatar laughs at the idea of you being able to hide or run from an astartes.

"Just shows that I need to keep a closer eye on you. You make a lot of trouble for me."

The way you look at him is concerned. You think he's considering getting rid of you. That you cause too much trouble for him. That couldn't be less of the case. He knew what he was getting into when he stole from the Salamanders.

Walking closer he stands and towers over you, seeing the hesitation and fear in your eyes when his hand comes close to your face. Instead of your neck however, it wraps around your jaw, and he forces your mouth to open with his thumb.

"But you're a good little pet, aren’t you.”

He loves the way your mouth wraps around his thumb- warm, wet, like the inside of a wound. Your hands rise up to wrap around his wrist, while he pushes you down laying on the bed.

“I should get you one of those tattoos.”

Sevatar removes his thumb from your mouth and grips your hair, pulling your neck to the side and exposing you vein. He can see your heartbeat through your skin, along with the myriad of old scars and healing bites he’s left there.

It’s his favorite part of you; Nothing else is like the feeling of your life and soul between his teeth.

He drags his teeth down your neck and feels the way your hands clamber at his shoulders, until he finds a spot he likes and sinks his teeth in.

Your hands slap at his shoulders and you whimper, gasping in pain as his dull teeth pierce your skin. His tongue is coated in that tangy, iron taste, the salt of your skin mixing. You taste delicious- the feeling of your soft flesh underneath his hands and in his mouth makes his cock throb.

A part of him imagines biting down harder, drawing more blood and ripping your skin. The crunch of vein and bone. But he doesn’t want to damage you that much, and risk loosing his catch.

“W-what tattoo?”

You breathlessly speak. Sevatar knows some of the other- usually older - Night Lords have been tattooing their favorite serfs; Staking a claim on them.

He doesn’t need to stake claim on what everyone already knows is his, but the idea of his name, or his variation of the Night Lords symbol adorning your delicate skin rouses a part of him.

He bites again, and you take a sharp inhale- heels digging into the bed. Your thighs are forcibly spread apart to make room for his massive body, weight holding you down. He feels your heartbeat in his mouth, your very life is so close.

“You’ll see.”

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Eternal Night (Part 2)

Summary: The first captain and the serf become more and more attached to each other every day in a dark and obsessive way.

Jago Sevatarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, power imbalance, violence, torture, predator/prey

Word count: 2169

Song: She Wants Revenge - I Don't Want To Fall In Love

I know that you're the right girl But do you think that I am the right man?

You really hoped that by joining Sevatar’s service you would quickly learn everything. After all, all your life you have been the servant of an aristocrat, not a space marine. Especially the Night Lord.

But you're lucky. Your only duties were mopping the floors and taking care of the bedding and workout clothes. It was pointless to clean the armor of blood and human skin. The more terrible and intimidating they looked, than better.

It seemed that the First Captain did not need a personal serf. He got along just fine without it. But you weren’t going to complain about such a gift of fate. There are even fewer responsibilities than when your mistress was alive.

You bend over to the floor, wiping away the dirty stains with a rag. A relieved sigh escapes your lips on its own. The pain, which lasted several weeks, finally went away.

Sevatar ordered that you get a tattoo right on your back, near your left shoulder. The ink was mixed with the blood of the first captain. This way mortals will understand that they cannot touch you. And other Space Marines will feel where you belong. It was very painful. You didn’t scream, but the tears flowed naturally as the sign of the Night Lords appeared on your skin.

When you arrived at Sevatar’s quarters, he only chuckled with satisfaction when he looked at the final result. And you were almost certainly sure that he liked your eyes, red from tears. That night, lying in the corner on your mattress, you couldn’t sleep. It was also painful to perform simple duties. But you were finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Where were you born?” - a male voice comes from behind you while you are scrubbing the floor. You didn't need to look to know that Sevatar was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. As always.

“On Terra. On the lower levels.” - you try not to remember the corpse of your mistress, plunging into memories. - “I was very lucky. One of the aristocrats decided to organize charity and sent many poor children to a special school. After that, we all had to go to serve the rich.”

You sigh in guilt.

“I became his granddaughter’s maid.”

There is silence in the room and you think that the first captain has become uninterested in this conversation. But he only grunts in response.

“There wasn't much of a choice, right? Either poverty or service to others.” - the man speaks in a relaxed voice. You only blush because the Astartes compared your destinies. He didn't look mocking. - “Did you even like it?”

"Yes." - you remember how the sunlight fell on the stained glass windows. And you little one looked at this spectacle with admiration. Until the teacher scolded you for the amusement of the other girls. A moment of innocence. - “I loved performing in the choir.”

You return to your duties, wiping away the dried dirt, trying not to look behind you. Sevatar was silent, but you knew that he was thinking about his life, over your words. Perhaps if you were different people and in another place, he would admit that you have a beautiful voice. You couldn’t say how, but you knew for sure that this thought flashed through his head.

You were mostly silent. But in rare moments, Sevatar began to talk. Mostly when he was relaxing in bed. You asked each other about life, giving in to a completely spontaneous desire to get into each other’s soul. It was strange and possibly wrong. But you both couldn't resist.

“When did you kill the first person?” - you didn’t know why you decided to ask your master about this. The question arose naturally. Sevatar remained silent and you dared to continue. - “They recruit young boys into the Astartes. Did you kill a man when you joined the Legion?”

The man looks at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his back. Finally he speaks.

“No, little one. I killed a boy of my age when I was nine.” - the man looks at your discouraged face and laughs an unpleasant laugh. Only dead people laugh like that. - “You won’t survive on Nostramo any other way. I had to defend myself as best I could. Capture and take what I want. Even eat.”

Sevatar looks at you carefully. Either joy or pain splashes in his eyes.

“If you ever have to eat human flesh, little mouse. Don’t try the eyes, you won’t like it.” - the first captain closes his eyes and turns to the wall, as soon as you nod. Good advice. You will remember it. The main thing is that it is not useful in life.

You wring out the rag, pleased with the result. The floors almost shone with cleanliness. Although it was difficult to notice given how little light there was in the Space Marine's quarters. Immediately thinking of your savior, you can’t help but glance at him briefly.

He was still lying on the bed. Sevatar forbade you to do anything in his absence. Quite the opposite. It was when the man should have gone to bed or simply rested that you should have started cleaning the primarch's room.

The more you moved, while trying not to make noise, the better. The top was supposed to consist of just a tank top. So that your tattoo is always visible. Hair was strictly forbidden to be tied.

Serving Sevatar was easy, but his requests were awkward.

The Space Marine suddenly awakens and you flinch at the sight. The man sits down on the bed, rubbing his eyes. Sevatar looks around the room, noting with obvious displeasure that you performed your duties extremely well.

It's even kind of offensive.

“Already cleaned up. Apparently you will have to go around the second circle.” - Sevatar grins when he sees your disappointed face. - “Looks like I spoiled you, huh. Next time you’ll help with sewing.”

If the Night Lords sew, it is only cloaks made of human skin. You immediately go back to work. Again you pass the rag over the now clean floor.

Only this time the man was in no hurry to fall asleep again. Instead, he looked at you. For a long time. Appreciatively. Even too much.

“I changed my mind.” - the man snaps his neck. - “Come here.”

Where is here, you wanted to ask a stupid question. But could anyone blame you? No matter how kind the first captain was to you, he still caused fear. Not to mention, you were completely alone. No one would help you anyway. And yet the absence of even the slightest chance made you sad.

The man beckoned you with his finger and you obediently approached him. Sevatar, without saying anything, took your hands in his. He examined the palms and touched the delicate fingertips. You pursed your lips in embarrassment. A moment later, black eyes peered intently into your face. You thought you would drown in this darkness, until strong hands suddenly turn you around.

Sevatar lays your back on his lap and you freeze. You can’t help but tremble, breathing heavily through your nose. The man had scared you before, but now his behavior was perplexing. Not to mention the size difference. You didn't even reach the floor.

Rough fingers touched your tattoo, slowly rubbing the flesh. Touching the lines of the skull and wings of the gargoyle. Squeezing a little, leaving bruises on the body. You swallow as Sevatar takes in the scent of your hair. You could even hear the beating of his two hearts, he held you so close to him. The man seemed lost in his thoughts.

***

“P-please, I didn’t d-do anything. I would never betray the Imperium. H-have mercy. Don't torture mee."

Sevatar, unlike some brothers, did not catch unfortunate serfs or captives to pull off his skin out of boredom. He did it just like now. By order of the primarch or as necessary. But this does not mean that it was not unpleasant for him to do it. Just boring.

The brothers standing next to first captain loudly argued about who would torture the traitor next after the first captain. But as soon as the man looked at them angrily, they immediately fell silent. Now they decided to settle the dispute by playing rock-paper-scissors. Although it makes no difference who will be next. They're here for a long time.

“This is punishment for betrayal.” - the space marine smiles unpleasantly at the crying girl before gently running his knife across her stomach. The victim screams in pain. There is a characteristic smell of urination in the room. - “No more than that.”

Well, of course he's exaggerating here. No matter how Konrad Curze tried to hide behind nobility and justice, he liked it. Fear and horror, complete submission, screams and pain. Sevatar would be a hypocrite if he said that he is not the same.

The annoying scribe lost all her arrogance and turned into a carcass. It’s good that she decided to go against the primarch. She was annoying. And how could such a brat have such a good maid like you?

The first captain sighs, cutting off a strip of skin, just remembrering your vision. You were good. Quiet. And funny. Your bump on your forehead amused him for a long time. But most of all, you calmed him down. There was something unusual about you. And familiar.

How did you move. Sneaked among the shadows, flying from one place to another. Either to your nest or ran to friends. You played with food, although like any scavenger, you should to eat rats. How quietly you spoke to the other serfs, and your trembling changed the tone of your voice. How quickly you moved, causing your hair to make pleasant noise. Reminiscent of the rustle of feathers. Even your eyes were big and attentive. 

But the birds are free. And you are not.

The victim chokes on tears and snot, and Sevatar only smiles at this picture. You're especially vulnerable right now, right? Without a mistress, alone, in a terrible eerie Legion, which will gladly offend someone as small as you. You probably need a protector.

The first captain grimaces from strange thoughts. The man moves away from the prisoner, waving his hand. Let these impatient bastards replace him.

No, he didn't need personal servants. He didn't need them. And yet, for some irrational reason, he was considering taking you in with him. Although he already had to look after four mortals. It was also not enough to add you to this list.

On the other hand, you won't be a hindrance. And lately his... Gift has become more acutely felt. The crows are far away, but you are close. Not a bad replacement. So why doesn’t Sevatar make an exception and take you to his place? You will help him relax, and he will protect you from his Legion. At least once in his life he will do a good deed.

The first captain just chuckles at this while the sound of tearing skin is heard from behind. The room is filled with a metallic smell and the inhuman scream of a half-dead woman. But Sevatar hears only the rustle of wet black feathers.

The man breaks away from your hair, inhaling its scent. He grins at the back of your head as he continues to stroke the tattoo.

He didn't have to offer it or take it by force. You came to him yourself. Begged him to save you. At first, Sevatar even thought that you were a crazy suicide. But you were an ordinary girl with oddities. And it's not to say that he didn't like it.

You turn to face him, making your hair slide across your skin. Sevatar can't help but look at your face. Parted lips, flared nostrils, big eyes. Yes, your skin looked good on your skull. There's no need to rip it off.

And the smell. He felt your fear. Uncertainty. Fright. But at the same time there is a bit of hope. Trust. You wanted to believe him. Your kindness was not an act. Or trying to survive. You're strange.

His head is empty. No bad thoughts about the Crusade or the Legion. The dull pain no longer numbs the brain. It was as if he was back in the night city. Again felt the touch of feathers. After ascension to the Astartes, he was finally able to sleep properly.

His tongue automatically begins to move over your tattoo. You squeak sweetly in fear before falling silent. You try to behave as still as a mousekin in the clutches of a scavenger. Only the predator will not let go of its prey even if it is already dead.

The hair rustles pleasantly near the man's nose. Rare uncontrolled sobs only provoke more. And the intermittent breathing and pounding of the heart echoes loudly in the ears like a croak. The eyes close on their own.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Eternal Night (Part 4)

Summary: On one of many nights, Sevatar reflects on his feelings for you.

Jago Sevatarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power imbalance, violence, predator/prey

Word count: 1538

Author's note: there's nothing sexier than when a space marine who doesn't know what love is wants to kill you~

Song: She Wants Revenge - Red Flags and Long Nights

You can occupy my every sigh You can rent the space inside my mind At least until the price becomes too high

You are small and fragile as a mouse. You could easily be squeezed and crushed. Until your eyes become bloodshot and the air disappears from your lungs. The human body is viscous and fleshy. How many people lived their lives, dreamed, suffered, were living souls until they found themselves in the skinning pits?

Sevatar could do the same to you. Squeeze the life out of you and hang your skin around the ship like curtains. But then he will lose the peace that he has not felt in recent decades. He will lose you.

The last thought sits unpleasantly on the tongue. Sevatar has already allowed himself to become sentimental towards his distant relatives. Of course, if they were them. That's what he didn't expect, that he would worry about his little toy.

Nice and gentle. Small and fragile. Yes. That's what you were. Your whole image and the way you behaved, moved, took him far away. Far away in the rainy rain as black feathers swirled around him. But at the same time you brought a completely new feeling. To which he could not find a word.

It's a distraction. No, the first captain could lie to himself as much as he wanted, but this was not so. He still performed his duties properly. Even better. Now he could fully concentrate on them without thinking about his Gift. After all, you were always on hand to relieve stress.

And that's not to mention the sweet smell of fear. Eyes full of tears and unspoken pleas from soft lips. Quiet sobs in the depths of the night, when Sevatar had the idea of ​​playing with you. Complete dependence and submission to him and only him. The tattoo adorning your shoulder beckoned and tormented his thoughts. How could he resist licking the cocktail of ink, his blood and your sweat?

The primarch should not have waged a joint campaign with Fulgrim. The Nostroman language was already considered beautiful and sophisticated by the inhabitants of the Imperium. Now the Night Lords have picked up words from their fragrant cousins. Why so many words when everything is simple?

You are his servant, and he is your master.

Yes, it's simple. You are afraid of him, but he enjoys fear. Then why does he see in your eyes a plea not to stop, but to continue? Why do your moans of pain sound different at some moments? Why do you look at him as if he were your Emperor? The man only grinned at this funny comparison, which would give many mortals and Word Bearers a heart attack.

But that’s how it was. You depended on him because it was necessary. Because you wanted it. You liked it, he could feel it. He still remembers your eyes full of gratitude when he took revenge for you.

"Thank you"

Sevatar still sees this picture in front of him. You, trembling and tired, sit in a dark corner. Waiting for him. You cry from the pain that the mortal bastard (and Sevatar's hands squeezing your shoulders) caused you. Your pleading look. Your whole body, face, covered with someone else's blood that you shed. He would like to see you like this more often.

Never before had Sevatar enjoyed tormenting mortals so much. He did not deign to have the warden and the rapist disemboweled by his hand. But he was watching. Watching at the judgment. Punishment. Retribution. Sevatar did justice in the most perverted form.

"Thank you"

A spontaneous desire to tear out someone else's heart came to mind completely unexpectedly. As a child, the boy had to eat all parts of corpses. It was rare that he could take anything for himself, because all the homeless children he came across were weak and had nothing. Now he did not need trophies except for the skin on his armor.

So why don't you get the trophy you deserve? He will laugh at your reaction. Besides, you served the Night Lord. And at least the first captain liked your kind face and didn’t want to spoil you. You still needed to understand at least a little about the values ​​of your Legion. So that you could serve him better, understand, obey, open up -

"Thank you"

Your gratitude sounds like a parasite in his brain. This is how maggots usually find dead flesh and cannot stop eating it until there is not a piece left. Here's the same one. You are slowly eating away at Sevatar’s brains, forcing him to think about you.

Maybe Sevatar should get rid of you? Cut out the tattoo with the skin and send you to free floating. Until other Night Lords find you to have fun with you if you don't do a good job. Or one of them will realize how pretty you are and take you into his service.

No. He won't let this happen. You are his. You belong to him.

Your tears, your fear, your doom, your prayers and hope. It all belongs to him. Sevatar promised to take care of you. He was supposed to protect you. The tattoo was supposed to scare away your tormentor. But you had to defend yourself.

You didn’t say a word about this to Sevatar. And could you even blame your master for anything? But what the first captain didn't expect was gratitude. How something in you breaks and you, intoxicated by the feeling, put yourself in the hands of a man, trusting him in everything.

"Thank you"

Sevatar looks away from the ceiling and looks at the mattress at the far end of the room. You're having such a good dream. Surely you are now dreaming of the warm sun and the spiers of Terra which you will never see again. Not noticing the gaze of the Night Lord.

You are tender and fragile compared to him. Too kind and naive for this Legion. Too strange for the Imperium. The man did not know and did not want to know whether you were a hidden psyker. But even if that were the case, you would become even more dependent on the first captain. Only he can hide you from his brothers and the Black Ship. After all, you are so defenseless.

He wants crush you.

No, Sevatar did not want to kill you. And yet, lately he had a strange desire to squeeze you. A hot feeling, similar to anger, settled in his body and mind. He became even more fierce in training. His brothers were already openly avoiding him so as not to end up broken on the floor.

His obedient Terminators, his brotherhood say nothing, blindly carrying out the will of the first captain. But they noticed a change in him. They noticed that he was haunted by an obsessive thought, which Sevatar still could not throw into action. For now. He just didn't know what to do yet.

But the primarch clearly laughed at him. He knew what an unusual situation Sevatar found himself in. Konrad Curze sometimes looked at the Space Marine with such anticipation that any mortal would feel uncomfortable. Sevatar was only annoyed by this. He was devoted to his gene father, but sometimes it was difficult to be with him. He feels not like the first captain, but like a mother hen.

Sevatar will not ask Konrad Curze what is happening to him. Will not ask for advice. This type of relationship between Primarch and Space Marines is common to other Legions. Moreover, Sevatar, unlike his brothers, did not hang on every word of the primarch with anticipation. He was devoted to him, but he did not love him. If this feeling was even in his blood.

The man looks at your figure again, peering into your calm sleeping face. An entertaining spectacle. Calming. And yet the thought of your tears and moans seeps into Sevatar's mind again. Filling all the brain cells, leaving not a single space.

He would crush you under himself. Grab you in his arms. Lick his mark on you. Eat you. Subdue. Dominate.

These feelings, not inherent to space marines, no longer let the man out of his tenacious clutches. He should go to the Apothecary and get rid of them. Heal and start seeing you as a piece of meat. But he won't do it. Because he couldn’t and didn’t want to.

The white teeth of a predator sparkle in the darkness. A smile typical of a corpse appears on his face. But still sincere. There were few moments when something could amuse Sevatar, captivate him, or simply make him happy. But you did it.

The words of a mother from the distant past envelop the man like a blanket. A small clue that sheds light on his new feelings. Good girls always love bad boys. And vice versa.

And Sevatar was bad, right? There were no good people among the Night Lords. Only monsters, murderers and sadists who fulfill the Imperial Truth and bring peace to the worlds of people. Facade, nothing more. But you were good. And you will remain like this forever. He'll take care of it. He will shed as much blood as necessary. If only you were nearby.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Eternal Night (Part 3)

Summary: Every night you become more attached to Sevatar. He, in turn, becomes obsessed with your connection.

Jago Sevatarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power imbalance, violence, predator/prey, rape (attempted), stockholm syndrome

Word count: 2252

Song: She Wants Revenge - Tear You Apart

I want to hold you close Soft breath, beating heart, As I whisper in your ear: I want to fucking tear you apart

You didn't talk to Sevatar about what happened that day. Was it really necessary? He is your master, he saved you from the Legion. You were to serve him faithfully and not ask questions. Even if his behavior was unusual for Space Marines.

However, Jago Sevatarion decided not to dwell on one incident. You also continued to clean his chambers. But at the same time he continued his strangeness. If the Astartes were an ordinary man, you would think that it was he who pestered you like that. One such thought was blasphemous. And yet…

He holds you too tight, too strong. You won't even be able to escape from his embrace if you wanted to. But you couldn't resist this feeling. There are monsters outside the doors, ready to tear your soul and body to pieces. They don’t even hide, because this is their land.

Only with Sevatar will you be safe.

The rough tongue slides over your shoulder again, reminding you of its owner. He was rude, but still tried to act gentle. It just wasn't in his nature. It's like caressing flowers with a knife. But even so. Even so, you liked it.

Sevatar squeezes you harder, leaving bruises all over your body. Your back is pressed tightly against his chest. There is no chance of running away. Especially when his teeth are so close to your skin. One wrong step and he will bite your flesh off. But for now he is treating you too softly.

Your skin under the tattoo has become too sensitive. Every touch of his fingers or tongue caused a strange feeling. Heaviness appeared in the lower abdomen, it was hot and you had to suppress a moan. This was embarrassing. To experience such feelings...

But this is connected not only with touches. All these conversations, a man's concern for you. After all, the first captain could mock you, not take you as his servant, or force you to do hard work. But he didn't do it. Your past life was harder than in the service of Sevatar. And then you weren’t touched that way before him.

Such moments did not happen every time. Not every night. But only in those moments when the space marine especially needed sleep. He was calmed by your presence, your movements, the way you cleaned up. But apparently touching you broke something in him. After which Sevatar fell asleep in an unusually sound and peaceful sleep.

Perhaps you should have been happy for him. It was true, it just still hurt. Lonely. You couldn’t understand where sympathy for Sevatar came from in your heart. It was a shame to feel like that. He was the Night Lord. He wanted and served the Emperor, you were not stupid. You knew he was still a murderer and a sadist.

And he's a Space Marine. You knew that men of his kind could not experience attraction. Sevatar has never seen and will never see you as a woman. All this time, you were nothing more than a piece of meat that calmed him down. It was annoying and easy at the same time.

You didn't want to give in to weakness. To feel fear of the horrors of NightFall, which grew into an obsessive desire to be protected. To be loved. Every day the hanging bloody flesh of your mistress was forgotten. The cries of the suffering prisoners echoed. You began to get used to this place, to your surroundings.

Disgusting.

You desperately wanted to save the remnants of your mind before it completely shattered. Preserve your humanity, kindness and mercy. You didn't want your heart to turn to stone. So that it beats again and fills with blood not only when Sevatar appears nearby.

Therefore, you began to leave your master’s chambers even more often and spend every free minute with the rats. Or with grandpa and other serfs if they were not busy. But mostly with your favorite friends. In addition, your diet improved and you were able to share more acceptable food with them.

Still, you couldn't help but worry. There are fewer of them. Much less. But the serfs did not pay attention to your friends, and the space marines even less so. So why did it seem to you that the disappearance of your little friends was not due to hunger? Rats could be cruel, but now there was no reason for them to kill each other. It could have been someone else.

Later, grandpa told you that recently the Night Lords brought one of many planets to the Imperium. As always, in a very perverted way, since the residents apparently did not have enough footage of the previous massacre. Many ended up in skinning pits. Some prisoners were specially taken to Nightfall to prolong the pleasure of torture.

Maybe one of the prisoners escaped? Hidden in the depths of the ship and somehow managed to escape pursuit? Eating scraps and rats, he survived in this gloomy and dark place. You felt sorry for your friends, but you also felt sorry for the prisoner. You couldn't give him away. So you decided to pretend you didn't notice anything. Close your eyes to what is happening, as you usually did. Only this time it was much easier to do.

But in the end, everything that is hidden will become clear. You saw him. A thin man whose ribs stood out against his skin. Covered in blood and filth. His growing hair and beard, his whole appearance, turned him into a beast. Once a former person.

He was just finishing the rat. And judging by the bones and meat scattered around him, it was not the first. He ate them all. He killed them all. The rats were not people, but they were dear to you. You guessed that this would happen, but when your thoughts become reality you feel sick. You sobbed.

The creature heard your sobs and turned around sharply. You froze. He's spent too long in pitch darkness, he can see you. You won't be able to hide. But maybe he will run away on his own? You pose no danger. And apparently the man knew this. You could tell by his hungry look and the saliva coming out of his mouth. They only look like that when they want to eat. He wanted it, just differently.

You ran. Heart was beating incredibly loudly, ready to jump out at any minute. You were out of breath, but the stomping from behind urged you on. And yet he caught you. He lay down on your back, breathing heavily into your ear.

“Woman, woman” - the older girls told you that men turn into animals at the sight of a woman. But right now there really was a monster above you, trying to take off his pants. - “Warm. Finally alive. D-don't move. Don’t c-cry, I’ll be quick.”

But you cried. You resisted. Even when he turned you around and punched you in the stomach.

“I-I'm marked. I have a tattoo.” - you choked on tears, not believing that this was the first time you had to talk about this. You desperately tried to stop the man from untying the knot of his pants. - “I serve Jago Sevatarion, the first captain. Y-you can’t touch me.”

"Shut up!" - the man slaps you in the face and you burst into tears. - “I don’t know anyone here. Just let me in. Open up. I want warmth.”

You see how he finally copes with his pants and something in you breaks. Having found a fragment from the bottle, you plunge it into the flesh. A cry of pain is heard in the compartment, but this only spurs you on. You were beaten. He wanted to hurt you. He wanted...

You were weak in body. And it's not that your spirit is strong. But the man in front of you was even worse. You felt sorry for him. And no. You stab the shard into the rapist a few more times until he runs away from you on all fours like a whining dog.

A shiver ran through your body, nausea rising in your throat. You looked at the bloody shard with tears in your eyes. Your whole body ached. Especially those places where you were hit. Especially your tattoo.

***

Sevatar found you in his chambers. Sitting in the darkest corner, covered in blood and dirt. You thought he would brush you off or tell you to clean up after yourself. But the pale face lit up with such rage that you had never seen. You barely held back a whine when he came up to you with lightning speed, pulling you towards him.

“Who did this?” - The first captain looked at you with an anger. The hands squeezed your shoulders painfully, leaving new bruises. - “Some kind of mortal degenerate since you are still alive. Did you show him my sign? Who was it?

“H-he saw it. I met him in the trash compartment. P-probably one of your prisoners.” - you are safe and the man was clearly worried. But why are you so scared? - “But he ran a-away and was hiding. And then we collided. He wanted, he wanted-"

“Rape you, yes, I know, I'm not an idiot.” - the space marine abruptly interrupts your babble and you fall silent. Sevatar looks into your red eyes and runs a finger across your cheek with amazing gentleness, wiping away a tear. - “The blood is not yours. Hurt him?”

Nod.

“Killed?”

You shake your head, almost hiccupping. No, you didn't kill him, you saw him run away. Yes, he was badly injured. Weak and lost too much blood. But could you kill him? And did you want this?

To your horror, you couldn’t really tell. Sevatar chuckles, clearly satisfied with this answer. He examines you one more time, lingering on all the places where your tormentor's blood got into. There was too much of it. Your face was probably all red.

“It suits you, mouse. But I don’t want you to smell like someone else, so wash it off.” - you don’t even have time to think about such strange words. Sevatar did not seem to understand what he said, continuing his thought. - “Since our guards are not coping with their duties, we will have to carry out a purge. We'll find that bastard too. He will receive his well-deserved punishment.”

Sevatar turns to leave the quarters. But he turns around for a moment to look you in the eyes again. All you can do is stand silently in shock. He obviously came to his chambers to rest. But he leaves as soon as he hears what happened to you. He leaves to fulfill his duty.

“Well done for defending yourself.” - an unpleasant grin passes over the pale face and the man chuckles. - “But you are terrible murderer. Lucky you have me.”

It didn't take long at all. As Sevatar later told you, the prisoner was quickly captured. He was bleeding and was on the verge of death. But the Apothecary saved him in time. So that the Astartes could later put their sentence into action, prolonging the man's torment as long as possible.

The warden and guards also received what they deserved. They didn't do their job. They allowed the prisoner to escape and showed the Legion to be weak. They put you in danger. Although you were sure that the first captain kept the last part only for himself and you.

Some were more fortunate, some less so. Some were reprimanded, others were transferred to other positions. Some were beaten. The overseer responsible for such an offense was, of course, gutted in front of his subordinates. So that the new person in his position would better carry out the orders of the Legion.

“Oh, and this is for you.” - the man hands you an iron box with a cooling regulator. You open it with fear and look at the contents in horror. A small human heart, red with blood, lay on pieces of ice. Still fresh.

“If it weren’t for our Apothecary, you would still have finished off this pathetic mortal.” - the man smiled. Just as always that smile gave an unpleasant feeling. But you knew that this time it was not an imitation. He was sincerely happy. - “So keep your trophy.”

“What should I do with it?” - you turn the box in your hands, remembering one of the recent conversations. You look at the first captain like a child who does not understand a simple task. - “Eat?”

“Hah, you can eat it. Or feed it to your rats. Or keep it for yourself as a reminder. Do whatever you want.” - the man speaks relaxedly while his unblinking black eyes look at the tattoo. - “You deserve it.”

Even though it was a human organ. And you never thought that you would keep someone's heart to yourself. And even though it's terrible. It was nice. Nice to receive something of your own as a sign of consolation. Albeit in the manner of the Night Lords.

"Thank you."

You say this quietly, with all the gratitude that glows in your living heart. The man is silent, continuing to look at you. A strange fire burns in the black eyes, which you have never seen before.

Like a mortal, but in a completely different way, Sevatar also wanted to eat you. And to your horror and pleasure, you realize that you would allow him to tear you apart.

"You're welcome."

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Eternal Night (Part 1)

Summary: You ask for protection from the Night Lord in the hope of being saved from other space marines. Not realizing that you yourself walked into a mousetrap.

Jago Sevatarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, power imbalance, violence, body horror, torture, predator/prey

Word count: 2560

Song: She Wants Revenge - Out Of Control

But then she noticed me glance at her I had no choice but to dance with her

The funny thing is that mothiir just recently released headcanons about the first captain. Today is Sevatar's day.

The very thought of serving on a Night Lords ship was terrifying. Many remembrancers chose Fulgrim or Horus Lupercal. Some ventured to the Conqueror. But as your lady noted, only the bravest and courageous are ready to board the Nightfall.

Stupid and naive, you wanted to tell her. But your mistress was too self-confident, too spoiled to listen to anyone. She justified her reckless action by arguing that the Night Lords were still Astartes, the Space Marines of the Imperium. And you…

What are you? You were her personal maid. You weren't supposed to have an opinion. You kind of missed freedom. But is it better to be a healthy serf than a hungry child? You are already lucky that her kind family took you into their home.

But while cleaning the mistress’s room on Nightfall, you want to return to the depths of poverty. It was dark here. Cold. And scary. No matter how much you smelled the chlorine or your lady's perfume, you couldn't get rid of the smell of blood. It seemed to be absorbed into the ship.

You behaved as quiet as a mouse. Didn’t interfere, didn’t talk too much. Made friends with a couple of serfs without distracting them from their work. Tried not to tremble in the presence of the Astartes passing by. The main thing is to continue to remain invisible. Hide in the darkness and it doesn’t matter what these lords rule the night.

The lady was an easy prey. She just asked to be gutted. You shouldn't think that way, but it was true. The way her knees shook and she sweated out of fear. Although it was difficult not to do so when even in the quietest corners of the ship distant cries of pain could be heard.

“I'm so scared. They look like that, as if a little longer and they will twist my head.” - the lady once complained to you before going to bed.

“You shouldn’t be afraid. This won't happen." - you calmly notice. The girl’s calm face, full of hope, changes to horror and disgust as soon as you continue your thought. - “First they will skin you alive.”

Compared to her, you seemed so gloomy and strange. Weird. The other servants jokingly called you lady crow. Although you didn't understand the humor. Nightfall looked more like a burial ground. How could you want to stay here for even one minute if you are not a scavenger? Besides, you are not a bird, you are a human.

And despite this, your mistress tried to gain respect among mortals who had seen the real horrors of war. And her desperate attempts to personally meet Konrad Curze are akin to a desire to quickly depart to the afterworld.

And she achieved her goal. Even more. The primarch himself decided to visit the chambers of the restless scribe. Either out of idle curiosity or out of a desire to calm down the annoying woman. Just the knock on the door sent a shiver down your spine, and his massive black figure in the doorway sent a terrible feeling of foreboding.

Konrad Curze, in his grim elegance, entered the chamber and greeted the woman. And then he looked at you. Long and drawn out, cold and concentrated. His black eyes probed every piece of your flesh and soul. And then he smiled.

The lips stretched to the ears, revealing clawed teeth. But the worst thing was when he laughed a nasty laugh. The kind that makes your bones crack. He continued to look at you and laugh, putting the lady in a stupor. And scaring you terribly. A gloomy foreboding clouded the little mortal heart, and the words only nailed you more firmly to the floor.

“How interesting~” - the primarch grinned carnivorously while saliva collected in the corners of his mouth. - “The little mouse will offer itself to the crow. And he will only be glad. What's worse? To be eaten by scoundrels or to be protected by a monster?”

He bursts out laughing again, this time quiet. He sighs, disgustingly satisfied. Until he finally pays attention to your mistress. And something in his face changes. You can’t explain it, but it’s as if doom and anticipatory bloodthirstiness have merged into one. As if Konrad Curze saw something terrible. And he liked it.

“Perhaps we should discuss everything in private,” his voice softly envelops you like night. It is impossible to explain how a man turned from madman to primarch. Although no one knows whether the Emperor's son can go mad.

Your mistress nods and with a wave of her hand kicks you out of the chambers. You quickly leave the room, closing the door behind you. The primal desire to hide increased a hundredfold. You rush to one of your secluded places, which you discovered by accident. For the first time in your life, not watching the road and not hiding too much from prying eyes.

You should never give in to fear. You must always be on your guard. A momentary weakness can and does lighten the soul. But you will definitely have to pay later. And you understand this as soon as you hit your forehead on something iron at a turn.

A characteristic sound is heard and you whine and grab your forehead. There will be a bump and most likely a huge one. But the pain just vanishes when you understand where it came from. And especially when you hear an unpleasant chuckle.

He looked intimidating. Outstretched wings of a gargoyle and a skull on a huge armor not intended for an ordinary mortal. The characteristic appearance of the Nostraman did not frighten you. As well as the scars on the eyebrow and lip.

But his smile was scary. How his black eyes filled with sparkle, and the corners of his lips twitched strangely. It’s as if someone is touching the threads sewn into the skin of a corpse, imitating human living emotions. All the sons of Curze were terrifying, their “smiles” were more like the grin of animals. But this one was different.

“Careful, little one. If you had met one of my brothers, you would already be hanging on a hook” - his eyes sparkled with mischief, but nothing more. - “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

You swallowed. Didn’t want to answer, but silence could only provoke.

“My lady is speaking with Konrad Curze.” - the unpleasant meeting still echoed in your brain. It became more uncomfortable. - “I was told not to interfere.”

“Oh, that annoying scribe still managed to snag a meeting with the primarch. Your mistress talks too much and goes where she shouldn't. These usually end up with their guts out.” The man smirked and looked at you. Attentively. Like a carcass ready for slaughter. - “And where are you going?”

That's why you didn't want to get caught by the Night Lords. They played with mortals as if they were food. Important people for the Legion were still protected, but the serfs were meat. One is gone, it’s easy to replace it with a second one. The only thing that saved you was to be the remembrancer’s serf, her personal maid. Although judging by the attitude of the Space Marines towards her, this could only egg them on.

“To the compartment” - you don’t want to say where you’re going, but there’s no choice. In addition, it is unlikely that the Astartes will specify the exact location of your secret home. - “Into the trash compartment.”

A strange range of surprise spreads across the man’s face. Not disgust, but misunderstanding.

“Why the hell did you decide to go there?”

“There are a lot of rats there. They are my friends” - you almost calmed down as soon as you remembered the familiar sounds coming from under the garbage. You almost whisper a confession. - “They calm me down with their rustling.”

It was true. They listened to your stories, entertained you with fights between each other. They were soft and fluffy, although dirty. They were not evil from birth, they simply survived as best they could in such a place. And alas, the rats were much better than some of the people here.

The man just chuckled at these words. Did it seem to you or did a strange understanding flash in his eyes? And curiosity.

“Well then go.”

Not believing your luck, you open your mouth in amazement and blink your eyes. But you obey. While he gives you a head start, you need to run. There is no need to waste your luck. Especially when the one who could easily break you and not notice, lets you go while the going's good.

“And since they calm you down, mouse,” you turn around sharply and notice the same terrifying smile. But this time it's not scared. Something in a man changes when he calls out to you. - “It’s worth thanking them. Bring them meat... and fresh is best.”

Good advice. Maybe you're already used to Nightfall or this Night Lord seems less terrible. Or maybe you should really bring your little friends a well-deserved reward. You'll try to find something fresh and something... not made from human flesh.

You nod and quickly, trying not to attract attention, walk further down the corridor. You wish you could say that you didn’t feel the Space Marine’s gaze on you. But you felt it even when your figure disappeared from his gaze. Dead, mischievous, carnivorous. It was as if he had just found an interesting prey, but decided to let it go.

For a while.

***

You started to notice him. Previously all Space Marines looked alike. You just didn't look closely. Why the hell do you need this if they will torture you almost equally. But he wasn't like that. Or rather, a little more... humane? Kind? No, those are suitable. Wrong. Yes, that's much better.

First captain. Jago Sevatarion. You learned the name and title from one of the local serfs. You immediately became friends with him when you saw him. He was old. That's why you called him grandpa. He lasted a long time. Good sign.

Grandpa said that you were very lucky that the captain didn’t touch you. He did not participate in the local amusements so often, talking more with the primarch. Or keeping an eye on other Space Marines and a Atramentar. But still he was just as sadistic as the others. He killed, dismembered, skinned with grim pleasure. You couldn’t help but notice that he was the most feared of all. Unpleasant vibrations emanated from him.

It seemed like you were scared too. But it seems not. Alas, just as you were strange in childhood, you remains so. Although the local inhabitants even liked it. As if you almost one of them, unlike the other servants of the scribe. But you really couldn’t understand why no one noticed.

His weirdness. How he communicates with a couple of mortals. The same ones. You were sure he was keeping an eye on them. He made sure nothing bad happened to them. And he didn't touch you either. It is unlikely that your “status” would in any way prevent Sevatarion from quenching his thirst for murder. And he didn't laugh at your friendship with rats. Didn't find it disgusting or weird. It was nice gesture.

He also began to notice you. On distance. Didn't come up to you, didn't call you. No need. It’s just that now he knew what kind of new person was running around here. The Astartes began to notice you in the shadows, as you headed towards the rats or the local serfs. You didn’t see, but you were almost sure that at such moments he smiled unpleasantly.

Although probably all the Space Marines smiled when Curze called your mistress a traitor. He said that she decided to steal something and violated the Imperial Truth. You still couldn’t understand the words of the old serf who caught you in the corridor.

Rave. Your mistress was spoiled and annoying, but she would never betray the Imperium. She wouldn't even have such a thought. Is this a mistake or some kind of joke? The primarch could not blame her for something she had not done. Did he really decide to come up with justice just to send her to her death? She was kind. She didn't deserve it.

But a judgment is a judgment. Grandpa wasn't making fun of you. Now you and the other servants belonged to the Legion. But given the way this happened, you are unlikely to stay here for long. Alive.

With a feeling of guilt and tears in your eyes, you look at her mutilated corpse, nailed to one of the gates. They removed the skin from her, and then they squeezed out the body so that all the bones were broken, and most of the blood flowed away. Now her eyeless body, folded like a rag, looked at you accusingly.

Once you said that they would skin her, don't you?

Footsteps are heard behind you. Not lurking, but quiet. If you can say so, taking into account the armor of the Space Marines. You turn around and see Jago Sevatarion behind. The captain looks...tired. It was like he hadn't slept for days or weeks. A little bored. But quite happy with his work.

Apparently he also took part in the verdict.

“Your screaming scribe got into trouble herself, little mouse. You shouldn't mourn her when your life hangs by a thread. You will serve the Legion well and we will not touch you. Maybe." - the man falls silent and looks at you carefully. - “Or are you so used to being a personal servant?”

Maybe. If this world were a little kinder, you would even call your mistress a friend. But the Galaxy is full of horrors, and your patroness has turned into a leather rag. And you will be the same if you get caught. Or if you are not protected...

Grandpa said he was lucky. He had a tattoo. The ink mixed with the blood of the Space Marine he served. And no one touched him. Nobody offended him. Because he was not a “free” serf. He was no one's toy on the road. He had his own tormentor. But it's better than the unknown. Isn't it?

The First Captain raised an eyebrow. Apparently a little hope slipped across your sad face. It’s alarming to ask, scary to beg. But what choice do you have? Sooner or later you will be found and gutted. So you have to take risks.

“Take me to you,” you almost devour the man with your eyes, trying not to cower in fear. - “I will serve you. I'll be obedient. Will not interfere. I'm very quiet. Please."

You didn’t know why you mentioned that you are quiet. It came out on its own. The Night Lords rather like screaming, begging, and crying. The louder the better. But before your eyes was the tired appearance of the first captain. Even now he didn't look his best. Although something lights up in his eyes. For a moment, the walking corpse looks almost alive. A terrible sight.

“Call me Sevatar.” - the voice is surprisingly soft and relaxed. You look at him in disbelief. The man just grins at your funny look.

"This means?"

"Yes."

[moodymisty]

Could you please write something with Sevatar? That man needs to get slapped around uwu

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: Wearing a shirt that says 'Number 1 Jago Sevatarion whore' on it: Yeah I'm normal.

Summary: Jago Sevatarion really likes one of the Salamander's humans.

Relationships: Jago "Sevatar" Sevatarion/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Vague references to NSFW, The consent is dubious so tw dubcon, Violence, Stalking, Predator/Prey kinda dynamics, General 40kness, Stockholm syndrome?, Kinda Yandere maybe?, If you don't know what you're getting into reading this then I dunno what to fucking tell you like it's a Night Lord I can only woobify him so much

Word Count: 1140

It has been tense as of late, to say the least. As much as that word fails to illustrate in context, it's the only one you can think of to use.

To have Night Lords present has been nothing but a battle to keep tensions low enough in order to keep things productive, and to avoid fights between the Astartes from breaking out at seemingly every opportunity. These fights can be between the apposing legions, or even just between the Eighth themselves.

It doesn't help that the Night Lords are often times seen baiting them- taunting barking goading a Salamander to throw the first punch. They seem to crave it, most of them.

Every baseline human aboard has done everything within their power to avoid crossing paths with Astartes in deep blue armor, adorned with smatterings of blood red. Particularly when not in sight of a Salamander. There has been more than a few times where a serf or other baseline human has managed to scurry into sanctuary within a Salamander's line of sight, and in the distance a Night Lord prowls; Discontent with his prey, or toy perhaps, finding safety in the light. They will soon after find something else to occupy their time, leaving the human no longer needing to look over their shoulder. But only for the moment.

You don't have that option. Because not only have you already gotten caught, the one that caught you is smart.

He knows where you would try to hide, every single little rat hole you could try and squeeze yourself in, and he knows that even if you did flee to one of your massive protectors, he would put up a far stronger fight than any of the other Night Lords. His persistence alone sets him apart. Why did he pick you? Out of so many, why you?

It's like being hunted. But not the chase; The conclusion, when the predator decides to bat around it's prey like a toy as it squeals, begging for a mercy it won't receive.

If you screamed, would someone come? Would they be able to free you from him, or would he simply kill them and have you all alone again?

But why won't the scream leave your throat? It's like he's choking you with just his presence.

You can hear ceramite plates grind against each other as he shifts in his armor, the hissing of it's mechanics left hand pinning your right arm against the wall. It hurts bad, it'll surely be bruised and aching, radiating pain as a remnant and reminder that this isn't some sort of horrid nightmare.

He finally caught you. After so long of managing to evade the massive Astartes, him stalking the shadows outside of your safety and watching you with those void black eyes like you have something he wants, he finally sank his claws in you. He'd been toying with you for what felt like weeks, swimming around you and trying to reach out and grab only for you to pull away, and he'd laugh. Call you little. Say your name that he'd stolen after overhearing it in a way that had you swallowing a knot deep in your throat. You could only avoid it so long- for every step you took away, took he took two closer.

Many of the Astartes are currently having their five hours of designated rest- there is no one to save you in this particular hall save for the rare guard.

His other hand grips your jaw, making sure your face can't turn away from him. Your free hand paws at his wrist, and each time your fingers slip off the armor despite trying to latch onto the seams you can see the amusement cast on his face.

Is it because he likes the way your hand is too small to grip, unable to fight against someone so much larger, unfathomably stronger, or because you're squirming like sweet prey under his pitch black gaze?

You just wish he'd get on with it. To stop toying with you, making your heart pound against your ribcage. To make your skin so hot that it travels up your neck as if moving to choke you. Fear swallows you in a way that makes you freeze- even if he hadn't been holding you, you doubt you could call on your legs to run and not fall right over to your knees.

He's never gotten this close before.

His lips brush against yours like the touch of a ghost, his breath boiling hot on your skin. You can just feel the rough skin of the scar that rips across the right side of his mouth, warping the skin. It's one of many that decorate what little skin of his is visible. When he shifts, you can hear his helm hit his thigh plate from where it's attached to his belt.

"Well?"

He's so close you can barely see his eyes, and you don't want to. When ever he looks at you if feels like he's piercing you to the wall. His dark eyes and slicked black hair contrast with the paleness of his complexion, as he watches your every move.

"I can smell that fear on you."

His words lay over you like a hot, rough blanket.

"But don't think I'm stupid enough to not smell something else."

He's not gentle- neither with his words or the way his hands grip your arms pressing against the wall. Is this a part of the Madness of the Eighth that seems to hang over their legion? To just want and to take? You know that the Astartes always can with their raw power, but you're so used to the Salamanders and their stoic kindness.

It's your obvious, first thought to try and free yourself, or call for the help of someone not asleep. Though a second thought crosses moments later.

You know you shouldn't do it; He's going to eat you up and spit you out once he's done.

But you're an idiot. One with no options and that finds themselves almost drawn into the black hole that is him.

"W-What is your name?"

He's never said it, and you've never dared ask it to anyone. You feared that once you did, that you'd put yourself deeper into his grip like stepping into a bog- fighting but only sinking farther.

He laughs. Deep, and its gravel hits you in the gut.

"I am Jago Sevatarion."

His exhale smooths over your skin like hot steam; Rough lips once again scraping over yours in an almost kiss. His voice is heavy on your chest, he's not even yelling and it's loud, deep and makes the back of your neck tense. The cold metal of his power armor presses against the skin of your jaw.

"You can call me Sevatar."

[moodymisty]

Since we are all horny for sevatar i think hé would be a jealous hubby if anything like maybe talos or some other marine gets to close or to *friendly* i like to think hé would be the type of guy to blame his beloved for being to cute or pretty

I think any Night Lord would be horrifically possessive of their chosen little human, more so than probably any other legion. I think Blood Angels would be quite close however. And of course with possessiveness comes jealousy, so it wouldn't be a surprise at all to see him gnashing teeth at anyone who gets within shouting distance.

Doesn't help that with Night Lords, he's going to have to viciously protect his human like a hyena with it's chunk of meat, given how the other Night Lords would act.

He would definitely blame or at minimum tease about you being so desirable, given the way that you look up in fear or just seem so, helpless. If you constantly act like a Night Lord squeaky toy, you can't be surprised when they all come sniffing around. Sevatar would surely hate it for all of the trouble it causes, but at the same time, it's worth it for him getting to enjoy it.

Afterall, your helplessness and stench of fear might attract unwanted attention he has to get rid of, but when he alone gets to have a taste...

[moodymisty]

Author's Note: Inspired by this post. You can blame all of the unhinged horniness there for this unhinged horniness. Someone there put the idea down as space wolves or Luna wolves and I chose Luna wolves because @bispecsual gave me the brain rot. And since I'm a massive masochist, I write.

Relationships: Like five unnamed Luna Wolves/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Vaguely NSFW, Very hornily charged bullying, Astartes are very curious and grabby, Demeaning speech, Just imagine you're that one girl on the couch in the meme surrounded by massive dudes but those dudes are 8 foot tall genetic abominations, Gangbang implications(?) my warning tags are getting weird as fuck

To the Luna Wolves, serfs are a new idea- a curiosity.

But after their good deeds upon a planet of little known renown and placement in the galaxy, a few of their population offered to serve them.

Before them, most serfs were primarily stationed on Terra, and on Luna Wolves ships instead those roles were given to low ranking tech priests, or penal labor. Even then however the Astartes saw them rarely, until now.

Some of the newly conquered planet offered sons as aspirants, of which they eagerly accepted. The Luna Wolves have been eager to grow their numbers now under Horus’ leadership.

Others, older and ablebodied, offered themselves to serve as serfs.

Many Luna Wolves can't remember the last time they've seen a normal human for more than a few moments, ushering them to safely into a Stormbird or pushing them from a firefight. Or seeing their corpse flung on the far reaches of a battlefield, out of sight and mind.

In their brief periods of reprieve from battle, it's now been a struggle for their captains and lieutenants to keep their men on task, now that serfs scurry around them completing various tasks. Particularly for the youngest marines among them, it's been a constant to stop them from reaching towards the serfs, interrupting their sanctioned duties.

They will get to you once finished with your brothers, is what the current quartermaster on duty or Astartes captain says. Though haste to have their armor cleaned or bolter clips loaded isn't the thing on their mind, but instead an almost dog-like curiosity.

But after their superiors leave, they always end up crowding around you again. These astartes have barely seen baseline humans in decades, let alone a woman.

It's suffocating.

You were nothing on your home planet. Insignificant. You’d hoped joining them would bring you purpose, something to be proud of. And to get off the planet that had you feeling so trapped. And while you got your wish, in a way the thing trapping you had merely changed form.

They have you cornered in the armoring room now; Like Wolves. You went from trapped on that no name planet to trapped by five different astartes. Your palms feel hot and sweaty, but not as hot as your face.

“You’re so small, you’re going to get lost on the ship,” One says.

He grabs for your chin and holds it for a moment, forcing you to look into his grey eyes. they're stoic, but you can see he's enjoying something about this. Though he allows you to shrink away and out of his grip, looking downward at their chest armor. Or anywhere else that isn't their faces.

“Or trampled,” Says another. The one who spoke previous gives him a sour look before passively aggressively replying.

“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

One who hasn't spoken yet has his top armor removed, his lower half unpowered. He was training, using it as dead weight. Training concluded blood now drips down from his nose and lips but is mostly dried, partly covered healing bruises. If he looks like this, you can't help but wonder how his opponent looks.

It’s distracting.

You don’t know if it’s some sort of illness or insanity from being locked in this ship for so long; It makes him look more attractive. You hope to whatever deity or god or whatever exists out in the stars that he doesn't notice you’re staring. That he doesn't notice the way your heart is pounding in your chest and what feels like your cunt as well.

He does. As do the others. You can't kid yourself and think that with their hearing and smell that they haven't noticed that you're boiling alive, and that your body is screaming fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me-

“He won. Out of one hundred men.”

Your gut twists and the marine behind you laughs quietly. It's deep, enough so that you swear you can feel it in your chest. You would squeeze your thighs together for some relief, but you don’t think you can without stumbling over.

“She likes the winners. Looks like you’re out.” He gestures to a fellow marine that gives him another sour look. You briefly wonder what he lost at to deserve such a jab.

“I should return to my duties,”

You meekly say, hoping to remove yourself from the embarrassment and scurry away to another quarter of the ship.

One of them blocks your path and traps you from leaving, picking you up by the armpits and holding you before putting you back down between them all. It's like you weigh nothing to them, and that they can simply jostle and swing you around like a toy.

“I’ll tell your quartermaster you were helping us.” He jerks his head in the direction of a marine clad in only the casual clothing they wear out of their ceramite. Now the focus of your attention he rolls his shoulder, and you can see the muscles of his neck and around his collarbone flex.

You swallow a knot in your throat that felt like it was going to choke you. Your hands clench tight, nails sharp against your palms. You're going to have a heart attack, you swear it. Tears well in your eyes but they don't break your waterline just yet, from sheer will alone. If any of them say another word, call you cute, small, soft, that you smell so sweet, you swear they’ll roll down your cheeks like a waterfall.

“He wants you to put on his armor. The others are always so rough, you’re so gentle with those little hands.”

The marine reaches for you, and in your back step you stumble and accidentally bump into the one who hasn't spoken at all; Just watching and sitting. You stumble over his massive armored boot and end up falling into a sit on his thigh, legs parted over it. His massive armored hand comes to grip your waist, to keep you from falling over. It covers a good portion of your stomach in the process.

You’re so tightly wound just the simple pressure alone is enough to have you clamp a hand your mouth to avoid letting out a moan that would kill you right then and there, if you weren’t already dead. Your knees quiver, toes just barely touching the ground. His massive height makes it impossible to fully stand with his thigh between your legs.

You know they can smell the way you’re leaking and staining your underwear, hear the way your heart is racing like it's going to explode. You’re half afraid you might make his ceramite thigh plate slick.

You can feel their eyes on you. They look at you like you’re food thrown to a pack of starving wolves.

One suddenly steps forward, and pushes his battle brother out of his way with a harsh slam of ceramite on ceramite before undoing the latch his belt.

“I go first.”

[moodymisty]

Alright I gotta represent for us in the Rogal Dorn Simp Nation, Misty! This idea fell directly on my head from my old history nerd childhood, we’ve got stories of queens holding down the fort and being badass while the king is away so why not let the lady of the House of Dorn and the Imperial Fists kick some ass??? Dorn’s off doing y’know crusade shit etc etc and gets a frantic vox hail from Inwit (or whatever fortress world she was on) that they’re under attack. Luckily he’s done with whatever his assignment was or has somebody he can trust and leave it to so he can flip Phalanx in reverse and hop back to make sure nothing goes wrong. Only to find his beloved commanding the standing force of guardsmen and marines, not just holding it down but WINNING. On the outside he’s his usual stoic self like “psh yes of course I wasn’t worried, I never worry, this is something I expect her to be able to handle. I am proud tho” but internally he’s like “oh no this is hot” XD. Indomitable warrior queen decked out in armor he probably commissioned for her (always gotta be prepared) making battle plans and laying the verbal smack down on any captains or commissars who are questioning the competency of somebody ROGAL GODDAMN DORN chose to be with. Yeah I think that’d do a whole lot for him 😂

Having soft moments of reflection on his humanity matched against his beloved’s is delicious of course but so is meeting him where HE’S at, seeing how loving him and learning about him would change somebody. And getting to commit some grand old grimdark 40k VIOLENCE is always fun lol

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: We are on the front lines for Wall Husband I will go down with this ship. Boring this bland that fuck everyone else we're right I'm stacking bricks around them

Summary: Stuck in a violent snowstorm on an Imperial Fist controlled planet being sieged, you take command for the first time while waiting for Dorn.

Relationships: Rogal Dorn/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Dorn is your future husband and Alexis Polux is your battle husband it's like a work husband but much more violent, Mentions of battle and death, Typical 40kness, I think I blacked out while writing this I'm sorry

Word Count: 2566

You had known from the very beginning of your courtship that Dorn had wished for you to be a link in his chain of command.

What you hadn't expected, was for your first time in leadership to be completely alone, surrounded by no less than fifty Astartes waiting for orders, and five hundred or more Guardsmen half frozen due to the horrid weather; With a multitude of tech priests working on the various machinery and equipment.

This sun up makes it a week since the siege had began, the distant sounds of bolter fire constant. Sometimes the ground shakes from explosions, pulling dust off the cracks in the brick walls.

Walking down the east hall, you step into the large room that has been made into a sort of 'central command' to coordinate the current forces, stuffed tight with a massive holotable and various tech priests scattered around it. Some are working on fixing any malfunctioning machinery, such as the vox equipment that has had trouble maintaining a signal even on-planet through the storm.

You look around to see if anything drastic has changed in your absence. In the moment, you notice a familiar face; A commissar from the beginning of this week. He has the most command over the Guardsmen under you, having been their only superior before the invasion. Any captains or other commissars had been made to report to him, up until now. His closest in rank subordinate had been killed in an explosion on the first day, and in a morose thought, you wonder if they had been any more palatable than he is.

"Any progress hailing the Phalanx?"

He gives you a curt shake of his head, looking over the shoulder of the tech priest operating the vox equipment. Another harsh whip of wind batters against the walls, howling and shaking the glass windows. It rattles them almost just as bad as the distant explosions do.

"Nothing more than a few seconds at a time. But it should be enough of a message for them to understand the planet is under siege." The Commissar speaks short and stiff, face frozen in a neutral, stoic gaze underneath his uniform and few day old facial scruff. You cross your arms.

He's on his best behavior now, considering his disrespect shortly after you'd taken command had nearly gotten his head rent from his shoulders. He hadn't realized he was speaking to the Lady of the Imperial Fists, but the Astartes that had been in your company to deliver the news of your ascension in duty hadn't given him the leeway he might've thought he deserved. He acquiesced command of his guardsmen to you quite quickly, after that. There has been nary a squeal from him since, nor any of his fellow commissars or guard captains.

"Good. Then we will hopefully have aid soon. For now we need to push them back from the storage buildings before my men run out of bolter ammo."

Not that they can't work with just their chainswords, but long range options remain vital considering the hostile terrain you're all working with.

You hear the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.

Alexis Polux, a veritable giant of a man, is nearly unable to get through even a doorway meant for fellow Astartes; Though not of his size. His armor is packed with snow at the seams, pauldrons slick with snow melted into a sheet of ice. His thin, blonde hair is quickly becoming wet at the tips, from where snowflakes are melting in the slight heat of the room. Anywhere he walks, he leaves chunks of melting sleet right behind. It has to be almost packed a meter high at this point out there, judging where the worst of it ends on his leg armor.

"Welcome back, Captain Polux." You smile in spite of the situation. It's something that Dorn had said he found- in his own words- 'curious' about you.

He holds his helm in his hands, walking closer to you. He brushes past the Commissar with not even the slightest tilt of acknowledgement. Unsurprising. He'd been there when the man had questioned your acting in Dorn's proxy. Polux is a man of a surprisingly amount of humility and softspokenness, but he is rarely forgiving.

"The storm is getting worse."

You hear another bout of wind howl through the brick and stone, as it continues to dump more snow onto the ground. While the Astartes can traverse it without much issue, it's becoming one for the Guardsmen. They've slowed their advance significantly as the snow reaches their knees.

"Even if we do get aid, they're going to be hard pressed to get anything more than small gunship planet-side; Though it goes both ways. We're all stuck out here in this mess." You open your mouth to continue, but Polux cuts you off.

"They are not built for the cold like we are."

You look up to the massive marine who's been serving as your second in command. Perhaps it wasn't an officially given title, but he's taken it well, and you could think of no better man for it. Especially given that the other Astartes respect him- which makes your orders have less of a weight to them, given they still have a degree of unfamiliarity with you. Your hands rest on the rim of the holotable.

"Finished my sentence for me." He hums as an odd sort of apology, the humor of your response going right over his head. When you let out a soft chuff of a laugh a few guardsmen curiously look at you for a moment.

"It was a compliment, Polux." He stares, eyes flicking across your face as he loudly thinks.

He really is a Son of Dorn.

You resist the urge to smile again, and look down at the holotable. It's been quite the week, but what was once another language has now become nothing but second nature. Putting theory to practice has proved quicker and less frightening that you'd thought, a week ago.

Though you still hope Dorn returns to you soon, turning away from the holotable to receive an update from a guardsmen holding a dataslate.

If anyone had ever asked, Rogal Dorn has remained no different than the stalwart nature he's always had. Though his captains and commanders can hear tenseness in his voice. No matter how phenomally well the Primarch can mask it.

It's been there since they'd first gotten the first of multiple emergency vox hails, only a few seconds long with a barely stable connection. But the few words that had gotten through had made it obvious that the planet was being sieged.

One of their bases was being sieged, a spit in the face of the Imperial Fists.

Even worse, Dorn has no idea as to your welfare.

He'd thought you safe there, the safest you could be other than with him or on Inwit, and now you stand on a world being laid waste with no way to contact anyone off world. He wonders deep in a part of his mind if it was an error on his part.

They're less than a day out now, watching the warp tear by. Dorn stands at the ship's bridge- unmovable. He'll see the planet any moment now when they leave Warp travel, and then can he prepare for what all is ahead of him.

He has the utmost faith in his men and you. However that doesn't mean that a small, human part of him doesn't worry at the idea of you being stuck mid-siege in an unknown location.

He taught you well. He taught you well. A mantra in his head no one else can hear. It is up to yourself to survive without him.

The siege isn't visible from orbit when they arrive, given the massive storm blocking large swaths of the land in a white blanket. It will making landing difficult, but the storm is clearing- at least according to the tech priest currently in charge. Not long after orders are given to begin battering the enemy's battleships as they strike back, shields taking a sizable hit. Nothing the Eternal Crusader and it's crew cannot handle.

But it doesn't feel as if the ice storm is clearing with the way the gunships struggle to remain stable, even with the most competent of pilot. Though they still manage to land on solid footing in one piece, the wind whipping their armor like a flog. Sheets of snow blow across snow already heavily packed onto the ground, covering up the large footprints of Astartes that had been here moments before them. The stone of the steps is barely visible through it all.

Dorn strides forward, the snow sticking to his boots as he trudges through it. He can hear bolter fire in the distance, as well as what seems like the highpowered cannon of multiple Baneblades. A small team of five Astartes follow behind him, two on each side and one directly behind. They have their bolters raised, ever vigilant even well in the safely of their own area of control. Wind rips through his cropped hair and howls in his ears, and for a split second, he perhaps regrets not wearing his helm. Even for a man of Inwit, this cold stings; He can hear the ice and snow crunching in the seams of his armor.

Stepping inside the cathedral, the first thing he notes is the myriad of supplies stacked inside in the aisles, safe from the elements. Guardsmen are looking after them, divvying them out amongst themselves, or delivering them to the Astartes in need of them. Of which there are a few- Imperial Fist guards from before the siege began. Most seem in decent condition; Dorn notes a lack of injuries amongst the Guardsmen and Astartes alike, and how there seems to be an established system amongst them.

He keeps walking through the nave, passing Guardsmen and Astartes who all give him a drop of the head when he passes.

"Primarch Dorn!"

An Imperial Fist Lieutenant calls to him, helmet in his hand. He has blood on his lips from where his skin has split, the cold having whipped his skin dry. Going down the few steps of the ambulatory, he gives a curt nod.

"Lady Dorn and Captain Polux are in the east hall. Central command has been established there."

He affirms to the warrior and turns, walking through the transept and down the hall. The one who'd spoken to him seems to have other duties, and stays behind on the ambulatory.

He can hear chatter in the large, arched hall- it increases until he reaches the door it's bleeding from, and he opens it and ducks to come through. It's just too short for him, but the ceiling inside can thankfully handle someone of his height. It's a thought that is always in the back of his mind.

When Dorn enters the room, the first thing his eyes focus on is you; Leaning over a massive holotable with Captain Alexis Polux standing firmly at your side. He stands like an unmoving guardian, a hand on the pommel of his chainsword. He's the closest to you out of anyone in the room- either out of his own will, or the gargantuan Astartes has incidentally created a personal area of clearance around you both with his presence alone.

"Dorn!"

You say, an audible pep in your voice. The Primarch walks closer and examines the scene in front of him. You appear uninjured, apart from your skin being slightly pallid from the cold.

The Primarch notices how everyone operates around you with a level of assiduity and efficiency, having been giving clear cut duties. There is no arguing, no fighting, everyone both in this room and all around the cathedral operate smoothly. You have a perimeter established, and you’ve been careful to push the advance but not stretch yourself too thin.

You've done well. That much is clear. A part of him wonders if you'd be able to clean this all up on your own, had he decided to simply give you the reinforcements and leave.

Dorn watches as you momentarily turn away from him to speak to an approaching commissar, and he finds himself listening to your confident and assured tone of voice. A thought crosses his mind.

You look beautiful.

All of your inquiries, curious questions and shaking confidence in your ability to lead have all mixed together, and while you might have made different choices than him, he cannot deny your effectiveness.

Dorn decides to speak before he distracts himself within his own mind further. A hold of your hand or to take a kiss of yours are things reserved for private, not here. As much as he might wish to.

"You appear to have done well for yourselves."

You look up at him and give a wry smile, while he glances at the holotable in-between you both.

"It could be worse. I have a squad of Astartes stuck behind enemy lines, but we've pushed the enemy back from the supply warehouses."

This planet has large city buildings that the wind rips around through, unlike the shorter ones of Inwit. The Astartes are fine in their sealed suits and higher body temperature, but the Guardsmen are all struggling. You more than likely are as well, despite holding strong. He can see the chill on your skin, the cracked skin of your lips.

Dorn's reinforcements will provide valuable support to yours, and with their might together, this planet with be rid of the siege.

You turn to order that the men currently in the battlefield get notice that Primarch Dorn has arrived, and that reinforcements are coming. Besides the soon coming tactical advantage, it will provide a well needed boost to moral. With the intense weather, it has surely been lowering. Though your smile and optimistic look in your eyes prove to be a valuable motivator.

No matter how good the orders, often times the way they're said and the person giving them are what matter most.

The Primarch looks to Captain Polux, and gives him a curt nod. The Astartes politely returns a dip of his head in thanks to the silent compliment of his duty. Dorn then looks back to you.

"You and any men injured will return to the Eternal Crusader." You let out a laugh and shake your head. He can hear the rattle of the bolter on your hip.

"Well now that I've started this, I'm kind of keen on seeing it finished before I leave."

Dorn's eyebrows raise ever so slightly, amused by you. He taught you well, he repeats again. Your command over a such a less than optimal situation has proven as such.

The Lady of the Imperial Fists has proven herself not only to be smart, beautiful, and full of humility, but to be stalwart and confident as well.

"Very well."

He'll stay at your side, and judging by his solid stance, Polux will as well.

Dorn very rarely has doubts, but your confidence and ability to adapt have solidified his thoughts that he had made the right choice in you. His 'sons' taking well to your command makes it far easier.

They will have to when you officially become his wife, after all. You have already accepted the title of Lady Dorn, he has no reason to not seal your bond. There hasn't been much else in his life he has been more sure of.

Ignoring any of his more personal desires in the back of his mind, Primarch Rogal Dorn abides by your request, eyes focused more on your lips as you smile at him.

[moodymisty]

I was thinking about your Nightlords and Salamanders posts, and.. Can you imagine if instead of the Salamanders it's the Word Bearers? And Sevatar still ends up creepily fixated? And Kor Phaeron wants you gone? He'd notice immediately and probably give Sevatar a damn map of the ship's hideyholes/door codes to make the odds even worse for you. Plus, if you got got.. The Nightlords lunacy would be to blame. Everyone knows they're unhinged. Kor Phaeron had NOTHING to do with your abduction, no sir.

Absolutely loving how people are seemingly turning Kor Phaeron into a looney tunes ass character trying to foil Reader's flirtatious wiles.

But on more serious talk, perhaps trying to pawn Reader off on another chapter might not be his worst idea? The problem is more so that once Lorgar realizes you're gone, he's going to turn into a gospel wielding wrecking ball trying to get you back. And possibly start a war between the chapters.

Also, would Sevatar go through with it?

One path you could go is totally- he's been eying you for awhile and Kor Phaeron got keen, taking advantage of you being the idée fixe of Sevatar's mind to remove you as Lorgar's. And the chances of managing to get you back (in one piece at least) without having to tear through The Nightfall and inevitably get to Konrad himself? Kor Phaeron assures him that they'll do their best to find you, but he then uses that sorrow to fill the hole in his heart with more immediate things, trying to get him to forget you existed. People begin speaking as if you're gone, taken away by The Madness of the Eight. No one dares question the clearly missing pieces of the story due to Kor Phaeron's rigid censorship of it, and Lorgar's cracked spirit.

He's more defeated now, less outspoken, alone, but that doesn't bother Kor Phaeron; As long as he cares only for his Gospel. No distractions from the chapter's (his) goals.

You could also go the path of Sevatar refuses. Of all the Night Lords, he has the most of what you could... maybe consider... a moral? (keep in mind he is still a Night Lord but some of his stories have painted him as a step away from his Primarch in terms of pointless cruelty) so he might refuse doing it for Kor Phaeron. (stealing you on his own another time? perhaps...) Someone as prolific as Sevatar isn't going to be very keen on doing some false Astarte's dirty work. He scoffs, tells Kor Phaeron to get a blade and do it himself if he's so keen on it being done.

I'm sure theirs plenty of other ways you could go, these are just the two that stuck out to me. Thanks for the new brain worm, friend.

[moodymisty]

Since I remember you saying on a previous post that it would be fun for you to write. I’d like to request a konrad x gn reader.

He’s what the the people on tumblr call a “poor little meow meow”. And I’d just like to see him not only tormented by visions but also by basic human feelings of affection and attraction

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: This was fun to write :> I hope you both enjoy. This is my first real time writing anything for Konrad.

Summary: Konrad searches for you after you refused to listen to him.

Relationships: Konrad Curze/Gn!Reader

Warnings: NIGHT LORDS CONTENT, Blood, Gore mentions, Sevatar bullies you because he can, Abuse probably, Toxic relationship based on fear but also he kinda fine tho, Predator/Prey, It's Night Lords content I don't know what else I can say

Word Count: 1395

You remember the words of Primarch Fulgrim when he’d first cast eyes on you.

‘Truly, he is utterly obsessed with you.’

You hadn't understood what he meant of it at the time. Though as time has gone by, your think back on it now and see what Fulgrim had been referring to.

Konrad speaks of you with a demented sort of worship, like you hold the only key to his ever elusive happiness. He’s obsessed with you, obedient to you, he’ll give you anything you desire no matter what it takes.

But most of all, he wants you to look at him and only him.

"There you are, little toy."

You turn and look to see a familiar set of dark blue armor, marred by smatterings of dried blood and scratches from its many years of dependable use.

You know Sevatar does this because he thinks it's demeaning to not call a superior by their proper title. Especially in a hierarchy as strict as an Astartes legion. You couldn't care less. You call him Jago anyways, and he always gives an odd little smile when you do.

You know more than likely why he's here. Konrad had attempted to summon you somewhere you refused to go- where you'd rather die than go- and now he's sending someone for you. Any other might assume that your living minutes were numbered after such a refusal towards a Primarch, though you think Konrad allows you to do so because he enjoys that you're scared.

"...Jago?"

Sevatar finds the whole thing both amusing and annoying. He has better things to do than fetch his genefather's cute little plaything. Though at least you provide enough amusement for it to be better than some of the other tasks he's been delegated over his years.

He steps into your personal space- not hard given the sheer size of the man- resting a hand on the pommel of his chainsword. He doesn’t grab for you, but you know he wants to.

"If you're not going to come when he calls," Sevatar leans over you, and you can smell the rotten flesh on his armor; See the way his eyes dart over your face. “Then you might want to just run instead and give him something fun."

You can only dare to look him in the eyes, and although he can see right through it, you attempt to not completely shatter under his gaze.

Though right as your hands start to shake Sevatar leans up and chuckles, before walking away.

The Nightfall is astronomical in size, you have no idea where you could possibly go. And getting lost could mean stumbling into Night Lords who care far less than Sevatar does about keeping their Primarch happy.

To them, they’ll taken whatever punishment put upon them if they get a chance to play with something as sweet as you, as Sevatar once said. The thought had made your throat tighten. Especially hearing his tone; That as much as you trust Sevatar- and maybe even Talos- more than the other Night Lords, he was thinking the same as them.

But you only know of a few places on the Gloriana class ship that you can get to without guidance. Konrad has been very deliberate with making sure you stay within his eyeline.

The bridge, which will be swarming with Night Lords and is more than likely where Konrad himself is. Then there is the area of the ship that serves as Konrad's private quarters. It’s familiar to you, he knows you would go there. The only other place is the small librarium that serves as a temporary placement for parchment of value being saved before returning to Nostramo.

It's largely empty. Pskyers in the legion are next to none, and only a few people keep the area from falling into any disrepair.

With Sevatar gone you instantly begin running for it, trying to make your way and avoid the eyes of anyone around.

Any large bang on the walls sounds like his boots, any scrape of machinery against metal sounds like his lightning claws. You keep looking over your shoulder every time.

When you finally reach it you don't even feel relieved; You know Konrad will find you.

You know that even if you had somehow managed to evade him for a moment Sevatar knows where you are- you'd be dumb if you hadn't noticed the feeling of his eyes on you, watching- he would just tell his genefather where you were to get his distraction concluded with faster.

You've never been particularly scared of the dark, but now it feels so enveloping. And while the unknown is terrifying, it also helps you feel small, tucked between shelves. While your heart might have relaxed from pounding against your rib cage from running, it’s still racing as your ears prick to every little sound. You touch old parchment with a fingertip, feeling rough against your skin.

You don't know how long it's been; Your stomach grumbles a bit, but it's hard to tell if it's hunger or nausea.

You can hear the door open, and the sound of boots on the floor. It makes your heart nearly stop for a moment.

You know it's him from the weight of them. You steel yourself back against a shelf and look towards the end where there's still a bit of light and can only wait.

To think, the man you think you love, who professes his obsession with you at every moment, can make you feel like this.

You imagine those moments where his black hair frames his face and his eyes aren’t nearly as dark when he looks at you, as his shadow approaches.

He finally catches sight of you, and his voice softens just a bit. Primarch voices are always so loud, especially when they yell, and he seems to always talk to you like you’re so, so gentle.

"There you are."

His cape brushes against the ground as he comes closer. He overtakes any little amount of light there is, shadowing your body in an even more darkness.

“Your hiding is cute, my love, but you know I'll always find you."

He isn’t wearing his full armor, only some cloth trousers and heavy boots leaving his upper body unclothed. You think they were the ones given to him by Fulgrim. His recent time with his brother has had a noticeable effect, though the smile he gives you is still while endearing- though perhaps that’s just you and your love for him- is still off.

He bows to get just close enough to you to grab your jaw with his right hand, but when that isn't close enough, he takes a knee.

His eyes are like voids as you look into him, his skin is perfect. The smile on his face you'd dare to call handsome of you weren't here; If he didn't have you cornered like a whimpering animal.

Why did it have to be him; Out of everyone in the galaxy, why did it have to be him that saw something in you worth loving. And why do you keep coming back for more.

That evening with Fulgrim had almost made him seem normal, and now you're back here; Back in Hell.

“Are you going to run again? Or just cry?” His fingers touch just below your eye, breaking your waterline and sending a single tear down your cheek. He leans even closer.

“You look so sweet when you cry.” His lips press against the shell of your ear.

"If you ever say his name like that again, I will make you step into that Gallery, my love."

You assume he must mean Jago. You don't know how he heard you, but you know he's obsessive, dominating, all-consuming; That you are his ever so tiny sliver of happiness he won't let go of. He's said before you are the only thing that makes his world not feel like torment, and you'd find almost romantic if it wasn't so suffocating.

His lips leave the shell of your ear and ghost over your own, as they tremble. You'd try and pull away if you weren't so trapped in him. You hate that even with how much he scares you, he has you caught like a fishhook.

"No one gets to hear you say their name but me."