Silent Devotion
Konrad Curze x wholesome reader as the winner of this poll, please let me know what you think of it as I might do more polls in the future
Masterlist
You worked in the lower archives of his flagship, the Nightfall, cataloging reports that would never be read, filing documents that chronicled atrocities no one wanted to remember. A menial position for a menial person or so his officers assumed. They were wrong.
Curze first encountered you during one of his midnight wanderings, those restless hours when the visions clawed at his mind like rabid animals. He'd been stalking through the archive levels, seeking... he didn't know what. Distraction perhaps. Or another soul to drag into his personal darkness.
He found you instead, hunched over an ancient data-slate, your fingers dancing across its surface with practiced efficiency. The soft blue glow illuminated your face and for a moment, just a moment, the screaming in his head quieted.
You looked up and saw him.
Any rational person would have screamed. Would have fled. Would have begged for mercy that would never come. But you... you simply tilted your head slightly like a curious bird and offered the smallest of nods. A greeting. As if a giant nightmare materializing from the shadows was perfectly normal.
Curze found himself frozen, dark eyes wide with something resembling wonder.
"You're not afraid" he said, his voice a low rumble.
You shook your head slowly then returned to your work.
Weeks passed before he sought you out again. This time he was more deliberate, less predator, more... curious observer. He watched you work, noting the careful precision of your movements, the way you organized everything with an almost ritualistic devotion to order.
In his world of chaos and violence you were an island of tranquility.
"Why don't you speak?" he asked one night, materializing from the shadows as was his way.
You paused in your work then reached for a data-pad. Your fingers moved quickly across its surface before turning it toward him:
I choose not to. Words can hurt. Silence cannot.
Curze stared at the simple message for a long moment. In his experience silence was often the most terrifying thing of all, the pause before the scream, the held breath before the killing blow. But your silence... it was something else entirely.
"Wise" he murmured and something in his chest, something he'd thought long dead stirred.
You began leaving things for him.
Not gifts, exactly but... offerings. A cup of recaf, still warm, placed precisely where he liked to brood. A data-slate loaded with ancient Nostraman poetry. Small acts of consideration that no one had shown him in... probably ever.
In return he began to talk.
At first it was just observations, commentary on the archives, complaints about his brothers, bitter reflections on the state of the Imperium. But gradually the words became more personal. He told you about Nostramo, about the visions that plagued him, about the weight of being born damned.
You listened. You always listened.
He told you his most painful memories, those that hurt him more than anything. Told you his fears... everything.
When he finished, you reached for your data-pad:
Pain shared is pain halved. Thank you for trusting me with yours.
For the first time in decades, Konrad Curze wept.
But happiness was a luxury the Night Haunter was never meant to possess.
The visions came back with a vengeance, worse than before, more vivid, more detailed. He saw his death, over and over, an endless loop of betrayal and justice. But worse... he began to see yours.
In his mind's eye, he watched you die a hundred different ways. Sometimes it was his enemies who killed you, who discovered your connection to him. Sometimes it was his own sons, eliminating what they saw as a weakness. And sometimes... sometimes it was his own hands around your throat, his own madness finally consuming the one pure thing in his existence.
He began avoiding you.
Days turned into weeks. You continued your work, continued leaving small tokens of care but the archive felt emptier without his presence. The silence that had once been your choice now felt like an imposed exile.
Finally you sought him out.
You found him in his chambers, hunched over tactical displays that showed nothing but static. His armor was discarded carelessly and his pale skin was marred by fresh wounds, self-inflicted from the look of them.
You approached slowly and carefully, the way one might approach a wounded animal. When you were close enough to touch, you stepped beside his throne and placed a gentle hand on his arm.
He flinched as if burned.
"Stay away" he snarled but his voice cracked. "I'll destroy you. I destroy everything I touch."
You shook your head and pulled out your data-pad:
You gave me peace. Let me give you the same.
"You don't understand" he whispered, finally meeting your eyes. His were wild and desperate. "I've seen it. Your death. Over and over. I can't... I won't be the one to..."
You reached up and touched his face, this terrifying Primarch who could kill you without even trying and your touch was infinitely gentle. With your other hand you typed:
Then let's make the time we have matter.
What followed were the best months of Konrad Curze's life.
You didn't try to fix him, you weren't naive enough to think you could. Instead you simply existed alongside his darkness, a steady presence that asked for nothing and gave everything. You learned to read his moods in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the particular quality of his silence.
He learned your language too, the slight smile that meant amusement, the way you'd tilt your head when you were thinking, the soft touch that meant I'm here, you're not alone.
You created a garden together in one of the ship's abandoned chambers. Real plants were impossible but you crafted artificial flowers from scraps and wire, painted murals on the walls depicting the Nostramo that might have been, not the hellish crime world it became but the shining jewel it could have been.
Curze would sit for hours watching you work, marveling at how your hands could create beauty instead of destruction. Sometimes he would help, his massive fingers surprisingly delicate as he shaped petals from salvaged metal.
"It's beautiful" he said one day, staring at a mechanical rose you'd crafted.
Like you.
You wrote and his breath caught.
"I am many things" he said softly. "Beautiful is not one of them."
You shook your head and wrote:
You are to me. Broken things can be the most beautiful of all.
The end came, as it always did, with prophecy.
Curze woke screaming from a vision so clear, so detailed that he could smell the smoke and taste the blood. This time there was no ambiguity, no multiple possibilities. Your death was set in stone and it would come within the day.
He found you in the archives as always and the sight of you, so peaceful, so trusting, nearly broke what remained of his sanity.
"You have to leave" he said without preamble. "Now. Take a shuttle, go to Terra, find sanctuary with..."
You were already shaking your head before he finished. You reached for your data-pad:
I won't abandon you.
"You don't understand!" His voice rose to a roar that echoed through the chamber. "You're going to die! Today! I've seen it!"
Then I choose to die beside you.
The simple words hit him like a bolt round to the chest. You stood up, moved to him and took his face in your hands. Your eyes, those beautiful, kind eyes that saw light where others saw only darkness, were steady and sure.
Some things are worth dying for. Love is one of them.
He crushed you against his chest, this broken being who had never learned how to be gentle and you held him as he shook apart.
Taglist: @the-mysterious-detective @mehiwilldoitlater
