tw. big bad astartes yearning
towering space marines looming above you, vast as a fortress wall, yet intent upon every word that falls from your lips. his gaze does not waver, shifting between one eye and the other, at times faltering to your mouth as though drawn by gravity itself. he kneels, an unnecessary gesture, for his hearing far surpasses any mortal’s, yet he feels it necessary and does it all the same, bringing his immense frame closer, lowering the mountain so you might feel its nearness.
and though his presence envelops you, he never allows contact. his restraint is ironclad. instead, he watches. he always watches. his eyes, darkened by war, follow you in silence, his brow drawn tight when your attention lingers too long upon another of his kind, though he believes it to be mild annoyance rather than a bother he should act upon.
when at last he speaks, his voice is steady, gaze locked upon yours with the discipline bred into his soul. but you cannot help but wonder if there is more within that stare, some unyielding pull that forces his eyes to linger upon you longer than duty would ever demand.
the same, perhaps, may be said of primarchs, though unlike their sons, they are not blind to the gravity they exert. or perhaps they are, in a different way. perhaps they have only ever known such weight, and assume it settles upon all souls equally. still, there is something deliberate in them, something tethered. they linger. even when caught in the act of it, even when your eyes meet theirs and expose the quiet fixation, they do not turn away, because why would they?
when they address you, their voice softens. what once was thunder caged within their throat now subdued into a measured hush, as though some unspoken instinct compels restraint. it is an unconscious concession, for even the mightiest learn to dull their resonance in the presence of that which they would not see broken. they know, perhaps too well, that lesser beings draw comfort from gentler tones, and so they oblige.
they handle you with care, a tenderness ill-suited to one wrought on such a colossal scale. it is no revelation that, with the slow passage of years, they have cultivated patience and have learned to temper strength with softness when dealing with the fragile and the fleeting. yet there is something more in the way their fingers scarcely dare to trespass upon your skin, in the way their breath falters when proximity tempts transgression. such subtleties do not escape the keen-eyed. to those who observe, they speak with a clarity far louder than any thunder.
they possess scant tolerance for matters concerning you when uttered from another’s mouth, and find grim solace in interjecting their own decrees, even in your absence. your name is a sacrament, not to be profaned by the unworthy, and they guard it with a fervor bordering on reverence. it is ever apparent in the minute tightening of their expression, the flicker of restrained ire kindling within their gaze, whenever another dares to speak of you.
these towering products of brutal design are silently tethered and miserable yearners and you can’t change my mind about it.
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