It hurts seeing him like this - the man, the man of many titles and names, beloved by all but beloved by none more than you.
Many wept and cursed at his predicament, many went to insane denial and bleeding cope, to see the Master of Mankind in such an unthinkable state. The Imperium was in fractures and here now, in this chair barely keeping him now alive was the clear representation, the figurehead, of that. But that was the grief of Humanity, to you he was so much more than that. Much more. He was much more than what the average folk saw. Much more.
It did not feel real, it still does not. Your mind can reel and absorb as much of the information as it can but it shatters to pieces once it comes into contact with the hardening walls of your heart.
For a small amount of time Malcador was there to support you, truly understand what you were going through, he after all knew Neoth on the same level as you did; he knew the man, not the idol. But it's not long after he is gone too.
You are alone, even if there is countless of guards and servants around you to serve, years upon years pass and the list of more and more people around you that could possibly understand grow less and less each passing day.
You were gifted a long inhuman life, blessed so that you may walk at your husband's side into the rest of eternity only to now be cursed by it. Now, for thousands of years you have to stare back at a motionless figure strapped down to a screaming dull chair. It's sick in a way, ten thousand years have you be the companion to a corpse, much longer than the 500 you spent with the actual man.
He's still in there, somewhere, you try and tell yourself, you don't get that much time alone with him as you would like to - always some sort of watchful eye prying about and studying your every interaction. But in the rare moments... you try and speak to him, try the best you can in your trembling cadence to speak to him as you once have millennia ago. It becomes to much. Over time you begin to loose the hope you had. He can't hear you. But that doesn't stop you from talking; sharing how your days have been, what's been on your mind, what's been troubling you, and on worse days... sometimes you just cry, stumbling on the ground before his feet, remembering what was once was.
Little are you aware of the stare that is locked onto you from the corner of his eye.
Okay mainly konrad since hes never had a gentle touch in his life and i know how that feels...
(Gender neutral reader)
For the longest time he didn't want you to touch him, found it odd if not insane that you actually wanted to. Deemed it due to a morbid curiosity that surely you'd regret if you actually managed to... he can see it, how you'd revolt and jerk away once your touch greets him. Or worse; his own disgusting instincts lashing at him and forcing his hand to-
No. No he doesn't allow himself to imagine such things. If he sees them in his mind's eye... there's a chance of truth in it. He can't have that.
Won't have that.
He avoids your touch every time you try to gift it to him, even the attempts of the smallest of touches, he jerks and pulls himself away to always prevent it. Avoiding looking at the hurt that flashes across your expression in turn. How disgusting - he was disgusting. How and why do you even still put up with him? It twists and stabs to no end until eventually you stop all together trying. You kept a respectable amount of space from him, you always talked polite - too polite than what he is deserving - and you always kept your hands to yourself.
It... was noticeable. Very. If he hadn't known better it would be easily mistakeable for you his servant rather his lover - that... doesn't sit right with him. Especially since you were the only one to actually see more to him - whatever that was, he still wasn't sure. Maybe - no, that is probably way it hadn't taken you long to adapt this way for him. You were considerate. For him. He - he isn't deserving of that.
...
And you weren't deserving of such cold.
He isn't sure how to go about it, looming in the dark of your doorway at night while you were getting ready for bed. He stands and stalks, mind flashing by and incoherent speeds until you are turned around calling for him.
"Konrad? Konrad?" You call, sitting on the side of your bed. You didn't look upset or anything with his sudden unannounced appearance at night, after all such behavior wasn't new for him. After a lingering second he steps out of the shadows to slowly make for your side, the small Baseline bed barely holding his weight as he sits. "What's wrong?"
He doesn't speak. He can't. He his eyes you from the corner of his vision, expecting you to put together the pieces - granted, you were always good with that with him, no matter how deeply you sighed. You looked at him, down at where his hands twitched perched on his knees.
You move slow, slow were he can see it and decide; he chooses to remain still. Your hand rests on top of his.
It's warm, you're warm, held there and not moving. Nothing bad was happening - nothing he could sense. Slowly, he looks over to you to find you already looking at him. It's... nice?
You're fingers then move, seeking to twine with his. His grip is slack, he doesn't dare to firm them, just letting you grip them. You're hand is so small. How has he not noticed before? You then lean over to rest your head move onto his shoulder. You looked - peaceful - was that the word for it? It... suits you. With gathering courage he reaches over to you to brush a stray couple strands of hair from your face, making you look up at him with (color) eyes.
...
The raise of your hand is slow, gentle, delicate enough for him to see and doesn't come all the way to his face - giving him a visible out. It holds in front of him, letting him stare down at him and think. What's the worse that could happen? He was overthinking it. He has been overthinking this whole time, his fear... it came from somewhere else. A deeper place, a place that... looking at the soft skin of your palm he wants to shove away, let his cheek rest in your tiny hand.
Then he feels it. One tiny spark that burns into a grand inferno. Looking down at you from your loving perch you held him on, pure untainted flesh on dammed pale skin, holding him like you're whole world.
...this is what's he's been missing this whole time?
The metal chinks a couple of times as you squirm on the bed.
You can't see him due to the soft blue silk draped across your eyes, lighting your sense of touch even hotter, but it makes you more aware of the cuffs around your wrists and the slight soreness keeping your arms up to the frame of the bed.
He steads you still, his large hands slipping rough on your skin on your arms but gentle enough to keep you calm. His kisses are slow. Peppered across your chest and up your shoulders. Even past the veil of the blindfold you can feel his eyes on you.
"Are you comfortable?" He asks, so calm and collected, voice deep.
"Roboute," You heave, face feeling hotter by the second as twisting into a whine as you feel his hands swoop back down your waist.
"Are you comfortable?" He repeats, just as put together as the first. You nod - but that isn't good enough. "Use your words."
For the slightest moments your body jolts forward, seeking, your lips part and breathe in want. But you're good. You're so good. "Yes,"
His palms feel so warm, they hold you so firm. Down and down they go until they are at the cusp of your hips. He then dips down, his hair tickles your chest in such the breath grasping way that tugs the urge to rip your hands down and run your fingers through blonde locks - your golden captures however prevent you from doing so, but you are good, so good, you don't fight them even if the hungerous twist in your stomach demands you to fight against them. His lips pepper across your stomach, his breath so warm, and then there's his tongue - slow laps on you that slowly grow lower and lower until he's inching towards the aching heat of your sex. It makes your lip quiver.
"Roboute-" His thumbs catch the insides of your knees, folding your legs up further for him, rubbing gently over your calves. You can feel every single detail and etch of his hands, his seemingly perfect Primarch hands, hands crafting by the Emperor himself, you could feel every callous, every healed-over mark of war, every sign of hours of holding a quill; they touched you with all the tenderness of the world and hanged you on each stroke. "Roboute,"
"You sound so sweet," He simply states, another kiss this time to the underside of your thigh. "-always so sweet for me."
Your body squirms, even if you try your best not to and keep still, the rattling of your cuffs as damming proof of otherwise. You bite your lip and try to swallow down the urges of just how much you want to touch him and encourage his movements.
"So pretty," He coos, pressing more kisses, spreading you open wider. "-stay still. Just like that."
You can feel him leave, leave the spot from between your legs and you can hear his heavy footsteps pad somewhere across the room. You don't dare move, you keep your legs open exactly where he had you, your chest stutters with rocky breaths, your sex throbs and aches. But you were good. You were very good. You would keep still.
You gasp the second your lover's large hand braces down your chest, palm wide and fingers spread. You buck, your whole body twitching and seeking but immediately after a passing moment you still; only then does his hand leaves. A kiss is pressed to the underside of your jaw with an arousal leaking hum. "Good."
Slowly then you are wrapped, with the same materiel used as your blindfold but with the edges trimmed with lace. You are tied up, stationed and posed exactly as he wanted. He touches the silk and lace delicately, admiring his own work you couldn't see, he even has tied a small bow at the base of your neck that he holds the bottom of knot with a pointer finger.
You are kept tied up, with his further touches he is carful not to disturb your silky lace. Your legs are still spread, tied up so that you can't move them, his hands rub down them, down your thighs and push the materiel further into your skin so that you can feel them. Then, as you're writhing and on the thread-point of begging, you shout loud as a single finger is pressed inside you.
And it feels so good.
So big. Big. Big.
He shushes you, coos you, comforts you as you pulse and clench around him. He sings soft praises in your ear as you're doing so good in taking him, his pretty present wrapped in silk.
You want to touch him. The cuffs' chains jingle as your wrists snap in demand to - you needed to touch him, touch yourself, touch anything!
"Roboute, please!" You plead, but your Beloved only shushes you calmly, kissing away your tears.
"You can do it, I know you can," He assures. "-you can, can you?"
It takes you a moment but you nod, you can do it, you can handle it. You were good. You were good. "Yes, yes, I can..."
He fingers you slow at first, large finger stretching you wide, filling you full - only one finger. Wet noises so loud in your ears, telling you personally how needy you truly are. And without even looking at it you know your lover ate every second of it - you can tell by the smugness in his voice.
"Already? But I've barely even started, have I been truly ignoring your needs that much, Love?" He hums. "Sorry I've been so busy as of late that we couldn't do this sooner."
He fingers you slightly faster, picking up the pace, drinking in your cries as he leans in to kiss your lips, his unoccupied hand cupping your cheek. He was so close, your hands itch to reach out to hold him. Closer, you were getting closer, you can feel it in your stomach, the knot threatening to undo and snap, you sob for it.
But you don't get it. He pulls away entirely, leaving you in twitching shock.
"Not yet. I want to be inside first." Deliciously cruel.
Your blood calm, your hole begs. Settles. Then does his finger return but not alone, a second joining in. He was getting you ready for him, ready to take, never allowed to cross the edge but always pushed to the rim of it. Over and over, earning more finger to prepare you. Nice and warm. And he kisses you all over, sings you praises of how good doing, even with how desperate and pathetic you're sobbing. "You're doing so good for me."
Your whole body is caked in sweat, the silk and lace starting to bunch up more even with how neat Roboute originally wrapped with how much you're squirming and writhing. But you weren't left for agony for much longer, as he deemed you finally ready for him. You could hear him stroke his cock a couple of times, pre leaking and spilling onto your skin, you loudly gasp once the head presses and rubs onto your hole. It takes no resistance whatsoever as he slips in, making you curse out, straining against your restraints in snapping bucks as - "Fuck!"
It's like an inferno. Washing over you whole being. Your mouth hangs heavy and open, letting yourself spill all out into the open as your Beloved fucks you like you've been needing. He hovers above you, holds you close, holds your legs up higher even if the silk strains and pulls. His breath is hot as he moans into your flesh. How you wish you could touch him... and it seems as if he reads your mind.
It doesn't happen immediately, leaving you to twitch and meet his every rut, but soon there's a loud crack that rings throughout the air and directly above you - and suddenly you hands are free; or mostly free. The metal still connects your hands together by they are freed from the framing of the wooden bedpost, hell you could feel the clunk of wood fall down onto the bed only to get shoved roughly onto the floor below. The chain is tugged, leaving you to gasp out at the sudden force of movement and your arms are readjusted, hands to the back of his neck and held there by the chain of the cuffs, your arms around his shoulders, keeping both him and you closer to each other - now his cock drove in you even deeper.
"Roboute! Roboute! Roboute!" You still couldn't see him, the blindfold still present even if it started to lopsided a bit, but you liked it. It heightened your physical feelings and let your imagination go wild, only encouraging both further now that you were this close to him and pull him even closer. And you were close - and this time he wasn't going to deny you. He pulls you up by the course of your hair and speaks right into your ear.
"I want to feel you. I want to feel it. I want to feel you release. I want to feel your muscles lock and spasm. I want you to milk my cock so hard you make me go blind. You can do that, can't you?"
Yeah, yeah, yeah you could do that... because you were good.
Faster. Faster. Faster. He chases your climax, finally giving you the sweet relief you sought now for hours. You use the cuffs to hold him as close as possible, crying as he fucks you through every grunting thrust into you. Closer. You were getting closer.
"Even with everything I've done tonight you're still so tight." He tells you through breathy husks. Closer. He fucks you through that tightness. Over and over until you can't take any more.
It comes over you as a full body shutter. Like liquid heat that sparks into a hotter electricity. You grasp desperately as much as you could to your Beloved with a shout that nondoubtedly could be heard from all around, later you would feel shame and embarrassment for the Astartes station outside their father's bedroom door. But right now you couldn't care less, laughing through it as your high drives you through the stars. When you come crashing down your bone turn to jelly, hanging on your lover's neck by only a chain.
He rests you down gently, delicately removing your hands to put them above your head. You head movement at your side, something retrieved from the nightside you quickly determine as the key as he quickly sets you free. Then there's another shuffle, slow, and gentle. The blue both is slowly slipped off your face and out of your eyes - it takes a moment for your vision to readjust but when it does it's your Beloved that you first see.
He looked like an absolute mess; soaked in sweat, red in the face, hair tousled an imperfect unlike how it usually is, him looking down at you with lazy eyes, still inside you.
His hand is still gentle on your face, side of his finger caressing your cheek, you gather the strength to reach up and hold onto the same hand. He looked at you as if you were his whole world. And you were, he tells you over and over, leaning down to capture you lips, making love to you the rest of the night.
And by the end of it... he just hopes, together with his mother's ring, that he still has the courage to ask you what's been on his mind.
Congratulations, by being chosen by the Emperor of Mankind himself to be at his side; to the Imperium of Man you are now considered a living Saint.
There are statues of you across Terra, there are Chapels blessed with your name littered all across Imperial Worlds across the galaxy. Many pray to you so that their words and desperate pleas in these times of crisis may reach the Emperor faster to save them.
You are someone of utmost importance - and arguably the most safest person in the Imperium. If something were to wish harm upon you countless of worlds will face the threat of Exterminatus before such vile threat can even see you, much less even touch a single strand of hair on your head, your husband has seen to it and has declared so.
A pair of Custodes are always at your side, no matter the significance of your travels, you always will be protected. While your detractors - in hushed whispers, never brave enough for their words might hit the wrong ear to put their lives at risk - might label them as nothing but sitters and watchers over the Emperor's 'plaything' that couldn't be further from the truth as the long years of your extended life have become they are your faithful companions, after all you are above the Commonfolk now, your safety in the public isn't guaranteed so these golden men and women are your closet company and as you as the Second to the Emperor they are more than willing to die for you as well.
You know a side to the Emperor that only a handful of people do, or could even fathom having - the only other being Malcador who has long since helped advise you both in your role as Imperial Consort and provided moral support; such importance can be very overwhelming at start and will never stop, it's about learning control and maintaining a clear head with it. But no, you didn't just know the Emperor - you knew the man. To you he wasn't some untouchable figure, he wasn't some god or deity to drop down and worship, he was a man. The man had a name, desires, passions, wishes, dreams. Just like any other. You knew him better than the whole Imperium he ruled did. He was larger than light, don't get yourself wrong, but he was much more than what you look down and see mankind praise him as. He was so much more than that. Even with his strength, his powers, his might he was still human - and that's what made him so suited to rule. He grabbed something in people, encouraged and inspired. He was truly something great but he was so much more than that to you. He was just a man.
A man that sometimes would get to bashful to hold your hand.
A man that would stare at you for long periods without realising your looking.
A man who would steal you away so that the two of you, arm in arm, can calmly stroll through the palace gardens.
A man who could sing, sing melodies of times long past in different dead tongues just because they reminded them of you.
A man that got so riled up over the thought of someone possibly hurting you.
A man that could rest his head in your lap at night, lost in pondering thought of what he could've done different.
A man Imperial Text's did not describe.
A man with a name no one dare speak.
A man you did not recognize sat bolted to that Throne, just his remains the courts praise to.
A man long gone for thousands of years.
After your husband's death do you completely take a step back, such grief you feel can't be described, you loose yourself for years, decades, centuries. The High Lords of Terra come to be, all giving at first genuine condolences but as time and generations past does the corruption set under your nose - but for thousands of years you are too lost to do anything of it.
Until Roboute comes back.
One of your husband's children. Seeing him alive is what kicks your reality back in. These past ten thousand years have been wasted, rotted. For feel a great shame but you root for change.
Roboute, as Imperial Regent, as much on his shoulders to bare. Keeping the Imperium together is a very taxing feat and while he is such an intelligent man, much like his father, and none other could serve such a position in competence - sometimes when he gets the rare chance to break away from the frontlines does he make trips to Terra to seek your council, your opinions, your advice of harkened past words you remember of his Father, your comfort.
Sometimes he doesn't know exactly what to say to you, other times he does right down the the syllable - his father use to be the exact same, he was more of him in him than he realizes though all of his sons' did in some shape or form. But in Roboute it was a tad more obvious, it makes you more glad such role was given to him, it suits him greatly.
But... when you speak there is this sense of... something not being address, wrap your head in it as much as you can you can't figure it out. There is something the Thirteenth son isn't saying, purposefully unsaying, it hangs heavy in the air every time his father is brought up. You don't push him, of course not, but you do wonder if one day... one day he'll open up about it.
By lack of impulse control; rating on a scale of 1-10 how good some blueberries are at sucking dick:
(Male Reader) potentially could also be read as astartes/astartes... or both if you're enlightened.
Demetrian Titus
6/10: A little patience is going to have to be required with this one, at least at first - he's a tad bit out of practice after all. Will stare at you - at it - for a couple long lingering moments before leaning in closer to it, presses slow and tender kisses to the twitching and leaking head before a hand will wrap around it, pumping you nice and slow. And that's how he takes things; slow. He does get choked up a bit at first once he's actually on it but but pushes himself through it to where the wheels in his reflex start to turn, only with slight readjustment given his Primaris body. Then it's just for instinct and experience to kick in. Then he does just fine, like riding a bike. Will massage your balls nice and slow, goes really well with his starting speed then once he starts to go fast don't be alarmed by the sudden tugs and pulls to them that get you completely rutting into both his hand and his face. Still, he gag reflex is still present so you will get some very interesting noises but he pushes himself past - only pulling off with a wetting pop for air when he really needs it, switching it up a bit to suck on your balls a bit and pump you faster with his hand to push you further along until his soft lips cradle your head again in what becomes this tug and pull chase until - oops, you finished on his big thick naked chest... someone's going to have to clean that up...
Valorem Gadriel
8/10: What? No! No he hasn't done this before... yeah. He has no clue what he's doing so you are totally are going to have to guide him through this. Just don't ask him about what he use to do in his spare time as a Neophyte. No, you're just going to have to be his tutor. Smiles real wide with your hand in his hair, making him drop down on his knees before you - has to hide his mouth's watering. Gets a real kick out of the innocence play, dropping a virgin-like; "Like this?" or "That?" whenever he can as he as the head of your prick practically melting on his tongue. He doesn't actually have to be fooling you, just the act itself gets his rocks off, he'll suck you for all your worth until you've busted on his face. Then, very coy, further plays it: "Must be a protégée or something."
Cato Sicarius
Pre Warp, 10/10: Won't even give you a proper warning. Hard, difficult, arduous battle that will become Chapter Legend years to come that will sing his name in praises? Will find you on his knees riding off that high. Did you do something notable in battle - hell, even better actually manage to impress him? He doesn't care whose around, you could be in the Galidus or other sort of Transport with all his brothers around to see but he doesn't give a damn about them, let them watch for all he cares! Get your cock out, Boy.
Post Warp, 4/10: It's not that his skills got worse, no, no he's still plenty capable it's just... getting him in such position is harder than it use to. No, if he's going to be in such... position, you have to mean something more to him than just some night-passing curiosity, and even still it's rare. But when he does it's with sweet hesitancy. He kisses it tenderly, delicate, breath so warm against you and once he takes you it's with slow meaningful bobs. Strong eye contact the whole time. Drinks you down with ease and rests his head against the meat of your thigh once your done. He doesn't need anything in turn... but you'll give it to him, won't you?
Malum Caedo
20/10: What can't Caedo do? Completely lacks a gag reflex and WILL let you know seconds upon taking you into his mouth - no heads up or anything, he'll take you down all the way to the base like it's nothing and give you a cheeky little look up while not even trying to hide the matching grin you can feel spread against your shaft. His throat is so soft, so tight, he hums so sweetly yet confident around it with each bob of his head. He can hold himself down for long periods of time too; let himself sit with yourself deep in his throat and your pubes in his face like it's nothing - only to pull off when you're absolutely begging for mercy. Takes the facial like an absolute champ, has his tongue hung in wait and doesn't flinch with your release. Now, as he flicks out his tongue to taste the stray on his lips, you're going to be the good sport to return the favor aren't you?
