Just a bit Absythne Mind(ed)

Sanguinius sighed and passed his hand over his face, glancing around the room in resignation; piles of dresses lay scattered around, draped over the huge postered bed and hanging from empty iron sconces.

His eyes flickered to the bathroom door as light pulsed softly through the crack of the hinges, broken rays of soft yellow flittering as a shadow passed on the other side.

"It is time to go, dove"

Sanguinius rapped his knuckles to the door, wings bristling slightly as he counted the passing minutes.

"Im not going, Ive got nothing to wear!"

The primarch paused, eyes darting to the rainbow sprawl of frocks around the bedroom.

"Are you sure?" He laughed softly, "because it looks like a krak grenade went off in a tailors shop"

"I'm serious! Everything looks awful. I can't go"

The angel sighed and swept a hand through his hair, pushing golden strands back from his face, exasperated.

"My love, you are expected, it's not really negotiable."

"Do I have to?"

The primarch held back a groan and turned, resuming his pacing. His own robe swept about him in a storm of golden linen and silk, pearls on silver chains clinking softly from his wings as he tried to remain calm.

"Enough. My sweet."

"Fine"

The door opened with a click and Sanguinius sighed in relief. Forcing the frown from his face, he exhaled deeply and spun, offering his hand out towards you.

"Thank you. Now let us-"

He froze.

The dress clung to your body like a second skin. Blood red and satin soft, it shimmered as you shifted. The neckline plunged deep, revealing the flushed swell of your breast with each breath you took and the skirt cut high on your leg as you stepped into the room, flashing a brief glimpse of the soft skin of your thigh, before it slid back under the rippling fabric.

You smiled at him nervously and spun on the spot, revealing pearlescent wings embroidered over your back, arching towards your shoulders.

"What do you think?"

Sanguinius swallowed dryly, feeling his pulse quicken and his body ache.

"Its perfect"

Your smile widened and you beamed, toying shyly with the delicate blood angel sigil pendant at your throat before taking his still outstretched hand. He recoiled at your touch and you stalled, your smile flattering as he smoothed the front of his robe and made for the door.

"Let's go."

"Stupid outfit with stupid-" you muttered under your breath, your feet already throbbing in the crimson and gold heels as you paced quickly to keep up with the primarch's long gait. Staring at the back of his head, you chewed your lip nervously, seeing the tension in his shoulders increase; his muscles tightening and feathers fluffing with each step.

You strode past the gilded windows arching high towards the ceiling, illuminating the hallway with the last cold light of the winter day and faint flickering of the city below and sighed, wishing once more for the hot arid air of baal.

Snapping yourself away from a dream of warm sands and updrafts, you watched Sanguinius finally slow down, his massive stature silhouetted against the cool moonlight seeping through the glass. You jogged to catch up with him, wincing with each painful step.

"My love?" You called out.

No response.

"My lord?" you tried again, more forcefully this time.

Still nothing.

"Sanguinius!" You snapped, running forward to tug the primarchs hand. He stopped, but didn't turn, refusing to meet your glare, instead staring blankly at the carved ballroom door now feet in front of him, the sound of laugher and music muffled behind the thick varnished oak.

"What is wrong with you?" You asked, squeezing his hand. "What's gotten into you?"

Sanguinius turned to you slowly, the silver moonbeams harshing his features as he started down at you blankly.

"Did I do something wrong?"

Blood roared in Sanguinius' ears, his pulse racing and heart pounding at your touch. Your scent filled his nose and he could hear your own pulse beating through your body like a siren song. Saliva pooling in his mouth and he swallowed loudly as he finally turned to look at you.

"No, little dove" he replied "you have done nothing wrong"

"Then why...?"

He watched your eyes widen for a moment and almost sobbed at the loss when you dropped his hand and stepped back.

"It's the dress isn't it" you whispered, wringing your hands together.

He finally snapped. Glancing around, he reached out and grabbed your arm, dragging you behind him as he raced towards the nearest door.

"It's true" he muttered, kicking the door open and pushing you inside "Its the dress"

You staggered as the angel shoved you forward into the office, knocking into a small desk littered with papers hastily abandoned in the wake of the primarch's gathering. Your back hit the wood and a crystalline decanter fell to the floor with a crash, spilling wine across the cream carpet and splattering up the oaken bookcases that lined the walls.

"Sanguinius what-"

"I can't stand it" The primarch's eyes were wild. Pupils blown wide and nostrils flaring, he dragged a bolt across the door and stalked towards you.

"I'm sorry I didnt-"

"You have no idea what you're doing to me." He cut you off, pushing you further back against the desk and seating you on its cold surface as he crashed his lips into yours, hands clawing at your body and wings fanning out protectively.

"Wearing my colours like this" He growled, running a hand up the slit in the skirt and along your thigh, resting near your hip.

"Bearing my mark" sliding his lips from yours to trail kisses over your jaw and down your throat, tugging at the necklace with his teeth before stopping to nip and suck at your pulse point, "I can't take it any more"

You relaxed at his words, anxiety quickly giving way to something warmer and much more inviting.

Tilting your head back to allow Sanguinius more access to your throat, You heard him hum approvingly as his fangs grazed your artery.

"I thought you hated it" you sighed, tangling your fingers through his silken hair as his teeth pierced the skin.

"I hate how easily you break me" came the reply, muffled against your skin.

"I hate the thought of anyone desiring you like I do"

His sank to his knees, trailing kisses down your neck and along the deep V neck of your gown. Pulling the satin aside, he mouthed at your breast, flicking his tongue over the nipple before grazing it with his teeth, making you squirm.

"But the dress? Oh I *love* the dress"

He dropped lower before you could react and you yelped as he threw your ankles over his shoulder and dipped his head beneath your dress.

"We really shouldn't sang ah!~"

You threw your head back, biting your lip to silence your moans as Sanguinius pressed his mouth to your core, tongue lapping over your clit before pressing your entrance. You felt him groan against your skin and his fingers dug into your thighs, keeping your shaking legs apart as he thrust his tongue.

"Fuck, Sanguinius~~"

Nails raking over the desk, you cried out as he latched onto your clit, sucking and lapping until your whole body shivered and your voice broke.

"Sing for me, Little bird" Sanguinius breathed, one hand releasing your leg so he could press a long finger to your entrance.

"Someone will hear us!" You hushed back, trying to pull yourself upright.

"Best keep quiet then"

You whined and fell backwards again, his tongue teasing your clit as his finger thrust and curled. Slick pooled on the table beneath you and the air felt heady, your self control dwindling as Sanguinius pressed against the soft spot he knew would send you reeling over the edge.

"Cum for me, Dove" he pressed another finger in. Your back arched off the cold wood and you slammed a hand over your mouth to stifle your cries as you came, tremors wracking through you in waves.

You were still red faced and panting when Sanguinius finally reappeared from beneath your dress, face damp and cheeks pink. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and rose to his feet, dropping you legs and leaving them dangling uselessly over the edge of the desk.

"Sang~" you mewled, feeling him throb through his robe as he lent over to kiss you, pressing himself against your body and capturing you lips

Breathless, you watched as he pulled back from the embrace and finally pulled himself free.

He was painfully hard, tip flushed and glistening with arousal. He gripped himself as he looked down at you, eyes almost black with his dilated pupils, hand moving slowly, coating his shaft in precum.

"Bend over"

You rushed to obey, slipping off the desk onto wobbling legs. You began to pull your arm free of your dress until he grapsed your jaw and tilted your head.

"Keep it on"

He released you and you twisted, bending over the still damp wood. Sanguinius stepped behind you, a massive hand palming over you ass and squeezing.

"Good girl"

You shivered as you felt him ruck the fabric up around your hips, cool night air pebbling your skin. His foot nudged yours, pushing your stance wider and using a thumb to tease over your slit. You felt yourself blushing furiously as he spread you open and you opened your mouth to protest.

All that came out was a choked "oh" as he pressed his cock to your entrance and hilted himself in one fluid movement, stretching you to your limit and pushing the air from your lungs.

The primarch gave you a moment, both of you gulping in air before he began to move, slow deep thrusts that left you whimpering and keening. Sanguinius hissed, feeling your body trying to accommodate him, muscles twitching around him as his tip dragged across you walls, hitting every spot that made you see stars.

Your voice spurred him; a mixture of whimpering for more and weak warnings of being caught.

"If anyone finds us, there will be no doubt you are mine" he growled.

His words sent you over the edge. You arched your back and cried out his name as you came, your entire body feeling hotter than baals desert.

You struggled to stay quiet, biting your lip as Sanguinius pressed his hand on your back, smoothing his palm over the embroidered wings spanning your shoulders.

"My own angel" he whispered.

His own wings flaring and shuddering as he chased his high, rattling the chains and pearls loose front their place amongst his downy feathers.

"I'm yours" you cried out, clawing at the edge of the desk, trying to ground yourself. Sanguinius' hand shifted from your back. Sliding down your arm to envelope your hand in his. He stopped low, chest almost flat to your back as he groaned in your ear. He could feel your body cling to him, begging him to fill you over and over.

He was happy to oblige; thrusting his hips over and over, the room was filled with the slap of skin on skin and breathy pleas for "more, harder, don't stop"

He was close. His cock throbbed and ached, every muscle in his body was tensed and spring loaded, like static ran through his nerves. He looked down at your face pressed against the desk; rose tinted and blissed out, your eyes were half lidded and drool pooled at the corner of your mouth.

"S-a-n-" you mumbled, blinking up at him dumbly from the corner of your eye.

"Pl---ease....n-need...you..insi---de"

You were a state, arms useless, ass red from the impact of his hip and legs barley holding your weight.

But clad in blood angel scarlet and bearing his wings, you were the most beautiful thing In The world.

And you were his.

Sanguinius' wings flared as he came, pinions knocking books from the shelves as they stretched.

He saw your eyes widen, feeling thick hot ropes filled you before leaking out around him as he continued to rut into you, oversensitive but unwilling to pull away from your warmth. His muscles were cramping, stomach tense and back aching before he finally pulled out. He watched as his spend began to drip from your cunt and debated fucking it back into you before smothering the thought down to offer you his arm.

You struggled to your feet, legs wobbling as they struggled to support you. You clutched the edge of the table and laughed softly, looking at the wet streaks now staining your dress.

"I think I need to get changed"

Sanguinius took your arm and helped you straighten, eyeing the darkening patches on the silken fabric.

"Go, I'll send Raldaron to escort you back when you've changed"

You smiled and nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to his knuckles before turning back to the door.

"My dove?"

You turned to look over your shoulder. The primarch was straightening his robe and preening loose feathers from his wings.

"Leave the dress out. I may wish to see you in it again later"

Sanguinius clapped his brother on the back and laughed before raising his goblet to his mouth and taking a deep gulp.

"She will join us soon" he chuckled, " she couldn't decide on what to wear so I left her to it"

Horus cocked an eye brow at his brother, looking him up and down before taking a swig from his own chalice.

"Is that what it is? I thought something else was keeping her"

Sanguinius frozen.

"Like what?"

Horus grinned, making to reply before the door creaked open and a small shape slipped through the crack.

"Ah it appears she has arrived. Introduce me angel!"

The war master strode through the crowd, Sanguinius hurrying after him.

"You must be the infamous new love"

You spun, smile dropping as you faced the Luna wolves primarch. You quickly dipped into a low curtsey

"My lord"

"Oh so formal" Horus grinned. "I was worried I wouldn't get to meet you. The angel seems adamant on keeping you locked away from the rest of us"

You froze, still dipped in a low bow.

"I'm not sure I understand my lord"

You heard the war master inhale deeply and chuckle.

"Aaah so that is it"

You glanced up to see Horus staring down at you, eyes twinkling.

"What an interesting little thing you are"

🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔🌔

Chapter 1: What do you mean mermaid are real?

It was hotter than hell outside, you were fairly certain. Not that you'd ever actually been to hell, but if you had you'd summat that this was very close. If not worse. The sun beat down on you from high in the sky, and the humidity had swelled from a rainstorm that had occurred earlier during the day.

You were sitting on your porch, idly rocking your chair back and forth while sipping your favorite drink from a glass that was dripping with condensation. You grimaced as the ice cold drops of water hit your thigh where your shorts had ridden up— it wasn't a bad temperature change, just a bit shocking.

It was a heat wave indeed, and you stare off into the distance while considering going to take a swim. There was a cove that wasn't too far off from where your house was— perhaps you'd go take a visit and dip. It wasn't like you were doing much else, and the day wasn't getting any colder any time soon.

Glass drained, you make your way back inside, and change into a swimsuit before pulling on suitable shorts to cover your legs for the bike ride to the cove. It wasn't a far walk, but you didn't feel like making the trek on foot today. It was flat enough ground anyways, so a ride wasn't anything to worry about.

You yell over your shoulder to your friend that you're heading out and get a vague answer in response— you don't hear exactly what she said, but it sounded like acknowledgement enough. A sandwich, water and snacks are shoved into your backpack as you head out. The screen door slams behind you, the wooden frame nipping at your heels as it shuts.

You click the helmet into place and climb onto the bike. You don't ride as much as you used to. Your friend Mercedes had moved in after your shitty ex-boyfriend had moved (read: been kicked out) from your place to elsewhere. You didn't know where, and didn't really care either. The sand churned up onto your ankles as you start to move the bike pedals, and you take off down the well worn path to the cove.

You hum a bit as you start getting into the old rhythm of the ride, bumping over the gnarled roots of the trees that twisted and formed a canopy over the trail.

It had been only yours, once. The cove. Your favorite spot to go to and relax, away from everyone else. As far as you could tell, the only path down was split from your house alone, with little access from any other direction unless you knew where to look.

Then you'd shown your boyfriend where it was and he had begun bringing friends down to it. They'd trashed it, and once you'd broken up with him it had been one of the first projects you'd undertaken to get your mind off the issue. You'd picked up broken bits of bottles and scraped bits of old food off the rocks while barely holding it together, listening to the quiet crash of the waves on the shore and trying not to fall asleep despite the bags under your eyes saying otherwise. Mercedes had been very kind and come out to help you lug the trash back to where you could properly dump it out. And given that the access was on your property, it was easy enough to keep people away from it. Besides— all the friends he'd brought with him were his friends. Never yours.

But at any rate, you'd succeeded, and now the shore was as clear as it had been the day you'd first found it. Crystal clear waters, sand with small pebbles that dotted the beach. It was beautiful. And the overhang of rocks and trees provided the perfect amount of shade to go swimming.

The salty breeze from your biking lapped at your face, bringing you to the present once more. You parked your bike behind a tree, and raced down to the cove, sending little rocks scattering as you did so.

You sling off the backpack as you get to the bottom, and unfold the towel that you'd kept tucked away to lay on the sand. Abandoning your shorts, but keeping your shoes on (they were water shoes with thick soles), you slid into the water, relishing in the coolness of it as it washed over your skin.

You'd gone to the pool in town a few times (Mercedes preferred it to swimming in the ocean water), but you'd found it too crowded in comparison to your little slice of paradise. Mercedes had always claimed that at least she knew what was in the pool, but you'd retorted that at least nobody had to clear out the ocean because someone threw up in it. She didn't appreciate that much— although you chalked it up to her college life-guarding summer job flashbacks.

And besides, what was wrong with not being able to see the bottom? The weightless feeling of looking down into the deep blue that you got when you swam out a little too far. You couldn't help it! Besides, there was a sandbar not too far out that you could reach when the tides got low enough. It wasn't like you were going to be swept out to sea. You were a strong swimmer— which was how you and Mercedes had met. You'd both been attending lifeguard classes. Although you had attended simply for want of something to do. But it had come in handy when you'd needed to swim to the bottom to get things.

The lifeguard training had paired with a long string of free-diving classes, where you'd learned how to hold your breath for long periods of time, and the proper technique to stay down on the bottom with little to no weights on your belt to counter act the buoyancy. That part wasn't something you had used frequently, but it was useful to learn for your mermaid gigs.

You chuckle while thinking about it as you swim backwards, staring at the blue sky overhead. The sun felt a little less like a death ray while you were in the calm, shaded waters of the cove.

You'd picked up being a mermaid as a side job after your free-diving instructor had mentioned it to you. There was a large aquarium in a nearby city that allowed you to come in and dress as a mermaid to entertain the guests from a large tank filled with all sorts of fish and ocean wildlife. You had a blast doing it, and interacting with the children and adults that came through.

You kick your feet, amused as you wonder what it would be like to only had fins, and not be able to take off the tail and walk around. Mercedes had always joked that you were part fish. You do a practice barrel roll as you glide through the water, finally crossing out of the shade and into the sunny waters.

You squint as the light reflects off the rippling waves, and paddle back into the safety of the overhang. You idly check your watch and realize it's been longer than you thought— it was easy to get lost in the waves, but upon noticing it was after lunch, your stomach gave a grumble.

You make your way back to the shore, easily cutting through the current, and come up to eat your sandwich. You take off your shoes for a minute and sit down onto the towel, intent upon chowing down on your lunch. It's slightly soggy where your hands touch it, despite the fact that you wiped them on the towel as best as you could. You dig your feet into the sand while you watch some birds in the distance, curling your toes to feel the bits of shells that are scattered among the pebbles and sand.

There might be some good seashells out near the sandbar, you think as you pop some pineapple into your mouth. The sweetness of the fruit contrasts with the way it makes your mouth tingle. You're pretty sure you might be a little bit allergic to it, but it just adds to the flavor, in your opinion. It's a very minor allergy, if any at all.

The current is solid and the tide is beginning to go out, so you slide your shoes back on and make your way over to your backpack to pull out your seashell collecting kit. You don't always find anything good, but sometimes the shells you find can be repurposed into jewelry. You enjoy wearing a seashell necklace, especially if it's made from shells you collected yourself. The kids at the aquarium seem to enjoy them too— along with the occasional adult who shyly asks if they can have one.

Alongside your normal net seashell bag is a large knife that you strap to your hip. Sometimes you find trash and lines that need to be cut, and you'd rather have a knife with you to try and cut through it than leave it. You have a compartment in your shell bag for small bits of trash. Anything major and you'll have to collect it all up and drag it to shore as best as you can.

Fishermen don't come out to the cove much anymore— none of the good sporting fish hang out around your cove. There are, however, several dozen different smaller species that come to greet you as you begin your underwater swim. You hope that you see the puffer fish that had been swimming around the outer rocky crevices the last time you'd swam through.

You breach the surface as you near the starting spot for your search, and take in a deep breath, before plunging beneath the surface. You swim to the bottom (which is, admittedly, not that far away), and begin to look for seashells. Ones that are discarded, obviously. You'd learned a lesson when you'd pulled up an entire conch only to find that the inhabitant was not only quite alive, but very angry at you as well. You'd gently put them back, surmising that you'd be angry too if someone simply picked up your house with you inside of it.

There's a few good shells you see as you go along— you're trying not to kick up too much sand as you search. A fish or two nibble at your exposed legs, earning a giggle and a small kick as you move away. They're harmless, really, but it tickles and laughter uses up air.

You hit the sandbar in no time at all, and you surface to take a breath again. Your toes skim just the bare top of the sand, obscuring whatever is underneath it. The only thing about the cove was that the sandbar was what blocked out the rest of the ocean from coming in too close. Although if anyone were to ask you about it, you'd say that Mother Nature was trying to prevent the fishermen from getting any closer to the safe haven that the trees and small caves provided. But no one asked you, so that opinion had to stay to yourself.

At any rate, the other side of the sandbar was daunting. Even you tried to not go past it. The water of the inner cove had a much different vibe than the waters on the other side. The waves rolled bigger, and the color was darker. Light didn't pierce as far down. You had to agree with Mercedes there— who knew what was down there?

You continue along, collecting bits and bobs of shells that you find. You also spend a good few minutes following a horseshoe crab that was slowly walking along the bottom. Fascinating creatures.

You flip over onto your back again and eyeball the sun. It wasn't much lower, but it wasn't attempting to suck all the life out of your veins anymore either. A glance at your watch shows late afternoon. You decide that you're going to do just one more sweep and then call it a day before your friend decides to call the authorities to help rescue you. Again.

You take another long breath, and dive down again. But this time as you do, you spot a small bit of movement out of the corner of your eye. Further inspection shows you a ghost net that's stuck to the bottom of the ocean floor, tangled with debris and swaying in the current. It's on the other side of the sandbar, but you carefully maneuver yourself down towards it. Your bag won't be able to hold all of the netting, but you can certainly grab as much as you can and bring it back towards the shore. A quick pass around it shows that smaller fish should be able to get through just fine, but larger ones might have an issue.

That observation is quickly proven correct when you spot a flounder doing its best to writhe free of the netting, the ropes tangling around its body. Flounder were particularly susceptible to getting caught since they were bottom dwellers, but to see a net so far out here…

You frown, then pop up to the surface, devising a plan, then heading back down to help out. The fish has done an excellent job of wrapping itself up in the net, although really that couldn't be helped. You scowl even more, and begin searching for the best spot to begin cutting to get your new friend free.

It proves more difficult than you initially thought— the net is old, but instead of the ropes fraying and breaking with ease, the coating on the lines has created a more solid shell for you to saw through. It results in you cursing out every single man, god and other being in existence that you can think of as you hack away at the line while trying not to cut the frantic fish just two knots down.

You surface again, take another breath, then go back.

The rope is fraying now, just a tad, and your hands are becoming sore from the amount of pulling you've been doing to help keep tension and cut the rope. You might have one hell of a blister tomorrow, but at least you've got a story to tell. The rope finally breaks in that one knot, and you could cry with joy from the victory.

It's short lived though as you bob upwards and breath, blinking the stinging water out of your eyes, and then dive again.

There's so much rope. You work and work and work, surfacing again and again, until there's only a few knots remaining between you and the flounder. The fish is still breathing, but seems to have realized what you're trying to do, and is holding much more still. It helps, just a tad.

You're busy trying to figure out the last bit of rope when you feel it— the current shifting. This might not have been a normal cause for concern, if you were closer to the shore. But out behind the sandbar, it was going to become a problem shortly. Especially since you didn't have your swimming fins with you to provide any sort of advantage for fighting a current. You begin to work faster, knife going until finally, finally, the rope breaks and the flounder swims free. It shoots out past you, rocketing into the depths below and disappearing from sight.

You smile with relief, and then give a strong kick towards the light above you. Only to be stopped as something tugs at your leg. For a moment you don't think much of it and try again, only for that movement to snap you deeper into the water. You twist, and are horrified to find that part of the netting has now ensnare your leg.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You try to remain calm— what was it your instructor had always said? Slow your heart rate, and try to tamp down any panic.

Which is great advice, in theory. Less so in practice, when you're snared to the bottom of the ocean and there's no one that knows you're down this deep so rescue probably won't be coming. Scratch that. There is no rescue. So either you free yourself, or you're royally fucked. And dead. One of those is worse than the other.

You look up at the surface, and you see the shining blue above you, the light shafts coming into the water as the sun shines on overhead, oblivious to your plight. Stupid sun. Wouldn't it be better for it to be cloudy while you're maybe about to die?

You tug at the rope around your leg, hoping that perhaps you can simply wriggle out of it. The rope doesn't budge, so you grimace, and begin to move around so you can try and use your knife. The cold steel feels odd against your leg and the stray thought crosses your might that you might cut yourself. But in all honesty, you'd rather have a cut on the leg than drown.

The air is seeping out of your lungs faster with the exertion of using the knife. With the flounder you'd been able to get more gulps of air, but with your own leg it's much more difficult to focus.

The edges of your vision are blurring slightly as you fight on, willing your hand to keep going. There's more than one line attached to your leg, but as you keep dutifully sawing, more of the net moves, and you're frightened to realize that it's coming for you, and there's nothing to be done.

You think you spot something then— in your peripheral— but nothing is there when you turn to look so you spin to watch the horror show unfolding in front of you. The current is slow moving, yet the net is moving too fast for your liking. You shout as it tangles around you more, realizing much too late what you've done as the saltwater rushes into your lungs, seeping in and blocking your airways.

You cough and sputter and struggle in vain against the ropes, the knife slipping out of your hand. You only manage to get yourself twisted tighter against the net. You stare up at the rippling waves above you as you get dragged deeper down. The sand bumps against your knees as you hit the bottom. Your lungs burn, but trying to purge the water has done nothing.

You're beginning to go limp when you see the movement again. A massive fin swims by you, and faintly you recognize it as a shark tail. Well, at least you may be a decent snack. The humor is morbid, but at least no one can say you aren't funny, even in death.

That's when something touches your leg deliberately, and if you had the air, you might've shrieked again. But instead, with the dwindling consciousness you have, you focus on whatever is touching you.

It tugs at the ropes, and you have the faint idea that maybe a diver has come to rescue you. A diver. From a boat. A boat that you definitely would've seen out in the open ocean. Fuck, it's not a diver, is it? An angel, maybe?

With what little energy you have left, you turn your head, and catch sight of the massive shark tail that's behind you. It's a dark tail with scars littered down the back— if you had any presence of mind, perhaps you could identify the species, but as is you were fighting for your life. Your head bobs back to its original position, and a giant arm has appeared beside you, with clawed hand that are carefully cutting at ropes.

Maybe it is a diver after all?

Your vision is blacking out around the edges, but you feel a yank as you're pulled free from part of the rope, and are spun to be face to face with what you're pretty sure would be a merman. Cool. Mermen are real. They're real and you're getting to see one. Or maybe heaven is underwater? At least you got to go out in a cool way.

You watch him work while you bob in the water, vision blurring in and out of focus. He was huge, but the thing your brain decided to focus on where the bits of golden jewelry that glinted in the sun's rays. Neat. Very pretty.

Red eyes shift to you, and you're certain that maybe you tried to speak the words. You doubt they were intelligible at all given the circumstances, but maybe he understood you anyway.

The last of it is untangled from around your legs, and off you go to the surface. Your head breaches the water and you can feel the air on your face. But your lungs are still full of water and your head sags— almost back into the water before your rescuer rights you. Everything goes black as you start to move again.

You wake up to the sensation that you need to vomit, and you're already on your side as you begin to violently cough up lungful after lungful of saltwater. It tastes horrible, and you shiver as your body does its best to purge everything out of your system.

The next time you wake up, the sun is on the opposite side of the cove, and you come to the realization that you spent the night on your little beach. There's sand stuck on your cheek and in your hair, and your hair texture has dried with the salt water to be slightly crunchy. You try to get up, only to flop back onto the sand in exhaustion, muscles drained of energy. Maybe a little more sleep couldn't hurt.

Your eyes flutter open again to hear panicked shouting coming from the top of the cove. Mercedes rushes down the path, and she almost falls flat on her face from the speed of which she does it. You feel a sting of relief upon seeing her.

"What have you been doing?" She shrieks, flinging herself at you to pull you into a hug. You're reminded of your nausea as she shakes you. "You've been gone all night!"

"I uh…" did you almost drown? Was that real? You shake your head, "Sorry I… fell asleep. I think. I freed a flounder from a net though." Mermen were not real, and you must've dreamed the whole thing. Yes. Yes! That's what happened. You nod, sounding a little more convinced as you continue on speaking, "Should have some good shells, I—" you pat around at your hip, only to realize that the shell bag is gone, and so is your knife.

Mercedes frowns at you, before pulling you up. You stumble slightly as she does it, but your friend is already plowing on into a (well deserved one, mind you) lecture. "You're lucky I didn't call the guard in again— seriously, just what were you thinking falling asleep on the beach? I'm never letting you out of my sight again I swear—"

Again, Sanguinius is not one to get jealous nor riled up, but something about the rumors nag at him. Make something inside of him rise up and feel like an itch that he has to scratch. It feels a bit… primal. Not that he’s complaining too much. The only thing he can really complain about is not seeing you. To have you near. To make sure those spreading lies around him are not the truth because they are just jealous that can’t have him themselves.

Sanguinius briefly wonders what I’d be like the other way around. To have the rumors turned on him. To say he’s being unfaithful. Of course, no one would dare to spew such dastardly bravery upon a Primarch, but he doesn’t like the thought of being unfaithful himself. It makes him feel like he’s eating his brother’s fortifications and sieges whilst grinding the harsh materials with his teeth.

He wonders if this is what you feel if he ever let you hear such heresy upon you. If you grind your teeth at the simple thought- or perhaps hide away like Magnus does? Though, your hiding would break his many hearts. He’d rather see you smile up at him while the sky’s of Baal threaten to outshine you.

Or perhaps… he wouldn’t mind to see you beneath him. Crying out his name for those pesky rumors to disappear. To see your skin painted with his fangs and your succulent blood. For your face to be in pure bliss. Ruined for any that dares to try and take what is his- the legions.

This particular thought stuck to him until he was barely out of his armor and heading straight to where you reside: Your personal garden of roses that are called “Black Baccara,” and those particular roses remind him of familiar crimson puddles that went heavy with too much loss. He figures that why some of the petals of the roses have bite marks in them of two holes from where his son’s fangs have pierced.

You seem more amused by the bites in the petals rather than scolding. Sanguinius shakes his head every time he sees a bitten flower but doesn’t make a move to stop them if it’s a thing that doesn’t necessarily bother you.

“Leave me, my sons.” He waves his guarding legionaries from their position, his wings giving a slight twitch, and they simply give a nod in return. Their steps heavy of the armor they wear. Echoing down the hall before all is silent once more.

The winged Primarch can hear your heart from where he stands. His own hearts linking to the beat of yours. Albit it’s a little different but he can make an easy rhythm of it. It was soothing to him. To not only taste the crimson of your body but to also hear your heart, even when he must sleep after some time. It tells him that you’re still here, never betraying him. That you still love him despite what he might do.

He inhales before pushing the door to your garden open. His eyes looking everywhere before looking at you: tending to a bitten flower, cutting it from its stem before putting it a golden vase with other marked flowers. You seem to like to make their ravenous mistakes as something beautiful. Maybe that’s why many bitten petals appear in your garden…

“Hello, my love.” He finally greets you. His wings giving a little satisfaction fluff while he watches you get spooked by his sudden presence before beaming up at him. The simplicity of you warming his many hearts. He almost wishes that he had more in order to combat what you do to him.

“Sanguinius!” You say his name like a praise, rushing towards him. Trusting of him that he will catch you in his arms and never let you go, and he does. His hands grasping your waist with efficiency and holding you up to his chest where he can easily nuzzle into your neck. His wings wrapping around the both of you like secondary protection, a shield.

“Hello, my little rose.” He greets you again, purring it out. His lips kissing the softness of your neck. Perhaps an ultimate trust for a blood thirster to achieve. “How are you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” A huff leaves you, your hands gently moving along his face. Mapping him out, making sure he’s still the same when he had left you. “I hear… rumors.”

The blood Primarch pauses his nuzzling at that. Looking up at you from his place in your neck. Have you heard the same rumors he has? The gossip? He must know, his voice low. Barely unnoticeable. “What of them?”

He watches as you seem to shy away from the probing question. Your own eyes showing clear hesitation of what to say to him. He’s patient of course. Willing to keep you hostage till you speak your pretty mind out to him. His eyes watching every single detail your body might make.

“Most talk that I-“ You pause, unable to get the words out as they are rather shameful to even say out loud or to even admit. “That you- Oh goodness…”

“What bothers you so that you must hesitate?” He pushes gently. Moving to sit on a near by bench without the back, and with you upon his lap. His hands always keeping you close.

“…Many claim infidelity!” You finally speak out. Oh so ashamed of uttering such words to a Primarch no less. Hiding your face in your own hands as it wouldn’t be ideal to hide in your husband’s protection after admitting such words to him.

It clicks instantly for Sanguinius however. About these claims that you have heard of. Someway or another. His grip on you tightening a little before relaxing. If anything? Perhaps these rumors will make you more yielding to his advances.

“Do not be consumed by such childish talk.” He hums, pulling you closer again to nuzzle into your neck again. Feeling that familiar lure to taste you. To feed from you. “It’s untrue. Do you have no faith in me?”

“N-no! I mean! Yes!” Your lips blurt out, and he can’t help but just watch you stammer and be flustered by him. To watch how your lips move and your pulse quicken.

He kisses you suddenly, silencing your mumbling apologies and excuses. A hand coming up to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss that you seem surprised by before melting into it.

“Sanguinius…” You breathe once he lets you. Still trying to tire yourself out with apologies that he doesn’t necessarily care for. He knows you wouldn’t do such a thing. You were just… exposed to the whispers.

Perhaps both of you shall make it up to one another? Starting with claiming your blood once more. His fangs grazing your neck as he feels you shiver in his capturing embrace.

He’s soft and gentle at first, piecing the pulse of your skin that almost feels therapeutic. A soft groan leaving the both of you. One for the exotic taste of your blood and another for the sensation of your own life force being sipped from you.

You trust that he doesn’t take too much considering his size. Your hands clutching at his chest. Being oh so willing to help your Primarch. To feed him even when he doesn’t ask for your approval, and he’s aroused by such trust. Such vulnerability.

He shifts to lay you down in the bed of your roses, keeping his fangs in your throat. Each thorn pricked before you even awaken. I mean, how else do those bite marks get into those petals you dearly love? They are certainly not bugs. That risks sickness, and sickness risks Nurgle and that risks your life that he’s not willing to give up so easily.

Your soul is his while his is yours.

Your foreseen whimpers bring him back to his goal at hand, however. He’s taking too much from you. He knows he is, but the look on your dazed face makes it worth it. Makes you supine. He wants more. Greeds for more. Always more of you.

He waits no longer. Needing to claim what is his. Needing to have you after days of dastardly gossip. To have you smell like him and never leave his chambers again. To have you completely so bedridden that you don’t have to question his infidelity again.

The simple word leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, but it’s overrun by the gush of blood that rushes into his mouth. Overrun by the feeling of your walls wrapping around his slow, intruding cock.

Throne, he has missed you. To have your kisses, touch and blood. To have your heat wrapped around him like a vice as it has been too long since the last intercourse you both had together. Too long.

Another groan leaves him, loosening his fangs upon your neck to huff upon your skin as he thrusts forward inside of you. His fangs piercing his own lips now, drawing his own blood. His hands clawing at the rose bed beneath you as he tries not to absolutely ruin you for his own selfish pleasure. He knows he’s big, and you? Small. So perfect. So dazed and cock drunk to notice you're mewling his name for those gossipers to hear. To shut down their petty, insolent whispers.

He shall prove to you- to them that you're completely his. To mark you up in all ways: fangs, claws and seed. They will know their place, and you? Bedridden and always by his side. He will make sure of it.

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