#astro_writing

you set your hands on the large arm of his command throne and lean up, your lips ghosting over his.

"i told you i was not to be disturbed." Curze's voice hissed, his breath fanning out across your face. his pitless black eyes suddenly snap to you before he lunges at you. you scream, falling backwards with arms thrown wide and flailing for purchase they could not find.

he catches you with a firm hand underneath your back right before you hit the ground. bent at a knee his form looms over top of you, his black hair spilling down around his face.

"you don't listen to me, always testing my patience and expecting a reward when i do not maul you." he tilts his head to one side, his ears picking up on frantic thrum of your pulse.

"insufferable little one." he drops you the few inches remaining between you and the ground. you hit the the metal flooring with an audible 'oof' and wince.

"i was worried, you weren't stirring so i- " you start to say before he shushes. you hear the familiar sound of metal sliding against metal as he extends the lightning claws of the hand no longer holding you up. he gives you a moment to register their presence, reveling in the frightened way your eyes dart from his face to his claws. you knew, even depowered, they could shred you to pieces.

he rears his fist back and, in a blur of motion your mortal eyes cannot follow, he punches them through the floor next to your head; making a loud, sharp noise that sets your teeth on edge.

"where is my reward when i am the one holding myself back? it would be all too easy to snap your pretty little neck whenever i wake." he smiled a sharks smile, baring his filed, pointed teeth at you.

"well?" you say nothing in reply. you felt distant, as if your mind had fled your body in a moment of cowardice. unable to think, you let your instinct kick in.

using the collar of his armor to hoist yourself up, your trembling fingers barely keeping a solid grip on the ceramite, you close the distance between your faces and kiss him on the nose.

"thank you." you stammer.

he goes ridged and for a moment you fear you've lost him again.

"my lord?"

he sighs; a long, drawn out sound that ends in a growl. he stands up, shaking his head.

"you will be my end." he grumbles, making his way back to his command throne and bonelessly collapsing into it, one knee bent to perch his lighting claw on. he waits for you to stand on shaking legs before voxing Sevatar.

“Do not run.” He spoke slowly, his voice strained. Your fear, your uncertainty, excited him. His words do little to ease the panic seeping into your veins. Every instinct of yours screamed at you to run, to take yourself as far away from him as humanly possible. You fight the feeling. He’s never hurt you before, never given you reason to be afraid of him. Sanguinius had always treated you as though you were made of porcelain, breakable and precious to him.

“You’re scaring me.” The tremble in your voice gives him pause. You feel his grip on you tighten and out of instinct you jerk your arm away; rationality be damned. You don’t notice until you’ve backed away from him the blood that drips from a fresh cut to your arm. 

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing with the act. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -” Sanguinius silences you with a look. He raises his hand to his lips, the clawed tip of one of his gauntleted fingers tipped with red. Your red. He stares at you, his pupils devouring his eyes.

You don’t wait to see what he does next. You run.

The heavy beat of wings follows you down one of the Red Tear’s many corridors. False sunlight streams through the massive stained glass windows lining the space, illuminating your path forward with a kaleidoscope of colors. The battles depicted on them follow you, playing their epic scenes alongside you as you run. As if you were caught in the middle of a warzone.

Sanguinius had given you a head start. You knew deep down you never would have made it even a sliver this far if he hadn’t. A shadow flies overhead, its shape landing well ahead of you blocking your path. Sanguinius stands tall, his wings spread wide. He waits for you, his head canted to the side.

You slow down, eyeing him wearily. He doesn’t move from his place, his perfect form statuesque as if he’d been freshly carved from stone. You take a moment to look around and notice, halfway between you and him, is the entrance to a narrow servitor tunnel. You hope it’ll be too small for him.

You see his wings twitch absently, his eyes looking past you rather than at you. He’s caught a vision and it's interesting enough to hold him. You walk slowly toward him, worried any quick movement might turn his attention on you. Your own impatience starts to wear at you, your heart thundering in your ears. You make a snap decision and dash for the narrow opening.

Your decision registers on his face a moment too late as clarity returns to Sanguinius. You see him move, a statue come to life; a rippling snarl tearing itself from his throat.

You tumble into the tunnel as his body collides with the opening, his hand reaching toward you and missing you only by a hair. You roll into your fall, turning to stare up at him with a look of horror as the primarch you knew dissolves into a beast. He can’t reach you. His armor bulk was too great. He doesn’t give you time to breathe before he starts tearing at his armor. Discarding it in chunks on the floor, shaving off the inches he would need to reach you. 

You back away from him, dragging yourself deeper into the tunnel until you’re confident enough to stand and resume running. 

Sanguinius can smell you through the walls, the scent of your blood mingling with your fear an intoxicating cocktail. He unceremoniously discards the last piece of his ceramite armor leaving him in the skin tight fabric underneath; the top half shredded by his claws. He doesn’t care about his frazzled appearance nor the current state of his undress. His thoughts were filled with you as he took to stalking you through his ship, his wings bristing with agitation. 

He had lost the present for a mere moment and that error had allowed you to escape. Oh, but his vision had been a gift. Hadn’t it? He’d held you gently, your neck craned beautifully in his hand; his lips on your throat. A day dream made real should his sight prove true, the path set if he allowed it. He could abandon you, leave you to flee until his urges have waned. Were he thinking clearly, it is exactly what he would have done. He never wanted to hurt you, to expose you to the truth of his hunger.. But he yearned to taste you. To fill his mouth with your pulse and drink in deep the ambrosia that gave your frail human body life.

He follows you into the belly of the ship, waiting for you to error and leave the narrow spaces between. Sanguinius notices with mock sympathy the circles you take yourself in. You were clearly lost, a sheep torn from its flock. He felt a thrill of excitement, damned near salivating at the thought of catching you. He would find you and he would have you.

The tunnel soon opens up into a large room where the artistry of the legion is on full display. Delicately crafted glass sculptures and impressive murals take up most of the interior. Candles illuminate the space, casting shadows around large pillars that disappear up into a high ceiling. 

For a moment you forget yourself, lost in the beauty of the works around you. You don't recall having ever visited this room and it was far too well maintained to be a simple storage space. You wondered if these might be some of Sanguinius works, or maybe the favorites from his legion that he chose to keep for himself.

You were studying an intricate carving of what looked to be a terran landscape when you felt something soft tickle your neck. You reach up to touch your skin, your hand coming back with a feather; long and white with the faintest hint of red dotting its edges. Realization dawns on you too little too late.

The sound of wings cutting through air swallows your scream as a pair of arms snatch you up off of the ground. You look down to see the ground growing further and further away from you as you're carried high into the rafters above where the light of the candles can no longer reach you.

“You did not heed my warning, dear heart.” Sanguinius whispers against your hair, settling you both down on a steel beam. His wings circle around you both, cutting off your hopes of escape. Not like you could, anyways. Unless you learned how to fly without wings of your own. 

He holds you tighter against his chest, the feel of him hot against your back.

“Tell me to stop,” his voice is strained. “Else I fear what I might do.” His hand slips beneath your shirt, his fingers gliding up your rib cage only to stop right below your breasts.

“I want to understand, please. Let me help you.” He exhales sharply. Why was his little prey so eager for the slaughter? You surrendered too easily to him.

He grabs your arm, lifting it at an awkward angle. His tongue laps at the shallow cut he’d given you, his other hand greedily palming your breast. You feel a prick of pain, his teeth reopening your cut. The few droplets were a tease and not nearly enough to satiate his hunger. He leaves a trail of bites down your arm, humming his approval at the sound of your pained whimpers.

“Help me?” He releases your wrist, his arm snaking around you, fingers taking hold of your chin. He tilts your head to one side, exposing the flesh of your neck to him. The hand cupping your breast holds you tighter against his chest, his thumb drawing habitual circles over your sternum. 

He gives no warning before his fangs pierce your skin. It hurt at first, the sharp sting enough to make you gasp. He closes his lips around the wound, sucking, licking until your blood is flowing into his mouth. He groans low in his throat, not at all aware of your discomfort; savoring the metallic liquid on his tongue. His eyes roll back, his wings trembling around you in a fluttering dance of feathers. 

The pain subsides as a fog takes hold of your mind. You feel your vision dim, your pulse slowing in your ears. You try to speak, to ask him to stop, to tell him he’s had enough.

He breaks away from you, your body going limp in his arms.

You awake to the sound of machine beeps and a bright white room. You gingerly sit up, hand instinctively raising to the large bandage covering your neck and shoulder. Even with the slurry of drugs pumping into your system, your body aches. The gentle hand of an Apothecary pushes at your good shoulder, encouraging you to lay back down.

“Our Primarch will be with you shortly.” There’s a disapproving edge to his voice. You lay in silence, thinking over the events that lead you to this point. You catch yourself blushing at the intimacy of it. Of Sanguinius’ carnal need to have you. You should have been horrified, he could have killed you, but in truth you felt the opposite. You wish he would have told you sooner. It wasn’t his burden to bear alone and you could have prepared yourself. If he needed blood, you would give it to him.

“I beg your forgiveness, my love. Though I do not deserve it.” Sanguinus knelt down to be level with you, leaning away as if too afraid to be near you.

“Please, don't apologize.” You say, reaching out with your good arm to touch him. Unlike the last time you reached for him, he moves into your touch and guides your hand to his face. You stroke his cheek with your thumb, your heart aching at the pain on his face. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have given you my blood if you asked.” He turns his face into your hand and kisses your palm, his long lashes fluttering closed and for a moment he looks peaceful; albeit remorseful. 

“I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you and yet, here we are.” Sanguinius laments, his wings drooping.

“I can take it.” He huffs a laugh at this.

“I nearly killed you.”

“Nearly. I’m still here, aren’t I?” He straightens up, pushing the fanatical thoughts he had of you to the back of his mind. Had he not come to his senses in the heat of the moment, you would be lost to him. Yet you look at him with such love and adoration. You were nothing like the frightened little thing he’d chased through the ship. He shuns the arousal and the memory, instead trying to focus on you. You notice his sudden shift in demeanor.

“Next time, I’ll be ready.” His brow furrows. You smile at him, you were so sure of yourself. He had loved the chase and apart of him desperately wanted to hunt you again. To force you into the darkest corners of the Red Tear and only once you let your guard down would he allow himself to take you.

“There will not be a next time. I will make sure of it.” It was your turn to huff. You didn’t understand. Why would he deny your help? Was it out of fear? Fear for your well being? Well! You had something to say about that.

“I liked it.” His lip twitched, you swear you catch the faintest hint of a smile. Before you can prepare your grand argument as to why, he hushes you with a kiss to your forehead.

Nowhere was safe. When the angels came, your world fell. The stubbornness of your planet’s government had damned you all, surrendering its people to an unfair war - a slaughter. Your home was one of many that burned and you ran, ran like countless others as you prayed for a miracle. 

You had tried a few bunkers at first, having used a map to guide you to the nearest one. Much to your disappointment, it had been full and the crowd waiting to get in had not been kind. Sure, you could have stayed and hoped you would be one of the few to make it in, but your overconfidence told you to move on. You could thug it out! Walk to the next one. How hard could it be?

It became painfully obvious how unprepared you were for the end of the world. It wasn’t something you had ever really thought of, not really. You had worked at a dead end job, going through the motions day to day just to make ends meet. At night, you had little to no social life. You spent most of your time wrapped up in pieces of fiction, taking refuge in the words spun by your fingers ; pen to paper, your favorite form of expression. Your life before hadn’t been glorious, but it had been yours. It pained you to think about it. All of your writing was now gone, save for the contents of a single notebook.

You guessed now you were living out one of your stories first hand. Except surviving was hard and everything was happening too fast. The Blood Angels, as the news called them, were carving a path to the Citadel at an alarming speed and it wouldn't be long before they took over.

Communication networks, the ones still running, updated their feeds regularly and offered little comfort; their panicked voices breaking down your morale with each broadcast. What was the point? These Angels were superhuman, wielding weapons that had chewed through your planet’s defenses like they were nothing.

Deep down you knew it was only a matter of time before you were caught in the crossfire and then it happened. On your third day on the run, the fighting found you.

At the first sighting of red armor, you hid. Some civilians had taken up arms, fighting with their primitive weapons and firing gunshots that only seemed to annoy the invaders. Most of the rebels died while others were taken off of the streets and transported elsewhere. You didn't plan on hanging around long enough to find out where.

You managed to slip away during the chaos, ducking into a large cathedral. It was pretty run down, the exterior stained black from smoke and its walls broken in precarious places that made it look as if it were a sneeze away from crumbling. It wasn’t great, but it offered you enough protection to shield you from the elements and prying eyes.

You wandered deep into its interior, clutching your backpack to your chest to keep it from making noise while you navigated shattered stone and the remnants of broken pews. Ahead of you, a once-pristine altar waited for you in depressing silence. Its stone surface cracked and pockmarked with bullet wounds.

The altar was barren, save for a few torn remnants of old cloth and charred offerings. You approached it and ran your fingers along the surface, grabbing up a piece of charcoal that you might be able to use for sketching later. You weren’t very good at it, but you had paper and down time was one of your biggest enemies. It was better to save your pens for writing. They wouldn’t last forever and you weren’t sure how long you’d be running for.

You're interrupted by the sound of shouting from outside that sounds way too close for comfort. You back away from the altar and anxiously look around for a place where you might hide, your eyes landing on a fallen podium. It was quite large, large enough for you to fit inside, but if someone were to walk around behind it they would see you.

The shouts grew louder. Screw it, you scramble over to the podium, tripping over your own two feet on your way and manage to crawl inside before the cries of a man filled the church. 

“Help me, someone! Please!” He begged. You can hear him stumble around behind you. You imagine his feet catching on broken corners of debris, barely able to keep himself upright. 

“He’s coming, he’s coming! Sanctuary, please! I beg of you. Please protect me.” He pleaded, his voice carrying throughout the ruins. You bury your face in your backpack, willing him to go away. Whoever he was running from, you wanted no part of it.

You whimper in fear.

“Father, is that you?” Had he heard you? You curl further into yourself, trying to make yourself smaller.

You hear the man’s steps draw nearer. Shoot, shoot! He couldn't know where you were, could he? You wish you had been strong enough to flip the podium overtop of you. You were too vulnerable, too revealed with its large opening.

Go away, go away.

You crack open your eyes long enough to see his feet stop in front of you, his pant legs shifting as he moves to bend down. You catch a glimpse of a gun's muzzle at his waist and tense.

But then he stops. The ground shudders as something large comes down on it, splintering wood and cracking stone. The man takes a step back and then gunshots ring out One, three, five, click .. click .. ! 

A gust of wind blows across the sanctuary, throwing the man off balance. Suddenly the podium you’re hiding in groans under a heavy weight that lands on top of it, the wood bowing and threatening to cave in on you. The man screams and the next thing you hear is the sickening squelch of crushed meat and bone.

Blood flows down the man’s body, pooling in a puddle on the ground. You choke back a sob, tears burning your eyes as his body falls with a loud thud; headless, blood gushing from his gaping neck. Time slows down, you stare at the dead man. His image forever burned in your memory.

Whoever it was on top of you steps down over the corpse. The gold of their armored boots splattered with blood and filth.

“Do not hide, child. I mean you no harm.” His voice sang the words like a hymn, lyrical and majestic; flawlessly done with the carefree nature of someone who wasn’t even trying. As if he hadn’t just killed a man.

It sounded wrong.

A hand reaches under the podium and plucks you out by your backpack. You cling onto your last piece of home as if it were a lifeline, until the visage of your assailant comes into view. You stare up into his beautiful face and with a yelp of surprise you let go of your pack. He’s quick, however, and snatches you out of the air. His grip like a vice around your arm, causing you to cry out in pain. 

“Hush.” He drops your pack on the ground, the contents spilling out around his feet. 

“Let me go, please.” He tilts his head to one side. You swallow thickly, holding back the urge to throw up as you dangle in the giant's grasp. 

“If I set you down, you will run and I would hate for you to hurt yourself.” He looped an arm under your legs and made a perch for you to sit on. It brought relief to your abused arm, but lifted you up to face level with him.

His face was achingly beautiful and unreal, as if your eyes were having trouble making sense of the contour of his bone structure. One moment you could have sworn he had high cheekbones, the next his face was full; younger and then older. Hair like liquid gold cascaded down his head in expertly crafted waves, impossibly undisturbed. Even the speckles of blood in his hair looked like ruby beads.

It was his eyes that unsettled you most. They watched you intently, like a bird might stalk a mouse in the grass. Any small movement was captured by those eyes, the intensity behind them made your insides squirm uncomfortably. 

He let go of your arm and took your face between his thumb and forefinger, the sharp tips of his armored fingers digging into your skin. He ran his thumb down your cheek, drawing a thin line of blood that made you wince.

He swallowed thickly, his stare fixed on the red droplets.

“I am sorry. Your leaders have sentenced you to a fate you nor your people deserve, but in your planet’s defiance you have spoken out against the will of the emperor - of humanity itself. Such deeds cannot go unpunished. I will make this quick.” His hot tongue lapped at your cheek, catching the trickle of blood. He exhaled in a long breath that tickled the tiny hairs on your face. 

You whimper, your jaw hurting from his harsh grip. Unable to speak, your eyes plead with him. Begging him to let you go. You would do anything, say anything. He looks almost saddened when he tilts your head to the side, exposing the vulnerable flesh of your neck. He leans his head down, his lips brushing over the beat of your pulse, tenderly like a kiss. He mutters something you can barely make out. 

“Forgive me, my sons.” His teeth pierce your neck. You feel pain and then numbness, the weight of your limbs suddenly heavy. You feel yourself fall backwards, his hands moving to cradle you in the air; your neck arched over his palm. 

Your blood flows into his mouth, his tongue hungrily lapping at your wound. His wings twitch above you, the feathers lazily falling like a curtain around you. Except there would be no curtain call, no walking onto the stage to the cheers of your audience. You performed your final bow the moment he’d caught you.

In a daze, you wonder how soft his wings are. They’re so close, you could reach out and touch them. It takes a lot of effort to lift your arm up, and when you do you realize the tips of your fingers are stained black with soot. A stark contrast against the white of his wings. You touch them anyway, leaving a trail of black and gray in your wake. Your killer makes an approving sound that rumbles in his chest. 

“Don’t.” He groans, his hold on you tightening. His voice sounded strained.

Don't what? You wanted to ask, but your tongue didn't work right. Words were hard, your mind was heavy, but his feathers felt nice.

You stroke his wing, petting his feathers in languid strokes. They shudder against your touch.

A sickening desire sparked at the base of the angel’s spine, his cock straining against the body glove beneath his armor. He hadn’t expected you to touch him and you were a devilish little thing, already a temptress with your blood which tasted so sweet on his tongue. He shoves aside the mess on the altar and lays you down on top of it, looming over you with blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. 

You look back at him through heavy lashes, knowing you should be frightened of the predatory look in his eyes, but unable to muster the energy to be afraid. He kneels down, nudging your legs apart. You don't question him when he lifts one of your legs onto his shoulder or when he tears the fabric of your pants with his teeth.

Without warning, he sinks his fangs into the exposed meat of your thigh. Your heart leapt in your chest, a pained yelp waking you from your stupor.

“That hurts, stop! Please.” He looks up at you, crimson bleeding into the beautiful blue of his eyes until you're staring into a ruby sea. You see his jaw working, sucking and swallowing your life with each greedy gulp.

When you try to sit up, he releases your thigh with a loud POP! that leaves behind a nasty purple mark around his teeth marks. He drags you down by your hips until your ass is hanging off of the edge of the table and makes another rip in your jeans, tearing them down the center.

His bite stung, but aroused something in you. Something you weren't ready to unpack, not with a stranger that was all too eager to devour you. You felt ashamed by your mixture of want and terror, unsure of which you should be feeling.

The angel buries his nose between your legs and inhales the scent of your need. His tongue prodded the fabric of your underwear, tasting how wet you were for him. He hummed his approval, the sound vibrating against your center.

So much for making your death quick. He seemed to be enjoying himself, playing with his food. He pushes your panties aside and licks between your folds, dragging his tongue up until he finds the delicate bud that makes you squirm. His wings flutter around you, lowering to where you can grab onto them. When you do, he moans against your slit. 

He strokes you with his tongue, rolling the hot wet muscles around your clit before he takes you in his mouth. His lips sealing overtop of you, tongue lapping at your sensitive skin with the hunger of a starving man.

White fills your vision when he inserts a finger inside of you, curling it and coaxing soft, mewling sounds out of you. He pumps his finger in and out of you before adding a second. Scissoring you open, stretching you and making your mind delirious with need. 

He devours you, trading his fingers for his tongue. Stroking your walls, his thumbs spreading your folds, letting him sink his tongue in deeper. His nose brushes your clit and you lose control of your body; cumming on his face. He doesn’t seem to mind, taking his fill of you before pulling away from your needy cunt. 

You're so small, so weak. A tasty little plaything that looks pretty in his mouth; the taste of your ambrosia divine on his tongue. He reaches down to free his cock of its confinement and snarls in frustration. He was in the middle of a war, he couldn’t easily take himself out. He would need your help and, well, you were in no state to undress him. 

He helplessly bucked his hips against the air, craving friction and receiving very little. He felt trapped in his ceremite, frustrated at it for preventing him from sinking himself inside of you. He wanted to feel your wet heat flutter around him when he took you.

He bites into your other thigh, growling, his nails digging into your skin as he holds you tight to his face. You whimper above him, though he pays you no mind. He hungered for you. Needed you. He jerks you further down the altar until you're practically sitting on his face, your slick coating his cheek while he drinks from your thigh. You feel light headed, your mind going fuzzy while your blood flows down his throat. You wanted to sleep. To succumb to the exhaustion you’d been fighting for days.

You close your eyes and feel yourself fall until blackness takes you.

Sanguinius gently places you back onto the altar, ashamed with himself for the way he’d handled you. You were a frail, terrified human - not a meal. He thumbs away a remnant of your blood from his lips, listening to the slow beat of your heart as it struggled to replenish that which he had stolen. 

He couldn’t bring himself to kill you. Not after he’d already preyed upon you in such an undignified way. He’d let his restraint slip and in doing so had cost him a piece of his own humanity. He taught his sons how to control the thirst, chiding them for their errors and mentored them in healthier ways to suppress their urges. But in a single moment he had shattered his own illusion. He had given in and tasted you. Emperor, give him strength. He could still taste you. All of you.

He takes an agonizing step away from your limp body, the heel of his boot stepping on your belongings leaving behind a bloody print on what looked to be a notebook of yours.

“My lord, you should leave this place. I will take care of the girl.” Sanguinus jerks his head in the direction of the voice. A pair of green, unfeeling lenses set into a black helmet stare back at him. The image of an eye within a flame glowered in judgement of Sanguinius actions from the man’s shoulder guard. 

“No, get her to an apothecary and have them stabilize her before transport. I want her taken aboard the Red Tear.” 

The Ofanim glances toward the slumbering girl. He would not refuse a direct order from his Primarch, even if such an order went against every one of his teachings. It was his duty to take on the burden of Sanguinius’ guilt; to purge the madness from their legion and remove those who could threaten their peace. 

“It is not in my nature to question your judgement, but she has seen too much.”

Sanguinius gestures toward your fallen notebook,

“I am taking her as my personal remembrancer.”

“My lord, she is not a remembrancer.”

“As of this moment, she is.” He closed his eyes, adjusting his posture to relieve some of the pressure between his legs. He felt claustrophobic, trapped in his own armor. The quicker he won this planet, the quicker he could discard his armor and .. remedy his affliction.

A pair of glowing green eye lenses watched you while you slept, their cold stare a reflection of the detached thoughts running through the astartes’ mind. Keeping you was a mistake, but it would seem his primarch was beyond reason. The Great Angel held guilt in his heart, a guilt that was not his to carry alone. He should have left you to the judgment of the Burning Eyes. At least then his conscience could have been cleared. 

The astartes sighs, the sound more like a mechanical growl through his vox grille, as he watches you shift in your sleep. You looked tiny in the center of Sanguinius’ bed, your body almost lost in a sea of red and gold fabric. It had taken them time to repair your feeble body. It was a miracle you’d survived your coupling with a Primarch. You were lucky he hadn’t torn your flesh from your bones when he fed from you. The teeth marks had been surprisingly clean with minimal tears. Perhaps it was a testament to Sanguinius’ self-control. Even in the throes of hunger, he’d been careful not to mutilate you.

At least you were able to sleep, the chemicals they’d pumped into your body would be enough to keep your pain levels low. You’d wake up sore, but none too worse for wear.

The Ofanim observes you a moment longer before turning his attention to the book in his hand, your book. He thumbs through it, his helmet recording and translating data from it. The text was crude, to say the least. To him, it was little more than the promiscuous ramblings of the depraved. The imperium would never allow it to publish. So why was this the sort of work Sanguinis sought after in a remembrancer?

He pauses at one particular passage in your notebook, his throat suddenly dry. In it, you described the coupling of demons in excruciating detail. Demons, what a foolish thought. The words, like an echo, repeat in the HUD of his visor. Over and over again, as if you were somehow etching a curse into his retina. 

He drops your book and hurriedly deletes the horrendously detailed pornography from his helm. 

“Be gentle with her things, my son. She has so very few of them left.” He turns toward his father, his armored joins grinding with the movement. Unlike him, Sanguinius seemed perfectly at peace with himself. The serenity in the angel’s voice was so unlike the unleashed creature he’d been a day before in the cathedral. 

“Be weary of it, my lord.” He warned, dreading the scandal that could transpire should the book be discovered in Sanguinius’ possession. He would not allow such a thing to happen.

“It contains the ramblings of a woman gone mad. Let me see it disposed of.” Sanguinius’ smile faded at the corners. 

“A woman gone mad? Let me have a look.” The angel bends down and scoops your notebook up off of the floor. He, like his son, thumbs through it. Though unlike him, Sanguinius did not have the privilege of a helmet to hide his expression.

He blushed and closed the book with a snap.

“She has,” he cleared his throat. “Quite a way with words.” They stare at one another for a long moment, a heavy silence falling over the room like a veil.

Sanguinius clears his throat.

“I will watch over her recovery. You have more pressing matters to attend to, as we both know.” The primarch held up a hand before the other could speak. “I will hear no more on the subject of my remembrancer. You are dismissed.” His son bows before taking his leave. Sanguinius listens with a cocked ear for the familiar click of the lock before settling himself down on the edge of his bed, his wings folded neatly behind him.  

“Now then, let’s have another real look at you.” Your notebook felt light in his hand, and Sanguinius was once again drawn to it. It was shameful, he knows, but there was something sinfully exciting about your work. A quality to it that drew him in. You made martyrs out of monsters, lovers out of blood thirsty creatures, and romanticized killers who’d sooner see you dead than in their beds. It was wrong, so very, very wrong, but oh how he longed to be allowed a moment of weakness. A moment to sate the desires coiling deep in his belly. 

He craved you.

-

An angel sat at the edge of your bed, his body hunched over a book he’d cradled in the palm of his hand. Golden ringlets spilled down around a face that, even with his scrunched up expression, looked beautiful – otherworldly.

You slowly sit up, your heavy limbs fighting against you every step of the way. You felt a fog come over you, your thoughts as sluggish as your body felt. Lifting a hand, you feel a large bandage covering your neck. The skin underneath felt tender to the touch, but otherwise painless.

“Am I dead?” You asked, voice hoarse. The angel suddenly sat up bolt-right and turned his body to look at you. There was a rosy flush to his cheeks and an eerily familiar look in his black eyes that gave you a dreaded sense of déjà vu.

“No, you are very much alive.” He closes the book, drawing your eye to it. In the split second you looked down, he moved from the edge of the bed to your side. Which, given the ridiculousness of how large the bed was, should not have been an easy feat. Not for any normal human.

With him so close, recognition hits you. You knew him, this angel! You let out a startled squeak, raising your hands up to defend yourself.

“Please don’t kill me!” 

“I have no plans to kill you. While you are here, aboard the Red Tear, no harm will come to you. Not while I still live and breathe.” His hand gently presses down on yours, lowering them into your lap. You dread looking up at him, not wanting to face his pitiless black eyes, but when you do, a pair of sympathetic baby blues looks back at you. 

“Do forgive me for frightening you. I was distracted and neglected to greet you properly when you woke.” He gestures toward the book, and you freeze up. Oh no. Oh no, no, no! Not your notebook! You felt light-headed, the room around you spinning. If you didn’t want to die earlier, you sure wanted to now! 

“You read my stories?” You wobble and he catches you as you slump over, gently lowering you back down onto his pillows.

“I did.” He smooths your hair back away from your face, his expression softening. 

“Who are you? Why am I here?” Two questions, he considers them both.

“I am the Primarch of the Blood Angel’s, IX legion, and son to the Emperor of Mankind, Sanguinius. I brought you onboard my ship with the intention of making you my personal Remembrancer.” He pauses to give you time to process his words. He found the confusion on your face adorable and smiled.

“You will write for me, and in return, I will give you everything you need to fulfill that role. Under my care, you will want for nothing.” You open your mouth to ask him more questions. Before you can, he shushes you with the tender caress of his thumb across your forehead.

“I will answer all of your questions in due time. Your body has endured much, rest. You are safe now.”