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yanagikou · 4 days ago

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"A Canvas of Desire"

Another primarch x OC fanfiction from my lovely husband.

This time it's the Great Angel showing of his "artistic" skills to Kara (my OC). I sadly didn't have time to draw a new cover image for this fic, so I re-used an older drawing of those two (even though my style has changed a bit since then and also Kara's design got reworked slightly).

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Disclaimer: It's arty smut, but still smut, so MDNI. please and thank you.

Pairing: Sanguinius x Kara (OC)

Word count: 2120

Enjoy! :)

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The vast, lofty chamber was bathed in the soft, golden light of hundreds of candles. The scent of oil paint lingered in the air, mingling with the gentle aroma of perfumed wax. Sanguinius, clad in flowing white robes, sat before a half-painted canvas, his great wings draped at his sides like silken banners at rest. His brush moved in slow, deliberate strokes, capturing the delicate outline of the woman before him.

Kara reclined on a lounge chair, her form partially draped in exquisite fabrics that barely concealed her. The cosy warmth of the chamber made the silk fabric feel cool and light, teasing her skin with every slight movement of her body. She watched him—watched the focused intensity in his angular, achingly beautiful face. Every flick of his golden eyes sent an unwelcome shiver through her, each lingering glance peeling away another layer of restraint.

When he had first asked her to be his muse, she hesitated. To be seen—truly seen—by him? The very idea unsettled her. But the moment she had witnessed the passion with which he wielded his brush, she had agreed faster than she cared to admit. Now she lay before him, her body bared to his artistry, her vulnerability turned into inspiration.

At first, she tried to remain still. Successfully ignoring the heat creeping up her neck, or the growing tension coiling in her belly. But it was impossible to ignore him. She noticed the way his golden hair reflected the candlelight, the way his smooth muscles moved almost imperceptibly under his robe with every brushstroke, and the way his wings trembled - ever so slightly - when his gaze lingered too long. A flaw in his divine control, a fleeting sign that she affected him.

The realization made her breath hitch.

Kara pressed her thighs together, barely shifting, but the sensation was electric. The coarse fabric against her heated skin, the delicious ache that built each time his brush skimmed the canvas with knowing precision—it was unbearable. Did he notice? If he did, he gave no sign. But his silence only made it worse.

Her thoughts betrayed her, conjuring images of those hands—so deft, so skilled—not holding a brush but tracing her skin instead. Would his touch be as delicate as his strokes? Or would the passion caged beneath his serene exterior finally break free?

She swallowed hard.

Did she want that?

The warring impulses tore through her—one urging her to surrender, the other to resist. She wanted him to cross the threshold, to bridge the space between them, to claim her in a way that left no doubts. And yet, the fear of what it might mean, of what it might change, held her fast.

His eyes flicked up again, locking onto hers.

This time, he did not look away.

Under his gaze, Kara felt heat bloom beneath her skin, a slow, insidious fire that left her both flustered and utterly exposed. Vulnerability had never been something she embraced, yet here, beneath those knowing golden eyes, she found herself unravelling.

"You know," Sanguinius murmured, his low and melodic. It wrapped around her, another force pressing against her resolve, testing its strength. "I can foresee flickers of the future."

Her heart stammered. He knew. Oh, fuck—he knew!

‘Aha, do you now?’ she replied as casually as possible - and prayed that he couldn't hear the rapid thudding of her heart. "And what did you see?"

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, and her stomach clenched at the sheer beauty of it.

In the next moment, he moved. One instant, he was at the canvas, the next, he loomed over her, his towering frame casting a shadow across her half-bared body. Kara remained still, willing herself to meet his gaze even as her breath came shallow.

"Would you like me to show you?" he asked, voice honeyed and dangerously soft.

Words failed her. She could only nod, and tried her best to look indifferent.

Sanguinius knelt beside her, and the sheer proximity sent a pulse of heat between her thighs. His wings, magnificent and vast, folded ever so slightly, enclosing them in a world of their own.

"The human body is art in itself," he mused, his fingers reaching for her in a touch so delicate, so reverent, that she shivered beneath it. “Some more exquisite than others. As my Father made me in His image, you too have been crafted, a being of extraordinary beauty—a being meant to be cherished and protected.”

Kara barely absorbed his words, too lost in the sensation of his fingers trailing over her skin. It was not just his touch—it was the way he watched her, as though committing her to memory, as though he could paint her soul onto the very air they shared.

Then she noticed it—the paintbrush in his hand.

Slowly, he let the fine bristles graze the curve of her collarbone, tracing the delicate hollows of her form with the practiced ease of an artist. The sensation was exquisite—a featherlight whisper of silk and pressure, sending small tremors through her limbs. She clenched her fingers against the fabric beneath her, breath uneven.

"Art exists to capture beauty," he continued, voice still controlled, though his golden eyes burned with something deeper. "To make it eternal. To allow us to look upon it whenever we wish."

The brush wandered lower, teasing the curve of her shoulder, nudging the soft drapes of fabric down until they pooled at her sides. Kara did not resist—she merely watched him, feeling the weight of his devotion in every lingering touch.

"And you, Kara," he murmured, eyes fixed upon her now-bared skin, "are perfection."

She gasped as the brush glided over her breast, circling the soft swell before teasing the peak. A shudder ran through her, her body tensing beneath his ministrations. He watched intently, his expression unreadable—until his lips curved in satisfaction at the way her nipple stiffened beneath the delicate strokes.

"Your mind. Your strength. Your unwavering spirit." His voice had taken on a huskier edge, his control fraying at the edges. "And your body—"

The brush flicked, swirling around the sensitive bud, and Kara's breath broke into a soft, involuntary whimper.

"A masterpiece."

She exhaled shakily, struggling to hold onto some semblance of composure. "You foresaw… this?" she managed, though the weight of her own desire thickened her voice.

His smile was slow, indulgent. He was toying with her, testing her, stripping her bare not just in body but in spirit.

"I foresaw it," he admitted, and with those words, the brush drifted lower.

Down her abdomen. Over taut muscle. Lower still.

Kara’s breath hitched as he reached her thighs, and before she could stop herself, she parted them instinctively. The hunger in his eyes deepened, an edge of amusement flashing in the sunny pools as he took in the sight of her.

The brush danced between her legs, teasing, barely grazing, a torment that sent waves of pleasure through her core. A moan slipped from her lips before she could contain it, her hips shifting, seeking more.

The Angel obliged.

The soft bristles pressed against the delicate folds of her sex, tracing, exploring, dipping between the slick heat of her arousal. The contrast—the faintest touch of the brush, the cool air against her exposed skin—was maddening. She trembled beneath it, her body betraying her in the way it lifted toward him, pleading for more.

His movements were deliberate, methodical, a slow indulgence as he worked her into a haze of unbearable need.

"Please," she whimpered at last, barely able to form words. "Show me that vision."

Sanguinius stilled. Then, with a single powerful movement, he unfurled his wings, their vastness a cathedral of shadow and light above her. The faintest whisper of feathers brushed against her skin—a sensation that sent shivers of both comfort and anticipation through her.

He lay beside her, and for the first time, she felt it—the solid, searing heat of his desire against her thigh.

Kara turned toward him, breath uneven, and without hesitation, she wrapped her legs around his waist. She felt a pressure against her belly, and for a fleeting moment, a sliver of uncertainty slipped into her mind.

Could she even take him?

Sanguinius seemed to sense her hesitation, for he brushed a silvery curly strand of hair from her face, his expression impossibly soft. There was nothing but adoration in his eyes.

Slowly, he reached between them, pushing aside the layers of fabric until his rigid length was freed. It pressed against her entrance, firm and unyielding, slickened by her own arousal.

A sharp gasp left her lips as the tip nudged inside, stretching her in a way she had never experienced before. Sanguinius let out a deep, guttural sound - his eyes fluttered shut, brows furrowed.

He held still, allowing her to adjust, the sheer size of him overwhelming. But Kara was beyond reason now, beyond hesitation. She needed him.

Lowering herself, she took him deeper, inch by inch, her body yielding to his impossible girth.

Pleasure bloomed, raw and all-consuming.

Sanguinius groaned as he sank fully within her, his wings flexing with restrained control. They remained there for a moment, bodies entwined, lost in the sheer rightness of it.

Kara swallowed, her lips brushing against his ear. "And what happened then?" she whispered.

Sanguinius laughed, low and rich.

"This."

With a single powerful beat of his wings, they lifted from the ground. Supported, by his psychic powers.

Each thrust was a symphony of strength and grace, an intricate dance between control and surrender. Sanguinius held her as though she weighed nothing, his powerful arms securing her, his vast wings beating a steady rhythm that lifted them through the air. Each movement carried them higher—bodies and hearts linked together, lost in an ascent that was as much physical as it was transcendental.

Kara could do nothing but cling to him, her nails digging into the unyielding muscles of his shoulders. Every stroke of his body inside hers sent pleasure rippling through her like waves crashing against the shore, each one growing in intensity, pulling her deeper into the storm of sensation. His heat consumed her, the thick length of him stretching her in ways that left her gasping, trembling.

His lips brushed against her neck, a whisper of warmth against her fevered skin, his breath ragged with restraint. "You feel… divine," he murmured, voice thick with desire. His words sent a shiver down her spine, only for the next thrust to melt her in its wake.

His movements were deliberate yet desperate—each motion a worshipful offering, yet there was hunger behind it, an urgency that betrayed his own losing battle with control. His hands roamed her body, mapping her curves, fingers pressing into her flesh as if he feared she might vanish from his grasp.

Her own body was betraying her—tightening, clenching, responding to him with a fervour she had never known. She could feel herself unravelling, each motion drawing her closer to an edge she both feared and craved.

Higher.

Faster.

The slow, measured thrusts gave way to something more urgent, almost depserate, each collision of their bodies sending her spiralling. The tension coiled inside her, unbearable, electric. Her moans turned into cries, her head falling back as Sanguinius surged into her, his name escaping her lips in breathless ecstasy.

She was lost—lost in him, in the excruciating pleasure that built to an unbearable peak.

And then—

It shattered.

A blinding explosion of sensation overtook her, her entire body tensing before unravelling in wave after wave of pure, unrelenting bliss. Her cries filled the air, echoing through the vast chamber, her body seizing around him, gripping him in a way that sent him over the edge as well.

Sanguinius let out a sound unlike anything she had ever heard from him before—a raw, unguarded groan of pleasure as his wings flared, his powerful body shuddering against hers. She felt it—felt the heat of him spilling into her, filling her, his muscles flexing with each pulsing wave of release.

They hovered there, in each other arms, breathless, suspended in a moment that felt infinite.

His wings, once powerful and commanding, softened around her, encasing them in a cocoon of warmth. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath mingling with her own, their bodies still trembling in the aftermath, as they softly descended to the floor.

"You were always meant to be mine," he whispered, reverence lacing every syllable.

Kara let her eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze—golden, adoring, eternal.

#warhammer 30k #primarch #sanguinius #sanguinius x oc #warhammer fanfiction #smut #husband writing #sanguinius smut #warhammer smut

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yagodnyizefir · 6 hours ago

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Thank you for the second part, this was terrifying. He will eat the reader, and everything will end terribly😭 (I love it)

crimson affliction [one]

→ sanguinius x reader (you, currently gn) → 3.9k, 18+ mdni, cw: psychological horror/obsession/sacrificial/ suicide mentions. dead dove type thing → pre-heresy, sanguinius’ thirst is different to that of his sons, but it’s far more potent than anything they’d understand [prev: prologue] - part 1/5

“I felt how desperate you were for me.”

He leans back on his knees and looks over you. For a second, freedom. Your stomach quivered. He’d never let you leave.

“Is that what you want, little lamb? To be hunted?” He reaches for your hands, cradling them between his own as he raises them to be level with his chin. He stares at the droplets of crimson mixed into the mud, their trails leaving streaks down your palms, all the way to your fingers. His head tilts as he watches carefully. “Or do you want me to beg for taste?”

He brings his lips to your finger. So gently, so carefully, he takes the end of your finger into his warm mouth and receives the smallest of offerings. His eyes fall shut for a moment, but his grip is iron on your hand.

“Whatever you want. I can be gentle. I can make you tremble beneath me. I can be everything. I am your everything.”

You had watched the candle for hours.

It was the last of the bunch you had on you. You’d brought a match to its wick so carefully you could feel your hands shaking with fear, the thought of darkness a looming possibility that you were not quite ready to face. In any grace that the Emperor had left for you, he must have blessed this candle; it should have been burned to its end by now, yet still, it stood strong against the black of the night.

You may have fallen asleep. Memories seemed to blur in this place. You vaguely remembered walking around the room at one point – but you could never be sure what was real anymore.

The ache was real, though.

Your limbs were tired, bones equally so. Your knees had been pulled into your chest since you sat down, hugged tight against your body under your jacket, which now acted as your blanket. Your eyes felt heavy. Your neck was barely able to keep your head upright. Your fingers were wrapped around a knife, a dull and pointless thing, though it began to slip as your eyelids began to drag themselves shut.

You’d been here before, just once. A beautiful landscape filled with trees and ruins from a time before. Overgrown greenery filled every crevice of brick and stone which had once protected its inhabitants; the trees had grown taller than any structure that remained unharmed.

You’d felt safe here, years ago. Stood in the empty rooms and embraced the comfort of knowing how many people had stood in your position and lived to see a better life.

So when you ran, when you crawled away from the pits of despair, this was the first place you’d thought to come.

The creatures would perform their symphonies through the night. The wind would sweep its way through each room to ensure no trespassers lay dormant. The wood, old and battered, would creak under its own weight to remind you that the world still existed outside.

But tonight, all you heard was the crackle of the candle flame and your own pulse.

Your head snapped up, eyes blinking a few times to adjust to the dim light. Your heart seemed to pound louder as you scanned the room around you.

It was too quiet.

Paranoia had become your best friend.

But this was different.

Your fingers curled around the hilt of the knife again, bringing it to your chest. The aches seemed to dull in comparison to the throbbing in your throat and chest. Defending yourself from an intruder, someone who wanted to try and make some quick money, steal something valuable from a wandering soul, would be easy enough.

You pushed yourself to your feet in a tired but swift movement. The jacket was replaced over your shoulders as you lifted each leg at a time and rolled your ankle in a circle. As you let your hands fall to your side, your left hand instinctively touched the pouch that had been tied to your belt.

Two small vials, a sprig of yarrow, and the chain you’d always held so close.

Your fingers twitched as they approached the zip of the pouch. Your heart seemed to calm for just a moment. It was only the caw of a raven outside that stopped you, rustling the trees as it flew away and left you almost on your own.

There was no sign of the sun in the sky yet, the empty windows showing the never-ending void of the night beyond the trees that slowly lost their leaves. As you tuck your knife back into your belt, the flame trembles. Once, then again. You close your eyes, squeezing them as if it would absolve all the tiredness you felt, giving yourself just one moment of peace.

Then you were smothered by it.

Your breath caught in your throat as the smell.

Ash. Honey and oleander.

It was suffocating.

You look to the door across from you, pulled slightly ajar. You inhale one more time, hoping that it was your tired mind playing a joke on you.

It only seems to be stronger.

You reach for the candle, snuffing the flame quickly. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you press yourself against the wall, hands flat against the stone, expecting the very worst.

It was real.

He was here.

The air stood still for long enough for you to feel him again.

You could have only wished for an intruder. Maybe you could defend yourself then. Maybe you had the smallest chance.

Running seemed pointless.

You crept your way through the halls, pitch black in some places, others given some light by the stars that lined the sky. Your feet whisked you in whatever direction seemed like it would keep you harm, but whenever he was with you, your senses never seemed to work as intended.

You passed through a long corridor decorated with vines and roots, twisting their way through your path, forcing you to slow down as you weave your way through. You paced down a stone staircase that led into the forest that surrounded the ruins. Each slab of stone seemed to give way to the dirt beneath when you stepped down, catching your steps just long enough to steal momentum.

You forced yourself to carry on.

You don’t look back.

You knew better than to look back.

Even as branches scratched their way down your arms. Even as thorns bit at the exposed parts of your legs. Even as your legs felt like they’d given up on you.

Even as the delicate scent of him embraced you and tried to hold you back.

You could taste him like the sweetest syrup gracing your lips. You could see his shadow in the corner of your eyes. You could hear his voice calling in each of your steps. You could feel the way his arms would reach around you to keep you safe.

A broken stone had settled your fate.

Face down. Palms scrapped, hidden by grit and dirt, enough to leave you ignorant of anything beneath.

You scrambled your way to your feet. You had to believe that he wasn’t following, that it was your imagination, that you were tired and just needed to catch up on the weeks’ worth of sleep you’d missed.

Then you heard a soft crunch. Loud enough to be heard over your own breaths and heart. Then another.

Don’t stop, you begged yourself, don’t fucking stop. Your lungs burned, the bitterness of the chilled air making things harder. You needed to stop.

Ahead two boulders sat pressed against each other. You threw yourself at them, pressing your body into the alcove that their edges and your legs struggled to keep you standing. You could see through the gap between the boulders, just a tease of what was beyond.

One trembling hand covered your mouth. You held it down to try and suppress anything loud.

Footsteps echoed through the trees. Deliberate, slow, pressed into the dirt like there was no care in the world. The silhouette that you once would have chased, run to with love and excitement, now rooted you in place.

Not from awe.

From fear.

Your blood ran cold.

He wasn’t rushing. He didn’t need to rush.

At first, he looked the same. His elegance with each step, his perfect posture, his size and stature. Then he came closer, and your perception was shattered.

His wings dragged behind him, dull and blackened. His hair was longer, left untamed as the golden shine had started to fade. His armour was scratched and broken, covered in blood and throne knows what else.

You held your breath as he stopped.

He turned his head slightly, looking first to his right, then back to his left where you stood hidden.

You pressed your body back into the boulder, trying to fit in beside the ivy and layers of vines that had grown. The world stopped turning as he looked over at the boulders.

His stare lasted longer than it should have. But then, he kept walking. Slowly. He scanned his surroundings for any clue or noise. He still knew you were there.

Minutes passed. You could make him out in the distance, walking without any other worry. A sigh, as quiet as you could make it, fell from your lips as you could breathe again. You let your eyes fall shut, squeezing your hands together in disbelief.

The stinging on your palms brings you back to reality. You open them in front of you, looking down to examine them briefly.

The black and brown mud mixed with the gathering droplets of red. The finest little cuts hidden beneath. Only small, but just enough for you to squeeze out drops.

Surely not enough.

You lean forward into the crevice, peeking a glimpse of the world on the other side. It all came to a halt when you could no longer see him.

Not a sound echoed, no movement was known to you.

But you didn’t breathe.

The night did it for you.

Your skin pricks. Your pulse slows.

A breath. Not yours.

Like he never left.

“Lost, little lamb?” he whispers, his cracked yet velvet lips touching the curve of your neck. His hand reaches for your waist. “You always forget – I was made to find you.”

You dare to look over your shoulder. His eyes were already there to meet you. The golden flecks in his irises you knew and loved were gone, replaced by the deep red of the rubies that once adorned his armour.

You couldn’t look away.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him, your gaze finally broken as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t make a noise, he doesn’t seem to be conscious until he pushes his head into you further, drinking in the feel of you, suffocating on your presence.

“You ran again,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the way his lips are pressed against your skin and the bruises that formed on his tongue.

There’s a gentleness that surprised you.

He doesn’t look up. You don’t look away from where his eyes once were, not until you feel his hand grip the edges of your body like you’d disappear if he let go.

“I thought you would be here. You always liked this place.”

You glance down at his arm. It stopped you from reaching for anything on your belt. Not that you stood a chance anyway. He could pick you up and hold you with one arm whilst still battling the most aggressive of demons with the other.

“What lie did you tell yourself?” He asks, raising his head ever so slightly. You look back at him, meeting his illuminated gaze through the crack between his face and your shoulder. “Why did you think it was safe to come here alone?”

You part your lips, even without an answer on them, but they tremble without command. His brows pull together as he leans back from you, head tilting curiously to the side. His breath quickens and you feel the corners of your eyes start to sting.

“Are you afraid?” He asks. Your lack of an answer sends him to his knees behind you. He turns you on the spot, making you face him, and look down to him just a little as he’s almost the same height as you. He doesn’t take his hands from your sides as he pulls you towards him. “No, my little muse. There’s no reason to be afraid. It’s me. It’s always been me.”

You only swallow as your body starts to feel numb.

“You’re shaking.” His statement is obvious. He pulls you closer to him again, his head resting on your chest as his arms wrap around you. For a moment, merely a second, it feels like before. His eyes meet yours, and they seem to have returned to a honeyed gold. “Please, my love. Don’t fear me. You are all I have.”

You shouldn’t do it. You shouldn’t give in to him.

Yet your hand finds its way to his hairline, the tips of your fingers brushing his hair back so you can see his face. Sleep deprived, even for what he is. Tired. Hungry. Starved.

He inhales, just a little, and the crimson from before starts to creep back in.

“Why do you run?” His voice barely reaches you. Another noise would have left his question to his imagination – not that he cared for your answer, anyway. “I could feel you in the ruins. I could feel how you called for me.”

He presses a kiss to your chest, just below where your collarbone would be, though it’s shielded by your clothes. “I could feel how you needed me.”

He picks his head up so it’s almost parallel with you. His eyes glance down at your lips, but he doesn’t make any advances. Only watches. Only lets a smirk curl on the edges of his lips.

“I felt how desperate you were for me.”

He leans back on his knees and looks over you. For a second, freedom. Your stomach quivered. He’d never let you leave.

“Whatever you want. I can be gentle. I can make you tremble beneath me. I can be everything. I am your everything.”

He ushers your hands back beside you but stays on his knees, holding them until he hears your answer. A worshipping glance that falls over your body is his plea, his desperation.

But you knew he would consume you if you dared to listen.

“Please let me hear your voice.” His voice is soft once more, but he hasn’t changed. You just look at him, right in those beautiful, broken, blood-tinged eyes. A whimper almost leaves his lips as he leans forward again. “Please. Please.”

You exhale, a shaky breath a placeholder for anything you could think of.

You leave him to watch the fear brew behind your eyes.

You have your own plea to the man who’s still in there, somewhere.

“You don’t smell like him,” you whisper, voice low. The truth of your fear easily disguises your lie. “You… don’t feel like him, either.”

He freezes.

His lips fall completely, parting, though never finding an excuse.

“Sanguinius…” his body jolts as you say his name. “I think he died when I left.”

Silence.

As if the world, the entire galaxy itself, waited for his response along with you.

Something in his expression cracks.

Not anger. Not sadness. Not yearning.

Confusion.

His eyes are empty, his affliction stirring behind them. Gold and crimson, unstable and fractured. He’d not expected it.

And just for a second, his grip on you loosens.

Just enough for you to run.

You didn’t feel how the thorns and branches broke your skin this time. You didn’t stop to think. You just ran.

Listened to his screams, his pleas, his promises, echoed through the edges of the forest like a wounded creature whose soul had been torn in two.

Distance would never be enough.

But it would have to do.

For now.

Because even as you ran, as you escaped him and felt free of his presence, when you were able to breathe again without the suffocation of him being near, you still knew he was there.

Your eyes never left the treeline ahead of you. Though your hands were soaked with rain, with blood and dirt, you pressed them into your own skin, holding yourself tightly with your back against the cliffside. Your knees were pulled up to your chest again, but there was no candle to comfort you now.

Only darkness embraced you now. But it could never protect you. Not from the lull of his voice, not from the depths of his whisper.

You lean back further into the stone, your warmth starting to fade. A bird nearby chirps, another lost soul expecting the impossible, though it fades after a few seconds. Silence weighs you again, reminding you that time was never on your side.

Thick and unnatural, it boasted its presence.

You felt his torment before hearing his words.

You would have wept for me.

Tears begin to well in your eyes. He wasn’t there, but he was so real.

I would have kissed away those tears, one at a time, and showed you that I’d never leave.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you let your head fall onto your knees. A silent sob wracks your body, your jaw trembling as you do everything in your power to not make another sound.

I could never die. I could never leave you.

Your stomach quivered. Your jaw clenched. You crushed your palms against your ears, as if it would stop his voice, stop his madness.

Because you love me, and I love you. Remember?

You didn’t know if he could hear you. Feel you. Understand how he made you feel. You were sure if he stood right before you now, watched as you cried because of him, he’d try to convince you it was because of the love you shared.

He didn’t know how to hate. He didn’t know how someone, how you, couldn’t love him.

You would always tell me. Even when I forgot, when I was too tired to speak, when I couldn’t even remember my own name, you’d tell me. I love you. I love you with all my heart.

His voice, creating a beautiful mockery of your own words to him, curls around you. With each syllable, he holds tighter, and tighter, and tighter.

I thought about you more each day.

He wanted to never leave your mind.

I wondered if I could ever hurt you.

He wanted to devour any part of you that remembered existence was possible without him.

Did you think I would hurt you?

He wanted all of you.

I would have hurt you. I never wanted to. But I knew one day, I would need to.

Tears spill from your eyes as you allow yourself to look up. Still alone. Still subjected to the whispering of a lover.

A fallen god.

A monster.

I would have held you. I would have cried for you. I would have put you in the perfect little cage and never let you out.

Another sob. Your hands fall from your ears to opposite shoulders, your nails digging into your skin with each word.

My salvation. My sin. My everything. I can’t breathe without you. I can’t sleep without you. I can’t be me without you.

He pauses.

In a moment of silence, the world comes rushing back.

He’s not here.

He’s all around you. His hands. His wings. His golden eyes.

He’s not here.

But the craving is. The unbearable heat of his breath against your skin. The possessive tremble underpinning his voice.

I miss you, little lamb.

Your breath catches in your throat as you sit up again. You raise your head again. Your shoulders begin the smallest of shakes.

When I saw you earlier, it reminded me of how much I love to hear your voice tremble.

You slam your palms against your temples, shaking your head, trying to stop his voice.

It doesn’t work.

Nothing works.

I wonder when I’ll next get to hear you break.

The wind that rustles the trees seems to stop. Any wildlife, creatures of the forest that dared to roam, had run as though they knew the answer.

You knew the answer, too. Deep down. Hidden.

Buried beneath all the terror and desperation to survive.

As minutes passed, he didn’t offer any further words. The echo of it still rang through your skull, his bitter, cloying presence running through every single one of your veins.

You were too tired to blame. To wonder how you’d let it get so far, or where the turning point was. He would never truly fade. You wondered, in truth, if he’d have found you in every life, even if you pushed him away. He believed he would.

Because he was made for you. In his eyes, at least.

And you didn’t know how long you sat there. Never letting sleep touch you, afraid that when you woke, freedom would be too far out of your reach.

Maybe hours, maybe days, maybe more.

The only record of time was the darkness that loomed and how often your heart was beating, but you were never counting.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You didn’t beg.

It wasn’t as if your silence would save you.

So you did what he kept asking.

“Sanguinius?”

There’s no answer, but you feel it. Like a sweet little puppy, just learning his name, just understanding what it’s like to be called on.

You could see him raising his head up, eyes wide as he searched for you. A smile on his lips as he felt wanted. Needed. He’d rush to your side, make sure he was at your level, cup your cheeks in his hand and promise you the entire galaxy.

Just to watch you rip his soul free, like wins from bone. Gut him with the truth he never wanted to hear.

“I don’t love you.”

Your words are soft. The truth, in part, because you could never love him like this.

But his silence sends dread fleeting through your bones.

“I…” You shouldn’t speak, but you needed to. You had to. Clarify, make him understand. “I can’t love you. Not like this.”

It doesn’t work.

He never answers, leaving you to bask in your own thoughts as the trees stand so deadly still.

You wonder if he will ever truly understand.

“I’ll never love this. I’ll never love… you.”

The world tightens around you.

A perfectly sized noose, just for you.

His mind would twist it into whatever he made it. He’d never listen. He’d never understand until you satiated his need.

And as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to forget the way he said your name, the way he looked at you with such admiration, you begin to think.

You think of death. Think of life. Think of him; returning to his side, where both were inseparable.

Even in the quiet of the forest, peace would never find you.

His voice is always with you. His touch is always on you. He is always there. Watching. Waiting. This was the first night he’d not said another word to you, not begged you to come home, not promised to make you stay.

It made you feel sick; how much you missed him, wished you were sat in his arms, wanted him to kiss it all better. All you had was the memory of the version of him you loved.

And though his memory seemed crueller than he ever had been, there was something worse. Harder.

You ran again.

a/n: thanks for reading! is it bad i already have a fulgrim version planned...

#sanguinius #sanguinius x reader #primarch x reader #blood angels #warhammer 30k #warhammer 40k #lua.wrt #wh40k

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