#hopefully this is at least somewhat close to what you had in mind 😅

[cordelia-herondale]

"We need to live like it's our last lifetime." ↳ Based on this post by booklove22

[moodymisty]

Hello🌻I hope you are doing well✨ Do you write in Warhammer? I saw this in the list of fandoms, but if not, I apologize a thousand😅 So, Sanguinius/reader-eternal. A moment of rest. Suppose there was some kind of difficult battle, and returning to his chambers after a victorious battle, Sanguinius feels tired and empty, he is dirty from blood and dirt, his hair is tangled, his wings have also lost their whiteness. And so he enters his chambers and smells a pleasant, but unfamiliar smell. The reader, anticipating in what state he would return, prepared a bath and took out her personal bathroom things (gels, shampoos, salts, candles, perfumes - with such smells that no one in the Imperium had seen since the Dark Era) and even more valuable to her (let it be a gift from parents or something) some kind of music player. Well, the reader comforts Angel, turns on music from his youth (maybe Beethoven, Wagner, Tchaikovsky or whatever you like best)), bathes him, takes care of his hair, nails and all that. How you can make his wings comfortable, I can’t imagine🤔 but in general, the reader was able to wash them somehow) Tells stories of plants, fruits, and animals that no primarch could ever see. About your favorite music, some kind of warm memory. Well, something like that😅 sorry if this is too long. In general, you can change the conditions to suit your comfort❤

Author's Note: So I was actually thinking of something somewhat similar to write in my own time because I'm a lonely primarch/astartes fucker for Guilliman (or pre-heresy Lorgar but that's just my 'I can fix him' mental illness talking) So when you sent this in I just about ascended. Emperor save my heretical ass for making this way too fluffy for Warhammer.

Relationships: Sanguinius/Fem!Reader

Warnings: It's 40k lol so references to war and all sorts of violence but other than that, just fluff. Also the slightest hint at the BA astartes being a bit platonic yandere for their Primarch's beloved because it's my headcanon. Enjoy petting the pigeon primarch y'all

For someone as primped and perfect as Sanguinius- A beautiful angel with not a hair out of place or word said without the most careful of consideration, his personal quarters are an absolute mess.

Feathers of all sizes lay scattered across the floor and the giant bed that adorns the massive room, its blankets strewn about and slept in multiple times without being made up in-between. In all of it’s disheveled look, it looks comfortable to say the least.

It's not as if you actually mind the mess, it's not bad enough to even really call it one, but it's simply amusing to think of someone as borderline ethereal as Sanguinius sleeping in a messy, wrinkled bed adorned with his own down.

The Blood Angel guards posted in the hall had allowed you to pass into his quarters without fuss, one of many privileges that you're still getting used to. They nodded towards you and spoke with that Astartes specific rigid but technically polite prose; Seeped in a level of respect you don't feel entirely deserving of.

Sanguinius' angelic sons are, intense. Any other word you think of is too negative in it's definition, or doesn't accurately describe this feeling of heavy downward pressure on your body you get whenever you are close to them. They have a protective quality that has only seemed to intensify the closer you've gotten to their genefather, as you can feel eyes on your back until the door closes behind you and the guards only then return to their vigilant watch of the palace halls.

Sometimes, you swear they're following you.

A pondering for another time perhaps, as you look around the messy quarters holding your things in your hands.

Sanguinius is due to return to Terra at any moment now, and after so long with only vox messages and handwritten letters, you've decided to attempt to surprise him. You probably won't be able to do so, but you can at least prepare him something that will hopefully brighten up his spirits. You can tell from his slip ups in tone that some things have been grating on him like waves on a cliffside.

You'll do anything to make sure that the Angel, your Angel, never looses that glow that seems to follow him; And perhaps steal some of those rare snippets of time to have him just to yourself. Even if only for a moment.

In the separate room that serves as his private bath you begin to run hot water, billows of steam quickly rising to the ceiling and covering the metal adornments around the room with dew. It pours out the open door, as you sit your bag on the edge and pull out various different things. Some sourced from other planets, one from your father who all but fainted upon your asking of it for a Primarch, all being hard to obtain; Little bundles of rare luxury. You fully intend to make use of them all. They smell like flowers and sea salt, far better than the scent of the iron and filth-covered armor aboard the Red Tear.

Though your ears prick to the sound of heavy footsteps before you can fully finish setting up, and you lean up and away from the massive bath and leave the room only just as Sanguinius himself enters. In saying any moment, you seem to have been perfectly accurate.

The first thing you notice of him, besides your joy of seeing him, is he has primary feathers that are bent and sticking out away from the natural pattern of his wings, a few even cracked and torn. He's already gone though the necessary process to remove his armor, and now he's clad in the usual and more comfortable garb he would wear when originally on Baal.

While Sanguinius himself is unharmed, not a single wound and the blood dried on himself not his own, he still is disheveled and messy; Hair tangled from being blown in the wind and getting caught in the raised collar of his armor. You can see mud staining the tips of his wings where it splattered upward, unable to fully protect them from whatever muck he came in contact with.

"I know,"

He sees the look on your face, and his gentle stoicism parts ever so slightly as his lips part. His eyes show the glint of irritation through his long lashes as he looks slightly downward and to the side with a furrowed brow.

"I look a mess. there is no need to point it out. Believe me when I tell you someone else has already done so." He normally wouldn't be fond of something laughing at his current condition, but he supposes he can find the entertainment in it. It's an easier thing to swallow when it's his little beloved doing so. The sound of your quiet, breathily laugh is soothing more than aggravating, and he enjoys the look of sweet mirth plastered on your face. While it may be somewhat at his expense, he doesn't mind all too much considering.

"Well, then you might like the surprise I made up for you even more." His lips crook upward in the most gentle of smirks; Though he was more than likely instantly cued into your gift by the feeling of steam wafting from the other room into this one.

"If not just to get all the dirt from your wings."

At the mere mention of it you watch his wings stretch, shaking slightly as he attempts to right feathers stuck out of alignment. He reaches for the front of his robes as he walks towards the bath.

"I hope you didn't prepare all of this only for me to enjoy it alone. I'd find myself dreadfully bored without any company." You shake your head, following the angel into the bath while he quickly begins to slip into the hot water. You move in not long after, the water almost too hot on your skin, but the feeling of the steam on your face is pleasant.

He attempts to stretch his wings; Though not many rooms can handle his wings fully unfurled. The main room of his quarters when his bed resides can, but in here he finds the tips of his primary flight feathers brushing against the wall. When you attempt to move closer, he furls his wings back up to avoid you bumping them. It lets you reach close enough to his hair, where you wet it with the hot water and watch his eyes gently close. You watch as his hair slowly becomes clean even after so long, golden sheen returning as the soot washes away.

"I have been so besieged by the smell of crude oils and sweat as of late, I swear I'd forgotten what flowers smelled like..."

He smiles when the sound of your quiet, breathy laugh hits his ears, though you still continue treating him. He might have normally apposed to such obnoxious pampering, but you seem to enjoy it, and he’ll partake in a moment of selfishness.

“Let me enjoy this moment without your mockery, will you?” Your fingers weave into his golden hair, just a bit wavy even with the water weighing it down.

"Terribly sorry, Lord Primarch." How he hates that stuffy title; His nose wrinkles. When you notice his doing so, you laugh again.

"It's the title my father used when I told him I needed some of these things." His eyes open to watch you for a moment.

"They're made of flowers from my home planet; When I said they were for The Angel Sanguinius, I swear he choked on his own spit then and there. Thought I had finally killed him."

He listens to you mumble about their origin for a short while, if for nothing more than to fill the silence. The water is no longer running, so other than the occasional splash of water the room is near silent.

You feel the brush of his feathers against your bare skin as they adjust, the water turning color as the grime slips from them and they return to their pristine white color. After all this time he finally feels clean, such a luxury he's been unable to indulge in for quite some time. Perhaps he’s odd in that regard, hating it far more than some of his fellow Primarchs.

He feels you ever so gently brush along a feather to align it with the others, fingers gentle like touching the thinnest glass. His eyes are still closed while you do so. Your gentleness of it isn’t lost on him, as he feels lips against the corner of his mouth.

A rare moment of peace; He'll indulge in it while he has the chance.