#I might include Caphriel in something else | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zackprincebooks · 2 months ago

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Beloved of the Blood Moons

While the planet of Baal and its twin moons are seemingly lacking in spectacular displays of nature, there is a singular phenomenon, albeit it is a rare occurrence: the Blood Moons. When Baal Prime and Baal Secundus are in perfect alignment, they reflect the sunlight back onto Baal with a red tint from the sand. This turns everything on Baal a red tinge for forty-eight hours. It’s a sacred time for the Blood Angels. They say Sanguinius was buried on Baal during the Blood Moons, and it’s a time for mourning and praying. Work is halted except for extreme emergencies. This year, things get…weird, during the Blood Moons. At least for you. (Sanguinius x Reader, explicit. 2nd person POV; Reader is AFAB but not addressed with any pronouns. Because this is Sanguinius, there is blood drinking involved.)

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As Baal Prime and Baal Secundus move closer together, the sun’s rays align with their planetary surfaces. They become glittering rubies in the sky, projecting the image of their red sands onto the planet of Baal below so everything is bathed in a red tinge for forty-eight blessed hours.

The Blood Moons are a momentous occasion. Not only is it a beautiful sight to behold, but it is a sacred sight as well. While not as sacred as Sanguinala itself, a Blood Moon had occurred during the burial of The Great Angel.

As the lid of the Golden Sarcophagus closed over Sanguinius, a red haze filled the air. Blood Angels and serfs alike looked up from their despair to marvel, for there could be no greater sign that Sanguinius was with them and always would be.

From then on, the Blood Moons became a time of rest, worship, and reflection. Work would be cleared weeks in advance so they could dedicate their time to prayer of The Great Angel. They anoint themselves in special oil and lay artifacts and offerings at the Golden Sarcophagus. It is a beautiful time, and for a serf to witness the Blood Moons in their tragically short life is a miracle.

Unfortunately, your first—and likely only—Blood Moon is spent in quarantine.

You sniffle loudly and whine, trying to project your disappointment to the Apothecary, Brother Caphriel. He doesn’t lift his head from the computer he’s hunched over. “I understand your frustration, as this is a holy time of your life that will likely not occur again. However, until your temperature returns to 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, you are under strict quarantine.”

Brother Caphriel reaches over and plucks the thermometer out of your mouth, plugging it into the computer. “Your temperature is still 104.5 degrees Fahrenheit, which is considered a high-grade fever. This will require strict bed rest, elevated consumption of fluids, and strict quarantine," he repeats. Though you cannot see Caphriel’s eyes, you can feel his judgmental stare on your prone, feverish body.

Too weak to protest, you shake your head and whine again, dislodging the wet washcloth from your burning forehead. You spent the last month planning for the Blood Moons; finishing your chores early, creating an outfit to wear, and preparing an offering for the Golden Sarcophagus. When you felt the tingle in the back of your throat, you thought it was just a sign of dehydration. When you began wheezing and sweating at night, you prayed it would clear before the Blood Moons occurred.

Maybe you hadn’t prayed hard enough.

“I am not any happier than you,” Caphriel sighs, fetching the washcloth. He wrings it out and places it in a laundry basket. “I am also missing the Blood Moons in order to care for you.” Taking a clean washcloth, he submerges it in cold water and wrings it out. “If you rest and take your medication, we will both be out of quarantine faster.”

Though the cloth brings some relief, your sour expression does not sweeten. No matter how much you rest or how much medication you take, you will not get better in time.

You flip your pillow to the cool side and close your eyes. Sleep embraces you in its arms, and you fall faster than expected.

---------------------------------

Though you come to consciousness slowly, you do not feel ill or fatigued. You are able to sit up unaided in bed, and when your Apothecary does not berate you, you realize his post has been abandoned. The computer he used to read your temperature is dark, with the thermometer still plugged in.

You swing your legs out of the bed and shakily stand on your bare feet. The chilled floor of quarantine sends goosebumps up your legs and you wrap your arms around yourself.

“Hello?” Your voice echoes in the medical bay. “Is anyone there?”

Stony silence greets you. Combined with the ruby haze of the Blood Moons, it feels as though you stepped into an ancient temple untouched for thousands of years—still sacred, still mystical.

The door to quarantine is wide open. If you wanted, you could leave and bring your offering to the Golden Sarcophagus. You could do it and run back fast enough that you could get back in bed and the Apothecary would never notice.

You take off running, the sound of your bare feet slapping against the metal floors. It’s not just the medical bay: everywhere in the Arx Angelicum is empty. No one is in the feasting hall, no one is in the armory, and no one is in the serf’s dormitory when you fetch your offering and tuck it into your medical gown. There’s no time to change into your devotional attire, so your cloak wrapped over your medical gown will have to suffice.

You can only hope The Great Angel will forgive you for your disheveled appearance as you leave the dormitory and make your trek to the Holy Sepulchre. Every now and again, you have to duck behind a corner as you hear a voice or a creaking door nearby, trying to escape the exasperated frown of your Apothecary.

But each time, there is no one. The Arx Angelicum is completely empty, and you appear to be the only soul inside. There aren’t even any signs of habitation, such as abandoned snacks or weapons carelessly leaned against a doorframe.

At least, until you approach the Holy Sepulchre and the sound of singing and chanting fills your ears. While the Golden Sarcophagus always gives off a glowing golden light, it seems brighter now as it spills down the stairs leading into the Holy Sepulchre. Under the Blood Moons, it has been painted crimson; like a velvet carpet, it invites you to ascend.

One shaking, footstep at a time, you climb the marble steps. The singing and chanting grow louder until it vibrates your entire body. They praise the Blood Moons and thank The Great Angel for the gift of His presence.

…His presence…

With each step, the Holy Sepulchre is revealed to you: Blood Angels garbed in their ceremonial robes line the entrance, their voices lifted to the vaulted ceiling where incense burners gently sway. The Blood Moons shine through the stained-glass windows depicting The Great Angel’s many victories and splash muted colors on the walls.

Once you have ascended the stairs, you can see the Golden Sarcophagus. You have seen it on previous Sanguinala celebrations, where you gazed at The Great Angel’s visage in His eternal rest. It always occurred to you that He looked…lonely in there, laying in an ocean of red silk. You wanted to climb into His coffin and rest His head on your chest, stroking His hair. Candles throw soft light on the details etched across the lid and sides of Sanguinius’s great battles and victories.

Halfway through your approach, the lid of the coffin moves, for the first time in ten thousand years. You pause, heart in your throat, as you watch the lid shift in place before slowly lifting. It falls away behind the altar on which the Golden Sarcophagus sits, briefly overwhelming the chanting and singing with its clattering and clanging.

Two hands extend from the Golden Sarcophagus to grip it on each side. Before The Great Angel leverages Himself out of His coffin, you’ve already taken a knee and averted your eyes from this sacred vision. The resurrection of Sanguinius is a hope that has sat in the heart of many an Imperial subject; a dream that blesses their slumber every night. You have been blessed with the opportunity to witness it firsthand, and you refuse to squander it.

Deep, rich laughter fills the Holy Sepulchre, silencing the singing of the Blood Angels and drowning out the roaring of blood in your ears. Sanguinius lifts Himself from His coffin and descends the altar, approaching you on bare feet adorned with jingling anklets. His wings rustle overhead, stretching after laying on them for so long. A single, white feather floats into your view, begging you to pick it up.

“Rise, Sweet One. I have need of you.” Sanguinius offers a hand decorated in gold rings and bracelets, beckoning you to His side.

Your throat unsticks enough to speak, “I am…worthy of this, Your Grace?” You reach for Him, but where you are hesitant, Sanguinius is not. His fingers encompass the length of your hand and wrap around the entirety of your arm as he pulls you up. Sanguinius could easily dislocate your arm in one pull, but He is gentle.

He is close enough that you can hear His breathing; a sound no one has heard for ten thousand years. You are at stomach height with Sanguinius and though you don’t dare to lift your head to His face, you can see His chest rise and fall through His gold and red robes.

“I have a gift for You, Your Grace. In honor of the Blood Moons.” Sanguinius makes an inquisitive noise and you reach into your cloak, through your medical gown, to pull out the necklace you made for Him. “It is a modest thing,” you confess weakly as you offer Him the chains of citrine and red tiger eye cabochons; as close as you could get to the rubies and gold of his armor on a serf’s meager salary.

“’Tis a princely gift,” Sanguinius insists, “for you made it with your own two hands, with all the earnestness in your heart. I shall accept it, and I shall do so with gladness.”

And—to your shock and horror—Sanguinius kneels in front of you.

He pays no heed to your stammering protests of unworthiness; you try to avert your eyes but you have no idea of where to look. It would be rude if you did not give The Great Angel your full attention, no matter how undeserving you are of His.

And so, you look.

Sanguinius sits with His hands folded neatly in His lap, waiting patiently as a child waits for their teacher. While the majority of His hair falls loosely around His shoulders, a singular braid encircles His noble brow in place of a crown. The lids of His sapphire eyes are painted with glittering gold, and His cheeks dotted with gold flecks. His nose, eyebrows, and ears have been pierced with gold rings and rubies, and when Sanguinius blinks, gold dust scatters across His cheeks and nose. Even when kneeling, He is eye-level with you.

“Will you please put it on for me?”

Your sweaty hands tussle with the clasp as Sanguinius patiently waits for you. After stopping to wipe your hands on your cloak, you’re able to unclasp it. He leans forward so the tip of his nose brushes yours and the smell of sage incense and sandalwood oil floods your senses.

When you put the necklace around His neck, your hands tuck under His hair. Touching Him feels like a holy act, and you savor the moment as long as you possibly can. Sanguinius indulges you, leaning His head back so your hands are engulfed by His soft, golden locks.

The gesture bumps His chin against your lips and you freeze. Sanguinius looks at you from under hooded eyes and some of His gold flecks shower across your brow like starlight.

“Fear not, my Sweet One. Show me your desire.” The hoarse register of Sanguinius’s voice goes straight between your legs and they squeeze together tightly. This does not go unnoticed by Sanguinius, as His eyes slip from your face to the opening in your cloak. His pupils are dilated so wide, the blues of His irises are nearly eclipsed by black.

You allow your cloak to fall to the ground. Under the eyes of Sanguinius, your rumpled hospital shift feels like a luxurious gown. “You were ill?” He tilts His head to the side, reaching out to pluck the fabric.

“A brief sickness,” you reassure Him, “I am well recovered.” And you find that it is the truth; your chills have subsided, your temperature feels normal, and your appetite has returned. Though the hunger lingering in your lower belly will not be sated by food…

The hand that plucks at your gown turns into a fist, and Sanguinius rips the fabric off your body with little fanfare. It joins your cloak on the ground and you are laid bare before Him, in all your mortality. The heat rolling off His form envelops you and Sanguinius’s eyes follow a bead of sweat trailing down your throat.

“What a luxurious gift,” He murmurs, following the bead of sweat as it continues down your chest. It stops near your nipple and Sanguinius lets out a deep breath that ruffles your hair. “Would you give this to me, as well?”

“I would, Your Grace.” Your voice is barely a breath, but it echoes to the ceiling of the Holy Sepulchre. “I will not deny you anything.”

His wings encircle you as Sanguinius lifts you effortlessly into His arms. He barely needs to exert effort as He carries you to the altar and lays you gently in the Golden Sarcophagus.

“Lord,” you protest, “I cannot! This is a holy place!”

“It makes for a most comfortable bed,” Sanguinius counters with ease, “for I have lain here for nights uncountable and had naught but the sweetest dreams.” And you cannot gainsay him when the silk cushions you and your skin is tickled by His discarded feathers. “You look lovely against the red silk.” As the Golden Sarcophagus needed to house Sanguinius comfortably, you can lay in it as though it was a bed.

“I once thought you looked lonely, laying here,” you confess as Sanguinius climbs in with you, “and I wished to lay alongside you, to comfort you during your long sleep.”

“Such kindness,” Sanguinius muses, kneeling on top of you. Your eyes are laser-focused on His fingers as they untie the knot of His robe; once Sanguinius realizes this, He slowly pulls the ties apart.

Sanguinius is a treasure. Inch by inch, His golden skin is revealed to you, glistening with oil under the light of the candles melting on the altar. His nipples, pink and pearly, are pierced with rings linked by a golden chain with rubies hanging from it. It’s so beautiful, it only makes you feel more self-conscious about your modest gift.

He is almost shy when the robe parts on His thighs, revealing His cock to you. As expected of a Primarch, Sanguinius is generously endowed, though longer than he is thicker. His pubic hair is well trimmed, and a darker color than His flowing locks. The veins along His shaft pulse enticingly, though the most mouthwatering part about Him is the gold ring pierced atop His cockhead.

“Would you like to touch it? I promise it’s not as frightful as it looks.” As though to demonstrate, Sanguinius grasps His cock and strokes it. Your eyes are fixated on the way that it bobs and twitches under His touch, and the shuddering groan that passes His lips is sweeter music than the chanting Blood Angels.

Emboldened by His noises, you reach out for His cock. Your fingers brush over His as Sanguinius moves His hand, and your fingers close around His cock. Sanguinius is oiled here too, and your strokes are smooth as you pump up and down. It’s warmer than you expected, and when you squeeze, a droplet of precum appears on the head.

“Have you touched another in this manner?” His voice comes out breathlessly, bucking His hips into your hand. You duck your head and bite your lip, but Sanguinius lifts your chin with two fingers. “Please, do not hide from me. I merely wish to understand.”

“A couple of times,” you admit, “but more than not, it is often my own hand.”

“Have you imagined me thusly?”

Your hand stutters in its stroking. Some of the statuary and tapestries in the halls of the Arx Angelicum of Sanguinius striking down the forces of chaos inspired your hot and heavy dreams later that night. “On the odd occasion,” you confess, resuming your strokes. He does not inquire further, but His throaty chuckling is a bolt of heat down your spine.

“Would you like to do more than merely touch? There is a myriad of things I would like to show you.” Sanguinius runs His palms up and down His thighs as He watches you, his eyes drawn to the quiver of your throat.

“Please show me,” you beg of Him, and Sanguinius gently disengages from your hand to lay down on top of you, supported by his elbows. When you’re so close to Him, you resist the urge to close your eyes as His breath cascades across your cheeks.

His lips are soft against your chapped and bitten ones, and His tongue swipes the space between to wet the kiss. Soft, slick sounds fill your ears, which burn red with arousal. Sanguinius is not quiet as He kisses you, humming against your lips as He pushes His tongue inside your mouth.

Sanguinius tastes like fresh figs and plums; sweet but with an earthy undercurrent. He kisses you gently at first, letting His tongue toy with yours in your mouth. When you try to push your tongue into His mouth to give Him the same treatment, Sanguinius presses against you almost aggressively, your wrists caught in His hands.

He finally deigns to pull away from you, a string of saliva stretching between your lips. “Please, allow me to take the lead in this. When you inflame me so passionately, I may lose control.” His lips are red and swollen, but beneath His upper lip is a glint that makes your heart stop.

“I understand,” you whisper softly, “though if you feel overtaken by your hunger, please grant me the honor of your bite, my Lord.”

You cannot stop your eyes widening when Sanguinius licks His lips and one of His fangs is exposed. It’s a sharp weapon, ready to plunge into your skin at the slightest provocation. Sanguinius must have powerful self-control indeed to reign in his Red Thirst during the throes of passion.

“You are the one who honors me.” He ducks His head to nose against your throat. Sanguinius runs the tips of His fangs along your jugular, scraping your heated skin and delighting in the shiver that runs through your body. But Sanguinius toys with you, continuing to tease you with the tips of His fangs against your neck. When He presses just a little harder against your jugular, your entire body seizes.

“I can feel your heart beating through my fangs,” He murmurs against your skin. Sanguinius licks the red marks He left behind before moving down your body. Where Sanguinius kisses you, warmth floods that spot even after He has moved on. It seems that Sanguinius is particularly fond of your nipples, as He swirls his tongue around the pink bud and applies pressure with His lips.

Or perhaps it is your reaction, as you cry out in pleasure and immediately fist your hands in His golden hair, loosening the braid encircling His brow. To ensure that your other nipple doesn’t go neglected, Sanguinius slides His hand over to twist and pinch it, playing the instrument of your body so your voice soars to the vaulted ceiling of the Holy Sepulchre.

Sanguinius is polite enough to let you come down from your ecstasy before moving on, though this is not the height of your pleasure. You watch with your heart in your throat as Sanguinius moves down your body, peppering kisses across your hips and belly in preparation for feasting on His prize.

His thorough affection for you has gone straight to your pussy, and by the time Sanguinius settles between your legs, you are wet and your clit throbs with need. “What a delicious meal,” Sanguinius murmurs. He slides one of your legs over His shoulders, nuzzling the interior of your thigh.

“I will not bite you here,” Sanguinius promises as His fingers spread your pussy lips. You are caught, unable to look away as Sanguinius blesses your swollen clit with a kiss but overwhelmed and wanting to look away.

Blissfully unaware of your internal struggle, Sanguinius keeps one hand on your thigh while His other hand slides up and down your pussy lips, gathering wetness until He can slip a finger inside of you. The hum that passes His lips vibrates your clit and your walls flutter around His finger.

It’s just His finger, but the enormity of His size means that even a Primarch’s finger inside of a baseline is stretching you deliciously. While He lavishes your clit with kisses and licks, Sanguinius slowly pumps his finger in and out of your pussy. His blue eyes are hooded by His golden lids, but you are pinned under Sanguinius’s gaze just as much as His strength.

The hand that holds your leg open begins rubbing the soft skin of your inner thigh. Sanguinius puts pressure on your femoral vein and holds it there, letting it throb against the pad of His thumb.

A second finger is added to your pussy and you whine, pulling harder on Sanguinius’s hair. His braid comes completely undone so His hair falls around His face and tickles your thighs. “Oh, o-oh, I’m so s-sorry,” you whimper, trying to push His hair behind His ears. Your fingers brush the shell of His ears, feeling the chains linking each earring.

“Hmmm?” Sanguinius chuckles, sending vibrations up your body through your clit. His eyebrows bounce into His hairline but doesn’t stop His attention on your clit. Once you settle around His fingers, Sanguinius resumes pumping his fingers in and out of you. They curl up into your pussy and stroke your sweet spot, making your toes curl and your mouth drop open, though no sound comes out.

Sanguinius finally lets off your clit with a soft, wet popping noise, but His fingers continue stroking you inside. “That’s it, give yourself over to me. Do not hide your pleasure from me.” His words of encouragement dance on your ears, distracting you as Sanguinius moves from your pussy to where your thigh is slung over His shoulder. Keeping His thumb on your femoral artery, Sanguinius runs His tongue along your inner thigh until He stops and sucks on the spot to make it tender.

You know what He’s going to do before He does it, but Sanguinius curls His fingers inside your pussy again to stroke your nerves. As pleasure bolts up your spine and white stars explode in your vision, Sanguinius sinks His fangs into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Any pain you would feel is lost underneath the waves of your orgasm. By the time you come down from it, the pain has faded and His fangs in your thigh feels…almost sensual.

It's hard not to, especially when Sanguinius wears a look of sheer bliss on His face. When you stroke His hair, a rumbling noise escapes Him almost like a purr.

“Drink to your satisfaction, Your Grace,” you whisper tremulously. His eyes have slipped closed as He drinks deep of your blood, the sound of His swallowing making a nest for itself in your brain forever. When you tilt your head back slightly, you are treated to the sight of Sanguinius’s neck bulging slightly as He drinks your blood.

You’re not sure how long He drinks; it could be anywhere from a few seconds to multiple days. But with a long, guttural groan, Sanguinius pulls off your thigh and cleans the bite wound with his tongue.

“I was right to call you my Sweet One,” He coos, “though I cannot tell if your blood is sweeter than your cunt.” Your blood decorates His mouth in a ring of shining crimson and when He licks it off, your eyes follow His tongue.

His arms wrap around you and pull you towards Him, so His cock slaps against your belly. Your legs can barely wrap around His waist, thighs straining with the effort. But it is worth it for Sanguinius to dip his head and nuzzle your forehead.

“I can no longer wait,” He warns you, using one hand to guide the head of His cock inside of you. It splits your pussy lips and the piercing rubs your clit. Sanguinius rubs Himself on your open core, wetting His cock with your juices while getting you wet with His precum. Only when you are both glistening does Sanguinius begin feeding His cock into your pussy.

It’s a tight fit. Your hands fist into the red silk and your eyes squeeze shut, your head hammering with overstimulation. Sanguinius’s wings flutter, sending more feathers drifting into the sarcophagus to brush against your bare skin and make you whimper.

“Do you think you can take all of it?” The rasp in His voice makes your pussy clench around Him, and Sanguinius moans.

“I want to take all of it,” you whisper, and grit your teeth as Sanguinius pushes the rest of His cock inside of you. The piercing on His cockhead rubs against your inner walls before it comes to rest at the entrance of your womb.

“And so, you have.” Sanguinius takes hold of your wrists again, holding you in place. You are helpless under His strength as He begins to move out of you, slowly at first until His glans brush the lips of your entrance—

—Before Sanguinius slams back inside of you, rocking the Golden Sarcophagus back and forth on the altar and knocking a few candles onto the floor, where they harmlessly sputter and die.

Your mouth opens to scream, only to have the breath punched out of you by another merciless thrust. Sanguinius closes His mouth over yours, forcing His tongue into your mouth. You taste your blood on His tongue, and Sanguinius scrapes your lips with His fangs when He pulls away.

“I will not apologize for my rudeness,” He groans, “not when I have been waiting for ten thousand years! I will have what I want, even if I must take it.”

“Take…every-thing…f-from me,” you wheeze, and His growl sends ripples through your body. Sanguinius does not slow down his punishing pace, continuing to rock the sarcophagus hard enough that you are afraid of falling out. His cockhead slams into your womb, opening you up with His piercing in preparation to receive His seed.

You barely feel your second orgasm; you’re only aware of it when Sanguinius’s thrusts suddenly become wetter and louder. Your body has become a vessel for His pleasure, and His alone.

It is the highest honor He could have bestowed upon you.

Or at least, one of them. Sanguinius gathers your wrists under one hand with ease, while His other hand grips your head and forcibly turns it to expose your bare neck to him. “I am yet thirsty,” Sanguinius moans, no longer hiding His fangs behind His lips. He is forced to slow His thrusts as He bends over your body, but Sanguinius compensates by grinding into your cunt so His piercing rubs on your womb and His pelvis rubs your swollen clit.

The overstimulation sends you into a smaller orgasm right as Sanguinius sinks His fangs into your neck. Blood flows from your neck and pools under your hair, staining the silk underneath you. It’s hard to tell which act Sanguinius derives more pleasure from: drinking your blood, or filling your womb with His cock.

Black spots fill your gaze. The last thing you see before you faint from blood loss is Sanguinius hunched over you, lips stained with your blood.

“Oh, my Sweet One…we have only just begun.”

------------------------------------

Your mind and body float through space, cradled in Sanguinius’s arms. At some point He stops pummeling you and lets you rest, though you’re not sure when or why. You’re not sure if He finished, and when you raise your head to ask—

He is gone. Instead, the sterile wall of quarantine greets you, and you blink to clear your vision. Given the deep crimson color, the Blood Moons have not yet reached their apex.

For some reason, your arms are above your head and your blankets have been kicked down your bed.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Brother Caphriel leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. His helmet sits on the floor beside his computer, revealing his mane of white hair.

“You had an active night for someone with a fever, however…” Popping a sanitized cap onto the thermometer, he puts it into your mouth. After it beeps again, he plugs it into the computer.

“Your fever broke last night, so it seems your fervent praying to The Great Angel was successful.” His eyes cut over to you and you throw the blanket over your head to hide your pink cheeks from his knowing gaze.

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