I've moved but feel free to peruse!

You stop speaking and look away. Guilliman sighs and rakes a gauntlet over his dusty blonde hair, before returning them to rest on the edge of the holotable.

“I have confronted him on his attitude already, has he not stopped this nonsense?” You swallow a knot in your throat.

Sicarius looked to you with a sneer on his lips, as he faced you. His olive skin shines with a red glow from the hazard lights around the ship's cargohold.

‘I struggle to think of a reason why we need you here.’ You, perhaps naively, spoke up in response.

‘Agriworlds are important logistically and diplomatically, and they’re prime targets for e-‘ Sicarius looked at you like you were nothing more than mud on his boots.

‘Did I ask for you to speak?’

You pursed your lips, and soaked in the frigid silence of the air. All the other marines stayed out of this; They have no stake it in and want not to get involved, or know they can’t without punishment.

Sicarius sighs and shifts in his armor, looking away from you with a petulant expression.

‘It really is true that women do nothing but talk.’

Mouth pursed tightly shut, you looked to Titus and an astartes beside him; They looked back with stoic, but sympathetic expressions. They can't say anything, but at least you know you aren't alone.

With a soft grunt of exertion he leans forward and places his hands against the edge of the massive table, and shifts uncomfortably in his armor as the issue that had distracted him previous makes itself known once again. It arguably aggravates him even more than this entire waylaid issue has been, his gauntlets gripping the table's edge tight enough that he feels it give way and crumbles underneath his hands.

Perturabo has never had such thoughts of sex take over so much of his head before. Especially ones that were unsolvable on his own, and lingered like some sort of infection.

If rarely the desire struck him and kept distracting him he could take a moment to himself, angrily yank himself to completion in the quiet of his own quarters- usually at his desk- before returning to his work, distraction quelled. It was transactional, just a bodily need to be dealt with before moving along.

But that hasn’t worked this time. He’s already tried and you still occupy his mind- still distracting him. It's all your fault, he should've never allowed you to get your nails into him this deep, deep enough that he can't tear them free.

He’s never felt this way before. He’s never felt any real desire to actually bring another person into his bed; If he needed that sort of release, he did it himself. To touch another, desire another, is new to him.

He knows you're soft, but how soft will you feel in his hands? Not just your own hand, but your entire body? He's never touched a woman before, had no reason to add another variable into his life that would largely serve to only distract him.

He wishes he could just rip all this armor off. He won't, but it's aggravating that now he's distracted enough to find it all inconvenient.

Once they repair the Iron Blood they can return to Olympia. Then he can see you and finally relieve himself of the stress you've put him under, scolding you for things you had no control over.

Unlike the days earlier when you were still working on his puzzle boxes, your workload now is significantly reduced. You mostly clean Perturabo's workshop and most personal quarters now, partly to keep yourself busy, and because he doesn't wish there to be anyone in there he doesn't trust.

He would have someone else he didn't despise to do it if you got bored of the work, the only reason he hasn't is because you seem to do it to keep your mind busy; Especially now that he was gone. He understands the feeling. He too hates it if his mind wanders too far off the path, hence why his workshop is so filled with random things he made when he felt himself drifting.

You enter the workshop and with significant effort close the heavy door behind you, before walking closer to him. He sits at his main workbench, a few partly rolled up plans the only thing in front of him of note. His shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, showing the scars on his arms hands as he leaned them on the table.

"How did it go?"

You say to him with a cautious look. You more than likely know that the Iron Blood was waylaid for a decent while, and you know faulty machinery is a core trigger for his mood to go quickly sour.

"I struggle to imagine a way it could have gone worse." He says with a monotone voice and blunt expression, which makes your lips purse- though before you can come up with a response he speaks again.

"Come here."

He gestures with one motion of his hand, and you walk closer up until you're standing right beside his chair.

It's still a bit surprising when he picks you up however; He's done it before, though the feeling of being lifted off the ground so easily is not a feeling done away with easily. He sits you onto his lap and you ignore the odd feeling in your chest about having been moved around so easily by him, looking down to see his thighs wider than your hips by a significant degree. Your legs dangle unable to touch the ground at this height; You look so small.

Leaning forward you pull some of the scattered blueprints closer to you, looking at them curiously.

"What are these for?"

Perturabo decides to placate at least one of your questions and ignore the ache between his legs for a moment longer.

"Drafts for the auto-targeting orbital defense cannons."

You hum and look at them, fingers brushing over the parchment. Perturabo watches as you lean forward, accentuating the curve of your spine and hips; Even with how light you are, he can also feel the way you soft thighs and ass press against him. He doesn't placate your questions any longer.

“Take it off.”

You’re clearly confused for a moment, taking your eyes away from his plans to look around.

“What? What do you mean?” You utter, before your body tenses as you feel his massive hand grip your waist.

“Take off your clothes.” Your hands suddenly begin to fumble with your dress, shaking. Perturabo settles to quicken the process forgo removing your dress, and simply push up the hem and tear off your underwear instead.

His hand wraps around your thigh easily, swallowing it in the massive expanse of his palm. His index finger slides between the crease at the very top of your thigh, and the closeness puts your lip between your teeth as your thighs instinctively move to close.

But the entire time his hand is less so teasing and more so, explorative. He has no destination in mind, and only lingers if he hears or feels you react to his touch.

He doesn't know how to touch you beyond the simplistic, what makes you sing. He'll learn silently, his pride would never allow him not to.

Pulling it away he moves his hand underneath you, yanking at his trousers. You hold his forearm for support until you see him finally free his cock, and it lays between your legs. You can just barely grind against it at this angle; but your bigger concern is its size.

Perturabo notices it too, but refuses to vocalize such a concern to you. He’ll make it work, he has too. He’s not sure if he would be able to survive if he couldn’t fuck you the way he’s been fruitlessly imagining to the point of being aggravatingly pent up.

His hand pushes between your legs, sliding against your folds and using his thick fingers to push them apart. You clench your teeth and lean back against his chest, feeling as he slips one of his fingers inside of you. Your sitting angle forces him to curl his finger in order to slip it into you fully he quickly realizes, grasping onto his arm for support.

He hears you moan, cunt soaking wet as you sit in his lap, leaning against his chest as he teases you. He knows that you won’t be able to take him straight away, not with your difference in size. It doesn’t take much to realize your tiny, tight little cunt wasn’t meant for him.

“Can you take another?” He says, and you think he’s teasing, but you realize he’s asking a genuine question.

Perturabo slowly forces a second finger into you and you cry out as he stretches you further, but the burn quickly fades into a pleasurable ache that has your stomach feeling tight and legs limp and useless.

"I have been waiting since that pathetic excuse of a ship was waylaid," Perturabo hisses between his teeth and feels his nose wrinkle angrily. "You will take me no matter how long we have to sit here." The sounds of your breathless moans are more arousing than he thought possible, making his cock twitch between his own thighs.

“Lord Perturabo?”

Stirred from his trance watching his hand shift between your legs Perturabo turns to glare at the door, the deepness and distorted tone of voice queues him in that it’s one of his Iron Warriors.

“The Iron Blood is repaired, the tech marines wished to show you before officially declaring it fit for duty-“

Perturabo suddenly places his other hand over your mouth, continuing to drive his fingers into your cunt has he yells. The Iron Warrior shouldn't be able to hear the wet sounds of his fingers curling inside of you, but he would be able to hear your incessant mewling.

“I will advise it tomorrow. Now leave me be.”

Your thighs shake, hands pulling at the one he has over your lower face trying to catch a full breath though his palm doesn’t allow you.

“And do not bother me again this evening.”

The Iron Warrior, clearly confused as to Perturabo’s sudden shift in attitude, responds in understanding and quickly takes his leave. Once gone, he finally takes the hand away from your mouth.

“You liked that?” Your watery eyes can’t see his face, only barely through the reflections on the metal in front of you. “I felt your little cunt get tighter.” He pulls his fingers from you and reaches between your legs to grab his cock, shifting himself to press against your entrance. It doesn't take much for him to lift you up slightly and begin to lower yourself onto him, slowly slightly when he hears you gasp.

Even with preparation, it's still a tight fit, he quickly realizes.

As such it's a slow and arduous process to fit himself into you, feeling your nails bite into the skin of his forearms. When your bottom finally hits the fronts of his thighs again, you feel like you're so full that you won't be able to handle it. It settles not long after however, though the feeling of him being almost right into your stomach still prevails.

"Good girl,"

He mutters as your weight rests in his lap; It slipped from his lips unconsciously, but you seem to respond to it. He internally slaps himself for allowing words to tumble out of his mouth without thinking, and steels himself to hold others firmly within his head for the time being.

He raises you up and down on his lap, holding you firmly at the hips. To hold you but not bruise you is a fine line with his strength, though if he is bruising you, you don't seem to mind. Perhaps you don't mind if he's rougher with you. Your smaller hands grip his forearms to steady yourself, or simply to keep yourself feeling grounded.

You look tiny against his massive expanse of a chest, shoulders barely higher than his ribcage.

"Pertura- Bo,"

You stutter out his name, the hot palms of your hands desperately grabbing at him. He's using you almost like a toy, but it's the only way he thinks is safe; He doesn't know the line, how much a body like yours could handle before it breaks. He knows he hasn't reached it yet, your gentle voice cries for him, leaning back against his chest.

He watches your lips part in a pant, and he wishes to kiss them, but resists it. The angle would be impossible, and part of him feels, off about how much larger his mouth is than yours. He feels like he can't do it properly. Perhaps it's lack of practice; You were the first one he's kissed as well.

A lot of firsts, you were. Largely meaningless to him years ago, but now he finds himself caring a bit more.

He's silently thankful when you finally come, sharply inhaling and digging your nails into his skin enough to leave little crescent moon marks. They'll fade in a few moments, he doesn't care. What he does care about is the way you feel like a vice around his cock, his right hand pulls away from your waist, forms a fist and slams the table as his teeth grit together, unable to hold himself back any longer.

You thought your body felt hot before, but it's even more so as you feel him finish inside of you, so much of it that you feel it almost forced out by the size of his cock. It makes a mess on the tops of his thighs, though neither of you care.

He makes no effort to even pull out until your heart isn't audible to him anymore, and when he does, he hears your whine as your well abused cunt flutters at the empty feeling.

Part of him almost wants to get angry with you; He's never bothered with something like sex before but now after this, with you, he can already feeling himself want to get hard and fuck you all over again until you're limp in his lap.

A smarter part of him wishes he'd never done this, never met you, never kissed you, never fucked you. He would've never known what he was missing, and never loose focus.

However that part of his mind looses, when he feels you lie more against the expanse of his chest. He sighs.

"It is late. I will bring you to my quarters and you can sleep there."

He refuses to let you sleep in that tiny room you called home before. For his own selfishness, and your safely. Now that you're becoming so close to him, your safety is a must. Many will find you an easy target.

"My clothes Bo, let me-" You quickly shut your mouth when you realized you hadn't called him by his proper name. He doesn't comment on it.

He picks you up not long after, bringing you to his quarters at a much quicker pace than you could do on your own. A few of his men give him an odd look at having such a disheveled woman in his arms, but it only takes one look in return for them to right their gaze and move along.

"Are you not going to stay?" You say when he plops you onto his massive bed with a gentle toss that makes you smile, and turns to leave.

"Must I?" He says it laced in sarcasm, but he regrets it when he sees the smile he'd just put on your face instantly bleed away.

"I wanted to hear about your plans, for a little bit. It's been so long since the last time."

Perturabo had as of late shown you more of his private plans, many of them war machines. He'd begun talking a bit out loud, and his deep voice talking rumbled in your chest and always made you feel so warm and comfortable.

He enjoys that you just listen. You don't have an ego to protect like he does.

Perturabo steps closer.

"If I do, I expect you to stay awake." You nod and smile. "I'll try." He sits onto the bed, grips your cheeks, and forces you to look up at him gently. Your lips purse from his grip in a way he finds tempting, and he mentally blames you for the distraction once again.

Yet here he was. This was some freshly discovered planet with actually half-decent manufacturing capabilities and quite abundant mineral resources, so of course Lord Guilliman sent you to secure its ties to the Imperium before the Mechanicus could swoop in and convert it to a forge world. You needed to work fast so at least he would probably be spared some lengthy stay away from Macragge having to see your wretched self every day. Right now he was blissfully alone in the room he had been afforded by your hosts. A rather nice suite for himself, not up to the standards of Macragge when housing visiting dignitaries, but suitable for a man of his station on a planet this… antiquated. It was just him and his thoughts.

It was insufferable.

He had been trying to get some sleep but every time it evaded him. Something would invade his mind and shatter his concentration. Usually you. He shook the thoughts from his head and dragged a hand through his hair as he stared up at the ornately tiled ceiling. He’d already counted them all, there were 283 in total. He’d recited the passages of the Codex Astartes hammered into his brain as a neophyte. He’d sharpened and cleaned his sword. He’d counted backwards from 1000… multiple times. He could not sleep. Because of you. Pathetic, useless, impossible-to-deal-with, you.

It was because of something that had happened earlier today. He didn’t want to admit that but it was true. It was the usual affair of seeing you around to all the places and people that needed seen. You were wearing this dress, a stunning awful cobalt thing made of delicate flimsy fabric. Not exactly a garment meant for actual physical activity but he supposed looking like some overly-ostentatious debutante was something you enjoyed or deemed necessary for your duties. Much to his chagrin. Some of the local lords had commented on it, saying it was of a fine make and suited you splendidly. One of them had even made a veiled compliment to your figure in it and he’d nearly snapped the hilt of his chain sword from gripping it so hard.

That wasn’t what was plaguing his mind, though remembering it now certainly was not helping. No, the real incident was when you’d been exiting the planet’s grand capital building. Walking down the steps and animatedly discussing the days events with the contingent of his men he’d sent with you. He had, at the time, been relieved by being able to get rid of you for a few hours. Negotiations and planning had clearly gone very well since you weren’t paying attention to where you were walking and managed to trip down a step. He’d have honestly found it mildly amusing if you had actually face-planted and ruined your dress but no. Of course that couldn’t happen.

Of course Titus caught you.

Wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into him. And held you there. Far longer than was strictly necessary, because you said something to him he couldn’t hear from how far away he was and how busy the city was. You’d laughed and Titus had actually cracked a bit of a smile when he put you back down, he even offered his arm the rest of the way down the stairs. Which you took. You thanked him again once you got to the bottom and you cheerily greeted the rest of the squad. How annoying.

The setting sun had caught in the jewel-like bead-work on your gown and painted it just like the sky. It drew his eye and in some deep forsaken part of his psyche he had to agree with that diplomat he’d wanted to decapitate earlier, it did hug all the right places. Clearly it was custom made for you, it was a style en vogue with unmarried women back on Macragge but with additions that obviously tied you to the Ultramarines. He had sneered at it, that you were clearly flaunting your status as a wealthy, successful, marriageable, woman of status from one of the crown jewels of the Imperium. Using your duty to his chapter as an opportunity to flirt, showing teasing slivers of the body your future husband would admire, how whorish. How uncouth, how unworthy!

How tantalizing!

He groaned, grimacing and throwing a hand over his eyes, digging the nails of his other hand into his palm hard enough he was sure he’d bleed. Cato Sicarius was indomitable, he would not be laid low by some baseline, diplomat, siren! He wouldn’t! He couldn’t. Couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop picturing that taunting neckline of your gown dipping just below your collarbone but not low enough to actually show too much. It looked so soft. You looked so soft in it. He hated it so damn much. At least he kept telling himself that as his minds eye conjured the the artful lines of sparkling beads and thread that wound around your body. From your bust to your stomach and down to curl teasingly around your hips. He dragged his hand from his eyes to bite the meat of his palm, trying in vain to chase away the itch to feel that fabric give under his grip.

He wanted that doe-eyed smile of gratitude looking up at him not Titus. No! No he didn’t! He wanted you out of his life for good so he could return to actually useful duties! Finally he released his hand from between his teeth, before he could actually draw blood and cause a mark that would earn him raised eyebrows tomorrow morning before he donned his armor once more. The vague taste of iron and salt on his tongue made him wonder exactly, what you would taste like, how soft you’d be. Exactly how easy it would be to press marks into your skin in all the places he craved to see. Would you moan under him as he did it? Sweet and breathy and sumptuous as he dug his teeth in hard enough to bruise for weeks. Probably. If you were going to act like a whore then he’d treat you like one.

He gave up all pretense of ignoring his own traitorous need and a hand drifted downward to where he’d been aching since he had lost grip of his thoughts. You were a sickness of his mind, a poison robbing him of sense and control, damnation incarnate. Actually touching the hard length of his cock, even through his body glove, sent a jolt of electricity down his spine. It settled as boiling heat in his stomach as he tried to convince himself the fluttering was revulsion instead of anything else. He hated you. He HATED you. He swore he did. So why did the mere image of the glossy rouge on your lips make him twitch and ache? Why does his mind conjure so vividly the sighs of pleasure he might rip from your body?

Why does he still remember the one and only time you ever called his name?

Before he could think better of it he had undone his body glove and pushed it down to grasp himself, warm and positively weeping from his hours of neglect. Fat pearls of precum were dripping from the slit and his thumb spread it along his tip, imagining that wetness was from your tongue instead. You’d gotten far too comfortable disrespecting him, breaking rules of decorum to throw some sharp-tongue comments his way from time to time. It would be far more difficult to insult him with his cock stuffed in that wicked little mouth of yours. His hand stroked languidly at the appealing image of you teary-eyed with his hand tangled in your hair, moving your mouth up and down his length however he pleased. You were still in that dress in his mind. He’d get to ruin it too. Even if you cleaned it you would never be able to erase the memory of him spilling his cum across that priceless blue silk. Every time you would ever wear it again you would think of him.

He bit back a moan as his thoughts shifted again and his hips thrust up into his hand and he squeezed. This was a poor imitation of what he wanted. Not warm enough or wet enough or tight enough. You were so small compared to him, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to fit. He’d make it fit. You would wince and cry and call him cruel but it wasn’t even half of what you deserved for the hell you caused him. Your cunt would clench around him, all hot and dripping, when he sank all the way in at once. It would rob you of your breath, all the useless drivel you’d somehow charmed his gene sire with would turn to garbled salacious moans as you felt him touch all the deepest parts of you. A tiny waif like you would probably feel him all the way in your stomach. Poor thing. Stuffed to the brim and aching around him. His hand choked around his base, he wasn’t finished yet, oh no. There was a far more enticing conclusion to this fantasy that had just struck him.

You screaming his name loud enough for his squad, those dignitaries, hell the entire capital to hear. Him burying himself to the hilt as your cunt squeezed so perfectly around him and he filled you up til it spilled out around him. You would have to continue your duties after that. Trying to walk around like you could still feel your legs and trying to ignore your sore, stuffed, cunt. Would it be too cruel to tear your panties off and leave you without them? No of course not. It would be just punishment to have you deal with his cum freely dripping down your thighs for the rest of the day. Perhaps even at the end of the evening he’d drag you off again somewhere private and pull your skirt up to admire the mess he’d made. Bend you over and spread your lips to see it even better. Maybe you’d start dripping. Maybe he’d fuck you full again and start the cycle all over.

He felt himself start to hit the crest. Wouldn’t that be grand? The wretched little bane of his existence knocked down a few pegs, meek and flustered covered in bruises, bite marks, and milky white like he was staking claim to every inch of skin he touched. He groaned deep in his throat as he finally spilled across his stomach, viciously biting back a whine that would’ve been your name. Fuck. He kept stroking to distract himself pulling more spurts of cum from his cock until the pleasure bordered on pain. He looked down at the mess all over his hand and stomach. He was still hard, angry and red and starting to drip again. He drew his thumb across the slit and felt his stomach clench at the over-stimulation. You had to be some kind of demon. A Slaaneshi temptress in disguise bedeviling his mind like this. What other reason could their be for his obsession adoration lust love distraction? His hand started moving again and he bit his lip to silence whatever noises would try to crawl out of his throat. The obscene wet sounds of his slick cock between his fingers only served to drag him back into debauched fantasies.

Every single one starred you. Naked, in that cobalt blue number, a nightdress, lingerie, a particular white gown he’d seen back home. It had the most beautiful sheer lace veil displayed with it. He came to that one particularly quick. On your knees, on your back, face down, on top, in his lap. Everywhere. Every way. All for him. It twisted his guts and tore at his mind like the claws of a Drukhari Haemonculus. His mind replayed the sound of your voice as he'd heard it that single tantalizing time weeks ago. Wrapped around his name with a teasing lilt to it. Over and over and over. By the throne he loved hated it.

Cato Sicarius did not get a single minute of sleep that night, and he was particularly glad his room included a private bath as the mess on his skin had been rather… substantial. His men could sense he was in a particularly horrendous mood that morning and gave him a wide berth. Fine by him. The less talking they did, the fewer irritations would stack on top of the already towering pile he carried. At least he thought so, until you showed up of course.

Your dress today was white, the bold blue and gold of the Ultramarines serving as accents. Oh the life of Captain Cato Sicarius was apparently one massive cosmic joke. You gave him the usual clipped greeting and smiled warmly at his men as you went over plans and set out for the day’s itinerary.

And he tried desperately to ignore the fact that he was half hard the minute he saw you in that dress.

He absolutely hated you ❤️

"My love, I can smell how wet you are."

Your face changed suddenly as he spoke to you quietly but firmly.

You hadn't realized he would be able to tell, it never entered your mind. You'd been aroused and barely able to keep track of your own thoughts all day, but you had thought it just something to keep secret to yourself until it blew over.

You looked away and pursed your lips, but any attempt to press your thighs together only seemed to worsen the throbbing between your legs. Sanguinius looked down at you with an unreadable expression, before he cleared his throat.

"Go back to our quarters. I will meet you there once I can get free of this debacle." Sanguinius' fleet had run into a myriad of issues that had taken up a good portion of his time, and it seemed to be wearing on his nerves; Especially when he realized that his beloved was wanting for him.

You nodded and scurried off; To wait for your angel to come to you once he was free.

Once Sanguinius had returned to his private quarters and thus to you, the clothes you had been wearing hadn't survived the minutes after. They were nothing more than ribbons and chunks of fabric strewn about, after his strength had torn them off of you like little more than parchment to be thrown away.

But while he has to be gentle to keep your body from falling apart beneath him, this time he was far less soft than he usually was; Throwing you onto his massive bed with little fanfare and then tearing your clothes apart. You hadn't minded, if anything gasping in the shock of cool air hitting your skin before suddenly his hot skin pressed against your own, pulling you underneath him.

You heard the way he hummed approvingly as you presented yourself to him, silently begging him to get on with it. You wanted him, more than anything, and after so long of waiting you were begging like he held your life in his hands.

Face down ass up, your beloved angel ruts into you like an animal, as you hear air whistling through his feathers each time his wings shift behind him. His head lays close to your own, as close as it can given the sizable difference in height. His breath is hot against your skin as he whispers.

"My little one, you just want it all, don't you? You can't give me a moment of peace."

You can't control your own body completely, it was that time and your mind was clouded, no matter how much you tried to keep yourself on task. You just wanted him, all the time, anytime you've seem him these past few days you were silently begging he just throw you over something and fuck you with no care about the consequences.

"Do you want me to give you a child, my love?"

He hears the way you mewl and cry underneath him, nails scratching the skin on his arms to hold yourself close to him. His cock fills you to the brim, like you're always teetering on the edge of too much.

But while you were the one who spurred this one, who was desperate, Sanguinius also seems to be effected as he breathlessly mutters; His hips hitting against your ass with an audible slap every time.

"I'll fuck you every day and every night until it finally takes."

He can see on your shoulders and neck the little scars of bite marks, where you'd given yourself to him, or where he'd taken it in the fit of pleasure. He has never asked for your blood, but you always offer it to him. He has nigh untenable strength when it comes to the Red Thirst, but while he doesn't need your blood, he won't deny the satisfaction it brings him to taste you.

You writhe and mewl underneath him, whispering his name over and over again. His cock brushes against the deeps parts inside of you, stretching you in the way only he can as you beg for more more more.

"Sanguinius, please,"

He feels you tighten around him, body so hot and wound that it doesn't take long to push you over the edge. You hear his deep breaths in your ear, feel his hair against your skin as he covers you. Your whole world is almost entirely in his shadow, from both his body and his wings.

"You will be the perfect mother," He utters through his groan, feeling himself teetering just on the verge. You hear him hiss through his teeth as he finally finishes inside of you, his hot skin pressing against your own. One of his hands grips your hip tight and keeps you close to him, until he finally stops throbbing inside of you.

When he slowly pulls out, it's hard not to whine from the empty feeling, as well as the distinct feeling of his own cum slipping down your already slick thighs.

Now able to reach your face without such an awkward angle Sanguinius leans down to kiss your neck just below your ear, feeling the soft skin and your blood pulsing just underneath.

"I need to be back to my sons, they will surely be wondering where I am already."

He laments leaving you like this, tired and well fucked, but he already took more time to himself that he was allowed in this busy time. His legion had been coming across issue after issue that required his attention, and while he takes solace in the moment he just stole with you, he needs to return to his legion.

"I'll see you again once I'm cleaned up," You say, looking up at him with soft eyes and flushed skin. Sanguinius laughs.

"I'm almost tempted to say no; The last time you came to see me, we ended up here." You smile at him and laugh, having turned over onto your back underneath him.

Sanguinius leans down and presses his lips against the soft skin beneath your ear again, gently sucking and kissing before scraping his teeth against it. You mewl, hands wrapping in his hair as your thighs unconsciously part for him. You want more, he's already made your body start to yearn for him all over again with just a simple touch.

Dozens of apothecaries and human brain surgeons were there in the large surgery room in the base, curtesy of the Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists making it in such a short amount of time. Waiting in the wings were flesh crafter sorcerers as there was little chance for failure as this was a primarch. They had to try their best as they were going in blind.

With his skull cap removed they could see the mess... "Jesus Christ." A surgeon said looking at the mess... a mess of wires and brain matter barely holding together.

"Um, is... is his skull cap growing back?" Another human said noticing how the bone was slowly stitching itself back together and regrowing.

"Yes it is." the head apothecarian said walking up and taking a look as he was in full armor, "Get the flesh crafters on standby." The chaos space marine ordered as why he was head surgeon? He had worked with the consortium.

The humans were the ones who were mostly going to be working on the primarch given their small deft hands could be delicate in this situation. Hours dragged on and metal was removed leaving gaping holes in his brain to which the sorcerers and his own natural healing factor worked hard to repair. This meticulous surgery pushed the limits of what was thought possible for both humans and Astartes... they were dealing with a Primarch and whatever genetic monstrosity it meant to be a primarch curtosey of the Emperor. Several powerful sorcerers sat around the building all pooling the warp and keeping it stable so that the flesh crafters could utilize it with ease.

Apothecarians all communicated on the private vox channel when the humans would pause having to remove the regrowing skull cap or when they were stumped on how to remove a particularly tricky nail. Oh there was one from each legion, minus the World Eaters, sometimes there were even two from the same legion; one a traitor and the other a loyalist. But, outside the building were gathering war hounds and world eaters... they gathered like lost dogs just limping their way here... all there and all silently hoping...

Angron opened his eyes as he could hear the gentle click of knitting needles and a calm beat of a heart he knew over the white noise that the dozens of medical machines had become. He sat up looking toward the click of the needles...

"Welcome back." Your soft voice greeted his ears as there was a gentle smile on your lip, "It's been a few days and in that time, let me tell you, I've met more space marines than I've ever seen." You say as you put down your project. You wait a couple of beats and your smile falters as Angron continues to sit there, "They..." He could hear your swallow, "They said there might be..." again you swallow doing your best to stay strong, "unknown side effects." You finally walk closer, looking up at him as your tiny hand rests on his, "Angron?" You say softly.

For Angron... he was overwhelmed by the fact that there was no longer any pain... his mind rushing trying to think of how to react and interact when there was no pain at the base of it all. He picked you up and held you close, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, as large tears rushed down his face. Words... oh so many of his brothers were good with words in any occasion by here words would do him little good. As Angron wept in joy... joy... he could finally feel another emotion again without pain after so long.

Ophelia hardly came to the beach... she was content living so far inland... with her flowers and her bees... but she treated herself to a trip away. The early morning wind whipping her hair around even in it's bun. It was suppose to be a treat this year too... there was a shiver of mersharks passing by this year and Ophelia wanted to see them. She could hardly afford to go when the deep sea school of Night Lords came to the surface to sing as much as she wanted to hear them.

Ophelia slowly meandered her way down to the beach... but her eyes landed on all the gulls pecking at something large and grey... it had to be over 10 feet... from head to... tail! She rushed over scaring the gulls away as they had already ripped out pieces of meat from him... he had to be huge even for a mer... scars crisscrossed his entire body. His dorsal and caudal fins were rough and torn up. "Oh god... oh god... please don't be dead." Ophelia said running back to the cabin she was staying at and grabbing a bucket as well as her phone.

Mer's could stay out of the water for some time but the larger the mer the less likely he could support himself out of the water... though then again... there were stories about the heads of mer clans- Ophelia shook her head as she scooped up water not seeing the gathering dorsal fins and grey skinned heads poking out of the waves. It was early enough that maybe the sun wouldn't kill him yet? She noticed black markings along his back and tail... it almost looked like tattoos. His stark white hair was damp as she poured the water over his gills watching them suddenly flair and her joy turned to terror as mer's move so fast even on land.

Ophelia was screaming but she knew it was drowned out by the waves as the snarl from him was deep and gutteral as his black eyes darted around. Blood from face splattered onto her. All Ophelia could do was cover her face with her arms as she was being crushed by a mer shark. This is not how she was expecting to die... eaten by a mer.

Tyberos did his best to come down from his battle high as he looked at the human under him smeared with his blood as they were crying and begging. A clawed hand wrapped around one of the arms hiding her face and pulled back as he wanted to see it again. She trembled under him as her eyes were wet and wide as he huffed down at her just looking her over now that he had come down from his addrenaline high.

She was panting hard ... he looked over and saw the bucket nearby... he could hear the shiver calling to him from the waves. She remembered the warning to not make eye contact with mer's... there was something about their eyes... that... that were so beautifully black. Tyberos nuzzles his savior trilling and letting out a soft whisper, "Thank you little one... won't you come swimming?" He purrs as he smears some of his blood on her bottom lip. "Wont you make sure I can swim properly." Tyberos trills as he pulls himself off of her as he crawls to the shore.

Mers were horrifyingly fast and strong for aquatic creatures but Ophelia blinked as she was suddenly thigh deep in the water when whatever spell looking him in the eye did to her and as she turned his arms wrapped around her as they pulled her into the riptide. Ophelia feels bodies press against her even a few push their mouths against her own and push air into her mouth before they surface.

Well... she surfaces as they let her go and the shore is so far off... the ocean under her a dark blue... it's still early in the morning... she tries her best to not panic but she is not the strongest swimmer and when her chin dips below the water causing her to panic. Tyberos wraps his arms around her as his strong tail keeps him bobbing in the water. He's warm she realizes as she clings to him... eyes darting to the dozens of smaller shark mers as they get closer and a few wrap their mouth against her skin and Ophelia tries to keep calm.

She loudly whimpers causing Tyberos to chuckle as he lays on his back just keeping her on his stomach allowing his brothers to swim closer to look at his "savior" as she looks down into the water... eyes widening as she can see more mer's below the water. She swallows and lets Tyberos rub his hands on her face and eventually she feels the large form pull her into the water as once more she was shared air and kept warm by several bodies as Tyberos lazily swam back.

And Ophelia was back on the shore staring him deep in the eyes as his lip was bleeding but... it didn't matter as he kissed her hard. Pulling away with strands of saliva connecting them as he whispered, "Thank you." And was gone.

Ophelia thought that would be the end of it... and went back to her normal life... till months later she couldn't ignore the aches of her body... the doctors couldn't figure it out and in desperation she went back to the beach and went into the water. The cool waves rolling over her and as she felt relief... she could feel his body against her's... and breathless as his mouth was against her's again.

Months go by and again and again the relief in her joints only comes from going into the water and every time it seems like he, Tyberos as she learns his name, is waiting for her.

Once more she lets them pull her into the riptide... but their rough skin seems to rip off her own skin as small gills are freed from the layers of skin they hide under...she can see how pretty the moon is from under the water... so clearly... and Ophelia remembers a story from her childhood... how the flesh of a mer is suppose to grant immortality at the cost of your humanity... and you have a realization that every time Tyberos had kissed you that his lip was always bleeding and his blood was sickly sweet....

They had managed to find some Black Templars willing to come meet their "baby" brother. Neither Roland nor Arnault had heard of Primaris marines as they were from M41 and M40 respectively. However, they were told their battle brother was suffering and until they could get in contact with the "feral" ""warband"" of Black Templars he was completely alone. The Chaplain decided that it was best for his mental wellbeing to have at least some of his brothers meet him... even if they had more intense bonds then most marines.

Roland arrived first at the base. His eyes flick over Cedric in that typical appraising manner, he was out of armor wearing civilian looking clothing with a white shirt with large black cross over the center and black pants. He hummed at the end of his appraisal and passed him a large loaf of sourdough. "Its bread. It's good. It's made fresh by my human." Roland bit back the fact that it's made with love but he didn't want to overwhelm the young battle brother.

Though it didn't take Arnault long to appear and Roland sighed as while Roland kept his hair short Arnault let his white hair grow a little longer. As the incident involving the Black Templars he originally with made him a social pariah with any other Black Templars in the area but he was still a son of Dorn at the end of the day given the sword strapped to his hip but his clothes were a bit more fitted and nicer than what Roland wore. When his eyes met Cedrics he could see that cold calculation and appraisal flick into them as he judged the Primaris. "So you're the young battle brother that was dropped into the world in nothing but his night clothes." Arnault pointed out what he was told.

"Yes sir." Cedric said, causing Roland to scoff as he gave Arnault the side eye.

"He's polite." Arnault says.

"Yes, far more than you probably deserve." Roland said.

Arnault laughed as they switched to the local language and Cedric watched as Roland punched Arnault in the arm before they resumed in Gothic. Roland's arms folded over his chest and Arnault standing there, "You really are wound up tight." Roland points out as he had expected Cedric to start eating the bread as it smelt good.

The nervous look returned to Cedric's eyes and the two older black templars looked at him worried.

"Um, so what's your favorite food?" Arnault tried to break the ice.

"Nutrient paste?" Cedric replied confused as Roland just groaned.

"Have you been allowed out?" He asks.

"No sir. I've been confined on base since attacking a... patient." He hisses.

"Right Unbonded." They both said in unison.

"Well little," Arnault looked up at Cedric with a smirk, "battle brother you've got Brother Roland and myself Brother Arnault in the area to help keep you company. Now lets go enjoy the Brot that Bruder Roland brought." Arnault slips into that familiar Black Templar accent.

They had managed to find some Black Templars willing to come meet their "baby" brother. Neither Roland nor Arnault had heard of Primaris marines as they were from M41 and M40 respectively. However, they were told their battle brother was suffering and until they could get in contact with the "feral" ""warband"" of Black Templars he was completely alone. The Chaplain decided that it was best for his mental wellbeing to have at least some of his brothers meet him... even if they had more intense bonds then most marines.

Roland arrived first at the base. His eyes flick over Cedric in that typical appraising manner, he was out of armor wearing civilian looking clothing with a white shirt with large black cross over the center and black pants. He hummed at the end of his appraisal and passed him a large loaf of sourdough. "Its bread. It's good. It's made fresh by my human." Roland bit back the fact that it's made with love but he didn't want to overwhelm the young battle brother.

Though it didn't take Arnault long to appear and Roland sighed as while Roland kept his hair short Arnault let his white hair grow a little longer. As the incident involving the Black Templars he originally with made him a social pariah with any other Black Templars in the area but he was still a son of Dorn at the end of the day given the sword strapped to his hip but his clothes were a bit more fitted and nicer than what Roland wore. When his eyes met Cedrics he could see that cold calculation and appraisal flick into them as he judged the Primaris. "So you're the young battle brother that was dropped into the world in nothing but his night clothes." Arnault pointed out what he was told.

"Yes sir." Cedric said, causing Roland to scoff as he gave Arnault the side eye.

"He's polite." Arnault says.

"Yes, far more than you probably deserve." Roland said.

Arnault laughed as they switched to the local language and Cedric watched as Roland punched Arnault in the arm before they resumed in Gothic. Roland's arms folded over his chest and Arnault standing there, "You really are wound up tight." Roland points out as he had expected Cedric to start eating the bread as it smelt good.

The nervous look returned to Cedric's eyes and the two older black templars looked at him worried.

"Um, so what's your favorite food?" Arnault tried to break the ice.

"Nutrient paste?" Cedric replied confused as Roland just groaned.

"Have you been allowed out?" He asks.

"No sir. I've been confined on base since attacking a... patient." He hisses.

"Right Unbonded." They both said in unison.

"Well little," Arnault looked up at Cedric with a smirk, "battle brother you've got Brother Roland and myself Brother Arnault in the area to help keep you company. Now lets go enjoy the Brot that Bruder Roland brought." Arnault slips into that familiar Black Templar accent.