#Cato x diplomat fic

[lemon-russ]

I made a new blog just to get the worms out of my head put in there by everyone writing bully Cato Sicarius fics. Heavily infected/ inspired by the diplomat/ Cato stuff, I needed to make my own tropey garbage fic.

I blame all of you WH40k smut writers for this. I love you all and you've made me very ill over these murder machines. I must put them in situations.

Part 1/ ???

part:: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Violence, blood, I mean it's warhammer I think you get what you pay for there, no sex yet but there will be later, Cato being a bully (mildly honestly)

Summary: Cato is forced to accompany Guilliman's ambassador to a meeting. Things go sideways.

word count: 1,896

Cato walked next to the little diplomat. He hated this. Hated that he was assigned to look after- to babysit- this pompous noble woman.

This whole thing was a waste of his time. He just got back from a mission quelling some rebellion on a random planet in the backwaters of the galaxy. He was already annoyed at how quickly the rebellion was quashed, they did not need to send him, the Knight Champion of Macragg, any random band of Astartes would have handled it.

Then he got home, already in a sour mood, and Guilliman told him maybe he needed a break- a break- and assigned him to escort his little diplomat pet to her next meeting off world. No amount of argument changed his genefather's mind, and he was ordered to “Quit whining and get out of his hair for a moment”.

He didn't want to push his already stressed Primarch further and resigned himself to his fate, three days wasted babysitting this stupid, base human woman. He couldn't stand her, the way she bat her eyes to get people to sway to her opinions, the lavish gowns she insisted on wearing to each meeting, the droning on and on for hours about nothing every time she met with an ambassador she knew. how are the kids, that dress is flattering, I heard your planet had a celebration- it was driving him mad.

Cato watched her walk all prim and proper in a ridiculous trailing gown. A tripping hazard, more like. He smirked a bit as he got an idea, and casually placed his next step on the tail of her dress.

With a small yelp, she fell over, her ridiculous heels not affording her the balance to recover from a sharp snag on her gown. She spilled her papers on the floor and landed in them face first. She looked ridiculous, and he smiled for the first time in weeks. He even let out a chuckle. “Oh my. Careful, Ambassador. That dress is not great for the uncoordinated.” He said with an edge of mocking, playing coy.

She huffed, frowning like an angry little cat as she scrambled to her knees, scooping up her paperwork. “I think I'd be a lot less accident prone if I wasn't being followed by a seven foot tall hazard.” she snapped, scrambling up to her feet and trying to fix her dress.

Cato tried to school his face to not grin at her reaction. “I have no idea what you mean, Ambassador. I simply was following you as always.” he said casually, following again as she stomped back down the corridor.

She was being sent to broker the handover of a planet, giving them a chance to willingly join the glory of the Imperium before they would be recruited by force. They walked down the flagstone halls of an over-pompous but still somehow rundown manor where the leader of this human group insisted on meeting.

He scoffed- a planet who's only excess was stones and sand. Their was nothing they could broker worthwhile, this whole meeting was merely a shakedown to save human lives. Yet the leader of this rock acted like he was doing them a favor by even meeting with them. The arrogance of it all made Cato's anger rise again. He considered tripping the ambassador again to blow off steam, but held off. If he did it too often, the fun would wear out.

She kicked her heels off the flagstone as she agitatedly continued down the corridor to the large double doors to the leaders war room. They were of course, impractically, also made of stone, and requires a turning mechanism to slowly open.

The leader stood at a war table, looking smug and watching them as the doors were slowly opened. They stepped in and Cato was on guard immediately as they started closing the doors behind them. He could push the doors open himself, but it would slow him down if they needed to escape.

The diplomat greeted the Leader, who introduced himself as something Rolfar- he wasn't paying attention, instead still scoping the room. there were small windows in the stone maybe 20 feet up, the stone doors behind them, and then... no other exits. He scowled to himself and stood at attention behind the ambassador, hand itching for his bolter. They'd inadvertently walked into a kill box, if thing went sideways.

The ambassador noticed his distraction and raised a brow, but was pulled back to the discussion. Uhg, more drivel. How are your seasons here? your manor is very impressive, how's your family. He started tuning out again at the mindless small talk. Why can't she ever just get the to the point? Give us your planet or die, boom, done. He should be the ambassador, really.

He snapped out of his inner monologue when he noticed some of the guards around the room exchanging glances. His mouth twitched a frown and his hand slowly came to rest on the hilt of his power sword, the Talassarian.

The ambassador was oblivious as always, laying out papers on the table and talking cheerily to the leader, pointing out resources they would gain access to as part of the Imperium, of course sprinkling in things like how they'll be converting to the Imperial cult in a matter of fact way. The man glanced at a guard near him, giving a slight nod.

That's it, this is all too suspicious now. Cato walked over and put a large hand on the diplomat's shoulder. “Ambassador, could I share a word with you in the hallway-” he started in a low voice, but was interrupted when he saw the soldiers around the room reach for their weapons.

His senses honed. He could think faster, react quicker than baseline humans like these. They hardly twitched toward their rudimentary weapons before he had the diplomat on the floor, bolter out and taking out the first soldier to actually draw his weapon.

Chaos broke out, figuratively of course, and he was forced to actually do his job and protect the stupid woman. It would be fun honestly, tearing through the rebels in a closed death cage, if he wasn't forced to shield the emperor-damned woman beneath him. She was still confused and processing what happening- by the throne she was slow- while he took out a few more of the guards. But for every one he shot, another took a shot at her from the other side, forcing him to move to cover her with his power armor.

He scowled to himself. having to protect her slowed him down enough that they got a foothold, surrounding them, weapons trained on her as they knew they wouldn't touch him. She of course was useless, cowering pathetically against his kneeling body for protection.

well fuck. His hands were tied. That didn't usually happen. “Hands up or we kill the woman!” the soldiers demanded. He let out a sigh and holstered his bolter, hands up. He probably could tear his way out of here, but he wasn't confident he could do it without the ambassador getting shot. stupid woman, some sort of flack armor would be more practical than this stupid flowy dress, and she could at least wear a helmet-

His inner rambling was interrupted by the leader- Randolf? Rolf? -speaking at them smugly. “You thought I would simply roll over and let you interlopers take my world? Your arrogance is astounding” He chuckled with a sneer. Cato considered shooting him, but knew the diplomat woman would be shot for it. He still considered it. No. Lord Guilliman would be mad if he let her die. Uhg, she's ruining everything.

The leader had the ambassador woman taken away first, cuffed and blindfolded. She struggled against them, for a small amount of her credit, but a swift kick from a solider put a stop to it. Cato grimaced. He almost felt bad seeing someone else be mean to her. Probably just because his duty is to stop that though.

“Try that again and I'll turn this room into a red mist.” Cato warned with a glower at the soldier. Guilliman would be more upset if she came back battered, and he'd rather not be punished to anymore menial work. The man who kicked her shivered under his look, and took a step back.

The leader frowned in annoyance at him. “Please, you are in no position to give demands.” He mocked, then walked over and gave the diplomat a firm kick in the ribs, making her yelp and fall over. Before he realized he was moving, he had the man by the collar, and the sound of two dozen weapons readying echoed off the stone walls. The man looked shocked, then terrified, but stuttered out anyway, “Unhand me or the girl turns into a colander.” His voice shook, but the sound of warming up weapons made Cato grit his teeth and lower the man.

as soon as his feet touched stone he scampered away like a cowardly mouse, cowering across the room. “Take her, and keep your weapons on her. I swear if you make one move we'll end her!” He stammered. His soldiers started dragging her out of the room and Cato grit his teeth harder. Fuck. If he'd ignored that, they'd probably have let them leave together, and he could have gotten them out when the doors opened like he planned. Why did he grab that man? Fuck.

He scowled, watching them drag her out the doors, mind scrambling for a new plan. He scoped the room for communication devices. The soldiers carried some, but the room itself had nothing. Okay, he can salvage this, take them out before the vox to their friends, kick down the door, find the girl, get back to the thunderhawk. He can work with that. Thankfully these people were as stupid as they were arrogant, and lacked most advanced defenses and weapons that the Imperium had.

He waited a bit after they took her away, letting them put him in cuffs- wow they really were stupid to think this would hold him- and letting them take his bolter and the Talassarian and put them across the room. He counted in his head as the Leader droned on and on about how his world would not bow to tyrants, same old nonsense everyone spouted when they resisted the Emperor's light. When he was pretty sure the others were out of earshot- he heard them walk away pretty far, baseline humans wouldn't hear the screams- he stood, making the soldiers ready their weapons.

“What are you doing? Sit back down!” The leader demanded, stepping back defensively. Cato snapped the cuffs and smiled. Finally, he could teach these fools the glory of the Emperor's Imperium.

A few minutes later, Cato forced the stone doors open, re-affixing his blood soaked power sword to his hip and adjusting his helmet, flicking his hands and splashing the blood off his gauntlets. Now to just find the stupid woman and hope they didn't already execute her. His genefather would be pissed if she died. And he wouldn't admit it, but the thought gave him an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of his stomach. Probably just dedication to even the most menial duties like this, he decided. Definitely just that.

[lemon-russ]

hoooo boy. It is 3am. I started this at 1am. Almost stream of conscious writing. Lots of sex. Like, 3k words of sex. And I got emotional so like. Bone apple teeth, you heathens.

Fuck forgot tags, its too late lmao: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye, and thanks @squishyowl for dividers

Part 17/ ???

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Ao3 || Taglist request ||

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Sex. Just. Lot of sex.

Summary: Cato and ambassador reunite

word count: 3,219

Song: Like Real People Do - Hozier (even get some easy listening with all this porn)

There is a sharp knock on your office door, making you jump a little. It wasn't Guilliman's knock.

“It's Open” you call out, standing and trying to tidy yourself and your desk. You'd been daydreaming and doodling again, not actually working, and tried to hide the evidence of your slacking with other papers.

Your door slides open, and to your surprise, Cato stands there, leaning in the door jamb, smirking.

It takes you a moment to process what you're looking at, but in a second you're scrambling around your desk, knocking papers on the floor as you sprint to the door.

Cato looks a little surprised himself when you fling yourself into his arms. He catches you, chuckling as he lets you cling to him.

“You weren't worried, we're you, little Ambassador?” He asks through a soft laugh.

You pull back and look up at his face in astonishment. “You're- You're home!” You gasp in shock.

“That I am.” He said smoothly.

“You found a ride? From all that way?” You ask, leaning back in to hug his chest.

He chuckles and pets your hair. “That I did. Surely you didn't expect the Captain of the Second Company to be bested by, what, finding a ride home?” He replies with some disbelief.

You laugh, burying your face in his shirt and sighing as you take in his scent, like wood and spices. For a second you realize he must use cologne to purposely smell nice, and almost laugh at the thought of him preening himself so much when he acts so aloof.

“I didn't think you'd like, die-” you say, muffled by his fatigues shirt. “-but I also expected you to take longer getting back.”

He pulls you back to look at your face, smiling and sighing as he lifts your chin. “Ye of little faith, Ambassador. After sorting things out with Titus, I had secured a ride home by the next morning.”

You smile wide. You were surprised to see him but, he's right, as much as he is cocky, it isn't unearned.

“Still,” you say, leaning your face into his palm as he moves to cup your face, “I'm so, so happy to see you.” You say softly.

He makes a soft hum, “And I have been loosing my mind missing you.” He says, mirroring your tone.

He lifts you up a bit and takes a step into your office, hitting the control panel on the door and setting it to locked. You raise an eyebrow and look up at him curiously.

Before you can formulate a question, it's already answered by the look in his eyes.

Hunger.

“Cato…?” You ask anyways, but squeak when he picks you up and plops you on your desk. He cages you in with his arms, towering over your little human size desk and grinning ear to ear.

“I have really missed you, my little Ambassador…” he says with a huskier tone. He moves his mouth to your neck and starts trailing warm kisses down.

You shudder, chuckling shyly. “Seriously? I worry for 3 days, thinking you were dead on some back water agriworld-” you stifle a gasp as he nips at your throat gently, “-and th-the first thing you want to do is-”

“Fuck you? Yes.” He purrs, pushing you gently onto your back on the desk. You flush, but it isn't not working on you. You feel your core warming as his hands roam up your curves and he nibbles at your collar bone.

“I walked into my Primarchs office today expecting to be given a death oath.” He says in a low voice.

You gasp softly. You thought he'd be in trouble, but, a death oath? A chill runs down your spine at the thought of your Cato having to swear himself to a suicide mission for the dishonor of bedding you…

He sees the look of worry in your eyes and gives you a reassuring smile. “Ah, don't stress about it. I was being a little dramatic.” He chuckles.

He goes back to kissing down your chest, humming happily and tugging your shirt away. “But dramatic or not, I thought I was going to at worst be sent to die, and at best, never see my little Ambassador again.” He sighs against your skin. “Though I think I'd prefer the death oath to knowing you were there and I just couldn't be near you…” he murmurs between kisses.

You let out a sigh, running fingers through his hair, letting yourself be comforted by the fact that he's here and safe right now. “So… you're not in trouble…?” You ask.

He grimaces, resting a cheek on your breasts and looking up at you. “Well, I mean, I'm suspended for a minute. But, thankfully a little diplomat worked her magic over on Guilliman.” He said with a smirk. “He said he, what was it, pinky promised not to kill me?”

You chuckle and blush a little. “Hey, you're not supposed to know that. The contents of a pinky promise are highly confidential.” You tease.

He grins up at you, nuzzling into your chest. “Well, thanks to you, I'm not only not going to be killed in some fashion, but I've been given permission to keep seeing you.” His expression softened into one of warm admiration. “Have I ever told you you're quite skilled at your job…?” He chuckled.

You gasp and put a hand to your chest, mouth agape in feigned shock. “Captain Sicarius! Was that… was that a genuine compliment?!” You say aghast. “And of my silly diplomacy skills, no less! Don't I recall you once saying my job was, what was it-” you tap your chin. “Ah, ‘frivolous and a waste of imperial resources’ I believe were the words…”

He rolled his eyes, laughing gently. “Oh be quiet, don't make me regret being nice” he said, turning to playfully mouth at your chest with his teeth.

You laugh and push playfully back on him. “What? I'm just trying to get clarification, because surely the great Cato Sicarius isn't actually admitting some things can be talked out-”

You're interrupted by him tugging your shirt up and snapping your bra off in a quick motion, making you melt into giggles as he pulls you closer to the edge of the table by the hips.

“You can be quite mean to me, you know that?” He chuckles playfully, mouth assaulting your breasts and making you giggle harder, punctuated by light gasps when he finds your nipple.

“You-” you gasp, “you're calling- me mean-?” You stifle a small moan as his hand finds your other breast and starts playing with it in tandem.

“Yes.” He says between kissing and sucking your nipples. “Quite mean, actually. You're a little bully.”

You laugh and give him a small smack on the shoulder, only eliciting more chuckles from him.

“No no, you aren't turning this on me Cato Sicarius!” You try to scold between breathless giggles. His hand has started working its way under your pants and tugging them down, which greatly distracted from your indignant rage. “You're the bully here- you tripped me for fun! You would hide my paperwork and tell important nobles crazy rumors about me!”

He pops his mouth off your breast, laughing in a low growl as he tucks you further against him and finally pulls off your pants. “You have no proof that you weren't raised on an agriworld entirely dedicated to manure farming.” He says with a mischievous grin.

You huff and smack his chest uselessly. “That's not even a real thing! And you didn't say ‘manure farming’, you told the planetary governor I was raised as a shit shoveler!”

“Tomato tomato.” He says, flippantly waving a hand. You start to growl out an argument but your words die in your throat as he tugs off his pants and kicks them to the side in one movement.

“We're-” you rasp, eyes glued to him stroking himself between your knees, “We're coming back to this later, I won't forget it.” You manage.

He rumbles a low chuckle in his chest, pushing your knees apart. “Oh, of course. Can't miss an opportunity to berate me, can you, little bully?” He needles at you playfully, but your frustratingly are having trouble keeping your thoughts straight while his fingers are trying to work into you.

He makes a happy hum as you interrupt yourself with a sweet, soft moan when his finger gently pushes into you at last.

“What was that, Ambassador? It sounded like you had a well thought out argument to make-” he chuckles as he pushes it deeper into you, pulling another noise from your throat.

“Y-you- mmhhhf-” you moan, squirming under him as he leans in and starts kissing you across the neck and jaw.

“Speak up, Lady Ambassador.” He chuckles, “why, this is no way to conduct yourself in a negotiation, making all these noises…”

He cuts off your next attempt at words by capturing your mouth with his own, and pulls his finger free of your clasping depths. You whimper against his mouth at the emptiness, but you aren't left alone long as you feel the head of his cock prod at your now somewhat more prepared entrance.

He releases you from the kiss, pulling back to grin mischievously at you. “Well?”

You blink, bleary eyed and confused. “…well what…?” You rasp breathlessly.

“Well, aren't you going to defend yourself against all my ‘bullying?’” He teases, rubbing his head along your soaked lips.

You blink again. “D…defend….” You frown, “What- you're the one who always bullies me-”

He stops you with another kiss, making you whimper a needy noise. “Well, maybe do your job you're so good at, hm?” He grumbles in an amused tone. “Go on, negotiate.”

The gears slowly turn in your hazy brain. “Negotiate… so you'll fuck me…?” You mumble.

He pushes the head of his massive cock just barely into you, making your hips instinctively rock, seeking more. He holds you by the waist and chuckles. “That's right. Maybe if you can argue your way into it, I'll bully you over it less.”

You frown, furrowing your brow. “You are such a brat, Cato.” You sigh.

You try and think through your sluggish, hazy thoughts. To negotiate, you just need to know what the other actually wants, and what they aren't willing to give up. Cato might think himself clever- and in all aspects of war he is. But when it comes to emotions, especially his own? The man barely figured out he liked you romantically, then was snappy while fucking you in a cave.

You clearly have the advantage.

“Fine.” You say, crossing your arms and putting one leg over the knee of the other. “I don't feel like playing your games today, Cato. You can't come into my office, days after me worrying for you, toss me on my desk and then push me around.”

He frowns, hands still holding your waist. “What?” He asks flatly.

“I don't want to play this game.” You repeat, huffing. “You can go. Find me when you actually want to fuck me.”

He looks like he was slapped. “You-” he sputters. “You're not serious.”

You shrug, turning your face away. “Nope, lost your chance.”

His mouth falls open a little. “I- I mean- I was just joking-”

You shrug again.

He frowns, scrunching his forehead hard. “Come on, little Ambassador, I just thought we were playing-” he says, voice tinged slightly with desperation as he rubs your crossed knees.

You pout. “I dunno. Didn't sound like playing.” you huff.

He frowns harder. “I- I mean- I'm sorry. Please don't throw a tantrum.”

You give him a small scowl of annoyance, and he snaps his mouth shut so fast you can hear his teeth click. “Sorry, sorry, not a tantrum-” he says, nervously clearing his throat. “Please, can we just…?” He smiles nervously, rubbing your thighs.

Your suppress a smirk. He's so easy to tease.

“Please what?” You say, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

He blinks at you, then grimaces. “Oh, come on-” he starts before you smile and shake your head.

“You won't be coming on anything if you can't use your words. Go on, Captain. Negotiate. I'm open to begging.” You smirk.

His jaw falls open again. “You crafty little-” he shakes his head and sighs, leaning over your legs. “Please, little Ambassador?” He says, cheeks tinged pink.

You grin. “Use your words, Captain.”

He groans. “Please can I fuck you?” He mumbles, cheeks warming further.

“You don't sound like you want it very badly.” You say with a mischievous grin. You uncross your legs.

He sighs and smiles, eyeing your teasing sex before leaning over you again. He cups your face, leaning his lips down to your ear.

“I need you, my little vixen.” He whispers with warm breath ticking your ear.

You swallow to sooth your suddenly very dry throat. “Oh-?” You rasp.

He prods at you with his head again. “Mm, I need you. I've thought of nothing but how you feel wrapped around my cock for three days…” he purrs, nuzzling your jaw. “Please, please let me have you…” he whispers huskily before nibbling at your earlobe.

You have a split second thought that you may need to get rehydrated after this with how quickly wetness rushes between your legs at his sweet, desperate words.

He feels your slickness and chuckles, rubbing the head of his cock between your lips and making lewd, wet noises from it. “Is that a yes, little vixen?” He rumbles softly.

“I- I suppose- I think I can spare a moment of my- busy schedule-” you barely rasp out.

He grins against your neck. “Then we have come to an excellent, mutually beneficial agreement. I suppose my earlier praise stands, you're pretty good at your job.” He teases, then lines himself up and pushes into your slick entrance.

A deep, husky groan is ripped from your lungs as he stretches you. Your hands instinctively cling to his neck and tangle in his hair.

“Uhnf- Cato-” you moan, head falling back and hair cascading across the still paperwork covered desk.

He lets out a deep, primal groan of his own, voice shuddering. “By the throne, you feel-” he moaned gruffly, “-amazing- I don't think I'll ever tire of this feeling-”

He sank deeper, filling you in a way you've been craving since he last had you. He bottoms out and sighs. He pants softly and grins down at you, flushed and squirming and panting little hitching noises.

“Holy Terra, you're beautiful like this.” He says almost dreamily. He tucks some hair behind your ear. “You're mine, right?” He purrs, rocking slowly in and out of you.

Your eyes roll back a moment as he starts to move. “Cato-” you groan.

He chuckles again. “That doesn't answer my question, my lady~” he slows his movement, making you whimper. “Tell me you're mine.” He demands in a soft, heady voice.

Your mind wipes blank a moment. “I- I'm yours-” you rasp, and you're rewarded with his cadence picking up again.

“That's right-” he pants, falling forward to cage your head in with his arms. “Mine-” he growls. “A-again-”

You gasp needily as his hips start slapping to yours faster, the sound of your thighs meeting his muscular stomach echoing with his balls slapping against your ass as he moves.

“I- I'm yours-” you pant out again, “yours- yours-”

He lets out a primal noise as he curls around you and begins hammering into you, losing himself in instinct. “Mine, mine, mine-” he snarls softly into your ear, pulling you sharply down to meet him every thrust like a toy. You worry a moment as you hear the wood creak on your poor desk, but it's drowned out in your mind when he slams back into you.

You feel your mind going hazy, lost in the feeling of being stretched over his cock over and over. As your gasps get higher and higher pitched, he pulls back just a little to watch your face with a dazed smile. “Mine…” he murmurs, cupping your chin and tilting yor face to meet his eyes. “I want to watch your face when you come for me.” He rasps huskily between pants. “I want to see that sweet face fall apart with how good I make you feel. How good it feels when I make you mine-” he growls softly.

You feel your stomach tighten at hia words, and its hard to keep your eyes on his as you feel your orgasm edge closer each deep thrust. “Cato-” you gasp. “I- I- unff-”

He grins at you, eyes lidded and breath coming in ragged gasps. “Good girl, look at you, so pretty like this-”

You whimper again, fists grasping desperately at the papers on your desk.

“Cato-! Cato!” You pant.

“Cato- I- oh throne-” you desperately grab for him and he holds you up by the back so you can press your forehead to his, looking up desperately into his eyes.

You gasp sharply as you feel the tightness snap in your belly, your walls squeezing his still pistoning cock in you.

“I love you-!” You cry out as you come.

He stumbles for a half second, eyes going wide and jaw slacking. Then he follows suit with you, and you feel him start to twitch in you as he snaps back into thrusting.

“Oh, throne-” he groans your name, then pants it hazily as you feel the full force of him like you haven't before, filling you to almost uncomfortable tightness before his come can spill out from you.

He hilts into you a few times more before collapsing around you, one knee on your desk, elbows holding him from crushing you while he gulped air like he was drowning.

Your fuck hazed mind slowly catches up with you.

Did you just-

During sex--!?

Your delirious warmth starts creeping with cold panic as you look up at his face- but it's quickly stopped when his mouth crashes into yours.

His tongue pushes needily around yours, and you quickly return it best you can, losing the fight against his aggressive, possessive need.

He breaks the kiss, both of you gasping, and holds your face between his hands.

Your eyes go wide again when you see his eyes are wet with unshed tears. He's fighting back crying clearly by the way his mouth keeps trying to tug down at the corners, the way his forehead is scrunched between his brows-

“I love you, too.” He whispers.

You don't realize you're crying until his thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Much more softly, he leans in and kisses you again

[lemon-russ]

A small inbetween due to popular demand- Cato needs to get The Talk (tm)

Poor Guillidad is at the end of his rope having to do this. But he's a better Dad than Emps so he grits his teeth and does it lol

taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye

Part 16.5/ ???

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Ao3 || Taglist request ||

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Sex talks, just awkward father son time

Summary: Cato gets The Talk (tm)

word count: 1,171

Cato follows behind Guilliman while he does his rounds of checking in on the various machinations of the chapter. To keep him busy, the primarch told him. They walked through the hangar now, and Guilliman stopped by a gunship, giving it an admiring look over.

“These have improved.” He says with a nod to the stormhawk. “We didn't have these back in my time.”

Cato watches as Guilliman gets closer to inspect the craft, looking over it's interior admiringly.

Somethings been on his mind though, since he was spoken to in the primarchs office.

“My Lord, may I ask you a clarifying question…?” He asks, standing straight backed with his hands behind his back, trying not to look nervous.

Guilliman looks over his shoulder out the ship door from where he was inspecting the various control panels. “Of course, Sicarius.” He says, motioning for him to come in. The primarch sits himself at the pilots chair, and Cato reluctantly sits co-pilot.

The proximity would make this more difficult, but at least they weren't looking directly at each other.

“Earlier, when you said, well… the talk….” Cato starts, turning his attention to some controls to his side and flipping a switch back and forth.

Guilliman freezes, then slowly gives Cato a sidelong glance. “…You… require some guidance…?” He asks, clearing his throat.

Cato frowns, not looking his gene father in the eye. “Well- just a question- we are taught in our training and initiation that Astartes are… well, infertile.” He says nervously, fidgeting with some controls.

Guilliman's face grows pale. “They- they tell you that-” he makes a tired groan, rubbing his temple. “Oh, terra. That's… can I assume you've been… operating under this assumption…?” he asks in a strangled voice.

Cato grimaces, glancing up at Guilliman and giving a small nod. His primarch sighs a weary sound.

“Well, you're not. No astarte is.” He says as he bores holes in the controls with his stare. “This must be a… miscommunication. Astartes don't have families, because they're supposed to be celibate, and if they aren't, duty comes first. But that does not mean the inability to… well, create a family…” he attempts to sound like he's reading it from text, matter of factly.

Cato swallows hard. “Does… does that mean the Ambassador-”

Guilliman scrunches his face in disgust and holds a hand up to stop him. “No- no, not… necessarily.” He says in a pained voice. “How long ago…?”

Cato looks hard at the panel. “The first time was… about a week and a half ago…?”

Guilliman makes a noise, “First time? How- when did you get a chance- wait, weren't you on the run on a rebel planet-”

Cato slinks down in his seat as Guilliman's eyes grow wider in horror. “Sicarius, you did not!” the primarch gasps, “While you were being hunted by an army? What, in a dirty hidey hole somewhere?”

“I mean- it wasn't like… in the dirt….” Cato defends in a mumble, face growing hot. “I held her up and-”

Guilliman groans and holds his hand up again. “She could get infections, or who knows what else,” he says, rubbing his palms down his face. “Okay, it's fine, she seems fine- I'll need to institute a sex-ed class for the whole chapter, it's fine” He grumbles.

Cato frowns, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat. He didn't mean to make her sick. He was immune to almost all disease and infection, it never crossed his mind that a baseline human could get sick from something so trivial.

“Did you…” His gene Father shifts awkwardly in his seat. “Did you, you know… do the riskier things…?” He forces out, unable to look at him.

Cato turns a little so his back is more toward Guilliman, playing with more switches, shoulders tight and raised nervously. “Y-yes.” He admits. “Is she… you know…” he mumbles, voice thick with worry. He heard that baseline women die when they give birth sometimes. Or die from being pregnant. So many things apparently can just kill a little baseline, now even sex?

Guilliman lets out a deep sigh. “Not necessarily.” He frowns and studies Cato, curled on himself anxiously. He squeezes his eyes closed and rubs his temples. “Alright, we're just going to cut straight to it.” He says, steeling himself and sitting up. “I'm going to explain all of this to you, answer your questions, and then I never want to talk about what you and the Ambassador do together ever again.”

A couple hours later, they leave the Hangar. Cato with a little more confidence in his step and smiling, Guilliman looking haggard, like he'd just returned from a months long campaign.

Cato now was an expert in the ways of sex, grilling his gene father for information for two hours straight. Now he understood everything- the Ambassador won't die, they have medical technology to handle things. He also learned he should not be taking her in dirty caves or in natural water like the hot springs- hearing what they did in natural hot springs and sand made Guilliman immediately order a full check up for the ambassador- but it's alright, he knows better now.

He smirks to himself. He can't wait to be allowed to go find her so he can use all his new knowledge on her, show her that he was a sex expert now. Of course he wouldn't flaunt that the information was new. He was Cato Sicarius. He was always the best at everything, of course.

There was one thing Guilliman told him that he was thinking he wasn't a huge fan of. How to not get her pregnant. He'd have to medicate her, or finish outside of her- not even a possibility in his mind- or use an annoying plastek like glove.

He smirks to himself. Now that he was an expert on all things reproduction, he is capable and qualified to make his own choices on the matter. And he thinks maybe the Ambassador would look cute all round. And she's good at handling things, doing her job with a child would hardly hold her back. Plus, He'll be forcing his way into a lot more of her body guarding roles, so if they had a child, he'd be there, and they'd both be totally safe.

Yes, he decides, working so hard to avoid it sounds like nonsense. It wasn't a guarantee anyways. So, might as well enjoy her fully. Sure, Guilliman would be annoyed with him, but he's been annoyed with him a lot recently, and things still were going great for him.

He'll just take the slap on the wrist if anything happens. Plus, He’s Cato Sicarius. He’s the best at everything. Everything includes fathering babies and caring for his little Ambassador, he assumes.

[lemon-russ]

They tried to flea bomb me but I endured. The fleas return.

Thank you as always @squishyowl for the dividers

Part 15/ ???

< previous || next >

Ao3 || Taglist request ||

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Mentions of sex, not much going on today

Summary: Cato and Titus have to hitchhike the galaxy, Ambassador is grounded

word count: 1,849

Cato Isn’t sure he actually wants to go home now. Sure, he and Titus are being forced to work together to find a way to get home, and for once at least have a shared dread that is helping them get along. Nothing brings Brothers together like getting in trouble by Dad, it seemed.

But if he goes home, he has to face the consequences. Has the Ambassador explained anything to Guilliman? How much did she tell him? Was he walking into a guillotine? He doesn’t know the penalty for sleeping with a Primarch’s diplomat / assistant / Pet?, but he knows that he also disobeyed his orders, technically hijacked a ship, and went AWOL for two days. AWOL to go bury his face between the legs of a baseline human that he’s starting to think his primarch is treating like a surrogate daughter.

“Maybe you can go on ahead and I’ll catch up.” He says to Titus, who is looking over the ship ports itineraries for a way home. Titus glances over at him with a confused look.

“What? You want to hang back and see if there are any other vulnerable baseline girls for you to defile?” He says with a small snort, turning back to the papers.

Cato presses his lips into a line. “I may be a little reckless, but I’m not unfaithful.” He grumbles, turning to watch ships land and leave.

Titus chuckles tiredly. “That’s the part you have a problem with…?” He mumbles as he turns a page. “Look, I know you’re afraid of what Guilliman is going to do to you, but you don’t get to just hide.” He gives a casual shrug. “If you die, you die. Face it like a man.”

Cato glowers at his battle brother. “Wow. Thanks. Really comforting, Demetrian.”

Titus rolls his eyes. “Don’t call me that. We aren’t first name friendly. And I’m not going to rub your back and tell you it’s going to be ok. You committed like, four crimes. I know I’m not one to go around thumping the Codex at people like Leandros, but even I have a line. Four is a lot of crimes for a week, Sicarius.” Titus says tiredly. “Plus, I still hate you.”

Cato huffed a breath out his nose and crossed his arms. “It was probably only three crimes and maybe a grey area misdemeanor, Titus.” He grumbles.

“Ah, grey areas, we all know how much the Ultramarines love grey areas.” Titus says sarcastically. “I think I found a route we can take to a trade planet, and from there we can probably get a ride home or at least charter one.” He says, closing the stack of pages. “We have about an hour until the ship arrives.”

Cato sighs deeply, slumping his shoulders. “Do you think Lord Guilliman will believe me if I say I had a lapse in sanity? A mental break from over work?”

Titus chuckles. “I think you would be the first Astartes to ever break their programming to do so, so, no. I don’t think he would. I think your only chance is to confess to it all.”

Cato grimaced. But Titus was right. Guilliman valued honesty and taking responsibility. The issue was to be honest meant he would have to admit he had no regrets. He wasn’t ready to apologize and agree to stay away from the Ambassador. He tried staying away from her and it made him lose his mind and steal a ship. Even now, he was anxious that she was out of his sight again.

Was Guilliman being easy on her about this? Likely. He spoils her, and he probably assumed everything was Cato’s fault. Which was absurd- He is the victim here, if anyone. The Ambassador was the one who wanted to talk about feelings after they slept together, and she was the one to kiss him when they got home the first time. She clawed her way into his psyche and cursed him with obsession. Not that he can be mad with her, which is only further proof of her mind games honestly.

“What about you? Aren’t you nervous, or are you too used to getting reprimanded?” Cato asks, following Titus as he leaves the hangar and walks to the lodging areas.

Titus rolls his eyes. “Getting in a scrap with a brother is not a serious offense, especially not when he finds out why I hit you. I think in this case of ‘I was trying to defend the Ambassador from a predator’ I will be okay. You, not so much. But that’s what you get for being a deviant.” He says with a mocking shrug and smirk.

Cato scowls at him. “And I think when I explain you were checking out her ass all day and just are jealous because of some crush you don’t wanna admit, you’ll be in trouble with me.”

Titus grits his teeth. “I am not- you’re insane, you know that? You’re projecting your perversions on me.” He snaps. Cato rolls his eyes as they walk into the lodging area, heading to their rooms to pack. ”Right, well have fun trying to unravel all that. I just know the way you were looking at her in that dress was the same way I was, and only one of us has her permission to do that.” He huffed, heading to his door.

Titus growls a little, then slammed his door behind him. A moment later he flung it back open. “You still have my clothes, too, asshole, and left your dirty ones on my floor.”

Cato laughs a bit. “Sounds like a you problem, Demetrian.” He says as he shuts his door behind him.

Titus lets out an angry huff. “Don’t call me- argh!” He grumbled as he slammed his already splintered door again.

__________________________________________

You stare at your pile of paperwork, pouting a bit and doodling aimlessly on a scrap paper. Things were a little awkward since you returned to the Macragge’s Honour with Guilliman. He knows about you and Cato now, though he has to keep asking you to clarify that yes, it is romantic, like dating, like intimate, and yes you are a willing participant, and noCaptain Sicarius does not have blackmail on you.

He also made you get more head scans, Recalling how Cato was worried you’d bumped your head when you got back from the first mission together. The scans thankfully showed your brain was squeaky clean and, despite what Cato says, full of wrinkles. You even got a copy of the scan to show him when he got back, next time he calls you smooth brained.

None of this comfoted Guilliman though. And now you were grounded. Well, not grounded, but lets be honest. He grounded you. He doesn’t want you to speak to Cato until he does, and in fear of your apparently “erratic and confusing” behavior, you now had new babysitters.

Brother Gallan and Brother Brutus took turns hanging out outside your office door, reporting to Guilliman any time you left the office and where you went. They were specifically not allowed near you quarters though. Embarrassingly, Guilliman would not take your word for it that you don't have some sort of low level psyker effect on his Sons that makes them fall in love with you.

You shudder at the thought. It was a new, previously unknown level of mortification that now your boss is afraid of letting his supermutant soldiers around you too long for fear they will fall for some siren song of yours. He actually locks down your quarters- if you leave, he gets an alert. You’re allowed to go where you like of course, but now he wants to make sure no one is leaving with you, or Emperor forbid returning with you.

You sigh and rub your face. You haven’t gotten any of your work done, because also mortifyingly, you still can’t stop thinking about Cato. Is he ok? Are he and Titus pummeling each other still? How do you get home without imperial ships? You frown and rub your temples.

There’s a knock on your door, and you can tell who it is by the height of the sound. “Come in, sir…” you say tiredly, as Guilliman lets himself in and comes to stand at your desk. He smiles awkwardly down at you.

“Ambassador. How goes your work?” He asks with forced casualness.

You press your lips and move a paper over your doodles. “Uh, fine, sir.” You lie.

Of course he doesn’t actually care how your work is going, so he doesn’t press. “Of course, diligent as always. On another note, I have been… Thinking.”

You frown a bit. “On what, sir…?”

He clears his throat, glancing at the wall. “About… you and Captain Sicarius.” He says. “I think, if I can talk to him- and after he serves punishments for his actions, I can’t let hijacking go- then if he seems sufficiently reasonable and dedicated, and you in turn…” he sighs and gives a resigned frown. “I’ll consider looking the other way on your…. relationship.”

You sit up, eyes widening. “Oh- um, thank you sir” you say with a little surprise. “That would mean a lot to me. I know it is odd but, I do like him a lot.” You add with a small smile.

Guilliman gives a tight frown. “Yes. You’ve made that abundantly clear, Ambassador.” He says with a small sigh. “…I mean… Have you considered Ventris…?”

“Sir!” You gasp, blushing. “Please! Th-this is not just me wanting to hook up with any Astartes-” you stutter.

He lets out a small groan. “Fine, fine. I just thought maybe you could consider your options. I have so many nice, obedient, responsible sons, and you choose Sicarius?”

You frown, crossing your arms, face still pink. “Please, sir, don’t make me explain it in any more detail than we are both comfortable with” You plead.

He sighs a long, deep sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll be heading back to my office then. Just… keep up the good work.” He says tiredly. He starts to the door, looks awkward, then walks back to your desk and pats you on the back. “You… you do a good job, Ambassador.” He says, clearing his throat.

You blink up at him, knitting your brows. “Uh… thank you, sir?”

He clears his throat again. “I did some reading. Some literature suggests that baseline women who do not feel like they receive approval from their patriarchal figures in their life will seek out men who do not value them well-”

“SIR!” You snap, cheeks burning.

He puts his hands up defensivly and returns to the door, “Okay! I’m going.” He chuckles. “I value and appreciate you, Ambassa-”

“LORD GUILLIMAN!” You interrupt with a shout as he chuckles and closes the door behind him.

[lemon-russ]

the girls are fighting

Part 11/ ???

< previous || next >

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Mentions of sex, sexism

Summary: Titus does not enjoy his beach episode

word count: 1,894

Titus paces the lobby of the visitor’s quarters. The Ambassador had run off emperor knows where with Captain Sicarius hours ago, and he’s getting antsy. Why did she want to be alone with him? They had just been talking about how awful he could be. They were just starting to talk like normal people. And why was the Captain here out of nowhere? out of armor and uniform of all things. It makes no sense.

Demetrian isn’t usually a stickler for the rules, But he does not get along with his captain, and he gets along very well with the Lady Ambassador. So it rubbed him the wrong way when Sicarius showed up and ran off with his charge. He's supposed to be guarding the ambassador but he doesn't even know where she is. If Guilliman finds out he let her leave without guards- sure, Captain Sicarius was technically there, but he wasn't even supposed to he here at all. And commands from a primarch outweigh commands from his Captain.

He goes back outside, frowning at the setting double suns of this world. He does not like his gut intuition about the situation. Sicarius had been outright hostile to Demetrian earlier, and hovering over the Ambassador possessively. He has a though but shakes it away. No, that was impossible. The captain wouldn't be… involved with the Ambassador. That's absurd. That would be the scandal of the decade, of the century. Captain of the second company, having a fling with his primarch's personal diplomat?

But Demetrian isn’t a fool. He saw how they looked at each other, and the Ambassador had called Sicarius Cato, then corrected herself. She knows it's inappropriate to be using Sicarius’ first name enough to correct herself, but is comfortable enough doing so it slips out on accident. His captain has a temper, but the venom he spit at Titus today was like nothing else. They are usually at least professional with each other. He shakes his head again, pacing the grounds of the resort. If she isn't back soon he'll go find them. She's supposed to be his charge, and he feels like Guilliman especially wouldn't like him lapsing in his duties if what he worries is happening is happening.

========================================

Cato was in nirvana. Him and his little ambassador- his- had spent the afternoon making love by a hot spring, kissing, speaking sweet nothings, and just enjoying each other’s company. She currently lay on his chest, watching the setting double sunset with him. He runs a hand up and down her back, head propped up on his other arm. He never knew life could be this good. That the galaxy held something besides unending battles- which to be fair, he loves- and horrors. That there was something, someone, so radiant and warm in the Imperium.

The Ambassador snuggles up under his chin, and he lets out a contented sigh. “Guilliman was right. This is basically honeymoon planet.” He chuckles, petting her hair.

She giggles back, humming as she runs her hands over his body. “It really is romantic, huh?” She murmurs. She is quiet a moment as they take in the sunset.

“So… when we go home…” she starts softly. He frowns. He'd been avoiding this conversation.

“What about it…?” He says gruffly, holding her closer.

She leans up on her elbows to pout down at him. “We can't like… be together, right? That feels… illegal. Or at least incredibly improper.” She says nervously.

He frowns and his expression tightens. “It is… certainly frowned upon. Not illegal per se…” he admits. He was most afraid of his father finding out. He was incredibly protective of the ambassador, shown not even in full by him sending three fully armored Ultramarines to guard her on her forced vacation. He shuddered. If he found out what he'd snuck out to do to her…

“Cato?” She asks, tone laced with worry. He snaps back to reality, giving her a small frown.

“We'll need to… be discreet, I think.” He says. “I could get in a lot of trouble with, well, basically everyone.” He says with a grimace.

It didn't feel fair. He had done so much for humanity. He was one of the greatest legends of the entirety of the Imperium, let alone of the Ultramarines. He was second only to his genefather, and maybe, maybe Calgar. Yet for all he does for them, they would snap away the one thing he's decided he wants. This tiny mortal woman. He moves to roll on his side, curling around her.

She hums and cuddles up to him, sighing as he rubs her bare back. All he wants is one small baseline human woman. That feels like a reasonable request. Maybe he could frame it like that to his father. He wouldn't take her from her duties. He just wanted to be with her on them. Or be the bed she comes home to. Just… to have her.

She looks up at him, setting suns casting a rainbow of warm colors over them, the nearby hot spring pool sparkling reflections on to the leaves of the trees around them.

“I want to ask Guilliman to give us his blessing.” She says softly. His hand stops on her back, and he looks down at her wide eyed.

“You… want to ask him?” That would… certainly help, honestly. If he does it, it would seem like he's preying on her, since Guilliman was so protective. But if his own little diplomat asked instead…

He pulls her close, a tiny glimmer of hope sparkling in his hearts. “That sounds like a great idea, little ambassador.” He says, smiling down at her. He smirks. “I'm surprised, your brain actually cooked up and produced a tangible good idea. Maybe you're evolving.” He teases, making her pout and give his chest a light smack.

“Really? You're still going to be like that?” She giggles at him. “What does it say about you, sleeping with a creature so un-evolved?” She chuckles.

He frowns a bit. “Hm. You're right. When you put it that way, no one must ever learn of this.” He playfully pushes her away, into the spring water, making her squeak and laugh as she splashes in.

“Cato!” She laughs as she shakes the water out of her hair. “I was almost dry! Now I have to go back to the visitor’s hall soaked!” She says, a little exasperated as she drags herself out of the water.

He smiles up at her from the ground. “And who forgot to bring towels along, so excited to get me alone?” He chuckles.

She blushes and crosses her arms. “I wasn't thinking…” she mumbles.

He grins. “When are you ever?”, and laughed as she kicked water at him.

They got redress into soaked clothes and bathing suit, and start trudging their way back to the central hall. They giggle and sneak kisses and walk side to side as the walk back, but as they draw close enough to hear people, they are forced to break apart and act somewhat more unfamiliar.

Titus is pacing the front of the hall, and he snaps his head up when he hears them, looking agitate. “And where in holy Terra have you two been? It’s been hours, Captain! I may be below you, but I was given orders from Guilliman himself-” he starts tearing into them.

Cato rolls his eyes and walks passed him. “We went swimming.” he says casually.

Titus scowls. “I can see that- but why did you have to go swimming alone for four hours?” He snaps.

The ambassador frowns at Titus. “I’m sorry Commander, I just lost track of the time, but Cat- Captain Sicarius was there, so I was perfectly safe” She smiled up at him.

==========================================

Titus scowls down at the little ambassador. She was seriously trying to pull this twice? He was embarrassed she got him once batting her eyes. And there she goes, almost calling Sicarius Cato again.

“My Lady, I was worried sick. What would I tell the primarch if something had happened to you?” He says frustratedly. “I cannot let this happen again. You must take at least one guard with you if you’re going to be going off with the captain again.” he insists. They will second as a chaperon, he thinks.

He eyes their wet, disheveled clothes and hair. The way they are standing just far enough a part that they aren’t obvious, but orbiting each other at that distance like they don’t dare go a step farther. He grimaces again.

The Ambassador pouts. “I don’t understand why that is necessary, Commander…” she says nervously.

He huffs, raising a brow. “Ah, I just got an idea.” he says, smirking. “I will simply send a message over to Lord Guilliman, and double check that it is alright that only Captain Sicarius guards you-”

He is interrupted by Cato. “That is unnecessary, Commander.” he says quickly. “We will stay in the vicinity of you and the other guards, less you lose anymore of your hairline to fretting needlessly.” He says in a mocking tone.

Titus’ mouth twitches down, and he runs an hand through his hair. His hairline is… fine. But he must have hit a nerve, and he smiles. Clearly Cato was lying about being allowed to come here. And as long as he didn’t want to be caught in that lie, he’d comply with whatever Titus demanded. He glances over to the Ambassador, and for a second feels a little bad. She looks upset at the Captain, pouting with her little brow scrunched. His hearts stutter a beat. Maybe it is cruel of him to break up her little love fest…

He shakes the thought. It is for her own good. A little mortal woman does not have the faculties to actually consent to whatever she was doing with Sicarius. It was a power imbalance, not to mention an intelligence imbalance, and she was naive and innocent, and wouldn’t know Cato is taking advantage of her. No, he had a duty to his father to protect the Ambassador, and a duty as a reasonable person to protect her from herself and from the Captain.

Titus smiles at Sicarius. “I’m glad we have an agreement. Now, shall we all head to the dining hall and get dinner?” He asked politely. He glances at the ambassador. “Ah, maybe after you put on some… more clothes that is, My Lady…” he adds, frowning.

She frowns and blushes a bit, crossing her arms over her mostly exposed chest. “Ah, right…” she mumbles, heading back towards her quarters.

He smiles and watches her go, eyes lingering a bit on her frame. Politely, of course. Sicarius gets his attention with a noise though.

“Enjoying the view, Commander?” He growls a bit. Titus raises his brow.

“I have no idea what you mean, Captain.” He retorts, returning the glare.

Cato grits his teeth, jaw twitching. “I would prefer you keep your eye’s on the Ambassadors face, Titus.” he says in a low voice.

Titus quirks a brow and frowns. “And I’d prefer you keep your cock in your pants, Sicarius.” he says, walking passed him to the dining hall.

Cato’s face pales and his mouth drops open a bit, before he scowls and clenches his fists at his side, watching Titus go.

[lemon-russ]

Stupid cato x ambassador 2: electric boogaloo

Guilliman, showing confused visiting chapter masters pictures of Ambassador: “and this is when I took her to the park, she made lots of little mortal friends, and this one it was her birthday, so I made her a little cake-”

Visitors: “and this is your… child…? Lover…?”

Guilliman: “what? No. My employee.”

______________

Cato: “my lord, I don't even think this is humane-”

Guilliman, lifting ambassador into large hamster ball: “of course it is, and its lazer and bolter proof! It's ok i put her favorite snacks in there. Look, she loves it.”

Ambassador: -eating cookies off bottom of hamster ball-

[lemon-russ]

Another slightly shorter one as i'm still getting over something

but I wrote enough that It started to haunt me so its ok it needs to be purged

Part 9/ ???

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 7.5 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

(both POVs today)

CW: Vague alluding to sex, not much going on today

Summary: Cato a makes sane and normal choices to take a beach episode

word count: 1,712

Cato has a brief moment of clarity. What is he doing. Oh holy emperor what is he doing. He acted on impulse, he'd ordered his ship to that warp damned paradise world, and now, he sat behind the controls of a thunderhawk, heading toward the planet the ambassador was on.

He breaks out in a cold sweat. He can still turn back- say he thought he received a distress signal or something. But he grimaces and can't seem to take his hands off the controls. He'll just say Guilliman told him he could pick his next assignment and he decided he also needed to relax. Why should the Ambassador and Titus be the only ones to get a break? Yeah, that's it. He's choosing to take a break. That's all.

His stomach was doing back flips, and his hearts were hammering against his ribs. What the hell is he going to tell her? What if she's cuddling up with Titus when he gets there? He gripped the controls harder, making them creak under his powerful hands. No, it's fine, he's allowed to do things. She doesn't own the galaxy. He can go relax in hot springs. With her. Or not, whatever, he's not just going there to see her. It's a coincidence.

He brings the thunderhawk down to land at the welcoming hangar. Well, he's already here. Might as well go look around at least. He's never taken a day off before.

_________________________________________________

You sigh, stretching out a bit in your chair. You have a fruity drink made from those fancy fruits this world is known for, and your feet dangle in warm, soothing water. You're laying out on a chaise partially in a natural hot spring, in a bathing suit you had to get while here because you've never needed one before. Not like this- any that the ultramarines have for mortals in their ranks are utilitarian one pieces. This one was basically underwear, two pieces and decorative, but everyone here was dressed like this.

You flop back in the chair and sip your drink. You're trying, you really are. But you're so, so bored. You kick your foot in the water a bit, trying not to pout. You're not ungrateful, you just wish you had more fun company. You glance at Titus, who stands politely nearby with his back mostly to you, as not to stare. “Are you sure you don't want to join, Commander?” You ask again hopefully. Is there a way to order someone to pretend be your friend? No, that's mean, that'd be an abuse of power. But you can ask nicely.

Titus glances over his shoulder, “Ah, again, I can't, apologies ambassador. But I am ok, do not worry for me.” He said with a smile, turning back. Uhg. He's nice, but by the throne you wish he'd let go a bit. You sigh and flop back out.

You sigh exasperatedly. “Commander, would it bother you if I talked at you?” You ask tiredly. He chuckles, and walks over to stand by you. “Of course not, Ambassador. Talk away.” He says softly. You roll on your side, laying on your hand. “Do you mind guard duty?”

He smiles a little. “It's not the most exciting, but also not so bad. You are pleasant company, my lady.” He chuckles slightly. You smile. “How do you feel about Captain Sicarius?” You ask.

He quirks a brow. “Uh, he's… well, what is it they say, if you don't have anything nice to say…?” He chuckled. “He is a good fighter, probably the best duelist in the Imperium. That is all I shall say.” He said, smirking. You raise a brow back. “Oh? So, he's an asshole to you guys too, is what I'm hearing?”

He laughs a deep hearty sound, “you could say that, lady ambassador. It seems you are not free from his wrath either.” He says lightly.

You chuckle and shrug. “He's a bit if a bully. But we get along sometimes.” You say, glancing away. You shouldn't say exactly how well you sometimes get along, you figure…

Titus doesn't miss your look, and his face grows curious. Before he can ask further, the two men nearby both make a noise. “Sir?” They say in unison, and Titus turns back to the entrance of the private little spring area.

Titus makes a surprised gasp as well. “Captain? What are you doing here? What is wrong?” He asks in a panic, hand flying to his bolter. “Is there danger?”

Your head snaps up and you jolt out of your seat. Captain? Cato? What in holy Terra-

“At ease, commander. I simply ran out of things to do, and Guilliman had recommend I take a break. I decided I would.” He says, walking into your view. Your brow shoots up. Hes out of his armor, and dressed…. Casually? Where did he even get plain clothes? They're still ultramarine fatigues, but the t shirt and loose pants types they'd sometimes wear in training.

Titus looks baffled. “You're… here to… take a break…?” He asks as if he's being tricked. Cato smirks that cocky way he does and walks past him. “what, am I not allowed?” He chuckles. Then his eyes fall on you and your heart stutters. He smiles and lets out a sigh, shoulders relaxing. Which confuses you a bit- he wouldn't come here just to see you, right…?

“Captain…?” You ask, standing. His eyes widen a bit as he looks you up an down. “Ambassador. You look… comfortable.” He says, clearing his throat. His eyes longer on your chest and you blush a bit. “As do you…” you say a bit awkwardly, eyeing how the shirt clung to his massive arms. Your mind betrays you with the image of those arms caging in your head as you look up at him from your back- stop, stop that, you scold yourself, focus.

“Are you here as a guard or…?” You ask, voice a little heavy- damn it, stop getting excited- You clear your throat again. He smirks a genuine smile. “Nope. Just decided it was super unfair you got to take a vacation and I had to work.” He says, not bothering to hide how he's looking at you.

Titus, still standing near you, clears his throat. “Captain, weren't you supposed to be training new applicants today-” he's interrupted by Cato shooting him a glare. “I checked on them. They're fine. And you will not speak so freely to me, Commander. I am still your captain.” He snaps. Titus flinches, frowning. “Ah- Apologies, Captain.” He says, frowning and looking away. Does he look… disappointed…? No, you're imagining things. But Titus makes no move to leave his guard of you.

Cato stares daggers at him for some reason, then pulls a chair over next to yours and sits, his massive frame making the poor furniture groan under his weight. He smiles down at you as you sit back on your chair. “So, how does one… vacation?” He asks with a chuckle.

________________________________________________________

Oh Emperor, what is he doing. He’s sitting next to the Ambassador, feet in a hot spring, sipping some horrible fruit drink concoction. He didn’t even tell his Father he was heading here. He lied to Titus when he arrived- Titus who stood infuriatingly close to the Ambassador constantly- and told him Guilliman gave him permission to be here.

But by the throne was is worth it. He was both very pleased by her current clothing, or lack thereof, and furious. He knew she’d be prancing around in nothing in front of Titus, but he didn’t expect whatever this thing was. underwear. it was underwear. Just enough to cover his favorite parts of her- barely- and even sporting a bow between her breasts. like a gift. He’s glad he opted for loose fitting pants as he shifts forward to hide himself a bit.

When he arrived she’d been laying on a chaise thing, talking to Titus all sweet and cute looking. He could kill him. He shot another dirty look at the commander, who tried to suppress another frown at the glare. Playing innocent, like he didn’t know why Cato was angry with him. Coward, he should admit he’d been trying to get close to her and grovel at his feet for forgiveness, or fight him for her like a man.

He huffs, glancing back at her. She looks a bit concerned. “You okay, Captain?” she asks with a small frown. He sighs, “yes, yes. Is there anything else to do? this is…” he gestures at the water. “Fine, sure, but, surely it’s not all this world offers…?” he says tiredly. She tilts her head, frowning and- is she blushing? She glances back at Titus. Emperor damned Titus, he knew there was something between them-

“Commander, you’d trust me to be with Captain Cato without an Escort for a bit, right?” she asks a little sheepishly. Oh. well, that’s better than he thought it was. Titus frowns deeply, brow scrunching. “Ah, My Lady-” Wow, really? he calls her Lady? “-The captain is unarmored, and Lord Guilliman insisted you have at least two guards…” he said, shuffling nervously.

She pouted- Throne he loves that face, he smirks- “Surely there’s no major dangers Cato- um, Captain SIcarius can’t handle himself? We won’t go far…” she actually bats her eyelashes at him. He doesn’t know if he should be jealous, disgusted, or impressed by her blatant display. But it works, Titus looks pained, frowning hard but sighing. “…Don’t go far.” He says tiredly. “Father will have my head if something happened to you…” he grumbled.

Cato grins. “Excellent, let’s go.” he says, hopping up and taking her by the arm. She grins at Titus, “We’ll be nearby, don’t worry” she assured, but Titus looked very stressed about it regardless. Cato smiles and follows her lead as she holds his elbow and leads them toward a building. Cato spares a smirk back at Titus, catching what he can only describe as unbridled jealousy on the Commander’s face. Cato grins wider, returning his gaze to the small mortal woman leading him who knows where.

He can think of an excuse to tell Guilliman later. For now he thinks a vacation was a very good idea.

[lemon-russ]

A bit of an interlude segment, the girls are still fighting

Edit: woops, lost a paragraph somehow, ive edited it back in, just after the first break. Not super important but odd feeling without it.

Part 12/ ???

< previous || next >

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Mentions of sex, slight? sexism

Summary: Dinner date :) just me and you and you and me and and us, and your nemesis Titus <3

word count: 1,730(ish)

Guilliman sat at his desk, doing paperwork, as he often did. He smiled up at a serf who came in. “Ah, there you are. Did you summon Captain Sicarius for me?” He asked.

The serf frowned and looked nervous. “Ah, Captain Sicarius isn't… available right now, My Lord.” They say.

Roboute scrunches his brow. “What? How? Is he on a mission? I had no word of one…” he frowns, shuffling through paperwork searchingly.

The serf shakes their head. “That's the thing, sir. He took his ship and just… left. Last coordinates are in this sector…” they show Guilliman their datapad.

He blinks at it. “… That's where I sent the Lady Ambassador and Commander Titus.” His brow furrows in confusion. “Why on holy Terra would Sicarius be there? How long has he been away?”

The serf shrugs. “At least a day, sir. He left no word, and the men aboard his ship said he took a Thunderhawk and hasn't returned.”

Guilliman frowns. It wasn't unlike Sicarius to take off without notice, but he was usually proper enough to at least send word after. And it wasn't like there were threats in that star system, that area is renowned for its peaceful and relaxing planets. They had no word of any warp disturbances or the ilk either. This was all very strange.

“He took a Thunderhawk alone?” He asks, expression confused. “Could you ask his men exactly which planet they are over?”

The serf nodded and scurried away. Guilliman had a suspicion about where Cato had gone, but it didn't make sense. Why would he sneak away to a vacation planet, where he knew Titus and the Ambassador were? It was unlike him to shirk duties to go gallivanting on vacations, and Guilliman was under the impression he did not particularly get along with either the Ambassador or Titus.

He sighs and turns back to his work. This whole thing was very odd, and it left Roboute uncomfortable.

__________________________________________________

Cato, Titus, and the Ambassador sit at a table in the resort’s dining hall. Cato is staring daggers at Titus, who is sitting directly beside the Ambassador on the other side of the table, politely eating.

The Ambassador pouts as she tries to cut a particularly tough piece of meat; the animals on this planet have tougher flesh than what they normally eat. Titus flashes a subtle smirk at Cato and reaches over to her plate to cut the meat for her into bite-size pieces.

“Oh- um, thank you, Commander-” she says with a bit of confusion but shakes it off and goes back to eating.

Cato’s eye twitches. All night, Titus has been the perfect, chivalrous gentleman, holding doors for her, helping her with small things, purposely staying between them because, as he alluded to earlier, he knows they are sleeping together and apparently does not approve.

He is going to strangle him. This oh-so-perfect asshole that everyone loves is now trying to get between him and his little ambassador. And his hands are tied. Titus was ordered by Guilliman to guard her, and they both know he isn’t supposed to be there in the first place. If he pushes it, Titus runs and tells on him to Dad like a child. His jaw tenses as he grinds his teeth.

The ambassador looks up at him and smiles affectionately, and he lets out a sigh, expression softening. It’s ok. this is fine. They’ll get through the next two days of this- because no way was he leaving her alone here with Titus after all this- and they can figure out what to do from there.

Titus looks unamused by their sweet glances. “Lady Ambassador,” He says, smiling down at her. “They are having a dance this evening in the ballroom. Are you going to be attending?” He asks.

She smiles and thinks. “I did bring gowns for it…” she glances at Cato again.

He smiles warmly at her. “A dance? I don’t think I've ever properly been, not as a guest. Since I'm not on guard duty, I’ll be your partner.” He shoots a wry smile to Titus, who’s grimacing again.

She smiles happily “Oh, thank you Captain, that would make it much easier for me.” she says warmly, then smiles up at Titus, “Thank you for the suggestion, Commander” she adds, making Titus’ eye twitch a bit. Cato smiles to himself and eats his dinner. He can guess Titus was about to suggest he bring her dancing, but he’s in armor, so he’d just be standing by a wall on guard anyway.

After dinner, The Ambassador heads back to her room, once again leaving them in the lobby. Titus purposely avoids looking at Cato, lips pursed and brow furrowed. What a grumpy child he’s being.

“What’s wrong, Commander?” he smirks at him. Titus’ jaw twitches as he grits his teeth. Cato grins a bit wider. “You wouldn’t happen to be stressed with The Lady Ambassador dancing with me, would you?” He says mockingly.

___________________________________________________

Just ignore him, Titus. He’s trying to goad you on, Titus thinks to himself as he grinds his molars to dust in restraint. He meant to ask the Ambassador if he could escort her to the dance alone, but Cato hijacked his idea. Now he’d have to go and watch them, because like hell he was going to leave them to run off alone again.

Cato grinned at him. With his stupid face. What kind of legendary Astartes has so few facial scars? He doesn’t even wear service studs. Too good for the traditions of the lower caste, probably. Or he’s just too vain to mar his precious visage.

“Grox got your tongue, Commander?” He asks, quirking a stupid eyebrow.

“I will not fall for your petty bait, Captain.” he grumbles. “Unlike some people, I don’t revel in causing fights.”

Cato rolls his eyes. “Please, you can just admit you’re unarmed for a battle of wits.” he chuckles.

Titus groans internally, but keeps his expression tight, ignoring the insults. This makes Cato bored, thankfully, and he just turns to pacing around the lobby instead. ”Women take so long to put on their stupid impractical clothes.” he complains. “I don’t know why she needs to put on layers of flimsy fabric, she could save time and be less of a hazard if she wore a standard uniform.”

Titus glanced at him with a half frown. “Because it looks nice.” he huffs. “What, like you’re immune to dressing up? Your armor is downright gaudy.” he grumbles.

Cato looks absolutely offended. “My armor is befitting my rank and status, Commander.” he snaps in annoyance. “It is the Mantle of the Suzerain, which incorporates pre-heresy pieces from Captain Orar’s own armor, symbols of the second company-” he’s interrupted by Titus.

“By the Throne, I don’t care. It’s gaudy. You look like a peacock in battle. All the better for me, since you draw all the War Bosses directly to you.” He snaps exasperatedly.

Cato huffs, pouting and crossing his arms as he goes back to pacing, now stomping and fuming a bit. Emperor, the cocky bastard, was so quick to get riled up. Titus wonders how he made the rank of Captain in the first place. He’s a good strategist, but his interpersonal skills left much to be desired. His men had a strained relationship with him at best. And he didn’t even seem to like it beyond the prestige of the title.

He prefers jumping headlong into battles, dueling whatever enemy looks strongest. Not behavior a decent captain should exemplify, especially not one of the Ultramarines. That nonsense might fly if he were a Space Wolf, but Cato should have been reprimanded ten times over for his behavior. Titus assumes he isn’t because, unfortunately, he wins. As cocky and unbearable as he is, Cato Sicarius always wins. Titus balled his fists at his side.

Thankfully, The Ambassador came back to free him of Cato Sicarius hell. She wore a beautiful ultramarine blue gown with gold accents, perfectly befitting a diplomat of Guilliman. Titus smiled warmly at her as she smiled and joined them.

“Radiant as always, My lady.” he said courteously to her. She smiled sweetly.

“You look like a tripping hazard.” Cato tacks on dryly. Her smile dropped, and she gives the captain a deadpan, tired look. “Would you have I go dance in a tunic and sandals, Captain?” she replies.

Sicarius smiles at that. “Yes, actually. Much more practical. And no one leering at you.” he says, nodding his head in approval.

She smirks and rolls her eyes. “And that is what you’re escorting me in?” she asks, raising a brow and gesturing at his outfit of a t-shirt and baggy fatigue pants.

He nods again. “Yes. I did not bring anything else but my armor.” he says nonchalantly.

Titus frowns. “You brought one set of clothes to a wet, hot, tropical planet that you planned to stay out of armor in for the whole time?” He asks incredulously. He knows Cato isn’t the brightest outside of battle, but…

Cato scowls. “Well, excuse me for not understanding the minutiae of civilian life. I’m not usually out of armor and away from my quarters for extended periods.” He grumbles.

Titus rubs the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to offend the locals, smelling like wet Astartes for three days. I have some spare clothes I can lend you so we don’t get kicked out…” he sighs. Emperor, was the captain dense sometimes.

Cato smiled, “Ah, excellent, I’ll take those now then Commander.” he said pleasantly, marching himself into Titus’ quarters. He frowns and follows him, watching Cato ransack his belongings with growing irritation.

“You’re welcome.” He bites.

“I did not say thank you, Commander.” The Captain says with a smirk over his shoulder. He steals a couple sets of clean clothes and changes right there, leaving his sandy, wet clothes right on the floor.

Assaulting a commanding officer is a grave offense, Titus. Assaulting your captain will end badly for you, Titus, He has to chant to himself like a mantra as they leave the room.

Cato walks over to the Ambassador and offers her his arm with a dramatic flourish and a smirk. She rolls her eyes, but giggled and takes his arm, letting him lead her down the corridor toward the ballroom.

Titus growls in his chest, slamming the door behind him so hard he hears the wood splinter. Assaulting a commanding officer will get you demoted, Titus, Assaulting a commanding officer will get you kicked off of guard duty forever, Titus…

[lemon-russ]

good news my fever broke and my regular illness of putting Cato in situations returned

this upcoming arc has been haunting my brain since someone?? prob moodymisty?? posted a list of trope-y things Cato would be forced to endure as a body guard, specifically diplomat going to a warm planet with balls and wearing revealing dresses and making him p a n i k. anyone knows the post lemme know it's haunted me forever.

Part 8/ ???

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 7.5 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

(both POVs today)

CW: Vague alluding to sex, Cato back to being mean

Summary: Ambassador heads off on vacation with Titus, Cato takes it SUPER well and is very normal

word count: 1,720

You try not to pout as you sit on the ship heading out to the planet you were being forced to take a vacation to.

Commander Titus and a couple of lower rank ultramarine's sit across from you, talking politely among themselves. Guilliman has forced you to rest after the scare you gave him on that planet that rebelled.

You sigh a bit. You heard Cato swept through the place in a day with the second company. Titus said he was on a warpath- he always delighted in battle, but this one was a personal vengeance against the people that put them through all the trouble of having to rescue the both of you.

Now you're off to a particularly pleasant agri-world, renown for their fruits and home to hot spring baths and nightly dances. The marines with you weren't thrilled about standing around while you relaxed on warm beaches, but unlike Cato, they would never dare voice it. You were a high ranking diplomat, personal ambassador to Guilliman. Most marines show you a modicum of general respect. Then again most ultramarines were very professional all around. Cato is an outlier in his attitude and disrespect.

Which is nice. It's nice to not be bullied and teased. Nice to not have a whining huffing rain cloud following you. Nice… and a little boring. The two lower rank marines don't talk much, and when they do it’s polite “yes, Ma'am.” And “of course, Lady Ambassador.” Titus was a little better, still reserved, but seemed to at least understand you were looking for conversation, so tried his best.

You smiled at him a bit. “Will you be taking part in any of the activities, Commander?” You ask, desperate for conversation. He smiles politely. “Ah, no, Lady Ambassador. That would mean I'd not be properly guarding you, and, I am here to guard you.” He said apologetically. You sigh. “You mean here to babysit me…” you mumble, putting your head on your hand and looking out the window. Babysit was the word Guilliman used for it, specifically. Calling you a disobedient child when he'd found you sneaking paperwork.

Titus let out a soft chuckle. “I'd never want to imply you were childish, my lady.” He said with a small smile. “I am merely here to ensure a less dramatic trip for you than last time.” you sigh. You were disappointed when Guilliman told you he was removing Cato from your guard. You don't know why you were. He was a huge pain in the ass, a bully, and caused most of the issues. But your mind flashed to him pinning you to that cave wall and you flushed a little. Damn it, Cato. You couldn't get that day out of your head.

He would have just cause you issues here, too. But you had secretly hoped a bit that you'd get to convince him to join you in a hot spring- no, no stop that. Its bad enough you kissed him for some reason. Everything is so complicated with him now. You hate him a little, but you also kinda really like him, and you definitely are attracted to him… and you can't get all these images and memories of him out of your head. He's haunting you and it's making you angry at him by proxy. Stupid Cato.

Titus glances at you a bit while you think. “Lady Ambassador? You look upset, is all well…?” He asks with a small frown. You blush a little, sitting up properly. “Ah, sorry. Just have things on my mind. No need to worry, Commander.” You say, composing yourself. He looks unconvinced. “Ah, I wont pry then, my lady.” He said politely.

Cato would pry, you think. No, that is unfair to Titus. He is very kind, more personable than most other ultramarines too. But he's so… professional. And polite. He sometimes will respond with a light joke if you do so first, or laugh at something. But mostly he just smiles and nods and stands an appropriate distance away. As he should, that's how a bodyguard should act. But you'd gotten used to Cato cracking jokes at your expense, and insulting random passing nobles, and walking right next to you to force you to walk into walls and things. Which is annoying. But at least it was something.

The thunderhawk jolted a little as it began to land, and for a split second your heart skipped a beat and your hand jumped to your harness. You'd been a bit jumpy about flying in small craft since the thunderhawk crash. And much more on top of keeping buckled in.

Commander Titus frowns as you flinch and grab the belt, lifting a hand a little towards you, “Ah- my lady? Are you alright?” He asked politely, confused about what happened. You frown a bit, “oh, yes, sorry. Just, a little spooked by the landing…” you play it off a bit, giving a tight smile. He raises his brow but nods and sits back as the thunderhawk finishes its landing sequence.

The marines help you unload your things and you get off the ship and look at the pretty planet you’ve landed on. Lush tropic greenery, warm breezes, greco-romann looking buildings with lots of open to the air arches. there’s a beach and gentle waves nearby, and you think you hear a waterfall. You try and force yourself to stop thinking about how much work you’ll have back home, but what if Guilliman didn’t understand your file system? did he get those things filed in time- No, stop it, relax.

You sigh, pursing your lips. you take all your unwanted thoughts, worries about work, worries about deadlines, and the stupid thoughts of Cato Sicarius saving you from burning shipwrecks and pinning you to walls- and you file them all away in your mind in your mental LATER pile. You sigh, and try and soak in the warm air. You’ll get to it, in a few days. You were ordered to relax, and you hate not following orders.

___________________________________________________________

Cato paced the training fields, watching some of the newer aspirants to the Ultramarines do drills. They’d all passed trials, and it was one of his responsibilities to keep up on new recruits to the company. He didn’t normally take fresh marines, but he liked to keep an eye out for talented new Astartes. He needed the distraction anyways.

That world had been far to easy to run through, barley taking a day to fall to the impirium. It was meant to calm him, leading the charge, but it was only more infuriating how he had been cornered by people so weak and low tech. He growled to himself, and pulled his un-powered power sword out, practicing his regular drills on the combat dummy. Stupid primitive world. Stupid Titus, gallivanting on that stupid romance planet with the Ambassador- he chopped a chunk of the dummy off- Stupid Ambassador, kissing him randomly and then barely talking to him for two days- another chunk flew off- Stupid, warp-damned woman keeping him up all night, haunting his mind- The dummy shattered into a splintered mess with a hard swing. He growled, then stomped it a few times. Stupid combat dummy that can’t even take him going light on it.

He lets out a frustrated snarl and throws his sword to the ground, running his hands through his hair. What were they doing right now, his throne damned commander and the ambassador? Nothing good could come from them locked away together for days on a planet Guilliman described as “one of the few places left a noble could take a honeymoon.” He bets Titus is being unprofessional- he never knew how to stick to the rules. He bets he's taking her dancing- he's probably stealing a dance with her right now. She always dresses so impractically, and it's warm there, is she wearing something even more revealing? Is Titus eyeing her the way he did?

He heel stomps the dummy once more for good measure, picks up his blade, and storms off toward the Hangar. He has to go fight something, anything. He'll ask around for leads on something to kill and go focus on things that actually matter, like defending the Imperium. And not stupid, vapid women who probably are taking the first chance alone with Titus to give him secret kisses and hide away in corners with, doing emperor knows what in hot spring pools. He's fooling himself thinking he'd be an exception anyways, the way she smiles at everyone who looks at her, she's probably in everyone's beds. Everyone's but his.

He slams his fist on the button to open the hangar doors. One of his men looks up at him and grimaces. “Are we going out again today, sir…?” He asks, and Cato just nods and scowls. “Get everyone together, we're going… going… somewhere- it doesn't matter, just get the men in here!” He snaps. The marine frowns but nods, scrambling up to follow his orders.

He lets out a long, frustrated sigh, gripping his hair a bit as he runs his fingers back through it. If Titus lays a finger on her, he's going to kill him. He doesn't care if that's the worst thing a marine can do, betray a battle brother. Titus would be betraying him first, touching his woman- he stops dead in his tracks.

When did he start thinking of her as his?

Holy golden throne, she's driving him mad and she's not even here. She's broken his mind, flipped some switch he can't find to turn off again. He hates this, he hates her- but by the emperor, he hates the thought of her and Titus doing what he and she had done most. He grits his teeth and smashes his helmet on, stomping onto a thunderhawk. If his men weren't here in 30 seconds he was going without them. He white knuckled the hilt of his power sword.

In his mind he was desperately trying to shove all these feelings and thoughts into the overflowing WEAKNESS box, but there was just nothing rational left to think about. He's hanging on by a thread, and his men now have 20 seconds to be on this ship before he went and tore through some Orks alone.

[lemon-russ]

No Ambassador today, just getting a talking to from Guillidad.

Part 16/ ???

< previous || next >

Ao3 || Taglist request ||

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Anxiety, Mentions of sex, not much going on today

Summary: Cato has a heart to heart with his dad

word count: 2,882

thanks for the dividers @squishyowl! Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye

Cato sits across from Titus, shoved into the back of a too small cargo hold.

Titus shifts in his seat, his knee grazing Catos as he tries to find a comfortable spot while hunched in the tiny seat.

Cato scoffs, knocking his knee aside with his own. “Don't touch me.” he grumbles.

Titus shoots him an annoyed look. “Oh please, don't start. You're the one who suggested we hop an earlier ship.” He snaps back.

Cato scootches himself back against the wall of the ship a little harder, crossing his arms. A small shake in the craft makes him bump his head on the short ceiling, and he groans as he curls himself forward.

“I didn't know it was made for apparently a single, very small baseline.” He huffs. The Ambassador would be plenty at home on the tiny transport, he thinks to himself. He imagines them stuck in it together, her little body tucked into his lap, him holding her protectively, his face nestled in her hair and smelling the sweet smell of her perfume-

Titus bumps his knee against his again, snapping him from his thoughts. Cato scowls and knocks his leg away again. “Stop that.”

Titus returns a scowl of his own. “You stop. You think I want to be stuck a foot apart from you while you go off in daydream land about the Ambassador?”

Cato flushes. “I was not-” he starts to protest.

“Oh like hell you weren't.” Titus snaps. “I've never seen your face get so… so soft except when you look at her.” He grumbles, trying to stretch himself to the other side. He was a bit bigger than Cato, and obviously was having a harder time with their cramped seats. “You think I want to be stuck face to face with you while you're staring off, daydreaming and thinking lecherous things about a high ranking official?”

“Oh shut up-” Cato mumbles, feeling his face warm further. A week ago he'd kill someone for even suggesting he would be distracted by such base things as a baseline woman. But now here he was, doing exactly that, and he can't even deny it.

Even still, he wishes she was here with him. It'd been two days since she was retrieved by their primarch. If he'd known that dance would likely be the last time he was allowed to see her, he'd have focused more on her instead of getting distracted with wanting to piss Titus off.

He pointedly stares at the wall, leaning back and crossing his arms, trying to look annoyed. He didn't like that Titus could read his thoughts through his expression. He wasn't sure what he meant by his face looking “soft”, his face was made of muscle and skin, of course it was “soft” in some parts. And hard in others. Stupid Titus, he thinks to himself.

He glances over at his battle brother, who was staring at the other wall in a similar pose. Cato's eyes narrow as he studies his brother’s face. His eyes were…. Eyes? Somewhat closed? His mouth was… frowning a little? Cato huffs a little. This tells him nothing. Stupid Titus must have been lying to get under his skin and just guessed what he was feeling.

“Hey-” Cato gruffs. “What are you thinking?” He asks.

Titus looks at him and furrows his brow. “What?”

“Your thoughts.” Cato says tiredly. “Tell me them. I'm trying to see something.”

Titus’ face scrunches. “Uh… I'm thinking I'm pissed off and annoyed having to be stuck with you like this for hours?” He says, eyeing his brother incredulously.

Cato frowns. “Hmph.” He huffs, turning back to staring at the wall. He couldn't tell that at all from Titus’ face, it just looked like face. Not harder or softer or any other texturally different than any other time. Stupid lying Titus, pretending he could read thoughts through faces. Maybe he's a secret psyker. Maybe he could report him as a secret psyker and get the satisfaction of watching him be dragged off by inquisitors.

The thought makes him smile to himself, and Titus sighs. “What on Terra is so funny, you cryptic ass?” he asks tiredly.

Cato bristles, snapping his eyes back to Titus. “What- stop that.” He snaps, “How are you doing that?”

Titus frowns and knits his brow. “Doing… what…?”

Cato scowls. “Reading my thoughts. I know you're not just doing it from my face.” He sits up and side eyes Titus. “Are you a covert psyker…?” He asks in a low, paranoid tone.

Titus’ jaw drops a little. “You… you can't be serious.” He says, studying Cato's face, his own baffled.

Cato frowns harder, and Titus lets out a deep sigh. “By the emperor, this explains so much, yet raises so many more questions…” he mumbles, shaking his head and turning back to stare at the wall.

Cato scoffs and turns back to his own wall. “Stupid lying psyker. I'm onto you.” he growls, curling in on himself defensively.

Titus rubs the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed. “How in the god emperor's name did you manage to seduce a woman…” he mumbles under his breath.

Cato pouts to himself, ignoring his cryptic maybe-psyker gene brother. He tries to keep his mind blank, but his overworked thoughts eventually fall back to the Ambassador. A pit forms in his stomach at the thought that he'll probably not only never be allowed to guard her again, but Guilliman likely would ban him from so much as sharing a planet with her.

Maybe he'd be consigned to a death oath if Guilliman was angry enough. He wasn't sure there was anything specifically in the codex about sleeping with the primarch's top Ambassador, but Guilliman wrote the codex, so he could likely be found guilty just in spirit. Even then, if he survived whatever mission he'd be sworn to go do or die trying, even if he was forgiven, then what? He'd still be forced apart from his Ambassador.

“Hey.” Titus’ voice breaks him from his spiral, catching him off guard. He glances at Titus, who actually looked somewhat… well, not angry. Was he worried? What face had Cato been making now? Or was it more of his brother's psyker powers reading his anxious mind?

“What?” Cato asks, pulling himself together and sitting upright more, forcing his face into a glare.

Titus just frowns more. “You, uh, look a little stressed.” He says awkwardly, shifting so he can stretch a leg out. “You really that worried about going home…?”

Cato looks away, trying to keep his face neutral. “No.” He lied, “Just wondering what my death oath will be. There's not much in the Galaxy that would pose a suitable threat to me, maybe I'll end up a one man army against an ork invasion or something.” He says with a forced smirk. “So I guess you'll be in charge while I'm gone.”

Titus chuckles a little. “Cocky bastard as always. I doubt you'll be sent on a death oath. It's not like Calgar is doling the punishment, it's Lord Guilliman.”

“Well-” Cato shifts in the cramped seat, “I suppose it depends on what the Ambassador told him. And if he's calming down or getting angrier while I'm gone.” He shudders internally, praying it was the former.

Titus looks at his face a moment in silence, making Cato squirm and frown. “What?” He asks gruffly.

He shakes his head a little. “Nothing. I wouldn't worry. Whatever you've done to the Ambassador, she likes you. And I don't think Guilliman would condemn you to a death oath if it would upset her.” He says, shifting back to looking at the wall. “But you should stay on her good side. If you upset her, Guilliman would have more fuel to exile you.”

Cato huffs out his nose. “As if I'll ever see her again.”

“True.” Titus says, then smirks and glances back at Cato. “I'll tell her you were all soft and pathetic over her when I guard her again though, don't worry.”

Cato scowls, crossing his arms and looking away again. “You're such an asshole, Demetrian.” He mumbles.

Titus smacks his leg with the side of his own. “Stop calling me by my first name or I'll tell her you ran off with a resort girl the second she was gone. That will get you sent to a death world.” He threatens, but his tone is teasing.

Cato rolls his eyes. “And I'd conquer and come back just to tell her what a lying asshole you are before you sink your claws into her in my stead.” He retorts, smacking his leg back.

Titus chuckles. “You keep assuming I'm as vile as you. Whatever helps you sleep, pervert.”

Cato opens his mouth to retort when he's stopped by a jolt of the ship as it starts to port. He feel a cold wash down his spine and the pit return to his stomach.

Titus’ teasing smile falls as he watches the color drain from his brother’s face. He sighs and gives him a nod. “Welcome home, Captain. Emperor have mercy on you.” He says in a more solemn tone.

Cato nods back without meeting his eyes. He hopes the Emperor would do just that.

_________________________________

Cato stands before Guilliman's desk, a mirror of how he stood nervously before him worried, he'd be punished for failing to protect the Ambassador, what feels like ages ago now.

Except that day he was worried for no reason, and his gene father quickly assuaged his worries. Now Guilliman's usually tired but kind eyes are seething and cold as he silently stares Cato down. He'd been glaring at him silently for 4 minutes and 37 seconds now, and Cato could hardly manage to keep his expression neutral.

Finally, his primarch sighs and leans forward to support his elbows on his large desk, folding his hands together. “Captain Sicarius.” He says, breaking the silence.

Cato nods, swallowing a dry gulp. “My Lord.”

Guilliman pulls an old, worn copy of the codex astartes from a nearby shelf and drops it on the desk. The crack of the impact echoes off the walls, the only sound for a few moments.

“I have scoured and reread the words I know by heart, and I cannot find a concrete rule you have transgressed upon.” He finally says.

Cato starts to let out a held breath from his nose, but stops when Guilliman stands, placing his hands on his desk.

“However-” the primarch says, returning his steely gaze to his wayward son. “I can always write more when new situations arise that require clarification.”

Cato tries to suppress the clawing fear in his stomach. “And… what would those rules be, exactly, sir…?” He rasps out.

Guilliman's mouth twitches down at the corners, trying to maintain some professionalism. “I suggest you do not contribute to the conversation until asked, Sicarius.” He says in a flat, cold tone. Cato swallows and gives a terse nod.

“As I was saying-” he says, flipping open the codex. “I can interpret the spirit of the law and record new needed rules if I must.”

He rounds the corner of his desk, coming to a stop right in front of Cato with his hands behind his back, forcing him to crane his neck to look up at him.

“Unfortunately-” he says with a frown. “I made an, ehem, pinky promise to the ambassador not to kill you, and to give this whole… situation a chance.” He gruffs, frown deepening.

Cato blinks a few times as he processes the demi-gods words. “A… A pinky promise, Father…?” He croaks out.

Guilliman sighs. “Yes. Of which the ambassador assures me the repercussions of breaking are dire.”

He turns his back to Cato, walking to stare out a window with a disgruntled frown. “So, I will not condemn you to a death oath, as much as I would like to. But I will be setting rules.”

Cato, still somewhat in shock, takes a second to respond. “Rules for what, sir…?”

Guilliman glances back at him. “For… for dating the Ambassador. Or whatever it is you two are doing.” He says with a huff.

Cato's mind reels. He wasn't going to be exiled? Or banned from seeing her? She'd actually convinced the primarch to give them a chance? An unconscious smile starts to spread across his face before he quickly schools it when Guilliman shoots him a warning look.

“Firstly, I will be keeping a close eye on her. If I find out you have coerced her at all, in anyway, or even suspect she may be being forced into saying or doing something, I will skip the oath of death and end you myself.” Guilliman says, leveling a look at Cato so cold it makes him shiver.

“I- I'd never, my Lord-” he starts, but Guilliman holds a hand up to stop him.

“Please, I'm trying to be thorough.” He says. “Apparently I have been too vague in the past, so I want to be especially, specifically clear.”

Cato nods once and Guilliman turns back to the window. “secondly, if she ever wills it, she can cut you off at any time. I'll make sure you never share an orbit with her if she so wills it. You have far too much power over her for me to leave her to your mercy.” He continues.

“Lastly… just…” Guilliman sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Just keep it under wraps, please. I don't want this to become a thing marines think they can do. I'm making an exception as a favor to the Ambassador. Don't let others know about… any of this.” He says in a tired, defeated voice.

Cato nods slowly. What did the ambassador do to his gene father? To not only get off punishment free but, with pretty reasonable restrictions? He almost chuckles, his little ambassador had the Lord Reagent wrapped around her finger and probably didn't even realize it.

Guilliman groans and flops back in his seat, looking a few years older than at the start of their conversation. “And for the love of terra, if I ever have to even think about what you are getting up to together, let alone see or hear it-”

Cato's face warms again, “oh- of course, sir, never-” he says, coughing awkwardly.

Guilliman stops him with a grimace, “Don't even say it. Please, keep anything like that so far out of my range I can keep assuming you're a functioning, desireless astartes.” He groans.

Cato blushes more, but nods. “Y-yes, my lord.” He confirms, shifting foot to foot.

Guilliman sighs and looks away a moment, then grimaces and looks back. “I don't have to give you, you know… the talk?” He mumbles.

Cato flinches, “oh, emperor, sir please don't-”

Guilliman nods, rubbing his face with both hands, “Good, good, okay-” he mumbles, “Don't- I mean, she's got a career, it would make her job so difficult if she-”

Cato puts his hands up, pleading for his gene father to stop speaking, “Sir- I know- please stop” he begs.

To be fair he hadn't actually stopped to worry about that. He kind of assumed he was infertile. A cold shiver runs down his spine as he remembers he very much was not concerning himself with those things in the cave, or by the pools.

Guilliman sighs, head falling to his propped up hands and rubbing his eyes. “Okay, good. Now please just- go. Send Titus in on your way out.” He grumbles.

Cato raises a brow. “Titus?”

“Yes, your vigilante battle brother who god in a mud covered fist fight- don't think you're getting out of that either, by the way. Or the ship thing.” He says, shaking an admonishing finger. “I just need to cool off before I can properly think of punishments, but you're still suspended until I do.”

Cato sighs, but nods. “Yes, sir. Understood. I'll send Titus in.”

He gives an aquillian salute, then takes his leave, leaving a very distressed primarch at his desk. Outside the office, he allows himself to smile. Sure, he was in trouble, but that felt like nothing when he'd be able to see the ambassador without punishment.

Titus is smirking and leaning against a wall, but his expression falters when he sees Cato come out smiling.

“No fucking way you got away with it-” he starts, scowling and walking toward him.

Cato grins. “Lord Guilliman would like to see you.” He says teasingly.

Titus’ face drains of color. “You can't be serious-” he starts, but Cato walks away chuckling.

“Have fun, Demetrian.” He calls back.

Titus lets out a frustrated groan before Cato hears the office door close behind him.

Now, Cato thought, Where's my little Ambassador hiding?

[lemon-russ]

Cato doing his job protecting Ambassador from having to sit on ruins. Who knows what could be on those old pillars. Best she sit on his lap. For safety.

[lemon-russ]

you've heard of walk of shame, now get ready for-

thunderhawk ride of shame. it's the same thing but now on a space ship.

I should think of a name for this whole thing but anything I think of makes me recoil into my own skin with cringe i'm terrible at this.

Part 6/ ???

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 7.5 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Talks about sex, Cato being a bully (verbally)

Summary: Going home to the big ship in the sky (that makes it sound like they died they're ok it was literal)

word count: 2,050

A fresh thunderhawk met you a few miles away. With much less drama, you were able to get on and take off, leaving behind the angry rebels below.

You watch Cato talk on a vox device with Guilliman. “Yes- it was a trap, sir. Yes, she's- well fine is a stretch but physically mostly unharmed. …no, no real injuries, just scrapes and bruises, though I'd like her checked by apothecaries for head injury-” he glances away as Guilliman say something in his ear. “Ah- well, she was just, bumped around a lot, and there was a thunderhawk crash…” he glances back at you, brow scrunched as he eyes you up and down. Are his cheeks pink…? No, it must be the lighting.

“Yes, she… performed her job admirably, my lord.” He said, looking at his feet and pursuing his lips. You roll your eyes, smirking. of course he's embarrassed to praise you in front of you. Ass.

“Yes, the leader had it planned from the beginning, The Ambassador had no chance. It is my fault I did not see it coming faster, I'm sorry, my lord.” He said, sounding actually regretful. You hadn't actually seen much of Cato interacting with his genefather, and you're a little surprised in the change in his demeanor. He's never sounded so respectful, and you're even surprised to hear genuine remorse in his tone.

Cato turned away, listening to Guilliman again. “Very well, sir, we're on our way up now. Oh, permission to lead the charge, Lord Guilliman? Yes, I think it would clear my mind a bit to return with my company and cleanse this world and bring it into the Imperium that way. …excellent, thank you, my lord.” He says, smiling and ending the communications. He lets out a sigh and leans on the wall. “Thank the Emperor, something real to do…” he says, shoulders relaxing.

You roll your eyes a little. “Don't let this make you think diplomacy never works.” You say, “I've brought plenty of worlds into the Imperium safely and with minimal loss of lives through paperwork and cooperation.”

He raises a brow. “And how many of those rebel instead, like this one? Or rebel right after? I understand manpower is a luxury, but it just feels easier this way.” He says, rolling a shoulder and stretching his arms. “I can't wait to cut through those men. How dare they oppose the Imperium of man.” He huffs a bit. “And how dare they kick you around-” he frowns, interrupting himself. “-Us, how dare they kick us around…” he mumbles, looking away again. He walks to a window, looking down at the dark desert below them. “I'll teach them the Emperor's light through the most tried and true method.” He smiles, patting the hilt of the Talassarian Tempest Blade.

You sigh. You suppose they did kill those three men and take down your thunderhawk, it was hard to care much about it. You just prefer when things don't go sideways. “Well, I hope it helps you process your…” you wave a hand at him, “emotions.” You say tiredly. He frowns at you. “I have no such things.” He says with a small harrumph. “My only emotions are loyalty, service to the Imperium, and rage.” He grumbles.

You smirk a tiny bit. “And lust.” You add teasingly. He flusters and glares at you. “That- that was a momentary lapse in mental faculties. Leftovers from a time before I was reborn through geneseed. A hiccup.” He snapped quickly, looking, dare you say, embarrassed.

You quirk an eyebrow up. “Oh? And you haven't been repeatedly eyeing me since then? I'm imagining that?” You say, smiling at his increasing discomfort. He grimaces angrily at you, almost pouting. He takes his helmet off of his hip where it was maglocked, and makes a point of putting it on while staring at you, hiding his face. He turns back to the window, arms crossed, and stares out. By the throne, he is so dramatic. You can't help the chuckle that squeaks out at his indignant display.

He looks back at you over his shoulder, “What are laughing at now, cackling like a swamp hag?” He snaps. You try to stifle your giggling, “N-nothing, of course.” You snicker, “Just- you look like a toddler in time out right now. You are radiating grumpiness.” You giggle.

He huffs, and stomps off to the door to the helm, slamming the door close button behind him. What a petulant child he can be, all because you pointed out he obviously gets horny, literally an hour and a half after he fucked you in a dirty cave while being hunted by an army.

You chuckle to yourself a bit, then sigh and rest your head against the seat. You touched the straps on the seat holding you in. You're never going to forget to put these on again, that's for sure, it was lucky Cato strapped you in the first time before the mortars hit the thunderhawk.

You shiver at the memory, the sickening feeling of losing altitude making your stomach flip. This time, you got in the thunderhawk and he didn't even put you down, he walked you over to the chair and strapped you in immediately. You smile and eye the door he probably was just fuming on the other side of. How can a man be so stupid about his own feelings but so smart with combat and military tactics?

He obviously has feelings for you. He admitted he cared about you, he's been fretting over you like a mother hen even if he's an ass about it while he does, and obviously he finds you attractive. Your hand runs over the bruises and bite marks across your neck, and you use a dark window to check them. Holy Terra, Cato. you could kill him. You flush at how marked up your neck and shoulder are with love bites and hickies. Your gown is in tatters, the only thing on you is Cato's cape, tied around your shoulders like a blanket. How are you going to explain all this? You have to see Lord Guilliman when you get back. You flush redder and sink in your chair, sighing.

The rest of the trip back is uneventful, and Cato only returns to where you sit in the hold when the ship is nearly landing in the flagship. He has his helmet off again, and sits in the seat farthest from you, crossing his arms and staring ahead.

You raise a brow at him. “Why are you so pouty? You were all “Cato Sicarius is the best at all things” a bit ago.” You ask, crossing your own arms. He frowns, sparing you a sideways glance. “I have to go tell my Primarch his stupid ambassador almost got herself killed on my watch. Excuse me for my lack of enthusiasm.” He said gruffly.

You roll your eyes, “I didn't do anything though, I was just there and things happened to me.” you say, getting annoyed again. Why does he keep blaming you for this? You literally were just explaining contracts when you were shot at and then you spent the rest of the day being tossed around like a sack.

He huffs, looking away. “Walking around unarmored when you're so breakable means you are always trying to die.” He mumbles. You roll your eyes again. No use trying to fight insanity, he's going to blame you for being killable as the reason you almost die. This stupid, stubborn man. You shake your head and unbuckle.

He twitches, sitting up quickly and staring at you. “What are you doing?”

You frown. “We're almost landing? I'm unbuckling.” He glares at you, scooting to sit next to you and redoing your straps. “Stupid, vapid woman-” he grumbles. You sigh, giving up. First he doesn't feel “emotions”, but then he won't even let you unbuckle your seat before landing.

“Can you just make up your mind already?” You say with a little more acid than you intended. You're getting frustrated with his back and forth though, and it's starting to irritate you.

He scowls, looking up from the belts with hands still near your thigh. He meets your irritation with his own. “Can you pretend you can form sentient thoughts?” He retorts, sharply tightening the strap on your leg. You flinch and your expression hardens.

“You are insufferable. Which is it, you're a cold hearted killing machine, or you actually can feel and just don't want to admit you clearly like me, and I mean for more than angry cave sex.” You snap back, voice rising again.

He growls in his throat, putting his arms on either side of your legs, caging you in on the seat. “You-” he forced through clenched teeth, “Are the most infuriating creature I have ever met. Why can't you leave things alone? Why are you obsessed with what we did? Drop it and try a little harder not to die” he growled.

You wince, face heating up. This asshole- he wants you to drop it? Forget the whole thing? After he's the one who kissed you, after hes the one who confessed to caring about you-

You grit your teeth and snap back, “I don't like being yanked around!”

His expression falters as he sees your face getting emotional.

“I don't want to forget it- I want to know if you actually like me or not! You don't get to tell me all those things and act all worried over me and then tell me I mean nothing to you!” You shouted, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

He pales at your tears, face contorting with a little panic, “Hey, don't do that now-” he said, venom lost from his voice. He kneels in front of you so he's eye level. “I- I didn't say you mean nothing-” he stutters defensively, “I just said I don't feel those things- Astartes aren't supposed to feel those things, I…” he grimaces as he watches a tear roll down your cheek. “Ah, fuck- hey, don't- don't cry-” he stammers a bit, awkwardly patting your knee.

You bite your lip and look away from him, trying to hide your frustrated tears. You hate this, you hate him, you hate letting him see you cry-

He looks at you like you're ticking pipe bomb. “Oh, come on- ah fuck” he mumbles as more tears escaped. He lets out a long, tired sigh, “okay! Okay- fine- I probably feel something about you-” he admits, looking like he was being forced to stick his hand in fire.

You glower at him, lip quivering as you did your damnedest to hold back your emotions. You were failing, as more tears kept dripping off your face. He grimaces, then seemingly in a panic of not knowing what to do next, he leans over and hugs you.

You freeze in surprise, then feel your face slowly heat up. His massive frame dwarfs your body, but he very carefully unbuckles your straps so he can pull you against him. You weren't sure if this was exactly comforting, since he was still in full armor and it wasn't exactly cuddly, but he leaned his head down to the crook of your neck and your heart stuttered.

“Please don't cry” he grumbled, “throne I hate women crying…”

You blinked. He was so scared of you crying that he backtracked all his nonsense and hugged you. You chuckle a little at the absurdity. All the horrors in the galaxy Cato Sicarius has bested, and his weakness is women crying. You giggle a little harder, sniffling and laughing through tears, and he pulls back and looks at you, face etched with confused concern.

“Let's uh, get you that head scan at the medicae…” he says carefully, like he's talking down a feral animal. You laugh a little harder. He just looks so scared right now, even with the blood of enemies still dried on his armor.

“By the throne, you're impossible-” you chuckle out, wiping tears with the back of your hand before you pull him into a kiss, shocking him frozen.

Maybe you won't strangle him. Yet. You think you might be able to do something with this disaster of a man.

[lemon-russ]

The girls have ceased the fighting. A momentous occasion for all. war is over.

Part 14/ ???

< previous || next >

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Depictions of a panic attack, Violence / brotherly stabbing, mentions of sex

Summary: Ambassador handles getting caught with a boy by Dad SUPER well.

word count: 2,089

You sit in silence across from Guilliman in the thunderhawk, flanked on either side by Gallan and Brutus, the other space marines who were guarding you.

You try really hard to count the little lines on the textured metal floor, focusing on not having a panic attack and not throwing up as your stomach does terrified back flips. Every time you look up and see Guilliman's cold, disappointment stare, you feel like ice water has been dumped over you and your mind resets into a panicked static.

Eventually, Guilliman speaks, but not to you. “Where even were you two? I sent three of you for a reason.” He asked Gallan and Brutus. They share a look, expressions unreadable under their helmets. “We didn't want to crowd out the ball room.” Gallan says. “We were securing the parameter instead, my lord.” Adds Brutus.

Guilliman frowns and grunts a tired noise. “I suppose you couldn't possibly predict… that.” He says, rubbing his temple. He looks at you again. “Well? Are you ready to explain what in my father's name that was about?” He says in a calm but stern tone.

You swallow hard and start doing grounding techniques, counting up and down your fingers as you tap them, trying not to cry. You couldn't stand disappointing the primarch. He'd been like a father to you since you started working for him, he was always so kind and patient- and you failed him.

He sighs, spotting the familiar sight of you trying to de-escalate a panic attack. He switches places with Gallan to sit next to you, and wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to him and rubbing your arm. “There, there, I'm not that mad. No need to get in a tizzy, little one.” He says in a more soothing voice.

She sniffle back tears, looking up at him, lip quivering. “I- I'm sorry, my lord.” You squeak. He frowns a bit, ruffling your hair. “You're okay, ambassador. Everyone has off days. Can you please just help me understand why Titus and Cato were bare knuckle brawling in the mud on your forced vacation?” He asks, a little exasperated.

You swallow again, heart stuttering with cold fear at having to face this. You have to tell him what you and Cato have done. Have been doing. You take a few deep breaths as the Lord Reagent rubs soothing circles on your back.

“Promise you won't murder anyone?” You squeak.

He frowns. “…I promise…” he says, turning his head to side eye you a bit. “But this does not give me confidence…”

You frown and hold up a pinky.

He blinks, then laughs and shakes his head, trying to wrap his massive pinky with yours. “You are ridiculous sometimes, little one. I pinky promise no one will die over whatever you tell me.” he chuckles tiredly, squeezing your shoulders.

You let out a nervous breath. “Okay… well…” you look at your hands, fidgeting in your lap, trying to barrel through the cold fear.

“Captain Sicarius and I… well, I was going to ask you about it when I got home…” you start nervously. “But we… well, we're… together…” you manage to force out.

Guilliman blinks, expression unchanged. “I'm sorry my dear, I must be losing some of my hearing in my time-coma-ressurected body. I thought-” he chuckles nervously, “-I thought you just implied you were romantically involved with Cato Sicarius.” he says, smiling with a touch of desperate denial.

You grimace, bracing yourself a bit as you quietly wait for him to process.

He silently maintains the forced smile, lower eyelid twitching.

“Ah.” He finally says. He stands, walks to the door for the cargo hold, opens the door, and walks inside, and closes it behind him.

The only sound was engine noise and slight rattles of the ship as you, Gallan and Brutus sit in deafening silence for a few minutes.

He re-emerges maybe ten minutes later, face a forced mask a neutrality.

“What are the… ramifications of a broken pinky promise again?” He asks in a strained voice.

You tear up immediately, lip quivering, “Sir! You promised! No killing anyone!” You sob, sniffling.

His jaw muscle twitches, neck straining as he grinds his teeth, and he turns and returns to the cargo hold a few more minutes. This time, there’s the sound of the hull being dented by Ceramite armor a few times.

He returns again, more collected, and sits next to you again. You are shaking with quiet tears, going through every worse case scenario of your new sort-of-boyfriend being shred into confetti by his father.

He sighs, pulling out a handkerchief from his armor that you're pretty sure he keeps just for you, dabbing your cheeks and rubbing your back with his other hand. You take the handkerchief and dry your eyes, sniffling sad little huffs.

“So.” He says, “How… long? And how serious?” He asks, resigned.

You sniffle, looking up at him sadly. “S-Since that first assignment we went on. And… I think p-pretty serious… I was going to ask you for your blessing, when I got back, and Cato wanted that…” you rasp through a tear thick voice.

He sighs a long, drawn breath. “…I… need to think about this.” He says softly. “I'm not saying no. But this is… a lot.”

You swallow hard and nod. “Um, th-they were fighting because… well honestly I think they just hate eachother for starters. But, Titus said I can't consent to dating an Astartes cause I'm dumb, and Cato called him jealous, and- well, it happened so fast…” you say with a frown.

Guilliman grimaces, furrowing his brow. “Wait, Titus called you dumb…?”

You roll your eyes. “Ok, he said I'm like, not intelligent enough biologically, cause Astartes brains are better, but… I mean, same difference.”

Guilliman lets out a tired chuckle, shaking his head. “What has gotten into my sons lately…?” He sighs.

“I won't hurt Cato, but I will need to talk to him. If it was any other two astartes and mortals, I wouldn't do this, but… I'll think about it.” He finally says. “Only think, no promises.” He adds.

You sniffle a little, giving a small smile. “Thank you, sir.” You say in a soft, tired voice, leaning against his side.

He sighs and pets your hair. “You bring such chaos with you sometimes for such a nervous, orderly mortal, little one.” He chuckles.

_____________________________________________

Cato and Titus sit at either side of a table back at the dining hall, arms crossed and staring away from each other. Their bruises and scrapes have already healed completely, leaving them merely covered in dried blood and mud.

Cato was seething, glaring out a window, while Titus tried to bore a hole into the table with his stare.

Cato glanced at him. “…this is your fault.” He grumbled.

Titus didn't look up.

“If you'd just left the Ambassador and I be, and not thrown a sucker punch like a child, we'd be fine.” He continued, looking back outside.

Titus leaned forward and put his head in his hand, anxiously running his hands over his short hair.

Cato watched him a moment. “…that's why your hairline’s receding you know.” He mumbles.

Titus shoots him a look and Cato puts his hands up defensively before they go back to their respective sulking.

A nervous waiter comes and places two cups of recaff in front of them. “Your Kaffe, sirs…” he says politely. “Made from special beans grown in our mountains, like plant grown recaffe-” The waiter stops his spiel when they give him a warning look and scurries away.

Titus goes back to nervously preening his hair, and Cato takes a sip of the drink and scrunches his nose.

“Eugh.” He huffs under his breath.

Titus stops his fidgeting and raises an eyebrow, then takes a sip of his own drink. He scrunches his face as well.

“Eugh.” He agrees.

“Plants aren't meant to make recaff.” Cato mumbles, pushing his cup aside.

Titus tests another sip and follows suit, shivering at the unpleasant taste.

“What's wrong with regular recaff? Why make it from beans?” He grumbles.

They sat looking out the window in silence a few minutes before Titus grumbled again.

“…You're a shit dancer.” He says, still looking away.

Cato snaps his head to him with a what the fuck dude face, and Titus shrugs and holds his hands up.

“What? You are. You looked like a robot. The Ambassador had to carry you through the whole thing.” He retorts defensively.

Cato gives him an incredulous stare for a minute. “You wanna try?” He says dryly, gesturing toward the dance hall.

Titus chuckles, “Don't be sensitive, it's constructive criticism-”

Cato laughs incredulously, “You want constructive criticism? How about if you sucker punch your Captain, you don't fucking miss.” he says through a dry laugh, shaking his head.

Titus scoffs, “I didn't miss-”

Cato barks a small laugh, “Oh? You were aiming for air and accidentally his my jaw?”

Titus laughs properly now, “Oh, fuck you-” he chuckles.

“Fuck me?” Cato says, picking up a steak knife and pointing it toward Titus, but still laughing a little at the absurdity of it all. “How about fuck you, you're the one who started a fight because I caught you checking out my girlfriend for like, the 10th time.”

Titus scoffs again, “I was not- put the knife down Cato you're not going to stab me-” he chuckles, the insanity of the day wearing on him now too.

“Oh? I'm not?” Cato says wryly. “I think I'm earned one, since you were staring at my girlfriends ass and then sucker punched me over it” he says, raising a brow and turning his head a bit, holding the knife a bit higher.

Titus was giving him a look. “Cato, really?”

Cato raised his brow and tilted his head a bit more in a go on, try me gesture.

“Emperor's balls Cato you're not going to- AH! FUCK-” He jumped as the small knife flung into his arm.

He started laughing hard, pulling the knife out, the wound almost immediately starting to close. “You little shit-” he laughed hard enough tears started forming in his eyes.

Cato laughed the same, putting his head in his hand on the table, then jolted when the knife flung into his arm instead, “FUCK- No! Hey! Unfair, I was owed a free one!” He laughs, pulling it out of his arm.

They both double over a bit laughing until they are weak. The anxiety and anger and absolute disbelief that they were caught fist fighting over a woman by their genefather wearing on their raw nerves.

“You're such an asshole.” Titus chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye.

“And You're a massive dick- oh yeah, what the hell was that about her being to unevevolved?” Cato chuckles back.

Titus pouts, “Okay I did not say that, you said that, and it made her think I said that-”

“No, no you definitely were saying something along the lines of her being too monkey brain to date me.” Cato retorts, shaking a finger at him.

Titus pouts harder, crossing his arms. “You're making me sound bad on purpose, asshole.”

Cato chuckles and shakes his head, “Don't give me that, I'm not the one implying she's some child with no capacity to make her own choices.”

Titus stares angrily out the window, huffing. “Not as bad as, wait, how did you get here?” He asks, raising a brow as Cato stops laughing and pouts himself. “Did you hijack a ship?” He asks, starting to chuckle again.

“I can't hijack my own ship.” He grumbles, crossing his arms.

Titus laughs again, “you fucking didn't— you just got on your ship and left? Didn't tell Guilliman??”

Cato slumps in his chair, pouting harder. “You're a dick.” He grumbled as Titus laughed again.

Titus jumps again as a fork now finds its home in his pec. “Fuckin- stop that!” He laughs as Cato joins in with a chuckle again.

The waiter walks towards them, sees Titus pull a fork from his muscle, and turns on his heel without missing a beat, making both of them melt into cackling again.

“We're really fucked.” Cato says through manic giggling.

“We're so fucked.” Titus agrees, trying to catch his breath. “How do we even ‘find our own ride home?’”

Cato clears his throat and sighs a laugh, “I hijack a second ship…?” He says with a wry smile, making Titus devolve into another laughing fit.

[lemon-russ]

I got carried away, and I think the fact that the last like, 7? books I read were Brandon Sanderson has made me long winded and afraid of sex /s

But we are back to Cato's POV, this is kinda turning into a slower burn than intended, but it will eventually become horny lmao

also, thanks everyone liking it! Did not think anyone would see it, love this like 50 person community of niche warhammer fic and smut lovers <3

Part 3/ ???

part:: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

(Cato POV 3rd person though)

CW: Violence, blood, descriptions of a vehicle crashing, no sex yet but there will be later, Cato being a bully (like, verbally only)

Summary: Shit hits the fan, Cato and Diplomat have to skedaddle.

word count: 2,208 (the man has possessed me)

Cato tosses the stupid woman into the seat of the thunderhawk, stomping over to the pilot seat. The small crew of 3 humans that had brought them here seem startled by his sudden appearance, and then by his actual appearance as he is coated in blood.

“Go. Now. Back to The Honour.” He commands. The pilot nods and starts punching in things on the terminals, and the two gunners look concerned. Stupid baseline humans, were they all so slow? “Rebellion.” He says, deigning to explain it to them. They frown and look between them, then man their guns. Finally. He looks back at the woman. She was bruised, and now covered in blood. Pretty sure it was from him carrying her- stupid thing can't keep up so he was forced to sling her like a sack back to the thunderhawk. The corner of his mouth twitches down a bit. No it was definitely blood from his armor.

But Guilliman would be upset if she was bleeding and he didn't fix it. Her impractical gown was torn a bit now, blood stained, and dirty. Damn it. “Woman.” He barks at her, making her jump a bit. “Are you injured?” He says, making sure to sound appropriately unconcerned. Because he isn't concerned. Obviously.

She frowns and knits her brow into that throne damned look of confusion she always seemed to have. By the Emperor her brain was smooth. “I said, are you injured?” He drawls out slowly, like he's talking to an especially slow child.

She shakes her head. “Uh, no, nothing besides some scrapes and bruises-” She says in a stupid, puzzled tone. Before she finishes Cato is turning away. Good enough. He sighs a little at the answer- wait why is he relieved at that? Right, his duty. If she was hurt he'd have failed his Father and he hates that. Of course he's relieved she's unharmed.

“Are you almost ready to take off?” He snaps at the pilot impatiently. It'd been nearly a whole minute since he ordered them back to the ship. Why was everyone incompetent but him here?

The pilot frowns and shoots him a look as the small ship starts whirring and taking off from the ground, ramps receding and doors closing. Finally. The ship lurches a bit and the Ambassador falls to the side in her seat at the movement. By the throne, did he have to do everything for her? He stomps over and rights her in her seat, strapping her in with the safety harness. “Can't you do anything but breathe and waste time?” He grumbles at her, tightening the straps a bit too hard and making her wince. “You'll break your skull unbelted, even if it's so hard it might hurt the craft first.” He huffs, stomping out to a window. She wears that stupid confused face still, but he ignores her.

His mood is soured further as he actually sees outside. Human rebels are pouring from the manor they had just left, heading to the Thunderhawk. Which wouldn't be a big issue, except there were so many. The gunner on this side starts mowing them down, but they just keep coming, and the ones in the back are preparing an artillery mortar. Fuck- “The back! Target that mortar, now!” He barks at the gunner.

The gunner tries to move his shots toward the artillery, but the panicked lurching of the craft as the Pilot is flooring it ruins his aim. Throne damned baseline humans- he pushes the gunner off the controls, taking over. His superior reaction speed and aim should be able to handle this, and he turns the gun toward the back line-

There's the familiar thumph of an artillery shell launching. Fuck fuck fuck- “DOWN, BRACE FOR IMPACT-!” He barks, and in two strides he's covering the stupid, soft, breakable-bone filled ambassador with himself. The ship lurches hard as the mortar shell crashes into the back engine.

Lights flash red, there's screaming and alarms, another thumph and another crash into the front of the ship now. He affixes his helmet and curls around the woman, who is bracing herself and curling into a ball to fit better under him. Maybe her brain has a wrinkle of survival instinct in it after all. Flames and shrapnel sweep through in a concussive wave, bouncing off his armor in sharp tink tink tink sounds, and he feels the gut lurching effect of suddenly losing gravity- no, falling, the ship was falling-

His senses hone and time slows as he bunkers down over the diplomat. He stares down at her as they hit the curve from accelerating up, to zero G, and then to falling down. Her hair is floating up around her face, and she looks terrified, looking up at him with wide eyes. Tears are rolling down her cheeks- oh shit she's crying. Oh Emperor he hates women crying. He should say something, or it will distract him.

Bracing himself around her seat, he shouts over the cacophony of terror and panic. “You're okay- I got you.” His voice comes out modulated by his helmet's vox speakers, but her expression shifts just a little at his words, from terror to, well still scared and shocked but at least she might stop crying now. Holy Terra he hates crying.

Suddenly they are crashing into the ground, and he has to focus on not flattening her as his 1000 lbs of plasteel and ceramite clad self suddenly goes from falling to stopping in a second. He braces himself into a cocoon and her seat cushions her impact a bit, though he winces as she immediately gets whiplash from the recoiling force. He quickly moves a hand to brace her head a little so it doesn't snap back again so hard.

As soon as they are no longer actively crashing, he's unbuckling her and scooping her to his chest. Scoping the damage, he grimaces. The crew are dead, thunderhawk is in ruins, and there's a small army of rebel humans heading their way. cradling her to his chest, hand still on the back of her head- he's unsure if that whiplash cause any spinal damage and he'd rather her not die of a broken neck in his arms, his genefather would be furious, of course- he starts charging out the broken hull of the ship, away from the army and towards some rock formations in the distance.

He sprints as fast as he can go, which is pretty fast, even in his armor, but he slows when he feels the ambassador bump against his chest plate. Mortals and their soft, breakable bodies. Why is her neck so thin? A stiff breeze could snap it, and why is her skin so bruisable- should he be worried about the purple splotches already staining her arms and face? Does she have internal injuries he needs to worry about? Fuck she was annoying.

He groans in frustration and slows his stride to something he can maintain while cradling her safely and smoothly against him. It's fine, the rebels are so slow they are already a blob in the distance. He's got this. He's Cato Sicarius, he's always got this. He spots a rocky hole he hopes is a safe cave, but frowns. They're running over fine dirt, his foot prints clearly visible.

He halts his stride, making the woman make a soft noise of surprise. She outright yelps though when he grabs her stupid, long, trailing gown at the knee and yanks on it. The krrchh of tearing fabric startles her. “Hey-! what are you-!” She squeaks out, but he's already tossing his power sword into the fabric. He places her on the ground gingerly, laying her head carefully, and pulls utility cordage from a compartment of his armor, tying it to the satchel he just made.

He picks her up in one arm, holding her like a child to his shoulder with hand on her head, and starts walking, dragging the sword-dress-bag behind them, erasing his footprints in the dirt as they walked. She peaks over his shoulder at his creation. “Oh- Okay, that's actually pretty smart.” She says, sounding surprised. He scowls in his helmet. “Of course it is-” he snaps, “Do you underestimate me so much that you think I'd lead enemies to our location? Or are you merely so vacant that you are surprised it is even a worry?” He growls. How dare this mortal woman doubt his ability to fulfill his duty to protect her stupid, squishy, useless body.

She huffs an annoyed noise. “Are you capable of not being a complete asshole for five minutes, Captain?” She snaps back. He bristles a bit. “Watch your tongue, woman, or I'll have to tap that empty little skull of yours and simply drag you about unconscious. Honestly, that'd be easier.” He adds, actually contemplating it. He already made a bag, he could just stuff her in it, like a safe little hammock… A little diplomat sack, for easy handling. He nearly chuckles at the mental image.

She mumbles grumpily, “That broom on your head must be from shoving it so far up your ass-”, but he ignores her insolent whining, focusing on getting to the cave he spotted. He ducks into the rock formation, grateful to see it is only a pocket and not a whole cave, so no surprises, and when he’s satisfied it is clear of dangerous fauna, he moves to drop her on her ass on the floor.

But he stops himself, frowning. He wasn't sure if her neck was injured or not, and he needed to asses for internal damage. “Emperor, you're such a pain in the ass.” He huffs as he carefully lays her on her back, supporting her neck. “you'd certainly know about pains in your ass with that broom-” she grumbles, trying to sit up. He frowns again and holds her down. “Stop that. Your neck may be inured. Just stay still for a moment.” he scolds.

He peeks out of the cave. They left no tracks, and he sees no troops. He quickly gathers some foliage- brown and dry, what a hellscape planet, did they even want them in the Imperium- and uses it to cover the cave entrance. He sits down next to her, removing his helmet and sighing a deep, tired sigh. “You are the worst thing to ever happen to me.” He states plainly, glowering down at her. She frowns up at him. “Really. Me. Out of all of your Centuries of battle and bloodshed, the worse thing to happen to you is having to guard me for a single mission.” She retorts.

He nodded once. “Yes, exactly. Glad you're keeping up.” He says, trying not to smirk at how angry she seems to get at that. “Cato Sicarius, I swear by the Emperor's holy light you are the single most infuriating person that I have ever been forced to deal with, and I am including the Chancellor that just sicked an army on us-” She starts to yell, trying to sit up again. He pushes her back down carefully by the shoulder, making her growl in frustration. “Neck.” he says, smirking at her tiny rage. Like a puffed up kitten, spitting and hissing at a guard dog.

“Also, that Rolf whatever man is dead. Obviously. So, planet is ours basically when we get off here.” He adds casually. She blinks up at him. “You killed him?” she asks, and he furrows his brow and frowns down at her. “Yes? of course. I killed them all. and half the place on my way to you.” He says, smiling at the memory. Ah, the glory of battle. It would have been better had they been better armed, and maybe if there were more of them. He prefers a challenge. Instead he decided to challenge himself to how many he could dispatch within 20 seconds. That made it more entertaining.

She sighs and rubs her face. “Fine, I guess doing this diplomatically was off the table anyway when they took our ship out. Oh- did you vox up to the Honour yet?” she asks. He shakes his head. “No, I saw signal towers on the way in. I worried they would intercept the vox and find us. I'm going to wait a bit for that army to disperse so they aren't on top of us if we're triangulated.”

She sighs and stares at the ceiling, looking exhausted. Was that normal? she looked pale, could that be internal bleeding? His stomach flipped, and he immediately recoils at the feeling. Why did he worry so much? Of course he wants to do his duty and obey his Primarch, but really if she died of medical complications he probably wouldn't even be punished. Yet when he thought of having to leave her corpse on this backwater wasteland of a planet, his chest tightened. He simply would not allow that to come to pass, then he never had to unpack the feelings. There, boom, done. Psychology solved. He smiled to himself and settled back against the wall. Was there any field he could not master? Of course not. He's Cato Sicarius, he's simply the best at everything.

[lemon-russ]

I did NOT forgor the 2 other guards in chapter 12, don't worry here they are!!

This is between pt. 11 and pt. 12

-------------------- 💀 -------------------

11.5 /???

Cato sicarius x f!reader

(They aren't even here)

Summary: Two battle brothers take their job very seriously

Cw: none

Word count: 500ish

Brother Brutus and Brother Gallan of the Ultramarines sat bored while their commander paced around fretfully. They were sent to help guard the Lady Ambassador of Guilliman, but, she'd run off. And there was really not much to do for them around this planet.

It was lush and green and safe, onlt rich nobles and agri-world workers around. It was extreme even that their Primarch sent three whole Astartes to guard one woman, but, their father had his quirks.

“Brother Gallan-” Brutus says after they'd been sitting for a while. “The Lady is not coming back soon. We should take a walk around the parameter. Secure the area.”

“Excellent idea, Brother Brutus.” Gallan said, climbing to his feet. “There could be unkown threats hidden in these leaves and plants.”

Brutus nodded, “It could be a tomb world, for all we know.”

Gallan nodded back. “Or hiding some sort of cult of chaos.” He added as they started walking around the resort.

Brutus gasped, “By the throne Brother, it could even be both!” He said urgently, prompting enthusiastic nods from Gallan.

The pair walked around the thick jungle a bit, carefully scanning for threats. They instead found a large party dock, a covered wooden platform running over the teal ocean. There was music and chatter and laughter coming from it.

The brothers shared a helmeted look.

“Could be a cult.” Gallan says.

“Could be slaneshi worshipers.” Brutus agrees.

“We must investigate discreetly, brother. Let us doff our armor, so we may see up close without causing suspicion.” Gallan suggests.

Brutus is already unbuckling his plates. “Excellent idea again, brother.” He agrees.

They unarmor themselves, peeling off their body sleeves, leaving their suits hidden in the foliage. They turn and glance at eachother in mirrored movements.

“By the throne, that is an excellent tropical shirt, brother, very practical for the climate.” Brutus says.

“I could predict you would say such a thing, as you are clearly wearing the same one, brother.” Gallan replies. “And it appears we both have excellent and practical tastes in khakis, brother.” He adds.

“Indeed brother, we are both dressed quite appropriately for the climate I would say.” Brutus says with a nod. “Come brother, let us ensure there is no heresy happening on that party platform.”

Gallan nods, donning sunglasses from a pocket on his cargo khakis. “Of course, and just in case the double suns of this planet are dangerous to the eyes-”

“Ahh, always a step ahead brother Gallan.” Brutus says with an admiring nod, pulling out sunglasses from his own khakis. “This is ehy I reccomend you for brother of the week.” He adds.

Gallan touches his chest, giving a small frown, “brother brutus, I nominated *you* for battle brother of the week!”

They stare at eachother a moment, then laugh and hook arms around eachother shoulders, walking to the party.

“By the throne, that punch looks tainted brother, we should investigate!”

“Again, always on top of things brother Gallan!”

Titus groans, watching the suns set and growing anxious about the ambassador. He stops for a moment, looking around. “…where the hell did those dumbasses get off to now?” He grumbles to himself.

[lemon-russ]

the girls are fightiinggg- oh shit wait no they really are--

sorry so late! I decided to socialize and leave the house and was swiftly punished for my hubris with feeling like garbage. I drank a ton of baja blast and I'm good now 👉😎👉

Part 13/ ???

< previous || next >

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Mentions of sex, slight? sexism,violence / fighting

Summary: Cato and Titus need to put on their get along shirt

word count: 1,946

The wood of the desk splinters under Guilliman's grip, tossing off shards that make light tapping sounds as they fall to the marble floor of his dead quiet office.

He stood, chair screeching across the floor, and composed himself, taking a deep breath.

“So. The men say Cato has gone to the planet I sent the ambassador, alone, and has not returned a day.” He says with forced calm.

The serf nervously nods.

“And he did not tell anyone. And neither he, nor commander Titus, nor The Ambassador, have voxed an update.”

The serf nods again.

“Right.” He says, brushing wood splinters off himself. He frowned. He liked this desk.

“Prepare my ship.” He said, walking briskly to his chambers down the hall, making the serf have to jog to keep up.

“Sir-?”

“My ship, prepare it to head to a294-56. The planet my wayward sons have absconded with my diplomat to.”

The serf frowned and nodded. “Yes, sir.” They squeaked, skittering off.

_________________________________

Titus watches Cato try to keep up a dance with the Ambassador, fuming and huffing in a corner. Cato was stiff and concentrating but managing. Astartes were quick to learn and had excellent reaction speed, so though he assumed Cato could not waltz before this, he copied the movements of the others and followed the Ambassador's lead.

Titus grumbled under his breath. He'd be better at this. He'd learn faster and move smoother and not embarrass the ambassador with poor skills.

His gaze track her smooth movements. Not as coordinated as an astartes, her reaction speeds were slower, not quite on tempo. He realizes Cato is actually the only one on perfect tempo, and that's why he looks stilted.

Regardless, or maybe because of, her human imperfections are what is giving her movements their beauty. She smiles and twirls and waltzes in circles around the room with the crowd. Her dress follows her like water, sparkling ultramarine blue.

Titus smiles, ignoring Cato and letting himself take in her giggling smile, her just exposed shoulders, the way her dress hugged her curves-

He snaps his gaze away. No, he will not let himself look at her in such a way as Sicarius does. She is a mortal, baseline human. It is predatory to look at something so simple, so naive and think like that. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and glares at Cato.

He catches his eye, and Cato grins smugly at him, then defiantly lowers the hand he has on the ambassadors hip to just the top of her rear. She giggles, and Titus has to squeeze his fists.

You can't assault your captain, you can't assault your captain- He forces into his seething mind.

The song ends and the ambassador leads Cato back to where Titus stands, smiling innocent. Like she didn't feel his hand on her ass? She may be naive, but innocent, maybe not so much. He restrains a scowl. “My lady, you dance very gracefully.” He says instead.

She smiled sweetly, and he found it hard to stay annoyed, giving in to a smile in return.

_______________________________________

You feel a little awkward. You'd been desperately trying to enjoy time here with Cato even though Titus was insistent on keeping an eye on you at all times it seemed. But at least you got a dance in. Though Titus boring holes in your back didn't make it less awkward.

It feels like being on a date with a chaperon, like you're some chaste noble girl who's parents worry about appearances.

Come to think of it, most of what Titus does for you makes you feel like an incapable child. Cutting your food, telling you how to dress, keeping you away from a guy you like, it made you feel like a teenager with a strict parent.

You fan yourself with your hand, “Wow this planet is humid. I'm going to step out for a minute.” You say, and they both follow without hesitation.

“Enjoying your view again, Titus?” Cato snaps behind you.

“I'm not doing anything- and you were the one being careless with your hands back there, Sicarius.” Titus growls back.

You keep walking to the beautiful garden outside, sighing and taking in the cool night air as you try to ignore their bickering.

“My hands are allowed to be careless, your eyes do not have that privilege, commander.” Cato snarls at him.

You turn around, finding Cato and Titus scowling at each other, only feet apart.

“Can you stop fighting for like, ten minutes?” You sigh.

Neither break their stare. Titus huffs, “No, I can't stand by and watch this anymore- what's going on here is wrong.” He spits, turning to face you. “You are being taken advantage of and you can't even realize it.”

You frown at that. “What? I'm not being taken advantage of-”

“Of course you are!” Titus interrupts. “You can't have a consensual relationship with an astartes! You're a baseline woman, you don't have the capacity for it!” He says, tone a bit more like he's explaining something obvious to a child.

You blink a few times in shock, eyes wide. Cato raises his brow as well, looking caught off guard.

“Titus- what the hell do you mean I can't consent?” You ask, baffled. “I'm an adult, and a pretty high ranking diplomat mind you.” You say, furrowing your brow.

He sighs. “Of course, of course, and you're very intelligent for a baseline human, I didn't mean that, but it's different, Astartes are on a level you can't comprehend.” He says patiently, giving a sympathetic frown.

Cato shakes his head. “Holy shit, are you- are you saying you don't like us dating, because you think she's, what? Too stupid?” He asks confusedly.

Titus scowls at him. “Of course not, she's very smart, but her brain is just not formed in a way that she can conceptualize anything like you can. It's a matter of capability” he says, raising his voice.

You shake your head, “you- you think I'm too unevevolved!?” You say, starting to shout.

He looks back at you with a grimace, “I wouldn't call it unevevolved-” he says quickly before being interrupted again.

“No, I'd call it jealousy.” Cato growls, hands balling at his sides. “You just need some weak excuse because you don't want to say you want to fuck her and you're mad I am!” He shouts.

Your eyes go wide, and Titus looks shocked for a split moment.

Somewhere far behind you, you faintly register the sound of heavy footsteps. You turn to see who's there, afraid they'll overhear this insanity, but you're stopped by the sight of Titus’ fist flying forward.

_______________________________

Titus snaps.

You can't assault your captain, you can't-

Fuck it.

How dare he accuse him of perverting that poor innocent girl the way he is doing. How dare he imply he has anything but the Ambassador's best interest in mind. And how dare he talk like he didn't know what he was doing was tantamount to abuse of authority.

Titus sees Cato process what was happening as he starts reeling back his fist, twisting his torso to add to the power. Cato is fast to react, but he isn't expecting it, so by the time he actually sees the punch coming and is dodging, it is already too close. It doesn't hit exactly on the nose where Titus was aiming, but he did still get his jaw.

Bone collides with bone as he makes contact, and though Cato raises his hand to deflect Titus’ fist last second, he is still forced onto the back foot and reels back, hand flying to his jaw.

In a second he goes from shock, to anger, to rage.

“You- You bastard-!” He growls, “A sucker punch?! Are you a coward as well?!”

Titus sneers a bit. “What, aren't you supposed to be the best duelist?” He says mockingly, raising his fists again, this time in fighting position.

Cato snaps his teeth, and in a moment is lunging, knocking both him and Titus to the ground.

They grapple and hit each other, snarling angrily as they fight to get off the ground and land another hit.

“You self-righteous piece of shit-” Cato growls, ramming an elbow into Titus’ face.

Titus lets out an angry shout, tossing Cato off, still in his power armor and much stronger. “You manipulative, depraved prick!” He growls back.

Cato hits the ground hard, leaving a dent in the grass as he slides, but rolls to his feet.

“Seriously? Fight me fair, lose the armor!” He snaps as he stands.

“Fine. Not that you deserve a fair fight.” Titus spits, and he undoes his armor, stepping out in just his body glove.

They run at each other again and now Cato can get a hit in, and Titus tackles him. They roll and punch and knee each other, spitting insults and curses.

The Ambassador, who had been watching in shock until now, gasps and stammers, “M-my lord-!”

They freeze, Cato kneeling on Titus’ chest, arm reeled back for another punch. They both snap their heads up, faces bleeding and bruised and muddied, to the sound of heavy footsteps.

Guilliman stops next to the Ambassador, staring down at them with an icy glare of disappointment.

“So this is how I find two of my most well decorated Sons? Fist fighting like hive gangers in the mud, in public. Your charge forgotten and undefended.” He says in a chillingly low voice, putting a hand on the Ambassador's shoulder.

They both pale before untangling themselves and standing as properly as they can manage.

“Father-” they say in unison, then shoot glares at each other before trying to talk over themselves.

“He attacked me first-”

“He's been using the ambassador-”

Guilliman scowls, and both their words die in their throats.

“You two are a disgrace right now. Look at you. Cato, why are you even here? And Titus, taking off your armor to fight your battle brother? What the hell has been going on here?” He growls with such anger they both shivered.

“My Lord, please don't be angry-” the Ambassador starts before Guilliman turns his icy look on her. “And you, little one. You did not even attempt to inform me of this situation? You know better.” He says in a much softer tone. The softness only makes it more cutting though, as the weight of disappointing him was so heavily dripping from his words.

She cringes into herself a bit. “I- I'm sorry-” she squeaks out, tears forming in her eyes.

Cato takes a reflexive step toward her, hand raised to reach for her, before another cold look from his genefather stops him.

Titus just glares at the ground, fists trembling by his sides.

Guilliman scowls at them, then sighs. “Enough of this. Pull yourselves together before you bring more shame on our legion.” He says with quiet anger. “I already found the other brothers I sent with you, they are gathering the Ambassador's things now. We're going home.” He says, turning the ambassador with him, guiding hand on her back.

Titus and Cato start to follow, and Guilliman looks over his shoulder. “Oh, no. We're going home.” He says, gesturing between himself and the ambassador. “You two can get your own ride back. I can't look at you right now.” He says flatly.

“I've already ordered your crew back, Sicarius. Consider yourselves both on suspension.” Guilliman says before walking away, hand on the Ambassador's back to make her walk with him.

She looks over her shoulder at them with a nervous grimace before Guilliman gives her a look and makes her turn back.