#demetrian titus x reader

[shellswritesstuff]

Titus without a doubt gives the best (and slowest) head

𓊆ᴅᴇᴍᴇᴛʀɪᴀɴ ᴛɪᴛᴜs X ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - ᴇsᴄᴀᴘɪsᴍ.𓊇 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚(⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

rating: explicit. (explicit sex, oral.) cw. size difference, afab!reader, g. neutral pronouns. 

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴏɴ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ǫᴜɪᴄᴋɴᴇss ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀsᴛᴇ. ᴏᴍɢ, ɪ ғᴇᴇʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴇnʟɪɢʜᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ. ᴍᴏsᴛ ʜᴏɴᴏʀᴀʙʟᴇ ᴀɴᴏɴ. ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʟᴀᴡᴅ. ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

In this grim universe, little to no solace existed. Death was more of a paradise than anyone could imagine... yet many choose to fight on. Every damn day was a struggle for a cause much bigger than you know. Nothing was, or ever will be in your complete control. That includes your fate. It was a damn depressing fact.

Though, having a handsome space marine between your thighs does help ease the mind.

"Mmph.." Honorable Lieutenant Titus was making a mess of himself between your thighs. The sight was downright pornographic; your much smaller frame spreading wide to welcome his needy mouth. One leg was slung over his broad shoulder, while the other was gently held in place by your lover. "Dear one, I can't help but get lost in your.."

You rise your hips off of the bed, silencing Titus. Your aching slit closing the dreaded distance. Sweet nothings would have to wait. Thankfully, the space marine got the message. His heavy tongue gave languid strokes across your clit, pleasure with every movement. He ate your pussy slow, intently, and skillfully. Where he'd picked up such talents, unknown to you both. To quote your lover; he just followed his instincts. Fucking hell.

You writhed under the act, staying anchored in place only by Titus' will alone. The heavy muscle bullied your swollen bud, the exerted pressure only heightening the coming orgasm. You wanted to cry out his name. Not the one his superiors wore out, but his first name. A deeply personal gesture, now turned corrupt by lust. Damn his quarters being so close to others. It was a battle to keep quiet, Titus makes it so fucking hard not to scream. Deep down, you knew that fact got him off. Pervert.

He made eye contact with you, not ceasing his actions for moment. Your climax had been steadily building, it's peak dangerously close. You wanted to cum so bad, beg Titus to speed up and give you more, but you weren't the one in control here. His subtle dominance made you drip. Titus took a moment to breathe, looking at his work. A plead was about to escape your mouth, but got quickly forgotten as your lover pressed two large fingers into your entrance. Your hands shot up to your mouth, muffling the squeal. It was a sinful stretch. Not one your body hasn't experienced before, but a welcome challenge nonetheless.

Like it always happened, Titus's fingers and tongue guided you to climax. You'd cover his face in your juices, marking him with the love you two created. The feeling was unlike any other, your body convulsing to a beat that was never there, hushed cries of your lover's name... Titus committed the sight to memory. His and his actions alone wrecked you. It was one of the selfish comforts he took in this dire world.

[scriberye]

A Secret Held Tight (3/?)

────────── DEMETRIAN TITUS x F!READER x CATO SICARIUS ⚠️ Romance, Pregnant!Reader Weeks after a night of celebrations, you find yourself pregnant and ready to run, only to have your plans thwarted by Titus who vows to keep you safe. Now you must navigate the complexities of falling in love, and the scrutiny of Captain Cato Sicarius. a/n: Cato makes his appearance! This could probably do with another round of editing since I was writing it between dungeon queues. chp. one / chp. two

You awaken slowly, groggy and disoriented, as the events of last night come flooding back. Your body is heavy, and your spirit drained. With a weary sigh, you sit up, a sudden wave of nausea hitting you. You clutch your stomach as you fight through it. Thankfully, nothing comes up.

Taking a moment to recover, you look around at your new quarters. The room is small and barren, save for the bed you sit on. With time and care, you could make it cozier, maybe even squeeze a bassinet in for the baby. The two doors pose a challenge though — one leads to the hall, while the other likely connects your room to Titus’.

Rising carefully, you make your way to the door and knock. There’s no response. You open it cautiously, peering inside only to find Titus’ room empty. Curious, you step through.

His room mirrors your own in its simplicity. A neatly made bed pushed up against the wall, and a desk nearby with a modest collection of books stacked in the corner, their spines worn from use.

Just as you’re about to examine the books closer, Titus enters, a tray of food balanced in his hands. He’s surprised to see you up, and he smiles. It’s awkward at best, as though he’s unsure if he’s doing it right. In truth, there haven’t been many causes to warrant smiling lately.

“Good morning,” he says, placing the tray down on his desk. “How are you feeling?”

You take a moment to answer him, resting a hand on your rounding belly. It wasn’t obvious yet, but you could already feel the changes. Just last night, you had steeled yourself for a life of solitude with your child. Now you were safe in the place you tried to flee — safe under an Ultramarine’s protection.

“I’m better, thank you, my lord.”

“Titus,” he corrects softly. “Please, when we’re alone, there’s no need.”

“O-of course. Titus,” you echo, testing his name on your lips. It’s strangely intimate to address him without titles, and both of you blush like bashful teenagers.

An awkward silence follows until Titus clears his throat, gesturing toward the tray. “You slept through breakfast, so I brought you some.”

“Thank you,” you say, sitting down at the desk and looking over the contents of the tray. It’s a modest feast — bread, an array of fruits, and a jug of clean water, far more than what you were accustomed to eating before. You nibble at the bread. It seemed the safest of the options for your rolling stomach.

“I informed the kitchen it was for a pregnant woman,” Titus says, sitting on the edge of his bed, “and they insisted I bring it all. You’d think I stumbled into a nest of nids with how frenzied they were.”

You laugh quietly, and Titus’ gaze softens when he looks at you. “When you’ve had your fill, you may accompany me to battle practice.”

The meal passes in silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages as Titus reads through the codex astartes. You eat what you can, mindful of the persistent morning sickness that kept hounding you.

Once you’re finished, you follow Titus to the training grounds. He joins his brothers, exchanging a few words as they wait for others to join. You find a bench in a cloister that’s out of the way and settle in to watch.

The respect the other marines have for Titus is obvious, even amongst the younger brothers who look at him with open admiration. You’d heard that Titus had been demoted, though the particulars remained a mystery — details a serf wasn’t privy to. Still, losing rank did nothing to reduce their respect for him.

You brush your hand over your stomach. He’ll be a great father.

With all the brothers assembled, training begins in earnest, their first drill focusing on close-quarter combat. The sounds of power armor whirring and the grunts of exertion fill the air. And Titus is magnificent. His form, stacked with muscle and powerful, moves with grace and precision from years of training. Each swing, every punch, every move is efficient, nothing is wasted.

Every so often, his gaze drifts towards you, and when your eyes meet his, your cheeks bloom with warmth and you duck your head with an embarrassed smile. A younger brother nearly gets a hit on him while he’s distracted by you, but Titus recovers with a dodge.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a figure approaching, clad in gleaming blue armor — Cato Sicarius. It’s almost theatrical how the sun glints off his armor, casting a bright reflection. His piercing gaze is locked on you, and your heart races as he gets closer.

“Serf,” he says, his voice calm, yet the way he addresses you cuts deeper than any blade. It’s like an insult. You lower your head.

“My lord,” you murmur.

“I had heard Titus took on a pregnant serf. I’m disappointed to find it true.” His eyes narrow, his eyes boring into you with a strange, unsettling familiarity. “And who is the father?”

“I-I don’t know, my lord. It’s complicated,” you stammer.

Sicarius regards you with a mixture of frustration and annoyance. He doesn’t give you a moment to collect yourself. “Complicated? How do you not know?” he presses harder, his voice low and urgent. “You must have some idea.”

Your hands tremble, and you clasp them together to keep yourself from shaking. The world seems to close in; the accusations are heavy and crush the air from your lungs. Before you can muster a response, another marine strides purposefully towards you, his face stern — Titus.

“It doesn’t matter who the father is,” he declares. “What matters is her safety and well-being, and that of the child and I will take that responsibility.”

Sicarius jerks his head to face Titus with a frown. “Titus. Remember your duty. Do not let these personal matters interfere with that.”

Titus is unwavering, a bulwark against Sicarius. “I assure you, Captain, my duties are my priority. If you take issue with my decisions, we may take this to the Primarch.”

Sicarius glances once more between you and Titus, his lips pressed into a thin line. After a moment, he nods curtly. “Very well, brother,” he concedes, though his tone implies this matter is far from over. He turns and strides over to the group of marines, his voice rising in stern commands as he begins scolding and correcting their forms.

Titus sighs, relaxing as he looks down at you. “Are you alright?” he asks, jolting you back to reality.

You nod, clutching your hands protectively over your stomach. “I-I am, thank you. I feel like I can’t stop saying that…”

“There’s no need for thanks, I am happy to aid you.” Titus smiles, and this time, it seems more natural. “Do not dwell on his words, Cato has always been difficult. Come, midday meal is soon. I’ll see you to the kitchens.”

He holds out his hand, and you slip yours into his. Titus’ grip is steady and reassuring as he helps you to your help, and you take comfort in that — in him.

Later that night, after concluding evening prayer, Titus made his way towards the kitchens, planning to retrieve a meal for himself and you. He wonders what they’ll suggest you eat this time. How much did you need to eat, anyway? A million thoughts race through his mind as he rounds a corner.

From behind a column, a figure emerges and Titus stops, watching as the person hurries to him. It’s a serf, one he recognizes as serving Cato Sicarius. This can’t be good.

“Lord Titus,” the serf begins, his voice hushed and heavy with fear. “I have something important I must tell you, concerning your serf.”

Titus straightens, snapping to attention. “Speak.”

The serf hesitates, casting worried glances around as if someone might overhear him. Walls of the fortress had ears. “Captain Sicarius is the father,” he blurts out, eyes wide with fear. “I-I saw him leaving my chambers that night, and when I entered, I found her.”

A heavy silence falls upon them, thick and oppressive, as the revelation hangs in the air. The tension stretches into a long, suffering stillness. The serf wrings his hands in an attempt to calm his nerves, searching Titus’ face for any sign of emotion — and finds none.

Finally, Titus speaks, his voice cold and measured. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

With a hasty bow, the serf scurries away, gone as quickly as he appeared, leaving Titus alone with his turbulent thoughts. Titus breathes deep, his nostrils flaring. His fists clench at his sides, the knuckles turning white from the force.

That bastard.

🏷️ @danart501

[sleepyfan-blog]

Rescue Titus

Author's note: This is the next part of the Bully(ing) Cato Sicarius fic. Other fics here

tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @i-am-a-dragon34 @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @bleedingichorhearts

warnings: none? Please ask me to tag something if I missed something

summary: You discover some inconsistencies, and begin to research further

You stare at the dataslate that holds a seemingly endless amount of paperwork for you to do. Despite normally finding form-work like this to be soothing, if not a little dull when the information contained within isn’t stuff that you need to know, or find interesting to read about… You’ve been unable to focus for more than ten minutes at a time, before your mind wanders. While you are safely tucked away in the fortress monastery of the White Consuls - a successor chapter of the Ultramarines - Cato, Demetrian and most of the second company are currently deployed, fighting against the Tyranid menace that threatens to consume the entire galaxy, if they are not stopped.

You want nothing more than to believe with all your heart and soul that both of your lovers will come home whole, healthy and victorious… But you’ve seen the ravaged, stripped wastelands that a Tyranid hive fleet can reduce entire systems down to, if they are not driven off of the worlds they attempt to consume and killed or driven out of the system entirely. You’ve seen some of the reports of entire chapters of Astartes being wiped out by Tyranids. Not just a squad of astartes. Not just a company of Astartes, but entire chapters of Astartes being killed and consumed by this insectoid menace from beyond the void of night. 

The Tyranid threat is so intense that you’ve found yourself murmuring prayers to the God-Emp-... To Him on Terra, despite having been ordered not to do so by Lord Guilliman (he himself who brings victory wherever he goes. The last loyal son of the Emperor. More than a few worlds consider him to be a deity as well, though subordinate to Him on Terra). You… You try not to give into that temptation, but your faith has been something that you’ve been taught is Right and Just… Abandoning it has left a void that you grieve, especially when you are left alone to your thoughts.

You had not been left without a protector entirely, though the escort you have been given is not one you would have chosen. You peek at Sargeant Leandros from the corners of your eyes, careful to keep your head turned toward the dataslate in your hands and suppress another sigh from leaving your lips… Wait, what was that you just read? You blink, straightening out of your stupor a little as you refocus on the first of the series of reports that the advanced scouts into the next system to be re-integrated into the greater Imperium of Man. The one that is currently fighting to stay out of the endless maw of the Tyranid Swarm.

“My lady?” Sergeant Leandros asked, his helmeted gaze snapping to you as he noted your movement. “Has something caught your attention?”

“It has… I’ll need to cross-reference what this says, with what the others have sent to me… But I think that - ah. Things may be more fraught than they first appear in the sector where most of the Indomitus fleet is currently embattled.” You respond, reading through the information as quickly as you can without skipping words or whole phrases that could be key.

The Ultramarine is immediately at your side, reading over your shoulder from the way he leans into your personal space. “What do you mean?”

“There was a recent change in power, in the past few years. The cause of the switch over had something to do with an Inquisitor and a suspected gene-stealer Cult that the former Governor may or may not have had ties with. Or at least, that’s what the Inquisitor said. You and I both know how accurate Inquisitors can be when they want something, and-... Huh… Can you bring up a list of Ordo Hereticus Inquisitors who have gone missing or were presumed to be killed in that and the nearby surrounding sectors, please? There’s something about this Lady Evergleam that bothers me.” You answer, the mild frown on your face deepening.

“Yes ma’am.” Leandros answered, snapping you a quick salute.

Despite your reservations about the sergeant, there are aspects to him that are endearing… Mostly when he reminds you of Demetrian, or Cato. One of the corners of your mouth lift up into a small smile “Thank you, Sergeant.”

~

Months of careful planning and research had led up to this moment. You walked confidently into the large throne room and called out “Lady Inquisitor.” There is a professional smile on your face, and ice in your eyes as you walk over to where Lady Evergleam, Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus was currently standing “What is it that you are doing?”

Lady Evergleam was far too close to a helmet-less and visibly uncomfortable Demetrian, the latter of whom was leaning away from the powerful baseline woman. 

The Inquisitor had one hand lightly touching his chest plate, the other raised, likely to signal several of her retinue who were standing in different points in the room. She took a half-step away from Titus and lowered her hands, answering with an equally professional smile “Merely inspecting one of the Ultramarines off-duty, as the others are helping doing clean up while dealing with the aftermath of the xenos invasion.” She looks you up and down, raising an eyebrow at you “From your dress and brazenness and interrupting me during my sacred duties, you must be Lord Guilliman’s head diplomat.”

You had gotten an SOS message from Demetrian, just before you had been about to present certain information to Lord Guilliman. You’d handed him a dataslate that had a copy of the information that you had gathered before informing him that you needed to help Titus out of an awkward social situation.

Lord Guilliman had been amused and had allowed you to leave, a light chuckle rumbling from the Primarch and a warm if small smile on his face. 

You had used the serfs’ paths in this palace to get to where Titus was faster than using the general access hallways and rooms that were much more winding and circuitous. Your eyes narrow a little as you walk purposefully towards Demetrian, placing yourself between him and the handsy Inquisitor. You are still smiling politely at her “I am indeed one of the diplomats who work directly for the IMperial regent, yes.” You scrutinize her further before answering “I have reviewed inspection protocols, of which you are in violation of several. Lieutenant Titus, should he require Inquisitorial Inspection, should have an Ultramarine Apothecary and Chaplain present. Additionally his superior officer may be in attendance as well, or at the very least should have been informed of this inspection beforehand, which he has not.”

“... Lieutenant Titus? Last I heard he is a captain.” Lady Evergleam inquired, a confused expression flashing across her face. 

Your eyes narrow a little more at the incongruity. Titus shifts a bit behind you. You want to reach out and hold one of his hands, but that would be a breach of etiquette that neither you nor he can afford at the moment. “How strange. I would think that an Inquisitor such as yourself would keep up to date on such things. Besides, Even if Titus was a captain, his superior officer would be the chapter master who had not been informed of your… Inspection, either.”

She bristles at your tone, her eyes narrowing some “And just what are you trying to imply, you silver-tongued -”

You deliberately interrupt her, to provoke her further “Only that you have breached protocols several times, and have outdated information. Which is ill-fitting of an Inquisitor of your status, Lady Evergleam.”

“If you are accusing me of something,stop dancing around the point, you Ultramarine branded harlot!” Evergleam hissed, glaring harder at you.

Normally, an Inquisitor glaring at you like that would make you nervous. But Cato’s voice rumbled in the earpiece you were wearing “I’m in position. Father is coming. Time to unmask her in front of her court.” 

Your smile turns sharp “You are not who you claim to be. After all, Lady Evergleam has been listed as KIA for over a hundred and twenty years. Her ship was destroyed along with everyone aboard her ship after the ship’s Gellar fields fell during a warm storm. You may have taken her face and voice, but you are not her. Nor are your companions her true retinue.” 

“How dare you accuse me of being an IMposter! I will have you arrested for the sheer cheek! Guards -” The false lady Inquisitor growled, playing every inch the offended and innocent party “Guards! Arrest this woman! We must have been displaced in time and the wreckage of another ship and crew were found and mistaken to be myself and my retinue.”

“So you still claim to be Inquisitor Evergleam?” You press, raising an eyebrow at this interloper. She had been playing petty tyrant on this world for several years. Even if she was who she claimed to be. Her actions since she claimed dominion over this world had earned her a swift execution.

"I don't claim to be anyone. I am Inquisitor Amela Evergleam!" The Inquisitor growled, "And you're one to talk about people being declared KIA, Lt. Titus here was declared KIA on Graia, during the Ork invasion of that world." She huffed.

"He was taken into Inquisitorial custody, actually," Primarch Guilliman called out, resplendent in the Armor of Fate, the Sword of the God Emperor in hand and unsheathed, psychic flames dancing along the blade, "That Inquisitor lied about Demetrian's status, among other things, for which he was killed. You stand accused of subverting the resources of an Imperial Word, Inquisitor. How do you plead?"

Evergleam sputters indignantly (and probably from fear. The cool fury of a Primarch is no small thing to bear the brunt of). "We have been trying to fulfill the Imperial Tithes imposed upon us. But recent seasons have been harsh, and an illness has been running rampant among the populace. I offer what we can spare, so as to not starve and slowly kill those left alive, my lord," She paused for several moments before falling to her knees, hands clasped together as if in prayer, "Lord Primarch, I took control of this world due to the mismanagement and foolishness of it's previous rulers. I have been working day and night for three years since I took governorship, to fix what I can... I have been plagued by bureaucratic bloat and internal obstruction and sabotage. I swear on all I hold dear that i have been doing all I can do-"

She fell silent as the Lord Primarch lifted his free hand in a silencing gesture. "Cease your begging and self-aggrandizement. My agents infiltrated your government months ahead of my arrival, to discern the truth of things. I declare that you have been found wanting. I offer you a choice: either you retire and live in quiet luxury, away from the halls of power of this or any other Imperial World... Or I will end your life now. Choose."

Guilliman underlined his words by pointing the tip of the Emperor's Blade at the kneeling Inquisitor, staring down at her, his face an inscrutable mask.

The Inquisitor froze on her knees, eyes wide. Her retinue had scattered away from her at the Primarch's approach, falling to their knees in terrified supplication, "My... my Lord Regent, is there no way I can prove myself an able planetary governor?"

"No, Choose. Wealthy retirement or execution." Guilliman rumbled, unwavering and unreadable.

"I... I will... I will retire quietly, Lord Regent and I thank you for your mercy. I don't know how or why you feel that I failed you, Imp-"

She was cut off by a frown on Guilliman's face, her own growing paler, "Cease. Talking. You need to pack your personal belonging and leave the governor's mansion by the end of the day. Begone." He commanded.

Lady Evergleam scramble up onto her feet and fled, her staff scurrying after her. The rest of her court immediately begin to whisper and murmur to one another. 

A particularly ambitious looking nobleman dares to approach the still thunderously frowning Lord Guilliman, for reasons you can guess at. Your focus, however, is drawn to Demetrian, as he places a large, armored hand on one of your shoulders. You look up into his eyes, smiling gently.

“You came…” He breathed.

“You called.” You answered, smiling gently up at him. “Cato is watching, nearby. Care to go for a walk with me, lieutenant? It’s a tad crowded in here for my tastes, and the Imperial Regent is going to be busy sorting out this lot for some time, I think.”

Titus hummed in agreement, the hand he had on your shoulder sliding gently down to your elbow “It would be my honor, my lady.” WIth that you and he walk into the meticulously cared for gardens.

A tall, broad blue and gold blur slams into Titus as soon as the doors close, hiding you and him from sight.

Titus lets out a startled “Fuck! What the -”

“Shut. Up.” Growled Cato, holding the older Marine in close, a low, warning rumble in his voice “That SOS you sent both of us worried the fuck out of me. Last time you were that close to an Inquisitor, you went missing for three centuries. If Father hadn’t ordered me to watch through a damn sniper’s scope I would’ve-”

“Done something reckless and stupid?” Demetrian teases, pressing his forehead to Cato’s, pulling you in to hug you as well.

One of Cato’s arms wraps around you, the other still holding tightly to Titus. “No. All of my moves are calculated and well thought out.”

“You’re just awful at math, half of the time.” Demetrian teased, a crooked grin on his face.

“Oi! Slander! Dearheart, he’s bullying me! And that’s after getting cornered by that shitty bitch whose been stalking him for weeks. I knew that she was planning something. You just thought it was because she was grateful you saved her life. I knew it was some kind of shady shit. Inquisitors are trouble.” Cato groused.

You chuckle and go up on your tiptoes, kissing both of your beloveds on the neck, which was the highest point that you could kiss both of them, while they were in their armor. Especially since Demetrian had crossed the Rubicon Primaris. He’d somehow gotten even taller. “I think we can head home. What do you think loves?”

“Yeah. We’re off-duty, officially and Father is being watched over by the fourth company. I don’t envy Ventris. When father starts yelling like that, he gets… Really intense.” Cato rumbled. 

“Poor lad. He really has some shite luck. Hopefully he won’t be harassed by either of the Lunatics after his ass, now that Father has taken the Imperial Helm.” Demetrian sighed, shaking his head a little. 

“Blegh. We’ve already fought Tyranids. Please don’t try to summon Renegades, or throne forbid Chaos down upon us. They are annoying as shit to fight.” Cato grumbled. 

You smile softly as you hold hands with both of your lovers, enjoying listen to the two of them bicker and banter with one another, occasionally teasing one or both of them as well. They tease you back, of course.

[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.

[shellswritesstuff]

𓊆ᴅᴇᴍᴇᴛʀɪᴀɴ ᴛɪᴛᴜs X ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ - general hc/drabble𓊇 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚(⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴. 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹. 𝘤𝘸: 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘯. 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴.

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜɪ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛᴀsᴛᴇ. sᴘᴀᴄᴇ ᴍᴀʀɪɴᴇ ɪɪ ʜᴀs ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʜᴏʟᴅ,, ɪᴍ ғᴀɪʀʟʏ ɴᴇᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ 𝟺𝟶ᴋ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ, sᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴇxᴄᴜsᴇ ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏʀᴇ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs!! ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴠᴀɢᴜᴇ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ. :𝟶 (under read more.)

Chivalry isn't dead; it's walking around in huge blue armor.

Titus is known for his strength on the battlefield. His hands have eviscerated countless enemies of the Imperium. You've seen him rip a Tryanid right down the middle... yikes.

So when the same bloodstained hands hold onto yours, why don't you feel scared?

There's something about him that's different. Gadriel would comment that it's unbefitting of a Space Marine.

The corners of his mouth lift upon seeing you, despite your wrought reaction to the viscera coating his skin.

You sigh, rolling your eyes at the juxtaposition of guts and such a disarming look.

And don't get you started on his size.

Holy Terra... the size difference between you two was almost heretic. (At least, the ideas it gave you.)

Even out of his armor, he dwarfed you.

You knew Titus would never bring you harm, despite his potential to. As his hand lays on your bare chest, you become starkly aware of how easy it would be. His palm encapsulated your breast, and partially your other. If he were to just...

"Are you still with me?" That gruff, familiar voice derailed whatever train of thought lingered.

You stuttered, apologizing. Being together like this was rare. A brief respite from the cosmos.

You were skin to skin, dressed as the day you were born. Fingers tracing Titus' countless scars, you dare not ask their origin.

There wasn't much to say; a quiet understanding that you're both happy to be alive and in the moment.

That is, until your mind inevitably wanders.

You'd make an attempt to straddle Titus' waist, but settle for a strong thigh instead. Your body comes alive as the flex of his muscles meet your wet core.

"It was a matter of time, then." Titus speaks softly, as to hide his equal lust.

For the night, you would be lovers. Unknowing of what the next day will bring.

[scriberye]

A Secret Held Tight (4/?)

────────── DEMETRIAN TITUS x F!READER x CATO SICARIUS ⚠️ Violence, Romance, Pregnant!Reader Weeks after a night of celebrations, you find yourself pregnant and ready to run, only to have your plans thwarted by Titus who vows to keep you safe. Now you must navigate the complexities of falling in love, and the scrutiny of Captain Cato Sicarius. a/n: Titus punches Sicarius, and Sicarius makse everything more complicated. chp. one / chp. two / chp. three

The sun is just beginning to rise as you walk to the laundry room carrying Titus’ clothes bundled in your arms. The other serfs you’re with are chatting and gossiping. It’s comforting in its normalcy.

“Did you hear about that attack?” one serf asks, her eyes wide.

“It was pretty bad,” another responds, shuffling the pile of clothes in his arms with a cringe as the stench of sweat and grime assaults his nose. “But you know, this means they’ll be deploying soon to deal with it.”

“Why are we even doing laundry in that case. They’re just going to come back worse than before!” another serf adds with a loud, exhausted sigh.

Right as your group rounds a corner, a detachment of Ultramarines hurry past, their armor hissing and clanking in their rush. The other serfs gasp, stumbling back, surprised by the marines and their indifference to whom they may topple in their haste.

You only catch a bit of what they’re talking about — a commotion in the training grounds. The other serfs don’t hesitate, dumping the clothes before rushing off toward the training grounds.

You set Titus’ clothes down in an alcove and freeze. He’s been nothing but kind to you, and you were going to put off your duties to satisfy your curiosity?

Yes, you were. Cursing under your breath, you dash after the other serfs. The laundry can wait.

And the commotion has drawn a crowd, marines and serfs alike form a circle around the field. “What’s happening?” you ask, leaning up on your tiptoes to peek over another serf’s shoulder.

“It’s Sicarius and Titus,” the serf says, voice tinged with awe. “They’re sparring but it looks more like a fight.”

Your heart sinks. Titus.

You shove your way through the bodies, trying to get a better view. The scene that greets you is nothing short of terrifying and mesmerizing. Sicarius and Titus circle each other, stripped down to the body suits they wear under their armor.

Despite the dread knotting in your stomach, there’s an undeniable attraction coiling around your heart for both men. Titus is stoic but kind-hearted. And now, facing off with Sicarius, he’s lost his cool, he’s passionate and angry.

On the other hand, you weren’t sure what about Sicarius drew your attention. He carried himself with an air of arrogance and pride, with seldom a kind word to say. Yet, since his return, he’s changed. Humility had tempered him into a quiet strength.

The fight is brutal.

“You took advantage of her,” Titus snarls, his fist connecting with Sicarius’ jaw with a sickening thud. “Used her then threw her away! Have you no shame?!”

Sicarius staggers, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The accusation cuts deep and his eyes burn with anger and jealousy. “You don’t understand!” he snaps through gritted teeth. “I kept it secret because it was the right thing to do!”

Titus’ eyes flash in anger, and he lunges for Sicarius. The two men crash together, grappling fiercely as they try to overpower and throw the other.

“I don’t have the luxury of being there for her, like you do!” Sicarius roars, voice raw as he pushes back at Titus, sweat mixing with blood smearing his jaw. “You think I wanted this?!”

For a moment, Titus’s grip falters, a flicker of understanding crossing over his face, and Sicarius takes advantage of it, driving his knee into Titus’ ribs, breaking free of the grapple. They break apart, their breaths ragged and labored, sweat dripping your from their foreheads.

They’re poised on the edge of continued violence.

Before they can clash again, a voice booms, “Enough!”

All heads turn as the towering form of the Primarch enters the training grounds, a deep, disapproving scowl on his face. “This is not how we resolve disagreements. You will both answer for your behavior.” Roboute turns to look at the gathered crowd, “The rest of you — disperse!”

The crowd thins, and you reluctantly follow, looking back one last time as Titus and Sicarius follow their Primarch, their heads hanging in shame. You hurry along, returning to Titus’ room to wait for him.

And it’s an agonizing wait. Anxiety gnaws at your heart, the task of the laundry long forgotten, as you pace around the room with a hand over your stomach. You replay the fight over in your head, each punch and kick stirring up turbulent emotions that refuse to be ignored.

Sicarius is the father of your child. The revelation brings old feelings to the surface, tangling with the new, seeing the jealousy and regret in every move he made during the fight. You thought you were over this schoolgirl crush.

Yet, your heart is drawn to Titus and his unyielding kindness, nurturing tender new feelings as they blossom into something more. He fought for you, your honor, to protect you.

The room feels suffocating.

You take a deep breath, continuing your restless pacing. Each moment seems spent waiting, alone with your thoughts, feels like it stretches into eternity.

At last, the door opens, and Titus steps inside. He doesn’t even look at you, his expression weary and crestfallen, the fight and resulting discipline hanging over him like a shadow. He crosses the room, sinking down onto the edge of the bed, his back turned towards you.

“Titus,” you begin softly, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he mutters. Though he turns his head toward you, he refuses to meet your eyes. It goes quiet. You’re unsure what to do, stroking your hand over your rounding stomach in a soothing motion.

Finally, Titus looks up at you, pain and confusion evident in his eyes. “Did you truly not know Sicarius was the father?”

You look down, tears pooling and blurring your vision. “I had a feeling it might’ve been him,” your voice cracks. “But I didn’t want to believe it without proof. A-and even if he is, it doesn’t change the fact I want you to be the father.”

Titus’ expression softens. Rising from the bed, he moves across the room to stand before you. A calloused yet gentle hand slips under your chin, tilting your head up so you’ll look at him. “I will,” he smiles. “For as long as you want me to be.”

You nod quickly, not trusting your voice. Titus leans his forehead against yours, and you close your eyes, the tears spilling out over your cheeks. He wipes a stray tear with his thumb. For a moment, his lips hover close to yours before pressing against yours in a painfully tender kiss. It’s so chaste and gentle and full of love — it hurts your already torn heart.

You wrap your arms around his neck, urging him closer. And Titus obliges, throwing an arm around your waist and pulling you to him, deepening the kiss.

🏷️ @danart501

[scriberye]

🔞 A Secret Held Tight (1/?)

────────── DEMETRIAN TITUS x F!READER x CATO SICARIUS ⚠️🔞 Explicit Sexual Content, Rough Sex, Drinking Weeks after a night of celebrations, you find yourself pregnant and ready to run, only to have your plans thwarted by Titus who vows to keep you safe. Now you must navigate the complexities of falling in love, and the scrutiny of Captain Cato Sicarius. a/n: A little smut to start things off.

You rise before dawn, when the air is chill and nips at your bones. It’s a new day, a relentless cycle of duty, where one day bleeds into the next. You hastily eat what you can for breakfast before you’re off.

The morning sun shining in from the windows keeps you warm as you scrub the stone floors. Ultramarines walk past, their voices low as they spoke in hushed conversation. You keep your head bowed until they move on.

Then you notice they’ve tracked dirt across the freshly cleaned floor, and you sigh. You can’t help but wonder if they notice they only make more work for their serfs. With a sigh, you resume cleaning, knowing the fortress needs to be clean for the celebration tonight.

The day passes in a blur in a whirlwind of chores and preparations. The fortress is abuzz with excitement — the main force is returning from another victorious campaign. Tonight, you’ll be able to indulge in good food and alcohol.

By evening, as the sun sets, the returning Ultramarines are greeted with cheers. Even in battle worn armor, the sight of them makes your heart swell with pride. The celebration begins, laughter and the smells of food fill the halls of the fortress. You join the other serfs in the feasting hall, and as the alcohol flows, the gap between you and the Ultramarines shrinks.

One marine in particular has caught your eye, and you’ve caught his. He’s stern faced, and holds himself in a commanding manner, even when he’s speaking with his brothers.

And you’re too drunk at this point to realize you’ve been making bedroom eyes at him all night. Your heart quickens when he excuses himself from the group and approaches you. The serfs you were with scatter, leaving you alone to face him.

He leans down, his hand heavy and possessive against the small of your back. “Come with me,” he whispers. The heat of his lips near your ear sends an electric shiver down your spine, and against your better judgment, you nod.

The sounds of the celebration fade into the background as he guides you through the halls of the fortress, his hand never leaving your back.

At last, he stops in front of a door and pushes you through it. It’s a serf’s room, but not yours, and whose you aren’t sure.

He drags you close, pulling your bodies flush together. The cold of his armor seeps through your clothes, chilling against your overheated flesh. He leans down and kisses you, hard and possessive. You whimper and cling to his armor as he devours your mouth, bullying his tongue into your mouth. His hands roam your body, groping and tearing at your clothes, tossing them aside to be forgotten.

The marine breaks the kiss and lifts you up with ease, carrying you over to the bed and throwing you down upon it. In your drunken haze, you laugh and give him your best sultry, come-hither look.

“Come, breed me, my lord,” you slur your words, obscenely spreading your legs wide for him. As if he would fit between them.

The marine growls. He fights with the codpiece of his armor and tosses it aside. It would take too long, be too much of a hassle to fully undress, and he needs to bury himself as deep as he can inside of you. You bit your lip as he reaches in the bodysuit, pulling out his stiff cock.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he demands, joining you on the bed. It creaks dangerously under his added weight. When you don’t move fast enough for him, he grabs you by the hip and rolls you over onto your stomach. You yelp and giggle when he raises your hips high, forcing you to lean up on your toes to accommodate him.

He slaps his cock against the wet slit of your cunt a few times before fitting the thick head against your entrance. There are no sweet words, no considerate ‘here I go’, nothing. The marine sinks himself into you, forcing your cunt to stretch around his girth.

For a moment, the pain of it all sobers you up faster than any hangover cure. You cry out, clawing at the bed beneath you as he thrusts shallowly against you, again and again, shoving himself deeper into you each time.

“Breathe girl,” he grumbles. “Keep squeezing like that and you’ll push me out.”

You take a deep, shaky breath and try to will your body to relax. He drives his cock harder into you this time, causing you to let out a squeal. Your body shakes in his grip as you cum, gushing and soaking his cock further with your fluids.

“That’s it,” he coos. “Such a well behaved mortal. I’ll give you what you want!”

He squeezes your hips tight enough that you’ll have bruises in the morning, and fucks you in earnest. Your desperate cries mingle with his grunts. The old bed squeaks and groans, the headboard bangs against the wall. It’s enough to push you quickly into a second orgasm. Your eyes roll back in your head, your cunt leaking and clenching around him.

The marine moans, slowing down as he enjoys the feel of your cunt fluttering around him. He thrusts one last time and groans, loud and deep. He holds himself deep inside of you, his cock throbbing as he floods your cunt with his seed.

Your head spins as his cock slips from your dripping cunt and you drop back onto the bed, panting hard. He leans back and slaps you hard on the ass; the sound echoing through the room. It stings and you yelp, raising your ass higher with a whine.

He chuckles and leans over you, guiding his cock into you again.

The night wears on, hours blending together as he claims you over and over. You lose track of how many times he’s made you cum, and the number of times he’s filled you with his seed. Even after the bed collapsed, he continues. He picks you up and tosses you onto the next available surface — be it a table, wall, or floor.

You tremble, overwhelmed and caught up in the frenzy of desire, and it takes its toll. Exhaustion claims you at some point, and you pass out. The next time you wake, it’s alone in the remnants of a broken bed. You’re disappointed he didn’t stay, more so that you can’t remember anything distinctive about him.

Your body protests as you try to rise and clean yourself up, his cum still marking your thighs. The memories of the previous night are hazy, and you hope you’ll see him again.

[scriberye]

A Secret Held Tight (2/?)

────────── DEMETRIAN TITUS x F!READER x CATO SICARIUS ⚠️ Pregnant!Reader, Emotional Distress Weeks after a night of celebrations, you find yourself pregnant and ready to run, only to have your plans thwarted by Titus who vows to keep you safe. Now you must navigate the complexities of falling in love, and the scrutiny of Captain Cato Sicarius. a/n: He's your knight in shining blue ceramite armor! He's Titus! 👏

The days that follow are arduous at best, as if they weren’t tedious enough before the celebration. Each morning, you wake queasy and unsteady and you forgo breakfast in favor of hugging a pot as you heave the contents of your stomach into it. Still, you press on. You dismiss the minor aches and pains, and the unusually strong lingering odors as remnants of the celebration.

Yet as days turn into weeks, you continue to brush it off. You convince yourself that it’s just a passing sickness. Everyone gets sick at some point, you reason. It can’t be anything more.

But you can’t deny the truth for long. You find yourself one day sitting on your bed in the dormitory, half-asleep, a piece of thoroughly chewed bread in your mouth. The other serfs have noticed your behavior, and their concerned murmurs go completely unnoticed by you.

“Are you alright?” someone asks, their voice cutting through the fog that had settled over you. You blink, bleary-eyed and exhausted. Oh, it’s one of the older serfs, a woman who took on a matronly role. She’s seen many things in her long years, yet her eyes and mind remain sharp as ever.

“I’m fine,” you lie, forcing a smile. “Just a little sick.”

“You are not fine,” she scoffs. “And you are a poor liar, child. Who is the father?”

You hesitate, taking a deep breath before answering in a hushed voice, “One of the marines. Don’t ask which one for honestly I can’t remember.”

“Let’s hope it’s not one of the insufferable ones, like Captain Sicarius,” a serf mumbles to another. It makes your stomach churn at the thought.

“He’d never. If anything, he would easier to deal with if he got a little action. Even his personal serfs say he’s a headache.” Another adds.

The matron tsks and snaps her fingers at the gaggle of serfs standing nearby. “If you have the mind to stand there and gossip, you can get over here and help.”

They move closer, sheepishly casting apologetic glances in your direction, to which you offer a courteous smile in return. No hard feelings.

“Now, we must make plans,” the matron says firmly. “You may not recognize the father, but he certainly will recognize you. Your best chances are to get to the city, I know people there who can help hide you and the child.”

She pauses, her gaze falling firmly on yours. “You must be brave.”

You nod. She begins to outline her plan to you and the other serfs. The matron speaks with such confidence and assurance, assigning roles and detailing each step that it fills you with confidence.

The night you make your escape, your heart hammers in your chest as you navigate the fortress’ darkened corridors clutching a satchel of supplies. Thanks to the other serfs, your path is clear. Anyone and everyone who could be patrolling are busy and distracted.

You creep through the corridors, pressing close to the cold, stone walls, and peeking around corners before moving on. You grow more confident the closer you get to your goal, but then you see it — a flicker of movement, a figure disappearing around a corner.

Your heart seizes. Every muscle tenses, coiling, ready to spring into action. The shadow moves again, and you can hear it now — the clanking, pounding of ceramite on stone. There’s a marine. Here. Now. He shouldn’t be here. No one is supposed to be here. You checked and double-checked.

The tight corridor suddenly feels suffocating. You retreat back the way you came and dart down a different hallway, trying to remember the layout of the fortress. Maybe you can get around him and avoid a confrontation.

The satchel of supplies in your arms feels like a lead weight. But you can’t let get caught — not now. You navigate the corridors until you find something familiar, a mark on the wall signaling a path out of the fortress. You’re so close now.

The end is in sight, but so is the marine. He’s been following you. He knew you were there before you could even think to hide. His imposing shadow looms over you and the world slows to a crawl.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps.

Thunk. Thunk.

Closer. He’s right behind you.

A heavy gauntlet hand closes over your shoulder.

“Breathe,” he says.

You do, but it comes out as ragged gasps. All those plans you made, the efforts of everyone involved, have been in vain. Tears well up in your eyes.

He squeezes your shoulder. It’s not a command, but a gentle urging for you to turn around and face him. And what else can you do? You obey and look up at him. You recognize him right away. It’s Titus. He’s always been a favorite among the serfs for his kindness.

The usual stern expression softens with concern when he takes in the clearly troubled look on your face. Yet, his hand remains firm on your shoulder, steadying and grounding you.

“Breathe,” he says again. “And tell me what is happening here.”

“Please,” you whisper and squeeze your eyes shut, feeling a hot tear run down your cheek. There’s no sense lying or trying to make excuses now. “I can’t stay here… I’m pregnant, my lord.”

Titus inhales sharply, his hand on your shoulder lifting but never leaving. “So you thought to flee.”

You nod, and the follow that follows is heavy with the weight of it all. Titus’ mind races, no doubt, mulling the situation over in his head, trying to find answers in the codes and regulations, and a way through. He brings the other hand up and squeezes your shoulders.

“Listen,” he begins. “You are not alone, and if you will permit me, I wish to support you.”

You blink in surprise, lifting your head to look up at him, a fragile blend of fear and hoping twisting inside of you. “Wh— how?”

“You wouldn’t just run without a good reason. I suspect the father is not another serf, and it is this that drives you to take such drastic action.”

“I’m scared,” you confess quietly, as tears stream down your cheeks. “I don’t know what to do. What if he takes the baby from me…”

Titus’ hands tighten on your shoulders, effectively drawing your attention back to him. “I understand and, on my honor, I will do my duty to protect you,” he vows. “Become my personal serf and I can shield you, and if need be I will claim your child as my own.”

“But my lord! Your reputation! Why would you do that?” you gasp.

“I have weathered worse blows to my reputation,” Titus replies, shaking his head. He looks down at you with the faintest of smiles, a faint hint of something more… warm. “And this is the right thing to do. You deserve to feel safe.”

“Come,” he says, letting go of your shoulders. He gently takes the satchel of supplies from your trembling hands. “There is a room near my cell you can settle into, and once you’re calm we can discuss this further.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, following him as he leads you back into the fortress. With each step, you feel hope bloom in your heart, swelling and filling the gaps left by fear.

[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.

[scriberye]

hey there!

🍃 My name is Rye, and I'm a perpetually dehydrated houseplant. 30+. This tumblr is a secondary and cannot follow back. I created it for me to practice my writing using fanfiction, so I bounce from one interest to another when inspiration strikes. Is it okay to mass like/reblog? Absolutely! Go wild! Requests are closed. Ask box is open. ⚠️ I do not post anywhere except for tumblr and Ao3.

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last updated: july 20th