I write dark fiction. The obsessive kind, the unsettling kind, the kind that sits heavy and lingers. Morally gray characters, complicated relationships, and dynamics that are not meant to feel safe or clean.
REQUESTS are OPEN. Send prompts or ideas and I’ll write what inspires me. Not everything will be done, but I read all requests.
I mainly write x reader, female reader by default unless stated otherwise.
MASTERLIST (upcoming)
Characters I write for:
• l • l • 🦋
Lady Tremaine (Cinderella)
Mother Gothel (Tangled)
Lady Dimitrescu (Resident Evil Village)
Mother Miranda (Resident Evil Village)
Negan (The Walking Dead)
Miranda Priestly (The Devil Wears Prada)
Tywin Lannister (Game of Thrones)
Lord Baelish (Game of Thrones)
Larissa Weems (Wednesday)
Lucifer Morningstar (The Sandman)
Shiv Roy (Succession)
Jack Abbot (The Pitt)
Titus Danforth (Ready or Not 2)
Agatha Harkness (Agatha All Along)
Claire De Bella (Knives Out: Glass Onion)
Jennifer Barkley (Parks and Rec)
Maya Mason (The Studio)
Tony Stark (Marvel)
Dr. Stephen Strange (Marvel)
The Mandarin (Shang-Chi)
Lady Galadriel (Lord of the Rings)
Severus Snape (Harry Potter)
Lucius Malfoy (Harry Potter)
Narcissa Malfoy (Harry Potter)
Aro Volturi (Twilight)
Carlisle Cullen (Twilight)
• l • l • 🦋
You can also request other characters if you have someone in mind.
Please be respectful when requesting. I only write what I’m comfortable with, and updates depend on time and inspiration.
Summary: What began as curiosity turns into something far darker when you catch the attention of someone who will do anything for you.
Warnings: dark themes, obsession, possessiveness, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, emotional dependency, and possible violence.
The café always smelled like burnt espresso and vanilla syrup.
You used to think the scent would cling to you forever. Even after long showers, even after classes, even after crawling into bed at two in the morning with unfinished assignments and aching feet. It settled into your skin like exhaustion itself.
The shop sat on the corner of a busy street just off campus. Small. Warm. Usually crowded enough to keep the lights on but not crowded enough to pay you properly.
Still, it was yours.
Well. Not yours.
But familiar.
The old espresso machine hissed constantly. The owner argued with suppliers in the back every Tuesday morning. The regulars ordered the same things every day with frightening consistency. You knew who tipped and who didn’t. Who smiled politely and who treated you like another appliance behind the counter.
And lately, there was him.
You notice him the second he walks in.
Not because he’s attractive.
Though he is.
Painfully so.
No, what catches your attention is how wrong he looks in the café.
The place is full of students with wrinkled hoodies and tired eyes. People tapping away on old laptops. Friends splitting pastries because everything around campus costs too much.
Then there’s him.
Dark coat.
Pressed slacks.
Silver watch glinting beneath the low café lights.
He looks like he belongs in the kind of place where water costs twenty dollars and reservations require last names people recognize.
Not here.
Your coworker notices too.
“Jesus,” Maya mutters beside you. “Either he’s rich or he kills people for fun.”
You snort quietly.
The man’s gaze lifts.
Straight toward you.
Your smile disappears immediately.
There’s something unsettling about eye contact that direct. Like he already knows you somehow.
“Good afternoon,” you say automatically once he reaches the register. “What can I get started for you?”
Up close, he’s even worse.
Pretty in a cold sort of way.
Sharp features. Calm eyes. The kind of face that belongs in old paintings depicting men who poison their wives.
His eyes flick briefly to your name tag.
Then back to your face.
“A black coffee.”
His voice is smooth. Controlled.
Expensive sounding, somehow.
You type the order in.
“That’ll be four seventy five.”
He hands you a card without looking away from you once.
It should make you uncomfortable.
Instead, heat creeps up your neck.
You hate that.
“Name for the order?”
“Titus.”
Of course it is.
You almost laugh.
Instead, you nod politely and move toward the espresso machine.
You can feel his eyes on you the entire time.
It gets under your skin.
Not in a frightening way.
Not yet.
Just enough to make your movements clumsy.
You nearly knock over the cup while pouring his coffee.
“Careful.”
The voice comes from directly beside you.
You jolt.
“When did you get over here?”
“You looked like you were about to burn yourself.”
He says it calmly. Like it’s reasonable for him to suddenly appear behind the counter line.
You stare at him.
Most customers respected boundaries. There was an unspoken rule about space in places like this.
Titus Danforth looked like he’d never followed rules a day in his life.
You hand him the coffee carefully.
“Well,” you say lightly, “thank you for your heroic intervention.”
For the first time since walking in, something changes in his expression.
Amusement.
Small.
Brief.
But real.
“You’re welcome.”
Then his gaze drops.
Your hand.
You follow his line of sight.
A burn mark stretches faintly across your wrist. Old enough to have healed badly.
“Occupational hazard,” you joke before he can ask.
His eyes linger there a second too long.
“What happened?”
“The espresso machine attacked me.”
“You should sue.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself.
It surprises both of you.
Because his expression shifts again.
Not amused this time.
Intent.
Like he’s memorizing the sound.
You clear your throat awkwardly.
“Well. Enjoy your coffee.”
He doesn’t move.
“You’re studying nearby?”
Your eyes narrow slightly.
“How do you know I’m a student?”
“You’re exhausted.”
The answer comes immediately.
Matter of fact.
“You have ink on your fingers. You keep checking the clock every few minutes which means you’re worried about being late for something. Probably class.”
Your mouth parts slightly.
Titus tilts his head.
“Was I wrong?”
“No,” you admit slowly. “Just mildly terrified.”
That almost smile appears again.
“You work too much.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“She’s probably correct.”
You roll your eyes.
“And you know this after knowing me for approximately three minutes?”
“Yes.”
Something about the confidence in his voice sends warmth curling strangely through your stomach.
Which is ridiculous.
You know absolutely nothing about this man.
Except that he’s observant to a concerning degree.
Maya suddenly appears beside you.
“Can you grab more cups from storage?”
You nod quickly, grateful for the interruption.
“Yeah. One second.”
When you look back, Titus is still standing there.
Watching you.
Not casually.
Not flirtatiously.
Watching.
Like you’re something fascinating he accidentally stumbled across.
Something he wants to take apart slowly just to see how it works.
The thought sends a chill down your spine.
And somehow doesn’t make you want to leave.
“Have a nice day, Titus.”
“You too.”
But he says it strangely.
Softly.
Like he already plans on seeing you again.
And he does.
The next day, he returns.
Then the day after that.
Then the one after that too.
🦋
By the second week, your coworkers start making fun of you.
“Your boyfriend’s here.”
Maya says it the moment the café door opens.
You don’t even look up from the espresso machine.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Mmhm.”
“He’s literally just a customer.”
“A customer who comes here every single day at exactly four thirty and stares at you like a Victorian husband hiding his sick wife in the attic.”
You choke on your own laugh.
“Oh my God.”
“What?” Maya grins. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
You don’t.
Because she isn’t.
Not entirely.
Titus Danforth had become a constant presence in your life so gradually you barely noticed it happening.
At first, it was coffee.
Then conversations.
Then him lingering near closing time while you wiped tables and counted tips.
Somehow, without asking, he learned your schedule.
Your major.
Your favorite pastry from the bakery two streets down.
The fact you hated cinnamon in coffee but liked it in desserts.
You never remembered telling him half these things.
And yet he knew.
“You look tired.”
You glance up as Titus approaches the counter.
“You say that every time you see me.”
“Because every time I see you, you look tired.”
He’s dressed differently today.
Dark sweater.
Sleeves rolled slightly past his wrists.
Your stomach does something deeply embarrassing at the sight.
You busy yourself cleaning the counter.
“Maybe I’m just naturally exhausted.”
“That’s concerning.”
“College builds character.”
“College exploits sleep deprivation.”
“That too.”
His eyes soften slightly.
“You should quit this job.”
You blink.
“Excuse me?”
“The café.”
You laugh lightly.
“Right. And survive on what exactly?”
“I could help.”
The words come easily from him.
Too easily.
Your smile falters.
Titus notices immediately.
Something unreadable flickers behind his eyes.
“You dislike the idea.”
“No,” you say carefully. “I just barely know you.”
“And yet you trust me enough to laugh around me.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No,” he agrees quietly. “It isn’t.”
The air between you shifts strangely.
Too heavy all of a sudden.
You clear your throat.
“Well. Your usual?”
“Yes.”
You make his coffee while trying not to think about how easily he offered financial help.
Most people would call that generous.
Something about it unsettled you instead.
Not because it sounded manipulative.
Because it sounded sincere.
Titus waits near the counter while you finish the drink.
“You have a break soon?”
You glance at the clock.
“In ten minutes.”
“Come outside with me.”
Your eyebrows lift.
“That sounded vaguely threatening.”
His mouth twitches.
“I’ll work on my phrasing.”
You should say no.
You know you should.
Everything about Titus feels slightly dangerous in ways you can’t explain properly.
Not outwardly dangerous.
He’s never been cruel to you.
Never raised his voice.
Never touched you without permission.
But there’s an intensity to him that feels consuming.
Like once he decides something belongs to him, he never lets go.
The frightening part is how much you like being looked at that way.
“You’re staring again,” he says softly.
Heat crawls into your face.
“You noticed?”
“I notice everything about you.”
Your heartbeat stumbles.
There it is again.
That feeling.
Like every conversation with him is balancing carefully on the edge of something bigger.
Something neither of you are naming yet.
Maya suddenly appears behind you again.
“You are absolutely sleeping with him.”
“Oh my God,” you hiss.
Titus looks entirely unbothered.
Actually, he looks pleased.
Which only makes it worse.
“I hate both of you.”
“No you don’t,” Maya says immediately.
Unfortunately, she’s right.
Ten minutes later, you find yourself outside beside Titus anyway.
The evening air is cool against your skin.
The city glows around you in blurry gold lights and passing cars.
Titus stands beside you holding two cups.
“You already bought coffee.”
“This one is for you.”
You stare.
“You left and came back?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His gaze settles on you.
Steady.
Simple.
“Because you looked like you needed something warm.”
Your chest aches unexpectedly.
Nobody really took care of you.
Not here.
Not in the city.
Your parents tried from miles away, calling constantly to remind you to eat properly and sleep more, but concern over the phone wasn’t the same as someone noticing things in real time.
Titus notices everything.
“You do this often?” you ask quietly.
“What?”
“Act weirdly thoughtful.”
A soft laugh escapes him.
You freeze slightly.
You’ve never heard him laugh before.
Not really.
It changes his entire face.
“You think I’m thoughtful?”
“I think you’re strange.”
“Ah.”
“But,” you admit slowly, “not in a bad way.”
His eyes darken slightly at that.
Like the words meant more to him than they should have.
A comfortable silence settles between you afterward.
Cars pass.
People move around you.
The café behind you buzzes with noise.
And somehow, standing beside Titus feels separate from all of it.
Like the world narrows strangely whenever he’s near.
“You should have dinner with me.”
The question catches you off guard.
You blink up at him.
“That sounded less like a question and more like a royal decree.”
“Would you prefer I beg?”
You grin despite yourself.
“That depends. Would it be entertaining?”
“For you, maybe.”
There’s something dangerous about how easily he says things like that.
Like he genuinely would.
Your friends would tell you to run.
Normal men did not become this attached this quickly.
Normal men did not look at you like they’d discovered religion.
But you were tired.
Lonely.
Overworked.
And Titus made you feel seen in a way nobody else ever had.
That kind of attention becomes addictive frighteningly fast.
“Okay,” you hear yourself say softly.
His expression stills completely.
Like he wasn’t expecting you to agree.
“Okay?” he repeats.
“Dinner.”
For the first time since meeting him, Titus looks genuinely caught off guard.
Then slowly, very slowly, he smiles.
And suddenly you understand how people ruin their lives for love.
🦋
Your mother doesn’t like Titus.
She tries to hide it.
Really, she does.
But mothers notice things daughters don’t.
And from the moment Titus steps out of the car in your hometown, your mother’s smile becomes strained around the edges.
Your father is worse.
He shakes Titus’s hand once and immediately looks like he regrets it.
“This is my dad,” you say nervously.
Titus smiles politely.
“Sir.”
Your father’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.
You notice.
Titus notices more.
The entire drive there had felt surreal.
Titus looked absurdly out of place in your hometown.
The roads were smaller here.
Quieter.
Your family’s house sat near the edge of town with a little garden your mother insisted on maintaining herself despite constantly complaining about it.
Nothing about this place matched Titus Danforth.
He belonged to polished marble floors and private events and expensive wine you still didn’t know how to pronounce properly.
Not here.
And yet he followed you inside like he belonged wherever you were.
Dinner starts pleasantly enough.
Your mother asks polite questions.
Your father barely speaks.
Titus remains calm through all of it.
Charming, even.
Painfully charming.
He compliments the food.
Offers to help clean.
Listens attentively whenever you speak.
Your younger cousin practically adores him within twenty minutes.
Objectively, he’s perfect.
Which somehow makes your parents trust him even less.
You don’t understand it.
“You work in finance?” your father asks eventually.
Something unreadable flickers across Titus’s face.
“In a manner of speaking.”
It’s such a strange answer your father goes quiet afterward.
Under the table, Titus’s hand settles gently against your knee.
Warm.
Possessive.
Your breath catches slightly.
Nobody notices except your mother.
Her expression tightens immediately.
You feel suddenly embarrassed.
Like you’ve done something wrong.
After dinner, you help your mother wash dishes while Titus steps outside with your father.
You smile faintly to yourself.
Maybe this is good.
Maybe they’re finally talking properly.
“You like him.”
Your mother says it quietly while rinsing plates.
You blink.
“Obviously.”
“No,” she says softly. “I mean really like him.”
Heat rises to your face.
You stare down at the sink.
“I do.”
Silence.
Then quietly:
“He scares me.”
Your head lifts immediately.
“What?”
Your mother dries her hands slowly.
“There’s something wrong with that man.”
The words hit you harder than they should.
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know.” Frustration creeps into her voice. “That’s the problem.”
You shake your head immediately.
“Mom, he’s been nothing but good to me.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s good.”
“He loves me.”
The moment the words leave your mouth, your mother’s face changes.
Not anger.
Sadness.
Which somehow hurts worse.
“Oh sweetheart,” she whispers.
Defensiveness flares hot in your chest.
“You don’t know him.”
“And you do?”
“Yes.”
Your mother looks unconvinced.
“You’ve only known him a few months.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It does when a man starts orbiting your entire life that quickly.”
You slam the sponge down harder than intended.
“He cares about me.”
“Obsession and care are not always the same thing.”
The kitchen goes silent.
You hate the way the words linger.
Because some small ugly part of you understands what she means.
Titus could be intense.
Overwhelmingly so sometimes.
There were moments his attention felt less romantic and more consuming.
But he never hurt you.
Never.
“You’re overreacting.”
Your mother sighs softly.
“Maybe.”
But she doesn’t sound convinced.
And then quietly:
“Your father thinks so too.”
Something cold settles in your stomach.
“You talked about this already?”
“We worry about you.”
“He makes me happy.”
“That man looks at you like he’d kill for you.”
You laugh nervously.
“That’s dramatic.”
“No,” your mother says softly. “It isn’t.”
The back door creaks open.
You jump slightly.
Titus steps inside.
Your mother immediately goes quiet.
Your stomach drops.
How much did he hear?
His expression is perfectly calm.
Perfectly normal.
Which somehow makes you more nervous.
Your mother excuses herself quietly moments later, leaving you alone with him in the kitchen.
Titus walks toward you slowly.
“You alright?”
His voice is gentle.
You nod too quickly.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You seem upset.”
You force a smile.
“Just family stuff.”
His gaze studies your face carefully.
Too carefully.
“You can tell me if someone said something that hurt you.”
There’s no anger in his voice.
No suspicion.
But suddenly, instinct screams at you not to tell him.
You don’t know why.
You just know.
So you smile again.
Smaller this time.
“It’s nothing.”
Silence.
Then Titus lifts a hand slowly, brushing his thumb gently beneath your eye.
Only then do you realize your eyes had become watery.
His expression changes immediately.
Cold.
Not toward you.
Toward whoever caused it.
Your heartbeat quickens.
“Titus,” you say softly, “it’s really okay.”
His eyes meet yours again.
And instantly the coldness disappears.
Like it was never there at all.
“Of course it is.”
He kisses your forehead gently.
Tenderly.
But while his arms settle around you, his gaze drifts past your shoulder.
Toward the hallway where your mother disappeared.
And for the first time since meeting him, fear crawls quietly down your spine.
🦋
The girls trip was Titus’s idea.
You almost said no at first.
Not because you didn’t want to go.
Because life had become too expensive to justify things like vacations.
But Titus only looked at you with that calm, unwavering expression of his and said:
“You’ve been exhausted for months.”
“I’m fine.”
“You cried over an assignment three nights ago.”
You stared at him.
“How do you even know that?”
“I know everything about you.”
The words should not make your heart race the way they do.
“You don’t have to pay for a whole trip,” you argue weakly.
“I want to.”
“Titus.”
“You deserve nice things.”
It’s impossible to fight with him when he speaks like that.
Softly.
Like giving you the world is the most natural thing imaginable.
So eventually, you agreed.
Now you sit in a beachside villa three cities away with your friends screaming somewhere near the water while you scroll through pictures on your phone.
Your mother sent you a photo of the garden that morning.
Your father stood awkwardly in the background holding vegetables like he’d been forced into the picture against his will.
You smile faintly.
Then your phone buzzes.
Titus.
You answer immediately.
“Hi.”
His voice softens instantly hearing yours.
“Hello, darling.”
Warmth blooms in your chest.
You move toward the balcony quietly while your friends continue laughing inside.
“How’s the trip?”
“Good,” you say. “Chaotic. Bea almost drowned trying to flirt with a surfer.”
A quiet chuckle hums through the line.
“I miss you.”
The confession comes easily from him.
Immediate.
Unashamed.
Your cheeks warm.
“It’s been two days.”
“And?”
You laugh softly.
“You’re clingy.”
“Yes.”
The honesty catches you off guard enough to laugh again.
God.
You love him.
The realization still startles you sometimes.
You love him so much it physically aches.
“How’s home?” you ask.
“Quiet.”
Something about his tone feels strange.
Not wrong.
Just distant.
You frown slightly.
“Titus?”
“I’m listening.”
“Are you working?”
“No.”
“You sound distracted.”
A pause.
Then softer:
“I’m thinking about you.”
Your stomach flutters embarrassingly fast.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you adore me.”
Unfortunately true.
You lean against the balcony railing.
The ocean stretches endlessly before you.
For a moment, everything feels peaceful.
Safe.
“I wish you were here.”
Silence.
Then:
“Soon.”
Something cold slips briefly through your chest.
Not because of the word itself.
Because of the way he says it.
Certain.
Like a promise.
Before you can think too hard about it, shouting erupts inside the villa.
“COME TAKE PICTURES WITH US!”
You laugh immediately.
“I have to go.”
“Alright.”
But Titus doesn’t hang up.
You smile.
“Titus.”
“Yes?”
“You have to let go eventually.”
“No,” he says softly.
The answer sends heat rushing through your chest.
And something else too.
Something uneasy.
You brush it aside.
“I’ll call you later.”
“I’ll answer.”
“You better.”
“I always will for you.”
You grin helplessly before ending the call.
Thousands of miles away, Titus lowers his phone slowly.
Your childhood home is silent around him.
Blood stains the cuffs of his sleeves.
He looks down at them with mild annoyance.
One of your family members had fought harder than expected.
Not enough to matter.
But enough to make a mess.
The living room of your childhood home looks almost unrecognizable now.
Furniture overturned.
Drawers ripped open.
Broken glass scattered across the floor.
A convincing robbery scene.
Titus walks calmly through the destruction.
Your mother lies near the hallway.
Your father near the kitchen.
The sight should feel monstrous.
Instead, Titus only feels irritated.
Because your mother made you cry.
Because your father looked at you like Titus was something rotten.
Because they dared to plant fear inside your head.
Inside yours.
His jaw tightens slightly.
They should have been grateful someone loved you properly.
The sound of movement draws his attention.
Your younger cousin.
Still breathing.
The boy stares at Titus with wide horrified eyes.
Titus crouches calmly before him.
“You should have stayed upstairs.”
The boy trembles violently.
“Please.”
Titus tilts his head slightly.
For a brief second, he almost feels pity.
Almost.
Then he remembers the look on your face in that kitchen.
The tears in your eyes.
The fear.
Someone caused you distress.
That alone sealed their fate.
“I do love her,” Titus says quietly.
The boy sobs harder.
“And I protect what belongs to me.”
Hours later, you’re laughing on the beach when your phone rings again.
Unknown number.
You answer absently.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end sounds shaky.
Panicked.
Your smile fades immediately.
Confusion.
Then horror.
Then nothing.
The world disappears beneath your feet so quickly you almost collapse.
Your friend catches your arm.
“What happened?”
You can’t breathe.
The phone slips from your hand.
Someone is speaking.
Crying.
Screaming maybe.
You don’t know.
All you know is one sentence repeating violently inside your head.
Your family is dead.
Your family is dead.
Your family is dead.
You don’t even remember booking the flight home.
You don’t remember the airport.
The drive.
The funeral arrangements.
Everything blurs into unbearable noise.
But through all of it, Titus remains beside you.
Holding your hand.
Holding you upright.
Holding you together.
And every night afterward, you crawl into his arms shaking while grief tears you apart from the inside.
Titus only pulls you closer.
His hand smoothing gently through your hair.
His lips against your forehead.
His voice soft in the darkness.
“I’m here.”
Always.
Always.
Always.
🦋
The wedding is beautiful.
Painfully beautiful.
White roses line the cathedral aisle in delicate arrangements so expensive you’re scared to think about their cost. Candlelight flickers softly against polished marble floors while string music echoes through the enormous hall.
Everything feels unreal.
Like something out of a dream.
You stand at the altar facing Titus Danforth while guests watch in reverent silence.
He looks devastating.
Dark suit tailored perfectly against broad shoulders. Calm eyes fixed entirely on you with an intensity that still steals the air from your lungs even after all these years.
Your fiancé.
Soon to be your husband.
The man who held you together when your entire world collapsed.
The man who stayed.
Always stayed.
“You look frightened,” Titus murmurs quietly once the officiant pauses briefly.
You let out a nervous laugh.
“I’m getting married in front of hundreds of rich strangers. Obviously I’m frightened.”
His expression softens immediately.
“You look beautiful.”
Heat rises to your face despite everything.
Even now, Titus can still do that to you.
Reduce you into something embarrassingly soft with only a few quiet words.
The ceremony continues around you in a blur.
Vows.
Rings.
Applause.
Then Titus lifts your veil gently.
His thumb brushes softly against your cheek before he kisses you.
Slow.
Possessive.
Certain.
The guests erupt into applause again.
And for one dangerous moment, you allow yourself to believe this is happiness.
Real happiness.
The reception is even grander.
Crystal chandeliers.
Endless champagne.
People in expensive black clothing speaking in carefully measured voices.
Everyone treats Titus differently here.
Not just respectfully.
Reverently.
You notice it immediately.
Older members of the Danforth family touch his shoulder when passing him. Men twice his age lower their voices around him. Conversations stop the moment he enters certain rooms.
It unsettles you more than you admit aloud.
“You’re overthinking again.”
Titus appears beside you effortlessly, placing a fresh glass into your hand.
“I’m observing.”
“You’re hiding in corners.”
“I don’t know anybody here.”
“You know me.”
The answer comes so simply it twists something painfully in your chest.
Titus notices immediately.
He always notices.
His hand settles against your lower back gently.
Grounding.
Possessive.
Home.
“You alright?”
You nod.
“Just overwhelmed.”
“That’s understandable.”
🦋
You realize something is wrong with the Danforth family three days after your wedding.
Not wrong in the ordinary rich family sense.
Not cold parents and hidden affairs and money laundering wrong.
Something deeper.
Rotten.
Ancient.
The Danforth estate itself feels different after the ceremony.
Before, it had only seemed intimidating.
Now it feels alive.
Too quiet during the day.
Too awake at night.
Portraits lining the walls like silent witnesses.
Family members speaking in half sentences around you before abruptly stopping whenever you enter the room.
At first, you tell yourself you’re paranoid.
Grief changes people.
Trauma changes people.
Maybe losing your family rewired something inside your brain permanently.
Maybe that’s why every shadow in this house suddenly feels threatening.
“Titus.”
He looks up from his book immediately.
Always immediately.
“Yes, darling?”
You hesitate in the doorway of your shared bedroom.
The room still doesn’t feel fully yours yet.
Nothing here does.
“Your sister was staring at me.”
Titus’s expression barely changes.
“She stares at everyone.”
“No,” you say quietly. “Not like that.”
Something unreadable flickers behind his eyes.
Then he closes the book slowly.
“Come here.”
You obey without thinking.
That realization unsettles you more than it should.
Titus pulls you gently between his legs once you reach him, hands settling automatically against your waist.
Comforting.
Possessive.
“You’re overwhelmed,” he murmurs.
Maybe you are.
The past few years feel like a blur now.
Finishing college.
Planning a wedding.
Learning how to exist without your family.
Sometimes the grief still ambushes you unexpectedly.
A smell.
A song.
A memory.
And suddenly you’re crying in Titus’s arms all over again while he whispers soft reassurances against your hair.
He became your entire life so gradually you barely noticed it happening.
After the murders, there had been no one else.
No parents to call.
No hometown to return to.
Just Titus.
Only Titus.
The thought should comfort you.
Instead, lately, it suffocates you.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
The question breaks through your thoughts.
You blink down at him.
“Of course I do.”
Titus studies your face carefully.
Like he’s searching for cracks.
“You sound uncertain.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’ve been tired for weeks.”
You almost laugh.
“That sounds familiar.”
His thumb brushes slowly against your hip.
“There are things about my family you need to understand.”
Your stomach tightens immediately.
“There it is,” you whisper.
His brows pull together slightly.
“There what is?”
“That thing everyone keeps doing.”
“What thing?”
“Acting like I’m being introduced into some kind of cult.”
Silence.
Titus doesn’t laugh.
Doesn’t deny it immediately either.
Coldness creeps slowly down your spine.
“Titus.”
His gaze softens instantly hearing the fear in your voice.
“You’re safe.”
“That is not an answer.”
He exhales quietly.
Then stands.
Your heart pounds harder as he walks toward the bedroom door.
Locks it.
The sound echoes too loudly.
“Titus.”
“You’re frightened.”
“Yes,” you admit.
The honesty hangs heavily between you.
For a moment, he simply watches you.
And suddenly you remember the first time you met him.
The intensity of his stare.
The strange feeling of being chosen.
Claimed.
You had mistaken obsession for devotion because nobody had ever loved you that completely before.
“You know my family is powerful.”
You nod slowly.
“But not entirely how.”
Something terrible curls instinctively in your stomach.
Titus approaches you again carefully.
Like you’re something delicate.
Something he genuinely does not want to damage.
Which somehow makes this worse.
“You’re frightening me.”
That finally makes something crack across his face.
Pain.
Real pain.
“I never wanted you afraid of me.”
The sincerity in his voice nearly destroys you.
Because you know he means it.
Whatever Titus is, whatever darkness exists beneath his skin, his love for you is horrifyingly real.
And maybe that’s the worst part.
“Then tell me the truth.”
“You know my family is… unconventional.”
You laugh weakly.
“That is an incredibly polite way to describe whatever the hell goes on downstairs during those dinners.”
His gaze flicks toward you.
“You’ve noticed.”
“Your uncle literally kissed a ring tonight.”
“That’s tradition.”
“You cannot say things like that calmly.”
A faint trace of amusement touches his expression before fading again.
“Titus,” you say more softly now, “what are you trying to tell me?”
He turns toward you fully then.
The warmth in his eyes almost distracts you from the tension underneath it.
“My family follows beliefs that most people would misunderstand.”
Coldness slips quietly into your stomach.
“Religious beliefs?”
“In a sense.”
You stare at him flatly.
“I’m going to need you to stop answering questions like a haunted Victorian man.”
That earns a quiet laugh.
Brief.
Then gone again.
“My family believes in devotion,” he says carefully. “Legacy. Sacrifice. Power.”
The last word lingers strangely.
“And?”
“And after marrying me, you became part of that.”
The room suddenly feels colder.
You pull the blanket tighter around yourself unconsciously.
Your heartbeat stumbles.
“Oh my God.”
Titus closes his eyes briefly.
“Titus.”
“It sounds worse than it is.”
“You are in a cult.”
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“Because cult is an emotionally loaded word.”
You stare at your husband in disbelief.
“That is the sentence of a guilty man.”
His hand reaches for yours carefully.
You let him take it.
Even now.
Even while your pulse pounds unevenly beneath your skin.
“My family’s beliefs are old,” he says quietly. “Older than most institutions people blindly trust every day.”
“What kind of beliefs?”
His thumb brushes slowly across your knuckles.
“We believe devotion is sacred.”
Your chest tightens slightly at the way he says it.
Pairing: Titus Danforth x fem reader
Word count: 5K
Warnings: not proofread, set before the Ready or Not films, mentions of parent's death, references (not graphic) to some weapons and canonical hunts and violence, some coarse language, the bricks are being laid for the arranged marriage trope and maybe yearning? Maybe didn't pull that off very well. There aren't physical feature descriptions for reader.
A/N: Prepare to read absolute garbage! First time writing for Titus and I was half asleep while writing some of this. Planned/potential first part of a series, what do you think? Would love to hear your thoughts, comments and reblogs are always appreciated and I'm about to hopefully sleep but I am quite nervous to post this. Thank you for reading! 🫶
Dividers: @strangergraphics thank you!
Your family had been entangled in Mr Le Bail’s embrace for generations, not as established as the favoured Danforths but not fresh blood like the El Caidos. A comfortable couple of centuries is how your father would describe it, but his eye was always on how more power could be attained and how each foot could be manipulated for the most advantageous next steps. After years of slinking away from conversations and trying to remove yourself from the equation as much as you could, you saw how your father would do anything to gain Chester Danforth’s favour. But who wouldn’t? With the high seat ring always on his finger and the surname he’d carried, he was not a man anyone could say no to.
You sat in a stairwell with your brother in the East wing of your family’s estate. The steps between you meant his eyes could catch the comings and goings of any of the upper floor levels and your ears with the lower levels, despite how quiet this wing was. A hiding spot for secret conversations that you two could always meet at since being children. Whether to cry over your mother’s death or childish schemes for more sweets.
You sat with your legs criss crossed as you thought. You didn’t know how to tell him what was breaking your heart. You’re sure that he had a feeling from the way you were avoiding his eyes and fidgeting with your fingers, hyperfixated on the ringless one that would taunt you.
“Mike.” You rubbed your temple as if applying enough pressure might relieve the ache and fix everything. Your brother nodded, having immediately known this was to do with your partner, now ex. “We were meant to go away next week and he was making a big deal of it and then…There was a ring in the dresser.” You say sadly as you look down at your hands, nervously twisting and squeezing your own fingers to try and distract from the pain thrumming in your chest cavity.
That same finger was still teasing you as your composure was slipping with each quickening breath. You both knew what the weight of a marriage meant in your world, how easily a fairytale can become a satanic slasher. A part of you had hoped you could dance around ever having to be in a position where this would become your reality. Ignorance was bliss. Any spouse could easily land up as the prey of a fatal hunt, it didn’t happen to everyone but it was a risk you could not take. You could not put another soul in this position, especially one you were in love with.
“I can’t just say ‘hey! I can’t marry you because actually, my family’s wealth and empire is part of this Satanic cult and if we get married, we might have to hunt you!’” Hot tears started to prickle your waterline and burn your cheeks. His face fell as he watched you, he looked up at the stairs and then down back at you. “I pretended I hadn’t seen it and broke up with him on Tuesday. It was devastating, his face… He knew I was lying, that there was something.” You let the tears fall and don’t bother hiding them from the one other person in your life who understands this mindfuck of a world.
“I’m so sorry…” Your brother says your name gently as he watches you with a thoughtful but kind gaze. “It’s fucked.”
“I know and I’m only the spare.” You sigh and rub your face, your breathing is evening out a little more and you try to inject some humour into this shitshow of a world.
“Yeah, well unfortunately, I don’t think you’d like to trade.” Your brother replied as he looked down, his fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt. A habit he kept hidden except for on his lonesome or when with his sister. He was a fidgeter, a habit that the father you shared would always pointedly sigh over. Despite the tease that the words should hold, his words were earnest.
He was the heir and you were the spare. Those descriptions were accurate and more beneficial for your father anyway, since it would be assumed that you’d potentially “marry out”. But it meant there was a different kind of pressure on both of you, another thing that you were expected to carry with little say in the matter.
You paused, rubbing your temples and trying to apply pressure. “No, you’re right. I’d rather just have a whole new solution instead."
“There is one.” Your brother said with a sigh, rubbing his face. He hated himself for the words that were about to leave his mouth. “If you marry into another family in the Council, there’s no hunt. No hunt for either of you.”
As those words settle into your ears, you still as it feels like the very air in your lungs right then and there disappears.
~ One Year Later ~
The Danforth estate was as sprawling as you’d expect for a name that had centuries of wealth and luck carrying it through generations. There was a meeting of the Council, your father would be present as your family’s representative, you and your brother’s presence there was mainly just to be a glorified guest in the country air and perfectly polished rooms. You’d been to this estate multiple times throughout your life, not enough to know it like the back of your hand but well enough to remember where at least a few of the rooms were.
Mainly the quiet ones. And that was all you were in the mood for. As soon as you’d be graced with the chance to escape for a few moments. You hated the Wilkinsons, they had a sliminess that made your skin crawl and wore putrid colognes that were an abrasive assault to your senses. There was no way in hell you were dealing with them and the rest of the energy that clung to these gatherings. You’d find your way into one eventually, once the bare minimum pleasantries were over.
As you stepped out of the car, you looked from your brother to the Danforths that were standing at the bottom of the steps waiting for all of the families to arrive. Chester wasn’t there, it was just his twins in their sunglasses and fake smiles. The look on Titus’s face became less bored as he looked at you, you stood next to your brother, a slight step behind your father. Your presence surprised both the twins but Titus almost smiled to himself at seeing you.
It had become a very not so subtle habit of yours to avoid any social interactions in the Le Bail organisation, filling your time with the more legal and conventional side of your family’s empire and an interest in music. One that had been nursed since you were young, and you would make a hobby of conveniently being away at the right time or slipping out of rooms. Titus viewed you as a spectre, a woman you could get a quick glimpse of in the corner of your eyes, appearing from nowhere in the least expected moments and then disappearing, floating out. An absence that weighed on you.
He couldn’t help but wonder why you were here, you looked decadent and his boredom was disappearing with each millisecond. He didn’t speak as Ursula and your father politely greeted each other, his gaze was thankfully camouflaged by his sunglasses as he watched you.
Ursula cleared her throat, speaking your name with her perfectly composed, chirpy smile that lacked any genuineness. “How nice to see you, it’s been awhile. Still playing with knives?”
Her tone came across as friendly enough. Referencing the fact that in the few hunts that you’d joined, being more than competent, a thought you never wanted to dwell on, you carried throwing knives. Small blades were always your weapons of choice and where most of the weapons training of your education had been devoted. The lack of space they took up spoke to Ursula as a representation of your lack of interest in the hunts and the duties given to those blessed in your circles.
You blinked, tilting your head to look at her with a tired but soft smile. It was all childish. “Why? Do you need to borrow one?” You adjusted your dress and pulled out a small sheathed throwing knife, holding it flat out in your hand as you offered it to her. Ursula was stunned at your reaction, she awkwardly took the knife as she watched you smooth your dress for a second and then link your arm with your brother’s and walk off, up the stairs to the estate.
“They’re so fucking odd.” Ursula mutters under her breath as your family walks off into the doors, she places the knife in one of the many carefully concealed pockets of her overpriced blazer. But behind his tinted lenses, Titus’s eye softened as his mouth quickly turned up into a smug smirk at the boldest display he’d ever seen from you. A charmed and thoroughly pleased chuckle left his lips as he glanced at you over his shoulder for a second before smirking at his sister, struggling to piece her composure back together.
Not only a handsome brute, Titus Danforth was more observant than he was often given credit for. When the Danforth twins were taking their first steps, they were also being primed to become skilled hunters, observation was a key and necessary skill for that. Titus had a reputation but he was overlooked, his sister seen as the calmer, less impulsive half of the package that they were and the fact that the Council’s arrogance was too loud to really appreciate observation.
The Council was made up of several, loud families. Arrogance was key to having a seat at the fucked up table. It was part of why it was always so interesting seeing your family whenever there were gatherings. Like Chester, your father was a widower with two children, you weren’t a twin like he was though. Your brother was the more vocal one of you two, but you both were reserved. He’d felt a hum of amusement and curiosity when you’d all been younger and he’d seen the way your brother and you shared a look and a whisper for nobody else’s ears, you had a secret language just like him and Ursula. But you two were still different, he’d never seen you raise a hand to your brother like Ursula had to him and you didn’t tear each other down with words like his and Ursula’s competitive rapport, at least not publicly.
When there were cocktails being served in the evening before dinner, you’d stood off against a bookshelf silently, you and your brother a quiet observant pair like usual. He’d noticed something different though, your brother was standing with more tension winding his shoulders and jaw up more than usual. His own eyes locked in on those standing in the room. He didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes rolled at the Wilkinsons and exchanging a glance with you, your eyes looked wider than usual as you stood in the room. The choice of your dress made sense, the long black dress allowed you to slink in the shadows easier, but no matter what you wore, his eyes would find you in any silent room or pit of darkness. It was impressive that someone with such an adverse reaction to attention always captured him.
Titus watched your brother have a short conversation with Viran, one that you silently watched, your face twisted slightly to look like you might be biting the inside of your cheek as you watched. Your brother didn’t humour a conversation with the younger Rajan brother, Titus also found him annoying but he felt that way about most people. You only gave a polite nod and a small smile that never met your pretty eyes.
The only person your brother seemed less tense with was Daniel Le Domas, a man that Titus had no respect for, Titus thought that little of Daniel that he didn’t even despise him. His stomach twisted slightly as he watched you lean forward slightly and you whispered something to your brother and Daniel, your brother smiled wistfully and Daniel sipped from his glass that was never empty. He didn’t like the sight of you talking to Daniel, you seemed more comfortable around him than anyone else in the room that wasn’t your brother. Daniel was married, clearly unhappily, he made no efforts to hide that but Titus was confident that you weren’t the type to try a married man. He’d bet on it, it was his house and the house always wins.
Your brother was doing the bulk of the conversating, but they were all short conversations anyway. He had less patience than he usually did. Daniel Le Domas was disenchanted by all that had happened and was married, it was easier for you both to be around him. He wasn’t a candidate you’d have to judge and worry about for marriage. It was one of the unmarried men in this room that was the source of your curse and solution. You weren’t pleased with the choices and your brother was a fisherman desperately looking for the right catch.
You stood by your brother, carefully holding a glass that your lips had barely touched. “Alex?” You whispered after Daniel had stepped away for a bathroom break. Your mind was working quickly on any of the potential options.
Your brother quickly shook his head. “No.”
“He’s not really MIA,” you offer. Alex had left his family, taken a road rarely travelled by those with blood on their hands. You weren’t attracted to him but he’d always seemed nice enough and the fact he’d gone no contact with his family seemed like a green flag in this situation. Especially when you stood in the same room as his family, you couldn't imagine a soul on Earth enjoying the company of Helene Le Domas.
“No. He’s spineless, not kind. There’s a difference. You can’t trust someone like that.” You sighed and nodded at that, biting your lip. The pool of options for a marriage that didn’t ruin someone’s life was getting far too slim.
Something that you and your brother were in agreement over was that the Wilkinsons weren’t worth touching with a ten-metre long pole. The Le Domas family was officially ruled out, the only eligible bachelors left were Viraj Rajan and Titus Danforth. While whatever arrangement might happen would be a marriage of convenience, you tilted your head and pondered the thought, you struggled to see yourself married to either of them, even if it was a sham.
There was the possibility of marriage to another family associated with the organisation, but outside of the Council their status was significantly lower and would put yourself in a position to be used as a convenient ladder for some soulless sucker. Your brother had already laid out that a marriage was best with someone of a more equal footing, anyone else with a noticeable imbalance was too big of a risk and one you couldn’t trust.
“Viraj is intense and Madhu is unbearable, I couldn’t have that as a brother-in-law.” You whisper and your brother’s eyes travel around the room again.
“And the Danforths… In this situation, marrying Titus would either be the best or worst thing, no inbetween.” Your brother replied, he watched you for a moment as your forehead furrowed.
“I’m not Danforth material.” You answered honestly and he sipped his drink, a slight hum of agreement coming out as you both thought of the intense Danforths.
The Danforth twins had been summoned to their father’s study; it wasn’t a rare occurrence because of their status. But despite the smug smirks both Ursula and Titus were wearing, neither were clued in on what exactly it was that their father wanted to discuss this afternoon. Probably something to do with the next upcoming Council meeting, or to go over their plans for their next political deal.
Chester looked at his children carefully, he’d done everything he could to raise them to the highest of possibly achievable standards, he knew his children were better than the other families but he still saw a mass of flaws when he looked at them both.
“There’s still no heir, from either of you.” Chester spoke matter of factly, his calm, all knowing voice was starting to become a bit airier with age.
Ursula’s eyes widened slowly as she looked from her father to her brother and back. This was a conversation that always weighed heavily on the back of her mind, occasionally being ripped to the front and suffocating her in a way that none of the men in her family could understand. She almost wanted to flee whenever this happened, but she kept her calm composure, allowing herself a single blink to blink it away before the stone front was covering her.
The silent tells of Ursula’s discomfort and guilt were clear as day to Titus as he glanced at her, seeing her deer in headlights eyes before she could smother it away. This was something Titus knew would become a greater focus for the remainder of Chester’s life, a pressure to plague him for years. His eyes glanced at his sister’s again, the stone composure didn’t hide all from him, he knew this was the one thing she would abdicate without argument and it was to be demanded of him.
“Yes, we’re aware, father.” Titus said quietly as he watched him, he held his hands together calmly, not betraying a single emotion as he looked at the man that he’d idolised his whole life but had also a quiet resentment festering for the manipulation that had moulded him from the start to the man he now was.
Chester looked at Titus and frowned. “It’s taken generations for this power, the High seat is an intergenerational effort, it takes so much to build but the smallest of missteps to crumble. A single generation - or lack of - will ruin it all. That is something we cannot accept, I won’t be let down.”
“The High Seat won’t leave the family.” Ursula says as she steps closer. Titus frowns, it’s so Ursula to speak as if she is the one carrying the burden, finding the solution when she’s volunteering him up for the work she doesn’t want to do, the burden she quite literally will not carry.
Titus clenches his jaw as he watches his family silently. Does Ursula - controlling Ursula - know just how much power would be handed to Titus simply for this? And of course he’d have to do this the right way. He’d have to marry to satisfy his father’s need for the pristine reputation and Mr Le Bail’s requirements. He’s sure that his father already has a list typed up of candidates, his father had tried to raise marriage prospects with him in the past but Titus had done well for shrugging this off for awhile, he was bored easily and the faces he’d met on his father’s lists were never interesting to him.
“I’ll find someone.” Titus said as he watched his father, emphasising that he wanted this to be his choice. Not his father’s and certainly not Ursula’s. Maybe he’d humour their thoughts for a moment before shooting them down with a laugh. But if he was to have a wife he wanted one that was at least somewhat interesting.
It was muscle memory that led to you walking to a study that you remembered having entered a few times over the years. If this was another’s home, you like to think you wouldn’t be so bold, but the Danforth estate was so large and had countless studies, if it was even noticed in the first place, nobody would mind in the grand scheme of things.
The study had the same perfect bay window you remembered, there were only a few glimpses of sunlight left but it was still the spot you knew would be the most comforting. You sat down carefully, gently fixing the skirt of your dress that’s length reached your mid-calves. It was elegant and black, more simple than loud but that was your taste when it came to family business.
You looked at a few piles of books that sat near the bay window, touching them carefully as the spines were clearly aged, dust coating them and now your fingertips. One of them could surely entertain you well enough for a while as part of your plan to pass time. It was then that you heard the click of the doorknob turning as the door opened into the room, revealing Titus Danforth stepping in.
Titus had seen you walk into here, the first thing he notices when he steps in is your eyes that immediately look up to see him. You're surprised but you don’t look like a deer in headlights, nor a fox with its paw caught in a trap. There’s no fear or disgust on your face, just genuine surprise to have someone else step into this slice of a moment in time.
A Danforth walking into a study on the Danforth estate shouldn’t surprise you but it still does. “I’m sorry to have imposed, did you need the room?” You clear your throat after a moment and then ask politely.
“No.” Titus watched you, his smile growing slightly, he walked closer and then sat on the desk near the window and faced you. You bit your lip for a second to hold your tongue back from saying something, sitting on desks and tables was a habit you’d always hated. Titus noticed the bite but he didn’t know the reasoning, he still found it interesting. He wanted to learn every reaction and expression you were capable of, what would trigger them and what noise was elicited by what word or look.
His hazel eyes flicked down to the book next to your side, you felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment as you looked down at the books you’d moved closer to peruse. You put them down, tidily moving them to the side, trying to wipe some of the dust off, more for the sake of a distraction than anything else.
“You’re on your own…” Titus said as his eyes moved from the dusty books to your eyes. They were mesmerising, the shape was what caught him and then the colour of your irises was the most enchanting hue he’d ever seen.
“Yes, I didn’t mean to snoop. I just like the quiet.” You look down, you find the quiet more comforting than the tense body language and pissing contests that took place whenever the families of the Council gathered. Cautious not to provoke, hyper aware that making yourself at home and sitting next to some dusty tomes in a study in these circles could be interpreted as something much less innocent.
After a quiet moment your gaze lifted and met him again, he was just watching you quietly, thoughtfully. It wasn’t something you’d expected to see before, his eyes were hard to decipher but you hadn’t noticed the wide, almost softness they also had. They were a pretty hazel colour, you give him a small smile.
“I know.” He said and then he took something out from his pocket, Titus took your hand at the same time, placing a small familiar blade into your hand that he’s holding now with both of his big hands. You look down, shock and embarrassment floods you at the unexpected gesture. The hilt catches your eyes, it’s one you’re more than familiar with, weighed and carved to perfection for throwing.
“Oh, thank you!” You chuckled quietly and then looked up at him. “Ursula didn’t need it after all? I’m surprised she didn’t return it herself.”
“She doesn’t know.” He shrugs with a slight smile that grows, his dark eyes twinkling. It was hard not to immediately light up at your reaction and your soft chuckle, it had a melodic ring to it that he could get used to.
Your eyes and mouth widen at the same time, you chuckled as the words land and are then absorbed. “Titus Danforth! You little pick pocket!” You laugh more, genuinely quite surprised at him doing something like that and then telling you, all over a small knife you didn’t really have any issue parting with. He felt a flutter in his stomach and a warmth flood through his pale freckled skin at the sight of glee on your face, a laugh he’d earnestly drawn out.
Titus looked down at your hand and nodded with a smile, then back at your eyes, committing the way your eyelashes fanned out to memory. He’d considered not returning the knife after he’d pocketed it from a clueless Ursula, he’d considered it seriously, keeping it for himself. The etchings and patterns on the sheath and hilt distinctly declared this as a knife belonging to your family, it would be a humourous memento that was undeniably yours. He’d wondered if you’d thrown this particular knife before, he assumed so, whether as part of training or in an actual hunt, he didn’t know. But he decided it was best to return it to you, especially with the fact that it would give him an easy opening to talk to you.
You were always so reserved at these things, you and your brother always sidestepping social interactions and ducking out of conversations as soon as you could. He’d noticed that your brother tended to speak more than you but that wasn’t saying much, and Titus knew in his gut that this dynamic wasn’t a guard dog watching over a delicate flower of a sister, but because you liked to observe and absorb. Titus knew you were better than the others, more interesting and that you wouldn’t say it to him right now, but you knew it too, in your own way. What Titus wouldn’t give to be able to see into your head and know what exactly it was that you thought.
Titus looked at you, he looked at your hands slightly for a moment. Hands that were soft except for where some calluses had likely formed from your musical gifts. “Do you still play?” Titus asked as he shifted a little closer, still holding your hands with the most gentle touch.
“Not as often.” You answered vaguely but truthfully.
“Hm.” He nodded, still holding your hand in his own, thinking it would be nice to keep his hand with yours for as long as possible. His touch surprised you but you wouldn’t allow yourself to say anything. “You look divine.” He says simply as his eyes go to your dress. Your eyes flick up to his face, the irises are such a pretty green, you know they’re technically hazel but there’s just so much green in them in this light.
“Thanks…” You whisper quietly and give him a small smile, tilting your head down to try and avoid the way you can feel your cheeks heat up, even if he can’t tell. It feels weird to be complimented when in these social circles but especially when it’s just the two of you. It makes it feel more real and less like the superficial compliments exchanged over drinks and handshakes with an audience.
He nods after a moment, still looking at your hand before looking back at you, his eyes looking less green for a moment as they soften and seem to grow. “I last saw you play two years ago, back in Berlin.”
It takes a moment for his words to really land and then your eyes widen quickly. Your cheeks heating up more as surprise swirls from your stomach to your head, straightening your back up the more you try to meet his eyes. “Really? I didn’t know…”
Titus shrugs as if it’s nothing. “I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to see you… play.” There’s a silence that hums between you both, his thumb rubs a soft, light circle over your knuckles. It’s a surprisingly soft touch but you also can’t help the unease at the feeling, you feel a sense of embarrassment crawling up you at this oddly intimate moment. You never would’ve imagined Titus holding your hand as you two sat alone in a study, maybe it was an accident and Titus didn’t even realise he was still holding your hand.
When in reality, that was what was consuming him.
“I had piano lessons when I was younger, I didn’t really have the patience for it… To excel in a way like you do. Can you play that too?” He asks and you nod for a moment before speaking.
“Yes, it’s a good foundation.” You watch his eyes, Titus always has been someone with intense eye contact but his gaze seems more interested in your hand then meeting your eyes. It’s odd. It feels unnerving. Maybe it’s from admitting he didn’t immediately excel at something. You can imagine that easily being a sore topic for someone in the Danforth line and with what knowledge you know of his and Ursula’s upbringing.
“I’d like to hear you play again.” Titus spoke gently, repeating your name in a tone you’d never heard from his lips before, his thumb brushing over your hand again before he carefully let it go, his eyes looked over his shoulder and it almost pained him to not get to see your face, your hair, your lips for another second. He moved his hand away delicately and slowly, as if it was paper he was trying to keep dry in a rainstorm. Titus was not a quiet man but you watched his hand squeeze yours one last time before fully letting go, detaching completely and silently leaving you alone in the study.
Summary: A girl. A hunt. And the brother who never intended to let her go.
Warning: Dark themes, obsession, violence, disturbing content, unhealthy relationship, psychological manipulation, murder. Read with caution.
Hello! You can call me Sky 🦋 This is my first fanfiction. English isn’t my first language, so please be kind. Thank you for reading.
“You shouldn’t stand that close to the railing.”
I didn’t turn right away. I already knew it was him. I always knew when Titus was near. It was in the way the air shifted, the way silence followed him like it belonged to him.
“I’m not going to fall,” I said.
A pause. Then softer, closer, “You say that like you’ve never thought about it.”
I glanced over my shoulder. He was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me like he had been there longer than he should have been.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is if I don’t feel like giving you one.”
I sighed and turned back to the garden below. “You’re in a strange mood.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
That made me laugh, quiet and short. “Since when do you worry?”
He pushed himself off the doorframe and walked toward me, slow, deliberate. “Since you started keeping things to yourself.”
“I don’t keep things from you.”
“You do now.”
I felt his presence behind me before I felt his hand. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, not tight, just enough to keep me from moving.
“You’ve been distant,” he said.
“I’ve been busy.”
“With them.”
I stiffened slightly. “They’re guests.”
“They’re hunters.”
“That’s the point.”
His grip tightened, just a little. “I don’t like the way they look at you.”
“They’re supposed to look at me. I’m the prize, remember?”
The word hung between us.
Prize.
His hand slid from my wrist to my palm, threading our fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re not a prize,” he said quietly. “You’re mine.”
I laughed again, but it didn’t come out as easily this time. “Titus.”
“No,” he said, sharper now. “Don’t laugh at that.”
I turned to face him fully. His expression had changed. Not angry. Not exactly. Something else. Something deeper.
“You’re my brother.”
“Adopted.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything.”
I pulled my hand away. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m being honest.”
“You’re being possessive.”
His lips twitched, almost a smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is.”
“Not when it comes to you.”
I shook my head and stepped past him. “You need to stop. This whole hunt is already complicated enough without you acting like this.”
“Complicated?” he repeated, following me. “Is that what you call it?”
“What would you call it?”
“A mistake.”
I stopped walking. “You don’t get to say that. This was Father’s decision.”
“And you agreed to it.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
I turned back to him, frustrated now. “What exactly do you want me to do, Titus? Refuse? Run? You know how this family works.”
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
There was something in his voice that made my chest tighten.
“Then stop acting like this is new,” I said. “This is how it’s always been.”
He stepped closer again, invading my space until I had to tilt my head up to look at him.
“No,” he said softly. “This is new. Because now I have to watch them try to take you.”
“They’re not taking me. They’re earning me.”
“That’s worse.”
“Why?”
“Because it means you’ll go willingly.”
I stared at him. “Of course I will. That’s how this works.”
“Not for me.”
My breath caught. “What does that mean?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at me, like he was deciding something.
Then he smiled. Calm. Gentle. Familiar.
“It means,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, “you don’t have to worry about anything.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It will.”
“Titus.”
“Trust me.”
I swallowed. “I always have.”
His smile deepened, but there was something wrong with it now. Something I couldn’t quite name.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why this is going to work.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“Work?” I echoed.
But he had already stepped back, already turning away.
“You should get some rest,” he said over his shoulder. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
I stood there, watching him leave, the unease settling deeper into my bones.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure I understood Titus at all.
And I didn’t know yet that it was already too late.
🦋
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” I insisted, my voice rising. “You have to be.”
Titus didn’t look offended. If anything, he looked amused.
“I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”
“That’s not true. You lie all the time.”
“Only when it benefits you.”
“This doesn’t benefit me,” I snapped.
“It does.”
“How exactly does you joining the hunt benefit me?”
He tilted his head, studying me like I was the one who didn’t make sense.
“Because now,” he said, “I can win.”
“You’re not supposed to win,” I said. “You’re not even supposed to be in it.”
“Technically,” he replied, “the contract states that any eligible male within the household or invited circle may participate.”
“You’re my brother.”
“Adopted,” he repeated.
“That loophole wasn’t meant for you.”
“And yet,” he said lightly, “here I am.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding. “This is wrong.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t a game.”
“I know.”
“People are going to die.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I know.”
Something in the way he said it made my stomach drop.
“Titus,” I whispered, “what are you planning?”
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek.
“Winning.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you need.”
I shook my head, panic creeping in. “You don’t understand what this means.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, pushing at his chest. “If you win, if you’re the last one standing, that means…”
“That means you’re mine.”
The words came out so easily. So naturally.
Like he had been waiting to say them.
My hands fell to my sides.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
I searched his face for any sign of the brother I knew. The one who teased me, who protected me, who held my hand when I was afraid of the dark.
He was still there.
And yet he wasn’t.
“You can’t do this,” I said, my voice trembling.
“I already am.”
“I won’t accept it.”
“You won’t have a choice.”
“I always have a choice.”
His expression softened, almost tender.
“No,” he said gently. “Not this time.”
I took a step back. “You’re scaring me.”
“Good.”
The word hit me like a slap.
His eyes darkened, something raw slipping through the cracks of his calm.
“I want you to be scared,” he continued. “I want you to understand that this isn’t something you can talk your way out of.”
“Titus…”
“I’ve let you go your whole life,” he said. “I’ve watched you smile at other people, laugh with them, trust them.”
“They’re not you.”
“They don’t have to be,” he snapped. “That’s the problem.”
Silence fell between us, heavy and suffocating.
“I’m not losing you,” he said finally, quieter now. “Not to them. Not to anyone.”
“You never had me like that,” I whispered.
His hand came up, cupping my jaw, forcing me to look at him.
“I’ve always had you,” he said. “You just didn’t notice.”
My chest tightened. “This isn’t love.”
His thumb brushed against my lips.
“It is,” he murmured. “It’s just not the kind you wanted.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“You’re sick,” I said.
“Maybe.”
“You need help.”
“No,” he said, smiling faintly. “I need you.”
I pushed him away, harder this time. “Stay away from me.”
His smile didn’t fade.
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I mean it, Titus.”
“So do I.”
I turned and walked away, my steps quick, uneven.
Behind me, his voice followed, calm and certain.
“Run if you want,” he said. “It won’t change anything.”
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t want to see his face.
I didn’t want to see how serious he was.
But deep down, I already knew.
He wasn’t bluffing.
And the hunt hadn’t even begun yet.
🦋
They told me to stay inside.
Every servant, every guard, every whispered warning that passed through the halls all said the same thing.
Do not go near the forest.
Do not watch.
Do not follow.
It was almost funny.
Because the more they insisted, the more I needed to know.
And Titus
Titus didn’t even bother repeating it.
He just looked at me that morning, longer than usual, quieter than usual, like he was trying to memorize something.
“Stay inside,” Father said instead.
“I will,” I answered.
I lied.
The moment the horns sounded, I moved.
Not through the main halls. Not where anyone would see.
I knew this house better than anyone. The hidden corridors, the servant paths, the old doors that didn’t quite shut properly.
I slipped out like I wasn’t supposed to exist.
The forest swallowed me quickly.
At first, there was nothing.
Just trees. Silence. My own heartbeat pounding too loudly in my ears.
Then voices.
Distant.
Panicked.
I followed them.
That was the second mistake.
I saw one of them first.
The son of a tech mogul.
He was crouched behind a fallen tree, breathing hard, his hands shaking as he tried to reload something.
“I know you’re out there,” he called, his voice cracking. “This isn’t part of the rules!”
No answer.
I stayed hidden behind a tree, barely breathing.
“I didn’t sign up for this,” he continued, louder now. “We were supposed to compete, not”
A blur.
That’s all it was.
One second empty space.
The next
Titus.
He appeared behind him like something summoned.
Effortless.
Silent.
Wrong.
The hunter didn’t even have time to turn.
Titus grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed him forward.
The sound made my stomach twist.
“Titus,” the man gasped, struggling. “Wait, wait, we can talk”
“You talk too much.”
His voice was calm.
So calm it made it worse.
“I’ll withdraw,” the man said quickly. “I’ll leave, I won’t go near her, I swear”
A pause.
Hope flickered across the man’s face.
Then Titus tilted his head slightly.
“You already did.”
The blade flashed.
I covered my mouth to keep from making a sound.
The hunter choked, his body jerking, hands grasping at nothing.
Titus didn’t rush.
That was the worst part.
He didn’t rush.
He watched.
Like he was waiting for something.
Like he was making sure.
The man collapsed.
Still.
Gone.
Titus crouched beside him, almost thoughtful, then wiped his blade clean against the man’s sleeve.
“Too slow,” he murmured.
My chest tightened so painfully I thought I might cry out.
But I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
Because he wasn’t done.
I don’t know how long I followed him.
Minutes.
Hours.
Time didn’t feel real anymore.
Only him.
The way he moved.
The way he hunted.
He wasn’t searching.
He knew.
Every time.
Like the forest itself was telling him where to go.
The second one tried to run.
I saw him trip, scramble, look over his shoulder in pure terror.
“Please!” he shouted into the trees. “This isn’t fair!”
Titus stepped out in front of him.
Like he had always been there.
“Fair?” he repeated softly.
The man stumbled back. “You’re not supposed to be part of this!”
“And yet,” Titus said, taking a slow step forward, “I am.”
“You can’t do this, she wouldn’t want”
That was as far as he got.
Titus moved.
Faster this time.
There was no pause. No hesitation.
Just violence.
Brutal. Efficient.
Final.
The man fought.
It didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter at all.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help.
The sounds still reached me.
And Titus
Titus sounded
steady.
Not angry.
Not frantic.
Just
focused.
Like this was the most natural thing in the world.
When it ended, I forced myself to look.
I don’t know why.
Maybe I needed to be sure.
Maybe I was hoping I was wrong.
I wasn’t.
Titus stood over him, breathing evenly, his clothes barely disturbed, his expression unreadable.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t just
My vision blurred.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“That’s two,” he said quietly to himself.
Two.
Not people.
Not lives.
Just numbers.
Something inside me broke.
I should have gone back.
I should have run.
I should have pretended I never saw any of it.
But I didn’t.
I kept following.
I needed to know how far it went.
I needed to know if there was anything left of him.
There wasn’t.
The last one didn’t run.
He stood in a clearing, weapon in hand, waiting.
“I know it’s you,” he said.
Titus stepped into view.
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
“You’re insane,” the hunter said. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Titus smiled faintly.
“Not really.”
“She’s your sister.”
“Adopted.”
“That doesn’t make this better!”
“It makes it possible.”
The hunter’s grip tightened. “She’ll hate you.”
Something flickered in Titus’s eyes.
Then disappeared.
“She won’t leave.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You’re delusional.”
Titus took another step forward.
“No,” he said. “I’m certain.”
The hunter attacked first.
It didn’t help.
Not even a little.
This one lasted longer.
Not because Titus struggled.
But because he let it.
I saw it.
The way he dragged it out.
The way he spoke between movements, calm, measured, almost conversational.
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
A hit.
“You shouldn’t have looked at her.”
Another.
“You definitely shouldn’t have thought you had a chance.”
The hunter staggered, barely standing.
“This isn’t love,” he choked out.
Titus paused.
Then, slowly, he stepped closer.
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
For a second, everything went still.
Then
“It’s worse.”
I flinched.
The final blow came right after.
Clean.
Decisive.
Unforgiving.
The forest went quiet.
Completely quiet.
Titus exhaled softly, like he had just finished something routine.
“Done,” he said under his breath.
Done.
That was it.
That was all it took.
Three people.
Gone.
And him
Untouched.
I stumbled back before I could stop myself.
A branch snapped under my foot.
The sound was small.
But in that silence
It was everything.
Titus’s head turned instantly.
I froze.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt.
He took a step toward the trees.
Toward me.
“No,” I whispered, barely sound.
Another step.
Closer.
I pressed myself against the trunk, barely breathing, barely existing.
For a moment
I thought he knew.
I thought this was it.
But then
He stopped.
His gaze lingered, sharp, searching.
Then slowly
He looked away.
“You’re hearing things,” he murmured to himself.
And turned.
And walked back the way he came.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t breathe.
Not until he was completely gone.
When I finally made it back to the house, my legs felt like they didn’t belong to me.
The walls felt tighter.
The air heavier.
Everything looked the same.
But it wasn’t.
Nothing was.
Because now I knew.
I knew what he was capable of.
I knew how easily he did it.
How calmly.
How completely.
And worst of all
He had no idea I saw.
🦋
When they brought him back, he wasn’t covered in blood the way I expected.
He was clean.
Composed.
Untouched.
“Titus,” I breathed.
He smiled like he had just returned from a walk.
“It’s over.”
“This isn’t real.”
“It is.”
I shook my head, backing away. “No. No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to end.”
“It’s exactly how it was supposed to end.”
“Not like this,” I whispered. “Not with you.”
He stepped forward. I stepped back.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Why?” he asked softly. “You’re mine now.”
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s true.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I already did.”
My back hit the wall.
There was nowhere else to go.
“Titus,” I said, my voice breaking, “please.”
He paused at that.
For a moment, just a moment, something flickered in his eyes.
“Please what?” he asked.
“Let me go.”
The flicker disappeared.
“No.”
Tears blurred my vision. “You said you loved me.”
“I do.”
“Then let me go.”
He reached out, wiping a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
“That’s not how this works.”
“Then it’s not love.”
His hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me in place.
“It is for me.”
I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.
“You’re hurting me.”
“I won’t,” he said softly. “Not unless you make me.”
Fear settled deep in my chest.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Don’t test that.”
I froze.
“There you go,” he murmured. “That’s better.”
“I hate you,” I whispered.
His smile returned, slow and unsettling.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You’re scared,” he corrected. “That’s different.”
“It’s not.”
“It is,” he said. “And you’ll learn that.”
I shook my head, tears spilling freely now. “I’ll never love you.”
He leaned closer, his forehead resting against mine.
“You don’t have to,” he whispered. “You just have to stay.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“You can’t keep me here forever.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression almost gentle again.
“Yes,” he said. “I can.”
Silence swallowed the room.
“You’re not my brother anymore,” I said.
“I never was,” he replied.
That hurt more than anything else.
His hand slipped into mine, fingers intertwining like they always had.
Only now it felt like a chain.
“Come on,” he said softly. “We have a wedding to plan.”
