Iâm gonna embarrass myself and post this because iâm desperate!
Please pleaseeee pretty please people, do you have that fic where y/n has trouble sleeping and Victoria (Javadi) recommends her audios (like the quinn audio or something) and it mightâve sounded like Jack or maybe it was really him?
I read the summary a while ago but i donât think i read the fic and it sounds good!
Someone made an edit of Shawn Hatosyâs arms and i realized itâs him just from the first picture (his face and the rest of his body cropped out) and i realized i need to go touch grass.
hey if you ever get round to writing for jack abbot could I request a fic where maybe he and reader have been dating secretly for a little while and finally decided to tell everyone? thank you!
A/N: thank you for the request!! This is my first time writing anything for Jack so I can only hope I wrote his character okay!!
WARNINGS: includes mentions of erectile dysfunction and sex.
BLURB REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
âââ ââ ââ â
âOh, one more thing, although cleared for discharge, Room 4 might be occupied for a while. 23 year old male just found out heâs got erectile disfunction⊠heâs pretty upset.â You grimaced at the day shift as you swung your backpack over your shoulder, fingers returning to tap on the nurses desk.
Langdon blew out a breath. âYeah, thatâs pretty devastating news at that age.â
You hummed. âUnfortunately, thatâs what happens when you take six tabs of Sildenafil from a random street dealer in the space of thirty minutes.â
Whittaker frowned, his hands involuntarily crossing over his crotch. âWhatâs uhâ whatâs the average age for that to start naturally?â
You pursed your lips to conceal your amusement and looked down at your booted feet. Santos waved a hand. âYouâre safe for now, Huckleberry. Itâs most commonly associated with men over forty.â
Your head didnât move but your eyes slid up to watch everyone elseâs gaze turn to Robby and Jack. You had to bite the inside of your cheek harder, swallow down a laugh that was threatening to bubble up your throat.
Robby nodded onceâa bit self-deprecatinglyâat his residents and students and lulled his head to look at Jack. âYeah, weâre not far off.â He muttered.
âSpeak for yourself,â Jack replied in a low tone, eyes still on the monitor as he finished up his last report.
The sound did something to your lower belly, much like his low tone usually did. You couldnât wait to get back home with him, to be able to feel his touch and presence and not have to keep a professional amount of distance between you for at least twelve hours.
You both declared your relationship to HR almost seven months ago, when you knew things were getting serious. And despite their acceptance of the situation, you still hadnât told the team.
It was by no fault of theirs. But youâŠenjoyed having it to yourself, having Jack to yourself. And heâd made it very clear that he felt the same. You didnât want them in your business, in your intimate life.
More than that, you were afraid of what people would think. Scared for special treatment allegations, inappropriate behaviour reports, and the rumours that you were nothing more than a young piece of ass that Jack would eventually get bored of.
And Jack.. he had been nothing but attentive and reassuring when he suggested telling the board and you voiced your concerns. Heâd showed you in more ways than one how deeply he felt for you. That this was not temporary, that he wanted a future with you.
So you reported your relationship to HR, admitted youâd been together six months already and no one had any suspicions. You kept it professional, kept it normal.
You knew tonight would be the start of the change. It was only this morning when you awoke to his head between your thighs that you finally relented, agreeing to tell the others in ED about you.
Dana raised a brow, lips curling into a grin as she read the underlying message that he was seeing someone. "Good for you, Abbot," she drawled, nodding her head once in a form of approval.
Langdon crossed his arms over his chest, brows furrowed with a taunting twinkle to his eyes. "Even more reason to stock up, man. Can't be leaving your woman unsatisfied."
Your eyes clocked Jack as he leaned back and shrugged his arms into his jacket, hurling his backpack over a shoulder as he approached you. Casually enough that no one seemed to bat an eye.
Until he slung an arm around your shoulder as you snaked yours around his waist.
âOh, you donât have any complaints, do you, sweetheart?â He asked, craning his neck to look down at you, brows slightly raised.
He shared a look with you, every ounce of love and adoration he felt glistening in his eyes.
Your heart hammered against your ribcage, heat creeping up your neck to sit on the tops of your cheeks. There was a crooked grin tugging on the corner of Jackâs mouth, an expression you couldnât help but mirror.
A year of keeping your relationship a secret, six months of HR knowing, and now day one of your colleagues.
âOh no, Iâm more than satisfied.â You averted your gaze from Jack and to your colleagues, trying to catalogue their wide eyes and shocked expressions to memory.
The apples of your cheeks swelled as you smiled, big and wide and happy. Jack pressed his lips to the top of your head before turning you both toward the exit, his hand waving above his head as he walked you both out.
"Have a good shift, our phones are turned off." He called over his shoulder.
you know what is so funny about this picture? Both of these bitches are going THROUGH IT one of them is actively suicidal and the other has a scalpel in her pocket. and yet they stay silly.
My mind is telling me to lock tf in and finish KOA tonight, but my heart just wonât allow me to do it! Idk how iâll survive it. You guys are definitely tired of hearing me post this again and again, IM SORRY!
summary: azriel doesn't have to wake you up to figure out what you were doing before you fell asleep
contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. somnophilia, oral (f receiving), mate!reader, don't like don't read.
Azriel is itchy. It's an all-encompassing feeling, an anxious thrum to his very blood that makes his fingers twitch and his muscles ache. He hasn't had a moment alone with you in days, and it's worn his nerves thin. He's not sure when this snuck up on him- probably when the mating bond snapped, but even then he can't remember if he needed to be by your side so constantly, or if he just wanted to. It was probably both, and probably still is, which is why a whiff of your scent on the staircase to his bedroom makes him take the steps two at a time.
He opens the door quietly because that's who he is, but he thanks the mother for his natural spying abilities because you're passed out in his bed. You have your own room, two floors down and three hallways apart that feel like torture in the dead of night. But he loves it when he finds you like this, sprawled out over his massive bed in nothing but one of his shirts, legs tangled in his sheets and face pressed into his pillows.
Another one of his t-shirts is gripped in your fist.
It looks like you'd fallen asleep clutching it, and Azriel's heart nearly bursts in his chest, swelling an uncomfortable amount until he feels the need to clutch at it. He rubs at his pec, trying to ease the ache there until he breathes deeper and catches something heady in the air, a sweat-salty scent that deepens into a musk that makes his mouth water.
You smell like sex.
Not penetration- there's no lingering traces of Azriel's own lust between your barely-spread legs, nor, thank the mother, is there notes of anyone else's. He realizes with another layer of saliva coating the inside of his mouth, pooling there beneath his tongue that you'd made yourself cum, the fingers that aren't fisted in his shirt just barely poked beneath the hem of your panties. You smell clean, like you'd shuffled to his bathroom and wiped yourself down, but Azriel knows for certain that you'd fingered yourself in his bed, and he feels his cock stiffen against the unforgiving fabric of his training leathers.
His eyes rove over your sleeping form, your head nestled into his pillow, your hair trapped uncomfortably beneath your shoulders. Your occupied hand is holding his t-shirt just beneath your chin, and he has sudden visions of you holding it against your nose with your hips grinding against your fingers so dizzying he stumbles as he walks towards the bed.
He catches himself on the foot of the bed, breathing in the strong scent of what can't be described as anything other than pussy filling his nose. It's intoxicating, he has to swallow down that spit that's gathered on his tongue, begging to wet you. His forearms clench against the footboard and he eyes your panties, dragged back into place up your thighs from where you'd nudged them aside earlier.
He'd planned on finding you hunched over a book- sneaking a shadow up the back of your shirt and catching you as you flailed with a squeal at the way it would have tickled your skin. He was going to haul you into his arms, probably sideways or upside-down, just to see your eyes sparkle as you tried escaping the head rush. Then he'd have tossed you down on the bed and kissed you silly, all over the face, against your flushed cheeks, on the tip of your nose, in the crevice between your chin and chest as you desperately tried pinching your shoulders to your ears to evade him. It had never been his intention to walk in and pounce on you, he'd just fantasized about finally holding you after so many days of stolen kisses between errands, so many nights of crawling in bed and finding the other already asleep. But this- he can't ignore the smell coming from between your thighs, he can't stop imagining you pressing his shirt to your nose, he can't get the idea of you touching yourself in his bed out of his mind.
He blinks and realizes he'd sunk to his knees at the edge of the bed. Your feet are near his face, and he takes a brief few seconds to admire the pretty pink paint you'd chosen for your toes. He wonders once again when he'd fallen so deeply in love with you to be admiring your pinky toe, but he doesn't care and he takes your ankles in his scarred hands, gently pulling you down the mattress and making his shadows keep his pillow beneath your head. You don't wake, and the smell of your cunt hits Azriel ten times stronger now that it's mere inches away from him, your thin panties doing nothing to mask your scent.
You smell like you'd prepped for him. Like your orgasm hadn't been its own event, like you'd done it to open yourself up for his thick, long cock. It's what he has to do most nights to prepare you, and his teeth dig sharply into his lower lip at the thought of you imagining your fingers were his own rough ones.
He feels divinely lucky to be able to press his lips to your calves, sliding his shoulders beneath them and nestling his nose into the thin skin behind your knee. He kisses there for good measure, just to tuck his love into a spot he doesn't usually get to, and drags his nose along your thigh, lips parted as a hot, ragged sigh melts against your skin.
There's traces of your arousal on your thighs. You'd cleaned yourself up, but you'd probably done it in a hazy, sleepy hurry, missing splotches here and there along your legs where your sticky fingers had brushed accidental smears of wetness or you had simply leaked past your knuckles and soiled the bedsheets. He has to clench his eyes shut not to cum at the thought, using every ounce of willpower he possesses to shove his impending orgasm down before he even tastes you. He drops his head to your stomach in desperation, his nose pressed against your clit as he breathes in the heady smell of your clean, wet, ready cunt.
it doesn't help him gain control of himself, but it's so fucking intense, so fucking sinful that he can't pull himself away. You don't stir at all- you must have really tired yourself out earlier, so he takes a moment to press his forehead against your pelvis, thanking the mother in a silent prayer that he gets to have every inch of you flush against his mouth like this. He puckers his lips and kisses against the fabric of your underwear, feeling your sex beneath it, warm and semi-stiff with lingering arousal. Your lips are parted and he nearly forgets your panties are even there, the urge to burrow straight into your cunt with his tongue so strong.
He tests the waters by pressing a few more sweet kisses to the pad of your panties, and when a soft sigh escapes your mouth he has to freeze once more, teeth bared and hands clenched in the comforter at your feet. He grunts with the effort of restraining his orgasm, panting slightly as he opens his eyes again and wills his hands steady to remove your underwear.
The smell of the cotton covering your cunt is gone, and a gush of saliva floods Azriel's mouth. He sighs reverently at the sight of your pussy, still swollen from your former orgasm and he wastes no more time before sticking the tip of his tongue past his lower lip, leaning in to swipe it gently up through your primed cunt.
He has to jam a hand over his bulge the second he tastes you. He has to touch himself, he can't take the maddening lack of stimulation as every other sexual fuse in his body is lit. He smells sex, he sees sex, he tastes sex, he even hears it in the slick of his tongue against your folds and the way your breathing quickens in your sleep. But he doesn't feel it, and he squeezes himself through his leathers so viciously he's surprised he doesn't injure himself.
He's digging his palm into his groin to satiate his need for touch, but the real pleasure comes from dragging his tongue in fat, wet stripes through your bared cunt. You're clearly ready for a second orgasm, your pussy responding quick to his tongue and shining with hot wetness as soon as he gets a steady rhythm going. He groans as your arousal bleeds onto his tongue, burrowing it further into your sex, pushing it as far as it can go into your pussy and flicking it there to draw a broken whimper out of your mouth. His nose digs into your clit and he pulls back to pant against your labia, lips pressed to your sex even when he's coming up for air. You're still sleeping, but you're reacting to his touches, hands squirming and inadvertently knocking his shirt back over your face. He has to concentrate on loosening the clenched tightness of his jaw so that he can lick you again, tongue laving against you before breaching your slit and dragging your leaking arousal up towards your clit. He scoops it onto his tongue there, flicking the tip of the muscle against your clit in a way that makes you nearly sob in your sleep. Your thighs begin tightening around his head, pressing against his ears so that sound is muffled, but he doesn't need to hear you to know you're beginning to stir.
He unclenches his hands from the bedsheets to grab hold of your hips, pushing forwards beneath your thighs to seal his open mouth against your cunt. He plunges his tongue inside, wriggling it further and further until it's nestled in that tight spot again, squeezed by warm wetness that pulses to the beat of your heart. He begins working it in and out, in and out, in and out until you wake with a startled cry- something Azriel doesn't see but feels as your hands fly to his hair and yank. The mating bond between you sings with pleasure as he ravages you, pure, unadulterated bliss washing over him at the feeling of you clamping your thighs shut on his face, pulling his hair and pulsing around his tongue. He doesn't let up as your orgasm begins, and soon your fingers curl against his scalp, scratching and holding him in place instead of tugging him off. He fucks your pussy with his tongue, his nose nudging your clit until you're twitching rather than riding, overstimulation beginning to take hold. When you begin pulling again at his hair he reluctantly breaks himself away, realizing belatedly that some of the bliss he'd experienced in the moment had been his own orgasm, his palm sticky and his leathers stained.
He honestly hadn't noticed.
"Azriel," You pant, his shirt laying crumpled on your stomach where it had fallen when you'd shot upright. You stare down at him with wide, hazy eyes, noticing the sheen of bliss spread over his own hazel ones. He's covered in your slick, his chin and cheeks glistening, his nose reddened and his breathing heavy. His chest heaves as he drags in lungful after lungful of air, of your scent, of sex, shoulders remaining steady beneath the weight of your thighs despite the post-adrenaline crash beginning to hit the two of you.
He looks like sex incarnate, and it's making you want another round before you can even clean this one up.
"Sorry for waking you," Azriel pants, the words falling hot against your skin and making you jolt as the air hits your sensitive cunt, "I saw you sleeping with my shirt, and I smelled you- I put two and two together."
"Oh." You recall your pre-nap endeavors, your fingers pressed together between your legs in Azriel's bed, and heat rushes to your face, "I'm- I'm sorry, that wasn't very... polite of me."
Azriel scoffs, nothing but another gust of hot breath against your kissed thighs, "I don't care. Actually- I do. I want you to do it again. Whenever the urge hits you," Azriel begins standing, taking your legs in his palms and lifting them with him so that your feet rest beneath his chin, both of your ankles circled by one of his hands as he holds your legs in the air, "Come to my room and do it in here. Use my shirts, use my leathers, I don't care. Get it on the sheets." Azriel dips down to kiss against the bone of one of your ankles, then tilts his head to kiss the other, "Make such a mess of yourself that the room reeks of your cunt. I walked in and I almost passed out," He recalls, clenching his teeth and trying to calm his voice from the growl it had become, "Don't deprive me of seeing you like this."
Your eyes are wide and your cheeks are flushed. Azriel is beautiful, and he's in love with you, and he's telling you to fuck your fingers so good you leak all over his bedsheets. Your head is spinning and your core is throbbing, and you feel the still-prominent bulge in Azriel's trousers brush up against your exposed core as he keeps you folded in half against him, your breath hitching and your mouth watering.
"Please?" He asks, and you realize you've never answered him, nodding jerkily against his pillows.
"Okay." You answer obediently, willing to do whatever it takes to make Azriel happy, to please him, and his eyes roll back in his head, lashes fluttering and eyelids falling shut at the sound of your compliance.
"Thank you," He manages, reverent, polite, proud, as his shadows slip beneath your arms and begin dragging you back up the bed, "Which hand did you use?"
You brandish your fingers at him as he fumbles with the clasps of his leather pants, shucking them as fast as possible and kneeling before you on the bed, cock hard and heavy and waiting.
"Line me up with it," He pants, falling over you with his hands planted on either side of your head to stop his weight from crushing you, "Then put it in my mouth and let me taste it while I fuck you."
summary: you're the youngest member of the newest family admitted to the high councilâa world built on blood, power, and rituals older than the country itself. a world where killing is tradition, loyalty is currency, and the annual hunt is the closest thing these people have to religion. after surviving two hunts, you're chosen for the champion's hunt. the heirs are older, faster, hungrier, and as the youngest you're expecting to die... until titus danforth corners you in a storm and offers you a deal that's far more dangerous than death.
pairings: ready or not 2: here I come - titus danforth x f!reader
word count: 11.1k (I don't know where this came from)
warnings/notes: minors DNI (18+ please), murder!plot, killing for fun, violence, gore, blood (like mention of it a lot), choking, age!gap (reader mid to late 20s), ultimatum/blackmail (?), predator/prey dynamic, murder fantasies, titus being a freak, p in v, no protection, breeding kink, slight blood kink, reader lowkey loving it, cursing, possible inaccuracies (haven't seen the movie)
update: there will be part 2! it's in the works
Mud lined the Danforth entryway, the hand-woven rugs from centuries ago splattered with footprints, rainâŠblood. It was an art in itself, the way the scene after a hunt revealed the true humanity of peopleâtheir fears, their character, if they were one to fight, or accept defeat. Beauty is truth, and truth is most evident in deathâwhen they are desperately trying to live, killing for each incoming breath, falling in and out of the natural relationship of predator and prey. And there was nothing more rewarding than being the one to put an end to all of that, take away someoneâs breath, feel their heart stop, drain it of all of its oxygenated warm blood.
Titus Danforth was a man who got off on a moment like that, playing god.Â
A âpetulant childâ who has gotten everything heâs ever wanted in life, and yet he wanted more. Revenge. Power. Control. Blood. Everything.Â
Control over their familyâs âHigh Council,â his father dead, and an heir that can carry on not only his genetic makeup but the power of the Danforth name. He wanted all of it, and before Ursula could get it first. That all began with the ritualistic Hunt that was taking place weeks from now. The first in two solar eclipses, this one signifying a sort of championâs game. Those who had been surviving for years, killing since they were old enough to hold the weight of a weapon, carved out of stone and darkness. The last one standing sure to be promised the most influence and power among the High Council. And this year Titus would winâthere was no other option. Kill or be killed, and he promised that as soon as it was decided, he would be the one seated at the forefront of that table come dawn.Â
The only thing that stood between him, that title, and from killing the other ten high council heirs was you. Belonging to one of the newer elite families that hadnât been around as long as all the restâthose who still needed to prove themselvesâand you were their youngest. Far younger than him, decades younger, with soft, unmarked skin and a certain naive spark that intrigued him more than he would ever admit. Which is why he didnât, not when Ursula would never let him hear the end of it for going after a young thing like you.
But some things are inevitable, written out in the stars, promised by the hands of Satan, sure to be sealed by the spillage of blood. Whether that meant you lived or died, he didnât know yet, but he was sure heâd have it figured out by the time of the Huntâwhen dusk finally fell, leaving the acres of land into a playground of darkness for the monsters to come out and play.
And so as weeks passed, social events being shoved down his throat by his father and the other high elite parents, he took the time to take in his opponents, to take in you. Among the glinting chandeliers and flutes of champagne as black market investors looked on, seeing which of the elite hunters they wished to invest their money into, he watched you.Â
In weeks, he came to understand your routines, mannerisms, expressionsâclaiming he was looking for weaknesses to use during the Hunt, but a selfish part of him was trying to find the right moment to approach you. An opportunity that never came until one night, a week before their game of hide and seek, at a gala no less, where parents spent the night speaking highly of their children in anticipation of the slaughter, and those participating in it drank.
Drank in celebration.Â
Some in grief.Â
He found you late into the evening, tucked away in a corner, an emerald dress fitting you in all the right places, hair pulled up, revealing the smooth skin of your neck. Titus was unable to look away, couldnât stop himself from devouring you while you remained oblivious. With two or three flutes of champagne having been washed down, your cheeks held a gentle rosy hue to them, the alcohol taking shape and form in your body. You stood talking to a server, a man who Titus killed later that evening with the manâs own serving tray, just because of the sight of you blinking up through the thick wisps of your lashes, smiling in such a way that he knew he was entirely fucked. If it wasnât his brain that had made the realization, his dick definitely did in how it twitched, hardening slightly as you rolled your eyes.
Hours later, while sandwiched between Ursula and Tobias, another heir they had known since their childhood, he watched you slip out in between dances down the hallway. How he stared even when you were no longer in sight, only brought back by the cool touch of Ursulaâs fingers slinking around his wrist, nails digging into his skin lightly. She raised a menacing brow, a warningâdonât even think about it.Â
She noticed more than he had given her credit for. Titus pulled his arm free, downed his fourth flute of champagne, and sent his sister a tantalizing smile, one she was quite familiar with in all their years growing up with one anotherâone that said I donât give a fuck. Tipping his head to Tobias, he excused himself and walked in the direction you had disappeared, with the sound of his sister spitting insults following him.
He found you on a balcony, sitting in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, dress blowing in the wind. Stray pieces of hair blew into your eyes as you peered down, picking at your fingernails, deep enough to draw blood.Â
Your doe-like eyes looked up through the shadows at the sound of the door opening, shoulders stiffening at the sight of himâall broad and seriousâso Danforth-like, intimidating you to a point that you felt you couldnât move. As he stepped outside, his silver curls caught in the moonlight, and his deep gaze traced you up and down silently. You had never seen him like thisâso close, so intimatelyâand you couldnât help but just stare and keep picking at the torn skin around your fingernails. Blood smeared around your thumb, and he watched the crimson bead from the wound.
With his hands tucked behind his back, there was a certain curiosity laced between his wandering gaze and the tilt of his head. âNot having a good time?âÂ
âWhat makes you think that?â you asked, voice steady, steadier than either of you wouldâve expected. âHave you been watching me, Mr. Danforth?â
God, he hated the way his surname sounded coming from your parted lipsâthe way his cock twitched againârealizing that you played into the innocence card, molded yourself into exactly what everyone else saw you as. The youngest elite heirâlucky, inexperienced, too pure to survive all of this.
âMr. Danforth?â He chuckled, the sound deep, honest. âYou must think youâre speaking to my father.âÂ
âAs if you donât like it.â You mused, raising an arched brow up at him.Â
He cleared his throat. âTitus, is fine.â
You sighed, looking away, over your shoulder, over the estateâone that was beautiful, but far too small for the Hunt. One that you knew better than the Danforthâs, having spent more time here than there.Â
Your mind turned on itself then, as you thought about it with the eldest and future board member of the high council standing thereâyou, the outlier, the youngest, least experienced, having only participated in two hunts before this one. Everyone was expecting your death.Â
Even you.Â
âI heard you won your last two hunts. Quiet on the ground, like a cat, experienced with a bow and arrow. You killed Senator Calciusâs son at the last hunt, right? He was what? 6 '3? And roughly 210? And you took him down one shot, one arrow, right to his heart.âÂ
You picked at another piece of skin, feeling it give away, blood forming immediately as you refused to look back at him. Your shoulders were raised and the images from that hunt came back, clearer than ever despite it having been over a year agoâa hunt that had taken the lives of your cousin and brother, each with a 3 inch hole in their skulls from another elite who had turned on the rest of the party. You had killed him right after you had taken care of the senatorâs son.Â
âThatâs impressive,â Titus admitted, his voice warm, pooling in your stomach. âYou know, for someone whoâs twelve.â
Your head snapped towards him then, glaring in a way he found neither intimidating or serious. But your lips curled in on themselves and while he hoped for you to say something back, insult him, you only sighed and turned back to the garden below.
âYouâre not excited for the Hunt?â he asked, the sound of his steps loud in your ears.Â
You hummed softly standing and brushing your hands across the bottom of your dress, a few droplets of blood staining the silk material. Titusâs eyes dropped to the action before drifting back up your body, past your lips, and to your eyes.Â
âHow can you tell?â You crossed your arms, tone becoming snappy with him faster than he anticipated.Â
He gestured to the balcony as if you escaping outside wasnât telling enough but your expression did not shift, if anything it deepend further. Looking once over his shoulder, Titus stepped closer and then again when you didnât move back. He moved until the tip of his shoe was touching yours.Â
His hands were still behind him, not even tempted with the idea of touching, but he leaned forward, enough that his chest brushed up against your arms. Then your last name was falling off his tongue sweeter than you had ever heard it.
âYouâre the youngest,â he said, the corner of his mouth lifting so softly, just for you.Â
Your walls fell just a little bit, your head tilting in a way that he was eating upâso innocent, naive, so enticing. Your tongue slipped out to wet your lips, and his eyes followed it.Â
âYes,â you admitted softly.Â
Another step forward. This one coaxing you to take one backwards, your pulse rising, and you hating how he was able to catch it. Your back met the cool metal of the balcony railing, hand suddenly darting out to meet his chest, anything to keep some space between the two of you. His lips curled up further into a smirk, a dark look evolving across his face.
âSo pretty,â he whispered.Â
A gasp slipped from your lips, eyes narrowing up at him as the warm tip of his finger trailed up the side of your thigh, so gently, you werenât sure if it was even real, until his palm grabbed the railing, caging you in entirely.Â
âSo young,â he continued, breath suddenly colliding with your lips. âA waste of a life to have in the Hunt. But itâs never fair is it? Hm, I am sure your blood will be pretty too, especially drenched across my hands.â
Titus was used to people cowering, the air shifting in a room at his mere presence, those groveling if he threatened their life. But you didnât shudder or react, and it annoyed him that you were as lock and key as everâhidden away from himâyour humanity not there for the taking. You merely stared at him, just as intensely, not a lick of fear within you, not prey-like one. Single. Bit.Â
But this wasnât the first time you had been threatened by one of the large men of the elite family heirs. Your family hadnât been around as long as the others, but around long enough to have a knife pressed to your jugular once or twice, and wandering hands trying to reach up your skirt. This life you were familiar with, and it had become a part of you at this point, your first hunt being when you were sixteen, and then the second when you were twenty.Â
And you were still alive.Â
So you smiled, instead. âI guess that all depends on if you can find me, Titus.â
âYou mean when I find you?âÂ
You tutted softly up at him, your expression cracking only when you felt his knee wedging itself between your thighs. âI am sorry, but am I forgetting a time when you and I have been a part of the same hunt? Oh, right. We havenât.âÂ
âYou think that means I canât hunt you down?âÂ
You shrugged. âI donât know, Titus. I tend to pick the best hiding spots. Itâs done me well so far.âÂ
His dick was completely hard at this point. The way you were saying his name over and over again, creating a response out of him that he couldnât control.
Leaning forward, his mouth hovered over yours, his stare so dark now as they flickered between your mouth and eyes. âExcept that I know every inch and crevice of the Danforth estate. Youâre right, we havenât been a part of the same hunt before, but you also have never done one on my property. So tell me, whatâs going to happen when I find you?â
You thought about it for a second, heart beating loudly in your chest. Then you jutted your chin out, planning to defy him every second you could while alive. âWe settle up and strike a deal.â
Chuckling, he smiled down at you softly, a new challenge forming in his eyes as he took a step back, body peeling away from you altogether.Â
âIâll see you at the Hunt, little lamb. I wish you luck. Rest assured, I will find you, and when I do, prepare to beg for your life.â
Then, as if the great Danforthâs eldest son had never been there at all, he slipped back inside, the glass door shutting softly, hinges creaking in a call and response. He disappeared down the hall, not looking back once, as he retreated into the boring party, to the lies that had beseeched everyone into a life of death and murder, but with more money than anyone could ever fucking imagine. His black suit reflected across the walls like a loose shadow, one begging you to runârun so far that the big bad wolf couldnât get you.Â
You knew what kind of hunter Titus Danforth wasâhe was intense in everything he did, ruthless, and most importantly, he didnât fear death. He dances around, waiting for the day his blood will return to the earth, all of the darkness within him going back to where it came from. It was what made him the scariest contender out there. And although you were fairly certain he would catch you eventuallyâhopefully not before dawn, before the light can bargain for your lifeâyouâd die trying to kill him before he could kill you.
The night of the hunt, you got ready, ate with your parents and your older brother, the last one of the two, as clouds billowed and moved through the area. The wind was picking up, and the air was humid, water droplets bubbling on your skin from the increase in temperature.Â
âGreat hunting weather,â you said, standing on the back porch of the estate, the screen windows revealing the shadows that loomed outside. âEasier to hide in. Covers up scents, tracks⊠wonât have to do as much to conceal my presence.âÂ
Your brother stood in the room, taking in the side of your face as you stared out at the dark green fields, already dressed in a dark long-sleeved shirt and black pants that hugged your body tightly. Eyes glassy, your fingertip traced over the scar at your collarbone, the first one you had ever gotten during your first hunt.Â
Elias wasnât chosen for the hunt this time aroundâit was a plus when families had lost multiple children and were running low on who could keep the lineage alive. He had tried to have them pick him over you, but Le Bali wouldnât permit it.
You were mumbling now under bated breaths, feeling yourself spiral the closer to the witching hour it got, the closer you got to the start of the Hunt and the promise that Titus had made you. He wanted your blood, and what a Danforth wants, a Danforth gets.Â
Elias whispered your name, it deep, drawing your attention back to him and the table full of weapons. Guns, knives, crossbows, an axeâanything you can imagine on one table. Your brother gestured towards the bow and the bag of arrows. It had been your chosen weapon for the first two huntsâthe thing that had ultimately kept you alive.Â
But this wasnât just any other hunt.Â
You walked around the table, fingers tracing handles, blades, the way triggers felt under your touch. Suddenly, as the first raindrop fell, your hand stopped near a five-inch hunting knife, the handle wooden and engraved with your family emblem.Â
Picking it up, you tested its weight before slipping it into the guard at your thigh.Â
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âThinking of switching it up this year." You shrugged, trying to dissociate as the clock got closer.Â
âAre you crazy, sister? Take the bow.â Elias reached for the knife at your hip, but you stopped him.Â
âThis isnât any other fucking hunt. Risking the bow would be risking my life.âÂ
âAnd you think the knife is any better? Look, I know youâre stronger now, but you should stick to what you know. That bow got you through your first two hunts.âÂ
You smiled sadly, running your palms over his shoulders. âWhen have you ever believed in superstitions?âÂ
He pleaded then, in a way you wouldâve never expected from himâyou knew what kind of life you guys were getting into when your parents were picked to be an elite family. Death would be a commonality, murder even more so. He even used to enjoy the hunt, enjoy how it felt to end someoneâs life. No one had ever been innocentânot even you. But when Leo was killed by Titusâs cousin, something in Elias changed that day. Something shifted how he felt about the hunts.
âElias, this is the championâs hunt. Everyone here is either older than me, stronger, or has more kills than I probably ever will. The bow canât save me if I get caught in close combat.â
He paused, frame relaxing under your touch, a few seconds passed, only to drift away at the sound of your father entering the room. The car was here.Â
Squeezing Eliasâs shoulder, you parted, only for him to call out your name as you reached the threshold of the doorway.Â
Turning over your shoulder, you met his melancholy gaze. âGo for the throat, ribs, and the base of the skull. The hunting triad. I remember.â
You didnât look back again and followed your father down the stairs of the estate, taking in the smell, the way it looked under dim canary lights, the staff who had been nothing but loyal for almost ten yearsâall just in case you wouldnât come back. With one squeeze to your shoulder from your fatherâsignaling that he didnât even believe youâd liveâyou stepped out into the stormy dark abyss of the night, the light diminishing behind rolling clouds. Slipping into the black, sleek car sent for you, you leaned back into the seat, head rolling to the side, and you watched your home until it disappeared completely from view.Â
Ready or not, you would be participating in a hunt tonight.
One weapon, one night, survive until dawnâŠagainâhow hard could it be? Â
The first crack of thunder came a few mere minutes after the sky erupted in a bright light. It rolled across the Danforth estate like something alive. The trees shook against the windows, the darkness of the sky matching what darkness would commence on the ground. Clutching your knife against your thigh, you listened as the grandfather clock ticked awayâthe rest of the heirs standing around you with their weapons of choice.Â
Chester Danforth was more than a member of the high council; he was the greatestâcold, detached, lacking an ounce of empathy that would stall his order on the world. He stood at the top of the entryway steps, a dark suit buttoned up with a bright maroon tieâhair white, he sneered down at the competitors, at the children of his most trusted associates, sure to have their blood spilled.Â
His eyes flickered over you, the youngest of the heirs, having already survived two of your own; it didnât create any more favorable odds the third time around. You knew he would beam, maybe even laugh at the sight of you dead, especially if at the hands of his eldest son.Â
Titus stood next to him, leaning up against his axe, grinning as if he were a kid who had just stumbled across a carnival. Like a predator stalking his prey, he scanned the crowd, the cusps of his teeth chewing on his lip as every dark fantasy flew in and out of his mindâblood, so much blood, god, he wanted to be drenched in it by the end of it all. There was no smell, no feeling better than it.Â
Something in you stiffened as Titusâs pupils locked onto you, dark and unblinking. His smirk widened, slow and predatory, as his gaze dragged down your frame, pausing at the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. Mr. Danforthâs voice droned through the hallârules, warnings, the same ritualistic speech youâd heard twice beforeâbut Titus didn't look away. Not once. His stare was ruthless, hungry in a way that made your pulse stumble. The words went in one ear and out the other, only appearing in shortened phrases.
âŠOne weapon.
Dawn or until thereâs only oneâŠ
Different release points onto the estate.
âŠBell sounds, hunt begins.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you couldnât look away. Not until a staff member brushed your elbow, drawing your attention from Titus. They were to guide you to your release point on the far side of the estate. You nodded and followed, not missing the small wink Titus sent your way as you passed himâa silent promise, or a threat, you couldnât tellâdeeper into the Danforthsâ world that you were sure was about to swallow you whole.
And then Ursulaâs voice cut through the marble hall like a blade, echoing off the high walls as she gagged in disgust. âReally, Titus? Weâre minutes from the bell, and youâre already hunting the wrong thing.â
You didnât hear his reply.Â
And you didnât want to.
The staff member led you through a side door and out into the storm. The air hit you hard. Thunder rolled across the estate grounds as the Danforth mansion loomed behind you, its windows glowing like the watchful eyes of Chester Danforth.
The older staff stopped at the edge of the treeline.Â
âHere,â they said. âWait for the bell.â
You peered up at the sky and slipped back into the shadows of the forest, rain soaking through your clothes in seconds. Your breath fogged in the cold air as you waited, trying to hear past the storm. The first thing that came to your mind was what always had, it getting you through the first two huntsâhide, wait, survive. Let the others kill one another while you disappear deeper into the dark.Â
The bell tolled somewhere from the direction that you cameâlow, resonant, like one that you used to hear at church. It vibrated in your ribs, your teeth, in the wet air around you. For a moment, everything went still.
And you ran.Â
The storm swallowed you within seconds. Rain soaked into you and blurred the world around you. Your boots tore across the lawn, the mansion shrinking behind you with every stride. Thunder clapped overhead, close enough to make you jump.Â
You ran and ran, not stopping until the shapes of the estate garden rose out of the dark. The old stone fountain was overflowing with stormwater, the row of greenhouses standing like glass skeletons under the stormy sky. You slowed there, hands meeting your knees, lungs burning.Â
But then the lightning split the sky againâa white, violent flashâand in that instant you saw them. Another one of the hunters could be Vanceâs son, aged thirty-eight. He wasnât far. Back turned and scanning the dark for threats that werenât you.Â
Your breath stalled, and then your fingers were curling around the hilt of your knife. Clutching it tightly, you felt your pulse quicken, and for a moment you hesitated. That childlike old instinct tugging at you, the one that said run, donât stop, let them kill each other first.Â
But something in you was stalling. It couldâve been the storm, the exertion, or the fear that hiding wouldnât save you anymore. It was a Championâs Huntâthey would find you.Â
It couldâve been the realization that this was your third hunt, two since Leo was murdered. But whatever it was, it had you moving forward, timing your steps with the storm, moving when the sky spoke, holding your breath when it was silent. The rain masked your approach, suddenly becoming so close you could see the rise and fall of their shoulders, close enough to smell the wet fabric of their jacket.
When the next crack of thunder tore through the sky, you struck. It was quick, clean, up through the back of their skull, finding that sweet spot like it wasnât the first time. The hunter collapsed into the mud, and the storm covered the evidence. Standing over them, rain running down your face, your knife slick in your hand, for the first time in any hunt, you felt no remorse.Â
You didnât shake, and you didnât feel the guilt.Â
Only a cold understanding.Â
Eliminate them one by one. The more you killed, the sooner it'd all be over.
Wiping the blade on the grass, you began to move around the perimeter of the estate, moving close to the trees, you let the shadows of the night swallow you whole. The storm worsened after your first kill; it was more grueling, coming down like soft pellets. As you passed along the garden path and toward the old orchard, somewhere in the distance, someone screamed.Â
The Hunt was already eating people alive.Â
You kept moving. The ground was slick, the mud sucking at your boots. You slowed for a second time and listened, trying to steady your breath. There, a few feet away, you see another figure crouched by a tree, the lightning revealing their position to you, and you followed it like a beam. Waiting for the thunder, you reached around without any hesitation and slit the personâs throat, angling it to hit their carotid.Â
It was quick, instinct, and gravity brought them down. You stood there, chest heaving, rain dripping from your hair, staring down at the body. This one felt messy. Desperate.
Your hands were shaking slightly now.
Two killsâtwo people suddenly unalive and no longer breathing.Â
After that, you didnât make it much further, just passed the orchard towards where the trees thinned when the ground suddenly sloped upward. Your energy was waning, but still strong, but thatâs when you heard it.Â
The voice deep, taunting, and cruelâa Danforth through and through.Â
âLook at you,â he called, stepping out from behind a twisted apple tree. Lightning flashed, illuminating his smirk. âDidnât think youâd make it this far.âÂ
Your ears perked up, chest stalling for a moment.
Titusâs cousin.
He stalked closer, looking you up and down and lingering on the cut on your arm and the blood that covered your clothes. He laughed; it was sharp, loud, and absolutely terrifying. âLooks like someone got you there.âÂ
You tightened your grip on the knife, jaw clenched because there was no way you were going to die at the hands of this asshole. Tilting your head ever so slightly, your tone came out threatening, âMove out of my way, Arlo.âÂ
He grinned wider. âYou know I canât do that.âÂ
He lunged first, and you barely dodged him, slipping in the mud. At the same time, his blade came up and grazed your cheek, a hot sting that made your vision spark. He laughed again. Then he went for you, this time taking a hold of both your hips and slamming you down on the ground. You slipped, boots flying out from under you, your back hitting the ground, knocking the air out of you. The knife fell from your hand, and Arloâs hands found a place around your throat.
You kicked and struggled, but he only squeezed harder, his fingertips pressing into your windpipe. He exhaled heavily, his weight crushing you. Your lungs burned, and you flailed your arms, trying to free yourself, trying to find something, anything that you could use to get him off of you. But as seconds passed, the air filling your lungs slowed, and with the feeling of a nearly crushed windpipe, the only thing you could think in that moment was Iâm going to die.
It was then you saw it out of the corner of your eye. Your hunting knife. It was too far for you to reach, but still close enough if you were just able to move. As you struggled to get the air in, Arloâs face was red above, his hands tightening again and again. You thrashed against him, hands clawing at his hands, moving from side to side so frantically that you managed to get your knee free from under him. You thrust it hard into his groin.
His hold loosened and fell away altogether, only for a few seconds, but enough for you to slip out slightly from underneath him, palm meeting the handle of the knife. The next thing you knew, it was twisted underneath Arloâs ribcage, up and towards his chest cavity.Â
He gasped, surprised as you drove him into the mud. He tried to grab your wrist, but you were already moving, pulling the knife from his chest and going in again and again.Â
 He tried to push you off of him, but you were stronger in this moment than you had ever been in your entire life. And you didnât stop, until his body had crumpled beneath you, until his breathing ceased, and the rain was washing over you bothâlike a cleansing of your sin. You sat there for a long second after that, chest heaving, hair plastered to your face, hands trembling.Â
Your throat screamed as you still struggled to get air into your lungs.
But you were alive.
And you had managed to kill three of them.
But thatâs when you heard it, the wind shifting, settling just for a moment, and the sound of ground moving under a footstep. You turned, and then you saw him.Â
Titus.Â
Standing at the edge of the orchard, soaked, blood-splattered, his axe resting casually on his shoulder. His eyes flickered from the body at your feet to the cut on your cheek, to the knife trembling in your hand. His brow arched up like he was almost impressed.
Almost.Â
Light flashed behind him, turning him into a silhouette of death.
âYouâve been busy,â he said, a certain darkness in his eye that told you he had killed too.Â
You sighed. You were exhausted. Your muscles were trembling, and the energy that carried you through the first few hours of the hunt and through three kills was running out. Still, you stood, wiping the blood from your cheek with the back of your hand. Reaching down, you pulled the knife from the body of Titusâs cousin at your feet, and you met his gaze.Â
He smiled. Slow. Cruel
It was a smile that was meant to unravel you. Scare you into submission.Â
âHow many have you killed?â he asked.Â
You didnât hesitate.
âThree.â Your voice cracked, and your throat ached.
He nodded, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. You raised your knife, something in your chest hardening at the playful glint in his expression. He was such a mind fuck.Â
âYou?â you asked.Â
His grin widened, âFour.âÂ
The number caused a shiver to run down your back.
You tried to shift right but he lungedâmoving faster than youâand his hand closed around your wrist before you could react. The world tilted as he yanked you off balance, the storm even louder in your ears now as your boots slid in the mud. Titusâs weight crashed into you, his broad body sending you down to the ground.
The knife dropped from your hand.Â
And you fell on your back, hard, breath knocked from your lungs. Before you could scramble away, Titus was already on you, hips pinning yours and one knee braced in the mud. One hand held your wrist to the ground, pressing down hard enough to keep you from escaping.Â
His other hand wrapped around your jaw, holding it steady, forcing your gaze up to his.
Rain dripped from his hair onto your cheeks as you struggled underneath him. His breath was uneven, eyes dark and searching. His hand was around your jaw, causing you to whimper out in pain. Keeping you still, his pointer finger found your lower lip. He brushed it so gently, his eyes boring down into yours, something in him softening just a little bit.
His grip tightened around you, but he didnât rush.Â
He wasnât angry.Â
Merely waiting.
âJust fucking do it, Titus,â you snapped, breath shaking, voice hoarse. âS-Stop dragging it out.â
He pinned your arms harder into the ground, but he didnât say anything. Not one word, not a shift in his expression either. His eyes narrowed in a way that wouldâve made you listen if you werenât dying either way. âBe quiet.â
âNo, no, Titus,â you cried out against him, lip trembling in a way that had his chest tightening ever so slightly.Â
âShut up,â he groaned, feeling a subtle shift in the air.Â
âJust... just kill me.âÂ
But something changed in his posture then. His body pressed down harder, pinning you completely. âShut. The. Fuck. Up.âÂ
Your mouth parted but no sound came as he clamped his hand over your mouth. He lowered his head and you could feel the hardness of him poking into you. It made you stiffen, the pressure of him, the heat of him becoming too much to bear quickly. His hand stayed over your mouth, his grip unyielding, as he looked out at the darkness around you.
There were footsteps. And they were close.
You felt his breath against your temple.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you hoped in that moment he would make it quick, but it was a feeling that never came. The footsteps lingered only for a moment before moving and fading up near the back of the estate.
You exhaled but still refused to open your eyes. If death were to come, you didnât want to look at Titus as it did. But as a strike of lightning illuminated behind your eyelids, you never felt the blade come; the feeling of coolness, his touch remained where it had been before. Slowly, you peeled one eye open and then the other. He stared, eyes suddenly black as his chest heaved up and down, rain sliding down his face and his neck, curls matted to his head.Â
He managed to reach your knife, and suddenly it was pressed into your side. You felt his hardening shaft poke harder, even harder than the hunting knife, only for a moment before he was loosening his hold. With his hands still tightly holding your wrists, he managed to haul you up onto your feet. The blade returned to your side, poking into the last intercostal space of your ribs.Â
âYouâre going to move, and youâre not going to make a fucking sound,â he whispered against your ear, his breath hot.Â
He pushed you deeper into the forest, the land going back so much further than you thought it did. Over rough terrain, creeks, you felt all patience dying on your tongueâhe was making his own little game out of this, and it was fucking cruel. Whereas he could end this, he could win this. But he let it stretch out, counted the minutes with you pressed up against him, the way you were so close as the storm raged on.Â
But then he hauled you to a stopâin the distance the bell rang once, then twice, and finally a third timeâsignalling that there were only three of you left now. You were sure the third being was Ursula. She never missed out on a hunt.Â
Releasing your arms, he pushed you forward, and you cringed at the soreness that you felt from how long and how tight heâd had your arms bound behind your back. He gestured with the knife towards the ground in front of the two of you.Â
âThereâs a hatch, open it!âÂ
You crouched down, fear taking hold of you now. The hours had long since passed from the start of the Hunt, but you had no way of knowing just how much, or if dawn was close. You also had no way of knowing what Titus was up to, but you were so tired, so hopeless. Your fingers matted into the soft ground, hands sinking into the mud. Pushing back soft ground, twigs, and branches, your heart stuttered as your skin felt the coolness of metal.Â
You scrambled to move the branches, and you could hear Titus behind you tapping his foot impatiently. The rain was only getting worse as time went on, blurring your vision into shadows of silver and black. Managing to clear off the hatch, you pulled at it, but it didnât budge.Â
You tried again, but Titus stepped forward, gave you a look that had you staying put as he grabbed the handle, managing to open the hatch door away from the ground, the sound a soft creak amongst the storm. He motioned you forward, and you hesitated for a moment, peering down into the tunnel of darkness.Â
He sighed, your name falling off his tongue menacingly, your knife still clenched tightly in his fist. âGo.âÂ
You listened because what else were you going to do? Running didnât feel like an option. He was more likely to kill you sooner the less you cooperated. If you played into his little game, the closer you could get to morning. And if you had to decide between which of the Danforth twins to encounter, youâd pick Titus.Â
You saw the way he looked at you, how attentive he was; with him, you could buy yourself time. Ursula wouldâve struck as soon as she couldâwith him, you at least had a chance of survival, no matter how slim.Â
As your feet found the hard ground beneath, you shivered as you stared into the dark tunnel. The latch fell shut above you. Titus locked it and dropped down behind you. A ringing echoed in your ears, the storm above still loud and deadly, and for a moment, you wondered if you were already dead, confined in the darkness now forever.Â
But then the sound of a click filled your ears, once and then twice. A small light birthing through the blackness illuminated Titusâs face, a smile twitching as he took in the sight of you, soaked through and with fear flickering at the edges of your irises.
He looked like a lion through and through on his final hunt, having discovered his last prey. Stepping closer, the tip of your knife poked into your back, his other arm with the lighter winding around your shoulders, illuminating only a few feet in front of you. His hard, wet chest pressed into your back, his breath falling short along your ear as he urged you forward, slowly, one step at a time.
âTitus.â His name slipped past your lips in a soft whimper.Â
âShh, pretty. Just keep walking,â he replied, the knife kissing your skin a little closer.Â
The further into the lion's den you crept, the more sure you were he was going to kill youâin what way you werenât sure, but if you knew anything about Titus, he liked blood. The dark tunnel walls opened up, the air cooling with every step. The storm faded from above, replaced by the low hum of generators buried somewhere in the stone. When he finally pushed open the heavy steel door, the room inside suddenly felt like another world entirely.
Titus pushed you forward into the dark, the knife leaving your side. You tripped slightly but caught yourself as the light began to spread, forming across the walls and the floor.Â
He lit a lantern while you struggled to gather your bearings. Silence echoed, confining you as the concrete walls were smooth to perfection. A cot with a thick mattress, crisp sheets, and a wool blanket was tucked into the corner. Metal shelves lining the other side of the room were stocked with water, food, and a Danforth jacket hanging up on one of the nails. A map of the whole estate was pinned up on the wall, and the most unsettling thing of all was a drain centered in the floor. You wondered if thatâs where your blood would end up, under the Danforth estate, soaking back into the ground.
You turned to see Titus still near the door. He leaned his axe up against the wall, then dropped your knife down onto a metal table. His stare never left yours, not as he shrugged off his jacket, water droplets dripping onto the concrete floor below.Â
He wore a black shirt, which stuck to his body, revealing even in the shadows, hard lines underneath. You wondered then if everything about Titus was sharp.Â
You inhaled deeply, pressing yourself back against the cool concrete wall, stare darting back and forth from him to your knife. But then he was too close, as close as he had been the last time you saw him, his toes meeting yours. The only sound filling the room was the two of you breathing.
Hair stuck to your face and neck, your arm still bleeding, beads of red mixing with the water to become a muted pink. Despite the goosebumps that arose on his arms, you could feel the heat radiating off of him, feel the tension that was threatening to snap.
âTitus, this is cruel,â you said, finally speaking, the exhaustion in your voice palpable.
He tilted his head at you, taunting in more ways than one.Â
âYouâre being fucking cruel.âÂ
âAm I?â he teased.Â
Your stare hardened then, chin tilting up defiantly. âWhat are you doing? Just why wonât you kill me?âÂ
He didnât respond but only moved even closer, a gasp falling from your lips at the way his wet chest pressed against yours. Titusâs eyes were glazed over with a lens of darkness that softened ever so slightly. His hands hovered as if unsure of where to touch you. Seconds passed, and they remained raised at his sides, weaponless. He could feel your heart beating, meeting his, and he wondered if there was ever a way to have them, without all the mess, all the blood, conjoining into one.
âEntertain me,â he mused, his nose nearly bumping into yours. His finger reached up and traced the cut along your cheek, collecting the dried blood there. âYouâre young, but I know youâre smart enough to connect the dots.â
Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he sucked it clean. You gasped, every part of you equally afraid and intrigued. He was close enough now that you could see a scar peeking out from the collar of his shirt, specks of blood staining his skin, as a certain sort of reverence settled in his eyes. Your head pressed back into the stone wall, as far as you could, looking up at him so honestly, every raw part of you showing. He could see it allâyour fear, your humanity, your soul.Â
It was laid out bare.Â
This was his favorite part of killingâyou knew it was. And yet he didnât strike, didnât reach for your throat, your skull. He just stood staring, hands still hovering, and you realized then that if Titus was really going to kill you, if he wanted to as much as he did, he wouldâve done itâout in the open without shame, showcasing his prize if it meant getting the recognition he always craved.Â
âYouâre not going to kill me.âÂ
The words scraped out of you, thin and uneven, like theyâd been dragged across broken glass. You hated how afraid you sounded. You hated that he heard it.Â
Titus didnât answer at first. His hand lifted to your jaw, thumb tracing the line of it with a focus that made you stutter. Not gentleâjust deliberate. Assessing. Studying you the way a predator studies something it hasnât decided the fate of yet.Â
âThis,â he murmured, tilting your chin up, âis why you think I couldnât.â
Your breath caught.
He smirked then, slow and sharp, brows lifting.Â
âI could kill you,â he admitted, voice low, matter-of-fact. âYou know that. And I wonât pretend I wouldnât take satisfaction in it.âÂ
Your stomach twisted. He wasnât bluffing. He never did.
âBut,â he continued, âI need an heir. And youâre more useful to me alive than dead.â
Your lips parted, the feeling of him pressing into you mixed with his confession, had heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach.Â
The merging of familiesâthe merging of powerâthe idea of you becoming Mrs. Danforth, both delightful and delicious. The Lawyer advised you before, at one of the galas, of a loopholeâif you were to offer up marriage, offer up a union between two of the high power families, your survival was almost imminent. The elite families were addicted to the smell of blood, feeling someone wither under their touch, but there was something they would always crave more⊠power.Â
âYou said you wanted to strike up a deal. This is me offering you one.âÂ
It seemed Titus had beaten you to the punch.
You let out a breath that was almost a laughâsharp, disbelieving, exhaustedâyour patience having completely thinned after this hellish night. âA deal? You want me toâŠwhat? Become some kind of vessel for your legacy.â
He actually chuckled. âNot just that. No.âÂ
His eyes flickered over your face, reading every reaction.Â
âI wouldâve thought you knew me better.âÂ
Your pulse hammered.Â
You didnât know him at all.Â
That was the problem.
âYouâd be more,â he said. âMuch more. Mrs. Danforth.âÂ
The title hit you like a blow. It was heavy, suffocating, impossible.
You swallowed hard then. âAnd if I say no?âÂ
He didnât hesitate, tilting his head, a glint forming at the mere thought of it. âThen death is still on the table.â
The words landed with a cold, heavy finality. But there was something else beneath themâsomething he wasnât saying out loud. He could kill you, but he didnât necessarily want to. Not anymore. Not after everything that has been revealed tonight.Â
Your gaze dropped for a moment, it all becoming too much too fast, as if this hadnât been building between the two of you. You forced your stare back up to meet his.Â
And you couldnât deny it thenâhow handsome Titus was, even a few decades your senior. His authority, while terrifying, was doing something to you now, and you knew that if the heir of the Danforth name and estate was offering up everything under the sky, youâd be an idiot to say no.
âI donât trust you,â you admitted instead.
It wasnât a refusal.Â
It wasnât an acceptance of any kind but it was honest.Â
His mouth curvedânot a smile, not quite. It was more like an acknowledgement. His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, humming at the way it snapped back into place. âYou donât have to trust me. You just have to survive. And with me, you will.â
Titus didnât move, letting his hands mold around your body. He didnât blink, just watched you, the way he always did. Your breath hitched, thinking about the options as you had them, a life as Mrs. Danforth, a life with power, money, with Titus as your husbandâŠor no life at all.Â
He could see them weighing on you.Â
âYouâre afraid of me,â he said softly. âYou should be.â
Your pulse stuttered at his words, the way his hips hitched forward, meeting yours, pulling out a gasp with ease. His eyes narrowed slightly, doing it again to get another reaction out of you. âBut I know thereâs more youâre hiding in there. A want, a desire.âÂ
Your chest tightened.Â
Heat rose up your neck. You looked away againâinstinct, maybe self-protectionâbut he guided your face back towards his with some force.Â
âLook at me,â he said.
You did, unable not to. And it all hit you in that moment, after all this time denying, refusing that any of this could be true, it shifted deep into your chest. It wasnât because he touched you, not because he leaned in, but because you finally understood what had been weighing so heavily all this time.Â
You werenât just afraid of him.
You were drawn to him.
You always have been.
Your breath trembled and his did too. For a heartbeat, neither of you spokeâthe hunt was nearly complete above you, but down here, it felt as if it was just beginning.Â
It was then his knee wedged between your thighs, pressing up in a way that you had you leaning into his warm touch. You bit down on your bottom lip to conceal the whimper, and Titus grinned at the sight of it.Â
âSo, what do you say, pretty?â he asked, voice lowering, reaching down into places you didnât think he had access to. ââTil death do us part.âÂ
His lips brushed along your jaw, his knee pressing up further against your center, the pressure making your head spin. Holding your breath, your chest was rising and falling quicker than before. As his knee met the spot where you wanted him most, a small moan fell, and you were nodding then. Nodding, you bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.Â
His thumb hooked the side of your mouth, stare blown out, and cock twitching within his pants. âWords, I need words.âÂ
His knee pressed against your clit again.Â
âY-YesâŠfuck,â you sputtered. âYes.â
Something in him broke then, his hand fisted your hair and pulled you forward, your chest pressing further into his. His lips fell messily on yours, consuming you in just the way that was so Titus, it had your head spinning.
You kissed back, mouth falling open, teeth colliding as if this wasnât the first time. And he took you within seconds, his tongue slipping into your mouth. He groaned at the taste of blood that bloomed on your lower lip, mixing so well with the sweetness that was you and only you. He pulled back, just enough to suck on your lower lip.
It felt like sin, having him touch you like this. But you knew in the way you sighed, and you arched into him, that all your defenses were falling away. Hands wandering like loose canons, they slipped up under your shirt, finding bare, damp skin underneath. Your head was reeling, body flooding with every ounce of energy and feeling you had leftâall of it suddenly screaming for Titus.Â
Secretly, this had crossed your mind for years, starting after your second hunt. You had caught sight of Titus after the other heirs came to admire the winners. He had less grey in his hair then, but he was still just as beautiful as he was now. He was deadly, a name that held more power than you would ever touch, and it became a dying thought when you thought he wouldnât go for you because of the age gap or that he would have more interest in killing you than fucking you.Â
You were pulled back by the feeling of him groping at your hips, your sides, any skin he could grabânails leaving crescents as his lips continued to kiss bruises into your lips.
âYou smell like blood,â he mumbled as his lips found your jaw.
âI thought you liked that,â you teased, and as he chuckled, you felt it in your chestâalmost as if the sound came from you instead.Â
He didnât respond. Instead, he reached down, hooking his hands under your thighs and lifting you as if you weighed nothing. Resting you on top of his hips, your feet hooked around his waist, and you smiled down at himâa real smile.Â
The side of his mouth twitched as he lay you down on the cot, his thigh once again parting your legs. He kissed you again. This one slower, deeper, wetter.Â
His hands dove under your shirt again, kneading, his lips moving across your jaw and down your neck, hesitating once they met the raw skin of your throat, two red handprints glinting back at him under the low light.Â
Arloâs hands.Â
He glanced down at your shirt stil matted and damp from rain water and blood.Â
Arloâs blood.
He had only gotten there as you had managed to free yourself, hand wrapping desperately around the handle of the hunting knife. It was your kill, and heâd let you claim it. Instead, Titus stood back, watching with satisfaction as you thrusted the knife up and under Arloâs ribs, gasping for this earthâs sweet, sweet air as you did.Â
He had never liked Arlo anyway.Â
Didnât like how his touch was left on your skin.Â
Titus moved slowly as he stared down at the marks. Hand hovering for a mere moment, his fingers traced them. You stiffened first under his touch, his hand so close to your throat, you cringed second at the feeling. A part of it excited him, how wide your eyes got, the spark of fear that appeared in them.Â
His hand drifted up higher, finding the side of your head instead, brushing hair behind your ear.Â
âSh, itâs okay,â he lowered his voice, hips pressed against yours, his hardness pressing through his pants into your thigh. âWhat kind of husband would I be if I hurt my wife?â
You met his steady gaze, the way it traced over your features, hand resting at the side of your head. Wife. The word was so foreign, so thick, so enigmatic. Was this the right thing? Marry a man who proposed with âwill you marry me, but if you donât say yes, I will kill you.â But youâd be a Danforth, married to the very man who had fantasized about your death.Â
And yet you got it.Â
Completely.
After all, you had thought about his death, too. The Hunt made you envision everyoneâs death. How would you do it, for every possible scenario you could think of. You had wanted to kill him, too.Â
But not now. Not as he reached up, hands grabbing at the back of his wet shirt. Not as he pulled it up and over his head in one swift motion, leaving him bare underneath. Your eyes dropped to the expanse of skinâbroad-shouldered, freckle-coated chest, taut muscles under scars and wounds both old and new.Â
You traced your fingers over the scar that was peeking out of his shirt before. It was so much larger now, extending from the top of his shoulder, along his collarbone, ending where the bone met sternum. He shivered, and it only made you want to push further. Dragging your pointer finger down his chest, you moved lower and lower. His stomach clenched as you found the waistband of his pants.Â
âFuck,â he swore, head dipping to meet yours.Â
âWhat was that?â you teased.Â
Titus shook his head, brows furrowed. âYouâre wearing too many clothes.âÂ
His hands pushed your shirt up and over your chest.
âSo fix it,â you smirked, leaning up and nearly kissing him.Â
He grinned then, pulling the shirt the rest of the way up and over your head. Titusâs stare dipped at the new expanse of skin, at the blood that stained through your clothes, your own scars, your own stories of near encounters with death. He took you in slowly, then, slower than he ever had, orbs taking you one inch at a time.Â
âYouâre going to be the death of me,â he whispered, fingers thumbing at the button of your pants. He popped them, and you involuntarily arched into his touch.Â
âAll Iâve ever wanted.â
Titus chuckled, and you lifted your hips just enough for him to get the material under your butt before pulling them the rest of the way down, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. His fingers twisted in the material, and you rubbed your thighs together. He noticed it, took in the sight of the wetness gathering at the center of your grey panties.Â
Pulling his fingers free, he stared down at you, pupils blown, chest heaving, and with a look that made you realize he was about to ruin youâruin you for anyone else. He reached for the front of his own pants, the zipper, and then the button.Â
âYou know,â he paused, eyes tracing the skin and bones of you, following them with his lips. âThere's nothing I want more than to devour you.âÂ
His lips found the space right above your underwear. Your breath stalled, hands fisting around the sheets. He moved up further, placing another one below your navel.Â
âWhat I would give to taste you, over and over. Stretch you out with my fingers until your legs are shaking.âÂ
Then, between the valley of your breasts, just above the band of your bra. He pushed his pants over his hips and down his knees. He kicked them off just as his lips met one of your nipples, your bra dampening under the hot wetness of his mouth.Â
You whimpered, hips pressing up into his.Â
His smile widened further. âThereâs nothing more you deserve after tonight than to cumââÂ
âTitus,â you moaned.Â
âAnd, I havenât even done anything yet,â he quipped, fingers dancing up your thigh to the front of your underwear. âAlso, you shouldnât interrupt. What kind of manners did your parents raise you with? Well, I can just fix that, can't I?â
His finger moved up along your lips, finding your clit with ease even over the cotton material.
âIf youâre going to be my wife, I'm gonna need to teach you a few things.âÂ
He pressed down, and you arched into him again, palms wrapping around his arms, nails digging into his biceps.Â
âSo number one, if I'm talking, you're not, got it? Wives shouldn't interrupt their husbands,â he ordered, his finger beginning to move in steady circles.
As seconds passed, he circled faster, harderâhead tilting as he took in the way your face moved, eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into his arms that he hoped you drew blood.Â
âFuck, what I would give to see you like this all night, face twisted up, chest heaving, body slick just because I'm touching you. I'd make you cum again and again,â he whispered against the shell of your ear, pushing you further and further towards the edge. âBut wouldnât it be more interesting to leave that for the wedding nightâŠâ
Just as the coil in your stomach began to tighten, maybe even close to snapping, he pulled his fingers away. You gasped and swore, nails digging in deep then. He groaned at the pain, his lips falling down onto yours, saliva finding your tongue as he took everything that he could give.Â
âTitus, I swear toââÂ
Your words died at the feeling of his fingers tangling back into the sides of your underwear, this time pulling so hard, it dug into your skin before ripping altogether. The relief from the pain and the garment breaking away made you whimper.Â
âYou were saying?â he smirked, his hands leaving yours to push down the only thing left between you.Â
His hard cock twitched as it slapped against his stomach. Leaking pre-cum onto your thigh, your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head, until his hand was back around your jaw, thumb pressing firmly into the divot of your chin.Â
âLose your voice, pretty?â His voice was condescending, dick warm and eliciting your walls to flutter, as if they could suck him inside of you.Â
He didnât move, content in that moment to take you just how he had youâyour nipples peeking through the fabric of your bra, chest rising and falling, lips slick with his saliva and your own blood.Â
You were getting impatient, and as the hours had waned into the early morning, you were desperate to seal this deal with him before the hunt was over. Before the blood dried and the storm ceased.Â
His lips parted, and you knew he was about to make another remark, anything to make you sufferâbecause you could tell that Titus was the kind of guy who liked his partner like he liked his kills: desperate and begging.Â
But you had lost your patience, body shaking, energy slipping out of your pores from the extent of everything you had been through. So before he could tease you further, you leaned back and spit in his faceâpink and bubbly, it splattered along his cheek and at the corner of his lips.Â
Titusâs hand tightened around your jaw, and you whined. His eyes darkened, but with his lips curled in satisfaction, he licked the side of his mouth clean.Â
âTitus Danforth, if youâre not inside of me in the next few seconds, donât think I wonât find a way to cut it off. Forget your heirââÂ
Your words died suddenly at the feeling of his cock slamming up against your clit, then down through your folds. He thrusted inside, everything all at once, basking in how you clenched around him, jaw falling as a cry ripped free from your throat.Â
The tip of him met your cervix, and you arched into him just at the rawness and the fullness aloneâthe heat from his body making you melt into a momentary bliss. His breath was heavy, meeting yours in a tangled mess of tension and near confessions.
âForget my heir, huh? I guess then I can pull out right now, then.âÂ
Almost as if you were afraid he actually would, your legs tightened around his waist, keeping him sheathed tightly inside. His smirk widened at the response you gave him, so desperate, so wet, so completely his.
âThat's what I fucking thought,â he grunted against your lips.
Titus then pulled back all the way before thrusting right back in, his tip hitting the same spot he was just resting. So like him to take in that moment, and you would let him. His fingers laced into your hair and pulled your lips up to meet his. He hummed then, setting a rough pace that already had you seeing stars.Â
âYouâre already taking to the role so nicely, Mrs. Danforth,â he grunted and then hissed as you clenched just as the name slipped off his tongue.Â
His other hand slipped down to find your clit. Your fingers found his shoulders and dug in nicely. âYou like that, donât you? Mrs. Danforth.âÂ
You nodded, nails leaving creases close to breaking skin.
âItâs got a nice ring to it,â he continued, hips snapping forward, meeting yours with a soft chorus of skin meeting skin. âFuck, there were so many things I thought about before tonightâs huntâyour smooth skin, the way it could slit open with the sharpest blade. How your body would feel going limp in my arms, my name the last thing youâd say on bated breath. I thought about killing you in every possible way.âÂ
You moaned, head thrown back as your nails finally broke skinâblood seeping under your nailbeds. Earlier, you wouldâve cowarded, spat at him in disgust for this admission, and now it was bringing you to the point of an orgasm.Â
His index finger pressed harder on your clit, cock twitching inside of you as your gummy walls pulsed and shook, desperate to suck him in as deep as he couldâdesperate for his seed, his DNA, him in any form you could get.Â
âBut I would also be lying if I hadnât thought about thisâif I hadnât been thinking about this for months. You under me, taking my cock so well. So deep⊠after a hunt, during a hunt, covered in someone elseâs bloodâclaiming you as mine and only mine.âÂ
Your head was spinning at this point, stomach clenching, that coil in you tightening further and furtherâthe pressure building in a way you had never been able to get with your own fingers.Â
His pelvis met yours rougher than before, and you knew you were both closeâbruised, panting, bleeding. âMine. You're all mine and don't ever forget that.âÂ
Just as he whispered that promise across your tongue, his finger circling your clit one more time, that feeling in you snapped. Your body tensed, legs quivering as your walls fluttered, the euphoria pulsing through you in a way you had never experienced. Â
Titus didnât stop but only thrusted hard into you over and over, your slick on his cock propping him forward, walls clenching him once and then twice as he tried to drive his own orgasm into you. âWhat do you say, we get ahead, put an heir in your womb right here, right now⊠getting you pregnant before the wedding, god thatâd drive them all crazy.âÂ
Your bloody fingers laced into his hair, and you pulled him down as close as you could. Your eyes were lidded, your fucked-out expression paired with your pouting lips, had him tiptoeing across that edge. You pressed an open-mouth kiss against his, tongue rolling over his before the words left you with ease, with so much certainty, it had him.Â
âCome inside of me, Titus. Fill me upâyou, I only want you.â
That was all he needed to hear. Paired with your wet mouth, it had him stalling above you, his warm release shooting inside of you, mixing with your own. His head collapsed into your neck, his body crushing yours into the mattress. Silence filled the room then, both of you trying to catch your breath as the evidence of what the two of you had done, agreed on, began to slip out of you.Â
It felt almost like a binding contractâas if you had already been at the altar, already cut your hand and released your blood into the golden chaliceâas if you were already connected to him both body and soul.Â
As he grew soft in you, he lifted his head, dark gaze meeting yours still somehow just as full of lust as before. Your stomach turned as the reality of it all washed over you slowly and then all at onceâhow had you gone from being the hunted, the one he wished to cut open, to being the one pinned underneath him who so willingly offered herself up to a life full of killing and devil worship?
Worst of all, why did it feel like this was exactly where you were supposed to be?