old man of the month: titus danforth <3
featured fic: wicked game (titus x reader)
most recent fic: city limits ch.3 (sammy bryant x reader)
currently working on: starting gun, boyd longfic, city limits 4
this is strictly an 18+ blog with explicit adult content. minors do not interact.
my ao3 | @inkys-archive is my sideblog where I reblog my favorite fics!
NEVER use my writing to train/feed AI models or repost to other sites without my consent.
check out my masterlist. my requests are closed, but please don't be afraid to talk to me in my asks! i love being a part of the community! but keep in mind that i try and keep this blog relatively discourse-free. if you send me an ask and don't see me respond to it. it's because i didn't want to. don't come at me if you don't like my writing. you are responsible for the media you consume.
rewatching RON2 realizing that titus slowly shedding layers of clothing between scenes symbolizes his slow (but sure) descent into his mental break. he loses the coat after he kills his father, the ascot after he fucks up in the woods and ursula slaps him, the vest, and finally the flannel after he realizes ursula would be willing to let him die. by the time he's beating up faith, he's just in his undershirt. the most brutal scene in the movie is akin to the rawest form of him, no longer restrained by the 'clothes' of propriety.
you pressed the napkin to your mouth, wiping away any remaining oil from the blackened fish and rice you had just finished. you waited a few moments for the flavor to settle on your tongue before scribbling your final notes into your notebook. it was good, a proper mix of meaty and soft. the seasoning was even, but a little too strong on the lemon when combined with the juice of the slice it was garnished with. clicking your pen closed, you looked up and signaled your waiter, confirming that your three-course meal was done and you were ready to talk to the chef.
a few moments later, grant stepped into the main dining room. he gave greeting nods to customers as he made his way over to your table. he had that stupidly charming half-smile on his face.
"how was it?" he asked, folding his hands behind his back and tilting his head. you pursed your lips and nodded.
"you know i can't give you my secrets, grant." you smirked.
"oh, come on, you can't give a preview for your favorite chef in the city?" you pursed your lips and hummed.
"you're right," you agreed "i'll swing by marco's and let him know." grant rolled his eyes.
"you're so funny." he bit out sarcastically.
"i know." you rearranged the plates on the table to make it easier for the bussers to collect them. "don't worry," you soothed "the food was good. but...don't you think the prices are a bit...exorbitant?"
"well," grant chuckled "we are a michelin star restaurant." his smile widened. "plus, you know, i have a wife i have to spoil."
"right. she must be very lucky." you sat there smiling at each other for a few moments. until grant's eyes flicked down to your open notebook. his mouth dropped and his brows furrowed.
"too much lemon?" he read with a frown "i thought you liked citrus." you immediately snapped the notebook closed.
"i do!" you assured "it's just-" you cut yourself off. no. you had rules. "you'll see it in the review." grant tossed his head back for a groan and you got to your feet, gathering your things.
"can't believe you're making me wait." he grumbled and pouted. you took a step toward him and ran your hand along his bicep.
"you're right, i'm so mean." you mocked his pout. "i'll make it up to you, promise." you pressed a kiss to his cheek, squeezing his arm. before you pulled away, you whispered, "i'll see you at home for desert." grant took a deep breath and closed his eyes. a deep hum rumbled from his chest. you waved goodbye to the cooks watching the exchange from the kitchen window and walked out the door.
grant watched you leave, eyes locked on the subtle sway of your hips. his tongue ran along the seam of his lips. in a few hours, they'd be covered in you. a bell jerked him back into reality and he fought the blush that crawled up his neck as he returned to the kitchen. his shift couldn't end soon enough.
𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘’𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒. 𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡ — please give all of these incredible writers the love and support. 🍯 random fandom & character order, 18+ only please.
— part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen, part fourteen,
hii, congrats on 500 🎉✨ i’d like to claim “only one bed” on the bingo board with pope cody x f!reader! maybe reader is doing a heist of some sort with the codys and pope doesn't trust her (but there's a lot of tension between him and reader)…. they're assigned to a recon mission together or they run together after the heist?? and anyway they end up in a shady motel, very tired… but oh no!! there's only one bed 😔 (i hope this inspires you something, tysm <3)
Only One Bed (No Sleep Edition)
andrew cody x f!reader
black out bingo masterlist | main masterlist
w.c. 3.3 k
Warnings: pope is weird, criminal!reader, robbery gone wrong, a smidge of gun play (not during the sex), only one bed omg, unprotected sex, cum eating, aftercare
A/N: i wrote this while recovering from a biopsy and after a xanax-induced nap so im sorry if it doesnt make sense and it kinda sucks <3
“Why can’t you do it?” You asked as you pushed the eggs around on your plate. You had been driving the 101 for a few days, coming back home to Oceanside after working a few robberies along the coast. You and your sister had a good gig. You were ‘hostages for hire,’ actresses who would be involved with heists to prevent the criminals from getting caught. You’d sob, snotty and ugly, begging and pleading for the bank managers to just do whatever the bad men said so they wouldn’t unload their gun into your head. And you’d leave the bank with them, collateral so that no one would follow you. Then, they’d drop you off on a corner somewhere with a wad of cash and a professional nod. And your mother always said those acting lessons were a waste of money.
“Jerry has a scheduling conflict.” Your sister explained.
“Fucking Jerry.” You scoffed around your bite of breakfast. You watched a car drive past the diner window and switched which hand held the phone to your ear.
“Hey,” She warned, “It’s not a bad job, alright? Simple jewelry store robbery.”
“When has a Cody job ever been simple?” Never.
“Just do it..please? We need to stay in their employment.” You drank from your coffee mug.
“They don’t like me.” You said softly. It wasn’t untrue. You had worked with the Codys once several years prior. The job went fine, you did your duty, but one of the sons just kept looking at you during the planning and the meetings and even during the getaway drive. Pope, you learned, had a staring problem. After that, they only called your sister for their needs. You had conflicting feelings about it. On one hand, you felt a bit jilted. Your sister made good money working for them, and you were cut out because…well, that was the thing- you had no idea what you did wrong. You had asked her once, why they preferred her. She said something about them not trusting you around Pope. Which you took to mean that they didn’t trust you. Pope always made you a little uncomfortable with his intensity, and you were sure he wasn’t exactly fond of you. He always treated you as an outsider. That was the other thing. You weren’t going to force yourself into a space that you clearly were not welcome in. And you didn’t mind not being next to that creep.
“That’s not true.” Your sister countered. But it was weak. You heard her sigh on the other end of the phone. “Dude, please. I’m asking this as a favor, okay? Officially.” Your eyebrows raised with interest. A favor from your sister was valuable. She was the kind of person who did not offer those lightly. She would literally do anything. So, after draining the rest of your coffee, you sighed.
“Yea, alright. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
---------
“We don’t bring in outsiders.” Pope’s mouth was in a hard line, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. His brow was heavy over his eyes and his nostrils were flared. Craig ran a hand through his hair before leaning closer to his brother. You could tell he was getting irritated.
“They’re our only option, okay?” Craig hissed, jaw clenched. “We need drivers.”
“Why can’t I drive?” Pope tilted his head and Craig took a deep breath.
“You know why.” His voice dropped a few notches. And they exchanged a look, the true meaning of which was lost on you. But you gathered that, the last time Pope had been the getaway driver, something had happened. After a few moments of silence, Craig huffed and pushed himself up from the table. The chair screeched on the concrete patio. “I’ll get them caught up on details.” With that, he stomped away, leaving just you and Pope at the iron outdoor table. You could feel the design of the chair digging into your thighs. When you stood up, you’d have an imprint of flowers splashing across your legs. Pope’s gaze landed heavy on you. Searing. Intrusive.
“Why are you here? Where’s your sister?” He bit out, gravelly voice catching on each syllable. You pushed down the annoyed scoff that threatened to spill from your mouth.
“Scheduling conflict.” You tried to make your tone amicable, but you weren’t sure if you succeeded. Pope just blinked in acknowledgment. “Do you-” But Pope didn’t hear the rest of your question. He was already walking back to the house. You rolled your eyes and shook your head.
---------
The job began as normal. You walked in thirty minutes before the planned time, scanning the jewelry display cases. One of the workers came over after a few moments, asking if he could help you. You told your story, how you were looking to get your mom a necklace for her birthday. A realistic story that was forgettable. He was about to take out a cushion of golden pendants when the door slammed open. Craig, Pope, and Deran stormed into the shop, guns up and shouting demands. You let adrenaline crash over your nerves and your legs began to shake. You gave a scared look to the counter clerk, who looked on the verge of tears. You moved to escape, but a strong arm curled around your stomach. It pulled you back into a broad chest. You flinched with the force of it. His grip was a little tighter than you were expecting and you wriggled against him, but he didn’t budge. His thumb brushed the underside of your breast. Fucking Craig and his handsy-
“You press that panic button, I’ll kill ‘er.” The rough voice was right next to your ear. That…wasn’t Craig. It was Pope. Genuine confusion made your performance more believable. The plan was for Craig to take the lead with you as hostage. They changed it without consulting you. But you didn’t have time to think too hard about it. You had a job. The tears came easily.
“P-Please,” You begged the clerk, whose gaze snapped from the gun Pope held, to your wet eyes. “Please don’t let him hurt me.” The clerk nodded frantically and stepped back from the counter. Pope jerked his head to the side, motioning for the man to join the rest of the people in the store lying on their bellies. Pope watched as he moved, pulling you in a semi-circle so that you could both survey the scene. Craig was circling the pile of patrons on the ground while Deran supervised the manager filling up the bag with the diamonds. Your breathing was uneven. Not just because of the performance you were putting on, but because of Pope’s hand, which was starting to slide further down your stomach. An innocent repositioning. So you hoped, anyway. You shifted against him and he huffed in your ear, just low enough that only you could hear.
“Stop squirmin’.” Just to spite him, you thrashed again. Your ass glided against his thigh and a sound purged from Pope’s throat. An annoyed grunt, perhaps. You couldn’t decipher it. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the patrons squirm on the ground. You sneakily dug your fingers into Pope’s arm, gesturing with your eyes to where he was slowly moving his hand to his ankle. And then people started to scream.
It all happened so fast. The man pulled a gun from his boot and jumped to his feet, aiming for Craig. Pope called out to his brother, who whirled around and shot the guy before he could fire. Unfortunately, the man was standing right in front of you and the gunshot splattered blood all over you and Pope. Horrified shrieks cut through the atmosphere. Deran ripped the bag from the manager and called for everyone to go. Pope dragged him along with you, kicking and screaming. He paused for a moment before exiting the building, turning to face the crowd. His thumb pulled back the hammer. The click sent a shiver down your spine that settled in your belly. Not all of it was fear. But you weren’t going to unpack that. “Anyone follows us, you know what happens.” He threatened. And then, the thick back door closed behind him.
Craig should have listened to Pope. He should not have brought in outside drivers. Because the car was already driving away with Craig and Deran in the back seat. You and Pope had to just stand there, watching the van tear away into the street.
“Oh, fuck.” You gasped. Pope still had a grip on you, but he tucked the gun into his waistband. From inside the building, you heard the alarm. Great. You looked to Pope, whose eyes were trained on where the van turned onto a different street. His jaw twitched and his eyes flicked around, calculating the next best move. He huffed and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a jog. “Where are we going?” You asked, struggling to keep up with his pace. Pope didn’t answer, just kept moving.
---------
The motel was run-down. With maybe three cars in the parking lot and leaves floating in the pool. Pope had deposited you on the curb while he went in to talk to the owner. You watched a pair of crows fight over a moldy bagel. The sky was getting darker with each passing moment. The door behind you jingled and Pope emerged, room key closed tightly in their fist.
“He said we could stay the night.” He said plainly, gesturing for you to stand.
“Why do we have to stay? Can’t we just find a way home?”
“I don’t have a phone on me, and it’s best to lie low. We can get home tomorrow. Come on.” You rolled your eyes but followed. You figured he had a better grasp on the necessities of this kind of situation than you did. When Pope unlocked the door to the room, you genuinely let out a laugh.
“You cannot be serious.” The room was dingy, peeling wallpaper and green carpet lit by a half-dead lamp. But the worst part about it was there was a single queen bed in the center. “One bed?” You looked at him with disdain. He just shrugged, but you noticed the vein in his neck pulsing harder.
“It’s all he had.”
“Really?” You sneered, pointing to the empty parking lot. “You believed that?” Pope grumbled and roughly shoved you inside the room before shutting the door and locking it. You stood there for a moment as Pope slid past you, hurrying to the sink to immediately wash his hands. You flopped onto the bed, but Pope snapped his fingers at you.
“Get up.” He ordered. You were on your feet instantly, arms behind you, and looking with horror at the comforter.
“Why?” You gasped, trying to see what the issue was. “What’s wrong?” When you looked back up, Pope had shed his sweatshirt and was pushing his jeans down to the ground. “Uh….” you couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not when there was a big, bulky man (that you always found a little attractive) in his underwear standing in front of you.
“Take off your clothes.” He said it clinically, like he was telling you to put away the dishes.
“I’m sorry, what?” You scoffed. “No, I’m…no, Pope, I’m not undressing in front of you.” Pope rolled his eyes as if you were being unreasonably difficult.
“We have to ditch our clothes.” He gestured at you. “They have blood on them.” You looked down at your outfit. Sure enough, the man’s blood was splashed across your abdomen and thighs. Heat rose to your cheeks. Fuck. He was right. You knew he was. “I’ll look away,” he promised, and turned to face the wall. You just stood there for a few moments, staring at his curled head. “Are you done?”
“No!” You almost laughed. “I’m not doing it! I…I don’t have anything to change into.” Your words were soft. Without hesitating, Pope pulled his shirt over his head. You ignored the way your heart kicked when his bare torso was revealed. Freckled skin pulled taught over hard muscle. He held out the shirt to you.
“We’ll get you some new clothes when we get back tomorrow,” He rasped, nodding at you to take the shirt. “You can wear this. It doesn’t have blood on it.” When you tentatively grabbed the fabric, he found a trashbag and shoved his jeans and sweatshirt into it. You sighed in resignation and began to undress. You took off your shoes, unbuckled your pants, and replaced your shirt with Pope’s.
“Alright,” You told him, balling up the clothing and putting it in the bag when he held it out to you. Pope’s eyes flicked down for only a moment. His gaze moved from the sliver of underwear visible by your hips down to your socks. Both articles were covered in little strawberries.
“You’re matching.” Pope said simply. In that stupid monotone voice you could never decipher. Your nose wrinkled in annoyance.
“Shut up,” You bit back, but the heat in your cheeks spread even further with each passing moment. You hurried to one side of the bed and crawled under the covers. Not only because you were ready to sleep, but because you didn’t want to spend another moment under Pope’s assessing gaze.
You patted the side of the bed that was still made, gesturing for Pope to sit. Instead, he looked at the chair in the corner of the room. His fist clenched and unclenched, fingers twitching nervously as his eyes flicked from the torn upholstery to the dark stain that covered half the cushion. He sighed and walked to the wall, pressing his back against it and sliding to sit on the carpet. He pulled his knees tight against his chest. Your gaze lowered.
“Listen,” You sighed, “I know you don’t like me or trust me, or whatever, but-”
“Who said that?” Pope asked, brow furrowed and mouth pinched. You tilted your head in confusion.
“Craig. He said they didn’t trust me around you.” Pope’s nostrils flared with a deep breath and his gaze lifted to look out the window.
“I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I’m dangerous. I would never hurt you.” In fact, you doubted you could hurt him even if you tried. You knew his reputation.
“I know.”
“So will you please just get in the bed? It’s a queen. It’ll be fine. And cleaner than sitting all night on a carpet that hasn’t been cleaned in…who knows how long. At least the sheets are fresh-ish.” Pope’s lips quirked to the side. It took a few heartbeats, but he cautiously climbed into the bed, on top of the covers, and sat with his back straight against the headboard. He pressed his hands together and rested them in his lap. His bare chest rose and fell calmly. He forced his eyes to stare at the wall across the room.
The exhaustion of the day settled over you and it was officially night outside. You shimmied down into the bed further and pulled the covers over your shoulders. You muttered a g’night and closed your eyes. Several minutes passed, filled with the steady hum of the air conditioning and the occasional whoosh of a passing car.
“It’s not that they don’t trust you.” His voice was quiet and you were so close to sleep you almost didn’t hear it.
“What?” You murmured groggily.
“Before,” He continued, watching you as you pushed yourself up to look at him. “You said Craig didn’t trust you around me.” You nodded. “But that’s not true.”
“What are you talking about, Pope?” You were tired, just wanted to sleep. You didn’t have the energy for his little games.
“They don’t trust me around you.” His eyes darkened and it made your throat go dry.
“W…Why not?” You squeaked out. The beginning traces of panic began to pump your heart. Pope remained still, heavy gaze becoming a touch more sinister.
“Because I’d do this.” He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against yours. You inhaled sharply with surprise. The kiss wasn’t rough. In fact, it was little more than his lips simply resting on yours. Pope pulled back after a few heartbeats. He just looked at you. You blinked at him, jaw slack. He worked the muscle in his jaw as he waited for your response, fingers neatly intertwined with each other and resting on his stomach. And just before his face fell with disappointment, you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him back to you. The second kiss was sloppier, clashes of teeth and tongue as you tried to find a rhythm. But it wasn’t long before Pope was resting his weight on top of you, licking into your mouth and only parting for breath and to take off your shirt. You shimmied off your underwear and tossed them to the side. You were so lost in the kiss, you didn’t realize he had taken off his boxers until you felt the hot skin of his head poking at your entrance.
“Is this okay?” He breathed, nose slotted beside yours.
“Please,” You nodded eagerly. “So wet for you. Need you so bad.”
The first roll of his hips punched the air out of your lungs with a breathy moan. The thick length of him pressed against each and every one of your nerve endings, flooding your body with searing pleasure. Your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders as Pope paused to give you time to adjust.
“F-Fuck!” You gasped, eyes wide, “You’re…You’re so big.”
“I know, m’sorry,” He apologized between kisses along your jaw line. “Let me know if it’s too much.” After a few moments and several deep breaths, Pope began to move again. Each thrust sent sparks up your spine. Your toes went numb every time his cock found the most sensitive spot inside you. You were mewling, whimpering, begging for something you couldn't verbalize. And the entire time, Pope held himself up, hands planted on either side of your head, and just stared at you unblinking with his bottom lip caught in his teeth. His abdomen rolled, pulling his cock out of you and then pressing back in with a rhythm that made you see stars. Your arousal matted both of your pubic hair and you saw sweat began to slip down the inside of Pope’s arms from his exertion. One of Pope’s fingers came up to nudge your clit. “Cu…Please cum f’me.” He whispered, rubbing tight circles that had your walls fluttering around him. It didn’t take long for the hot band to snap in your abdomen. You arched into him, cumming with a cry of his name. As you spasmed around him, the lock of his eyes began to falter. His lids fluttered as you gripped him impossibly hard, short breaths pitching upwards into moans. When you rode out your orgasm, he abruptly pulled out, tugging on his dick twice before ropes of cum splashed onto your chest. Pope watched each twitch of his spent cock with half-lidded eyes and a heaving chest. Your head fell back and your eyes closed, trying to regulate your breathing. But you gasped when you felt Pope’s wet tongue drag across your breasts. Your eyes opened, watching as he lapped his spend from your smooth skin. He paused every now and again to suck on your still-hardened nipples, earning a quiet whimper of overstimulation in return. When you were deemed sufficiently clean, Pope pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead and climbed off you. He tucked one arm beneath the crook of your knees and one around your back. He carried you into the bathroom and started the shower. As the warm water kissed your skin, he murmured in your ear.
“That’s why they didn’t trust me around you.” He said, kissing along the damp ridge of your shoulder. “They know I like you too much.”
@romantic-insomniac needs to get OUT of my DMs i cannot be coming up with more titus fic ideas
(virgin titus who doesn't know what he's doing but assumes he'll be good at sex because he's the most powerful man on earth, duh. but he lowkey sucks at it (even though he tries very hard and eats it for almost an hour) and you don't finish and he rolls over and cries after bcs why cant he do anything right?? but it's okay because you realize what the issue is so you force him to sit in a chair and watch you touch yourself so he knows what to do. and he begins to palm himself but you chastise him 'youre not here to feel good, titus, youre here to learn. so focus up.')
after sitting out of a post-wedding hunt due to a headache, you're not expecting the game to come to you. even though you're able to take down the threat, titus finds you and is distraught at the fact that it could've ended very differently.
Word Count: 7.4k
Warnings: LIGHT MOVIE SPOILERS (references to some events but no scenes are outright used)! Violence and gore (Duh), including violence towards reader, established relationship, SMUT (18+), p in v, crying during sex, really intense missionary, sex next to a dead body, sorry man, soft(ish) titus, therefore a little ooc titus, stylistic punctuation, way more plot than porn sorry gang, i highkey did more world building than the movie LMAOO, "mrs" use but no pronouns and no use of y/n
A/N: God guys idk if this is good but i needed to get this out of my brain and onto some paper. It's so self-indulgent it’s actually not even funny. Lowkey there's a lot more internal dialogue and exposition than actual relationship stuff but idc. I’ll probably write more of these two eventually. Please be kind xoxo. Also GO SEE THE MOVIE!!!! It’s one of the best ‘survive the night' horror movies I’ve seen in a long time (and not just bcs the people’s princess is in it)!
The wedding was nice. The tall windows in the Danforth estate ballroom illuminated a room decorated with white dahlias and yellow alstroemerias. Silk ribbons and twinkling fairylights wound around the columns and rows of oak chairs faced a glorious altar, with the Danforth ram’s head sculpted into the marble arch. An air of sophistication permeated the room, as it tended to do when the world’s most influential people were gathered together. You were seated in the third row, behind the immediate families and friends. Titus sat to your left, thigh pressing against yours. He held your hand in his, rubbing small circles with his thumb and playing with your wedding ring. The act made you smile.
To the world, Titus Danforth was a brute- and that wasn’t untrue. He had a complex, you knew that, but he had never once done anything to purposefully hurt or scare you. One time after a hunt, he had that wild look in his eyes. And you’d be lying if it didn’t scare you a little. But the moment that his fingers touched your skin, he relaxed. Titus was like your guard dog, a position he wore like a badge of fucking honor. Sometimes he bit, but never the hand that fed him. You loved him. And maybe it wasn’t in a completely healthy way, but who gave a shit? Titus loved you in his own way. You fought occasionally, but damn if he didn’t bring you a bouquet of your favorite flowers the next day and spend the night on his knees making it up to you. He was your Titus. And he knew it, which is why he could be himself around you. He didn’t need to put on the mask around you like he did with his family. Titus was a complex man. Blood-thirsty during the games, and yet so very gentle to you in everyday life. In the early phases of your relationship, you had spent hours in the soft light of early morning talking, curled up in the luxury bamboo sheets of his bedroom with the fireplace coals still smoldering. He had spilled his heart to you, eyes wet and breathing uneven. How he had been trained as a killer since he was a kid, how he never felt like he was his own man, how his sister was the real ‘heir’ of the family name, how he was scared to have children (especially a son) because he might fuck them up like his father did to him. You had listened with open ears and kind eyes. You had pressed his head to his chest and covered him in kisses saying that you weren’t going anywhere, and thanking him for being so vulnerable. And when you survived your wedding night, he had proposed to you again, promising to never let any harm come to you as long as you both shall live. And you had accepted, the pendant he had gotten you resting gently against your blood-splattered skin. You soothed him, brought him down from edges that would result in casualties. Some might have said you made him soft. And to those people, Titus would nod and beat the shit out of them.
You had a distant look in your eye and Titus noticed. He stopped fiddling with your ring, the ring that made you cry tears of joy when you first saw it, and intertwined his fingers with yours. Titus leaned over slightly in your direction.
“She can do so much better,” he murmured, only loud enough for you to hear. You gave a small huff of amusement.
“Be nice.” You scolded softly, eyes still locked on the couple exchanging vows. But he was right. The wedding was for a Danforth cousin, one you hadn’t been introduced to until that morning. Even though you and Titus had been married for the better part of five years. The acting heads of the Danforth family tried to keep the outer edges of the family away. Something about keeping secrets closely guarded. You supposed it was a wise idea, given the nature of the family’s pastimes. But every Danforth, no matter how far removed, was required to be married at the estate. The ancestral home. And, of course, required to participate in the matrimonial hunt. You knew every family did their hunts a little differently- some prioritizing certain aspects over others. But the Danforths were focused on their bloodline. Hunting down a new member of the family wasn’t done out of necessity or the fact that the entire family would combust if they didn’t (because that wasn’t part of the Danforth contract). No. Instead, the purpose of the hunt was to prove that the new member belonged. That they were cunning and a survivalist, willing to do whatever it took to live as a Danforth. If they survived, great! If they didn’t…well, then they didn’t deserve to be a part of such a prestigious family in the first place. And, if you were being honest, the man standing at the altar likely would not survive the night. But hey, he could surprise everyone. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened.
“I just want them out of our fucking house.” You heard Titus sigh heavily beside you. His knee began to bounce. He was getting bored and impatient. You were sitting in the third row behind the friends and family of this unknown cousin. They had been exchanging vows for what seemed like forever. You moved your hand from where it was intertwined with Titus, an action that made him furrow his brow and pout slightly. But the look disappeared when you placed your palm on his knee, giving a reassuring squeeze. You shifted in your seat and fully tilted your head so that your lips were brushing against his ear.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” You whispered breathily. A sinister grin formed on your lips as you felt him go still beneath you. “Just think of all the excitement waiting for you tonight.” Titus’ gaze flicked to the groom and his breath started to grow uneven. He gave a nod and squeezed your hand with his. “Just a little longer, ‘kay sweetie?” You pulled back and captured Titus’ gaze. His eyes were growing dark, the way they always did before a hunt. The muscle in his jaw ticked and he nodded before returning his attention to the ceremony.
ˋ°•*⁀➷
Finally, the new couple was married. The room erupted into cheers and congratulations, though certain members of the family were notably more reserved, no doubt thinking about what was next on the agenda. The congregation rose from their seats as the bride and groom walked down the aisle together and through the large dark oak double doors into the reception area. You stretched as the people began to follow, rolling your shoulders and rubbing your neck. Titus noticed immediately, as he tended to do, even though you were facing away from him.
“Is it bothering you again?” He said softly. His hand came to your neck and began massaging the muscle there with his thumb. You gave a small nod. During your hunt, you had been pushed down the stairs. The tumble had resulted in a herniated disc and a compressed nerve in your neck. Treatable, but pain still haunted you when you were forced to be in a single position for too long, like sitting at a wedding that felt like it would never end. Titus hummed behind you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Anything I can do to help?” You turned to face him. He looked heavenly with the light from the window illuminating his silhouette. It caught on his grey curls and perfectly punctuated his broad shoulders. Titus’ hands rose to your hips, pressing you against him. Your hand rested on his chest, smoothing out the coat of his suit and readjusting the tie. He felt so warm and sturdy under your palms. It made you smile. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. But before you pulled away, you murmured in his ear:
“You can win the hunt. And come back safely. For me.” The hands on your hips tightened. A promise.
“Anything for you, sweetheart.”
ˋ°•*⁀➷
Ursula had been disappointed to learn that you wouldn’t be participating in the festivities. Your relationship at first had been rocky. She was unsure if it was wise for Titus to take a wife, given his track record with violence. But after you had won your hunt by bashing someone’s head in with a bat and hiding in the woods until dawn, you had proved yourself capable of holding your own against Titus in her eyes. As the years passed and Titus began to mellow a bit, Ursula had started to act truly as a sister to you. You went shopping together, she taught you the unspoken rules of living as a Danforth in high society, you gave her book and movie recommendations, and most of your afternoons were spent lounging by the pool or playing tennis together. You didn’t have much family, and you would forever be grateful that Ursula filled in as a sister. She had been disappointed at your absence for the evening, but mainly because she had to spend a night dealing with Titus without you. Ursula had urged you to watch from the monitoring room, but you had a hot date with a bubble bath and a mug of herbal tea to ease the pain in your neck and the migraine it was bringing on.
You sighed in contentment as you sunk into the tub, warm water and scented bubbles immediately putting your mind at ease. You got nervous during hunts. Most of the family believed that they were invincible simply because they were Danforths, the prime stock of the world. That they would succeed in their hunts and kill their target in time to catch the evening news. But you were a testament that they thought too highly of themselves. When someone is fighting for their life and weapons are involved, things can get very ugly very fast. Usually, these anxieties were calmed (at least slightly) by the fact that Titus was by your side every step of the way. You were basically just along for the ride. A tether to the real world so he didn’t get so lost in himself that he put himself in danger. But that wasn’t the case tonight. He would go without you and that made you nervous. If there was one thing that would never be quelled by you, it was Titus’ desire to prove himself. Prove himself as a man and as a Danforth and sometimes he pushed himself too far. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you looked out the window of your bathroom. The sun was dipping low in the sky. The horn would sound soon. The door to the bathroom creaked open, drawing your attention from the horizon. You smiled at Titus as he came into the door holding a steaming mug of your tea. He was already dressed for the hunt, the black fabric of his pants and vest contouring his body in a way that made your mouth water. In the dying light of the day, his eyes took on a more golden hue. A color that you memorized as he looked at you and held out the mug.
“Here you go, honey,” Titus said, sighing as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the tub. You shimmied to sit up in the tub and took the mug graciously, careful not to get any bubbles in the tea. “Did you get a new shampoo?” Titus asked, pressing his lips to the crown of your head and inhaling deeply. You nodded as you took a sip of the tea.
“They came out with a new one. It’s called ‘Field of Dreams’ but I think that’s just a pretentious way of saying it has chamomile in it.” You swirled one of your hands through the water. Titus furrowed his brow and grabbed your wrist, pulling it out of the water. You knew what he was about to ask before the question could leave his mouth. You had taken off your bracelet. A thin leather strap that crossed over your wrist and clasped in a way that resembled a tiny horse’s bridle. Titus had given it to you during your six month anniversary when you were dating. You had been walking down the street window shopping when it caught your eye. You had immediately gushed over it, saying how sleek it looked. You preferred leather jewelry to metal, especially when it came to bracelets. Metal pinched at your skin and leather felt much nicer. You had only mentioned it once. And yet, three months later, Titus had pushed a small box across the table during dinner. He had remembered. You had thrown your arms around him, kissing him on the cheek as he put it on you, promising to never take it off. And you hadn’t. You had worn it every day. But you weren’t wearing it now, and Titus noticed. “It’s on the counter. I don’t want it to get wet, it’ll rust the clasp.” Another thought crossed his eyes. “I don’t care if you’d buy me another one. I’m sentimental.”
With a small chuckle, he pressed a kiss to your wrist before placing your arm gently back into the water. He took a deep breath and stood from the tub, walking to the mirror and fiddling with his curls. You took the chance to sip your tea and rake your eyes over your husband’s form. A crisp black vest wrapped around his torso, silver fleur-de-lis checkering the silky fabric on his back. Beneath the vest was one of his favorite shirts, a deep navy blue that hugged his biceps but were easily unbuttoned at the wrists when he needed to roll up his sleeves and get dirty. The shirt was tucked into plain black slacks that were held up with a dark leather belt. God how you loved him in this outfit. He wore it for every hunt, his own ceremonial robes.
“Are you done ogling me?” Titus asked, catching your gaze in the mirror. Heat rose to your cheeks, embarrassed for being caught. But there was a playfulness in Titus’ eyes, a shit-eating grin on his lips. Damn him. He knew what he did to you.
“Never. It's not my fault you look so good.” You hummed, taking another sip of your tea. He chuckled and smoothed out his vest before turning. He paused for a moment, and you knew that he saw it. Your night dress hanging on the back of the door.
“What’s this for?” He said slyly, running the silk between his fingers.
“Hm?” You hummed, feigning innocence. “Oh, that’s for later.” He held up the fabric to his arm, comparing the shades of blue. Titus looked to you for confirmation and you nodded, taking another sip of tea. The color was deep blue, exactly matching the color of his shirt. You had ordered it specially for tonight, somehow eluding Titus and pulling his tailor aside and asking for a sample of the fabric during his last visit. You’d taken the color swatch to your favorite lingerie store and they had created the slip perfectly. The top edge was laced, a floral pattern perfectly accenting the curve of your breasts. Titus let out a low groan. Approval.
“For later,” You emphasized, holding out your hand. Titus crossed the room and held it gently. The sun was almost below the treeline now and it wouldn’t be long before he had to leave. You took a deep breath and looked into your husband’s eyes. He seemed to pick up on your uneasiness and lowered himself to kneel beside the tub. You interlaced your fingers with his and took a steadying breath. “Please be safe,” you begged, voice barely above a whisper “And come back to me.” Titus lost the edge in his gaze and lifted your hand to his mouth. His lips pressed a kiss to your knuckles and brought your palm to his cheek. You caressed him, swiping your thumb over his cheekbones and the stubble that had grown in the past week of him not shaving. Titus pressed his own hand over yours, keeping it against his face until the very last moment.
“Nothing could keep me away from you,” Your husband’s voice was soft but also held a bit of a threat in it. A threat against the universe, perhaps, a promise that he would do whatever it takes to get back home to you.
“That’s what worries me,” You were only half joking. “Titus. I’m serious. Please.” Titus lowered your hand from his face and held it tightly.
“I promise.” A beat passed and you could tell an idea popped into his mind. “If he…You remember how to use the crossbow above the dresser, right?” You tilted your head in curiosity.
“Yea,” you confirmed, brows knit in confusion “Why?” Titus shook his head and got to his feet, placing another kiss on your forehead. He lingers a bit longer than he would normally. Not weirdly abnormal, just enough for you to take note of it.
“Just in case. Just…maybe keep it near you, alright? I’ll be back in a few hours.” He captured your lips in a chaste kiss, like he was about to leave for a business meeting. Titus opened the door partially. You shared another look before he exited.
By the time you were slipping into your laced night gown, the sun was down. You were applying your lotion to your legs when the horn sounded. A deep, whining noise that permeated the entire estate. Every time you heard it, you were transported back to your wedding night. An instinctual shudder ran through you and you paused. For a few moments, the world stood still. When you didn’t hear an immediate gunshot, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You sighed and went back to your lotioning. Guess tonight would be a party after all.
ˋ°•*⁀➷
Three hours had passed. You had heard a few screams and shattering of glass, but it had been pretty quiet. You were laying in bed, plush comforter pulled up around your waist as you rested against pillows and the headboard. Your headache was subsiding now, the faint wisps of discomfort the only sign that it was there to begin with. The night was well underway, but the fact that you hadn’t heard anything definitive yet made you nervous. You had tried reading, but your fingers mindlessly flicked the edge of the page you were staring at for the past twenty minutes. You spared a glance over to the dresser where the crossbow sat. You had taken it down from its mount and loaded an arrow, but didn’t bother holding it with you. You began to second guess yourself. Maybe you should’ve suffered through the pain and gone on the hunt. You shook your head at the thought. Titus never would’ve allowed it. Your heart ached for him. Your Titus. You prayed to all that was unholy that he was alright. A small flicker in the back of your brain taunted you. Of course he was alright. You had seen what he was capable of, and heard stories of him doing even worse. He told you stories of his birthday hunt when he turned eighteen. His coming of age ritual. Titus had chosen the challenge of being completely unarmed and instead giving his Prey a knife. His whole family had thought he was crazy. But when Titus dragged the dead man back to the manor, face beaten so badly that pieces of skull had been left behind in the mud, they had stopped laughing. And he had only become more experienced since then. Titus had it down to a science, really, and you thoroughly enjoyed watching the master at work. But there had been a few times where he had almost gone too far. In fact, during the last hunt, he had tried jumping off the roof to capture the Prey. Only when you physically tackled him to the ground did he give up pursuit. It wasn’t really the groom you were worried about, but rather Titus himself.
You threw down the book in exasperation. You swung your legs over the bed and walked over to the opposite wall, pulling back the drapes to look at the shadowed forest. To your surprise, you didn’t see any flashlights or golf carts out on the grounds. Perhaps the groom didn’t escape as well as you thought. Maybe he-
Creak.
You froze immediately. There was someone in the hallway. You could hear heavy breathing on the other side of the oak door. The door to your bedroom was shut, but not locked. Because there were no locks in this god forsaken house, they considered it cheating. You were afraid to move, to give your position away. Thankfully, you were wearing socks and you shuffled slightly backwards toward the dresser. But you didn’t get far. Because of course, out of all the doors in the hallway, the door to your bedroom opened and the bloodied groom crashed into the room, falling to the floor. You stood still, looking down at him. You tried to keep your breathing under control. Titus had taught you to never give another person the upper hand by appearing flustered. It was at that moment when you realized you didn’t even remember the groom's name. And here he was, panting on your floor, trying to get up but slipping on his own blood. He rose to his knees and seemed to notice you for the first time.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, throwing himself forward and grabbing the windowsill to pull himself up “Thank God you’re here! You’ve gotta help me! My in-laws are trying to kill me!” You did a quick inventory of the situation before responding. His leg was bleeding (all over your rug, by the way. Quite rude), but he seemed otherwise okay. Physically, anyway. He clutched a crowbar in his one hand, like it was his only way of survival, and his eyes were wild. Blood was splattered across his cheek, signaling that someone had been on the receiving end of a crowbar blow. He swallowed hard, not realizing that you weren’t reacting like a normal person in this situation. “What time is it?”
“About midnight.” You stated calmly, hands bunched at your sides and shoulders tensed. His body was blocking the door. And he was in a position where, if you made a bolt for the crossbow, he would be able to stop you. A dull sense of fear began to settle at the base of your spine. You were trapped. Then he looked at you. Really looked at you and seemed to remember who you were. “Did they do this to you too?” You shrugged and nodded.
“It wasn’t really that bad,” you said honestly. “I made it out of the house and hid in the woods until dawn.”
“Fuck, that’s smart.” It was. And he was quite honestly an idiot for not trying to escape the house. The house that belonged to the family who was trying to kill him. The house that the Danforths were raised in and knew like the back of their hand. The groom was still trying to catch his breath and you took the chance to take a few steps toward the dresser. He dropped the crowbar on the floor and reached into his waistband. He had a gun. Shit. You failed to hide your grimace at the new piece of information. That complicated things. It didn’t matter if you made it to the crossbow first, he could just shoot you. You didn’t recognize the gun, but it had the Danforth ram’s head engraved in the handle. Ah. It likely belonged to the same person whose blood was smeared on his cheek.
“Listen,” you said, wetting your lips and taking another hesitant step toward the crossbow. “I get you’re trying to hide, but you can’t stay here. This room’s off limits.” The groom scoffed and pushed himself off the bedpost.
“Oh yea?” He scoffed, “Says who?” Irritation prickled in your chest. You opened your mouth to say that you were, in fact, the lady of the house, and he needed to leave you the fuck alone before your husband got back, but you caught yourself. Labelling yourself as important is a great way to get taken as a hostage. When you didn’t answer, the groom laughed. “Yea, I think I’m gonna stay here for a while.” He took your phone off the nightstand and tucked it into his pocket. “Just so you don’t go snitching on me.” He explained. He lifted the gun and pointed it at you. “I don’t want to hurt you, for the record, but if being in here gets me to survive until the morning, you’re fucking insane if you think I’m leaving.” You pursed your lips. Running some quick calculations in your head, you figured that if you could kick his bad leg out from under him, you could probably get to the crossbow before he had time to line up a shot. You took a deep breath, chest rising, and you caught the groom’s eyes flick to your chest. You remembered what you were wearing, a slip that was only meant for Titus’ eyes, and heat flooded your face. Self consciousness settled in your chest and you crossed your arms across your breast, earning a scoff from the groom.
“Y’know,” he mused, shaking his head “this is more what I thought my wedding night would be like. A pretty lady and I sharing a bedroom together.” Your brows furrowed.
“Ew.” your lip curled in disgust. “I wonder if your new wife would enjoy you speaking to another woman like that.”
“Yea, I’m probably gonna ask for a divorce tomorrow.” He shrugged, “I’m not a big fan of marrying into a family who tries to kill me-” You took the chance to lunge at him, sliding across the wooden floor and kicking his ankle out from under him. As he fell, a shot rang out from his gun. The bullet was lodged in the crown molding, but he still had the gun in his hand. You used the chance to climb on top of him and slam his hand against the floor. His hand relaxed and you shoved the gun away. It skittered across the floor before being swallowed by the fabric of the floor-length drapes. The groom, while disarmed, wasn’t caught off guard for long. He brought the palm of his hand up and jammed it into your nose. Stars erupted into your vision and you instinctively brought your hands to your face, feeling the blood start to seep between your fingers. The groom used his hip to flip you over, pinning your arms against the side of your head. You snarled in his face, spitting blood in his eyes and jerking your knee into his crotch. He fell to the side and you scrambled to your feet, reaching the dresser and grabbing the crossbow. You heard the groom get to his feet as you set the arrow. You whirled around and before the groom could plead his case, you pulled the trigger, releasing the arrow from the bow and straight through his eye socket. Blood bubbled from the wound and he fell to his knees, falling face first onto the gorgeous persian rug underneath your bed. Gently, you lowered the crossbow to your side, finger still on the trigger. Stepping over the groom’s legs, you examined the scene before you. You stood for a moment, gulping large and frightened breaths into your lungs. It had been years since you killed someone by yourself. Tears clouded your vision and rolled onto your cheeks, mixing with the blood coming from your nose. You let a sob tear from your chest and all you wanted in that moment was Titus.
As if the universe heard you, your door flew open again, crashing against the wall with a bang. And standing there, rumpled and panting and eyes blown wide with urgency, was Titus. Your dear husband. He was wielding a bolt-action rifle, pointed into the room. Without thinking, your hands flew up, telling him not to shoot. The only sound for several moments was his ragged breath. Titus’ eyes flicked from you, wearing the navy blue lingerie that was now covered in your blood, to the crossbow, to the man slumped on the ground with an arrow through the head. You were slightly unnerved at the way that Titus stared at you. You locked eyes with your husband and you could see the fear there. The fear that he was too late, that he had expected a very different scene in your bedroom. Perhaps he expected the roles to be reversed. For you to be on the floor, blood pooling around your head. His hazel eyes were shining with an emotion you couldn’t quite figure out. And without tearing his gaze from you, Titus cocked the rifle and unloaded round into the head of the already dead groom, splattering his brains across your floor. You let out a disappointed noise.
“You stained the carpet.” You murmured. Titus let out an incredulous laugh, tossing the rifle to the ground and crossing the room in large strides to get to you.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Titus growled, pushing you with his hips until your back thudded against the wall. He pressed himself into you and you could feel the hard bulge beneath his trousers. You were about to ask if he was okay, but his lips plunged into yours before you could speak. The kiss was rough and messy. His teeth nipped at your lips, and his mouth wandered all over the lower half of your face. You could feel your lips begin to swell from the force and your hand flew to his hair, tugging lightly on his curls. You felt a strange wetness on your cheeks and lips, but it wasn’t blood, it was tears. You opened your eyes and saw tears streaming from Titus’ eyes. He was gasping for breath in frequent sobs, bordering on hyperventilating. He continued to kiss between his pulls of breath, and you had to tug his head away from you.
“Titus,” You said softly, putting your hands on both his cheeks. Titus’ short inhales were high pitched and unfulfilling and you could tell that he was holding back true wailing. “Hey,” You led him to the bed and sat on the edge, bringing him down and wiping the tears from his cheeks. “What’s wrong, honey? I’m alright.”
“I thought…I thought I lost you,” He choked out, sobs ripping from his chest as he threw himself at you, pulling you close and resting his head on your shoulder. Snot and tears smeared his face but you didn’t care, you held him just as tightly. “W-When I heard the gunshot…when I realized what part of the house it came from…” he trailed off. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and petted his head as he sobbed into your chest. You shifted so that you were facing him, taking both his hands in yours and making him hold eye contact.
“Titus, breathe with me,” You placed one of his hands on your chest and took a deep breath. He mimicked the action, drawing in a deep breath, only hiccuping a few times, and holding the air in his lungs before breathing shakily out. You repeated the action several times, only stopping when Titus was breathing normally again. His shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes, dropping his head slightly. You brought your hand to his cheek and lifted his face.
“I love you so much,” Titus whispered, “I couldn’t imagine living in a world without you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, my love,” You assured him, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “You are, unfortunately, stuck with me.” Titus let out a breath of laughter and you gave him a small smile. He returned it with a nod, lip quivering slightly and eyes still wet and raw from crying. Titus took a deep breath and looked around the room. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he assessed the damage. “I’m sorry I took your kill,” you said, gesturing to the body “How was the hunt otherwise?” That earned a genuine smile from him, and you felt your heart soar in your chest.
“It’s alright, sweetheart, you deserved it after your hard day.” Titus kissed your knuckles. “It was fine. I’m not hurt.” His brow furrowed and he brought his hands to your thighs, pinching the edge of your slip between his fingers. “I’m sorry your relaxing night was ruined. I can beat him up a little more if it would make you feel better.” You laughed and slung your arms around his shoulders.
“I don’t think it would make him any more dead than he already is.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know,” you assented. “I appreciate it, but I’d rather just keep you here.”
“You want to keep me in bed, Mrs. Danforth?” Titus raised his eyebrow, putting his hands on your hips. You hummed and twirled a piece of his hair with a finger. He knew that using your honorific always sparked arousal.
“Guilty.” His face was closer to yours now and you captured his lips in a gentle kiss, a juxtaposition of the kiss from only a few minutes ago and a true testament to Titus’ complexity. One of his hands slid up from your waist and gently squeezed the sides of your neck. You broke the kiss and Titus let out a little whine of disappointment. “We don’t have to.” You didn’t want to push him after he had just been extremely vulnerable with you. After you had talked him down from an edge. But Titus just shook his head.
“I need you,” He whispered, nipping at your lower lip and using his weight to push you onto your back, caging in your head with his elbows “need to prove how much you mean to me. Wanna worship you.” Titus’ kisses moved down your neck and onto your chest. He paused at the edge of the lace. “When I saw you standing over him, covered in blood, I’ve never been so fucking hard in my life.” His pupils were blown with lust, chest rising and falling with strangled breaths. Titus usually had no problem ripping your lingerie off you, but as he kissed down your stomach and settled between your legs, he left the slip on. He even paused for a moment to suckle the splotch of blood on your ribs, moaning slightly when it caused you to squirm beneath him. “Think I wanna see you wearing this every hunt. Remind me how fucking killer my wife can be.” You moaned his name softly and watched as his head disappeared under the edge of the dress. You yelped when he yanked your thighs over the edge of the bed, resting upon his shoulders. Titus laughed against your core and it sent a pleasant vibration that turned you into liquid.
When he licked the first stripe between your folds, your hands bunched the bedding between your fists. The first swipe of his tongue was always criminal and your favorite part of sex with Titus. It was always his top priority, preparing you for him in the best, most pleasurable way possible. Once you had told him that he didn’t have to eat you out, that you wanted him to enjoy it too. He had been genuinely offended and made you cum six times on his tongue as punishment. And then he went to bed with a straining cock, stating that your release was what gave him the most pleasure and that it was enough for him just to taste you.
Titus’ tongue plunged into your core, swishing from side to side to stretch you out before you took him fully. He removed his tongue and licked up to your clit, the pointed edge of his tongue catching on the small nub as he licked circles around you. He gave a slap to the outside of your thigh, a chastation that you weren’t being loud enough for him. So you let the next moan rip from your throat, a degenerate sound that made Titus whine against you.
“Fuck, Titus, you eat me out so good,” you babbled, pleasure making the edge of your brain fuzzy and clouded the edges of your vision “You’re doing so well for me. Making me feel so good.” You noticed that his hips bucked up into the air at your words, trying to find friction where there wasn’t any. A smirk formed on your lips, but it was quickly replaced by a slackened jaw when Titus inserted two of his fingers into your heat.
“Don’t play games with me,” Titus growled, flexing his digits against your velvety walls. You nodded, even though he couldn’t quite see it over the navy fabric bunched at your hips. The combination of his tongue and his fingers was overwhelming.
It wasn’t long before you felt the familiar tingling at the apex of your thighs and the base of your spine. Your fingers pried one of his hands off your thigh and entwined your fingers with his. Titus squeezed your hand to remind you that he was there with you. You clenched your thighs together, squeezing Titus’ head. He knew that it meant you were close and he locked in on his administrations, continuing the lapping and fingerfucking that had gotten you to the peak. You came with a shuttered moan, drawing a deep breath and squeezing your thighs tighter as you bucked against his face, drawing out the pleasure of your orgasm for as long as you could. Titus continued to lick you until your thighs fell wide, your belly heaving with stabilizing breaths.
Titus sat back on his heels and wiped a hand across his mouth before climbing over you. His belt was already undone to give himself some relief and he tugged on his zipper and shimmied his pants off until his cock was freed. Titus swiped his head through your folds until he collected enough of your juices where he could push in without resistance. He lined himself up and locked eyes with you before pushing his length into you. This was his favorite part of sex with you- watching your expression change as he slowly split you open on his dick. You threw your head back in pleasure, but Titus wouldn’t have that. He gripped your chin with the hand not holding himself up and jerked your face back to him. Your eyelids fluttered as he bottomed out completely. Titus pressed his lips to yours, tongue swiping at the seam. You allowed him access and he stuck his tongue in your mouth, messily making out with you as he bucked his hips up into you for the first time. You whined needily. You could taste yourself on him and it made your walls clench harder on him. Titus set a harsh but not merciless pace, fucking you hard into the mattress while making the thrusts smooth. He never fully left your cunt, sliding in and out with ease as each thrust of his hips bumped against your clit in the most delicious way. You brought your hands to his cheeks and pressed your foreheads together.
“I’m here, Titus, fuck, I’m here.” You moaned, kissing his cheekbones. Titus responded with a ragged whimper, breaths coming out in short pants and making all the noises he knew you loved.
“I. Fucking. Love you. So much.” He moaned, punctuating each word with a thrust. You maintained eye contact with him as you pressed your heels into his ass, urging him to go harder, faster, deeper. He obliged. How could he not? You were everything to him and he would give everything to you. His hazel eyes were a rim around blown pupils, but his eyes were filled with so much care and love it made your chest hurt.
“I love you too, Titus. I’m yours.” Your voice was small and breathy, all the air being fucked from your lungs by the force of Titus’ thrusts “I’m always yours. I’ll never leave you.” This earned a high-pitched moan from your husband and he tucked his face into your neck, kissing along the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You grabbed fists of his hair as he faltered slightly, knowing he was close. “Cum in me, please. Mark me.” Titus growled at your words, sucking a hickey onto your neck and readjusting his position so he could get a better angle for his cock. He lifted his head and you saw his face contort into an expression of pure pleasure, puffs of air leaving his lips as he chased his orgasm. He came with another whine, bucking and stilling deep into you as thick ropes of cum painted your insides. Titus gave one final thrust, to make sure his cum stayed inside of you. He gasped and huffed and fell to his elbows, brushing the hair from your forehead and peppering your face in gentle kisses. His dick pulsed and twitched as you squeezed him. The two of you stayed there for a while, neither one of you wanting to pull away.
“I love you,” you said softly, wiping some sweat from his brow. “I got so lucky.” Titus shook his head fervently.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” The two of you shared another, gentler kiss, as his dick softened inside you. One that was filled with devotion and appreciation. Titus cupped your breast and ran a finger along the lace line of your lingerie.
“I was serious, you know,” he mused, kissing the skin of your chest. “I want you to keep this. I don’t care that it has some asshole’s blood on it.” You exhaled through your nose.
“If that’s what you want,” You give “but I want another one. A clean one.” Titus nodded. “And you’re gonna pay for it. For letting him get even close to me. One that he’s never touched.” A flash of possessiveness crossed his eyes.
“Of course,” he gritted, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He gave you one more kiss to the forehead and pulled out. You whined at the sensation, feeling the mixture of your juices and his cum run down your leg. Titus stepped into and pulled his boxers over his hips. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a washcloth soaked in warm water. Your husband cleaned you reverently, using a single finger to wash away the stickiness between every fold of your skin. He gave you a kiss on your thigh before walking over to the body still laying on your floor. He ran a hand over his face.
“I should probably deal with this.” Titus sighed. He put on his pants and kicked the body over onto his back. Titus’ brow furrowed in a frustratingly attractive way as he calculated the best mode of transport of his now dead cousin in-law. He glanced over to you, searching your face for something. You realized he was waiting for your permission. You waved your hand.
“Please,” you agreed, “get him out of here.” Titus nodded. You had given him a task. A priority. He grabbed the man and hoisted him over his shoulder. It helped that the groom was a twig of a man, but the show of strength reignited the flame in your lower belly. You licked your lips and gave your husband the best bedroom eyes you could muster. “Hurry back.” Titus snickered and shook his head.
“Insatiable.” He murmured. But he would be back. He just had to carry the body down the stairs and into the monitoring room, where the help would take care of him. Then, Titus would be back in the place where he felt the safest- in between your thighs.
For this milestone celebration i've chosen my favorite mini series/drabbles i've posted on here and am letting you all mix and match!!
how to play:
☼︎ pick ONE out of the three prompts ☼
➀ not knowing they're good at sex... see examples here and here
➁ manipulative boyfriend.... see examples here and here
➂ thinks you're way out of their league... see examples here and here
★ choose the character to go with it ★
pope cody ✷ sammy bryant ✷ jack abbot
☼︎ give a ONE or TWO sentence prompt for me to complete! ☼︎
☼︎ sun, sun, sun, here it comes... ☼︎
inbox will be open until - Sunday, July 19th at 6 pm EST -
authors note: ★ don't mind me getting all serious down here... but i just wanted to thank anyone who follows, comments or reblogs any of my works !! i'm so grateful for each and every one of you for letting my inner freak thrive :) mwuah mwuah and a million more mwuahs !
☼︎ this celebration is inspired by the song 'Here Comes the Sun' by The Beatles ☼︎
you’re on tumblr. not twitter. not tiktok. not instagram. liking a post doesn’t spread a creator’s work around the site, a reblog does. likes are always always appreciated but reblogging a creator’s work is the best way to show appreciation for the hard work that went to creating it. so please PLEASE reblog.
Inkyyyy gimme some Charlie Reid fluff with a secretary reader who is exhausted and just needs someone to look after her 🥹
me 🤝 you; yearning for more nasty corrupt cop man
This is why you never took your vacation time. Being a Deputy Chief's secretary wasn't easy work. Being Charlie's secretary was even harder. You had to schedule the normal appointments, yes, but inside the drawer of your desk sat a little leatherbound notebook. A secret calendar scribbled with encoded messages- meetings with his connections to the criminal underworld, follow-ups on the curated gang war he had planned, driving out to the lakeshore to plant evidence. It was a lot to juggle. You had held the position for a few years, coming up with Charlie when he got his new job. It took a bit for him to trust you given the nature of his pastimes, but he soon realized that you were loyal.
You had an interesting relationship. Charlie liked toeing the line of workplace propriety. Nothing ever happened between the two of you beyond brushes of his fingers against yours as you handed him a coffee or you purposefully wearing a skirt that was just an inch too short, because you liked it when his eyes scanned up your legs. He was fond of you, in his own way. Less verbal praises and more small actions that let you know he cared. Like approving your time off when your friend said you should go away for the week. You were reluctant at first. You and Charlie had a system. You doubted that some temp could fill in properly. You had approached him with nervous eyes and wringing hands, asking if you could take the week off, assuring him that you knew this was an inconvenience and you were so very sorry, but it meant a lot to you. Charlie just smirked as he watched you ramble. He loved watching you squirm. He held up a hand and dismissed your fears. Yea, sure. You're young, you should be out having fun.
And you did have fun. It was nice to push the stress from work to the back of your mind if not only for a few days. But when you got back to your desk, the stress crashed back down on you, kicking your heart into gear as you scanned over the work your substitute had entered. No, it was all wrong! There was an appointment scheduled for Tuesday, cutting into the evidence hand-off at the pier with one of Charlie's contacts. His Friday lunch hadn't been planned. And, worst of all, they had scheduled a meeting after 5 pm. Dread crawled down your spine. You had learned very quickly that Charlie stuck to his 9-5 job parameters. Once, about a month into your job, a guy who was scheduled to meet with Charlie called you, claiming he would be ten minutes late because of traffic. You had, stupidly, assured him it would be fine. It was not fine. The meeting ended at 5:10. Charlie was furious. You had gotten chewed out to the point your vision was blurred by tears. Ever since then, Charlie's schedule was cleared after 4:45.
You felt your palms go clammy as you scrolled through the digital calendar. Fuck. You had a lot of work to do to fix whatever shitstorm your substitute unknowingly released onto you. You took a deep breath and picked up the phone receiver, dialing the first of many numbers you'd have to reschedule that day.
By the time the calendar was fixed, the sun had begun to slip low into the sky. It was 6 pm. Most of the people in the office had trickled out already. You pressed save on the calendar and sat back in your chair, stretching your arms far above your head. You heard your shoulder crack and you let out a small sigh.
"You're still here?" The low gravel of your boss' voice made you jump. You turned swiftly to face him. Charlie leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. Amusement pulled at his lips, enjoying your wide-eyed look of surprise.
"Y-Yea, sorry, sir," You squeaked quickly. He shouldn't have been here. It was way past his shift end. You thought you'd missed him on his way out while you were taking a quick bathroom break. When you came back to your desk, his blinds were drawn and the door was closed. You wondered what he had been doing in there. Charlie took three nonchalant steps toward you, standing behind your chair and peering at your screen.
"Whatcha been doin' all day? You haven't said hi since this morning." He pouted as picked a pill of wool off your sweater.
"Well," you sighed heavily. You wondered how much you should tell him. As his secretary, it was your job to worry about trivial things such as appointments. Plus, you weren't totally convinced that Charlie would let the substitute's mistakes go unmentioned to the department, and you didn't want the poor girl to get in trouble. Charlie saw the uncertainty in your eyes and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.
"Tell me what's wrong." He demanded. The whites of your eyes were bloodshot, a little irritated and puffy. Like you had cried a few hours before and hadn't quite recovered. You pressed your lips together to stop them from quivering. He looked at you with a darkness, jaw set and eyebrows raised expectantly.
"The, um, the substitute messed up parts of your schedule. I've been trying to fix it. But-" Your voice cracked. You spoke softer, not wanting the emotion to seep through. "Not everyone was very understanding." The insults replayed in your head. Men yelling always set you on edge, even if it wasn't directed at you. But the swears today definitely were. "I spent most of my day sitting and getting yelled at." Charlie's eyes darkened, only for a moment, and the flash was gone as soon as it arrived. Replaced by a sort of tenderness he reserved for you. He ran his thumb over your cheek, rubbing soothing circles against your soft skin.
"But you figured it out didn't you?" Your brow furrowed and you nodded. Of course you did. That was your job. Even if it sucked, it was your livelihood. And you'd do it for him. Charlie hummed and gave a smile, crooked canines poking from underneath his lip. "That's my smart girl." He pulled his hand away and your lips turned down slightly at the loss of his warm fingers. He pulled something from his back pocket. Your favorite snack. The ones he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk for when you needed a pick-me-up and couldn't realize it yourself. For when he had to make your day better. You accepted it gratefully with a soft exhale. He knew you so well.
"C'mon I'll walk you back to your car. It's good to have you back, kid."
