Tags: !SIZE DIFFERENCE!, fingering F, Oral M receiving, minor Injury/blood/stitches (not related to sex), hickeys, groping, huge dick, humping, Penetration
Word Count: 4.5k
Summary: When the hedge knight catches a glimpse of you undressed, while trying to help you, it makes both of you look at each other with more curiosity than before!
The shriek you made had the birds in half a mile radius fleeing from the tops of the trees.
“Stay with the horses” Dunk got out gruffly to Egg before rushing down the river bank.
You all stopped for a bath, it was much needed. He and egg upstream and away from you a ways.
He could maintain some propriety-dispite the oddness of the trio.
You were holding to a rock in the creek one hand hoisting yourself up and the other was holding your forehead blood seeping between your fingers.
“Oh gods-“ he stopped himself just before dashing into the water because somewhere In the panic of the moment he realized you were as naked as the day you were born.
Had he seen you…really seen you, in this moment he couldn’t actually recall but later he would remember seeing how your thighs squished together, how your nipples had seemed so hard, likely from the cold water, that he’d wondered if the tension of the skin pained you.
“I fell-“ he could hear your legs fighting the current a bit and when the unmistakable sound of you slipping down fully into the water again he sighed. Shaking his head shoulder high and head low as he faced his back to you.
“Face down stream.” He told you looking to the side of the bank briefly to see if he saw your slip. It was white. Was this the seven hells…so many bloody options of temptation.
“Did you turn?”
“Yes” you were crying a bit, that upset him, made him worry the blood was worse than just a slip on a mossy stone.
Swiftly he pulled his dark tunic over his head and walked down stream to your shivering frame. He saw your bottom, thought he made a great effort to not stare, your bottom was probably preferred to all the things you had on your front.
“I’ve got you m’lady.” His voice was confident and that assured you. The fabric of his tunic came down over you, his shift was so long it went below your knees. You laugh if your head wasn’t throbbing so badly. When you went to turn he was having none of it. You weren’t walking in this river anymore. He didn't trust it!
“Dunc-“ you gasped when he lifted you up completly. Lifting you was as easy as lifting a handful of hay for him but his hands did seem unsure and so your body slipped about a good bit as he walked you to shore. He’d ended with you half hung over his shoulder, his hand holding the back of your knee and another half was up the back of your thigh.
He put you down in a fallen log quickly covering your forehead fully with his hand.
“Gods” you whine, mostly because it’s tender and he doesn’t quite no his own strength so your head is wrenched back.
“It’s needs pressure,” he pulled his hand away momentary because you were shivering and he was hoping the wound had closed enough for him to be able to run back up the bank to Egg and let you dress in something warmer than his shirt. “It needs stitches m’lady.” He regretfully told you when the blood started dripping quite badly as soon as his palm was off your forehead.
The three of you had wound up at an inn, one you had passed a hour or so earlier in your journey. Ser Duncan was silent for most of the ride and you figured it was because he did not like having to backtrack. Ahead was the goal.
Really he was busy thinking about you. About the cut, about the sting you were going to feel when they stitched your temple.
“Will you be mangled then?” Egg asked. He was genuinely curious it wasn’t meant to be a jest.
“Enough of that, it’s stitches not an amputation.” He warned the young boy “go head and ensure they’ve room for the horses” he told his squire and watched egg spur his steed on to the inn that was just up ahead. He wouldn’t look sight of the prince.
“Children,” he shook his head and sighed gruffly. “You won’t be managled m’lady, they’ll do a fine job I’m sure.” He told you looking back at you on the spotted horse you rode. It was a fancy one, some well bred horse for Prince Maekar stables. He only let Aegon go with the hedge knight if you could go along. He hadn’t specifically choosen you out of all the maids, he let egg pick. You remembered standing in line with all the other maids watching as the young boy walked up and down the lot of you. He seemed to be considering his choices wisely. Later he told you he thought you were the healthiest looking, that you’d be able to keep up longer than the others.
It was simple really, you weren’t ancient like half of the other options put before him.
Dunk looked lost behind the eyes when he glanced back at you. when he saw your face his mind focused on things other then your shout or the tears you’d likely spill a few minutes from now as they threaded your forhead closed. He thought if the tanned back he saw. The brief view of your breasts. He coughed to clear his head as his mind wandered even lower in the memory, he was sure he was entirely making things up now! He had to remind himself that he turned around quickly when he came upon you earlier…whatever he was imagining between your legs was fabrication entirely!
You let him deal with the innkeeper when the lot of you arrived and remained quiet as he questioned the experience of the man the women had suggested they seek out. Apparently he’d don’t quite a bit of wound care during the last rebellion.
Egg was sweet, he held to your hand and made some reassuring comments, only reflecting once in the shape of the scar it might leave behind when healed.
You were tense with your eyes closed and you tried not to squeeze the little princes hand to harshly. Anytime you did open your eyes you saw Dunk, stood behind the man while he worked, watching every loop he made with the needle, as if he was ready to intervene at any moment and take over your care.
You’d thank the man and when you went to pay him some fare from your small coin purse he refused. He did not charge a pretty girl. You were looking at the closed wound in a looking glass by the inn keepers desk. Able to see through it that behind you Duncan was fishing some coin out of his own pocket and forcing the man to take it. It wasn’t like either of you had much coin to spare, you’d been glad when he refused payment so it was odd to you that now the knight was insisting to pay? Duncan was not going to have a man able to insinuate that you owed them anything. He knew how the small-folk saw things, how old men felt entitled.
You were stood just behind Egg while Duncan finished his interaction. You couldn’t hear what the hedge knight said but you saw him shove the coin right into the man’s pocket and you placed your hands on the princes shoulder. You did that often when in establishments like these. His father had wanted a maid to join his son’s journeys to look after him. The knight could protect him but you knew much more regarding the situations Prince Maekar might not wish Aegon to be apart of. This kept egg close to you, not wandering off getting himself a sip of ale that was much to strong or robbed by some person who might connect who he was and felt suddenly opportunistic.
“I’m fine to continue on, I know I’ve slowed us down.” You said as the big knight returned.
“No, no.” He shook his head “you haven’t not really.” He looked between you and the princeling and sighed “the boy told me he missed a real bed.”
Based on the way you felt Eggs shoulders tense and his hands raise in confusion you knew that was untrue. You also knew, based on the warning look Ser Duncan gave his squire, that he wasn’t hearing any of it. He didn’t want you to feel guilty. He knew it was best for you that they all stayed the night at the inn.
Regrettably there were only two rooms. Duncan had insisted that you take one to yourself, claiming you needed the rest and that Egg would probably try and keep you up all night with his questions.
You bid them both a goodnight while entering your temporary chamber…not even a hour later opening the door again to wander down the lower level. You had not spent the coin earlier so it felt like a good enough excuse to get yourself some wine. It might help you sleep. It did always made your drowsy. As soon as your turned from the bar keep with the arbor red in hand you saw him.
Ser Duncan.
Sat there, taking up half a bench because of his legs alone, his shoulders keeping people away from him too.
“His snoring is something awful when the wind and birds and fire is not contributing some noise.”
You laughed and looked at the table to see if he would welcome your company. You smiled a bit fondly as he scooted down the bench and you took up a spot there at the end while his shoulder brushed the brick wall.
“They all snore, it’s like a horribly out of tune band when you’re cleaning the halls at night.” You confessed. He shook his head a bit imaging it.
“Thank you for helping me earlier…i don’t know why i screamed.” It was stupid, you hadn’t been that badly injured. “I could have dealt with it myself until we all got back to the horses.”
He doubted that. It had been a lot of blood and that loss did not help make your footing more stable.
“How would anybody think me a valuable service in their lands if I can’t help the people I travel with?”
He was giving you an out, a kind one and you were more than content to take it. Earlier had been no trouble for him, that was good. It had left some trouble within you though, some feelings to reflect on, especially now that the pain in your head had mostly subsided.
How nice his hands had felt on your legs, how easily he lifted you, that it had felt comforting wrapping your arm around his neck. Mostly that you had seen him frozen and starting at your tits and that had left you with a deep feeling of curiosity. You were not a maiden but you still could not help but wonder what being bedded by him would be like?
It seemed neither of you wanted to go back to bed because one cup of arbor and his draft of ale was taking the both of you a long time to finish. At some point his legs had stretched open a bit in the bench, he apologize snd quickly tucked his body in tighter to not impede your space.
“It’s alright-“ you touched his leg squeezing it a bit to assure him you diddnt mind if your legs brushed a bit. That was hardly a scandal.
The noise he gave out when you did touch him was quite scandalous thought. If you did not know any better you’d say he had just whimpered a bit at you. The flush came quick to both your faces, his worse than yours.
“Damn river-sorry.” He cursed the situation earlier that had made him see you differently and then quickly apologized, quite overwhelmed at the moment. Your eyes drifted down to when your hand was in his massive leg and you felt almost as faint as you had after seeing the blood all over his hand earlier.
You’d touched the poor man’s cock. Rubbed it actually.
“I-I swear,” and then your stuttering turned into a chuckle. “Seven hells Ser Duncan…how…” how large was he that his cock reached his low in his trousers?
He was a giant of a man but you had assumed, very wrongly, that he was likely endowed similar to other men.
“Please don’t” his head was down in his hand now, unable to look at you but he did push your small hand off of his leg. He could not take much more of that contact.
You frowned a bit seeing how ashamed he seemed. It had been you who touched him, granted it was an accident, he hadn’t don’t anything wrong! Though you did not know his mind, did not know the vulgar thoughts that had begun to form. He did not want to simply imagine what was between your legs, he wanted to be sure, to actually see you.
“Sleep in my chambers.” You said seeing he had one more gulp left in his cup. “You won’t get any hearing that dragon snore.” He had to stifle a laughed. Would he get any with you? That was doubtful!
Against his better judgement he agreed and the two of you climbed the set of stairs. Both of you shaking your head as you passed by the princes room, able to hear him sleeping through the door. At least you’d know if he was to wake!
Dunk went straight for the floor at the foot of the bed. No pillow, now blanket, just laid out in the wood.
You sighed some at the sight of it and knelt down beside him, the bottle of your skirts brushing his arms that were laid out.
“Would you think less of me?” You ask him, the question earnest and soft and based on how he sat up and touched your bent knee you knew he did not know what you were talking about.
“There is little that could make me think less of you m’lady.” He assured. Forehead knotted with concern.
“If I asked to see you…all of you?” You swallowed. It was your turn to hide from eye contact just as he had down at the table.
He stared at you like you were a ghost, like he could hardly believe what he had just heard and was trying to decipher if this was an illusion or real.
Maybe you’d hurt your head more than just a cut. Maybe you had felt something between you and the knight that wasn’t actually there!
“I saw you…it is fair.” He justified admitting to the view he had gotten earlier and relieving you of the shame surrounding the request you just made by agreeing to it.
He fumbled for a moment before standing up. It was amusing to see a man so strong so flustered, so boyish and nervous. You like that, he was different from the knight you were used to. All arrogant and bold! They exhausted you with their personas. He was different.
Refreshing.
You blinked as he removed his boots first…then his shirt and when he paused in his belt. Uncertainty about the oddness of this likely creeping in you decided to rid yourself of your overdress…and then bent down to pull your stocking off. Stood just in your small clothes before him as his belt clattered onto the ground. Both of you were grinning now. Like children who were getting away with some trick they’d just played.
“You first-it’s only fair.” You smirked eyes dancing between his face and his waist without shame.
He complied, because, well he found it fair as well. You’d been naked earlier. So he undid the button of his trousers and let them pool at his feet. His embarrassment out of his mind because he was busy trying to see through your thin slip, his mind racing to fill in the spot he had to imagine. It meant he missed your gawking, missed that your hand rose to your mouth in utter shock.
You were making pleas to the seven to help you now. It was blasphemy, you knew that, but everything about this situation was already disgraceful so you might as well pray to not be split in two!
He did not need to step closer for his hands to reach your side and his fingers to grasp at the fabric you still wore. He felt it for a second, watching your breath before he pulled it up over your head. You raised your arms up some to help him. He had pushed both his hands over your chest before your hair had even fallen back down your back when you were rid of the slip. Again, he did not know his strength and you had to step back to remained balanced.
He grabbed you around the waist, both of your moaning, almost in unison, when his hands wrapped fully around your midsection and his fingertips met.
That had a slickness developing between your legs, and based on the hardening length rising up from his thigh you would need to be plenty wet!
His hands wanted to pull you in, you could tell but he was hesitant, he’d only grabbed you to keep you upright but now he was imagine so many things he could do while holding you like this.
“You’re a maiden, this isn’t right.” He grumbled when you had leaned forward and kissed as high as your head could reach, which was the middle of his chest. It made him substantially harder feeling your warm lip make shapes on his flesh and your damp tongue press against him occasionally.
“You are sweet.” You responded to his concern, shaking your head a bit while looking up at him. Chin pressed gently to his sternum. He would not be the one to first soil you if you did ever find a husband. He was kind to think of you though, to think of the consequences you might face. It just, wasn’t needed.
He lifted you stright from the floor and this time, unlike at the creek, his hand some just where to go. One holding under your bottom and the other spread across your hip keeping you pressed to him while your legs wrapped loosely and widely around him until he dropped you down in the hard bed.
“The floor wouldn’t have been much different” he remarked climbing onto the mattress as well. You giggle and just as your lips part to make a sound he kisses you.
Your arms lace around his neck and fingers get lost in the hair at the nape of his neck. He was making a effort to not out his weight onto you, his arm and knees keeping him up, but even just the one arm he had spread against you so his hand you touch adventurously at your chest was keeping you flat against the bed. It was a nice pressure though, comforting, warming.
“There should be songs about you…about that” You whispered to him while watching him kiss at your neck and lick his tongue over your now peaked nipples. He was just taking his time enjoying you.
“Hardly.” He mouthed against your small teets sucking a bit at the flesh beside your nipple wanting to make a mark that matched the dusky shade.
“They’d think it was folklore anyways I’m sure.” You smirked watching as his cock kept hardening, it was now pressed up against his stomach rather than soft and resting against his leg.
“I did not think women spoke this much during a coupling.” He half scolded you. Stopping his fingers for a moment as he raised his brow. He had let one finger dip down after the two of you kissed for some time and began to rub it up and down your folds. You’d been grinding yourself up against him and he had loved it-but also needed it to stop if he was going to humiliate himself by finishing before things even really begun.
The rubbing had you very content. You laid there for a while kissing him, rubbing your nails up and over his shoulders and watching as he hid your breasts with his hands or mouth. It was all lovely! It all felt good, but you wanted more eventually and so you pushed your hands up at his chest. He clearly gave in to the pressure because there was no world in which you could actually move him! He entertained your want and sat back on the bed watching as you crawled up his frame to sit atop his knee.
“I wanted to share all my thoughts before my voice grows sore.” You explained to him. A callback to his comment earlier about women normally not talking so much during a bedding. His confusion had you all the more excited to lean forward and wrap your hand… hands actually around the base of his cock and he had to lay his head back because watching you lick at his cockhead for the first time would of had his seed spilling on the spot.
His lack of focus on you just meant you felt the need to prove yourself further so after wetting him fully with your tongue you sat up a bit more and began to try and take him down your throat. Bobbing your head valiantly over the first few inches of his thickness.
“Easy-don’t-you don’t need to.” He was plenty hard, she didn’t need to use her mouth. When you pulled up smiling, the corner of your lip starting to crack he realized you did not do this out of need, but want. He would not stop you again, that wasn’t in his best interest!
“Uh mmhm” you moaned against him, your ass tensing each time your raked yourself forward against his knee. The noise was lewd and you were making a mess of him but he had begun to assist you, one hand holding your hair away from your face so he could watch as you fit a shocking amount of him between your lips and the other rubbed your hip helping pull you back and forth.
Between the both of you the breathing and groaning in this room was far louder than Aegon’s worst snores. Things were devolving into a mess, tensing hands and fluttering eyes. Duncan had decided he was not going to last much longer if you kept sucking at him like this so he pulled a bit at your hair watching your puffy lips come off of him fully.
“Come here, up by the pillows, on your back.” He guided you and you nodded l, complying quickly.
He resumed rubbing your pussy, palm pressed over the entirety of your damp mound and his middle fingers dragged up and down. Feeling were your parted and circling the pearl at the top of your womanhood.
He watched you closely when he decided to push that finger deep into you. He’d don’t it when you were exhaling and you felt the shock make your lungs quickly switch to inhale. Legs drawing up instantly at the full feeling.
“I need to prepare you…just a bit. Okay?.” His voice was low, calming. Everything you were not in this moment. Mind lost in the clouds and movement almost all jolts.
“You’re going to take another if you want me to take you properly.” He explained watching as your eyes strained to focus and he reached a hand up to rub your cheek.
“There…good, just like that. Calm for me m’lady.” He breathed out while another one of his thick fingers intruded.
“Gods!” You hadn’t been able to think of anything else to say. That was the word repeating over and over in your head.
“Shh, you’re okay, just another minute. Breath.” He coached and you did exactly as he said. It was a maricle that he was right, when you calmed and stopped tensing against him his fingers had a lot less trouble thrusting up into you. Your forhead wrinkled as he sissors his fingers within you, stretching a bit more to make this next intrusion easier.
“We don’t have to,” He told you when you panted as he removed his fingers fully. Both hands holding your face, careful of the stitches. You groaned and shook your head.
“I want to.”
He kissed you, smiling into the kiss and nodding.
“Very well m’lady.”
He spit a bit onto his fingers and dragged it over his cock for some added dampness. Anything would help. Really he should have oils for you but at the moment that wasn’t an option. In the morning when you would wobble down the steps and groan when getting onto the saddle he would feel guilted but at the moment he had very little blood in his head so he was fine continuing on.
Your legs pushed apart to make enough room for him to lay his hips against the back of your thighs and when Dunk let his thumb slip against the length of your lips you questioned it for a moment. But then his tip began to push against you, your body struggling to accommodate him and suddenly you understood his thumb. You were to bite in it. And you did as soon as his cockhead was filling inside of you.
“Ahh!” He pushed his forhead into your shoulder kissing whatever he could and you strained under him.
“F-fucking hell!” You swore after giving up on bitting his hand. The initial pain was gone, he did not need you damaging his hand.
“Good girl,” it slipped past his lips without a second thought. Crooning at you as he gently rocked himself in a bit deeper. He wasn’t a mad man, he had no intention of you taking much more than this.
“Feels so good…so warm around me.” You could only nod at his mutterings but they did bring you comfort. Especially when you began to throb around him, cunt clenching against his every movement as your stomach ached and your climax began to build.
You squeaked out something about how big he was, how good he felt. Your hands gave you away, they clamp d down on his shoulders when you came suddenly the wetness it added to the interaction made Dunk rut a bit.
“Can’t finish in you, another moment m-more.” He breathed kissing your neck and petting your side, you were being so wonderful, doing so well.
The both of you trembled when he pulled out suddenly and not a second later he spilled his seed all across your stomach.
In the blissful moment that followed both of you just panted, laid out in the inn bed after he found something to wipe you clean with. He rubbed mindlessly at your side and stomach, comforting the ache. Neither of you spoke until a particular loud snore was heard through the wall once born your breathing had quieted.
“Just awful.” Dunk groaned and you giggle turning into his side.
what could go wrong when you try to cure a disease by changing your colleague's DNA? more than you might think. now it's up to you to deal with the, ah, side effects.
synopsis: so you spliced your former friend-with-benefits DNA with a few different dinosaurs, all samples courtesy of your high-paying job at the world's most innovative research lab. the good news? he's not sick anymore. the bad? there's more to worry about than just scales and teeth and a tail when a certain white-haired investor catches on to your after-hour activities with the new specimen you created - and wants a bite of you for himself
pairing: dino!Sukuna x scientist!Reader x investor!Gojo
content: mdni, angst, jurassic park au, reader is a scientist but there's not even a drop of scientific accuracy here ok, sukuna gets his DNA spliced with a dinosaur (let's not ask questions), similar to true-form sukuna (one dick and also scales and a tail), emotional hurt/comfort, slight horror elements, everyone is INSANE in this
"I have two dicks."
"This is still fixable," you tried to insist, holding your hands out helplessly as your stare refused to drift from the topic at hand. Both cocks were so hard you wondered if it hurt, the pretty pink tips swollen and leaking with pre-cum.
You blinked as they dripped onto the floor, swallowing hard as it hit you the scales by his hips had started to spread towards them.
Shit.
"Fixable?" Sukuna scoffed, and you nodded uselessly, not actually sure what the hell you were going to do from here other than make him more promises.
The horny voice you'd spent far too much time listening too lately was already crudely suggesting to give the second cock a try - for scientific purposes. To see if it could cum like the first one, if it functioned the same or if there were some fundamental differences not immediately apparent.
"What the fuck are you gonna do? Cut it off?" He hissed, demanding more answers than you currently had available.
"No," you shook your head defensively, folding your arms across your chest as you tried to wake yourself up more. "I just need more time to figure out-"
"How much time do I even have left?" He grunted, the bed creaking as he sat back down, glaring at the greedy appendages practically begging for your attention.
But he wasn't wrong.
You were running out of time.
To fix him. To fix this.
Suguru had made your lack of funding pretty fucking clear.
You probably only had one more shot before you'd be forced to either give up - or make a deal.
Sell a part of yourself to save him.
Sure, the transformations to Sukuna's body, to his DNA, might stop.
But you didn't know that.
And with this latest mutation, you were beginning to worry about the growing chance these changes might not be reversible.
Yeah, you wouldn't mind it if he permanently had two cocks to plow you into the mattress with, but you had told him you'd take care of him.
That you could handle this.
And what the hell had you accomplished?
No matter how much blood you'd drawn and tests you'd put him through, all your fixes had failed.
"Tell me," he demanded, grabbing your wrist in an attempt to make you look up at his face. "How much time do we have?"
You guessed you weren't as good at hiding your concern after all.
Even if he hadn't overheard last night's conversation, he clearly had already anticipated that this current pace, your current plan, none of it was sustainable.
"We should go to the lab," you murmured, ignoring his question as you shrugged his hand off of you and got out of the bed. Picking up last night's clothes and hurriedly putting them back on.
"You really think you're just suddenly going to find something to undo this?" He snarled, and you tried to tell yourself he was just upset.
Lashing out from the lack of control he had over himself, trying to take it back with you.
"I have to try," you hissed back.
You had been the one to do this to him. Even if he let you, he'd only done it because he believed in you.
How the hell were you supposed to betray that?
Even if he had the misfortune of being correct after you spent the entire day going over lab results again and again trying to figure out what you were missing.
Where you'd gone wrong.
Tempted to tear your hair out as you glanced up at where he was sitting rigid on a too-small chair just outside of your office, Shoko pulled up to a stool next to him as she plunged a needle into a vein.
Having four arms did make it much easier to get his blood.
"So what'd you do in your last life to deserve this?" she snickered, drawing one last vial from the crook of his elbow as Sukuna openly glared at her.
"Can't you do this?" He called out to you, noticing your stare as he clenched his jaw, irritated at your mutual coworker's mockery.
"I'm busy," you muttered, rubbing the corner of your eyes as you tried to refocus on the data in front of you.
"I'll let Yuji finish you up then," Shoko hummed, returning his disdain with a bored shrug.
Cleaning up her equipment without even looking back at him, strolling away and calling for one of your junior employees to take her place.
You had actually hired Yuji because of Sukuna, even though he barely acted like they were related in the lab, feigning ignorance whenever anyone brought up the fact they were family.
"You could've said something," Sukuna petulantly suggested, as if you weren't already asking a lot from your team just to add onto their workload to help with him.
"I'm doing my best here," you muttered, your own fuse cut short with the weight of his problems and yours on your shoulders.
You wanted to believe that if you kept doing your best, you would find the solution. That every problem had one.
"Hey, boss," Yuji chirped, peeking through the open door of your office and waving before going back to where Sukuna was sitting. A vein was already bulging across his forehead, mouth twitching down in irritation.
He tried to hold himself together, to bite back his annoyance, but when he picked up the glass of water you had left there an hour ago, all the ice melted as the condensation dripped down the side.
But the moment he lifted it off the table, it shattered.
Despite seeing it happen, you still jumped, startled at the sound.
"Shit."
Everything was falling apart.
Even the glassware.
Yuji scrambled to grab a broom, cleaning up the mess as you stared at a now half-soaked Sukuna, his dark eyes burning into you as his hand was left holding nothing in the air.
He hadn't noticed that he was even bleeding.
Shards sticking out of his skin, dripping down to his muscled thighs as all the muscles in his face tensed.
You could go over.
Help Yuji pick up the rest of the pieces and fawn over his now injured hand.
But you were at capacity.
Debating on what invasive procedure you'd have to beg him to let you do, or whether or not to give chemo a try to see if you'd treated it like a cancer, you might be able to cure him.
Worrying about what his last straw would be, the moment he decided this was too much and gave up on you.
And if that happened, where would both of you be?
"Sucks that this happened to you," Yuji frowned, leaning over your boyfriend's body to pluck out a piece of broken glass stuck in Sukuna's wrist just to earn an aggravated grunt.
"I'm aware," he sarcastically scoffed.
"Jin misses you," he muttered, and you felt a weird twinge of jealousy at their connection. At the domestic side of his life you never got to see. To be apart of.
"He's fine without me," Sukuna derisively said, once again directing his anger at the wrong person. His nephew and his brother wanted to be there for him.
You wanted to be there for him.
And he wanted nothing more than to not need any of you.
For things to go back to how they'd been before.
"At least you have her," Yuji tried to offer his best attempt at consolation, sheepishly smiling, his fingers trembling as he tried to dislodge a particularly jagged piece from Sukuna's calloused palm.
"We wouldn't even be together if it weren't for this," Sukuna retorted, sharp and snarky.
You knew he wasn't wrong.
Had thought the same thing a thousand times since then.
But it hurt a lot more hearing it from his lips.
You grimaced, getting up from your chair and walking over to the door, refusing to look at him as you shut it.
No need to hear anything else that would just hurt your feelings.
At least you would simply have invisible scars.
You'd left more than a few marks on him.
You buried your face in your hands, exhaling as you leaned forward to just rest your head on the desk, knowing what decision you were being dragged closer and closer to.
Getting your eggs harvested didn't sound particularly pleasant. Knowing that you'd have a child that was half you walking around, maybe even multiple if you agreed to Gojo's offer was not exactly a dream come true for you either.
But you owed Sukuna his life back.
Even if he decided he didn't want you in it once you gave it to him.
Besides, hadn't he been through far worse because of you?
Growing extra appendages? Claws and scales and a goddamn tail because you made the choice to use dinosaur DNA to cure him?
You hesitantly picked up the phone, bringing it up to your ear as you dialed a familiar number.
The director answered on the second ring.
"Need something down there?" Suguru slowly asked, almost as if he could sense what you were calling him for.
difficult to fathom, is it not? the prospect that amidst the caustic vitriol of your in-laws, your husband, NAOYA ZEN’IN, would actually deign to intervene on your behalf.
trapped at the epicenter of the drawing room, you remain besieged by a circle of the clan’s elder women as they take turns dissecting your shortcomings as a wife, lamenting the deficiencies of your upbringing. their eyes dart accusingly toward the tea set, where you had mistakenly offered bancha in place of the refined gyokuro. head bowed, you stand frozen, their collective disdain drawing a tear down your cheek.
then, the shoji screen is wrenched open, sliding with such violent force it nearly leaps from its tracks. your husband saunters in, his arrival instantly chilling the atmosphere. naoya does not acknowledge you; instead, he casts a glance of profound boredom toward the assembly.
“god, you people are loud,” he drawls, voice tinged with that trademark kansai inflection. “it’s just some damn tea leaves. if i wanted my wife’s education to be overseen by a bunch of senile hags, i would have asked.”
one of his aunts attempts a protest, to which naoya silences with an ominous raised palm. “she’s an airhead, sure, but she is my wife. to disparage her is to suggest that i—future head—am incapable of managing my own property. now, shoo. all of you.”
his “defending of your honour” is just as nasty as the slights he countered, yet it proves quite effective; the women, flushed with indignation but unwilling to provoke the heir, file out in silence. the moment the shoji clicks shut, however, your knight in shining armour whirls on you, irate.
“what the hell was that?” he hisses, “you’ve got plenty of mouth when you’re talking back to me, but the second these bitches start picking on you, you just take it?”
you blink at him, baffled. you’d expected him to be worked up about the previous incident—finishing what his aunts started regarding those stupid tea leaves. it’s disorienting; your husband is cruel and demeaning often enough, but he rarely yells at you like this. a vein pulses in his neck as he scowls down at you, his nose scrunched in annoyance.
“now get this through your thick skull: i’m the only one allowed to give you a hard time. if anyone else tries that, you either grow a spine or you tell me. got it?” in his irritation, naoya seems to have forgotten the “submissive wife” rhetoric he so fervently preaches, far too incensed by your passivity. though the sudden pivot from his usual tyranny to this protective rage isn’t entirely unpleasant, you suppose. he notices the fresh tears rolling down your cheeks and pauses, reaching out to brush one away with his thumb. realising the lapse, naoya immediately compensates by flicking your forehead.
“ouch,” you sniffle, nursing the stinging spot on your forehead.
“serves you right for being a doormat,” though you notice that the sharpness has worn off his tone, replaced by something marginally softer.
“well maybe they didn’t have a stick up their asses all the time, i’d have the energy to deal with them.” you know he won’t mind the jab to his kin; loathing the rest of the zen’in is, after all, your primary form of bonding. a dry chuckle escapes him, and he cups your face with both hands—a gesture that is affectionate as it is possessive.
“huh. i dare you to say that to their faces next time, mouthy brat.”
thinking of MODULO YUJI who has been secretly fucking nobara's granddaughter.
ALL REASON ASIDE : THE SERIES !
PLOT. you’re nobara’s granddaughter, which means yuji was never supposed to touch you…until he does, and it turns into something neither of you ever define. even after disappearing from your grandmother’s life, he keeps coming back to you behind her back, keeping you well fucked—until one day, he leaves your life as well. a year later, on the night you get engaged, yuji comes back.
WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, smut, angst, porn with plot, age-gap (60 years), yuji is 83-years-old, reader is nobara's granddaughter, taboo relationship (?).
CHARACTERS. ITADORI YUJI (JJK MÓDULO).
masterlist :: modulo yuji collection
CHAPTER 1
LOVE ISN'T RATIONAL, IT'S PHYSICAL !
WARNINGS: 18+, mdni, angst, porn with plot, age-gap (60 years, yikess), yuji is 83-years-old, reader is nobara's granddaughter, taboo relationship (?), tension, cheating (reader is engaged), smoking, yuji is a slightttt jerk (imo), fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, doggy style (prone bone), unprotected sex, creampie, not proofread (i gave up).
WC: 4.2k.
CHAPTER 2
AND EVEN I KNOW THIS AIN'T SMART !
WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, porn with plot, age-gap (60 years), yuji is 78-79 years old here, reader is 20, reader is nobara's granddaughter, taboo relationship (?), tension, smoking, yuji is a little cold, virginity loss. fingering, p in v, protection is used, not proofread.
WC. 5.2k.
CHAPTER 3
HE LIES, HE BLUFFS, HE'S UNRELIABLE !
WARNINGS: 18+, mdni, angst, hurt no comfort, porn with plot, age-gap (60 years), yuji is 78-79 years old here, reader is 20, reader is nobara's granddaughter, taboo relationship (?), yuji is a jerk tbh, almost getting caught, p in v, bathroom sex, no protection, creampie, brief oral sex (f. receiving), brief cum eating, not proofread.
WC. 5.8k.
thinking of MODULO YUJI who has been secretly fucking NOBARA'S GRANDDAUGHTER. (pt. 3)
HE LIES, HE BLUFFS, HE'S UNRELIABLE !
WARNINGS: 18+, mdni, angst, hurt no comfort, porn with plot, age-gap (60 years), yuji is 78-79 years old here, reader is 20, reader is nobara's granddaughter, taboo relationship (?), yuji is a jerk tbh, almost getting caught, p in v, bathroom sex, no protection, creampie, brief oral sex (f. receiving), brief cum eating, not proofread.
a/n: still in the past, direct continuation of part 2.
The apartment felt wrong after Yuji left. Not empty—just...off. The pleasure was still heavy on your shoulders, and it felt like something had disturbed the peace the walls once held.
You stood in front of the mirror longer than you meant to, fingers loosely gripping the edge of the sink as your eyes dragged over your own reflection. You were bare once again, the soft sound of water running behind you as the tub slowly fills.
Steam had already begun to gather along the edges of the glass, but not enough to blur your reflection and hide what you were looking at.
Your skin looked the same, but it didn't feel like it belonged to you in the same way.
Your fingers moved without much thought, tracing along your skin, mapping out everything new. The marks stood out easily now that you were alone, faint bruises pressed into your neck, your chest, your stomach, anywhere where your clothes would hide them.
You touched one lightly, then another, watching your own face shift as the memory followed right behind it.
Surprisingly, it wasn't shame that hit you first; instead, it was something lighter.
You felt...pleased. That was the only word that made sense, although it barely felt like enough. There was a quiet thrill in it, in knowing that it had been him, that after all this time of watching him from a distance, of finding excuses to stay close, he had finally given in.
You had wanted him for longer than you cared to admit, and now your body carried proof that he had wanted you back. There was a strange sort of certainty in the fact that he was your first.
You hadn't thought much about your first time before, not in any real, concrete way, but standing here now, it felt right. You couldn't explain it, but it felt meant to be.
It wasn't because losing your virginity was supposed to be anything special, but because it had been Yuji, you were satisfied with the night before. He had been someone you had already built up in your mind, someone you had wanted long before this ever happened.
It made the fact easier to accept.
There was no disappointment to pick apart, no awkwardness, nothing that made you wish it had gone differently.
If anything, the thought of it being anyone but him felt wrong now, like it wouldn't have carried the same weight. If it had been anyone else, it wouldn't have left you standing here like this, tracing the aftermath with something close to fulfilment.
Your fingers paused just below your collarbone, pressing lightly into a mark that seemed to have indents of teeth bitten into it. You studied it for a second longer, your thoughts drifting back.
You couldn't stop recalling the way he had looked at you.
But that didn't mean anything, did it? You knew better than to assume it did.
For him, it could have been anything. A lapse in his judgement. A moment of weakness.
Something easier to take and walk away from. You weren't blind to it. You knew how it looked from the outside, how wrong it was, and how easy it would be for him to treat it like nothing more than something to pass the time.
To him you might be nothing more than 'Kugisaki's grandchild'.
There was something almost ironic about it and your lips twitch faintly despite yourself.
Maybe that was all it was to him.
You were something he wasn't supposed to have, something that should be left untouched, not to be tainted, and it only made you easier to want.
You exhaled slowly, your fingers dropping away from your skin. You didn't care as much as you probably should.
Even if it might be demeaning, you would take it anyway.
Whatever you received from him must have been the tiny crumbs he brushed off, but you'd still take them over nothing.
The quiet of the room shifted slightly, broken by the faint creak of a door opening beyond the bathroom. You stilled, head turning just slightly as your attention snapped toward the sound.
"Are you in the shower?" your grandmother's voice called out, distant but clear. "Why are you up this early?"
You blinked once, not even having realized your grandmother was already back home.
"Yeah," you called back, your voice more even than you expected. "I just woke up early."
There was a brief pause and your chest tighten with worry. Was she suspicious? Had you missed anything while cleaning up?
"Alright," she replied. "Come out quickly, I ordered breakfast."
You hummed something in response, not trusting yourself to say much more. A second later, you heard the door close again, the sound soft but final as the bathroom settled back into quiet.
And just like that, your emotions changed.
The warmth that had been sitting so easily in your chest shifted, something more daunting slipping in. Your eyes found the mirror again, but this time it was different. You were looking at something you didn't entirely recognize.
The ease from before was gone, something demoralizing taking it's place that was harder to ignore now that you weren't alone in your thoughts anymore.
Guilt.
You pressed your lips together, your gaze dropping briefly like you were trying to decide what to do with it.
You turned away, stepping toward the tub as the water finally stilled, steam rising in soft waves. You lowered yourself into it slowly, letting the warmth settle over your skin, easing the tension that had crept over you being.
The bubbles gathered along the surface, barely shifting as you leaned back against the porcelain and stared up at the ceiling.
You tried not to think about it, but your mind didn't stay empty for long.
It drifted, almost on its own, back to him. To the way he had spoken before leaving, to the cryptic words he left behind before his departure. You hadn't questioned it, already having deciphered his message.
The date had settled in your mind without effort. The 28th. 5 days.
You exhaled slowly, your head tipping back further as you let your eyes close for a second. You should have been thinking about anything else. You should have been wallowing in guilt, but you weren't.
Instead, you found yourself counting the days.
Despite the secrecy, despite how easily it could all fall apart if anyone notices, the two of you didn't stop.
If anything, it got more steady along the way.
Yuji learned quickly. He stopped coming by when your grandmother was home and his visits were timed. When the house wasn't an option, he would find other places, quieter ones, where neither of you had to worry about being seen.
It became a routine in a way.
You understood what you were doing.
You knew it wasn't right, not with the way your grandmother had been working longer hours and how easily you used that absence to make space for him. There were moments, brief ones, where it sat heavier than usual, where you caught yourself thinking about it a second too long.
But those thoughts never lasted.
Not when he was there, bare in your arms.
Everything else seemed to fall away the second his hands found you and the space between you disappeared like it had never been there to begin with.
And somewhere in that year, something shifted. It wasn't obvious at first, it never was with him.
Yuji had always been hard to read, his expressions were calm, his presence quiet that didn't invite questions. But you started noticing it in small ways, in things that didn't quite line up.
Around your grandmother, he seemed...different.
Quieter, but not in the same way as before. There was a solemnity to it now, something that seemed to weigh heavy and linger around him where he sat even when he wasn't speaking.
You caught when he looked at her sometimes, like he was holding back something on his mind. His eyes would follow her when she moved around the room, not obvious enough to draw her attention but it wasn't subtle since you noticed it every time.
He listened more than he spoke, nodding along when she talked, giving the same short responses he always had. But there was something else there now, something that made it feel less casual.
You had your speculations, but you couldn't be sure. Whether it was because she was getting older, and he wasn't. Or something else entirely. Something that had to do with you.
Because with you, he wasn't the same either.
The distance that had been there in the beginning—like he was aware of the line even when you weren't—had started to slip.
He started to stay longer.
Not just to fuck you more, but after it, when everything was quiet and he had no reason to still be there. He stopped leaving right away, instead, he would lean back against the headboard or the couch, arms resting behind his head, like he wasn't in a rush to go anywhere else.
You would curl up on him, chin resting on his chest as your legs tangled beneath the sheets to find warmth.
And it was those time where he would talk to you.
It started with the small things, simple things about where he was heading later or when he vaguely described what he had to do for work that day.
But over time, it became more than that.
He told you about people you had only ever heard about in passing, names your grandmother had mentioned without much detail.
He filled in the gaps your grandmother had left behind, speaking about the things he had lived through, things you could only imagine.
There were moments when his voice would shift, something lighter breaking through when he spoke about certain memories, like he was somewhere else entirely for a second.
Other times, it stayed the same, his expression barely changing.
You never interrupted him, you never asked too many follow up questions, afraid he might be reluctant to share more later.
You just listened, tracing idle patterns along his chest, your head resting against him as his voice lulled you to sleep more often than not.
He spoke about your grandmother, about the people he had lost, about things that stretched back longer than your life had ever gone. He didn't make a big deal out of it.
He just told you.
He let you stay close to him as his hand would settle against you without thinking. He opened up, and you started to see a side of him that resembled the version of Yuji your grandmother used to describe.
It somehow made you feel closer to him, deluding yourself to believe you were the apex of his subtle change of heart.
But you were afraid to put titles on it, fearing the gravity of it all might just push down on you and make the absurdity all the more real.
So, neither of you asked what it meant.
Closing in on your year together with him, the two of you had learnt each other's bodies by heart.
You knew the layout of his hands before they even moved, already anticipating how he would hold you, the way he would position you, the way he'd stuff your cunt enough to keep you going for hours.
There was no hesitation left in him, not like the first time or even the early days where he still used to hold back.
That was gone now.
His hands were heavy on your hips as he thrusted into you from behind, the cool marble of the bathroom counter a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. Your fingers remained splayed across the smooth surface, gripping it for dear life as he drove into you with increasing fervor.
"Hnng! Hahh!" Your breathy moans and the obscene slaps of skin on skin echoed off the tile walls, mingling with his quiet grunts. You were lost in the moment, in the feeling of him filling you so completely, so perfectly.
The rest of the world fell away until there was only the two of you, moving together in a primal rhythm as old as time.
This was one of those rare times Yuji fucked you without a condom, so you were aware of the effect it had on him. But the same could be said for you as well.
You could feel every ridge, every vein as he stretched you around his substantial girth, filling you so completely that it almost hurt. But the pain, like always, blurred deliciously into pleasure, and you found yourself pushing back onto him, greedy for more.
The mirror had long since fogged over, the steam thick enough to blur everything except what was directly in front of you.
You watched as Yuji buried his face into the crook of your neck, his mouth latching onto your throat.
He sucked hard, his teeth and tongue leaving bruises in their wake. He smoothly licked a stripe up your shoulder before biting down, no doubt leaving a vivid bite where none could see.
The sight of his pink hair, the line of his jaw, the determined set of his shoulders as he took you sent a thrill down your spine. You could only imagine the look on his face, the expression of pure lust and desire as he lost himself in your body.
"Fuck! Yu-ji!" you gasped, fingers scrabbling for his hands on your waist as he hit a particularly deep spot inside you.
"That's it, baby." He murmured against your neck, his breath hot on your skin.
Suddenly, Yuji froze behind you, his hands tightening their grip on your hips.
"Oh shit." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Before you could even register his reaction, you felt his large hand clamping over your mouth, muffling your increasingly loud moans.
At first, you were confused, your eyes wide as they met his in the fogged mirror.
But then, a chill ran down your spine as you heard the distinct creak of your bedroom door opening, followed by the unmistakable sound of your grandmother's voice drifting through the bathroom door.
Oh shit indeed.
She was home, a lot earlier than she was supposed to be.
Yuji didn't pull away.
If anything, he closed the space further, your back pressed flat against him as you kept a hand over his that kept you quiet.
You could hear her moving around your room. The soft shuffle of her steps and the faint sound of something being set down.
"Are you in the bathroom?" your grandmother called out, her voice closer to the locked door than you expected.
You forced yourself to breathe through your nose, your fingers tightening against him as you tried to steady yourself.
Yuji releases your face, his hand barely drifting far as it comes to rest on your shoulder, his arm circling you around your collar.
"Dear?" Her voice comes in again, but you remain frozen in shock, heart beating rapidly as all you could think about were the worst possible scenarios of how this could go.
She voice called out again, more worried now.
"Answer her." You flinch as Yuji's whispers into your ear, proximity so close it felt suffocating despite the familiarity.
You were hyperaware of his cock still buried inside you as he slightly shuffled against you.
"Ye-yeah! Just in the bath." Your fingers gripped him hard, steadying yourself to keep your voice from giving anything away.
"Will you be going anywhere tonight?" She inquired with a tone that almost made you believe she was suspicious of something.
You were damn near trembling against Yuji, his hand patting your hip once to encourage the conversation.
"No. I'll just be chilling here. At home."
"Good. I need you at home today, dear. I came back for a bit but I need to leave again. I got called somewhere else for an emergency."
You wanted to blame your distraught mind for your observation, but you were sure that what you heard from your grandmother's voice was somewhere close to worry.
"Is...everything alright?" You question despite yourself.
"It should be. Don't make dinner, just order something for yourself." You heard her voice along with a little shuffling around the room.
Your worry only grew, wondering if Yuji had left something out that she might have noticed.
Meeting his eyes, it felt like he understood your distress as he just slightly shook his head, leaning his face over to kiss along your jaw.
"Y-you won't be home?" You continued to converse with your grandmother as it was your turn to cover Yuji's mouth due to his teasing.
He barely seemed worried now, confident that your grandmother had no clue about his presence. You turned your face to the side to properly look at him now.
"I don't think I will be. Don't keep your phone on silent, okay? And lock everything before you sleep."
"Okay." Your hand didn't move from Yuji's face, just continued to keep your gaze connected as he tilts his head slightly.
"Alright then, I'll leave now. Again, don't keep your phone on silent!" Her voice got softer with each word, indicating that she walked further away from where she was as she smoothly made her exit, her departure being marked with the thud of your bedroom door.
Your hand slid away from his face slowly, yet he didn't step back, didn't give you room to think, to breathe, to process what had just happened.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. And then you exhaled, your grip tightening again as the tension refused to leave your body.
"She was right there. We almost got caught."
"But we didn't."
"Did you leave anything out there? Where are your clothes Yuji?"
"I hid them under the bed. Like always."
"Right. Okay." You exhale harshly, running a hand down your face to wipe the cold sweat. Yuji palm brushes your hair away from your nape, then placing it flat and clutching your neck smoothly.
His other hand swiftly makes way between your legs, teasing your clit as you are made painfully aware of your walls still keeping him warm.
He pulls you back, feeling a jolt as he thrusts only once.
"Y-Yuji. Please. I...I just need a m-moment to think!" Your words are broken as his hips continue the movement, his hand gliding from your nape to you throat as he lays it flat.
His face comes closer yet again, nose pressed to your cheek as his lips brush your jaw.
"Do you?" He speaks against your skin, more confident now that he sensed Kugisaki was out of the house completely.
"Because it doesn't feel like it." He murmured, his voice low. Yuji's hand tightens around your throat as he starts thrusting harder, his hips slapping against your ass with each powerful drive.
"F-Fuck..." you whimper, trying to pull away but his grip on your throat keeps you in place. Your nails dig into his skin as you struggle to keep your balance.
Yuji was rubbing slow circles around the swollen nub, his hips never stop their relentless rhythm, driving into you over and over. You're lost in sensation, drowning in the feeling of him inside you.
Your mind goes blank, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. There's only room for the hot ache of his cock, the slick glide of his fingers on your clit, and the heat of his skin on yours.
You gasp, arching into his touch as jolts of pleasure shoot through you.
"Don't think," he murmurs, voice low and rough with lust. "Just feel."
Before the aftershocks can even settle, he was moving with a new purpose. He turns you around, his hands settling on your waist to lift your trembling weight. Without so much as a grunt, he hoists you up, settling you onto the edge of the cool bathroom counter.
The sudden change in temperature makes you gasp, but you barely have time to steady yourself before he is between your thighs.
He spreads you wide, his eyes dark as he takes in the sight of you flushed, messy, slick pussy.
As his tongue first makes contact, a sob breaks from your throat. He begins to eat you out with ease, his tongue gliding with precision over your sensitive clit.
The sensation is so sharp, so overwhelming, that tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
Then, he pushes deeper, his tongue plunging inside you, tasting the mix of you and his own cum that was still trickling out of you.
You cry out his name, your head falling back as you lose yourself all over again to the wet friction of his mouth.
You step out of the bathroom together, the air outside feeling cooler against your skin after a quick bath, almost jarring after the heat you had just left behind.
You didn't stop to think about it, walking straight toward your bed as you dropped to your knees and reached underneath, your fingers brushing against the fabric Yuji had shoved there earlier.
You pulled out his clothes without looking at him, tossing his pants in his direction before straightening up, leaving his hoodie on the bed. He caught them easily, already stepping into them like a routine.
You grabbed the first thing within reach, slipping an oversized tee over your head, the fabric falling loose against your body as you adjusted it absentmindedly. Neither of you spoke, but by the time you looked up, he was already moving.
Yuji walked past you toward the bedside table, reaching for his phone like it had been waiting there the entire time. Your brows pulled together tight, mood bordering on annoyance as you pushed yourself off the bed and took a step toward him.
"You left that out?" you said, your voice lower now but edged with something sharper than your usual tone with him. "What if she had seen it?"
He paused for a second, glancing at the phone in his hand before rubbing the back of his neck, his expression barely shifting.
"Didn't think she'd come back," he replied.
"That's not the point," you said, closing the distance between you.
"You can't just leave things like that lying around. What would we have done if she had seen it?"
You were vexed. Wasn't he supposed to be just as worried as you? Then why did it seem as though you had taken his half of the stress as well?
He didn't argue, but he wasn't stupid enough to deflect your concern. So, he just gave a small nod, his shoulders tensing slightly.
"Sorry."
A simple apology was all he offered, yet pathetically enough, it was enough for you to ease off him.
You exhaled quietly, softly pinching your nose to suppress the irritation. You had already been on edge after what conspired earlier, so this felt like a catalyst to your overtly anxious mind.
Despite it, you to step closer, your arms wrapping around him without much thought, your body pressed against his, your head settling against his chest.
He stilled for a moment, then his arm came up, resting over your shoulders, pulling you in slightly. His hold was steady and for a second, everything felt quiet again.
It felt nice. Normal even.
For the past few months you had come very close to asking Yuji of your place in his life, hoping to put some sort of title over what you shared. But, each time your throat would close up, choking on the question long before you could voice it out.
This time, you would say it. Just three words, and a hope for a grounding answer.
All you ever wanted to ask him was,
"What are we?"
Your heard your voice before your mind could catch up, pulling your face from his chest to gauge his reaction.
You tried to bury your panic, but you were sure even Yuji could feel the faint thumping within your chest.
You didn't even notice your breathing become frantic, only flinching to a stop when you felt his fingers touch your face, knuckles brushing against your cheek.
You couldn't, for the life of you, understand what was going on in his mind. And his face didn't show much either. He just seemed...stoic.
No shock, no panic, no sorrow.
A very tepid reaction for something that had been decaying your brain.
He took in a sharp breath, forming the words on his tongue. But just before your ears could catch his voice, his phone buzzed.
The sound cut through the moment cleanly, and you felt the way his body went rigid against yours, his arm freezing where it rested on you. The shift was immediate, making you pull back slightly, your hands loosening around him as he took a small step back.
"Yuji?"
Yuji did not respond. His eyes were fixed on the screen, something in his countenance tightening in a way you had never witnessed before.
He wasn't even trying to be subtle or hide it.
"Yuji?" you called out again, softer this time.
You frowned slightly, trying to turn your head and take a peak at his for so you could understand what had changed so quickly.
That was when he stepped back, breaking away from you completely as he lowered the phone, his jaw tense as he avoided your eyes.
"I need to go."
The words came out flat, one reminiscent to the tone you were very familiar with in the start.
It had taken you all this time to melt down a small part of his barrier, but now it was back just a quickly, hitting you like a barrel.
You blinked at him, the response catching in your throat as you watched him reach for his hoodie, pulling it on in one quick motion.
"Wait—what?" you started, taking a step toward him, but he was already moving.
He didn't halt for even a movement, and it was enough to indicate something very dreadful had happened.
He crossed the room in a few steps, heading straight for the balcony, and before you could say anything else, before you could even process it—
He was gone with a flicker.
You stood in the quiet of you room, hand stretched out towards the direction he once stood, before letting it fall to your side. You had no idea how to react to this situation, so all you could do was to lay in bed and let your tears lull you to sleep.
You sat across from your grandmother in the living room, the television running low in the background, though neither of you were paying attention to it.
She had her hands folded in her lap, posture relaxed, gaze fixed somewhere ahead while you watched her without meaning to.
It had been a few days.
The house had gone back to normal. Your daily meals were made, conversations were had, the same routine carried on without interruption, but something had dull had settled.
You felt it most when his name came up, or rather, when it didn't.
You had found out the reason soon enough.
An old friend of theirs had passed.
Hana.
You had gone with your grandmother to the funeral the next day, standing beside her through it all, listening to the conversations that drifted around you.
You had seen him there.
He stood there, apart from the others, close enough to be present, but distant so that no one tried to pull him into conversation unless necessary.
He hadn't seem to be expressing the same sorrow as the ones around him, though the way he had left you the night before made sure that this indeed had shocked him enough to leave him rattled.
When your grandmother approached him, he spoke to her, giving her the attention he always did. He never glanced your way, not while he spoke to her, not during the entire duration of the funeral.
He never looked at you. Not even a single time.
You had waited for it, longer than you wanted to admit, your eyes finding him more often than you meant them to, expecting something small, anything that acknowledged you were there.
It never came. He had left soon after his conversation with your grandmother without even a goodbye.
You sat there now, your fingers loosely intertwined, your gaze dropping for a moment before lifting again, settling on her as she reached for the remote and increased the volume.
"You friend...he hasn't come by," you said finally, keeping your tone even, casual enough to not draw attention to it.
She glanced at you briefly, then back at the screen.
"No," she replied. "He won't."
The certainty in her voice made your chest tighten slightly. You shifted in your seat, your hands loosening before settling again.
"Why not?"
She didn't answer immediately, but her thumb paused against the remote before continuing to surf through the channels.
"He said he wouldn't be attending funerals anymore." She said, her voice steady
You frowned slightly, the words not sitting right. Your gaze dropped briefly before you looked back at her, your voice quieter now.
"Did she mean that much to him?"
Your grandmother leaned back slightly, her expression thoughtful, as if she was choosing her words carefully.
"I'm not sure," she admitted.
"But they understood each other in ways most people wouldn't. Being a vessel, it changes how you see things."
She paused for a moment, her eyes shifting slightly towards you.
"And after Fushiguro..." she continued, her voice lowering just enough. "She was one of the few connections he had left to him. Losing that was very difficult for him."
"But the three of you were friends, were you not? He won't even come to meet you, now?" You ask, trying to be subtle.
"Who knows. Itadori has always been unpredictable, even more so as he grew stronger. Reminds me of our first mentor."
You nodded slowly, though the explanation didn't settle anything inside you. All you took from it was you might never see Yuji again.
Your grandmother was back to watching the television, but you didn't move. Your mind lingered somewhere else, caught between what you had been told and what you had seen, the absence of him pressing more than his presence ever had.
Later that night, you sat alone in your room, your phone resting in your hand, the screen dimming and lighting again as you unlocked it without thinking.
His contact name sat there.
You stared at it for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen, hesitating as you already assumed the worst.
There was no label for what you had. No place for you to stand beside him that made it feel right to reach out.
But you did anyway.
With a single message.
are you okay?
You stared at it for a second after sending it, your chest tightening slightly as the screen went still again.
There was no reply. Not that night, nor the next.
A month passed, though it did not feel like something that could be measured so cleanly. The days blurred into each other, slow and uneventful, while the nights stretched longer than they should have.
You found yourself lying awake more often than not, your thoughts circling back to him without invitation, replaying what little you had to hold onto until it lost its shape.
You cried more than you expected to.
It was quiet and solemn, and you let it pass through you when the house fell still and there was nothing left to distract you.
You did not question it or try to give it meaning.
Instead, you simply let it happen until, slowly, it began to ease on its own, time working it's wonders as it got easier to forget.
The weight of it did not disappear, but it turned into something light, something you could carry without thinking about it all the time.
By the end of the month, you had convinced yourself you were fine.
You stopped checking your phone as often. You stopped expecting anything from him. You let your days move forward without waiting for something that had already proven it would not come.
So when he did come back, it did not feel real at first.
There was no message, no warning, no attempt to ease into it.
He was simply there, standing in your room as if the past month had not existed, as if nothing had been left unresolved between you.
His presence filled the space like it always had, leaving no room to question how or why he had returned.
You looked at him, your mind catching up slower than your body did.
There were things you had held onto for weeks, questions that had built up in the silence he left behind, but none of them made it past your throat.
You knew why he had left, and that knowledge was enough to keep you from saying anything at all.
You started to speak, his name leaving your lips in one of the many ways it had over the past year, but none of them had ever sounded so devastating.
"Yuji..."
He stepped closer, closing the distance, and whatever you had been holding onto slipped away.
You did not stop him.
Everything you had pushed down over the past month surfaced all at once, as you held onto him, as you refused to pull back even when you should have.
The frustration he had caused, the confusion he had left behind, the quiet relief of him being there again, it all came crashing through you.
He met it without question.
He gave no explanation, no apology, no acknowledgment of the time that had passed. He did not offer anything to make sense of it.
And you did not ask for it.
You simply took him to your bed, letting his calloused hands strip you off your clothes, baring you of your body and soul, and he fucked you, carefully ignoring the latter.
By the time everything settled, the room had gone quiet again.
You laid there, your breathing slower now, your thoughts dulled by what you wished was peace, but knew better to be of exhaustion.
The balcony had begun to let in the first signs of morning, a faint light creeping in, marking the time neither of you had paid attention to.
Yuji moved first.
You watched him sit up, reaching for his clothes without looking at you, pulling them on with the same ease and lack of urgency he had during the early days.
There was no hesitation, nothing that suggested he had anything to say before he left.
You stayed where you were, your gaze following him without calling out,
You didn't ask him to stop.
Not when he hadn't even looked back.
Not when he spoke no words to you at his departure.
No goodbye. No message. No promise.
The only thing he left behind was his absence.
Like always.
A month turned into two, and then into something you no longer bothered keeping count.
Just like your grandmother had said, he was unpredictable.
He came back when he wanted to. Sometimes it was a month, sometimes longer.
Every time your grandmother was away, leaving the house empty for you, you would expect him to be there, the show up after depriving you of himself.
But somehow he always showed up when you least expected it.
There was no pattern you could rely on, no message beforehand, no explanation after.
He would appear in your room as if nothing had passed between the last time and now, and you would let him in without asking where he had been.
It became something you stopped questioning.
Until one night, you did.
part 4 coming soon...
modulo yuji collection [taglist open] {you will be tagged for all modulo yuji x younger reader fic}
all reason aside (this series) [taglist open] {you will be tagged for this series only}
As Titus Danforth's sugar baby, you don't know much of his secretive, wealthy lifestyle. But when he accidentally gets you pregnant with a potential Danforth heir, it's decided that you'll be joining the family. There's no manual as you're plunged into their world of extravagance and violence.
Chapter Summary: After finding out you're pregnant with his child, Titus must secure his family's approval in order to make you a unique proposal: Become the new Mrs. Danforth.
Tags/Notes: marriage before romance, established sugar relationship, also ft. ursula and daddy danforth, meeting the family, possessiveness & protectiveness, obscene wealth, predator/prey dynamic, brat!reader, piv, mating press, creampie, oral (f receiving), messy sex, edging, denial, spitting, mouth covering, titus lowkey whipped already
Content: pregnant reader, canon-typical content, a brief instance of body shaming
A/N: since I already posted most of what was initially chapter one as a teaser during my 3k celebration, i decided to be silly and give you a mega chapter one instead!
Word Count: 14.1k
Ursula Danforth slaps one perfectly manicured hand across her twin brother’s cheek. He doesn’t even flinch; he’d been expecting worse. “You’re so selfish. Stupid and useless like a child. Knocking up a sugar baby, of all things.”
Father paces across the large sitting room with a clenched jaw. Eventually, he stops in front of his son. “How dare you do this to us? Right before the most important hunt of this family’s life, too. I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible.”
Ursula sneers, “I believe it. This is what happens when a spoiled brat grows up. Poor baby Titus always has to have everything exactly how he wants. Probably never bothered with condoms because ‘it just doesn’t feel as good, sweetheart.’”
“Don’t be so crass, Ursula,” Father spits in her direction before returning to his son. “I assume you’ve communicated that abortion isn’t an option.”
“Of course,” Titus replies, keeping it curt to avoid a verbal lashing. Or a physical one, given the tension thick in the opulent room full of blades and guns. Father demanded the conversation be moved to the innermost room of the estate when Titus told them in front of a few members of staff. This sort of thing is best discussed in private, even with the most discreet staff money can buy.
The abortion discussion had gone better than expected, considering you told him you’d be keeping it before he could even get to the ‘my family would sedate you through delivery and then discard you before they let you abort a Danforth’ thing. He’d given you a line about supporting you however you needed in order to stall you while he discussed what to do with his family. Ultimately, your fate wasn’t his decision but a collective decision for the betterment of the Danforth name.
But Titus does, admittedly, dislike the idea of abandoning you. Despite your lack of status, money, or power, he feels an…affection for you. Similar to the affection one might have for an injured bird. He’d been raised to put creatures like that out of their misery, but your only brokenness was being part of the masses. That could be improved upon. So, to advocate for you, Titus swallows hard and offers, “This may not be a bad thing. Our family needs an heir, after all.”
“Not under circumstances like this,” Ursula scoffs. “You should marry advantageously. Within the seven families, at least. How could you even think-”
Father raises his right hand.
Silence falls.
“You may be right, Titus. We’re long overdue for a new generation of Danforths and neither of you seem particularly close to finding anything akin to a real relationship. Your mother would be horrified.” Father drapes himself in his authentic Jacobean austere velvet armchair in the corner, beneath a grand window he’s spent hours and hours ruminating out of through the years, especially since his wife died. Without looking at his son, he asks, “This…girl of yours: Is she good stock?”
Titus considers that. He imagines how very lovely you look obediently presenting yourself for him on the hotel beds where he’s taken you multiple times a week for the last six months, gazing up at him with reverent eyes and an innocent sort of expression that doesn’t necessarily match your occupation of choice. “I’d say so. She’s young. Pretty.”
Ursula rolls her eyes. “Of course.”
Father gives her a lethal gaze. “Don’t interrupt. This is important.” His eyes turn back to his son and he asks, “Her personality?”
“Sweet,” he answers right away. That’s the first word that comes to his mind. It’s the thing he likes most about you; you’re so, so far from everyone he knows. Kind and tentative and eager to find reasons to smile. The kind of girl who brakes for pigeons. After a moment of thinking, he relents, “A bit stupid, at times, but charming. Docile. I’ve never seen her disagree with someone.”
That seems to please Father. He doesn’t like women who fight back, even his own daughter at times. He probes further, “Does she have any family?”
“She’s estranged from her parents. No siblings.”
“Good. How about education?”
“She’s getting a master’s degree.”
“In what?”
“I don’t know,” he replies with a chuckle. “Something with books, maybe. I’m not usually with her for the stimulating conversation, Father.”
“Don’t be vulgar. Does she have a criminal history? Any connections in our world?”
“No. I vetted her thoroughly before selecting her as a…companion.”
“Boring. But that could be useful in its own way.” Father thinks it over as he watches the gardeners outside tending to the hedge maze across the pond. Winter is beginning to melt off the extensive grounds and they’re preparing for the glory of spring blooms. For vibrant fresh blood, too, in the coming months with the vernal equinox and other traditional celebrations fast approaching. He asks the final question, the only one that matters: “Could she be a Danforth? Or will we have to be rid of her once the baby is born?”
Titus thinks of your laugh, your ease, your total lack of darkness. It’ll be difficult to balance the reality of his world with you, but he’s intrigued by the challenge. With a steady voice, he admits perhaps the deepest secret of this whole situation: “I’d like to keep her.”
The tension eases at that. Keeping up appearances will be best. And if there’s one thing the Danforth family does well it’s keeping up appearances.
With the first smile of the day, Father stands, embraces Titus, and announces, “We can make this work, son. We will.”
Titus stiffens at the rare show of affection, trying not to reveal that he’s pleased with the decision. That would only show a chink in his armor. He would’ve handled the other option, keeping you in the dungeon as a toy of sorts until the birth, but it’ll be better for everyone if he has a wife and his child a mother instead of a nanny. “Thank you, Father.”
“She’s going to have to move in,” Ursula tsks as she, too, gives her brother a short but earnest embrace. “We can’t take risks with the baby.”
Father adds, “And there will have to be a wedding, of course. With all the families invited.”
“A wedding?” Titus gripes, “Isn’t it enough to just-”
“No,” Father interrupts. His fingernails dig into his own palms. “Just because you started this improperly doesn’t mean you’ll continue it that way. In two months’ time, before she starts showing, we’ll have a wedding.”
“Everyone will know it’s a shotgun wedding,” Ursula points out. “Even the most asinine of our associates can manage basic addition and subtraction.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Father insists. “It’s the 21st century. The baby will be born with its mother sharing the Danforth name. Nothing else matters.” He levels his gaze at Titus. “Go and tell her. I expect to see her moving in here before the weekend’s up.”
“Yes, Father,” Titus agrees, already taking his phone from his pocket to dial you. Before leaving the room, he takes a deep breath and says once more, “Thank you. I won’t disappoint you.”
Father gives him a wink. The thought of the first baby born to the Danforth family in four decades lifts everyone’s spirits. It’ll be a good change. “Careful, or you’ll make us think you like the girl.”
He expects you to make a fuss about it. Fully prepares himself to have to drug you, tie you up, kidnap you, and make it clear you don’t actually have a choice in the matter, as distasteful as that would be to him. At the very least, he anticipates resistance. For it to take more than one brunch. Modern women want careers, don’t they? It’s part of why he’s always sworn off girlfriends and dating in the standard sense. Ever since it became relatively acceptable for the elite, he’s strongly preferred paying for the company of simple, complication-free women procured by the family lawyers. He doesn’t want a girlfriend. He wants…a pet. A well-trained companion. Something reliable and reliant. A pretty, obedient creature to recline on the couch who makes no demands and listens with rapt attention to his every order.
So he’s pleased beyond belief at your reaction to his offer, outlined to you at your favorite chichi breakfast place in one of the nicer hotels downtown.
You gaze up at him over your streaming mug and ask bluntly, “What’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one,” he lies. Smooth as butter. “I want to take care of you and the baby and I have the means to do so.”
“You’d already be doing that just by paying me at the rate you already do. With my job and your payments, I can afford a comfortable life,” you point out. “But you want me to marry you. Move in with you. So I have to assume there are rules. Catches.” You take a sip of the caffeine-free tea he’d ordered for you, savoring the spicy and citrusy notes. The ginger helps soothe your stomach. “Look, you’re obviously very wealthy. And I know you’re not rich because of something…normal, if you don’t mind the word.”
Titus snickers, “Not at all. Go on.”
“Before you made us exclusive, I’d been with a lot of secretive, rich men,” you explain slowly, “but you don’t seem like most of them.”
The waitress approaches your table. Titus rattles off quickly, clearly annoyed at the intrusion, “We’ll both do the three-course menu. I’ll have the foie gras torchon with prosciutto and figs, the filet mignon as rare as you’ll serve it, and the caviar trio in lieu of dessert.”
The order doesn’t surprise you after countless meals spent together. His food is always expensive and tastes of life cut short.
The waitress gives you a warm smile. “And for you, darling?”
“Don’t call her that,” Titus says, curt and emotionless. “She’ll have the yogurt parfait with the pistachio granola, lobster eggs Benedict, and the baked apple strudel.” Then he gives you a glance that borders on affectionate. “And I’m guessing she’d also like the gelato flight after.”
“You spoil me,” you lilt with batting eyelashes. Then you tell the waitress, “And a ginger ale, if you don’t mind. Thank you.”
As she disappears, Titus’ typically flat expression transforms into one of concern, which you haven’t seen on him often. He observes, “Ginger ale. Ginger tea. Morning sickness?”
You sigh and confirm, “That’s been the theme of week seven.”
“Seven weeks,” he muses, sounding almost wistful. “Does that mean you’ll have your first ultrasound soon?”
“Monday morning,” you tell him with a tentative smile. “You can come, if you want.”
“I will. Definitely.” Titus sits up straighter and adjusts the sleeves of his charcoal-gray button-down, a nervous habit since his custom-tailored clothes always fit perfectly on his chiseled body. “You were asking about rules. Saying I don’t seem like most men.”
“Right, yes.” You touch his hand across the table and he lets you. Titus never asks for affection, but you know he craves it. Deeply. Otherwise he would never have sought you out in the first place. Sex is cheap; companionship is priceless. While rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb, you muse aloud, “You don’t brag about your money, which means you’ve always had it. It’s just a part of you; you’ve never been without it. Your schedule has too much freedom to be a doctor, you don’t dress like a lawyer, you’re too private to be a CEO or anything you’d want to peacock about, and you’re not annoying.”
He smirks at your analysis. “What does that rule out?”
“Tech bro. Anyone who works in blockchain or AI.”
“Smart girl,” he praises with a short chuckle. “What’s your theory, then?”
“Something dark and secretive,” you tease, clearly joking with the low, spooky voice like a Halloween recording you put on. He doesn’t react like it’s a joke, though. So, more seriously, you say, “Maybe private security? Something with weapons; I know you try to be subtle, but I’ve always seen your carrying a gun.” That pleases him; you’ve already noticed his danger and didn’t flinch away. “I doubt it’s really illegal, like drugs, because you’re so clean about everything. I mean, my main point of contact the first three months was your lawyer,” you remind him with a laugh. Then you lean forward and continue, “Regardless, I can tell you have the kind of life where you’re not just going to marry and whisk away the first girl you knock up without some rules.”
Sounding amused, he sips his expensive cocktail and teases, “I can’t just want to be an honest man for the mother of my child?”
“You can, sure. But that’s not you.”
“You’re right about that,” he concedes after a moment. With a deep breath, he sits back in his chair and tells you, “I wouldn’t call them ‘rules’ so much as, perhaps, guidelines. Expectations. I won’t force anything on you. And I won’t abandon you if you go against them.”
That’s a patent lie, but he doesn’t think you’ll defy him, so he keeps it to himself.
You cross your arms over your chest. “Let’s get down to it, then, because I can imagine worse fates for this baby and me than having a rich, handsome daddy to take care of us. But I want to know what I’m getting into.”
“Very sensible. I can appreciate that.” The first round of food arrives and he gestures for you to dig in while he begins, “Your first priority would be growing a healthy pregnancy, of course. Go to all of your doctor’s appointments, follow their recommendations to the letter. You’d quit your job. Continue your classes if you’d like, but you’ll need to cut out any unnecessary stress. You’d move into the family estate; you can decorate and rearrange our building however you’d like as the lady of the house. I don’t care about things like that.”
“What do you mean by ‘the family estate’?” You give him a teasing raised eyebrow; you’re the only person he allows to look at him like that. “You live with mommy and daddy?”
“My father lives in the primary mansion on the grounds, yes. Mother is dead. There are a lot of different outbuildings along the property; it goes on forever. I don’t even know how many acres anymore; the lawyers buy up adjacent properties whenever they go for sale. We’d be in my private house, which is further back on the estate.”
“Like a guest house?”
“An eight-bedroom guest house, but yes.” Without giving you much time to process that, Titus goes on, “You’d have some social responsibilities as my wife. My mother’s passed now, so you’d be the official host when our family holds events, which we do often. You’d just have to look pretty, though, which you’re phenomenal at already.” As your cheeks warm, he assures you, “We have a whole team to handle the planning side if you aren’t interested in those sorts of things.”
You give a timid smile. “I like planning and hosting parties. It’d be nice to have some occasions to show off all the fancy dresses you’ve bought me.”
That makes him smile. Really smile. Like he can see you slotting into his life. “Good. Great. Well, you can have as much or as little involvement in our social circles as you’d like as long as you’re willing to put on one of those dresses and sit next to me adoringly when needed.”
“So far, that fits my resume to a tee.”
“And, in that vein, there are certain standards of dress and, let’s say, etiquette, for lack of a better word, that my sister can help you with getting used to.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yes. Ursula.” He toys with his fork, hovering it over the decadent spread. “I suppose we still have a lot to learn about each other.”
“I’m an open book,” you retort with a cheeky smile. “You’re the one with the secrets. I don’t even know your last name.”
“Danforth,” he says quietly. Like it’s a secret. Maybe it is. “Titus Victor Danforth.”
“Very stately name.” You wrinkle your nose a bit. “Does our baby have to have a name like that? It’s hard to imagine calling a newborn Titus Victor.”
“We’ll agree on a name like any other couple,” he chuckles. “But, for the record, I have family with much worse names than Titus.”
“Like Ursula,” you joke, earning a conspiratorial snort. You nod and drink some more of your tea as you consider everything thus far. “So I have to learn to sit pretty and do tricks. Got it. What else?”
His voice darkens and so do his hazel eyes. “The most important thing is that you’ll allow me to keep you safe and protect you. Against anyone and anything. By any means necessary.”
Your own voice drops to a whisper. “You say that like I’ll be in danger.”
“Sometimes you will be.”
Not taking it all too seriously, you check. “But you’ll always protect me? And our baby?”
He puffs up his chest and insists seriously, “With my life.”
No matter who or what tries to get in my way.
You narrow your eyes at him. “And you’ll take care of everything financially?”
“Yes.” Zero hesitation. “Always.”
You don’t doubt he can keep that promise, at least. When you take on sugar clients, you make sure to have proof of funds before agreeing to any arrangements. Titus passed that test with flying colors; you’re sure there’s incalculable wealth behind the many, many zeroes you’ve already seen. He’s always driving around in tinted luxury cars, wearing suits by $10,000-a-piece designers, handing over heavy black cards for quadruple digit dinner dates with no dobut on whether they’ll clear.
With a tiny smile, you press, “And you’ll marry me?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Can I have a real wedding?”
“Here I was thinking I’d have to convince you of that,” he laughs. Something unfamiliar is knocking around pleasantly in his ribs. “Our wedding would be very, ah, socially significant. You’ll be impressed by the guest list, I’m sure.”
“Give me a teaser.”
“Let’s just say if a bomb were dropped on it, the world’s economy would collapse.”
“Yeah, alright,” you giggle. He’s looking forward to the day you realize he’s telling the truth on that matter. “So I’d be a wife. Hm, okay.” You jokingly tap your chin and squint like you’re really thinking hard about it. “Does that mean I’ll have to cook for you?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“How about cleaning? Laundry? I hate doing laundry.”
“That’ll all be handled.”
“So we’ll have…servants?”
Titus can’t help but notice the way you’re already saying ‘we.’ He doesn’t mind the sound of it; you’re right where he wants you. Needs you. “We prefer to call them staff, but yes, we do.”
Curiosity piqued, you press, “How many?”
He starts running through the mental rolodex; the estate’s goings-ons don’t interest him much, so they’re at the periphery of his mind. “Full-time, on-site staff? We have three chefs – one in each house’s kitchen, of course – and an estate manager who oversees a handful of groundskeepers, gardeners, and housekeepers. There’s an incredibly effective security team. Part-time? Lawyers on retainer, naturally. And we have connections for anything you’d want. Ursula has her tennis coach and her pet pool boy. Father has his favorite mixologist and, ah, massage therapist. I’ve got my golf caddy as well. Each of us has our own driver, but you’d probably share mine a while. That’s a high-trust position; I’d want to personally hire yours for the safety of the baby. You’d also have your own personal assistant to help with whatever you need day-to-day. And you’ll be in charge of hiring out any childcare support you want, when the time comes. Nannies, tutors, those sorts of things.”
“Wow.” Your fork is stuck mid-air. “So you and your family are…rich rich.”
His lips curl up slightly. It’s nice to be around someone who isn’t used to snapping their fingers and having whatever they want in moments. Charming. “That would be a fair assessment, yes.”
Titus notices a selfish, almost cute little shimmer lighting up your eyes as you ask, “So I can have whatever I want?”
He cocks his head to the side and considers that. What it might mean to someone who didn’t grow up in the world he did. “Within reason.”
Your eyes narrow. “How about a car? Like a really ridiculous one – a neon yellow Lamborghini?”
Almost offended at the idea, he scoffs, “A car? Of course you can have a car. I thought you were going to say something ridiculous like an elephant.”
You pout and cross your arms playfully over your chest. “So you’re saying I couldn’t have an elephant if I really, really wanted one?”
Feeling indulgent beneath your delight, he sighs dramatically, “I suppose I could reopen and repurpose the stables for the mother of my child.”
“The stables?”
“My mother loved horses. We were raised on dressage but never really took to it. When she died, my sister and I-” let those wretched horses free and hunted them with arrows “-decided not to keep up the responsibility.”
“Could I have a horse?”
He almost winces at the memory of countless on-site animals becoming casualties in the family games, intentional or otherwise. Still, because it’s important, he relents, “If you want, sure. I don’t see the appeal, but you’ll have whatever hobbies make you happy and keep you occupied.”
“Don’t worry; I hate horses. Just curious.” You can tell he’s amused by your version of an interrogation, so you go on, “Will you still take me on dates?”
That puzzles him. Do you like these dates with him? He’s always assumed you just see him as a paycheck, which he doesn’t mind, but the idea of a real relationship does tantalize him to a certain extent. So he says, “If you’d like that. I do enjoy your company, after all.”
“And sex whenever I want?”
A laugh punches out of him. They’re rare from Titus, so it makes you grin, too, for a second. He rolls his eyes and nods. “Of course; that’s one of my favorite parts of your company.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to give that up with you, considering the, ah, quality.”
Blush tinges the apples of his cheeks and you know better than to point it out. Titus has never been shy about his sexual prowess, but he also grew up in a family where it’s not acceptable to talk about those things over brunch. Titus clears his throat and checks, “What else do you want to know to decide?”
“To recap, I’ll be fed and housed and safe and spoiled beyond my wildest dreams?”
He nods, pleased. “Exactly.”
You bite your lower lip and ask, “But what if something happens to you? I’d be giving up all my independence and relying on you. I don’t want the baby’s security depending on whether or not you’re around for us.”
He doesn’t assure you that nothing will happen to him the way you’d anticipated. Instead, he admires your practicality. You can tell his life is dangerous, but you aren’t flinching. “You’ll be written quite handsomely into the family estate. Above my sister, actually, since you’ll be the mother of an heir. That’s permanent, even in the event of death or divorce.”
“An heir?” You almost choke on your food. “You’re not royalty, are you?”
He laughs, “Not in the sense you’re thinking of, certainly.”
Softer and more seriously as you consider the implications of everything said so far, you touch your lower abdomen and ask him, “Will our baby be safe?”
“Safer than you’ve ever been in your life here in the ‘real world,’” he says with actual sarcastic finger quotes. Then he squeezes your hand, meets your eyes with a new kind of warmth in his, and affirms, “I swear that nothing will ever harm our children.”
You smirk and tease, “Didn’t realize we had more than one on the way.”
He shrugs modestly. “I always liked having a sister.”
“And I always wished I had siblings.”
“Sounds like you agree.”
You let out a sharp laugh, the ridiculousness of the conversation hitting you at once. This is the kind of arrangement people agree to in the dark romances you read when you’re ovulating and here you are actually considering it for the rest of your life. After a minute of eating and thinking, you tell him, “I just have one more question.”
“Anything.”
“Will you love me, Titus?”
He takes his time thinking about the answer, which you appreciate. He isn’t just going to tell you what he thinks you want to hear. Honesty is more attractive to you than his silvering curls or glass jawline, though those definitely do it for you. Always have.
You’ve wasted a lot of time on men who lied to you, who strung you along, who took advantage of your lack of security. As strange as it may be, the thought of someone being very clear about their expectations and giving you everything in return has an appeal after all of that. You’d never have to worry about the things that currently absorb 90% of your time again.
You’ve finished your dish by the time Titus collects his response. Slowly and carefully, he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses each finger; you can’t stop the fluttering of your heart in response. Titus murmurs, “You may have to teach me how, bunny.” Gradually, he meets your eyes and offers, “If it matters, in the time we’ve known each other, I’ve already grown quite-” he struggles to find the word; you wonder if he’s ever been given ones for this variety of feelings “-fond of you. Which is unusual for me.”
A smile blooms over your lips. Relief punches Titus in the gut and he’s not so sure why. You take your hand from his and press it gingerly to his silver-scruffed cheek. “Fondness will do.”
“Are you sure about this?” Your best friend, Natalie, asks for the fiftieth time as you finish packing your suitcase. Titus had arranged for professional packers, movers, and cleaners for your entire apartment over the weekend, so all you had to do was pack for a long weekend. “It just seems a little fast to me.”
You shrug and try to brush it off, “I’ve known him for six months already.”
She balks, “As a client.”
“Well, unplanned babies tend to rush relationships,” you cut back. “It’s not like he’s a murderer or something; he’s just a rich guy who needs company. Plus, look at these pictures he sent me.”
You unlock your phone and toss it to her where she’s rifling through your closet, taking her turn to pick over it since you’re going to be switching to maternity clothes soon enough and, it seems, designer after that. Natalie scrolls through the grand Danforth estate and her mouth slowly falls open the same way yours did when Titus showed you. Water features both natural and man-made, meticulously maintained flower gardens, a hedge maze, marble sculptures around the grounds. Not to mention the interior. He’d only sent pictures of his residence on the property, which was styled minimalistically compared to the opulence elsewhere, but you could already imagine outfitting it exactly how you want.
Natalie scoffs, “Are you serious? I didn’t even know places like this still exist. Are you sure this isn’t all, like, a catfishing scheme and he’s just going to lure you into the woods and keep you chained up in a cabin or something?”
You roll your eyes and tell her, “After he made the offer, he showed me everything on his iPad. Titles, holdings, all the legal stuff. I guess his great-great-times-a-million grandparents built half the trade infrastructure in America and then used the money for real estate and investments and now they just have mega money. He told me that there are a lot of families like his that have old money managed by lawyers that’s just accruing more and more money by being in banks.”
She raises a curious eyebrow. “So he doesn’t have to work?”
“Sort of.” You try to explain to the best of your understanding, paraphrasing from the spiel Titus gave that you admittedly kind of zoned out during, “Since his dad retired, he’s got a seat on the board of basically every company in the country, so he has a lot of meetings and travels a lot.”
Natalie changes into one of your dresses and inspects herself approvingly in the mirror. “Does that mean your baby is gonna have to be a boring businessman?”
“Or boring businesswoman,” you laugh. “This one’ll be the oldest, so they’ll have responsibilities, yeah.”
“The oldest?” Her eyebrows go up again. “You and gramps are having more than one?”
“He’s not that old,” you start, a bit more exasperated now, “and he’s going to be my husband. If I want more kids, who else would I have them with?”
“Jesus, you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“You’re here pilfering my closet, aren’t you?” The intercom buzzes by the door and you tell her, “Finish up; that’s my ride.”
“Is that him? Mr. Moneybags?”
You peek out the window and see the dark-tinted black Rolls-Royce idling in front of the door. The white-gloved, black-capped chauffeur who’s driven you around a handful of times before stands by the passenger side with his hands linked in front of himself. You mutter, “No, it’s his driver.”
“His driver? Damn.” Natalie takes the things she wants off their hangers and starts to walk you out. “When do I get to meet this guy, anyway?”
The two of you take the stairs together and you suggest, “At the wedding, I guess. Two months or so.”
Natalie scoffs and shakes her head. “Two months to plan a bachelorette party for a pregnant bride.” She squeezes you into a tight, warm hug. “It’s a challenge, but I’m up to it.”
“I know you are,” you giggle. “I can have the driver drop you off somewhere, if you want. I’m sure Titus wouldn’t mind.”
“No, thanks; I’ve got a job interview right up the street.”
Natalie insists on bringing your suitcase down the stairs, setting it on the stoop and scampering away before she has to ‘pretend to be fancy in front of one of your servants.’ As she disappears around the nearest corner, you wave and smile at the driver, hopping off the raised entry to meet him by the road. “Hi, Chip, thanks for coming to get me.”
“Good morning,” he says warmly. He hefts your luggage easily into the trunk and assures, “It’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Danforth.” At your curious look, he explains before you can question, “Master Danforth instructed all the household staff to refer to you with your new title so you get used to hearing it.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Master Danforth?”
Chip cracks a rare conspiratorial smile. “The usual title for the eldest son while his father is still alive. His father is Sir Danforth, but I’m sure you’ll call him Father like Titus and Ursula do.” He opens up the back door for you and assures, “It’s a lot to get used to, but you can ask any of the staff for help with anything.”
You slide onto the smooth leather, lowering the partition between the driver and the back, which Titus never does. As the car leaves the city and starts the winding path into the countryside, you glance at Chip and pose, “I’ve wanted to ask before, but now that I’m gonna be family I think I’m allowed to know: How much do the Danforths pay you?”
Surprised by your frankness, he just laughs, “More than enough.”
“C’mon, you can tell me,” you lilt like you’re doing a heist together. “I can dig it up anyway; Titus says I get free rein of the whole property.”
“Really?” Chip chuckles under his breath. “You must be awfully special to him.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Not even Miss Danforth has full access to the entire estate. Their father mainly stays in the front house these days, too,” he explains, “so Titus must think highly of you to allow you unsupervised access.”
You joke, “Or he’s lying to make me feel safe and thinks I won’t meddle.”
Chip glances at you in the rear view mirror, no joking in his expression. “That’s also a possibility.”
You chew on that for a second and then press, “That doesn’t mean you get out of answering me, by the way. If I’m marrying into a family where the staff are underpaid, then-”
Chip almost wheezes out a laugh, caught off guard by the assumption. “I suppose I shouldn’t let you think that about your future husband.” He takes a long breath and explains, “Discretion is expensive. Security is expensive. And loyalty is priceless. I’ve worked for this family since Titus started high school and needed his own driver. Most of the staff have been with the Danforths for a decade or more. I’m sure the hiring process for your personal employees will be rigorous – background checks, security clearances. My starting salary was $80,000. By year ten, that had doubled. I’ve never had to ask for a raise; my salary just gets silently adjusted at the start of the year. Especially since Titus took over the family’s management, their generosity has been staggering. If you include all the above and beyond benefits – he pays for my daughter’s private school tuition outright, covered every penny when my wife went through chemo a few years back – and the bonuses, it has to be about a quarter million by now.”
You let out a low whistle. “Jesus.”
“Security all makes twice that,” he goes on as he pulls the car off the main road through a massive automated iron gate. Your skin prickles at the knowledge of getting closer. The view is shrouded by thick trees, making the whole estate feel hidden. “Trust me: You’re surrounded by the most loyal, discreet staff in the world.”
You huff out half a laugh. “Should that make me less nervous?”
“Nothing to be nervous about,” he lies lightly.
As the car finally breaks through the trees, the magnificent grounds come into view and the air leaves your lungs. You press your forehead to the glass to get a better view of the property. At the base of the grand front house with its storied old stone and hand-carved Grecian details being devoured by brilliant green ivy, you see the unmistakable shape of Titus in one of his usual charcoal gray suits, strong and broad in a soldier’s stance. He’s waiting at the bottom of a staircase which opens onto a large half-circle drive that reminds you of something out of The Princess Diaries. A man you recognize as a member of his security detail flanks him; you’ve only spotted him at the periphery before, lingering at the entrances of the restaurants Titus takes you to or waiting in the lobby of hotels. He makes a point of being unnoticeable, but you make a point of rarely letting your guard down.
You hear the gate shutting behind you, a thud instead of a click. Deep. Final.
Stopping the car a few feet from Titus, Chip slides out, opens your door, and smiles earnestly. “Welcome home, Mrs. Danforth.”
The moment you’re out of the car, Titus is lifting his arm for you to slip into, which you do.
“Hello, darling.” Titus loops his hand around your lower back and pulls you close enough to smell his brisk, masculine aftershave. He plants a chaste, claiming kiss to your forehead and then holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Nervous,” you tell him sheepishly. Before he can jump on that, though, you add, “Nausea hasn’t been too bad today.”
He nods slowly, examining your expression carefully. “I’m glad. Let me know if that changes; you can have whatever you want whenever you want now that you’re here.”
“I’m still waiting on my elephant,” you reply lightly, leaning up onto your toes to kiss him.
He hadn’t been planning to let you kiss him in front of any staff, but he’s pathologically unable to resist you when you look so soft and so ready to submit to his plans for you. Your wide eyes are longing for reassurance, for steadiness, for him to produce the scaffolding of your new life together. When you step back down, he cradles your face and teases, “All in due time, princess.”
Then Titus gestures for his bodyguard to step forward. Up close, you can see pockmark scars over all the skin visible around his dark sunglasses and black-on-black suit. There’s also a feathery brown bruise on his jaw and you can’t help but wonder if he got it in the line of fire, so to speak. Titus introduces, “Smith, my personal security detail, will be yours while I hire a new one.”
You cut him a sideways look. “You don’t need your own security detail in the meantime?”
He gives you a cocky, handsome smirk in return. God, he’s devastatingly beautiful when he’s like that. The ruler of his domain. “I can handle myself, bunny.”
You needle, “Then why have one in the first place?”
“I like to be underestimated,” he replies easily. Not wanting to let you dwell on the implications of that, Titus continues, “Smith will check any and every room before you go into it and then remain stationed by the nearest door. He’ll also do some personal training with you on the family security protocols to make sure you’re prepared.”
You swallow hard and nod, extending your hand toward the bodyguard. “Good to meet you.”
Smith glances at Titus, who nods briefly. Only then does the security guard shake your hand – once, firm, quick. More scars over his knuckles. “It’s an honor, ma’am.”
You gesture between them with a suspiciously pointed finger. “What was that?”
A smirk flickers on Titus’ mouth. You’re too observant for your own good and he hates how much he likes it. So he explains honestly, “Nobody is allowed to touch you without my permission.”
You narrow your eyes. “And if I give them my own permission?”
You can’t.
My word is law.
A chill goes down your spine at the possessive darkness in his eyes. You might have your own security guard now, but there’s a level of safety above that, one that only comes from being under the protective wing of Titus’ unyielding power.
Titus chews on his response a moment and then amends, “Male staff are not allowed to touch you unless it’s an emergency.”
You tsk and tease, “Jealous, jealous.”
“You really shouldn’t talk to me like that,” he admonishes, but you know it’s more of a contradictory plea. Titus craves being challenged as much as he hates it. He can’t tolerate it in business or from family in case it’s perceived as weakness, so he yearns for it from you, the one person who has no desire to actually challenge him. With a shake of his head, Titus dismisses Chip and then says, “I’ll give you a tour of the central grounds and our home. Then I have to go out on business for the afternoon before dinner with my sister and Father in the main house. In the meantime you can get settled and play.”
You laugh, “Play?”
“Whatever it is you want to do to entertain yourself,” he replies with a hand wave and a shrug. “Explore the grounds, interrogate the staff, snoop around all the places you shouldn’t.”
You offer a small conspiratorial smile. “Sounds good to me.”
Then Titus does something new and unexpected: He threads his fingers through yours. You get the sense that he’s practicing behaving like a normal, convincing couple. But you still notice that his palm is slightly clammy. Nervous. Titus Danforth gets nervous about holding a pretty girl’s hand for the first time. Cute.
For half an hour, he guides you around the few acres of land that sit between the three main houses, which are in a U formation. There’s a hedge maze that he warns you not to go into unless you have a few hours to kill, a drone to map it out from above, or a helicopter on standby. Then a tennis court (“you can page our trainer from the gate”) and a pool that’s half inside and half outside (“heated, of course, with a hot tub attached”). At the center of it all sits a series of fountains with emotive sculptures captured in such vibrance you’d believe they come alive at night.
“The tableau of Artemis and Actaeon,” Titus explains as he points out the features – a beautiful nude woman in a righteous stance with a bow raised, a muscular stag fleeing, a hoard of gnashing dogs tight on its heels. “Actaeon wandered away from his companions and found the virgin goddess Artemis bathing when she didn’t want to be seen. To punish him for breaking the boundary between the mortal and the divine, she turned him into a deer and sent his own dogs after him.”
You study the series of sculptures, water running down features like blood, and ask softly, “And your family liked that story enough for this whole water tribute thing?”
Titus chuckles and explains, “Artemis is sort of the Danforth version of a patron saint.” His hand drags slowly, pointedly down the center of your back until you shiver. “Goddess of the hunt. She’s a good omen for the family.”
“Goddess of the hunt,” you repeat curiously. “Interesting.”
He raises an eyebrow and starts to lead you toward the second largest house on the left side of the property. “Is it?”
You snicker and match step with him. “Most families go for, y’know, saints of unity, love, that sort of stuff.”
“She’s also the patron and protector of women and children,” Titus adds on the walk through the rose garden that leads to your new home. “And she chooses when to bring wellness or illness. She’s a good woman to have in your corner.”
You give him a coy sideways glance and muse, “I’ll try not to piss off her statue, as then. I want to stay on the good side of anyone who’s going to protect me and TJ.”
“TJ?”
“Oh, yeah, the baby,” you giggle far too adorably to be allowed on the deathly quiet Danforth Estate. “I’ve been calling him Titus Jr. in my head to try to get used to all of this.”
Something you haven’t seen before glitters in his eyes at the comment. “You think it’ll be a boy?”
“It’s too early for me to even think it’s real,” you reply with a soft laugh. “I can’t believe we’re going to actually hear the heartbeat on Monday.”
“I can’t wait.” He gives your hip a little squeeze that feels much more relationship-y than he usually gets. Then he gestures proudly at a large swath of empty land. “Welcome to the final stop of our tour before the house.”
“It’s, um, lovely,” you offer as you gaze at the undeveloped ground, parts of it divided up with unintelligible spray paint marks. “I’ve always wanted a half acre of empty space. My dream.”
“It’s going to be a space for the children,” he explains with something close to softness in his voice. Like he’s scared you’ll reject the sweet idea from a man you know mostly to be harsh, biting. “I thought…Well, I thought it might be nice for them to have a playground, a splash pad, those sorts of things. The property isn’t very child-friendly; there hasn’t been a baby here in more than forty years now. Time to change that.”
Your heart grows about three sizes at the thought. Titus isn’t just inviting you into his life; he’s carving out space for your shared future. “If you didn’t have anything to play with here at home, what did you and Ursula do for fun as kids?”
“We didn’t have fun,” he almost scoffs. You can tell the memories behind the sound are painful but far away, like reaching through a broken chain link fence. If he pulls back, the pain will become real. “My parents were-” Titus searches for the right word a while before deciding on one that’s close enough“-severe. Dour, often. They thought children should be trained and disciplined, not raised. Father thinks the idea of cherishing a child is the same as spoiling them.”
You shrug and give his hand an affirming squeeze. “I guess they got what they wanted; you’re successful, clearly. Driven, strong, powerful.”
“But not fulfilled,” he murmurs, only loud enough for you to hear. He wouldn’t want the staff knowing his feelings. He takes his hand and rubs your back almost absently, like a nervous habit. With a sideways glance, he labors out, “I think being a parent should be about giving your children more than you got. But I got everything. Always. So what can I give to my children, who will have more than they’ll ever need?”
“A space to play,” you finish for him. You lean up on your toes and plant a kiss on his scruff, unable to conceal the smile that comes at Titus talking about fatherhood so softly. “You’re going to be a great dad.”
He blinks hard a few times. His organs feel like they’re in the wrong order, but it’s not unpleasant. Winding his fingers with yours once more, he almost smiles. “You really think so?”
“Wouldn’t have agreed to all of this-” you gesture to the ridiculous property all around “-if I didn’t. I’d kind of figured being the softie would be my job, but I’m happy to share the load.”
Titus downright pouts. “I am not a softie.”
You nod toward the grass and lilt, “The evidence to the contrary is pretty compelling, sweet pea.”
“That’s too far,” he sighs, suppressing a laugh, “even for you, my little terror.”
As you approach Titus’ house – your house – Smith steps out in front and opens up the ornate wooden door. There’s a golden, roaring lion’s head knocker that clicks slightly as the door swings open to reveal the marble foyer. No amount of pictures Titus texted you could do the place justice. Every detail is strikingly opulent from the golden chandeliers and Italian marble checkerboard floors to the sheer embroidered curtains and high ceilings.
The only thing you don’t love is, well, Titus’s taste. You wrinkle your nose as he shows you through the sitting room and dining room. “You really like black and gray, don’t you?”
He watches you inspect his living space. It’s been a very, very long time since he’s had a woman here. At home. “They match everything. It’s easy.”
“I guess,” you mutter, running your hand over a black leather couch that’s smooth and cool beneath your fingers. You point out, “It’s a little cold for a family. I can’t really imagine a baby toddling around, can you?”
“No,” he replies honestly, “but that’s why I have you. I’d like you to change it all so it’s…warmer. Hire a designer or pick out everything for yourself, whatever makes you happiest.”
As your eyes rove along the under-decorated hallway toward the living wing, already imagining how you might redesign the space, you ask him, “And how would I do that? Will you give me a check or something?”
Titus rolls his eyes and laughs. “A check would imply a budget and supervision; I don’t want any part in it unless you truly think my input would be valuable.”
“That’s hot,” you laugh. “More men should act like that.”
He hums, amused, and then reaches into his jacket, removes a sleek wallet, and hands you a heavy black card. The Black Card, you realize as you stare down at the centurion engraved on dark steel. “That card is yours for whatever you like. You’re already an authorized user on the account; I had the legal team take care of that. It auto-pays every month and I won’t even look at it, so I better not catch you overthinking your spending habits.”
“Ooh la la,” you say, taking the card from him and turning it over in your hand. You’re more than familiar with money, even his money, but it’s never been yours to spend however and whenever you want. No budget, no restrictions, no instructions. It feels almost like getting your first car; that shitbox meant freedom. Your eyes go to his and you ask, “What’s the limit?”
Opening up one of several bedroom doors, he tells you like it isn’t even interesting, “It’s NPSL.” You swallow hard. No Preset Spending Limit. Before leading you inside, he turns around and gives you a mischievous smile. “In fact, there’s a minimum. To maintain our status with the company, you’ll need to spend $350,000 a year on that card.” He smirks at your open-mouthed shock and muses, all cocky and coy, and touches the tip of your nose affectionately. “Can you do that for me, princess?”
“Are you joking?”
“I don’t joke often.”
You balk, “What would I even spend that kind of money on?”
He laughs out loud. “Ursula could spend that much in an hour; I’m sure you’ll find something. For example, where have you always wanted to buy jewelry from?”
You bite your lower lip and reply, “Tiffany.”
“Right, of course. I got you those earrings for Christmas,” he remembers fondly, especially fond of the mind-numbing orgasm you’d ridden out of him wearing nothing but said diamond earrings. “Any time you want, you can take your cute little ass downtown to the shop and get everything else from that collection. Better yet,” he goes on, taking his phone from his pocket and sending a few texts, “I’ll get an appointment for you at their flagship in New York and you can use your fun new card on some first-class tickets for you and a friend and buy out the damn store just to show off.” Before you can roll your eyes and scoff out a response, he presses his index finger to your lips, kisses your forehead, and coos, “You’re filthy rotten rich now, kitten, you’ll have to discover ways to act like it. Now, may I continue my tour?”
You give him a giggly mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
He debates jumping on it but bites his tongue, trying to keep a modicum of self-control with his regular staff lingering nearby. So he takes a breath and leads you through the open door into a vast, relatively blank bedroom, leaving Smith stationed outside. He tells you, “Until we’re married, you’ll stay here in one of the guest rooms. Anything else would be inappropriate.”
You nudge him with your hip, a little too confident. “Inappropriate like all the kinky premarital sex we’ve already had?”
In response, Titus grabs you hard by the waist, flipping you around and pushing you against the nearest wall, hand behind your head. There’s a caution to his touch, though, and it steals your breath away. He’s certain not to be too rough with you. He cups your face in one large hand and studies your features intently. Your eyes widen as you look up into his stoic hazels, finding something dark and unreadable in them.
And then he kisses you. Deep, serious, claiming. Your knees go weak as he presses the curve of your spine, pulling you as close as possible to his body. It feels like a warning more than an act of affection. When he pulls back, he gently touches the tip of your nose with his pointer finger, drawing out a smile, and tuts, “You’re going to have to learn not to talk like that in front of others. It’s bad form.”
“No sex jokes in front of the posh folk,” you tease with a serious nod. “Got it.”
“Good girl.”
“You shouldn’t call me that if you want me to behave.” With embarrassingly warm butterflies taking flight in your stomach, you push out your lower lip and give him your best puppy dog eyes. “I really have to sleep alone?” You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, leaning your weight on him. “In an unfamiliar place?” You drag your lips up his rough neck and suck his sensitive skin, smiling to yourself when he draws in a sharp and wanting hiss. “With my big strong fiancé all the way across the house?”
Titus gives a low chuckle, looking at you like a puzzle. He traces his finger up your neck and along your jaw until he reaches your chin, tilting it upward. He turns your face from side to side, examining you, and you shiver from the intensity. His lip twitches at the corner. “Would you really prefer to sleep in bed with me? Why?”
You take his hand in yours and guide it down to your hip. His other hand instinctively follows and they roam around to your ass, which you arch out to be more enticing. He follows by squeezing your flesh and grunting softly under his breath. You ruck your hands up beneath his shirt and rake your fingernails over his abs until you feel him tremble ever so slightly. On your toes, you whisper against his ear, “I get cold at night.”
Titus sucks in a sharp breath when you take his earlobe between your teeth and nibble ever so slightly. He leans his head back and groans, “Mmm. You’re too powerful for your own good.”
“Just powerful enough.” Then you nibble your lower lip, avert your eyes, and add bashfully, “And I might need you.”
His brows furrow in genuine confusion. “Need me? For what?”
You shrug and try not to sound too vulnerable. “I mean, I’m pregnant. What if I wake up and something’s wrong?”
Titus sets his jaw, considering that. He brushes his thumb over your cheek and studies one of the many emotions he doesn’t have much experience with: Worry. Lowering his voice, he assures you, “Nothing’s going to go wrong. Not if I can help it.”
With a sad little smile, you reply, “Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t stop me from being scared of complications. Or worse. I don’t want to have to wonder where you are if I wake up afraid.”
At that, he nods solemnly, takes your hand, and starts leading you to the opposite wing of the house. He may not experience anxieties like that, but he understands that his job is to quell yours. “Come on, then; I’ll show you our bedroom. Don’t tell Father; he wouldn’t understand.”
Your eyes narrow. “Will you get in trouble if he finds out?”
“Yes,” he says with a dark humor in his tone and a glint in his eyes. “He’d put me in time out and take away all my favorite toys.” He’d have one hour to hunt me while I remain unarmed. Titus presses a kiss to the center of your forehead. “Don’t worry, bunny; I can handle myself. Handling you is what I’m worried about.”
As he pushes open a set of opulent double doors, you poke his firm shoulder and protest, “I’m a perfect angel.”
“Precisely my concern.” As you step into the suite, he raises a silent hand to stop Smith from following. Closing the doors, Titus strides to where you’re admiring the space, wide eyes greedy over the California king, the floor-to-ceiling windows with grand velvet curtains, the massive his and hers closets. “I know it’s plain right now; I don’t have much of an eye for taste – except in women, of course.”
You smack him lightly on the arm. “Flatterer.”
His deeply ingrained instincts urge him to flip your arm around, pin it behind your back, twist you into submission. But then you smile at him and it’s so warm and open and trusting and earnest that he almost smiles back. “Only for you.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” You traipse into the adjoining bathroom suite and gawk at the oversized soaking tub, practically its own pool with jets and a head rest, and add, “I get the impression you have to flatter a lot of people in your world.”
“They have to flatter me,” he corrects. You feel his hand on your back and catch sight of him watching you in the large mirror above the double vanity sinks. His first finger trails up your spine and he smiles when you shiver. “And soon they’ll have to flatter you, too.”
“If they have to suck up to you, and you have to suck up to me,” you muse, turning around into his arms, “does that make me the boss of the whole world?”
Titus cradles your face in one hand. His expression is completely and totally confident as he tells you, “I spent the first thirty years of my life watching my mother snap her fingers-” he punctuates it with a click of his own “-and get whatever she wanted from whoever she was speaking to. She commanded attention, power, money. Everyone listened when she spoke. She was the only woman – person – my father ever acquiesced to or listened to. Nobody on earth has more power than Mrs. Danforth,” he finishes, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “and very soon that will be you.”
For a second, you’re breathless, taking in the intensity simmering in his eyes. Then you avert your gaze a second, swallow hard, and look back at him with your usual mischief. “Mommy issues much?”
Rolling his eyes dramatically, Titus swats your ass and laughs, “Father is going to hate you.”
With a raised eyebrow, you needle him, “You say that like it might actually be a good thing.”
Titus confirms, “Being hated by my father is always a badge of honor. He can’t stand me.” Then he takes your hand, leads you back to the bedroom, and sits you down on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. “Now, I have to leave for some business before I introduce you to the family tonight, but I do have one thing I need to give you in the meantime.”
“A welcome home gift?”
“Something like that,” he replies, walking over to his bedside table and removing a black velvet box. He kneels in front of you, your legs on either side of his shoulders, and your heart starts to pound. As he opens it to reveal the ridiculous ring inside, he begins, “Now, bunny, if you want a proper proposal with a string quartet or a sunset on the beach, I’ll do that, but for-”
“Titus, shut up,” you whisper. “Is this…for me?”
Your eyes are glued to the ring. You’ve never seen anything like it. Clearly it’s an antique piece; the metalwork and stones have been meticulously maintained and show a high level of craftsmanship. The large center diamond is black – an almost surreal color, both drawing light in and flinging it out, seeming at once opaque and transparent from different angles – and surrounded by a halo of small pearls and diamonds set in fine platinum. It’s not eye-catching so much as jaw-dropping.
Your heartbeat thuds and whooshes in your ears as Titus removes the ring from the box and takes your left hand in his. You splay your fingers to give him better access.
“My great grandfather had it made for his wife and my mother held onto it for me to give to mine, not that she believed I’d ever find one. It won’t be the most expensive piece in your collection, but it’s the most precious and rare to our family name.” Titus slides it onto your finger and then kisses the skin just above it, his lips softer than you’ve ever felt. He holds your hand in his and urges. “I never want to see you without it.”
“I should take it off to shower and sleep,” you point out absently, still staring at the ring. You flick your eyes up to his. “And I assume you’d still like to see me those times.”
“I’m going to have to start punishing you for all this flirting, you know.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a promise?”
He shakes his head and lets out a sharp, amused breath. “Oh, you’re in for it now.”
In the next breath, Titus smirks and lifts you easily, tossing you up onto the bed. As you shriek out a laugh, the plush fabric and thick mattress catch you like a cartoon cloud. Titus pounces on you like a panther while you’re still getting your bearings, hiking your skirt up around your waist and yanking your panties down hard enough to rip the elastic. You don’t complain; for every pair of your underwear he’s ruined, Titus has always gifted you five more from nicer shops.
His fingers circle your clit hard and fast, working you up frantically, and you know exactly what his game is. It’s one he plays often and well. You’ve got no choice but to enjoy the expert way he touches you, months of knowing how to get you off and bring you down painstakingly memorized.
Then, as you expect, the very moment your walls start to clamp down, Titus stops all touch and slaps your clit hard. The sting rockets up your spine and you gasp. Your thighs shake and he laughs at your mewling.
Before you can even start to think , he pulls his shirt off, casts it aside, and crawls onto the bed next to you. Then his middle two fingers are on your clit again and his lips lock onto yours and you’re moaning and whining and hoping, hoping, hoping he won’t-
He slaps your clit once more and you nearly knee him with the force of your body’s reaction. He stills your leg with a smirk and coos, “Careful, princess, you’ll pull a muscle. Can’t have that.”
You challenge him with narrow eyes. “Then how about you pin me down and fuck me so I don’t squirm?”
“So goddamn greedy,” he huffs. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today.”
“I wonder whose fault that is.”
You watch, mouth watering, as he takes off his belt and slacks. You even notice the brief hesitation as the leather belt runs over his fingers; you’ve been known to beg for a whipping with it on more than one occasion. But he’s being gentle with you – for Titus, at least. He returns to you on the bed with a wolfish gaze, spreading your legs apart and admiring you for long enough to make your breath hitch. When you feel the tip of his swollen cock nudging at your entrance, it’s with a toe-curling gentility that makes your body sensitive.
Titus always thrusts into you agonizingly slow, no matter how worked up either of you are. He savors the little flutters and twitches that come with filling your pretty cunt millimeter by breathless millimeter. Once he’s seated inside of you, feeling the way your hips instinctively roll back into his and how your cunt is clamping onto him like it needs reassurance, Titus presses his thumb to your lower lip and orders, “Beg.”
And even though you’re having to actively hold back from squirming and moaning, you know he loves the chase, so you grip his curls tight and reply, “Why should I?”
“God, you fucking brat.” He spits on your face and you lick it off your lips, never dropping his eyes that trace your movements. “If you won’t beg for what you want, then I expect you to stay there and take whatever I give you.”
Your eyes widen in a mix of lust and fear, right on the primal line that Titus so loves to play with. One of his hands goes down to cover your mouth. There’s a millisecond where his eyes flick up to yours, asking permission, and it’s gone as soon as you give an imperceptible nod. When you and Titus fuck, your minds run parallel to one another; the same temptations and ideas call both your attention.
Once his salty, heavy palm is clamping your mouth shut, Titus fucks you like he needs. Your pleasure becomes entirely secondary to him; he only touches your clit because it amuses him to watch you squirm and kick and writhe, unable to speak or moan or do much of anything besides take it.
When he hikes your legs higher, working you into a full mating press that lets him fuck you hard and deep, your eyes roll back and your moans turn into squeaks. His thumb continues its strumming on your clit as you start to shake from pleasure. He purrs, “There we go.”
And then he cums.
Unannounced, unplanned, unrepentant. He pulls out and gives your thigh an affectionate pat.
You grab his hand and wail, “No, no, no no no nonono! Titus!”
He lifts your fingers to his lips and kisses each one softly, “Didn’t I say this was a punishment? You have to learn to behave yourself.”
You lean back, raise your arms above your head so that your tits are on beautiful display, and look up at him like an innocent, needy puppy. After a beat of charged silence where his eyes ravish your body, you say the one word you’re always careful to withhold from him until the right moment: “Please.”
Above the bed like a god, Titus gazes down at you, panting and disheveled and leaking his cum. He tsks and sighs, “How am I supposed to punish you when you take me so well?” Then he drops to his knees, hooks his arms beneath your legs, and tugs you to the end of the bed as if you weigh nothing. “When you’ve done everything I’ve asked without complaint?” He slides two fingers into your sopping cunt, curling them toward himself and grinning when you arch your back and whine out in pleasure. He nips your inner thighs with his teeth and rests his free hand on your lower abdomen, over your womb. Leaning toward your wrecked pussy, he murmurs at last, “When you’re carrying my child? I couldn’t possibly deny you.”
And he descends on your swollen, aching clit. The taste of his own cum mixed with your juices drives him wild. The taste of his ownership. After all the edging, you’re mere moments from tumbling over the precipice.
He doesn’t make you wait any longer.
He growls into your cunt as you spasm around his fingers, the orgasm burning up your spine and boiling beneath your cheeks. Your back arches and he refuses to let you stop cumming, keeping his tongue just as firm and fast as you punch into overstimulation. It’s so good it borders on painful and that’s what he loves the most. The moment when you cry out his name and try to push his shoulders back because it’s just too much and only he can finally release you.
Your chest heaves as you collapse back onto the bed. Titus slowly withdraws his fingers from your pussy and licks them clean, drunk on the taste of the two of you becoming one. You can’t talk or think as you rest the back of your hand on your forehead to cool it down. After a few moments of breathing, you smirk up at him and tease, “I knew you’d cave, you big softie.”
He kneels over you again. “I assure you it was completely selfish; making you cum strokes my ego.”
“Mhmm. Whatever you say.”
Titus tuts out a chuckle and checks his watch before swearing under his breath. After a searing kiss that gives you the sense he wants nothing more than to start a second round, Titus sighs, “Three hours as my live-in trophy wife and you’re already making me late.”
You nip his collarbone. “Bite me.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He holds your chin and orders gently, “Ask Chip to take you downtown. Designer district. Buy an outfit that makes you feel perfect and be home in time for dinner at six.”
At 5:58, Titus knocks on the door of his own home with a bouquet of white roses. He can already imagine you rolling your eyes at his display before Smith opens up the door on your behalf. Titus is pleased to see that you let him open it without argument, already beginning to accept having others watch out for you.
You step into the moonlight and Titus hands off the flowers to Smith, who falls back behind you. For a moment, Titus is at a loss for words. You’ve always made a point of dressing up and looking beautiful for him; that’s a part of your arrangement, a part of the business of being a professional sugar baby. He’s even paid for you to get plenty of lovely pieces to add to your wardrobe.
But this?
You’ve spent the handful of hours since he left (and attended several excruciating meetings) pampering yourself into a state more akin to divinity than humanity. He may not have the eye for fashion that his sister does, but he can easily identify the trappings of a woman feeling confident about herself: Freshly French-tipped nails, sleek high heels with a thin strap around your ankle, makeup subtle and feminine. The burgundy halter dress hugs your curves, the silk crepe just structured enough to be formal but swinging enough to be sweet and flirty.
He wants to devour you.
And when he kisses you hello, he makes it obvious, dipping you far backwards and gripping your hip like it owes him money. He can feel the designer quality of the dress, soft as butter, under his fingertips. Then he rakes his hands up your thighs and growls against your ears, “I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you in the one situation where I absolutely have to.”
You give him a modest twirl and ask, “You really like it?”
With his hand on your lower back, Titus guides you toward the main house and purrs, sounding both proud and possessive, “You look perfectly at home in luxury, kitten.”
You try to quell your nerves as you walk up the marble steps to the back entrance of the home, where Smith opens the large glass doors to usher you both inside. Unlike Titus’ – and your, you have to keep reminding yourself – house, the main house is opulently designed, drenched in old-school grandeur. Everything is antique, hundreds of years old, in dark woods and rich silks. It’s more like walking through a museum than a home.
When Titus brings you into the grand dining room, you can see just how well his father and sister match the decor. Thin, severe, expensive. His sister is drop-dead gorgeous in a very ‘90s leading lady way while his father has the sort of face and demeanor usually reserved for stereotypical evil wizards or vampire counts. Titus has to push you into their eyeline when you find yourself shrinking beneath their stares.
Mr. Danforth and Ursula both stand to greet you but don’t move otherwise. Titus takes a deep breath and announces, “Father, Ursula, I’d like to introduce the future Mrs. Danforth.”
Father offers you his hand first, but you’re clearly not supposed to shake it, so you just present your own. He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your skin softly. “How lovely to finally make your acquaintance. My son has sung your praises extensively.”
“That’s very sweet.” You bite your tongue despite how easy it would be to tease Titus because you know for a fact he never would’ve mentioned you to them at all if it weren’t for the baby. You stick with a polite albeit slightly stiff, “Mr. Danforth, it’s an honor to meet you.”
Titus’ gentle, affirmative pat to your arm almost makes you laugh – the situation is too weird for words – but you still hold back. It’s a truly herculean effort not to point out how otherworldly this whole thing is. You haven’t exactly met people who just reek of power and status, their presence so effortlessly commanding that you want to laugh so you don’t cry or hide.
Then it’s Ursula’s turn with you. She doesn’t shake hands, doesn’t hug, doesn’t even speak for a solid thirty seconds. You can feel Ursula’s eyes on every inch of you, dissecting and analyizing. It’s like she’s trying to see through your skin or maybe telepathically peel it off your bones. You’re holding your breath until she finally says, “You’re very pretty.”
“Thank you.” Swallowing hard, you force a wobbly smile and tell her, “You look stunning, exactly like I expected from how your brother talks about your fashion sense.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Please; Titus wouldn’t know fashion sense if I smacked him over the head with it. And I’ve tried.” Before you can try to come up with any possible response, she gestures to your dress and asks, “Where is this little number from? It looks appropriately expensive for the occasion. A gift from our Titus, I assume?”
“Um, yes, he sent me shopping today.”
She gives you a pitying sort of smile and squeezes your forearm in a way that feels truly predatory. “He’s always so generous with his playthings.”
Titus clears his throat. “Ursula.”
“I’m just teasing,” she laughs without any humor. Then her narrowed eyes return to you. “Really, though, where did you find a dress like this in our dingy little city?”
You smooth out the fabric and tell her, “It’s, um, it’s Yves Saint Laurent.”
“Looks like something I would wear.”
You try on a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I told Chip to take me somewhere you would shop.”
“Maybe I’ll go and pick one up in my size,” she muses, still scanning your body for every flaw, which you’re suddenly painfully aware of, coming up with brand new insecurities every second her focus moves. “I’d ask to borrow it, but yours would drown me.”
Titus cuts her off sharply, “That’s enough.”
She pouts at her brother. “Don’t be so sensitive, ducky; I’m sure she can-”
“No.” You’ve never heard Titus’ voice as stone cold and commanding as when he tells her, an order and a punishment, “Never speak down to her. Never.”
Ursula rolls her eyes and plops herself dramatically in one of the oversized dining chairs. She pouts and says, “Fatherhood is already making you so boring. Now I’m going to have to weaponize her against you so I have someone to complain with about how boring you are. Sigh.”
And dinner goes just about like that.
Mr. Danforth unabashedly interrogates you about your life, your family, your history. Ursula critiques your answers. Titus snaps at them both when they push too far. You just try to hold onto your fork and sneak bites of decadent food in between the family bickering. You can tell there’s a kind of affection entirely foreign to you in the way they jab and dodge each other’s barbs. The way rich people talk to each other – all subtext and speed – is surreal to listen to. Eyes rolled about memories in St. Barts and arguments over clients in Aspen; it’s like they’re speaking a different language from the one you learned growing up.
By the time you’ve finished pretending to like flan because you’re terrified of being rude, they seem to have hashed out all their regular arguments, everyone beyond ready to leave the rest alone. Titus can tell you’re getting overwhelmed by their equally intense presences fighting for dominance, so he slides his hand protectively onto your knee and announces, “I think we’ve kept my fiancée awake late enough, haven’t we?”
Ursula pouts, leaning across the table and snatching your left hand into hers for examination. “You already gave her mother’s ring and I missed the grand proposal? How tragically unromantic.”
Father sighs, “They’re doing things a touch out of order, darling.”
“I wouldn’t want an extravagant proposal anyway,” you manage to squeak out. “A nice private moment between the two of us was perfect.”
“Ah, so she’s the one making you boring,” Ursula laughs. Then she lowers her gaze and adds, “If you don’t like extravagance, you may be marrying into the wrong family. Your wedding guest list is already 250 people long.”
“I’m definitely looking forward to all of it,” you assure as you desperately try not to sound either meek or ungrateful, “but Titus is being kind enough to ease me into the waters. Trust me: The beautiful estate and stunning, personal ring made as much of a statement as any proposal.”
Father smirks at you with a pleased satisfaction that seems to surprise Titus and his sister. “What a diplomatic response. My daughter will be lucky to learn from your decorum.”
As Titus stifles a laugh, Ursula stands up dramatically from the table and reminds him, “I’m literally a diplomat, Father. Try telling the people of Monaco that I’m anything but diplomatic when I personally broke ground on the country’s latest arts center.”
“That was for optics,” Titus cuts back, adding under this breath, “unlike my work in Geneva.”
Ursula brandishes her knife like she might really use it on him, making you gasp gently under your breath, and that’s when Father officially clears his throat and stands with a curt, “I think that’s enough family time for one night.”
“I completely agree,” Titus replies, rolling his shoulders before he stands up. After pulling your chair out and guiding you to your feet, he says, “We’ll see you both at the Governor’s Ball on Saturday.”
Titus shakes his father’s hand at the end of dinner and, once again, you have to remind yourself not to tease him. Thankfully, it’s a surgical extraction from there and Titus has you walking back toward your house in no time.
After Titus dismisses Smith for the night and arms the extensive home security system, he meets you in the primary bathroom, where you’re unclasping your jewelry and examining yourself in the mirror. Titus must’ve had someone on staff put away your things because your bedtime skincare routine is laid out on the countertop. Before reaching for any of it, you bite your lip and ask Titus, “Be honest: Did I do okay?”
He comes up behind you, slipping his strong arms around your waist. “You did great. I’m only sorry Ursula was so very-” he struggles to find the right word “-Ursula.”
“I expected worse,” you tell him with half a smile. “I didn’t expect you to stand up for me, though. To your sister.”
“Ursula is the family the universe gave me. She’s my best friend and my closest confidant – and she’s a nightmare. A hellion.” Titus kisses your forehead and gently touches your stomach. “You’re the family I’m choosing. That means you come first, button. I’m not going to have my children watch their father sit idly by while their mother is insulted. I’m practicing setting a good example.”
You stand up on your toes and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Titus runs his hands up your spine and fiddles with the halter tie at the back of your neck. “Now let’s get you out of this very lovely dress so you can sleep. Do you need a back rub? Some ginger tea?”
You raise an eyebrow as you slowly take out your cleanser and reusable cotton rounds. “Are those real offers or are you teasing me?”
“Real offers. From either a masseuse I can have here in fifteen minutes and our chef or from me personally.” He tugs the dress down your body, guides you to step out of it, and discards it in the bathroom hamper like you didn’t pay $3,200 for it a few hours ago. “No funny business, just relaxation and rest, especially well earned after spending a few hours with my family.”
“I could probably tolerate a foot rub before bed,” you giggle as he kisses across the tops of your shoulders.
“Go on, then.” He strips off his own shirt and makes quick work of his belt and slacks, too. Looking deliciously sturdy in just his black boxer briefs, he leans against the bathroom doorframe and says. “Finish getting un-ready and come lie down with me, princess. I’ll make sure to get you nice and relaxed before bed.”
“You want me to do my whole bedtime routine topless?”
“I’ll grab you something from your closet,” he offers, frowning a little because he admittedly does like the idea of watching you traipsing around with your tits out. When he returns with a tank top and silky shorts, he notices you still haven’t started taking off your full face of makeup. Too knowingly, he strolls into the bathroom with the pajamas and asks, all low and teasing, “Are you nervous to take off your makeup in front of me?”
You toy with the damp cloth, studying him in the mirror, and admit, “A little. And not just the makeup.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and laughs, “I’ve seen you naked, kitty.”
You scoff, “Naked and made up with at minimum highlighter and mascara. Or in very manicured outfits.”
He offers, “I’ve also seen you in pajamas before.”
“Lingerie,” you correct. “You don’t really think I sleep in slutty little negligees and teddies, do you?”
“A man can dream.”
“Well, if you hadn’t noticed, typically you rip those off me, fuck me unconscious, and then leave before my actual bedtime routine,” you reply, poking him in his hard chest. As you tug on the tank top and shorts, you go on, “I usually wake up around midnight, get room service on your tab, and sleep in my ugly sweats since you never spend the night.”
Clearly amused by the whole thing, he presses, “Are you worried I’ll rescind my proposal to the mother of my child because you aren’t a model in your sleep?”
“I don’t know!” You huff and glare at him, knowing full well you’re being hormonally dramatic now. “This is all very new to me, Titus. I have to wear a four-figure dress to dinner and go to the fucking Governor’s Ball, I guess, but I still have to be me at bedtime? All while figuring out how to be your fiancée and not just your sugar baby? It’s weird.”
Titus closes the space between you, each step stern and confident. He takes the makeup removal pad and cleanser from you, gently lathers the cloth, and starts to work it over your face without saying a word. Titus says the most when he's silent. Right away, you melt beneath his touch. His totally sturdy gaze. Quietly, he relents, “It’s a lot. I know that. You don’t have to come to the big social events right away; we can start smaller than the fucking Governor’s Ball.” He smiles when you crack one of your own. “If you aren’t ready to jump right into being my wife, there are plenty of other bedrooms you can stay in and have your own space.”
“I don’t want my own space,” you whisper back. “I’m just scared of taking up too much of yours, I guess. Or not fitting into your life the way you expect. Of being Mrs. Danforth correctly. Not looking expensive enough or beautiful enough or-”
“Quiet now,” he interrupts, words harsh and clear but tone nothing but warm. “Do you know what I want from Mrs. Danforth?” Titus finishes wiping your face of its mask and then examines your products and selects your moisturizer. He massages it into your face and neck with fingers so tender you could cry. When he’s finished, he holds your face in one large hand and murmurs, “I want you to sit by my side and sleep in my arms. You. We have the rest of our lives to work out the details.”
For the first time, you feel the real you slip out in front of Titus. No flirting, no pushing, no hiding. All you can manage to whisper is, “Thank you.”
He gives you a soft kiss and then goes on, quiet but urgent. “As for worrying about your appearance, you have never been lovelier to me than you are right now,” leading you to the bed and sitting you down with your feet in his lap, he finishes, “because you’re mine. And that’s the most perfect thing you can be.”
Some Corbeau Relationship HCs bc I’m obsessed I fear 💜
I’m obsessed with this silly short king sir I love you just one chance you won’t regret it
* A very doting but busy boyfriend hehehe
* He’ll spoil you absolutely rotten. Gets you anything you ask for, and then some. If you’re not the type of person to ask for things, he still gets you presents anyway so. Sorry.
* All of his gifts are thoughtful and typically useful. Supplies for your hobbies, makeup, accessories, mugs, etc. whatever your poison is he gets you the best quality he can find.
* Not all his gifts are extravagant, sometimes he’ll pick up a coffee or tea from your favorite cafe and have it in the office if he knows you’re swinging by that day.
*Very nonchalant about giving you the gifts either way.
* Not a huge PDA person, but he does like holding your hand when the two of you are out. Something subtle, that shows you’re both taken, without the need for you being all over him or vice versa.
* When you’re in private, he’s always touching you in some way. A hand on your thigh, or an arm around your shoulder.
* He likes to pepper kisses up your hand and around your shoulder blades and neck, almost idly.
* Ideal dates for him are more intimate and private. He wants to focus on you. He usually pulls strings and gets private reservations for candlelit dinners. He is plenty content with inviting you over to his townhouse for dinner too, ordering in your favorite foods or even cooking for you.
* Late night walks are another option he likes.
* Unfortunately, typical dates aren’t as often as either of you would probably like, as Corbeau is a busy man. Still, he does what he can to make time for you.
* If you want, you’re more than welcome to come sit in his office while he works, there’s plenty of couches after all.
* If he doesn’t get to see you, he prefers to call you for at least a few minutes during the day. Getting to check in on you, and hear your voice, soothes him, and makes it easier for him to get through his day.
* He likes to pretend you’re not in his every waking thought, but you are.
The brain worms are so bad I’m posting back on tumblr again hi yall 😛😛🤠 to be fair I never left I’ve always been lurking
It didn’t take long for the grunts to notice that your brief visits to their boss didn’t just lift his mood; they improved the ENTIRE atmosphere of the building for the better.
After you stopped by, Corbeau seemed much more relaxed, no longer wound tight like a spring. His posture loosened; his shoulders no longer hunched, and during loan negotiations, he was noticeably more lenient with his so-called “clients.” The workload he handed down felt lighter, too, and he even thanked his grunts for a job well done, rather than treating their competence as something merely expected of them.
Naturally, the grunts wanted to take advantage of this, though they knew better than to try to keep you hostage. Corbeau would have their heads for that. So they settled on a compromise.
After persuading you to let them borrow your perfume or cologne (offering to buy your lunch for an entire week), they began discreetly spritzing the Syndicate office before his arrival.
Everyone waited with bated breath as Corbeau stepped through the dual glass doors, already scowling as if bracing himself for the day’s workload, greeting everyone with a stiff nod. However, before pressing the elevator button on the side panel, he paused. His nose tilted upward as he sniffed the air once, then twice, before his body gave way to the familiar scent.
A moment passed, then the scowl eased into something softer. As the elevator doors chimed open, Corbeau stepped inside, turning to face his grunts and offering them a brief smile. “Let’s keep up the good work,” he said as the doors slid shut, descending to his office.
And oh, how MASSIVE the sigh of relief was from the grunts; if it weren’t for the Rust Syndicate’s soundproof walls, surely it would’ve been heard all across Lumiose...
Sumarry: Corbeau's mood improve when you pay a visit
Ao3
Divider by @saradika-graphics
Tags: neutral reader, post game credits, pokemon legends za, short stories
Notes: Heads up this is my first time writing him, yes I finished the game and this dialougue had been in my head for a long time and kept wondering about it. Hope yall enjoy, will work on those spicy smut or anything ;)). Btw, this isnt much proof read.
"The Boss's mood seems improve whenever you pay us a visit."
You don’t truly grasp the significance of Philip’s words until you experience them firsthand. Every visit to the Rust Syndicate brings a noticeable change in Corbeau’s demeanor. His mood seems to brighten just a bit whenever you step through the threshold, a small spark igniting behind his usually guarded gaze.
Your schedule is chaotic. Between battling in the Z Royale and helping Mable with her extensive research, your free time feels more like a luxury than a reality. Mable, despite her overwhelming workload, appreciates your assistance as you work alongside Paxton and Harmony to expedite her projects. Meanwhile, at the hotel, you’ve transitioned into a crucial supporting role, becoming the right-hand man to Urbain and Taunie, the energetic twins who run the operation with an effortless charm.
As you enter Corbeau’s office, your Pokémon trotting faithfully by your side, you are greeted by a slight smile playing on Corbeau's lips. It’s a rare expression, one that transforms his serious demeanor into something warmer.
He motions for his grunts and men to prepare tea and an assortment of snacks. These moments of small talk and leisurely exchanges are like brief respites from the world outside, each one punctuated with laughter and shared stories. Occasionally, Corbeau breaks the routine and challenges you to a Pokémon battle—a welcome distraction, one you can’t refuse, especially coming from the head of the Syndicate himself.
But what if you chose not to visit?
When you’re absent, Corbeau's mood takes a downward turn, becoming noticeably more agitated and irritable. He’s not a cruel man—in fact, his empathy shines through when things get tough, even if he occasionally lets his frustrations slip, snapping at his men and grunts. On those days, he might mutter about not feeling well or lament how his mood has spiraled downward.
Your visits do more than provide him with company; they help keep the shadows at bay. In his own way, Corbeau relies on the connection you’ve built, and it’s easy to see how your presence can bring a flicker of brightness to his otherwise complex world.
It's not that he’s overly worried or anything, but he does occasionally find himself wondering what you’re up to amidst your hectic schedules. He has your number saved in his phone, and while he could text you at any moment, he hesitates to do so. He doesn’t want to come off as demanding or overly eager for your attention like a lilipup begging for attention.
Instead, he sends his grunts to keep an eye on you from time to time, gathering updates. It gives him a sense of connection, even though he feels that familiar pang of loneliness whenever you’re not around for a visit. Still, he understands that when you find a moment in your busy life, you'll make the effort to come and see him.
One day, while you’re out conducting research, you glance up just in time to see Philip running toward you, clearly out of breath and a bit panicked as he reaches your side after you exit Wild Zone 8. His forehead is glistening with sweat.
“What’s up?” you ask, tilting your head slightly to get a better look at the big man.
“Will you be visiting the boss later?” he asks, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “It’s not a demand, but he’s... been having some issues with his mood lately."
“Oh,” you respond, letting out a small chuckle as you wave him off. “Don’t worry, I’ve already planned to visit him."
Philip returns your smile, albeit weakly, and without saying another word, he jogs away to give you some space. As he disappears into the distance, your phone buzzes, and you quickly check it to find a message from Corbeau.
The Toxel cried in your arms as you attempted to bounce if again.
Your plans to surprise your boyfriend with a pokemon may have gone away. Toxtricity had seemed like an interesting choice for him. It shared his preferred poison typing and reflected a certain cool head that he would enjoy. Instead, you learnt the pre-evolution was quite a needy sort. There was no way you could give him the pokemon.
“There, there,” You spoke to it, rubbing it's back gently. It sniffled and nuzzled its head above your heart. The action was far too cute. Kissing its head, you wondered how long it would take for it to evolve. He would more so appreciate it when it was capable of battling, rather than whatever it currently was. “You're pretty cute,” you felt that the pokemon was definitely playing on any nurturing instincts you had. The blanket you kept it swaddled into helped to keep it calm as you headed back to the hotel.
A trip over to Paldea had not been overly time-consuming, but you had been gone for a few days. Lumiose had hardly changed as you stepped back in from the station… Except that a familiar face was standing there waiting on you.
Right. You had not told Corbeau about your sudden impulse.
Philippe stood beside him alongside a few grunts. You felt a bit nervous as he approached. His face was unreadable. Clutching the Toxel tighter, you held your breath. “… How…?” he asked. You looked up at him. “Did… Did you adopt a child? Why didn't you say anything?! You have to talk to me about things like that!” He was clearly upset now, but he kept his voice controlled. Was he being mindful of what he thought was a baby? “… Let me see 'em,” he stepped closer, “I… I have a right to.” You let him.
The Toxel stuck its tongue out at him when he predicted back the blanket. He blinked. The pokemon let out a cry and nuzzled into your chest. “… I wanted to get a pokemon to gift to you,” you explained, “You probably don't want them like this, but I'll gift them after they evolve—”
“… No, I think—” he stood up straight after cutting himself off, “I accept this gift. How thoughtful of you. Any challenge, I will rise to.” You gently offered the Toxel to him. He took them with an extremely careful hand. The pokemon began to tear up, but before it could reach its loud cries, he comforted it with surprising familiarity. It settled in his arms, resting against his shoulder. A smile came across his lips, yet it disappeared when he turned to face his organisation.
“… Philippe, get a car,” he ordered, “We're heading home.”
His glance back at you made it understood you were part of the we in that situation.
~
You fought back laughter at the sight of the terrifying criminal boss holding the Toxel in his arms as it sucked on a bottle. The pokemon was still too young for solids. It was just you both in your living room. He watched the pokemon eat with an oddly gentle expression. It was then you remembered something important.
“… I forgot you like kids,” you spoke as you sat down beside him. He shot a glare at you.
“That's irrelevant,” he narrowed his eyes, “… They will simply be a good team member.” The soft expression he had when wiping away the excess liquid from Toxel's face told you otherwise. “Thank you,” he glanced back in your direction, “… I hope you know you'll be helping me care for 'em.”
Your reply was to lean over his should as Toxel nuzzled into your shared mammalian warmths.
No one in the Rust Syndicate would say a word when he showed up with the Toxel in a sling on his person the following day.
One day reader shows corbeau kpop and he Unironically loves it, like hes working with the most serious face known to man and "catch catch"-by yena (my personal fave) is blasting in his airpods so loud phelipe can hear it.
OH I LOVE THAT SO MUCH AKSJFHDKJFH I do think Corbeau would have the most unexpected taste in music in the world, especially with how diverse it'd be. He'd listen to absolutely everything, trying to see as much as possible and make up for the lost time during his childhood and youth where he didn't get to do it.
Also, Philippe getting into kpop through that too. Hearing it so much from Beau's airpods that it gets stuck in his head and then he starts looking it up, and now they both love it.
You’re busy saving the city, but Corbeau has other things on his mind… Like how he may never get another chance to confess his love to you.
This fic contains: POV 2nd person, gender-neutral reader (they/them pronouns are used like one time). Love confessions, teeny bit of angst, fluff. Light spoilers for the endgame, nothing major.
Word count: ~1.6k
Why did it have to be you? Why were you the only one who could stop this?
Everything was a mess, Corbeau thought. It was complete chaos in every corner of Lumiose. Wild Pokémon were Mega Evolving left and right, and in the middle of it all was… you.
It wasn’t that he doubted your abilities. He knew firsthand of your battle prowess. Besides his own failures to defeat you, he had watched many other trainers lose to you in a fight. He believed wholeheartedly that you were the top trainer in the ZA Royale.
And yet… he still worried. He worried that you would be hurt.
You were out there now, somewhere, fighting your way towards Prism Tower. There were so many things that could go awry… rogue Pokémon, damaged infrastructure… Corbeau could only hope that you were safe and well, and that you would reach him soon. Only then would his nerves settle.
Ever since he had met you, he had been utterly swooned. It was pathetic, really. A man such as himself, the leader of the Rust Syndicate, reduced to a flustered mess whenever you so much as looked his way.
You had no idea of this, of course. No idea of how he felt about you.
Perhaps that was why he was so worried. He couldn’t stomach the possibility that you would be gravely injured tonight, before he had a chance to confess his feelings to you.
He tapped his foot on the ground, the sound echoing throughout the empty shopping plaza in which he stood. His Scolipede tilted its head.
He sighed. “Don’t worry, Scolipede. I’m sure they’ll be here soon…”
Corbeau pulled out his phone and contacted Philippe. But before they could talk much, some rogue Pokémon decided to make their entrance into the plaza. Luckily, there were only two… a Mega Gardevoir and Mega Gallade.
As if summoned, he was relieved to finally see you trot into the opposite entrance. You were out of breath, but otherwise appeared to be uninjured.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said to Philippe. “Our favorite do-gooder just came to the rescue.”
He tucked his phone away as you took your place at his side.
“About time you showed up,” he said.
You bent over, hands on your knees, breathing heavily.
“I’m sorry, Corbeau…” you panted. “It’s pretty rough out there… Thanks for waiting for me. I appreciate your help.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s about time we worked together again. It’s been a while, huh?”
The Gardevoir and Gallade were eying the two of you suspiciously, readying their attacks. You released your partner Pokémon, preparing to Mega Evolve it.
Corbeau kept his composure, but internally he was overjoyed to fight at your side.
“Don’t worry. Me and Scolipede have your back.”
The fight was tough, but the rogue Pokémon were no match for your raw strength combined with his support. Oh, how he admired your skill. You were fearless, not hesitant in the slightest in shouting commands to your Pokémon, landing attacks on the opponent in quick succession. His Scolipede landed the final blow to the Gardevoir with a super effective poison-type attack, while at the same time you defeated the Gallade. The rogue Pokémon fell to the floor, drained of their strength.
You called your partner back into its Pokéball, and he did the same. You were so close to each other now, he could reach out and touch you if he dared.
You looked… weary. Your shoulders were slumped, brows furrowed, a frown on your face.
Across the plaza, he watched as the Gallade crouched beside the Gardevoir, a concerned hand on the other’s shoulder. Watching the two Pokémon care for each other, something stirred inside of him.
He needed to take care of you. Now, more than ever. It might be his last chance.
“Are you hurt?” He asked.
You shook your head. “No, I’m okay… just a little tired…”
“Let me heal your Pokémon, then,” he said, extending a hand to you.
You looked at him, and smiled softly. Your eyes were beautiful, he thought.
“Thanks.”
You handed him your Pokéballs, and he quickly tended to your team’s low health. Handing them back to you, your fingertips brushed his own for a fleeting moment.
“I should be going. I’m almost to the Tower now… thanks again for all of your help, Corbeau.”
You started towards the exit, but Corbeau stood still. It was now or never, so why couldn’t he speak? Why couldn’t he just say those words he had wanted to say to you for so long?
He managed to call your name, and you paused, turning back to him.
“Wait. Please,” he murmured.
“What is it?” You sounded concerned now.
“I just…”
He faltered, voice trailing off into nothingness. You stood in front of him, confused, waiting. He knew he couldn’t waste much more of your precious time…
Slowly, he reached out and held your cheek in his palm. You let out a soft noise of surprise, but didn’t pull away from his touch.
“Call me selfish, but… I wish you could just stay here with me,” he whispered. “I know you’re the strongest trainer, but at this moment, I wish you weren’t. I wish you didn’t have to do this… so then I could protect you.”
He couldn’t place your expression. Shock? Concern? Either way, you remained unmoving under his hand.
“What I’m trying to say is… I care about you. You’re very special to me, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m… special to you?” You said softly.
“Yes. I-” he paused and swallowed hard.
“I love you.”
Your eyes widened. But then you turned away, face slipping from his grasp.
“Corbeau, I… I don’t know what to say.”
He sighed. He should have seen this coming, he thought. He retracted his hand back to his side.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly. “I just wanted you to know. I was afraid that… that I wouldn’t get another chance to tell you how I feel.”
He had no idea what you were thinking. You were as still as a statue. This whole confession had been a horrible idea. Now, what if you became distracted by his words? What if you were unable to focus on your battles, haunted by his love for you that you didn’t reciprocate? Would he indirectly cause your downfall? His fists clenched at the thought.
He was so caught up in his worries that he was quite shaken by the sudden feeling of your arms wrapping around him. The warmth of your body pressed against his, and you buried your face in the side of his neck. Somewhat in shock, he returned your embrace, securing his own arms around your waist and back.
It was comforting to have him hold you, the heat of his body and the scent of his cologne filling your senses. His hand rubbed idly against your back, his cheek resting atop your head.
Corbeau… loved you? You could hardly believe it. You were feeling a little overwhelmed, his heartfelt words combined with your fatigue from the night’s eventful battles making your head spin.
“Corbeau…” you mumbled against where your head rested on his shoulder.
“Yes…?” His voice held a slight nervous tremor.
“Hold me. Just for a little bit. Please.”
“Of course. As long as you need.”
Your eyelids started to feel heavy, content in your place in his arms. You really wanted to go to sleep, right here, but… there was still work to do. The city still needed saving, after all. It would be hard to drag your weary body away from the comfort of being held by Corbeau…
You looked up at him. His brow was still creased with worry.
“I love you too,” you said, finally.
You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against you as he sighed in relief.
“That was sweet, what you said…” you continued. “And it means a lot that you care so much about me. I’m just… a little overwhelmed right now. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”
“It’s alright. I understand. In hindsight, now probably wasn’t the best time…”
The two of you laughed softly.
“Hey… after I’m done with this, will you take me out on a date?”
He smiled. “I’d like that.”
You tilted your head and kissed him, a gentle caress of your lips against his. He returned the affections, his hand coming up to hold your cheek once more.
You parted much too soon.
“As nice as this is, Philippe is waiting for us…” Corbeau said. “We need to get you to Prism Tower right away.”
You nodded. “Right, right…”
The two of you quickly exited the shopping plaza, your heart beating with excitement. You felt like you could take on the world now, rejuvenated by Corbeau’s love.
After meeting Philippe and the rest of the Rust Syndicate outside, some technical difficulties arose. You stood idle while Corbeau jabbered with them. You needed to get onto the roof, but there was no way up…
The solution you hardly expected was you climbing a human ladder made of the Rust Syndicate. Corbeau waited at the very top, helping give you one last boost to make it over the ledge of the roof.
“I believe in you, mon cher,” he said once you were safely on the rooftop. “Go get ‘em.”
He gave you one last heartfelt smile before falling backwards from the ledge.
Tangled between the thin bedsheets, Corbeau leaned in, coming so close that his lips ghosted your cheek. His lips smelt of the fruit wine that the two of you had already finished. You expected him to kiss you. Instead, he whispered a name to you; a boys name, strange and foreign.
You laughed, unsure you’d heard him right. “What?”
Corbeau laid his head on yours, as if his own head was too heavy to hold up, and whispered again. “My name.”
You waited for him to continue.
He didn’t, one of his hands clumsily finding yours, intertwining with your fingers.
“Your name?” You said.
He nodded. “Maybe my mother gave me it. Or my father. Who knows.”
The alcohol in your system already had your head spinning. You didn’t know what to think. “I didn’t know your name wasn’t Corbeau.”
He chuckled, almost casually, though the weight of his secret was obvious in how he kept his voice low. “Yeah. Lysandre gave it to me.”
“I see.” You squeezed his hand back. “Do you want me to call you by that name?”
“No.” His answer came quick. “I like Corbeau better.” He sloppily pecked your cheek. “And I really like how my name sounds when you say it.” He giggled again, and you followed suit.
Maybe if you were more sober, you would’ve had the brain power to pry a little further, though you simply accepted the admission with a kiss in return. “Then I’ll call you Corbeau. My Corbeau.”
At this, he flushed and smiled, eyes practically sparkling over. “That’s all I want to be; yours.”
The morning came as it always does, but neither of you brought up that conversation. You couldn’t even be certain if Corbeau remembered telling you.
Regardless, you kept it to yourself, as, truly, it didn’t matter what his name was before. Corbeau was the man you’d fallen in love with just as he was.
I need to yap about something that I might write at some point (if I can stop procrastinating and maladaptive daydreaming about it)
Corbeau x reader who's the big sibling/mom friend of team MZ (enemies to lovers plot)
When Corbeau hears that two members of team MZ are coming over to discuss Urbain's debt, he expects groveling, bargaining, the usual behavior when someone finds themselves in serious debt.
You and Lida walk in. Corbeau immediately clocks Lida as nervous (and for some reason she keeps glancing at you (she's silently begging you to not try to physically fight him/say something that will get the both of you killed, she loves you but Jesus Christ don't threaten the scary mob boss)) and you as unsettlingly calm.
You sweetly smile at him and demand to see Urbain's contract and he immediately tenses.
Your expression says "cute and charming" while your body language says "I'm going to skin you alive" (and Corbeau is into that shit).
Lida's trying to play mediator, you and Corbeau are egging each other on (he calls you a brat, you call him a coward) and Philippe wishes he had popcorn because the (sexual) tension between you and Corbeau is very entertaining.
Corbeau, seeing that he's getting nowhere (and probably losing), ends the meeting and says that since neither of you can agree, that you should reschedule for a later date (he's totally not asking you out).
You agree but only on the condition that you pick the time and place. He agrees, says that he looks forward to your partnership and personally escorts you and Lida out.
He and Philippe watch as the two you leave. Philippe looks down at Corbeau and smirks because it's clear Corbeau is both smitten with you and absolutely hates your guts.
~kelp (feel free to yoink this, this applies to you and anybody else who got inspired by this)
Oooooooooooooh I love that SO MUCH, I love how the reader matches Corbeau’s energy so well its perfect anxjsnkxns plus asking the reader out for a “renegotiation” is PERFECT oh I can only imagine his reaction if the reader schedules it to take place in a fancy restaurant or someplace similar. Clearly leaning into how much he clearly wants them
Also madly in love while hating their guts is possibly one of my all time favourite dynamics I ADORE IT
Imagine giving Corbeau a Clodsire from Paldea for your anniversary or something and him looking at you as you lovingly explain that it's a poison/ground type so you figured you would get him one
But then you're like "I know he's a little cute for the whole mafia boss aesthetic, but I've already planned accordingly" and Corbeau watches as you tape angry eyebrows onto the Clodsire before looking back at him excitedly and the only thing he can manage to say after a long pause is "I'm going to marry you"
