BabyJaneDoe'sFormula

♡ PROFESSIONAL SUGAR CONSUMER ♡ ☆18+☆

[opulentpeony]

director's cut - porn star!pope x producer!reader 

word count: 14.2k warnings: dead dove: do not eat, extremely dubious consent, fem!reader, sex work (obviously!), age gap (20/40), size difference (he calls you “little one” and tosses you around a bit oop-), coercion, lust/love at first sight, misogyny (by other ppl, not pope), very insecure!reader (bc ppl are mean! but don't worry, pope takes care of them), murder (re: previous), inexperienced!reader (and pope loves that you are), praise kink, first kiss, unprotected sex, squirting, fingerfucking, forced orgasms, loss of virginity (on camera!), threats of anal (but no actual anal play!), choking, breeding kink, cnc/rape roleplay, fear play, sex toys, humiliation/degradation kink, he matches your freak (and you bring out his), kind of a slow burn all things considered summary: andrew cody, better known as his stage name “pope”, is a rising star in the porn world. people love his gritty, dark, aggressive demeanor. so when you, an amateur porn producer, pitches an idea to him that aligns a little too well with his kinks, he finds himself wanting to only work with you.  to the point where he won't fuck anyone on camera that isn't you…

a/n: oh porn star!pope, he has been on my mind and I just had to write him out. he's too yummy (especially when he's fucked up)!

hope it's a sick read ♡ 

Andrew “Pope” Cody has a very strict routine. He wakes up, has a glass of water with his pre-workout supplements, then runs a few miles before heading back to do a few weight-lifting sets. When he feels like he has let the pent up energy out of his body, he'll shower and then eat a protein heavy breakfast so he can take the rest of his pills. 

Because if he doesn't take his meds, he'll surely go crazy when he's on set. The medication numbs the worser parts of himself. The ones people usually are afraid of.

The ones directors tend to tell him to “tone down” when he's fucking whatever actor or actress they're asking him to for the week. 

They're lucky he even cums. It doesn't feel good. Hasn't since he started working as a porn star. 

But it pays the bills better than robbing people. 

It also keeps him away from his family, since most of his shoots are in Los Angeles. 

So, he deals with the fact sex is muted now. The medication helps him not feel some type of way about it, thankfully, because he doesn't have sex for fun. 

It's all for work. 

That is, until he meets you. 

You're sitting off to the side, legs dangling off a dressing table, laptop resting on your beautiful exposed thighs. 

It's hot on set. You're wearing flimsy little shorts and a halter top that lets Pope see much more than anyone should for a girl your age. 

“Who is she?” He asks one of the producers on set. 

Could you be his newest co-star? 

Why is he…excited over that prospect? 

Pope hasn't felt any kind of attraction in a long while, so if you are, maybe he'll actually get to enjoy himself for once. 

He's curious to know what your pussy feels like. 

Are you a loud performer or a more subtle and shy one? 

Do you actually cum or do you just fake it for the camera? 

He wants to make you cum for real. 

But his desire gets shut down immediately when the producer he asked answers, “oh her? I don't know who she is. Probably one of the director's kids or something. Wannabe producer. Been trying to pitch a script but no one's biting.” 

“Why's that?” Pope doesn't know why he's so curious about you. 

The producer laughs, in that grating kind of way that makes Pope want to knock his teeth out. Especially when the guy goes, “because she wants to make girly porn. As if that shit will sell. Men aren't going to buy into any of that cutesy femme shit.” 

Pope knows there's a female audience for porn. He has a lot of followers online. Plenty of them are women. And he is fully aware of the many comments he has read on his posts where some of his fans wish he would do more work that “catered to the female gaze”. He never understood what that meant. He has worked with plenty of female directors and producers before, but apparently they focus on making sure male audiences are satisfied first and foremost. 

He's never read a script made for a woman's interest before. 

Now, he's even more curious about you. 

So much so, that he's walking over to you before he can stop his legs from doing so. 

You look up and are startled to see Pope. You've never seen him in person before. You didn't know he'd be on this set. Your aunt is one of the directors and she didn't give you much notice on what exactly the production was. 

“Oh, hi.” You put your hand out and introduce yourself. “You must be Pope, right?” 

“Have you seen my work?” He asks, shaking your hand, his lingering in yours for a beat longer than he normally would. 

“Clips here and there.” You seem a little flustered at his question. How cute. 

“I heard you've been trying to pitch a script.” Pope is more direct than he intends.

You're surprised he knows about it. “I am, but it's probably not going to sell much.” 

“Can I see it?” He leans back on the edge of the table next to you, gesturing to your laptop. “My shoot isn't for an hour. Wouldn't mind something to kill the time.” 

“Oh, sure!” You scramble to pull it up. 

Pope glances over your shoulder, seeing how many scripts you have written already. You're sifting through them, parsing out which one you'd want him to see. You decide on one where you had based the main lead on him and hand him your laptop. 

“You can fold it over to use like a tablet.” You show him, your hands brushing against his as you do, your heart skipping a beat when you feel how big his fingers are. 

Pope is so close to you that he nearly leans in and kisses you. He doesn't, but he does take a brief inhale, liking the smell of your perfume mixed with the sweat that's trickling off your neck from your nerves. 

You sit there in silence, his big bicep casually resting on yours as he scrolls through your script. You take out your phone to distract yourself, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat from his proximity. 

You never thought you'd ever get the chance to be near anyone in the industry. You always figured you'd be behind a camera. But Pope is right next to you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. 

It almost makes you dizzy how hot he is…

Pope is worried his skin is growing too red. He hasn't felt this turned on in years. Reading this script has him needing to resist getting hard, which is usually not the case for him. Most of the time, it's difficult to get hard and he'll end up needing a pill or some help. 

But what you've written is too well-aligned with the fantasies that haunt his mind. 

“What would you consider this?” He asks you when he finishes reading, handing you back your laptop.

“Ah, like a dark romance, I guess?” You had shown him the plot where the main lead, a distant family friend whom the other lead refers to as her uncle, lures her to his private estate for the summer so he can hold her captive until she agrees to be his forever. 

“I like it.” Pope tells you in that flat tone of his that has you questioning whether or not you heard him correctly. 

“Really? You might be the only person who thinks so.” You're elated to hear that but then immediately talk yourself down. “Everyone else I've shown it to thinks that it's too focused on his obsession with her and that it should be the other way around because “why would anyone want to watch a man throw himself at a woman”. Men wouldn't buy it, I guess.” 

You bite your lip after you say that, wishing you hadn't just dumped all of that onto Pope.

You open your mouth to apologize but then Pope goes, “then those men just don't get the appeal. I think it's good and you should make it.” 

“Wow.” You can't stop the big smile that forms on your face. “That's so sweet of you to say, Pope. I hope I get the chance one day.”

Pope wants to tell you that he'd make it happen but they're calling his name to get ready. So, instead, he tells you, “do you want to come over after this and talk more about it?”

You're speechless. No one has ever invited you over to their place before. 

And it's Pope, of all people. 

He never invites people over. 

His house is his sanctuary. 

But he wants you alone. 

He wants to get to know you more. 

He wants to see if your desires truly align with his own. 

“I'll have to check in with my aunt first, since she drove me. But I'd like to.” You reply, reaching your hand up to touch your warm cheek. 

You must look so flustered right now. 

Pope loves the sight of it. Such a shy girl. To think you're on a porn set right now and about to watch him fuck someone else. 

He'll have to put on a good show for you. 

“I'll come find you after, little one.” He calls you what the uncle in your script calls his pseudo-niece and it has your skin flushing with more heat in response. 

Once he's out of your line of sight, you bury your face in your hands, muffling a scream because what was that! 

Did he really just…

You loop him calling you “little one” over and over in your head, wanting to memorize the sound of it for when you touch yourself later. You have to resist touching yourself now while you watch Pope at work. 

You've, of course, seen him naked before. You've watched plenty of clips of his porn online. For research purposes, of course!

But there's something different about seeing him in person. 

About knowing how his hands could feel, how warm his body is, how big he is compared to you that makes watching him pound his huge cock into his co-star all the more enjoyable. 

Then, your heart stops in your chest when he locks eyes with you from across the set when he cums deep inside of her. 

That wasn't in the script. Not in the one he's performing right now, because rarely does male centric porn ever “waste” a cumshot. 

It's in yours, though, because you like the idea of getting filled and you're certain other people do too. 

But for a shoot like this one, they want to see his cum on his co-star somewhere, for the visual. 

Pope couldn't help himself, though. He wanted you to see what he could do to you. He hasn't cum that much in a long time, which might be the only saving grace for the shoot because when he pulls out of his co-star, so much leaks out that they don't have to fake it for the shot. 

All in all a successful shoot so the director yells “cut” and it's done. 

You meet Pope out in the parking lot afterwards, since your aunt didn't seem to care if you wanted to go home with a porn star. She knows he's clean, because he has to be for work, and that you're an adult so she's letting you make your own decisions. Her only warning to you was that you will likely get your heart broken dating a porn star.

But you wave off her concerns because you don't believe he's interested in you. 

Pope just likes your scripts…right? 

That seems to be the case when you come over to his house and he spends the entire time reading through every idea you've written. 

You're both sitting on his couch together. He has on some kind of nature show, the one that follows a pack of lions throughout their day.

You watch one of the lions chase after a gazelle before it pounces on it and the gazelle becomes its next meal. You don't know why watching that has your heart racing so much. 

Maybe it's because you're currently in a lion's den and he's looking to make you his next meal… 

But you're oblivious to it, to Pope resting his hand on your thigh casually as he scrolls through your writing, asking you questions about it here and there like what you're looking to do, etc.

“I'd like to make a truly indie production.” You explain to him your dream shoot. “Like maybe only me and the stars on set. The script just being a loose guideline. Going with the flow, seeing where the scenario takes us naturally. I'd like for it to be organic and less “produced” than the stylized porn available now.” 

“Have you ever thought of starring in it yourself?” Pope poses a question that has you stammering out your reply.

“I-I…um…” You shake your head, the nerves apparent in your voice as you admit, “I don't think I could. I've never…” 

“No one has ever touched you before?” He can hardly believe that. 

In his eyes, anyone would be lucky to have the chance to be near you. He can barely keep his eyes off of you as is. 

“Why would they?” You chew on your cheek after you say that, wishing you didn't let your insecurity slip out so readily so you pretend to shrug it off, “it's not a big deal. I'm not in a rush to experience anything.” 

“Shouldn't you experience the things you want to produce?” Pope doesn't mean to sound so coercive but it definitely doesn't help that his hand slides higher up your thigh as he asks, “wouldn't it be nice to know for your writing?”

“But no one would want to…” The words get caught in your throat when he leans in, his lips so close to your own that you can taste his breath. 

“I'd want to.” His voice is so low, so intoxicating that you almost melt when he says, “if you'd let me, little one.” 

This is all too similar to something you've written before. It's like he's roleplaying your own words back to you. 

You don't know how to react to it…

“I don't think this is a good idea.” You tell Pope as he leans in closer to you, pressing a kiss on your jaw, making your whole body shiver as he trails upwards to the shell of your ear. “Oh god…”

“We don't have to do anything today.” He whispers right into your ear. “But I'd like to see you again.” 

“Why?” You feel so stupid asking that, your insecurity leaking out again. 

Pope cups your face, turning you to look at him, his gaze so intense. “Because I want to know what you look like when you feel good.” 

His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, seeing the way you're trembling, the nerves overtaking you. 

You're so precious, so scared, so perfect for him. He can't get enough of you.

“I'll probably be really bad at it.” You want him to be prepared. “You might not have a good time. I won't know what I'm doing.”

That makes him chuckle lightly. “I've got enough experience for the both of us.” 

“I've never even kissed anyone before.” You admit with your eyes locked on his lips. 

The lips you've watched go down on his co-stars. The lips you've seen leave marks on their skin. The lips you're desperate to kiss right now.

“Do you want to?” He brushes his lips against yours. A simple brush, not a true kiss, but it has your whole body quivering just from that light touch. “I think you do.”

“Will you go slow?” You have to ask because you're so nervous you'll get swept up in him. 

“I'll go at whatever pace you want.” He pulls away and you don't like how disappointed you feel. But then, he pats his lap and gestures, “come here, little one.”

This is truly everything you've dreamt of and he's feeding into it. You stand up, staring down at his lap, trying to figure out how exactly you should sit. 

When you've stalled for long enough, Pope just grabs you by your waist and tugs you down onto him. You're straddling his lap now, his large thighs becoming your new chair. 

Your breath catches in your throat when his lips land on your neck all of a sudden, causing you to grip onto the thin black shirt he's wearing that doesn't leave anything up to the imagination. His chest is flush against yours and he can hear your heartbeat thrumming so quickly, like your heart might burst at any moment. 

Pope smiles against the column of your throat, pressing a kiss there. Just one, right in the center, so he can feel the air get caught before it can reach your lungs. 

“Stay calm.” He instructs, his words warm and oddly gentle. “It'll feel better if you aren't so worked up.” 

“I'm sorry.” You don't know what you're doing… 

You smooth out his shirt, worried you've wrinkled it from how hard you were gripping it for leverage. 

“You can hold onto me, little one.” He takes your hand and places it onto his shoulder. “Lean on me.” 

His other hand splays across the small of your back beneath your shirt, practically engulfing your skin. Every touch is sending signals to your core that you've never felt before. Anxious signals, screaming at you to stop this before you start feeling more than you should. 

“Maybe we should stop.” You say out of concern, your nerves getting in the way. 

“Just one kiss and then we can stop for today, okay?” He already has you on his lap. He can't lose out on this golden opportunity.

One kiss will be enough to convince you. Pope is sure of that, sure of himself and his skill. 

He just needs you to say yes. And to stop squirming on his lap or he might have to do something about how hard he's getting. 

“Okay.” You nod, gripping onto his shoulders like you might fall off his lap if you don't. “Just one kiss.” 

“Atta girl.” He shifts slightly, pulling you closer until there's not an inch of space between the two of you. “Why don't you try?” 

You shake your head immediately. “I'll fuck it up.”

That draws another chuckle from his lips, which you feel very prominently on yours from how close he is to you. “I doubt that. I want to see you try. Then I'll take you home.” 

You take in a deep breath, your chest rubbing against his when you exhale. Pope's eyes drift down to your chest, loving how your top lets him see much more than he'd want anyone else to be able to. He'll have to make sure you only dress like this for him. 

His eyes go back up to look into yours, that intense gaze of his making you even more nervous than you were already. 

“I don't think I can do this.” You tell him as your hands ball up the fabric of his shirt beneath your fists. “I'm scared. My heart feels like it'll explode.” 

So cute. Pope can't help thinking how adorable you are, so frightened by the prospect of a little kiss. 

“And you want to produce porn?” He smirks at you, nudging your nose with his own playfully. “You need to be able to do this if you want to direct it, little one.” 

“Okay, okay.” You know he's right. 

You have to find the confidence to push forward, to make things happen. 

So, you press your lips against his. You don't do it hard. It's the lightest kiss Pope has ever felt, laced with fear and anxiety. 

Exactly the kind of kiss Pope has been dreaming about. Everyone he has ever kissed before you has been so full of themselves. 

You are the exact opposite. So careful, so worried you'll do it wrong that you barely do it at all. 

Just the gentlest little tap on his lips. 

Now he needs to know how frightened he can make you. 

So, Pope slides his hand up to the back of your head, securing you in place so that the moment you lift your lips away from his, he can press them right back down. 

Your eyes widen, not expecting for him to kiss you back again right away. 

It's not harsh. His lips just stick onto yours, keeping steady right there. Then, when he starts to move them, you start to panic, the blood rushing straight to your head and tension forming in your core. 

You're wriggling in his lap like a scared little mouse caught in a trap. 

Just the way he wants you to be. 

“Easy.” He breathes against your lips. “Don't get scared. Just pay attention to what I'm doing and follow me.” 

He tilts your head a little, angling himself a bit to get a better hold on your lips. You're gasping between each feverish kiss and Pope loves it. 

Loves how inexperienced you are, how easily provoked you are. 

Like when he grinds his hips upwards just as a tease and you moan against his lips unexpectedly, your face heating up in reaction. 

“Oh god, I'm sorry.” You can't believe you're reacting this much. 

“Don't be sorry.” He says, sliding his hand over to cup your jaw. “I like that you feel good. I wanted to see it, remember? I like hearing it too.” 

“It's embarrassing though…” You feel like such a virgin. 

You are one but you feel it a hundred times more because you're in the presence of someone who fucks for a living…

“Is it?” He nips at your bottom lip, liking how you shiver when he does. “I think it's cute.” 

“You think I'm cute?” You don't believe him. 

Not until he says, “I don't “think” it. You are cute, my precious little one.” 

His precious…

Bad thoughts are running through your mind. Of hoping he means it and it's not just part of some roleplay of his. But you know that can't be true. 

What could you offer him that he can't already get? 

Pope can see the warring thoughts in your eyes. So, he leans in and kisses you again, which snaps you out of your own head. Especially when you feel the tip of his tongue flick your bottom lip. 

“Let me in.” He says, his tone sultry. “I want to know what you taste like.” 

Pope smiles when you grab onto him tighter, unable to keep yourself still otherwise. Then, you nod, since you can't bring yourself to say any words. 

His tongue flicks at your lip again and this time, your lips part, allowing him in. You expect him to go slow, to let you adjust to the idea of his tongue in your mouth but he does the exact opposite. 

He just ravages you, his tongue tangling with your own, stealing your every breath away. His kisses get rougher, his movements too. You can't hold in your voice when you feel him grip your ass with his hands and roll his hips against yours, forcing you to feel how hard his cock is beneath you. 

You know how big he is. Porn star big. 

Impossibly big for someone who has never had sex before. 

Big enough that it feels like he's fucking you already. 

“Wait, wait!” You gasp out onto his lips, trying to get him to stop because you don't think you'd be able to live with the embarrassment if you came from this. “Please, Pope, I can't—”

“Are you going to cum, little one?” He smirks at how scared you are of your own orgasm. “It's okay if you do.” 

You shake your head. “No, I can't, not like this…” 

“There's nothing wrong with cumming from this.” He keeps rolling his hips and since your lips aren't plastered to his, you can't stop the moan that leaves your lips. “Let it feel good. Stop resisting.”

“But I shouldn't—” You bury your face in his shoulder, dry heaving as the friction against your clit becomes too much to bear. “I don't want to cum, I don't want to—”

Suddenly, you feel his hand slip into your shorts and without any warning, Pope pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers until you cum so hard that you see stars in your vision. You're reeling, clinging onto him, your whole body shaking from the sudden surge of pleasure. 

“There you go.” Pope starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, making you whimper into his shoulder as another orgasm builds inside of you all too quickly. “Let it happen again.” 

He grabs your face with his free hand, pulling you up so he can kiss you again. 

Kissing him feels very different when his fingertips are playing with your clit. 

You're lightheaded, unable to breathe, so close to cumming that you're nervous you might pass out…

Then, he moves off your clit right when you're about to and you whine uncontrollably before catching yourself. He laughs lightly, almost menacingly, at your reaction to getting teased. 

“Did you want to cum?” He asks you, wanting to hear you admit it. 

You chew on your lip. You shouldn't tell him yes. You shouldn't even be doing this. You should have him take you home like he said he would. 

But you want to cum. 

It's addictive, that wave of pure bliss that he gave you. It was unlike any of the orgasms you've given yourself. 

You want to know what it feels like to be made to cum by Pope. 

So, you tell him the truth, “yes, please make me cum, Pope.” 

“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” He says with a smile that could kill. “Can I make you cum with my mouth?” 

Pope wishes he could take a photo of your shocked expression, all wide eyed and beautifully nervous. 

“I-I've been on set all day. It's probably—” 

“Then take a shower here.” Pope offers, if you're really that nervous. He likes that you didn't say no. 

He likes that you're so easy to convince. 

“Okay…” You can't possibly decline getting eaten out by a porn star. People would think you're crazy to miss out on something like that.

“Mmm, good girl.” He praises you, making your whole body yearn for his affection. “Now, I'll make you cum one more time before you shower.”

“Wait, what—” You squirm when Pope suddenly dips his hand into your underwear and slides a finger inside of you, “Pope, stop—!”

You can't stop gasping when his finger curls at the same time as he starts palming your clit, giving you the friction you were desperate for just moments ago. But now his thick finger is buried inside of you, searching for the spot that makes you cry out his name. 

“Andrew.” He demands, thrusting another finger inside of you. “Call me Andrew when you cum.” 

“Andrew, please, please, not there—” You cry out when he grazes the right place inside of you, your stomach tensing at the feeling, “your fingers are—oh god—”

You're saying his name on repeat into his shoulder when his fingers keep pounding right where you need them to until you're bursting at the seams, cumming all over his lap because he won't let you stop. 

“No, no, I can't cum anymore!” You tug at his arm but he keeps fucking you with his fingers against your wishes, “please, Andrew!”

Pope's too strong. He has you locked on his lap with his other arm wrapped around you, pinning you to him as his fingers ravage your insides until you're squirting so hard that you drench his hand. 

It's only when tears start streaming down your face that Pope finally lets you breathe, pulling his hand away. 

In your daze, you watch him lick his hand clean, grinning so happily at you with your lovely glazed over eyes, so lost in your orgasm. 

Pope leans in for a kiss and for the first time, you lean into it, kissing him back the way he taught you to. You're a bit sloppy with it, but he adjusts you until you're kissing him exactly how he wants you to. 

“Someone's a fast learner.” He compliments you again, which gets you wriggling, your heart racing once more.

You glance down, at how wet you've made his lap, humiliation coursing through you at the sight. 

Pope catches it and says, “do you feel bad for almost ruining my couch?” 

“I'm sorry.” You do feel bad. You've never squirted before in your life. 

You thought that was just something that happened in porn… 

“How sorry?” He wonders aloud. 

“Very sorry…” You definitely wouldn't be able to afford to buy him a new couch.

“Then help me get out of these pants.” He points to his lap. “Take them off before your cum can touch my couch.”

You stare at how daunting of a task this is going to be. But, you listen, grabbing a hold of his belt buckle and undoing it. Then, you unzip his pants. 

“Now get on your knees in front of me and pull them off.” Pope's tone is so commanding that you do it without a second thought, moving to the floor in front of him. He stops you before you can tug at his waistband. “Wait a second, little one. Look up at me.” 

You do, your eyes meeting his. He likes the way you look on your knees. You would look even better with his cock in your mouth. 

He'll shelve that for another time, when he has trained you so well that you'll be begging to put him in your mouth yourself. 

Pope nods, gesturing for you to continue. You tug off his pants by his waistband, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. You notice the spot of precum leaking from where the tip of his hard cock is pushed up against the fabric of his underwear.

You can't help but wonder what he tastes like…

It doesn't look like Pope will have to train you at all because you ask him, “can I try making you feel good with my mouth?” 

“Sure.” He says, reaching over to grab his phone. “If I can film it.” 

“W-What?” You weren't expecting that. 

“If it's your first time sucking cock, we should get it on camera. It'll fund our future film.” Pope knows how much authentic first time content goes for, especially when he's an experienced star and you're just an innocent inexperienced reluctant woman who never thought she'd ever star in a porno. 

“Y-You want to make my film?” You hadn't asked yet if he was interested. 

“If you star in it with me, I will.” Pope doesn't want to do it with anyone else. 

He only wants you. 

“What?” You sound like a broken record at this point.

But he likes how cute you are, all surprised. “You heard me, little one. I'll finance it myself, just be my co-star.” 

“But I don't know a thing about…being filmed…” You know there's a whole learning curve to it, of knowing where the camera is and what angles look best. 

It's something you've never thought about for yourself. You've only considered it in the context of filming others.

“You'll learn. I'll teach you. Like right now.” He hits record on his phone, holding it steady in his hand. “You're going to suck me off for the very first time in your life.”

Pope grabs your hand, putting it back at his waistband, inviting you to take his underwear off. 

You do it, leaving him bare from the waist down. He looks incredible like this, his cock hard and leaking precum. His shirt clings to his upper body beautifully, reminding you that you were just grinding on his lap with his chest pressed flush against yours.  

You feel so small knelt in front of him like this. He hovers over you like a giant, engulfing you completely, consuming you with his eyes locked on yours. 

“Now, do what you think is right. You've watched plenty of videos. You know what to do.” Pope wraps his hand around his cock, pumping it a few times for the camera, before leaving you to do the rest. 

You shake away the nerves so you can lean in, dragging your tongue along the bottom of his shaft until you reach the tip, swirling around it, tasting him for the first time. He chuckles at how stunned you look at how pleasant he tastes. You expected it to be more musky but it wasn't at all. 

It's oddly…sweet. 

“Do you like how I taste?” Pope takes a hold of his cock again, pushing the tip of it against your lips. “Let me feed it to you if you like it so much.” 

You part your lips, letting his cock slip into your mouth. He's so big that your jaw nearly locks up trying to take him. You're careful with your teeth as he slides deeper inside, until he's so far down your throat that you gag. 

“First time and you're already taking me like a porn star. Good girl.” His praise is so addicting that you start to suck on his cock in hopes he'll reward you with more. He does, which makes you so happy, “fuck, just like that, use your tongue too. You're doing great.” 

You alternate between sucking on his cock and using your tongue to lick up and down his shaft. You try to pay attention to what triggers him to groan and focus on doing that. You know you're doing well when Pope puts his hand in your hair and grips it tight.

“God, I want fuck that face. Can I fuck your face?” He wants to use your mouth for his pleasure. 

You nod, not really knowing what that entails. You know it's harsh from the videos you've seen but…you want to know what it feels like for Pope to use you to make himself cum. 

So, you let him fist your hair rather roughly before he pounds his cock into your throat over and over again. You're gagging and crying but to Pope, you've never looked more beautiful. 

He might not be able to post this video. It might just have to stay in his personal collection. Your first time taking his cock in your mouth. 

Your first time swallowing his cum. 

You gulp it down as he coats the back of your throat with his release. 

“That's it, drink it up, don't waste a drop.” He slowly slips his cock out of your mouth and he can't stop himself from smacking your face with it a bit, so the camera can see how big his cock is compared to your face. You make him groan when you eagerly lick along his shaft again, since you assume it would look good on camera. 

“Fuck, get over here.” He ends the video and drags you up onto his lap again. He grabs a hold of your face, looking at you fiercely as he asks, “who the fuck taught you how to suck cock like that?”

“You did.” You say the only correct response. 

Pope lets out a dark chuckle. “Good girl. You're making me very proud.”

You want him to praise you more so you find the confidence to cup his face like he's doing to you and kiss him, applying the right amount of pressure against his lips that causes him to just start grabbing at your flesh, needing to touch you when your tongue flicks at his bottom lip. 

“Oh, I'm going to fuck you.” He's looking forward to seeing how eager you'll be to please him once his cock is deep inside of you. 

"Do you think you'll fit?” You look down, seeing the way his softening cock is still huge, pressing into your lower stomach. 

“Don't worry, you can take it.” He presses his fingertips into your belly, massaging right where your womb must be, which draws out full body shudders from you. “You'll feel it right here and you'll love it.” 

You meet his eyes and then, quietly, you ask him, “can we…do it a different time?” 

Pope's jaw tenses at your question. “Why?” 

You bite back a nervous sigh, your stomach churning from what you're about to say, “because I don't want this to be a one night stand…”

You let go of his shirt, not wanting to cling onto him when he'll likely kick you out for being so needy.

“I'm sorry.” You shake your head at him, deciding for him that you should leave. “I-I should know better. I'll just head out.”

“Wait.” He wraps his arms around you, keeping you in place. “Who says you get to leave?” 

“Pope—”

"Don't call me that.” He doesn't want you to use his stage name. He wants you to use his real name. 

You're the only one he'll let call him Andrew. 

Which is why he doesn't understand why you can't see how special you are to him. 

Maybe because no one has ever made you feel special before. 

He'll have to change that. 

“Andrew.” You saying his name allows Pope to relax his jaw. Though, he tenses again when you tell him, “I don't think I should stay. I'm going to do something stupid…”

“Like what?” He wants to know what you're running from. 

“Like…” You look down at his slightly swollen lips, at how you wish you could just freely kiss him without the worry that he'll have to kiss someone else for show. 

But you can't want that. 

Your aunt is right. He'll end up breaking your heart.

So you need to push him away now, “I'm going to fall in love with you if we sleep together. I'm already…feeling too much from just…this. I'll fuck it up. I can't keep things casual. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” 

“Then fall in love with me.” Pope states so nonchalantly that you think he must not have understood you. 

“Andrew, I can't.” You shake your head at him.

“Why not?” 

“Because you'd never…” You don't want to break your heart by saying it out loud but it feels like your heart has already decided to break. 

“Do you want me to fall in love with you?” He asks, again with that flat tone of his that has you feeling like he doesn't understand the weight of his words. 

“You won't.” Your answer isn't what he was looking for. 

“Answer the question.” He's more stern now. 

You pinch your lips together, tears welling your eyes. You should say no, because then you could run from this. From the desire to be his. 

But you can't bring yourself to lie so you confess, “of course I want you to fall in love with me. But you won't—”

“Okay.” Pope hugs you tighter. “Let's fall in love.” 

“What?” You're more astonished than you've been all night. 

“What?” He parrots you. 

“Andrew…don't fuck around with me.” You don't like whatever kind of joke he's making. 

“I'm not fucking around with you. I want to fuck you, though. It doesn't have to be tonight but I'd like you to stay the night regardless.” 

You blink at him. You're unsure if your hearing is fucked or not but did he really just say…

“Are you being serious?” You need a clear answer. 

“Yes, little one.” He leans in to press a kiss on your temple. “I'd like you to stay the night. Sex is optional. I fuck for work. I wouldn't mind not doing it but I want to cuddle at least.” 

“You want to…” You're speechless. 

Pope laughs at how absolutely baffled you are. You turned out to be more fun than he thought possible. 

“Is that bad? Would you not like to cuddle?” 

“Of course I would love to cuddle.” You say it like that's the most obvious thing ever. “But, but…why do you want to cuddle with me?” 

“You gave me a great blowjob.” 

“Andrew!” You smack his chest and he laughs again. “I'm being serious!”

“I am too.” He smirks and you glare at him, making him smile even bigger. “You are so fucking cute. Come here.” 

You're suddenly hauled up into his arms. You have to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips to keep yourself from slipping as Pope carries you past his bedroom and then sets you down in his bathroom. 

“What are we doing here?” 

“Well, you probably shouldn't have your first time in the shower but I want to shower with you.” Pope strips off his shirt, leaving him completely naked now. 

He is used to people ogling him but knowing that you're so noticeably overwhelmed by the sight of him, he actually enjoys being looked at by you. 

“You can touch me if you want.” Pope takes your hand and places it onto his chest. 

You feel his steady heartbeat under your fingertips. It's calming but also worrying because if he felt something for you, shouldn't he…be more nervous? 

It seems like you're the only flustered one, which you don't like. It has you feeling super insecure. But it makes sense that Pope doesn't react much, given his profession.

So, what makes you different enough that he wants to do this with you? 

You can't wrap your head around it, your hand lifting off of him.

Then, out of a need to push him away, you demand something you doubt he'll give you, “I don't want to do this if you're just going to throw me away when you're bored of me.” 

“Is that what you think I'm going to do?” 

You nod, wishing you didn't feel this way.

“Hmmm.” Pope steps closer to you, grabbing a hold of your chin, lifting your face up to look at him since you've been avoiding eye contact this whole time. “How do I show you that I'm serious about you?” 

You shrug. “I don't know…”

“Is there something you want?” He'll give you anything you want. 

“Nothing that isn't super selfish.” You're honest there. Pope likes that you're honest. 

“Tell me.” He wants to know. 

“I want you to only kiss me.” You just spit it out but you don't think he'd actually say yes to this. “And I want to kiss you whenever I want.” 

“So you don't want me to kiss anyone at work?” 

You nod. 

“But I can still fuck them?” Pope finds your conditions interesting. 

“I'm not that selfish. I know what you do for work. I'm not looking to take away your livelihood but…if you only kiss me, I think that would be enough for me.” 

“Alright.” He agrees way too easily for your liking. 

“Andrew, I'm serious.” 

“And I'm serious.” He leans down to press a kiss against your lips. “I won't even go down on anyone else. My lips are all yours.” 

“Really?” You look at his lips, wanting to kiss him again but your nerves stop you. “Are you sure?” 

“Only if you kiss me right now.” Pope needs you to seal the deal. 

You kiss him immediately and he smiles against your lips, loving how visibly excited you are now. You're much more relaxed, which allows him to unbutton your shorts and tug off your bottoms, leaving you bare from the waist down. Then, he tugs off your top, his lips never parting from yours. 

Pope drags you into his shower, turning it on, shielding you from the water until it's warm enough. He presses you up against the tiled wall, his hands roaming your naked body. You're no longer holding back, moaning against his lips when his hands cup your breasts. 

“Just so you know,” Pope leans down to flick one of your nipples with his tongue, “you aren't allowed to wear such a low cut top around anyone but me from now on.” 

“I promise I won't if you keep doing that.” That feels way too good. 

He swirls his tongue over both of your nipples until they're nice and hard then he slides his hands up to tug at them. Before you can react, his mouth is back on yours, his thumbs swiping over your nipples, his thigh spreading your legs apart. You're so shy about how wet you are but Pope grinds his thigh into you, wanting to get you even more wet for him.

“Cum all you want, little one.” He says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “We'll wash up after so no need to hold back.” 

It's destructive that Pope knows what he's doing. You wonder if he's been this way with anyone else. You can't possibly be the only one swept up in his charms. 

But you are. 

Because Pope hasn't felt desire like this before. 

There's something about how absolutely overwhelmed you are by his actions. He finds it too entertaining. He can't get this from the people in his industry, nor would he want to. 

He has been searching for someone like you. Close enough to understand what he does for work, but far enough away that you haven't been exposed to the sides of him that he's trying so hard to hide. 

Does he need to hide them from you? 

The things you have written have shown him that there's a darkness lurking in your mind that is on the same frequency as the needs in his. 

Shall he test you? 

You feel his hands slide up your chest and wrap around your neck. Pope can feel your breaths quicken, fear suddenly causing your body to tremble in his hold as he squeezes around the delicate column of your neck. 

“Are you scared of me?” He looks at you with the blankest stare you've ever seen. 

And you can't believe how turned on you are. 

Because he's performing your script, albeit with a bit of improv since this scene doesn't happen in a shower. But it's the same concept. 

Hands wrapped around your throat, thigh between your legs, nerves on high alert. 

So, you answer just as you wrote it, your voice the right amount of shaky, “d-do you want me to be?” 

Pope doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. 

He just steps aside, letting the warm water of the shower suddenly hit your face. You shoot your hands up, trying to stop the water from getting into your eyes but then Pope squeezes your throat and you gasp, swallowing water uncontrollably instead. 

“Wait!” You can't push his hand away before it slips between your legs, dipping a finger back inside of you. His thigh keeps your legs apart so you can't resist him adding another one. “Andrew!” 

“Scream my name louder.” He grips you by your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Let me see how scared you can get.” 

In all his content, you've never heard Pope sound so frightening before. He usually plays the rougher, harsher characters but the producers never let him show this side of himself. The one he developed in prison. 

The one that yearns for the dark. 

Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as his fingers drive into you over and over again. You cling onto him desperately, trying not to topple over completely but it's so hard to stay still when he's fucking you with his fingers like this. 

The steam is getting to your head. The look in his eyes is heating up your core. The desire he has to see you completely unravel is messing you up inside, more than his fingers already are.

You should've known better than to expect vanilla sex from Pope. 

This is what he truly likes. He only wishes it were his cock getting milked by your tight pussy instead of his fingers. But you need to loosen up a bit or you'll never take him. 

You need to be able to handle him at his worst because the moment he puts his cock inside of you, he'll surely lose all rationality. 

Like he does right now, when you kiss him out of nowhere. 

Pope did promise you that you could kiss him whenever you wanted but he would've never guessed that you would do so while he was abusing your pussy with his fingers. 

And now, he has to fuck you up. 

You moan when Pope kisses you back, his tongue flicking at your lips, his movements rougher and sloppier than before. It helps that the shower washes it all away, making his rather aggressive kisses much more enjoyable since there aren't layers of spit to contend to. 

You cum so much when he curls his fingers just right and he basks in how your pussy clenches to his fingers. “I need you to do that on my cock.” 

“I think I'll die if you fuck me.” You might die right now because his fingers haven't stopped moving inside of you despite your blatantly obvious orgasm. He moves his fingers rapidly side to side until you're close to collapsing, your head so dizzy from cumming so hard all over his hand and thigh. 

You're clinging onto him for dear life and it's only when he thinks you actually might pass out that he slows his fingers and pulls out of you. 

Then you feel a light slap against your cheek. “Stay with me, little one.” 

“I'm…dizzy…” You feel so lightheaded from the steam and the orgasms.

“I've got you.” Pope helps you wash up. 

You find it odd how gentle he's being in the shower now. He's almost too focused on making sure you're taken care of from head to toe.

He even helps dry you off after the shower. He seats you down on his toilet so he can plug in his hair dryer and blow dry your hair for you. 

You feel utterly spoiled, especially when he pulls one of his shirts over your head so you have something to wear and aren't cold while he finishes up with your hair. 

It smells like him. You like that a lot. 

“All done.” He pats your head. “Feeling better?” 

You nod. “Refreshed.” 

“Want some water?” 

“Can I come with you?” You put your hand out then realize what you're doing. 

Were you seriously going to try to hold hands with Pope?

Would he even—

Pope grabs your hand and yanks you to your feet, interlocking his fingers with yours as he walks the two of you out of his bathroom. Your heart is beating out of your chest at the sight of him leading you to his kitchen, hand firmly clamped around yours. 

When you're close enough to him, he picks you up and sets you down on the kitchen counter, legs dangling off like you had them earlier on that dressing table. He likes the look of your bare legs. Maybe he'll have you stay pantless at his place. 

“What do you want to drink?” He opens his fridge, gesturing to the few options he has. 

Protein shakes, water bottles, beer and some juice. Usually he doesn't drink anything besides water. Tonight, he feels like a beer. 

“I'm not old enough to drink.” You hadn't thought about that. 

Pope didn't realize you were that much younger than him. “Do you want one?” 

You shake your head. “I want to be sober when we cuddle.” 

That makes Pope put his beer back in the fridge and grab water instead. “Then we'll both be sober.” 

You don't know why that makes you so happy but the butterflies in your stomach are going nuts. 

He rests his hand on your thigh, massaging it gently as the two of you drink water. You like the casual touching. 

You like Pope, a lot. 

So you set down your half-finished bottle of water then put your hand on his chest. It's bare. He's only wearing underwear. He looks way too good like this. 

It makes you almost frustrated that this sight has been seen by millions…

“Like what you see?” He steps closer to you, tossing his bottle of water aside so he can place both of his hands on your thighs. “You can touch me as much as you want.”

“You aren't tired of being touched?” You're worried that after the shoot, he must not want to do this for much longer. 

But then he says, “I'd never get tired of being touched by you.”

“Have you always been such a flirt?” You chuckle, your hands roaming his bare skin more freely now. “I hope you don't regret this. I might never want to let you go.” 

You say it like a joke but Pope says it back like a promise, “I'm never letting you go.” 

“We just met.” You remind him. 

“You don't believe in love at first sight?” He thought you'd be more of a romantic type than a realistic one, given your aspirations. 

“Love…” You blink up at him. “Are you saying…?”

Pope doesn't hide his truth. “I knew you were special the moment I saw you. I was hoping you'd be one of my co-stars.” 

“I…still can be…” Your skin heats up when you say that, not believing that it actually came out of your mouth. 

“Do you want to make content with me?” Pope wouldn't mind that. 

As nice as it is to get paid regularly to do bigger porn productions, he knows he could pull the same numbers if he started making videos on his own. Or with you. 

Especially with you. 

“What if you get sick of fucking the same person?” You let your insecurities flood out, sighing. 

“I could ask you that.” He spreads your thighs open with his big hands, settling his hips between them.

You glance down, surprised to see that he's hard. His cock is practically begging to burst out of his underwear. 

“Are you going to get tired of being fucked by me?” He grinds his cock against your bare pussy. You can feel so much warmth radiating off of him despite the layer of fabric between the two of you. 

It has your heart leaping out of your chest when you answer, “I doubt I could ever get bored of you.” 

“I feel the same way about you.” Pope wants to reassure you that he's choosing you. 

He can't help it. He hasn't wanted anyone like this before. 

He would give it all up for you. 

But he knows you're too sweet to let him. “You don't have to stop making porn for me, Andrew.”

“Say my name again.” He likes hearing it from you. 

No one ever calls him Andrew, especially not in porn. And he is grateful for that because now the only memory he has of someone moaning his name is you with your lovely voice. 

“Andrew.” You wrap your arms around his middle, tugging him to you. “I'm serious. Don't throw away your livelihood for me.” 

“I'm not throwing it away. I'm shifting to a new style. You can help me. It would be good filming practice.” 

You can't believe what he's offering you. “You'd let me direct you?” 

“You said you wanted to make an independent production. Doesn't get more independent than just you and me.” He leans down to press a light kiss on your forehead to comfort you, since you're staring back at him so baffled. “I'd like to film with you. Only you.”

“I'm unsure if I'm star material…” You've never even had sex before. 

How can Pope be so sure you won't drag him down? 

Because he made that video of you going down on him earlier, looking like such a beauty that he's sure anyone would get riled up seeing you on camera. 

“Why don't we practice?” 

“How?” It will probably take you forever to get comfortable in front of the camera. 

“I'll teach you everything about sex one step at a time. We'll film the whole thing, leading up to the first time we fuck.” His words have your heart racing unbelievably fast. “We won't fuck until you're ready to film it. Until you know your angles and what you want to show the world.”

“You would…wait that long?” 

“Would that make you happy, little one?” Pope wraps his arms around you, tugging you closer to him. 

You nod. You'd like that a lot. 

So, that's what you and Pope do. 

You help him set up an account on a reputable adult content sharing site. You shouldn't have been shocked how quickly he builds a hefty fanbase willing to buy his personalized content but you are.

He's making so much money. More money than you'd ever need for a simple production like you've been planning. 

And Pope thanks you for his success. 

He has you do all the filming. All your ideas sell very well to his audience, who love the jerk off videos where he's talking about how much he wants to kidnap you and rape you until you're his forever.

It's easy for Pope to make this content because he doesn't have to pretend. He's being completely honest and his fans can feel it through the screen. But he isn't talking to them. 

He's talking to you, his pretty girl behind the camera who he has a vibe strapped to. He doesn't let you cum until the filming is over. He wants you wet and aching for him the moment the camera shuts off. 

It makes for incredibly authentic videos when you're so desperate for him after all the edging. He has gotten a little too good at making you cum on his tongue. 

You cum so well for the camera. You never have to fake it. And everyone who follows Pope wishes they were you. 

You satisfy them by filming from your point of view, letting the world watch your porn star boyfriend eat you out and finger you until you're squirting all over his face, which he licks up in a way that has people begging for more content like that, where they can pretend to be you. 

You've been faceless thus far. You're worried about showing yourself, that it might kill the fantasies of the viewers.

“Let them be envious.” Pope tells you while you're both cuddling in his bed. “I want to be able to see you in those videos too.” 

“You might be the only one who would, Andrew.” You smile at that, though. 

You really like him. He really likes you. And you believe he does because he is always making these kinds of comments. About how he wants the world to know that you're more than just his co-star. 

But you urge him against it. 

It's better for him if people don't know he's dating anyone. 

You know this because you've been deleting all the messages that he's been getting where they complain about you being there. They want Pope content, not you. And if you are there, they want less of you and more of him. Which makes sense, since it is his account. 

Pope can tell you've grown more apprehensive about filming content together. You insist on just filming him. But he doesn't want to film alone anymore. 

He likes filming with you. He likes having you on camera with him.

He would like it even more if he got to fuck you but you're scared to do it. 

Because you've read several comments telling Pope that they'll unsubscribe if he fucks you. A lot of them are sick of you “capitalizing his time and attention”. They miss when he made porn with different people because at least then, they could pretend he belonged to anyone and everyone. 

But he belongs to you. 

And you're starting to feel bad about it. 

You don't want his career to get stunted because of you. Even though you can't possibly leave him. You love him.

These last few months have been incredible. You've learned so much about filming and about your own body. 

You want to have sex with Pope but you're afraid that the moment you do, you'll never be able to let him go. 

You feel selfish for wanting him all to yourself when there's so many people willing to throw ridiculous amounts of money at him as long as he stays “available” in their eyes. 

But you don't know Pope. 

Pope doesn't give a fuck about any of those people. He only cares about you. He has enough money. He doesn't need to make porn anymore. 

If anything, the porn is just an excuse to keep you in his life because he worries you're not as crazy about him as he is about you. 

Any time he tries to initiate sex, you worm your way out of it. He even tells you that you don't have to film your first time but that still doesn't persuade you. 

You don't come over as often anymore. Only when he wants to film content and you don't stay the night. He can't convince you to, either. You always have some kind of excuse.

Your behavior is making him lose his mind.

He misses you when you aren't with him. He tells you this and you believe him but you also keep up the self sabotage because you delude yourself into thinking that he'll get sick of you eventually, especially when you're acting like this. 

Why would he want you when you're being a burden? You keep it up, in hopes he'll finally see that you're not good for him, that you're making his life worse. 

Even though Pope's life feels empty without you… 

So empty that he has to fill the void somehow. 

And he starts when he catches a comment on an old video of his. 

You haven't been over in a week. He missed you so much that he went back to watch a video that he uploaded of you cumming on his tongue for the first time. He likes that video a lot because you're so shy about how hard you came and he chuckles on video. It's such a natural interaction between the two of you. Beautifully intimate, which is why Pope wanted to rewatch it. He figured other people would like the genuine connection you and him have.

But apparently, some people don't like this video at all. 

He clicks on the profile of the person who left a comment saying that they wish Pope would stop making videos with you because they don't like you. He sees all the comments you deleted from his account from this person, since they're only deleted on his end, not theirs. 

They're all hateful, disgusting comments that make his blood boil. 

Pope realizes then that you've been hiding this from him. He doesn't get why.

Don't you know that he'd take care of these people for you? 

These aren't people you need to worry your lovely head about, little one. 

Pope will handle it. 

He'll handle each and every one of them. 

Then, you won't have anything to worry about anymore… 

You find it strange that Pope's house smells like bleach. It never used to smell like bleach. You know he likes to clean but it's been more excessive lately. 

You're concerned so you ask him the next time you come over, “is everything okay, Andrew?” 

“Everything's great.” He's getting through his list quicker than he thought he would. 

Killing people was something he figured would take him a while to get back into the groove of but he's been disposing of bodies left and right without much extra effort. Though, it helps that he feels incredibly motivated to kill, versus before where he was forced to kill for his mother Smurf. 

This is easy. He'd do anything for you. 

The next jerk off video Pope posts is…dark. 

You didn't plan any of the dialogue. Usually you have a light script written up for Pope to follow along with but today, he just improvised. 

He talks about how much he wants to fuck you, that he would do anything for you, including torture and kill people who are bad to you and dispose of their bodies so you don't have to see them ever again. 

As long as you belong to him. 

It's the most fucked up video he has made thus far. 

And it sells like hotcakes. 

People eat it up, loving that he's so crazed in it. He cums hard for the camera too, harder than he has in a long time. 

Though, his audience has no idea it's because Pope was looking at you and that haunted expression on your face that he wishes he could see while he's buried inside of you. 

That frightened expression never leaves your face. 

Because you ask him, “were you being serious in that video?” 

And Pope answers without flinching, “yes.” 

You're laying beside him in bed. You decided to stay the night after editing and posting that video because it's been a while and you've missed sleeping next to him.

But now you're…scared. 

More scared than you've ever been. 

Because you saw what looked like a fingernail in the bathtub. A whole fingernail, caught under the stopper. Like it couldn't get washed away fast enough. 

His bathroom reeked of bleach and other chemicals. 

But you have no reason to believe that Pope would actually kill people…

“That was a pretty creative concept.” You try to make light of it but it falls flat. 

Especially when Pope furrows his brows at you. “Concept?” 

“Yeah, for the video.” You blink up at him, confused. “You were just acting, right?” 

“Do you think I'd cum that hard if I was acting?” He chuckles at your horrified look. “You should know I'd kill for you.”

“Andrew, that's not funny.” 

“It's not a joke, little one.” His grip around your waist tightens because you attempt to wriggle out of his hold but he won't let you. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“I want to go home.” You tell him because you're actually super freaked out right now.

He has to be joking. There's no way…

You can't be here if he's being serious. 

“You promised you'd stay the night.” Pope has worked so hard these last few weeks for you. He deserves a treat. He wants to fall asleep with you in his arms. 

“Andrew, I want to go home.” You push at his arms but he won't budge. “Andrew, please!”

Pope is tired of this. Of you fighting him and his needs. 

He knows you want him too. 

You'll appreciate what he's done for you someday. 

Even if you're afraid of it right now. 

You shriek when Pope pins you down on the bed, his body weight making it impossible for you to move. You feel how hard his cock is, rubbing up against your lower belly, making it known what he wants to do to you.

“I'm going to fuck you and you're going to enjoy it.” He's done waiting. 

“No!” You shout at him, shoving at his chest. “I want to go home!”

“This is your home!” He shouts back at you, his words silencing you completely as he exclaims, “you loved it here, you loved being with me! Until those stupid motherfuckers put it in your head that you weren't good enough for me. It's okay though. I took care of them. They won't bother you anymore, little one.” 

“You…what?” You're going to pretend you didn't just hear that.

But then Pope makes it very clear what he's done, so you can't avoid it any longer. “I killed anyone I could who said anything mean about you.” 

And now you're left with that shocked look on your face that has his cock throbbing against your belly. 

“Thankfully, a lot of them were local.” He continues detailing what he's done for you. “I cleaned up the vermin. You're welcome.”

“You're…you're sick.” You think back through the last few months.

Has Pope been taking his pills? 

He hasn't. Because why does he need to when you'll accept him as he is? 

You love all of him, don't you? 

Don't you? 

“Andrew, you need to get off of me.” You push at his shoulders but again, he doesn't dare move. 

“Why?” He likes being on top of you. It's one of his favorite places to be. 

“Why?” You repeat back to him, baffled that he doesn't get why you're afraid of him. “You just told me you killed people.”

“So?” He doesn't know what the big deal is.

Pope grew up around killers. He grew up killing people. This isn't anything new to him. Just a part of himself that he revived for your sake. 

You seem ungrateful though…

“You can't just murder people for being mean to me!” You scream at him, pounding your fists against his hard chest. “Get off of me!”

“I can and I will.” He snatches your wrists and holds them above your head. “I'd do it again and again if you needed me to.”

“I don't need you to kill people for me…” You can't move at all. He has you locked down tight right now. 

“That's how I know you're perfect for me.” He leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “You would never make me do what needs to be done. You care so much about me.” 

You are in complete disbelief. 

Of course you care about Pope but…do you care enough about him to let him murder people? 

People who specifically were rude and nasty to you? 

Do they even deserve to live?

You shake that deadly thought away. No, that's wrong. You shouldn't be happy that Pope killed those assholes for you. 

You shouldn't encourage this behavior. 

You shouldn't feel so…good that he would do that for you. 

This is fucked up, beyond fucked up. 

It's your wildest fantasy come true. 

But some fantasies should stay fantasies…

Because if you indulge in any more darkness, you'll surely never find your way out.

Is that really a bad thing? 

Can't you just…enjoy being his? 

Pope wouldn't do this for just anyone. You're obviously special to him. You are fully aware of that now. 

And it makes you sick how much you like it. 

“Andrew, we can't be together.” You want to see how crazed he can get about you. “I don't want to be with you anymore.” 

Something fucking snaps in Pope when you say that. 

He lets out a low, menacing growl. Like you've triggered the beast in him that he's been trying his whole life to keep caged. 

“You think you get to run from me, little one? You think you have a choice here?” He starts laughing maniacally and your entire body freezes up. “I don't give a fuck what you think. You're mine whether you want to be or not.”

Then, Pope gets off of you. He stands up, at the edge of the bed, and looks at you staring up at him with wide eyes, so full of that delicious fear. 

“I'll give you until I'm done setting up.” He's being generous. You won't get very far. “But just know, the moment I catch you, I'm raping you on camera.”

Your chest tightens. Every breath you take is a struggle. Your body is trembling all over.

The thrill is unlike anything you've ever felt before. 

Pope ignores the fact that you're still laying in bed, stunned. He focuses on getting all the cameras set up. 

Why would he care if you decide not to run? Makes his life easier if you don't. 

You scramble to your feet when you see him pull out several toys, including a butt plug, so he can clean them and get them ready.

That's when you start to actually panic. 

Because you told Pope you don't want to do any kind of anal play until you've gotten used to sex. 

But it looks like he has stopped giving a fuck about what you want. 

He's going to take both of your virginities, right here, right now. 

Live on camera. 

You shriek when he tries to grab you. You duck under his arms and sprint out of the room. You should've ran sooner. He's so much faster than you are. 

You barely make it to the front door before Pope slams you against it. The wind is knocked out of you immediately which is why you can't fight back when he grabs you by the hair and drags you back towards his bedroom. You have no strength left. Or rather, he is so much stronger than you. 

He tosses you onto the bed without breaking a sweat and he does it again and again, each time you try to get out of it. You're immediately thrown right back down. 

“Stay put.” He commands but you don't listen, making him click his tongue in irritation. “This would be easier if you stopped struggling. I can make you feel really good.” 

“I don't want to.” You shake your head at him, trying again to get off the bed but this time Pope is done with fucking around. 

He grabs you by the throat and holds you down onto the bed. You flail beneath him, kicking at him, screaming at him but the words don't come out. 

The only words that can be heard are his, “you know I could just kill you.”

You still completely at that. He smiles down at you, caressing your face with his free hand. It's not comforting. It's so fucking scary. He's so fucking crazy… 

“What will it be, little one?” He grips your throat with both his hands now, tightening his hold, making you choke for the cameras. “Do you want to die or do you want to get fucked?” 

He lets go of your throat for just a moment so you can tell him, panic in your quiet murmur, “I don't want to die…”

“Good girl.” Pope praises you for making the right choice, giving you a light kiss on the temple. “You're going to let me take your virginity, then?” 

You nod reluctantly. 

“Including your ass?” He wants the camera to catch you consenting to this, even if it's obviously coerced. 

“Please, Andrew, not my—” His hands don't allow another word to leave your lips, gripping your neck so hard that your eyes feel like they might pop out of your skull. 

“Don't be a bad girl.” He shakes his head at you, full of disappointment. “Tell me the right answer.”

He loosens his hold and waits for you to tell him what he wants to hear. 

Heat flashes in his gaze when you answer, “no.” 

“No?” His lips curve into a big smile, a smile so wide that anyone could tell it's an evil one. 

“I don't want this.” You tell him and you're unsure if you're acting or not. It's a little bit of both… “You're going to rape me. I didn't sign up for this.” 

“Oh?” He moves his hands to the side of your head, leaning down until you can feel every word he breathes out on your lips, “what did you sign up for, then?” 

Pope isn't expecting you to cup his face with your hands. Nor is he expecting for you to rest your forehead against his before kissing him on the lips. 

He has missed the feel of your lips on his. 

It feels like it's been too long since the last time the two of you kissed. 

“You.” You whisper to him, so softly so the cameras can't hear it. “I love you, Andrew.” 

“Are you being serious?" He won't let you live if you're fucking with him right now. 

You nod, smiling up at him. “I love everything about you.” 

“I was about to rape you.” He wants you to realize what you almost made him do. 

“I was going to let you.” You nuzzle his nose playfully before telling him, “you still can.”

“Don't push me.” He refuses to let you tempt him any further. 

But you entice him too much. “I want you to, Andrew. Take me like you've always wanted to.” 

His breaths grow heavy, desire clouding his judgment. “We're going to have to cut this part out of the video.” 

“Want to kiss me a little first?” You say with a lovely grin. 

“Fuck.” He finds you so adorable. “I love you so much.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. The two of you lay there, tongues tangled, hips grinding against each other until you're aching for him to fuck you already. 

When Pope can't handle it anymore, he tells you, “we make love for us. Then we fuck for the camera.” 

“I like that idea.” You giggle happily when he tugs off your clothes until you're bare beneath him. “My turn.” 

You strip him and Pope knows then that you're the one for him. Because you're so gentle with him, with every touch. You treat him like he's precious to you. It's all he has ever wanted.

You're beautifully bashful when he starts kissing up and down the length of your body, his hands roaming your skin, wanting to memorize what you feel like. 

“I hope you know the moment we fuck, we're never stopping.” He warns you because he's been waiting for this for too long. He's going to need to have his fill of you. 

“Don't tease me with a good time, Andrew.” You spread your legs for him, dipping your hand between them to show him how wet you are. “Will you touch me? I've missed you.” 

“You have?” Pope hadn't realized how desperate he was to hear you admit it out loud. 

“I'm sorry I was being distant.” You feel really bad about it. 

“It's okay.” He would've suffered as long as you needed him to. “Just don't do it again.” 

“As long as you don't kill any more people.” Your words make him snap up to look at you. 

“But what if they're mean and deserve to die?” He says between gritted teeth and you hold back a laugh.

Pope can be like a vicious puppy sometimes. It's so cute. 

“I don't want the love of my life going to prison over a few internet trolls.”

He grumbles. “Fine. Then I'll take out my frustration on your pussy.”

You gasp when he dives between your legs without warning, his tongue dipping into you immediately. You squirm when the tip of his tongue starts flicking that spot inside of you that has you begging him to stop or you'll burst. 

“Wait, slow down—Andrew!” You push at his head, trying to get him to stop because your orgasm is building too quickly. “Stop! I'm going to cum, I'm going to—”

Your orgasm hits you right then and Pope has a little too much fun licking it up, the sounds surely getting captured on camera. 

“Cum as much as you want, little one.” He says as he thrusts two fingers inside of you, curling them right where his tongue just was, sending shivers through you. “Show me how good I make you feel.” 

You grab a hold of his hair when Pope starts sucking on your clit while his fingers pounds into you. You're trying not to be too vocal. You know the audience doesn't like it. But Pope likes it, so he makes you cum so hard that you can't hold back your voice. 

And he does that over and over again until you're begging and crying for him to give you a break. 

“I can't cum anymore, Andrew.” You won't survive if he makes you cum again. 

You're so overstimulated…

Pope lets out a sigh. “Fine, we'll take a break.” 

Though, a break in his mind really just means he's going to take his time marking every inch of your skin with his teeth. You don't know if this is any better than cumming your brains out. Now you're sensitive all over. Everywhere he touches sends sparks to your core. 

Pope's prepping you to cum hard on his cock. He wants your first time to be so good, you become addicted to fucking him. 

So he has to pull out every trick in the book. 

Edging you until you're dripping wet and aching for something deep inside of you. 

“Finally ready for my cock?” He asks, smirking at the desperation in your eyes.

“Please.” You want him so badly. 

Pope settles his hips against yours. He grabs his cock, dragging it up and down the length of your wet slit, coating himself in your slick. 

“Deep breaths, little one.” He instructs as he pushes the tip of his cock against your entrance. “You're about to take a porn star's cock for your first time. You'll need to relax.” 

Easier said than done because it feels like he's splitting you in two from just the tip of his cock pushing past your entrance. You're gripping onto the sheets for dear life as he slips more of himself into you slowly. 

“Too much.” You cry out, shaking your head, feeling overwhelmed. “You're too big.” 

Your words cause his cock to twitch inside of you which only makes you wriggle even more. It's so intense, the pressure of being pried out like this. 

“Focus on me.” Pope leans down to kiss you, distracting you with his soft lips and loving words. “You're doing so well. Your pussy feels so good.”

“Yeah?” You like that he feels good too. “Do you like my tight virgin pussy?” 

He growls low. “I love it.”

His cock barely fits inside of you. He'll need to fuck you a bit to loosen you up. So, he grabs your hips and looks at you with so much need in his eyes. 

“I'm going to fuck you now.” He gives you a moment to prepare yourself. “Until you're covered in my cum.” 

You shake your head. “I want you to cum inside of me. Pump a baby into me, Andrew.”

The moment you say that, it's like any remaining rationality Pope had left completely crumbles. 

He pins you down by your shoulders and just starts ramming into you. You've never felt such forceful thrusts before that your body doesn't even know how to react. 

You just cum. That's all you can do. 

“Oh god—” You grab a hold of his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as he pounds you into his mattress. “Too rough, you're being too—!”

His hands slide to your throat and the moment he cuts off your air, you squirt on his cock and he laughs. “Someone likes it rough.” 

You're clawing at him now, drawing blood, unable to handle the orgasms he's pulling out of you. Your vision is going blurry. You can't think straight. 

And you see stars when he whispers in your ear, “how does it feel to get raped for your first time?” 

Your body convulses under him in response and Pope loves how your pussy is clenching around him, milking his cock, begging for his cum. When he finally gives it to you and lets go of your throat, you're gasping for air, cumming your brains out on his cock pumping hot ropes of cum inside of you. You love how warm you feel, completely filled up with his release. 

You don't want it to end. 

You want to be wrung out like this for the rest of your life. 

Pope pulls out of you and you expect it to be over but then you feel three of his fingers replace his cock. You're so sensitive that an orgasm washes over you just from him idly stroking your insides. He's merely resting his fingers inside of you, to keep you plugged up, but you're cumming on them too easily, drenching his hand.

“You're spilling my cum, little one.” He thrusts as much as he can back inside of you. “I need you to hold it in.”

“It's hard…” Especially when he keeps curling his fingers on purpose. 

“Who taught you to cum like a porn star?” He can't even count how many orgasms the cameras must've caught by now. 

“You.” You answer honestly, earning yourself another orgasm when his fingers start fucking you faster. “Andrew!” 

“Don't cum.” He thrusts his fingers deeper inside of you with every stroke. “If you cum, I'm going to rape you.” 

You glance down. Pope is hard again already. Usually it takes longer but when he looks at you, his body is just ready to fuck. 

Especially now that his cock has had a taste of your pussy. 

He can't possibly quit now!

Your whole body tenses in a poor attempt to stop the orgasm that will inevitably shatter you. But Pope is ruthless with his fingers. 

Then he tugs at your perky nipples with his free hand and you burst like a dam, cumming all over his fingers. 

You don't get a second to collect yourself before Pope flips you onto your stomach and pounds every inch of his cock inside of your still spasming pussy. His weight keeps you held down to the bed as he fucks you like an animal desperately needing to breed. He wants you pregnant.

He needs you to have his baby. 

You don't know how many times Pope cums inside of you. The batteries in the cameras all die at a certain point but he doesn't stop fucking you. 

It's a compulsion at a certain point. The moment he's hard again, his cock is buried inside of you. Your pussy has molded to his shape. Your body yearns for his release. 

The two of you don't stop fucking until you take a pregnancy test and it's positive. 

Pope is the most excited he has ever been about anything. 

And you're happy to see him like that. 

So, you'll wait a bit longer before you tell him it's a false positive. You had to figure out how to create a false positive or he would've never let you leave his bed. 

He surely won't once he finds out.

And you're looking forward to it. 

a/n: you know this idea started as one of those crack ideas but then I just ended up writing so much for it, oops! I just fell in love with porn star!pope, he's such a lovely guy (who will be very angry when he finds out you aren't pregnant hehe the next part will be fun ~)

hope you enjoyed the read ♡

[mrstargayen09]

AYOOOOOOOOOO this is THE STUFF to keep me away from being depresseddddd

Nicely done, once again author!! Keep feeding us amazing fics and keep us well fed mother xx

[moodyabbott]

lord have mercy that GIGGLE

[bethsvrse]

“Their eyes locked from across the room”

[mrstargayen09]

WHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHA

[slytherclaw1978]

my screensaver if I was dating pope

[richeeduvie]

Jack spends an entire post-sex cuddle session emotionally suffering from the fact you’ve figured out he used to be ginger because…despite all the silver curls and stubble, there is a very incriminating copper color that still exists south of the border.

Or, to put it frankly, you realize he used to be a ginger from his pubes that haven’t gone fully gray.

You’ve been brushing up against them enough to notice.

“Jack Audrey Abbot, You seriously expect me to find out my silver fox boyfriend used to be ginger and not demand evidence? This is the best day of my life!”

You, naturally, react like you’ve found God. Jack wants to die, because you become obsessed with the idea of young ginger Jack. He gets gruffly, pathetically flustered in ways you’ve never seen before.

“You know what, you wanna talk about pubes? Let’s talk about how you thought shaving down there would be a fun surprise for me. That was stupid.”

“Shut up. I want photossss!!”

Fuck. Apparently all it takes to reduce him into a blushing mess is his hot girlfriend nurse young enough to be his kid is her being too delighted by the fact that he used to look like a fucking stocky Irish farm boy.

“I have some…I have some photos. Hopefully you’ll stop sexually harassing me.”

“Yay!”

But unfortunately for him, the more embarrassed he gets, the much more attractive you find him. Which, that should be impossible by now.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

You call Pope “my love” and every time you say it, he has a little smile on his face.

“Can you get me my bag, my love?”

“Hi, my love! How’s the skate park going?”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you, my love!”

And Pope is just

EVERY SINGLE TIME.

[mrstargayen09]

Seeing that small smile of his makes me feel all bubbly and just makes me want to squeeze the shit outta him..(i wanna snuggle him 24/7)

[opulentpeony]

Affixation

Pairing: Andrew “Pope” Cody x Reader x Titus Danforth (but this time, you're their niece! oops!)

Summary: After a terrible accident leaves you all alone, you have no one else to go for help except your twin uncles. They're the only ones who understand. They lost their families too. They only have each other, and now you. You may not be related by blood, but you're their family. So, they take care of you. It's easy to, since they're growing to love you. 

But what happens when you stop seeing them as your uncles and they stop seeing you as their niece…

Word Count: 9.0k 

A/N: I thought to myself what would happen if I put the two psychos together without a moral buffer of Jack and well, this is what happened! Whoops! 

This is like so nasty, so filthy, so horrid so please avert your eyes if you are a pure soul because you will surely be tainted after reading this! 

I highly suggest checking the warnings for this fic on my AO3. I do not advise you going into this one blind (but again, you're an adult so you do you bestie!)

I will warn that there is a rape/non-con warning, along with a horrific age gap and fauxcest (obviously lol). Just overall a very clearly dead dove: do not eat fic! 

This is mostly really fucked up porn LMAO ! Hope it's a sick read ♡

“She's Baz's kid.” That's what Pope says on the phone to his brother Titus. “He gave her up for adoption when she was a baby. She's about to turn eighteen.”

“Doesn't that make her an adult?” Titus can't believe he picked up the phone. 

He hasn't talked to Pope since they found out that their father had left everything to Titus and Ursula in his will. Though, technically, Titus ended up with everything because the accident that killed their father killed Ursula as well. 

A helicopter malfunction. 

Terribly unfortunate for them that Titus refused to go to that stupid mansion that their father always insisted on going for the holidays. It can only be traveled to and from by helicopter. There are no roads. So, they met their demise on that mountaintop. 

Since Pope and Julia are technically Chester's children, they were present at the will reading but their mother Smurf was the one who raised them since they split the children evenly in the divorce. Not a traditional thing to do but when both girls and both boys are a set of twins, it works out. 

That was the first time Titus met Pope. He didn't realize that they were identical twins. His father had no clue. He hadn't seen Pope since he was a baby so there was no way of knowing that they'd grow up to look exactly the same. They never met until right then. 

And now, a few months later, Pope is trying to get Titus to take some kid off his hands. “I can't raise her alone.” 

“What is there to raise?” Titus can't wrap his head around it. You're practically an adult. 

It is a tragedy that your adopted parents died suddenly but he doesn't understand how this is somehow his problem. Especially when you're not even a blood relative. Baz is Pope's adopted brother. Titus shouldn't get involved in this. 

“Just help me get her situated. I have a record. I can't be her legal guardian. It has to be you.” Pope wouldn't be asking for help if he could do it. 

He doesn't want you placed in the foster system, even if it's only for a few weeks until you turn eighteen. He knows how bad it can get. You deserve to be around people who will take care of you, like him.

“Just until she turns eighteen.” Titus caves but for a price. “Then, you never call me again. Got it?” 

“I'll send you the paperwork.” Pope hangs up before Titus can take it back. 

He looks up at you, seeing the haunted look on your face. You've never met him before. You don't know anything about your biological parents. Pope told you that you had a half-brother, Joshua, but he died in the house fire that took your father's life, along with your other uncles and your grandmother. Your Aunt Julia had overdosed just a few weeks ago. 

Pope was the only one left. Just like Titus. Just like you. 

You all are the last of your pockets of family. 

And now you're all together. 

“Your Uncle Titus will be adopting you, so you won't get put in the system.” Pope tells you, trying to reassure you. 

But you just survived a horrific car accident, where you watched your parents scream and bleed out in front of you while you were trapped in the backseat. 

You aren't really in the state to talk. 

“I'm sorry this happened to you.” He sits down beside you. “Everything will be okay. We'll take care of you.” 

You're unsure about that but you don't have the mental capacity to think about anything right now.

You stay like that for more than a week, completely mute.

Titus pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck. She hasn't said a word this whole time.”

Him and Pope are standing in the middle of the kitchen, discussing what to do about your silence. You're fast asleep in your room. Titus ended up buying a three bedroom apartment near a highly rated private school, so when you start your final semester, you will have graduated from a top ranked school. Better for your college applications.

But they need you to start talking by then. 

Because you have to pass the interview. 

“I've already sunk the tuition cost. She hasn't said a word to you at all?” Titus has plenty of money, since he's a billionaire, but he's just irritated that he has to waste it. 

“Nothing. She did watch her parents die, Titus. Give her some slack.” Pope is sure it will be a long time until you feel okay. The people who raised you are gone and you're living with two people you've never even met before. 

“I'm putting her in therapy.” He pulls his phone out, dialing his assistant to find the best therapist for you. Not because he cares about you, but because there's no point in not getting the best of the best if he can afford it. 

“Maybe we just homeschool her for the last year. Isn't that an option?” 

That is a good option, especially if you need the flexibility. 

Titus tells his assistant to research that as well. He never knew dealing with a kid would be so difficult. Though, again, can he call you a kid when you're only a few weeks away from being eighteen? 

Why does it matter to him? You'll be out of his way when you turn eighteen and he'll never have to think about you again. 

But that is growing more and more difficult to separate himself when he hears you crying in your room every day. 

Titus had picked the room in the apartment that had a bathroom attached to it, since he didn't want to share a bathroom with you or Pope. In retrospect, he should've just bought a bigger apartment. But he figured he wouldn't be staying here long and this would be easier to rent out later than some extravagant luxury high rise apartment.

But because he picked this room, it's right next to yours. 

And you cry a lot. 

It's the only time you make noise. 

Other than when you cry at night, you barely make a sound. You stare blankly at your uncles during meals. You go to your room whenever you're done eating. You don't interact with them beyond the brief nod. 

Pope tries to talk to you but you don't answer him. If he asks a yes or no question, like what you'd like for dinner, sometimes you'll move your head but other than that, you don't do much socializing. 

You've never been a very social person. Your parents really were your whole world. You have always been shy, more shy than most. Talking to people scared you before, but it scares you even more now. You lost your safe space. 

And now you're on the other side of the country, living with two men who aren't even related to you, who look exactly alike, and you're more nervous than you have ever been in your life. 

The therapist helps. You manage to talk little by little every session, though you mostly type out your words on your phone. 

By the time you turn eighteen, you're finally saying a few words here and there. 

Pope pulled Titus aside the day before your birthday to plead to let you stay for a bit longer, since you're showing actually improvement and he can't possibly take you away from here now. Titus hates to admit it but he has been grateful you have spoken a little. He doesn't know why, but it gives him a strange sense of accomplishment. 

So, he agrees. 

And they take you out to celebrate your eighteen birthday. 

You've taken to texting them when you want to say something. Texting makes things a little easier for you, so you all have a group chat now. 

You: Thank you for the birthday gifts. 

You send that then give them both a little soft smile when they read it. 

“You're welcome.” Titus didn't know what you're supposed to get a girl on her eighteenth birthday. He got Ursula a necklace so he bought you one too. 

You're wearing it right now. 

You look beautiful with it on, though that might just be because you are beautiful. 

A thought that hadn't crossed Titus's mind until now. 

“Do you want me to show you how to unload and reload it?” Pope had bought you a gun. 

You nod and watch as he shows you everything. You never thought you'd get a gun but apparently your uncle is very good at using guns and he always carries one. Force of habit. You don't know why, though. You haven't asked. Maybe you should. 

“Just keep it in the case until we go out shooting, okay?” Pope puts the gun away and locks the case. He couldn't think of what to get you but he figured teaching you how to shoot would be a good idea in general, so you know how to defend yourself. 

“Okay.” That's one of the few words you say. 

Pope likes hearing it. He likes hearing your voice. It's like a small win every time he does. The sound of it is growing precious to him. 

You look down at your phone and then text them again. 

You: Can I skip school tomorrow? 

“No.” They both say at the same time, which startles Titus and Pope. That's never happened before. 

Pope is surprised Titus said no. He thought Titus would be the more lenient one since he doesn't really care about you. But maybe he's starting to care. A lot more than he thought he would. 

Because you are a very sweet girl. 

You pay attention to small things. You polish Titus's cufflinks in your free time because he likes them shiny. You keep Pope's boxing gear clean so it's ready whenever he wants to use it. 

You had always done chores around the house for your parents so you do the same here. You don't make a fuss about anything. You actually go out of your way not to be a burden of any kind. 

It's something you've been talking about in therapy.

“You seem to like your uncles very much.” Your therapist says, inviting you to talk about it. 

You've started talking a bit more, so you tell her, “I do like them. They're very nice. But…” 

You play with your hands, nervous. You want to talk about this but it's been hard to. Your therapist is patient though, letting you take your time.

Then, you admit, “I'm eighteen now. My parents left me some money that I have access to now. My uncles don't…have to help me anymore. I'm not even their real niece. They shouldn't be wasting their money on me. I don't want to take advantage of them any longer.” 

“Are you taking advantage?” Your therapist doesn't like the way you're wording that. 

But that's how you feel. 

Because the last few weeks, you've been spoiled by your uncles more than you want to confess in therapy.

Since you've started speaking, they talk to you a lot more. You have most of your meals with them unless Titus and Pope have things to do. They tell you the craziest stories because they like your little giggles and your shocked faces. 

You all watch movies together. Sometimes you fall asleep in the middle of one and Titus lets you rest on his shoulder while you sleep until he falls asleep. Then Pope will carry you to your room and tuck you in. Sometimes you'll wake up and he's sleeping beside you. 

There are times where you'll cry in the middle of the night and Titus will come in and you let him get into bed with you, letting him hold you until you fall back asleep. 

Whenever you ask for something, they get it for you. Your phone was acting up so Titus bought you a new one the next day. Latest model, pretty case, screen protector, the works. Whenever you want a sweet treat, Pope will happily take you out and share a cup of ice cream with you. 

They don't let you pay for anything, even though you've said on several occasions that you have your own money now. They tell you to save it for college and to focus on your homeschooling. You do because Titus hired the best homeschooling teachers to come see you three times a week. The other four days a week, he takes you on trips around the world with Pope. 

Him and Pope have started a side business of robbing rich people's unguarded vacation homes. Mostly for fun, since neither of them really needs the money. They find it cute when you ask them where they got all the new clothes and jewelry for you. 

You've gotten a lot of gifts since you turned eighteen. 

You checked the prices for most of these things and they are worth way more than what your parents left you. 

That's why you feel like you're taking advantage of them. They keep giving you so much but you have nothing to give them in return. 

You try explaining this to your therapist but she just tells you, “you're their family. You don't owe them anything. Maybe they just want to spoil you after everything you've been through. You don't have to feel bad about it. Just enjoy the attention.” 

But it's growing harder to enjoy it when you find yourself flustered every time you look at them. You've never been…attracted to anyone before. You've never found anyone attractive before them. It's hard not to be when they both share the same handsome face. 

It's worse when you see one of your uncles shirtless. Especially Pope. It feels like he's constantly walking around without a shirt on. 

You've told him on several occasions to put on a shirt but he thinks you're just being cute when you go, “please put on a shirt, Uncle Andrew!” 

“I just worked out. I'm not getting a shirt dirty.” He chuckles, unscrewing the lid of his water bottle and gulping it down. 

You hate that you stare at him when he does, watching the water drip off the side of his lip, wishing you could lick it up. You slap yourself for even thinking that. 

What is wrong with you! 

It's not normal to imagine him, hot and sweaty like he is when he works out, on top of you, pinning you down, spreading your legs open and—

You jolt in your seat on the couch when you feel Pope's hand on your cheek. “Is it too warm in here? You're burning up.” 

“I-I'm okay.” You do feel heat pooling at your core but it's not because of the temperature in the room… “I probably should shower.” 

“Do you want to go first?” He's asking since you and him share a bathroom.

“Oh, no, it's okay. I'll just use Uncle Titus's bathroom.” Sometimes you do when Pope is using yours. 

“Do you know when he'll be back?” Pope hasn't seen him, since he was just at the gym. 

You shrug because you were on a field trip today to a history museum with your homeschool teachers. 

“Whatever.” Pope couldn't care less about what his brother is up to. 

You do, though. 

Because you go to Titus's room, so you can go take a shower, and as you walk up to the bathroom door, you hear the water running already. 

Is Titus home? You had no idea—

You clamp your hand over your mouth when you hear him say your name all raspy. The bathroom door is open just a smidge and you can't help but peer inside. 

The sight leaves you speechless. He has his hand splayed wide against the tiled wall of the shower with his other hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it vigorously in his hand until he cums. You've never seen him naked before. 

You've never even seen a cock before right now. Are they normally…that big? Is that supposed to fit inside you—

You feel his gaze on you and you look up, locking eyes with him. You quickly shut the door completely then you want to say something but…the words won't come out. 

You just stand there, mortified that he caught you watching him. Why did you watch him? 

And why is your underwear soaked? 

You jump when the door to the bathroom suddenly opens and Titus has a towel wrapped around his waist, holding onto it securely. Steam filters out of the bathroom, making your skin warm. Though, maybe that's just from the sight of water dripping off his bare body. He must've gotten out in a hurry, his hair slicked back. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest from all the horrid thoughts that are rampaging in your mind. Like how he could stalk towards you and grab a hold of you and—

“What are you doing in here?” He keeps his voice neutral, flat.

Because he has no clue how long you have been watching him. But from how flustered you look, you must've heard him calling out your name before he came. He doesn't want to scare you away by sounding angry.

But he really wishes you hadn't witnessed that. 

“I-I…” The words are getting caught in your throat. 

“Where's your phone?” His eyes trail down your body then point to your pocket. “Type it out.” 

You nod and then quickly pull your phone out from your pants and start typing out a message into the group chat. 

You: I came in here to take a shower. I didn't know you'd be in there. I promise I didn't see anything. 

You don't realize when you turn the phone to show Titus, you accidentally hit send. So Pope gets that text message when he's getting out of the shower. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Pope comes into Titus's room, also with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “When the fuck did you get home?” 

“I've been home. When did you get back?” Titus didn't hear either of you come in. 

“A few minutes ago. I had to leave the gym early to pick her up since the museum had to close early for an event.” 

Ah, so that's why Titus's sweet alone time was interrupted. He thought he had at least another hour all to himself. 

“What is this text about?” Pope meets your flustered gaze, gesturing to his phone. “Tell me now.”

You shake your head. You are definitely not typing that out. 

Titus notices the way your body is trembling. Though, on closer examination, it seems more like you're vibrating. The nerves must be rolling through you. You did just watch your uncle jerk off to the thought of you. 

But you didn't scream. You didn't run away. 

You stayed and you watched…

Because you liked it. That much Titus is sure of now.

“It was nothing.” Titus places his hand on your shoulder. “I left the bathroom door a little open and I heard her close it so when I asked her what happened, that's what she typed.”

You don't know why Titus is covering for you. You thought he would tell Pope the truth. But he just presses into your shoulder with his thumb, rubbing little circles into your skin that is causing more heat to pool in your core, imagining him doing that somewhere else…

“You can shower now.” He tells you, patting you on the shoulder before letting you go. “Unless you want to go to your bathroom.” 

“I-I'll shower here.” That way you don't have to walk past Pope while you're all feverish like this. You shut the bathroom door behind you, locking it, breathing out a sigh of relief. 

Your uncles start talking the moment the door is closed. 

“She watched me jerk off.” Titus tells Pope what really happened. “That's why she wrote that.” 

“What the fuck, Titus? You didn't know she was there?” 

“Not until I finished. I don't know how long she was there for. She might've been watching the whole time.” 

“She was already sweating from me with just a shirt off. I'm surprised she didn't pass out seeing you jerk off.” Pope knows how much seeing his body affects you. That's why he does it. He likes the way your eyes stay plastered onto his body whenever he comes home from the gym.

“How much longer do we wait?” Titus is getting impatient. “Did this fuck the timeline up?” 

“Her therapist said she likes us a lot.” Pope shrugs. “I think everything will be fine. Just don't do that shit again.” 

“I won't. Just give me a heads up next time you're back early, for fuck's sake.” Titus goes to grab some clothes. “Now get the fuck out of my room.” 

Pope leaves, shutting the door behind him. 

You cling to the bathroom door, your heart hammering in your chest. You heard that whole conversation. 

What were they talking about? 

What timeline? 

And why do they know what you talk to your therapist about? 

What is going on… 

Everything has been normal since that day. Completely normal. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. 

Except, your uncles have been touching you a lot more. 

You thought you were making it up in your head but…you definitely aren't.

You notice the way Pope's foot brushes against your ankle under the dining table. You catch Titus's hand lingering on the small of your back. You try your hardest not to react when they both place their hands on your thighs when you sit between them during your movie nights. 

You don't say anything about it because you don't want it to stop. But you should want it to stop. 

Because you can't get them off your mind. This is unhealthy. They're your uncles. You can't be lusting after them like this. 

But you keep imagining their hands drifting higher up, pulling your underwear aside so they can slip their fingers into you. Or bury their cocks inside of you. Both of them…

You curl into yourself in bed, your fingers soaked from touching yourself for the fifth day in a row. You can't handle it. You must be ovulating. You always feel pent up when you're at this stage of your cycle. 

You get up from bed so you can go out to the bathroom across the hall. But when you open your door, Pope is outside. He must want to use the bathroom too. 

“You can go first.” You tell him, hiding your hands behind your back. You can't let him see how wet it is. He'll wonder where it's from and you can't possibly explain it. 

But he sees the way you have your legs crossed. He watches your chest rise and fall too quickly. 

You must've just touched yourself. He had come out to check if he was hearing things or not. He's glad he was right. 

He likes the sight of you squirming like this. 

So, Pope decides to make you squirm a little more by snatching your wrist from behind your back. Your eyes widen when he stares at your wet fingers. 

“Did you spill something?” He asks, even though he can tell by how slick it is what's coating your hand. “Why is your hand all wet?” 

“Uncle Andrew, please let go…” You can't take how embarrassed you are right now. 

“Answer my question.” He tugs you closer to him, bringing your hand right up to his face. “What is this?” 

You shake your head, not able to say anything. 

What the hell are you supposed to say? 

You can't possibly tell him it's from you touching yourself to the thought of him and his brother. 

You gasp when he drags his tongue up along your palm to your fingertips, licking your hand clean. Then, he hums, the sweet taste making his cock throb in his sweats. 

“I think I know what this is.” He steps towards you, backing you up against the wall of the hallway. “It's what's dripping between your legs right now, isn't it?” 

He lets go of your hand so he can slide his hand into your pajama pants, slipping past your underwear. You bite down on your lip when his fingers graze your wet folds before going to tease your swollen clit. 

He leans in, whispering into your ear, “why is my niece's clit so hard? Have you been touching yourself?” 

You feel his cock rubbing up against your thigh as his thigh holds your legs apart. His fingertips swirl little circles around your clit, playing with your bundle of nerves. You're already getting close again. 

You need to tell him to stop. He can't be touching you. He's your uncle! 

“Please stop.” You tremble, your hand gripping his shirt, trying to push him away but failing miserably. He's like a rock wall. You can't get him to budge… 

“It's a yes or no question.” He looks at you with that harsh glare of his. “Have you been touching yourself?” 

You blink back tears as you nod in response. He rewards your honesty by slipping two thick fingers inside of you before he starts palming your clit. You clamp your hand over your mouth, a moan nearly escaping. You can't let Titus hear what Pope is doing to you out here. 

“Are you afraid your uncle is going to catch us?” Pope taunts, liking the fear in your eyes. “Or, are you afraid he's going to join us?” 

You cum so hard from the thought of Titus coming out here and touching you too, squirting all over Pope's hand, soaking through your pants. Your breaths are ragged against your palm, barely muffled. You're so dizzy from your orgasm but Pope won't stop touching you. 

“What a mess you've made.” He shakes his head, his words humiliating you. “We might as well take these off.” 

He yanks your bottoms off with his other hand, dropping them to the floor. Now you're bare from the waist down and you have a clear visual of his hand between your legs. 

You cum again from the sight of him fingering you. He smiles at how easily you cum. You're so sensitive. So precious. So malleable. So easy to corrupt. 

Maybe that's why Pope pushes you a bit. “Do you want me to do that again?” 

You should shake your head. You should tell him no. You should not let this happen again. 

But when your eyes meet his and his gaze is full of lust, you nod. 

That's when he drops to his knees, tossing one of your legs over his shoulder so he has clear access to your dripping pussy. Your fingers slip into his hair the moment his tongue flicks your clit, your other hand permanently clamped around your mouth. His fingers curl inside of you, pushing you close to the edge again. 

And his words push you right off the cliff, “I want my niece to cum on my face.”

Your eyes go blurry when you cum, drenching his face, giving him ample to lick up eagerly. The wet sounds fill the hallway and there's no way Titus doesn't hear it. He's bound to come out soon and catch you.

He definitely will when you let out a scream when Pope seals his lips over your clit and starts sucking as his fingers keep fucking you through your orgasm. 

“Oh god, Uncle Andrew, I can't—” You have both hands in his hair now, holding him steady, grinding against his face, cumming so hard that you see stars in your vision. 

That's when Titus swings his door open, huffing angrily the moment he sees the two of you.

“What the fuck, Pope?” Titus comes up to the two of you, seething. “I thought we were going to wait.” 

“Does it look like we need to wait anymore?” Pope licks his lips, pulling his fingers out of you, showing Titus how slick they are before he puts them into his mouth, savoring the taste. 

“Did you like having your uncle eat you out, my little niece?” Titus grabs a hold of your face, making you look at him. 

You nod, heat flooding your system when he smiles so devilishly at you. 

“She was touching herself.” Pope explains to Titus why the two of you are out here. “She tried hiding it from me.” 

“What were you thinking about while you touched yourself?” His eyes trail down, seeing how much your legs are trembling. “Were you thinking about us? Were you fantasizing about your uncles fucking you?” 

Again, no words leave your lips. You can only nod, so bashfully. 

Titus could just swallow you whole. You're so cute and innocent, but also filthy at the same time. 

To think, they didn't have to persuade you. You already want them. 

“Show me.” He steps back, gesturing for you to touch yourself. “I want to see how you do it.” 

You swallow, the nerves locking your throat. 

“Ah, but first,” he reaches forward, gathering your slick in his palm, “I need some of this.” 

Then, you watch as Titus pulls out his hard cock, wrapping his wet hand around it, stroking himself to the sight of you shaking. Pope sees where this is going so he does the same, grabbing some of your wetness so he can touch himself while looking at you. 

You stare at them, rubbing their cocks, both of them so hard because of you. Because of their niece. And you're dripping wet between your legs because of your uncles. 

You dip your fingers into your pussy, curling them as your other hand grabs one of your breasts over your sleep shirt, pinching your nipple. 

“Take off your shirt.” Titus demands and you shake your head, making him snarl. “Do it now or I rip it off.” 

You're scared at how much slick drips out of you when he says that, your arm tugging off your shirt, leaving you completely naked in front of them. 

“Now rub your clit. We'll handle your breasts.” Titus gets close to you again, his free hand grabbing your left breast, pinching your nipple exactly how you did earlier, making you cum on your hand at how rough his touch is. “Hurry up, Pope. She might cum again without you.” 

Pope growls in annoyance, grabbing your right breast with his free hand, rolling your nipple between it as he continues to jerk himself off. Then, he leans in, whispering into your ear, “I want to fuck you so badly, my little niece.” 

You bite back a moan as you drench your hand again, aching from how hard you're rubbing your own clit. 

“Please fuck me.” You let out in a little whimper, your pussy desperate to be filled.

Your uncles catch that, turning to look at each other. The look they share is evil. 

Pure evil. 

“Say it clearly.” Titus looks right at you, searing you with his hot gaze. “Say you want your uncles to fuck you.” 

“No, she should say she wants her uncles to take her virginity.” Pope corrects, his words shooting such a thrill through you. “Our niece wants us to defile her. Isn't that right?” 

You nod but the words won't come out. It's like they're locked up in your throat. That pulls a sadistic laugh from them both. 

“Aw, she's shy.” Titus leans in, giving you a small peck on the cheek before whispering into your ear, “and yet so naughty, dreaming about her uncles taking her virginity. Why don't you let us make your fantasy a reality, sweetie?” 

“All you have to do is say it and we'll give you everything you want.” Pope tells you, his voice low, seductive, intoxicating. 

You can have them both, buried inside of you, filling you up. Your eyes dart between them, at their similar handsome faces that have been the subject of all your darkest fantasies. 

Then, you breathe out, all airy, “I want my uncles to take my virginity, please.” 

Pope immediately lifts you into his arms and carries you back to your bedroom. Titus doesn't follow behind because he needs to go grab something they had bought to help prep you. 

He comes back to the sight of you straddling Pope, your lips on his. Pope kisses you softly, liking how eager you are to meet his lips now that you've completely given into temptation. You know you shouldn't be doing this but you're grinding your bare pussy over the swell in his pants, wishing he was buried inside of you already. 

“Are you being impatient, sweetie?” Pope nuzzles your nose playfully before scolding you. “You're getting my sweats all dirty.” 

“Sorry, Uncle Andrew.” You can't help it. 

The friction feels so good, especially when his cock throbs at you saying his name. 

Titus climbs into bed and since he's behind you, you don't see what he's carrying in his hands, setting it down behind you. But you do let out a shriek when you feel cold lube on your ass. 

“Quiet, sweetie.” Titus presses a finger against the tight ring, rubbing along the circle. “You'll wake the neighbors. And then how are we going to explain this to them?” 

“B-But…” You whimper when he pushes a finger inside, filling your ass up in such an unfamiliar way. 

“You wanted us to take your virginity.” Pope has you pay attention to him and his words instead of Titus prepping your ass. “That means both holes, sweetie.”

“It'll feel good to have us both inside of you.” Titus slowly starts to thrust his finger, trying to loosen you up enough to add another one. “Our little niece is going to cum so hard on our cocks.” 

You pinch back tears when he fits another finger inside of your ass. Pope leans in to kiss you, his fingers trailing down to sink back inside your pussy. You gasp against his lips, feeling full on both ends all of a sudden. 

You cling onto his shoulders for leverage, your whole body shaking from their fingers thrusting in sync, the rhythm making your hips buck. You're going to cum from this. 

From your uncles fingering you at the same time.

You muffle your cries into the crook of Pope's neck when your orgasm hits, squirting all over his lap from the intensity. He pulls his fingers out of your pussy and Titus starts to move his fingers more in your ass, spreading you open, stretching you out. 

“No, no, no—” The sudden onslaught of pressure sends heat straight to your core and you cum uncontrollably again, this time just from him playing with your ass. 

“Cum one more time, sweetie.” He wants you to learn to let this feel good. “Then I'll put the toy in and we can play with your pussy again.” 

The what… 

You turn around, squirming the moment you see the dildo on the bed. Pope grabs your hips, holding you still, not letting you run away. 

“It's too big, it's too—” You scream when Titus stuffs another finger into your ass, your body gushing against your will. Pope rolls your clit between his fingers, helping you ride the orgasm that's crashing through you. 

Then, you feel more lube on your ass when Titus pulls his fingers out and the silicone tip of the toy pushes passed your tight ring to replace them. It's shaped just like a cock, making you feel like someone is fucking your ass right now. 

“Breathe, sweetie. You can take it.” Titus knows you can because you'll have to. His cock is much bigger than this dildo and you need to be able to take him. “Just relax. It'll be completely inside soon.” 

When you feel the toy hilt, you breathe out a sigh of relief. Pope wipes the tears away, kissing your cheeks lovingly. 

“Good girl, you did so well for your uncles. Now we're going to reward you.” Pope thrusts his fingers back inside of your pussy, curling them. “We're going to make you cum a lot with your pussy before we take your ass.”

You grind your hips against his hand, your orgasm building so quickly from how full you feel. You cum when Titus comes back from washing his hands and he smiles at you, enjoying how dazed you look. 

“I want to kiss her now.” Titus gestures for Pope to trade with him. 

Pope flips you around, so your back is pressed up against his chest, the toy being held firmly inside of you now. Titus climbs into bed, loving how wet you are between your legs. You're practically begging to be fucked. 

“Who do you want to take your pussy, sweetie?” Titus asks since he doesn't care. Either way, he's taking one of your virginities. Might as well let you pick. 

“I don't want to pick…” You can't make that choice. It's too difficult.

“Pope?” Titus defers to him, then. “What do you want?” 

“I want her pussy.” Pope decides. “I want my cum to fill up her womb.”

Your eyes widen. “W-Wait, you're not going to wear a condom?” 

Titus laughs menacingly, the sound sending chills down your spine. “Did you expect us to?” 

“Yes!” You can't get pregnant. You're only eighteen. You especially can't have your uncles’ children…

Titus tilts your chin up to look at him, letting you get a clear shot of him shaking his head at you. “We are going to fuck you raw, sweetie. That's what you agreed to.”

“I didn't—” He doesn't let you say another word, his lips hungrily sealing over yours. 

Titus doesn't kiss you like Pope did. He kisses you like he wants to eat you alive, every kiss swallowing you up completely, his tongue darting into your mouth, taking up as much space as possible. It doesn't help that Pope is rubbing your clit while his other hand plays with your nipple, making your body enjoy the rough kissing. 

You cum while Titus is kissing you, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing. You're aching to be filled there but you have to get them to use protection.

“Please, Uncle Titus.” You beg him when he finally lets your lips free. “You have to use a condom.” 

“I don't have any.” He smirks, liking how defeated you look. The sadist in him is peeking out, ready to play. “Are you not going to let us fuck you without a condom?” 

“I can't get pregnant.” You still need to finish high school. You want to go to college. 

“It's okay if you do.” He tries to reassure you. “I have plenty of money. You don't have to do anything for the rest of your life except have our children, sweetie.” 

“No, no, no, I don't want—” You yelp when Pope tosses you onto your back, pinning you down, glaring at you. 

“You already told us you wanted us. No take backs.” He kicks off his pants, his cock desperate to fill your virgin pussy right now. 

You squirm under him, the toy in your ass pressing further up inside of you now that you're on your back. His cock rubs up and down your folds, gathering up your slick. 

“Please don't.” You try to shove at him but Titus pins down your arms, holding you steady. “No! We can't, Uncle Andrew, we can't—”

You choke on your own sob as Pope pushes the tip of his cock past your entrance. He groans at how tight you are. He wants more already. 

Pope gets greedy, thrusting another inch of himself inside of you, making tears drip down your face that Titus leans down to lick up. 

“Don't cum inside me.” You plead to Pope as he slips more of himself in. “Please, Uncle Andrew.” 

“Okay, I won't.” He tells you, bringing such relief to your body, allowing him to fit more of his cock inside of you before you tighten up from his next set of words, “as long as you don't cum either.”

“W-What?” You shake your head. “That's impossible!” 

“Why?” He smiles at you, wickedness coloring his features. “My naughty niece can't resist cumming on her uncle's cock?” 

“No, don't—” You wriggle when he pulls his cock out a bit before thrusting back in, hitting that same spot where he would curl his fingers. “Oh god, stop, please stop.” 

“Don't cum.” Titus caresses your face with his hand, his gentle touch not comforting at all. “It's that simple. If you cum, it means you want us inside of you raw.” 

“No, it doesn't! I don't want—” You bite back a moan when Pope grabs your hips and starts fucking you finally, his cock pounding into you with such force. You scream out, “Uncle Andrew!” 

You pinch your eyes shut, trying your hardest to ignore the tension coiling in your lower stomach, but he keeps slamming his cock right up against there, focusing every thrust on hitting all your sweet spots. 

You shake your head, sobbing, not wanting to cum but he's going to force it out of you, his cock fucking you exactly the way you dreamed of. 

You couldn't hide your orgasm even if you wanted to, your body betraying you by squirting all over his cock like a fountain. You can't stop cumming, convulsing under him, driving more of the toy into your ass, which only makes you cum harder. 

“You're squirting from getting fucked by your uncle.” Titus berates you, letting out that dark chuckle of his. “And you were going to say you don't want this? Look at how much you're cumming. Who would've thought you were a virgin, sweetie.” 

It won't end. He keeps fucking you, his cock prying you open with every thrust from how big he is, your body loving every second of it. You've drenched the sheets beneath you beyond comprehension. You didn't even think it was possible to cum this much, especially not during your first time. 

They're corrupting you, the pleasure overwhelming your senses. 

That's why you nod when Pope tells you, “I'm going to cum deep inside my little niece and she's going to take every last drop.” 

You do. You take all of his hot release, letting it flood your insides. You're doomed now. There's no going back. 

There's no way you aren't pregnant from how much he came inside of you. 

If he doesn't get you pregnant, Titus surely will when Pope pulls out of you and he flips you onto your hands and knees. You feel Titus line up his cock against your entrance and you can't stop him from ramming every inch of his cock inside of you, making you squirt all of a sudden. You sob into the sheets below you, clawing at them as he starts to fuck you roughly from behind, loving the way the toy looks buried in your ass. 

Pope lifts your head up from the sheets, pulling you until you're level with his face so he can kiss you while Titus fucks you. His lips distract you from Titus grabbing the dildo and pressing down on the button that turns it on, vibrations suddenly filling your ass. You moan against Pope's lips as another orgasm slams through you. 

“Oh god, oh god…” You whimper, your whole body quivering from Titus fucking your pussy and the toy vibrating deep in your ass. “Uncle Titus, it's too much, please turn it off, please—”

He turns it up, the vibrations ripping through you even harder, his thrusts growing even more violent. Pope cups your face, wanting to memorize how glazed over your eyes are as you cum from every rough movement. 

“You love this.” Pope says to you so sweetly. “You love your uncles. And we love you, our little niece. Say it.” 

“I-I—” You can't form words anymore, drooling from all the orgasms shooting through you against your will. 

Pope slaps your cheek lightly, trying to keep you sentient. “Come on, sweetie. I need you to say it.” 

“I…I love this.” You tell him, and you believe it. “I love my uncles. They make me feel so good.” 

“Good girl.” Pope kisses you then and you lean into it, giving in, letting them take control of you completely. 

Titus groans, bending over, placing kisses along your spine as he releases everything inside of you, not letting a single drop drip out. 

“Get under her, Pope.” Titus gestures for him to fill you back up. 

Titus maneuvers you until you're right above Pope now, sinking you down onto his already hard cock again. 

“Now ride him, sweetie.” Titus nips at your earlobe as he whispers, “cum as much as you'd like.” 

You grind your hips against Pope, who loves the sight of you on top of him, using his cock for your pleasure. You slowly find a rhythm that has you gasping, driving his cock right up against the vibrating toy inside of you with every bounce. 

Titus grabs the base of the toy and when you're so lost in your rhythm, he starts fucking you with it, drawing such loud moans out of you that he nearly cackles, loving the depraved sight of you. 

“Say you love it when your uncles fuck you.” Titus drives the toy so deep into your ass, your orgasm splitting you apart in response. 

“I love it when my uncles fuck me.” You keep bouncing on Pope's cock, not wanting the pleasure to end. “Please don't stop. Please ruin me.”

That's all Titus needs to hear for him to pull out the toy completely from your ass, making you cum from the sudden loss. Then you cum again when Pope scoots the two of you over so he can sit up at the edge of the bed, which gives Titus the perfect angle to push his cock into your ass after he pours lube all over it. The cold lube makes goosebumps form on your skin as he thrusts the tip of his cock passed your tight ring.

You cling onto Pope, whimpering into his shoulder, “too big…you're too big. I can't—”

“You can, sweetie.” Pope cups your face, pulling you off his shoulder so you can look him in the eyes. “Stop resisting. You know you want this.” 

Your nails dig into Pope's shoulders as Titus continues his slow relent into your ass, his cock splitting you open. You're so full, too full, impossibly full on both ends. 

“Why are my uncles so big?” You whine, making them both laugh. 

Pope kisses you on the cheek, smiling. “You'll like that we're big soon enough. You'll be happy we are, so we can reach all the places that make you feel good. Like right here.”

Pope presses his hand into your lower stomach before he rolls his hips upwards, grinding the tip of his cock against that spot by your womb that sends full body shudders rippling through you. That loosens you up enough to take more of Titus's cock, letting him finally hilt. 

“Fuck.” He groans into your ear. “You shouldn't have given me her tight ass. I want to fuck her so rough, she'll probably break.” 

“No, no, no…” You shake your head vigorously. “Please, Uncle Titus. Be gentle. I'll be a good girl. Just be gentle.” 

“Mmm.” He kisses your shoulder blade. “You'll be a good girl? Does that mean you won't be saying stop anymore?”

You nod. “I promise I won't. I want this. Just not rough, please.” 

Titus clicks his tongue then settles. “Fine. For today, I'll be gentle. Because my little niece asked so nicely.” 

He kisses the base of your neck before he starts to slowly fuck your ass, being as gentle as he can, even though he desperately wants to tear you apart. You moan into Pope's neck, sighing into his skin, growing to like the feeling of Titus moving inside of you. 

“Can I move now too?” Pope asks you, checking in with you. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

You nod. “I'm good, Uncle Andrew. You can move too.” 

Pope smiles at you, pulling you in for a kiss. “You really are a good girl.” 

He holds your hips, slowly thrusting his cock upwards into your pussy and somehow, him and Titus match paces unintentionally. 

You're building towards such a crazy orgasm from the rhythm of them fucking you from both sides. Your back arches, pressing up against Titus's chest, as you grind your hips, meeting their strokes. Pope leans in, taking your nipple into his mouth, nibbling and sucking on it while he fucks you. Titus lifts your chin up so he can kiss you, slipping his tongue inside of your mouth, making you moan. 

“I'm going to cum.” You say against his lips. “Please cum with me. I want my uncles to cum with me.” 

They both groan, unable to hold themselves back after you say that and you all cum at the same time. You're so overwhelmed with bliss, collapsing into Pope who catches you, cradling you in his arms. 

Then, just to make sure you don't hate them, he tells you, “we'll get you a Plan B, okay? You won't get pregnant.” 

You smack him on the chest. “Why didn't you say that earlier!” 

“Because you came way harder thinking we were fucking a baby into you.” Titus chuckles, kissing you on the cheek. 

“You both are mean…” You glare at them, pouting. 

“You liked it.” Titus pulls you off of Pope then lifts you into his arms. “Now, it's hot tub time.” 

“I'll be out there once I clean up here.” Pope wants to make sure you have a made bed to come back to. 

Titus carries you out to the apartment's balcony, where there's a hot tub set up. He turns it on then sits down at the lounge chair with you, placing you on his lap, waiting for the water to heat up. He peppers little kisses along your exposed skin, tickling you with his stubble. 

“Why are you being so nice right now?” You feel such whiplash. 

Titus shrugs. “Can't I be a good uncle to my niece?” 

“Don't do that again.” You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his chest. “You scared me, Uncle Titus.” 

He wanted to scare you, so he won't apologize for that. But he will say, “you have nothing to be afraid of, sweetie. We would never hurt you.” 

“My sore ass says otherwise.” You squint at him, making him laugh so loudly that you have to cover his mouth with your hands. “The neighbors will hear!” 

“There are no neighbors. I bought the whole floor. And the one above. And the one below.” He figured that would be the safest option, given what him and Pope planned to do with you. 

“You…” You shake your head at him. “Why did you keep that from me?” 

“You came way harder thinking people could be listening.” He smirks at your shocked face. 

“Can't I just cum a normal amount…” You don't know if your body can possibly take that many orgasms again. You feel like jelly. 

“Do we look like normal people to you?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you giggle in response. 

“Definitely not.” You hold onto Titus as he lifts you back up, taking you into the hot tub with him, resuming the same position on his lap but this time with warm water bubbling around you, soothing your sore muscles. “This is really nice. I can see why Uncle Andrew soaks in here all the time after working out.” 

“You could've joined him any time.” Titus knows you haven't used the hot tub at all. 

“I was scared to bother him.” You admit. “Scared to bother you too…” 

“Why? We're family.” Titus says it out loud and for once, he actually means it. He hasn't felt like he has had a family until right now. 

You let out a sigh. “I know you heard what I told my therapist…” 

Titus widens his eyes. “You know we know?” 

“I overheard you and Uncle Andrew…” You don't want to have any more secrets. 

“We're your family. We will take care of you, forever.” Titus didn't think he'd ever say that but he grew to love you over these last few months. He adores you, his precious niece. 

“But we're not actually family.” You frown. 

“We can be, if you marry one of us.” He flashes you a grin and you scoff. 

“I'm so much younger than you two. Wouldn't you want to marry someone your own age?” 

“Do you?” Titus holds you a little tighter then, possessiveness unconsciously tainting his movements. 

You shrug. “I don't know. I never even thought about dating before.”

“You're never going to date.” Pope suddenly chimes in, finally finished with the chores so he can get into the hot tub too. 

“Uncle Andrew, you can't say that.” You're an adult. They can't tell you what to do…

“We just made you cum like crazy and you're thinking about other people.” Pope grabs a hold of you, yanking you off of Titus's lap and onto his own. “Do I need to punish my niece?” 

“No…but I want to go to college.” 

“You will.” Titus can obviously afford for you to go anywhere you want. “And we would come with you.” 

You groan. “Don't you two have more important things to do than revolve your lives around me?” 

“Nope.” They both say in unison, making you chuckle. 

You sit between them in the hot tub, taking their hands in yours, squeezing them. 

“Do you really love me?” You've only known them for a little while. Have they truly grown to love you this quickly? 

“Yes.” They both say in unison again.

You realize then the situation you've gotten yourself into. Your uncles are both psychopaths, actual crazy psychopaths. And they love you. 

You're so fucked. 

A/N: So there is totally a second part to this where you try to leave them to go to college and they definitely do not let you do that LOL go figure! In the original draft, that was going to be a part of this but then it grew a mind of its own so…if you liked this and want to read more, let me know and I'll continue this! 

Please don't disown me for writing this…I can't control what the pen desires to write, I am only the vessel ♡

[mrstargayen09]

This fic awakened the fucked up side of myself...and I LOVE ITTTTTTTTTTTT (might be crazy but just staying true)

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

you know a fic is good when it has this

[justpeachyforfic]

Your Camera Roll When Dating Rabbot!

tell me if you guys want more!!!

[mrstargayen09]

Me want more please

[analikalee]

Wow...

Cr: Ria_neearts

[feral4youu]

Headsprung

Summary: You meet Smoke while working as a paralegal on him and his brother’s case—just another client, another file. He’s older, unreadable, and far too composed for someone who makes you this nervous. Whatever’s between you shouldn’t exist, but the longer it lingers, the harder it is to ignore.

Pairing: Older! Closed off! Smoke x Young! Closed off! reader

WC: 10.5k

Warning: 18+, older man/ younger woman dynamic, arguments, smut, betrayal

This is part two! (The last part)

Part one Sinners masterlist

The sun is shining through the window of his bedroom. He’s laid beside you—his mouth slack and hand draped across his chest, sleeping like this is his first night's rest in ages.

You sneak out of the bed, tiptoeing and grabbing your stuff— hoping to not wake him. The night couldn’t have ended any better, laying next to the man who makes you feel seen and so comfortable.

Once you’re out of his room, you walk down the hallway and into the living room. You put your skirt back on and slide your feet into your heels.

Before going downstairs, you call to ask and see if they can call a cab for you ahead of time. You don’t want to wait in the cold for one.

The phone feels like it rings for an eternity before anyone answers. The lady at the desk answers.

“Hello, Mr. Moore. What can I do for you?”

“Hi. I was wondering if you guys can call a cab service to arrange for a ride?”

She lets out a chuckle.

“You don’t have to worry about that. One of his drivers can be ready within the next five minutes to take you where you need to go.”

“Are you sure? Taking a cab is no problem.”

“I assure you that he would not want you taking a cab. You can come down in a few minutes and they’ll be ready.”

“Thank you so much.” You grin.

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Moore. Have a good day.”

The line disconnects and you stand there holding the phone for a second.

“Did she just call me Mrs. Moore?” You mumble to yourself.

Smoke seems like a good man and down to earth, but this being more than what it is— isn’t happening.

You finally press the button and get into the elevator, heading into the lobby.

When the elevator doors open, you’re met by three men in black suits waiting near the doors.

One of the men approaches you.

“Hello, Ms.—“

“My name is Milan, that’s Bobby, and this is Berlin. We’ve been tasked with being your security. We’re employed by Mr. Moore.”

Your brow raises.

“Security?—“

“I don’t need security. Thank you, though.”

You go to walk past them, but he steps over— blocking your path.

“He insists that you do. If you wish to speak to him, we can call him for you— but we will continue to be your security, unless directly told from him otherwise.”

You take a deep breath, trying not to get frustrated.

“Don't worry about it. I don’t mind.” You reply, dropping the back and forth.

You walk out of the lobby doors, the men following behind you. You get into the first parked Escalade and they get into the second one, following you.

The car pulls in front of your building—the men exiting the car behind you and opening the car door for you.

You walk into your building and they follow right behind you. Their eyes scan every room, every person, and make sure that you’re safe.

It feels like an eternity before you reach your apartment, walking down the hall and them right on your heels.

You unlock the door to your apartment with them standing in the hall, waiting on you. As you lock the door, you turn to see Lane standing in the kitchen.

You let out a scream, clutching your chest.

“Are you okay in there?” Berlin shouts through the door.

You take a deep breath. “Yes, I’m fine. I just got surprised unexpectedly.”

Lane eyes you, “who is that?”

You sit your keys down. “That’s my security.”

Her eyes scan your face for the joke. “Security?”

You nod, grabbing yourself a bottle of water.

“Yeah, Smoke decided that I needed it.”

You can tell that she’s thrown off by it.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, throwing away your bottle of water after chugging it.

She shifts, leaning against the counter.

“Uh, I stopped by to feed Binx. I wasn’t sure if you’d be home in time and I didn’t want her to eat late.”

You pick Binx up, giving her a few kisses— mumbling about how much you missed her.

Lana’s brow is raised, but so is her curiosity.

“What the hell is going on?”

You look at her like she has three heads, still holding Binx.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this man basically just came out of thin air. You know nothing about him and now all of a sudden, you’re what? Together?—“

You put Binx down and turn towards Lane, giving her your full attention.

“You’re staying the night and now have security as well. You don’t find that odd?”

Your brows furrow, not out of annoyance or anger— but confusion.

“I don’t understand the problem. It’s nothing serious at the moment, I’m not sure that I anticipate that it will be. He’s a man with money, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to make sure that I’m safe.”

You walk past Lane and into your bedroom to change.

“I.. I just don’t want you to get hurt. This is a lot for anyone and I don’t want this older man to use you.”

You continue getting dressed, feeling conflicted.

You understand her worry, but you also want a chance to live. You’re not going into this expecting him to become your husband or anything of the sort, you’re enjoying the moment. Of course, you don’t want to be used or discarded— but that might not even happen either.

You put on your dress and make your way out of your room.

“We’ll continue this conversation later, I’m about to go practice.” You mention as you slide your heels on.

The air and mood in your apartment shifts. You can tell that Lane isn’t a fan of you brushing her off, but you’re also not in the mood to be parented.

She grabs her bag and you grab your keys off of the counter, heading to the door.

“I’ll see you later.” Lane says as she opens the door and walks into the hall.

“Okay, see ya.” You reply, locking your door.

Milan taps your shoulder, “ Everything okay?”

You nod, walking in front of them.

Once you’re in the car, everything that Lane said plays in your head over and over again. What if she’s right? What if you end up giving your virginity to this man and this is an arrangement.

It makes you feel a sense of nervousness and guilt brewing for when you see him.

The car comes to a stop as you pull up to the auditorium.

You grab your cello and step out, your security already waiting.

Having security is something you’ll definitely have to get used to and something that’ll probably start to annoy you.

Once you’re in the auditorium, they secure the room— standing at the back.

You set up your cello and take your seat.

“Can y’all dim the lights?” You shout.

“Yes ma’am, of course.” Bobby replies back.

The lights in the auditorium dim, reminding you exactly how it felt the night of your school performance.

You play smoothly and delicately— taking your time. Trying to enjoy the stillness in the room and remembering what it’s like to focus on nothing else in the moment, but your instrument.

You spend almost two hours playing in the auditorium— practicing new songs and ones you’re well versed in.

As you finish the last note, the doors to the auditorium slam— catching your attention.

You see Smoke walking into the auditorium— a blue suit on, fresh line up, and a smile that only a man has for his woman.

You walk off of the stage towards him, being greeted with a kiss on the lips and bouquet of yellow roses.

“How did you know that I was here?”

He stares at you, almost like he wants to rip your clothes off.

“I just figured you’d be here.”

You lean against the side of the seats.

“Why did you assign a security detail to me?”

“What I do for work is tricky business and if I need to be protected then so does my woman.”

You laugh. “That’s understandable, but you don’t have a security team.”

Smoke lets out a low chuckle.

He puts his fingers towards his mouth and whistles.

You see four men coming out of different areas of the auditorium. Two at the very top, one near the side entrance behind the curtain and one near the corner of the stage.

You look at him in shock, completely surprised because you never noticed them.

He licks his lips. “I do have one, they’re just not around me the way yours is— but trust me they’re always with me.”

You’re almost too stunned to speak, blinking slowly a few times.

He grabs your hand.

“You busy today?”

You shake your head no.

“The firm is still closed and I don’t have any plans.”

He starts walking you towards the exit.

“Okay, come with me then.”

“Smoke, what about my cello?”

“Baby, Berlin will pack that up for you and bring it to the car.”

You get in the car with Smoke, wondering where you’re going.

He leans forward taping the glass, Jabari lowers it— staring at him in the rear view mirror.

“You already know where we’re going?”

“Yeah, I got your text earlier.”

He leans back, getting closer to you— his hand resting on your thigh.

Jabari starts driving the car, the other two Escalades right behind y’all. You so badly want to ask where you’re going, but you know that if he wanted to tell you then he would’ve.

Smoke’s thumb rubs circles against your tights, slowly and almost in a taunting motion.

He sends out a few texts, mindlessly rubbing your leg as you stare out the window.

He puts his phone down after his last text, placing a kiss on your cheek.

That sweet and innocent kiss turns into another one on your cheek, his lips slowly moving along your face.

You turn your head slightly, your lips slightly parted and close to his.

Your eyes linger on his, stuck in the moment. A moment where nothing else exists.

He crashes his lips into yours, pulling you from your seat and into his lap.

You straddle his lap, the kiss between the two of you intensifying.

You pull away, a string of spit connecting your lips.

“Smoke.. what about?”

You point towards Jabari.

He sucks his teeth, his hands gripping your ass.

“He can’t see through the glass and even if he could, he knows where to keep his eyes at.”

Your hips grind back and forth against his leg.

“Mhmm.” You moan.

You start kissing him again, your tongue wrestling his.

He pulls away, a groan escaping his lips— almost like he’s barely able to hold back.

“You don’t know what you do to me—“

“You are just so damn sexy and you don’t even have to do anything.”

His hands glide up your ass and underneath your dress. You feel his fingers slowly tugging at your tights.

“Smoke.” You mutter.

His brow raises, looking you in your eyes.

“I just know that pussy is already purring for me—“

“Ready for me to show it how it should be fucked.”

Hearing him talk like that makes you want to rip him out of his clothes and let him do whatever he wants to you.

He pulls your tights down, almost completely over the curve of your ass.

“We shouldn’t.” You spit out.

He brings his hands back up your body, both on your waist.

“What’s wrong?”

You sit still, trying not to grind against him and cum from the friction.

“I.. I just don’t want our first time to be in the back of a car.”

He lets out a sigh, not of annoyance— but trying to collect himself and reel those wild thoughts back in.

“You’re right. I just got caught up in the moment with you. I apologize.”

Your arms hang slack on his shoulders, kissing him before you move out of his lap into the seat behind him.

You fix your tights and dress, your mind racing. Things between you two are heating up and he makes you feel good, but you haven’t even told him that you’re a virgin yet.

How good can this relationship be if you can’t be honest?

The car ride is about forty more minutes before you guys arrive.

“Close your eyes.” Smoke commands you as the car comes to a stop.

You close your eyes, trying not to laugh.

“Where are we?”

He opens his car door.

“You’ll see.”

Your car door opens with Smoke’s hand guiding you out. He holds your hand, walking in front of you and taking you to wherever the surprise is.

You have a grin on your face the entire walk, thinking of all of the many places you guys could be going.

Finally, you come to a stop.

“You can open them.”

You open your eyes.

You’re standing in a very clearly expensive dressing room. Three large ceiling to floor mirrors, a mini bar, and one chair for your guest.

You notice the several racks of clothing in the corner, Smoke sitting down in the chair.

“Try on whatever you want, if you want it then just hand it to me.”

You stare at him, confused on what to say. “Are you sure?”

He nods, answering a phone call.

“Yeah, baby— just get whatever you want.”

You walk over to the racks— skirts, dresses, heels, blouses, pants, jumpsuits, coats, and more. Some are from brands that you haven’t even heard of.

“Hmm, what should I try on first?” You mumble to yourself.

You spend two hours trying on different things, unable to make up your mind.

Most of these items are things you couldn’t dream of affording. It almost feels wrong having him buy them.

He sits in the chair, the phone up to his ear as he watches you check yourself out in the mirror.

The dressing room attendant comes in and grabs the clothes that Smoke is holding for you.

You come out in one of the mini- skirts that was on the rack, admiring yourself in the mirror.

“How does this look?” You whisper to Smoke.

He covers the microphone, licking his lips.

“Damn good.”

You giggle, walking back to change.

You come out of the dressing room with no pants on, exposing your purple lace panties.

He sits up in his chair, signaling for you to come over to him. You walk over, figuring that he wants something.

He grabs your hand, having you spin around in front of him.

“Bend over.”

You bend over in front of him, letting him admire the view.

He bites his lip, his thumb rubbing over your slit. His hand comes down across your ass, making a sound that echoed all throughout the back.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” He mutters.

You try to pretend like that didn’t just turn you on even more and go finish getting dressed.

You walk out to Smoke, who’s finally off the phone and waiting on you.

“You get everything you wanted?” He asks.

You grin, “yes.”

The lady rings up your items, making small talk with Smoke. She scans the last item and types something into the keyboard.

“Alright. Today, your total is $17,421.81”

Your mouth falls open in shock. You’ve never spent that much anywhere, let alone on clothes.

Smoke swipes his card and puts it back into his wallet as the lady waits for the receipt to finish printing.

You walk out to the car with him, the security right behind you.

The wind is blowing hard outside today, even harder than the days prior.

You get inside the car with Smoke, staring out the window at the Christmas decorations.

“Are you taking me back to my place?” You question.

He nods with a devious grin, “something like that.”

You pay him no mind and figure it’s just him being him. Thirty minutes later you arrive at the hangar with a private jet on the runway.

“Sm.. Smoke, what are we doing here?”

He turns towards you.

“We’re going to take a trip and be gone for a few days—“

Before you can interrupt him, he finishes what he’s saying.

“I got everything covered. Binx is in her carrier on the plane and I talked with Tony, he’s going to be closed another week— so, you don’t have to worry about work.”

You can’t even begin to try and hide your smile, the excitement is all over your face.

The plane is more luxurious than you could’ve ever imagined. The space, the comfort, the seating— all of it is top of the line. Smoke did some work on his laptop, but he made sure that you were okay throughout the entire flight.

Binx did well on the flight, which you were most worried about. You didn’t want her to be sick or uncomfortable.

As the plane lands Smoke puts his stuff into his bag, giving you a glance.

“I hope you’re ready.” He teases.

You cut him a look, “ready for what?”

He doesn’t respond back, just laughs.

You get off the plane, holding Smoke’s hand and Binx’s strap to her carrier on your shoulder.

The smell of pine trees hits your nose, making you finally look around.

Your mouth drops,”Smoke… you didn’t.”

He pulls you into a hug, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“You told me that you always wanted to come to Colorado, so I wanted to make that happen.”

Your eyes start to water at his gesture. You’ve never been seen or heard in this way before, not by anyone.

You hug him back, cherishing the moment.

After a short car ride to the resort — you guys get checked in and head to your room.

Before you walk into the room, security walks in to make sure that it’s all clear and that everything is good.

“All good, boss.” Berlin tells Smoke.

The room is damn near bigger than your apartment. A fireplace, sitting area, a view to kill for, a huge kitchen, and two spacious bathrooms.

You get Binx settled and get her fed, making your way into the bedroom to take a beat.

Smoke walks in the room, leaning against the doorframe.

“Would you rather get couples massages first or go skiing?”

You pull your heels off, rubbing your feet.

“I’ve never been skiing before. I don’t think I’ll be good at it.”

“So, skiing it is.” He replies back.

Within thirty minutes you’re outside with him in the pretty pink and white gear that he bought you.

He stands behind you, his hands on your hips.

“You ready?”

You’d be lying if you said you were. You’ve never skied before and you have no idea how it’ll go.

He can tell that you’re nervous by your lack of response.

“Deep breaths, baby. I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you.”

After a few seconds and a subtle nudge, you and him are off down the hill.

The wind blows against you as you two slide past other people. The moment filling your bones with nothing but excitement and energy.

Once you’re at the bottom of the hill— you do a victory dance, which certainly amuses him.

You guys continue to go down the slopes for another two hours, completely exerting all of your energy.

The walk back to your room is quiet, both of you focusing on getting inside to the warmth and relaxing. You get inside, pulling your shoes off by the door.

“I’m gonna take a shower, do you want to join me?”

You shake your head no.

“I think I’m gonna take a bubble bath in the other bathroom, if that’s okay.”

He nods, heading into the bedroom.

You walk into the bathroom and start stripping out of your clothes, running the water in the tub.

You adjust the temperature for the heated floors, bringing it down a few degrees.

You turn the faucet off and sit in the water, the warmth immediately relaxing you.

The view from the tub is beautiful— the snow coating the mountains, Christmas decorations, people having fun and skiing. It looks surreal.

Although you’ve never visited Colorado before now, you didn’t have any plans to come visit anytime soon. The fact that he planned this for you so quickly, means more to you than you can imagine. This trip, the way he makes you feel and just your relationship with him in general is making it even harder to deny the feelings that you’re starting to have for him.

You spend a little bit longer in the tub before getting out and making your way into the bedroom.

Smoke is in the room in a tank top and his boxers, staring out the window.

“I can’t do this any longer, if you’re not serious.”

You lean against the wall, your fingers starting to sweat out of immediate nervousness.

“What do you mean?”

“If this is just fun for you, then cool— but it isn’t for me.”

“The way I’m starting to feel about you.. man, I’m not interested in playing.”

You wipe your hands on your robe.

“Who said I was playing?”

He turns facing you, a serious look on his face. He starts walking closer to you and you walk up to him, kissing him fiercely.

Fuck the games, an arrangement, or anything else— this is your man.

Your tongue glides into his mouth— swapping spit like it’s your job.

His fingers trail your body, untying the knot that you have in the front of your robe.

He pushes your robe off making it fall around your feet, leaving you bare.

You jump into his arms, climbing him like a tree— still keeping your lips locked onto his.

He holds you tight, walking you over to the bed and laying you down on your back.

He kisses your neck softly and his hand groping your breast.

His kisses get lower and lower, making your stomach flutter.

You can feel how hard he’s getting, his boxers barely able to hold his dick back.

“Mhmm..”

“Baby, you’re so fucking sexy.” He groans.

He sucks on your nipple, his tongue flicking around it as he plays with the other one.

Your back arches from the sensation.

He keeps kissing your body, even nibbling on some areas— giving you a ticklish sensation.

His kisses get lower and lower until he’s right at your pussy.

“Spread your legs.”

You spread them, your pussy and upper thighs glistening with slick.

“Keep your hands flat on the bed and raise them above your head.”

“Smoke.” You whine.

His thumb rubs against your slit, teasing your clit.

“Do it.”

You slowly slide your arms above your head.

“She’s so wet for me—“

“So pretty. I’m gonna eat this shit until you cry.”

Those words hang in the air like a threat, but for you it is something you’ve been waiting for.

He glides his tongue in between your folds.

“You taste even better.” He moans.

Your toes curl and your eyes roll back into your head.

You’ve never done this with anyone before and it’s ten times more amazing than you could’ve expected.

His tongue is so powerful— the way it moves up and down against your clit feels earth shattering.

Moans fall from mouth so effortlessly— saying his name over and over again.

You shift, your hips bucking— craving more.

The pressure in your stomach building as he sucks on your clit.

Just when you think that it can’t get any better, he slides his finger inside you.

Pumping it in and out of you as his tongue flicks up and down your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Moan for me—“

“Let everyone know who’s pussy this is.”

Trying not to move your hands feels almost impossible with how he’s making you feel. He eats you out with such precision, he wants to make sure that your body craves him and submits to him.

“Fuck, Elijah.”

“Yeah, that’s right baby.”

His finger pumps in and out of you, hitting your g-spot and driving everything over the edge.

Your pussy clenches around his finger, back arching higher than it has before.

“I’m going to fucking cum—“

“Fuck, fuck.” You moan, tears escaping your eyes.

“Yeah, this is pussy clenching hard as hell around my finger. Cum for me baby.”

His name escapes your mouth at a pitch you didn’t even think was possible.

The pressure finally releasing.

Your orgasm hits so hard that it almost feels otherworldly.

He pulls his finger out of you, sucking it clean with satisfaction.

When he comes up from between your legs, your slick mixed with spit is coating his face. You kiss him— tasting yourself, but also not being able to get enough of him.

He kisses your shoulder, whispering in your ear.

“I want more of you.”

You bite your lip, not truly focusing on what he’s saying.

“Do you want to continue?” He asks, his gold chain dangling in your face.

You kiss him, “yes.”

He pulls his boxers down, his dick rubbing up against your pussy.

He slaps his dick against your clit, making you jump from the sensation.

He kisses you, deeply— the way you’d kiss someone you’re in love with.

You can feel him lining himself up, his tip resting right against your entrance.

Before he pushes it in, you pull back.

“Wait.”

He has a confused look on his face, “what’s wrong?”

You stare into his eyes, embarrassment simmering in your veins.

“I have to tell you something..”

“I’m.. I’m a virgin.”

He stares at you blankly, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Baby, stop playing.”

You stare back at him with an anxious look, which tells him that you’re not joking.

He raises up. “You’ve never had sex before?—“

“You’ve been a virgin this entire time?”

“Yes.” You mumble.

He blows out air, staring out of the window above the bed and not saying anything.

“I’m not even sure what to say—“

“You could’ve told me.”

You scoff, “what would that have changed?”

He stares down at you, struggling internally on what the next best move is.

“I don’t want to be defined by that. I wanted to still have fun and experience things without worrying about that or people’s perception of me regarding that.”

He looks down at you, “what if I would’ve hurt you accidentally?”

You shake your head. “You didn’t and at any point I would’ve spoken up if I was uncomfortable—“

“Clearly I want this.”

“You sure?” He questions.

You lay there, biting your lip and a grin on your face.

“I’m sure.”

He comes back down, kissing you— his finger rubbing your clit and making sure that you’re wet enough.

His tip leaking pre-cum against your pussy.

“Baby, are you sure?”

You nod.

He lines himself up. “I’m gonna go slow, but it’s gonna hurt at first.”

You kiss him, trying to distract yourself from the pain that you’re going to feel.

He pushes the tip in, making you gasp and tense up.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Your fingernails dig into his back.

He slowly pushes the rest of himself inside you, a whine falling from your mouth.

“You’re doing good, baby. You just gotta get used to me.”

The pain is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You like that smoke has a big dick, but damn— maybe a smaller one would’ve been easier for the first time.

“Don’t tense up. I know it’s hard not to, but I don’t want it to hurt worse.”

You relax, despite the hard urge not to.

He fills you, almost feels like you can feel him in your stomach.

He looks into your eyes, checking on you. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

He fucks you with such care and consideration— not too fast or too hard, just right and enough to make both of you feel good.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, feeling him deep inside you.

“You’re tight as hell.” He grunts.

His hips snap into you.

“Fuck, your dick is so big.” You moan.

“Yeah, it is and it’s all yours.” He groans.

He adjusts, putting your legs on his shoulders.

Your hand grips the sheets. His thrusts are long and deep, feeling like ecstasy.

He loves watching your face, seeing how much you love taking him even though it’s your first time.

He lets out a low chuckle, catching your attention.

“Shit, I’m so deep in you that I can see it.”

He puts his hand on your lower abdomen, admiring the bulge in your belly.

The pressure in your stomach builds again, bringing you closer to a second orgasm.

“Fuck, papa.” You moan.

Your eyes open, wide from shock. You can’t believe that you called him that. He looks down at you in awe and he almost looks feral.

“Papa?—“

“Mhmm. I like that shit, baby. I love hearing that roll off your tongue.”

The pain has long subsided, you almost forget for a second that this is the first time you’ve had sex.

“Fuck—“

“You look so damn good, taking me.”

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, “I’m gonna cum, fuck.”

“Me too, baby.” He moans, his hand rubbing your nipple.

“Let me fill you full of me.”

“Please, papa.”

He fucks you so good, his strokes speeding up.

“Shit, woman.”

A loud, guttural groan leaves his throat.

His thick, hot ropes of cum painting your walls.

He throws his head back in bliss, giving you a few more long strokes.

“That’s it, take every drop I give you.”

He leans down giving you a sloppy kiss, distracting you while he pulls out.

His cum starting to immediately leak out of you.

“You good?”

You nod. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He stands up, walking into the bathroom. You start hearing the shower running.

You lay there in the bed in bliss, this entire day has been nothing short of amazing and unbelievable.

He walks in, holding a towel.

“I started the shower for you and here’s a towel, so that you can clean up.”

All you can focus on is how good he looks. His abs, the chain glistening against his sweaty chest, his dick still being somewhat hard.”

“Thank you.” You mumble.

You take the towel and rush into the bathroom, while he goes to the other one.

You sit on the toilet, trying to pee and still riding the high of having sex for the first time. Your high instantly fades and panic fills your veins when you realize that you haven’t gotten on birth control yet.

“Fuck.” You whisper.

You’ve been too busy focused on everything else and never thought about scheduling the appointment. Fuck, this cannot be happening. You cannot afford to get pregnant.

You try to calm your nerves and figure out what you need to do. You jump in the shower and think on it.

The rest of the night is peaceful, you’re still on cloud nine. Smoke orders dinner for the both of you and has it delivered to the room.

The night is filled with laughs and closeness— more than there was before.

You always said that what was going on between you two would never go anywhere, but after tonight— you know that isn’t true.

You and Smoke get in the bed after a long day, cuddling up and just enjoying each other. You lay your head on his chest and fall asleep faster than you expected.

Smoke’s thumb rubs circles on your arm. He lays there with you— happy and content.

“I think I love you.” He whispers.

You shift, draping your arm over him — worrying him that you heard him.

“I love you too.” You mumble.

You’re so tired that you don’t pay much attention to his reaction.

He has a shocked look on his face, he thought you were asleep and he never thought that you’d say it back to him with ease.

Hearing you say that brings a huge smile to his face.

He gives you a kiss on the forehead, before dozing off himself.

While you’re both sound asleep, Binx climbs in the bed— curling up beside both of you and going to sleep.

2 months later..

Ever since that night, your relationship with Smoke has become serious. If neither one of you took it seriously before, now you do. It took a little time to come to terms with the fact that you love him, because it is fast. All of this came out of nowhere and he’s your first real relationship, so you do start to feel hesitant. You start to distance yourself from him— not answering calls as much, finding other things to do instead of coming over.

Truth be told, you had started to get cold feet.

He came over one day after you not coming over, roses in hand.

He knocked on the door, hoping that you’d answer.

“Hey.”

He walked in, handing you the roses and giving you a kiss.

“So, what’s going on?”

You yawn, your oversized t-shirt raising.

“What do you mean?”

He leaned against the counter, his fingers interlocked in front of him.

“You’ve been distant. I haven’t heard from you, did I do anything wrong?”

You shrug your shoulders, laying the roses down on the counter and making your way to the fridge.

“I’ve just been busy. Since the case was dropped, I’ve had to do paperwork regarding that and I’ve been practicing.”

He sucks his teeth, standing there with a stern look on his face.

“Don’t play with me—“

“Talk to me, what’s going on?”

You stood across from him, eyes scanning the room and looking everywhere but at him.

“I’m just afraid.. This is new to me and it feels good. I just worry that it won’t last.”

He walked to you and pulled you into a tight hug— his hand holding the back of your head.

“I ain’t going nowhere and I mean that. I’m here, baby.”

You hugged him back, feeling a huge sense of relief. Those words are what you needed to hear.

Since your relationship with him has continued to grow stronger and deeper— he asked to meet your parents. Which is serious to you, it took a long conversation and some deep thought. Your parents are serious and sometimes don’t agree with your decisions. Given that Smoke is older than you, there was no telling how they’d react.

You scheduled a time that worked best for everyone and he met them over a video chat, since they’re out of the country for a while.

It went better than you could’ve dreamed. They absolutely loved Smoke, he instantly hit it off with your dad— striking up a conversation about business. While they laughed and joked on the call, your mom stepped away and called you on her phone.

She expressed how happy she was for you, how she could tell that he brings a certain light to your life. She asked if you loved him and despite previous reservations, you were excited to tell her yes.

You told her that you’d tell her more later and you guys joined the call back with Smoke and your dad. The call didn’t last much longer due to the time difference, but it was still a fantastic time.

You’re wrapping up your afternoon and finishing the last bit of paperwork that you have regarding Stack’s case.

Lucky for him the case was dropped by his complainant, so whatever he gave Tony must’ve been some heavy hitting info.

You close out the tabs you have open, powering your computer off and grab your stuff to leave your office.

You’re excited to get off today, because you’re going to be off for two weeks to travel with Smoke and you’re about to go meet Lane. You haven’t spoken to her since she was at your apartment, which is unlike you guys.

You leave your office and get downstairs, meeting your security in the lobby.

You get in the car adjusting your skirt and texting Lane that you’re on the way.

You meet her at this fancy restaurant a few blocks away.

The car pulls up to the sidewalk, Bobby opening the door for you.

The restaurant is not really busy inside, it’s also smaller than you were expecting. You get inside and get seated at a table, waiting for her to arrive.

The waiter comes to the table.

“Are there any drinks that I can get you started with?”

You look up from your phone, “um, can we get two martinis and two waters?”

She nods. “I’ll be back with those.”

You put your phone back in your purse and you see Lane walking to the table.

“Hey!” You both greet each other in sync.

You guys give each other a long hug before sitting down at the table. The waiter comes back with both of the drinks.

“How have you been?” Lane asks, a smile on her face.

You sip some of your martini. “Honey, I’ve been good— damn good.”

“How have you been?”

She adjusts in her seat, “I’ve been good. I’ve been focused on work and bettering myself.”

“I also started seeing someone.”

Your brow raises. “Do tell.”

She laughs.

“He’s sweet, a smooth talker. Tall. Brown skin. Abs. A gold tooth in the front. He’s also older.”

You grin, drinking more of your martini.

“Cheers to that!”

She swirls the drink around. “How are you and Smoke?”

“Well, we’re good. Since we last talked, we’ve just grown closer.”

“He’s taken me to Colorado, he took my virginity—“

She almost chokes on her drink.

“Girl what!”

You nod your head a few times. “Yes, girl. We haven’t talked, so I hadn’t been able to tell you.”

She leans closer to the table.

“Spill! Tell me how it was.”

You tilt your head—trying not to laugh and simultaneously think of the best way to describe how it went.

“It hurt like hell at first, honestly. Other than that, he was careful— making sure that I was okay every step of the way. He took his time, making sure that it felt good for the both of us.”

She’s shocked by the news, she always joked that you’d never lose it because of how strict you are with men.

“We also say I love you now and he’s met my parents.”

You can see her facial expression change from happy to unapproving.

“Hmm.” She mumbles.

You scoff. “What?”

She throws her hands up in defeat. “Nothing.”

You finish the rest of your martini.

“Just say what you’re thinking, because you clearly have something on your mind.”

“You guys have barely been together and it just seems too fast.” She points out.

You can’t help the scowl that’s on your face.

“I don’t know what your problem is, Lane. I understand that you want to look out for me, but you’re basically disapproving of everything regarding this relationship.”

“He makes me happy and hasn’t done anything wrong to make you feel this way. I just wish you could be happy instead of being a negative Nancy.”

She gives a sarcastic laugh.

“It’s not me being negative. You’ve even said it yourself that you weren’t going to take this seriously, now you’re saying I love you to man that had you sign a contract with a pregnancy clause?”

You roll your eyes.

“I was wrong, am I not able to change my mind?—“

“Besides, you just said that you’re also seeing someone who’s older. You’re in the same situation as me.”

She shakes her head immediately, like you’re entirely wrong.

“No, this man is different. I mean, Elias would never make me sign a—“

She stops her sentence dead in its tracks, realizing that she messed up.

Your eyes widen like she just cussed you out.

“Who?”

She starts to look nervous, scared to say anything.

“Did you just say Elias?”

She reaches over to grab your hand, but you pull back.

“It’s not what you think. I met him through someone else and we—“

“You just happened to meet Elias, randomly— after I told you about him and Smoke?”

You scoot back in your chair in disbelief.

“You were being hard on me about messing around with Elijah and you go start messing around with the even worse twin.”

“I wasn’t trying to give you shit, I was just trying to look after you.” She pleads.

Then it dawns on you.

“Was this so you could get closer to Smoke?”

She shakes her head, a frown on her face. “What? No. It's just.. me meeting him, happened coincidentally.”

You put some money down on the table, grabbing your purse and standing up to leave.

“Have a good night.” You tell her.

You walk out of the restaurant, getting in the car as it pulls around.

The entire ride home, you’re completely thrown off by what just happened. You don’t know what to think or how to feel, completely rethinking your friendship.

On the way home, you tap on the glass— alerting Jabari.

“I’m going to only be inside for a few minutes, but while I’m inside can you call the pilot and tell him that I need to arrange a last minute flight.”

He nods.

“That’s no problem, will Mr. Moore be joining you?”

You shake your head no.

“It’ll be just me. Please, don’t tell him about this. Please.”

“Okay.” He replies.

The car pulls up to your apartment building and you get out, making your way inside. You get onto the elevator with your security, waiting to reach your floor.

“I need to ask a favor from all of you.”

They glance at each other, wondering where this is heading.

“We’re all ears.” Milan replies.

“I’m taking a last minute flight. We’ll be gone for a few days—“

“Don’t tell Elijah about this, I just need some space.”

“But Ms.—“ Bobby interjects.

You look back at them. “I mean it. You’re my security and I need to be able to trust you guys.”

You get off the elevator, walking to your apartment and get inside.

Once you’re inside— you grab your bag and stuff some clothes in it. You put Binx in her carrier and pick up your cello as well.

You open the front door, handing these items to them.

Before you leave, you write a note— leaving it on your counter and leaving your cellphone as well.

You get back downstairs and get into the car with your stuff packed neatly beside you.

You don’t even bother having him turn the radio on, you just need silence. The drive is about an hour before you get to the hangar.

The pilot is waiting outside the plane for you.

You get out of the car and board the plane with Binx, saying hello to the pilot and letting him know where you’re going.

Berlin, Bobby, and Milan get your things onto the plane—as well as theirs before they take a seat.

The plane takes off and you instantly fall asleep, sleeping through the entire almost six hour flight.

Once the plane lands, you’re back in the car again for another hour before you arrive at your destination.

The car pulls up in the driveway, a place that you haven’t see in what feels like ages.

You get out of the car with Binx, making your way inside and entering in the security code.

“Welcome to my parents house, Binx.”

You decided to come home for a much needed break. They’re still gone out of the country and none of your siblings live here, so you have the house to yourself.

You show your security the other small house that they have near the garage and get them settled there, since that’s where they’ll be staying.

When Smoke doesn’t hear from you for a few hours, he starts to get worried. Calls your cellphone multiple times and no answer.

He goes by your apartment, using the spare key that you gave him.

“Baby?” He calls out.

He sees your phone on the counter and the note you left him.

“I’ll be back in a few days, I just need some space.”

“The fuck?” He mutters to himself.

He gets on his phone and starts dialing numbers, so that he can locate you.

You spend the rest of the day and night sitting on the couch and surfing through channels.

The house is quiet and there’s no one to bother you, you just feel lost.

Why the hell would Lane go seek out Elias? She’s telling you that you need to be mindful of Smoke and then she gets with Elias, how does that make any sense?

The worst part about this, is that in the midst of everything else— you feel like you’ve just lost a friend. Someone that you thought you could count on and be excited with.

You fall asleep on the couch, the tv still on and Binx laying on the other end of the couch.

The sun shines into the house, waking you up. You get up to adjust the curtains, so the sunlight isn’t so blinding and you see snow on the ground.

“Well, I’ll be damned. It’s snowing outside.” You joke.

Apparently, it started snowing about two hours before you woke up.

You go upstairs to your room and take a long, hot shower— reevaluating everything in your life.

You don’t know who you can trust or what you’re doing.

A few tears fall down your cheek.

You finish your shower and then begin bundling up your clothing, making your way outside.

The snow outside is coming down, the sun no longer visible— the wind blowing, giving a harsh breeze.

You walk for a few minutes out towards the field, barely able to unlatch the gate with how thick your gloves are.

Looking out across the field and nothing is seen for miles.

You make a clicking noise with your with your tongue, a whistle in between.

“Rogue!” You yell.

“Rogue, honey where are you?”

After the second yell, you see him running towards you from a distance. A smile on your face, you haven’t seen him in a few months.

Rogue approaches you slowly as he gets close, nudging you with his nose.

You rub his face.

“Hi buddy! I missed you.”

“I missed you so much.”

You walk around him, petting him and admiring his dark black coat and long black mane.

You brush him, seeing the snowflakes fall around you and him.

You notice that his ears raise up and you hear footsteps behind you, sending a chill down your spine. You don’t want to turn around, because you have no clue who it is.

“So, you just get up and leave without a fucking word?” A deep voice huffs.

You immediately turn around, shocked that he found you.

“How did you know I was here?”

He has a scowl on his face, the kind that tells you— you’re in deep shit.

“Does it matter?”

You pull your shoulders back, a laugh leaving your throat.

“Okay, Elijah.”

Your response doesn’t do you any favors, his patience thinning.

A silence from him and you lingers in the air after your response.

“You left and didn’t say a word. You left your phone behind, told Jabari and your security not to tell me where you went—“

You turn back towards Rogue, still brushing him.

“Do you know how worried I was? I didn’t know what had happened. The note you left didn’t do any justice.”

“I just needed space. I was going through it and just lost a friend.” You admit.

“I thought you were gone.” He replies, his voice sounding softer.

You stop what you’re doing, feeling some guilt for the way you handled things.

He walks over grabbing your hand, making you drop the brush.

“Elijah?”

He holds your hand, pulling you and walking through the field towards the gate.

“Are you going to answer me?” You ask.

Still no response.

He continues walking all the way back to the house. He opens the door, shutting it behind you.

You drop his hand, not understanding what’s going on.

He kisses you, hot and heavy— both of you stumbling back towards the kitchen table.

As he kisses you, he pulls his coat off.

You bump into the table, nowhere else to go.

His tongue wrestles yours.

He lifts you onto the table, sliding everything else out of the way.

“Smoke, what are you—“

“You want to just do whatever the fuck you want, huh?”

He unbuttons your pants, pulling them off and tossing them beside the table.

“Playing with me like that.”

He unbuckles his pants, his dick hard and tip leaking.

“I wasn’t playing with you, I just wanted space.”

Despite this being a conversation not up for debate, you both want to plead your case and let him fuck the shit out of you.

He pushes your panties to the side, his finger rubbing your clit— feeling how wet you are.

“Shit.” You moan.

He strokes his dick, lining himself up.

He spits on his tip, some of it dripping down your pussy.

“Seems like I gotta teach you a lesson, since you want to play.”

He pushes the head in, making you gasp.

He takes it slow at first, giving you some mercy— deep and long strokes.

“I told yo ass that I wasn’t playing those kinds of games.”

He’s so deep inside you, making your legs shake.

You throw your head back.

“Fuck, this feels so good.” You moan.

The table creaks from the rocking movements.

His balls are slapping against your ass.

“The way your pussy is gripping my dick, I ain’t gonna last long.”

“Elijah, fuck me just like this.”

The strokes, the dirty talk, the rhythm— all of it makes you lose control.

“Damn, baby.”

He fucks you so good, nice and hard.

A few more strokes and you can feel the warmth of his cum spilling inside of you.

You don’t even care that you didn’t finish. If it meant getting fucked like that again— maybe you should keep testing him.

He pulls out, taking a deep breath.

His dick covered in your slick.

He gives you a sloppy kiss, his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Don’t do no shit like that again.”

You nod, still turned on by the way he handles you.

You get off the table, walking to the bathroom to clean up. He follows right behind you.

You get into the bathroom— turning on the water in the shower.

He gives you a kiss on the shoulder.

“In all seriousness though, baby— you have to talk to me about what’s going on. You can’t just up and leave me like that with no explanation.”

You nod, getting into the shower as the water heated up fast.

He gets in with you, watching the water wash over you.

While you two are in the shower he’s lathering soap on your body, telling you about things that are happening with his businesses, listening to you talk about what happened with Lane, and overall trying to just be there for you.

You and Smoke stay at your parents house for four more days— taking pictures in the snow, riding your horse together, showing him family pictures and appreciating the simplicity of it all.

Two days later after you leave, you and Smoke are on a plane to Greece— having a small getaway.

The plane lands after what feels like an eternity.

The view is absolutely breathtaking, one of the best views that you’ve seen in your life.

You get off the plane, standing on the tarmac.

“This is so beautiful.”

Smoke comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

The one thing about your relationship that you love the most is that he is soft with you. He doesn’t mind being vulnerable or showing people that he loves you, he isn’t always so “hard” all the time.

He gets you checked in at the hotel and drops you off, he has a few things that he needs to do and you will be picked up for dinner in two hours.

The hotel room is just as you expected with Smoke— spacious, with an unbelievably beautiful view, and probably extremely expensive.

You put your bags down and sit down to relax.

You couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend— the kind of man that you prayed for. He maybe didn’t come when you wanted him to and your relationship didn’t start out like a normal one, but he’s above what you asked for. He’s the love of your life.

There’s a knock at the door, catching you off guard.

You walk over to the door, looking through the peephole to see who it is.

You open the door and see a woman in white scrubs, holding a large duffel bag standing there.

“Hi?”

She grins. “Hi! My name is Angela and I’m coming here for the scheduled massage appointment.”

Your brow raises, an obviously confused look on your face.

“I’m sorry? You must have the wrong room.”

She looks down at her clipboard, equally confused.

“This is room 502, right? The appointment is booked under Elijah Moore.”

“Oh.” You say, the dots finally connecting.

You let her in the room, slightly confused on why he booked you a massage— but very appreciative.

She sets the table up and tells you to get undressed, down to your underwear.

You get undressed and lay on the table.

She begins massaging your back, getting any knots out that might be there.

A blissful noise leaving your mouth.

It’s your first massage, so you’re unsure what to expect— but she’s working her magic and making you feel a sense of relief that you didn’t know you needed.

You get a full body massage and feel like a brand new person afterwards.

The massage lasts for an hour and you’re grateful to get one for that long. Once she leaves— you get in the shower and start getting dressed for your date.

You put on this red dress that you bought a few weeks ago— putting some shimmering oil on your chest and neck. You wear your new Valentino heels, a gold necklace, and you pin your curls up.

This is probably your favorite outfit thus far, looking the best you ever have.

You get down to the lobby, waiting for the car to pull around.

Jabari greets you and opens the door for you.

You get in the car, excited for your date.

You arrive at the restaurant, walking inside and greeted by the hostess.

“Right this way ma’am.”

She leads you outside to a romantic dinner set up.

Candles. Roses. The sun is setting in the back.

The perfect start to a dinner, even better when you see your man standing there.

A white button up, gold chain around his neck, khaki pants.

You pull your heels off to be able to walk better in the sand. A smile on your face as you get closer to him.

He pulls you into a hug— the scent of his mahogany cologne wrapping around you.

“You look amazing and you smell so good.” He points out.

You smile, “thank you. You look good as well.”

You both sit down at the table, the smiles not leaving your faces.

A waiter comes by pouring wine in your glass.

“What’s the special occasion?” You ask.

He reaches over, holding your hand.

“This dinner is to show my appreciation for you.”

You take a sip of your wine, your other hand being held by Smoke.

He gets up walking over to you, a nervous look on his face.

“You came into my life and changed it for the better. You made me realize that I don’t have to spend my life alone or wondering who’s the woman for me.”

“Smoke.” You interrupt, your heart feeling like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“I am in love with you. I feel like I’m on cloud nine coming home to you and Binx. You are what I want in a partner, in a friend, in every aspect of life.”

A tear falls down your cheek, hearing him appreciate you and say these things.

“If I don’t have to, I don’t want to do life with you baby. I don’t want to waste another moment.”

He gets down on one knee, opening the ring box to a beautiful ring.

“Will you do me the honor and marry me?”

You cover your mouth from shock, barely able to get your thoughts together.

“Yes!—“

“A million times yes.” You shout, jumping into his arms.

He holds you, swinging you around in the air.

As you kiss him and take in this moment, you hear fireworks going off in the sky behind you and you see a camera flashing taking pictures.

The best day of your life.

Smoke proposing to you is the last thing you expected, you haven’t been together that long— but you know that you don’t ever want to go a moment without him.

After that night, you called your parents in excitement— your mom screaming with joy on the phone with you. You didn’t know it at the time, but Smoke had gotten your dads phone number to talk to him and your mom— getting their permission for him to marry you.

The ring fits you perfectly, he knew exactly what to get you.

As a gift for you, he surprised you with a $30,000 Thomas Kennedy Cello. The same one you told him that you dreamed of owning.

You immediately got into wedding planning mode, something that you never thought you’d be doing. Smoke told you that you don’t have a budget for your dress or anything else for that matter.

On top of that, Smoke decided that he wants to start touring houses so that you two can officially have your own home. Something that the two of you want and can make memories in.

Two months later..

You stand in front of the mirror, staring at yourself in your wedding dress. A moment that you’ve dreamed of since you were a little girl.

The wedding dress looks ethereal on you, making it almost hard to believe.

The entire wedding has come together so beautifully. You’re able to get your dream wedding in Morocco with two hundred people coming there to support you.

Your mom comes behind you, adjusting your train.

“Are you ready?”

Your sisters wait in the other room to see you in it, opening the door.

They gasp in awe and even shed a few tears. It feels like a surreal moment.

Your eyes start to water.

Your mom fans your face, “don’t start crying honey— you’ll ruin your makeup.”

“I just can’t believe this is happening and it makes me a little sad, because I won’t share a last name with you guys anymore.”

You can tell it makes your moms heart break a little.

“Aw, sweetheart—“

“You’re still my daughter and their sister, that will never change.”

Your sisters make their way out there with everyone else.

The anxiety is brewing in your stomach.

Your mom grabs your hands, “the love of your life is waiting for you to walk through those doors. You made a good choice, your father and I couldn’t have picked anyone better.”

Smoke stands at the altar, barely able to stand still with Stack and Bo beside him.

“You nervous?” Stack grins, nudging Smoke.

Smoke scoffs, “Just a smidge. I ain’t ever did this before, I’m sure by the second time you’re no longer nervous.” He jokes, taunting Stack.

Stack laughs, surprised that Smoke would bring that up.

“Shit, it does get easier.”

Smoke shrugs.

“I don’t care how easy it gets, I won’t ever let her go.”

The music starts playing, everyone standing.

The big double doors open— revealing you in your dress.

You and your dad begin to walk down the aisle, arm in arm.

Smoke wipes his eyes as they start to water at the sight of you.

Once you’re at the altar, your dad gives you a kiss on the cheek and shakes Smoke’s hand.

You two hold each other's hand, both extremely nervous.

The officiant looks at both of you.

“Elijah, will you please repeat after me?—“

“I Elijah, take you, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, I promise to love and cherish you.”

Smoke repeats it.

The officiant turns to you.

“Will you please repeat after me?—“

“I, take you Elijah, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, I promise to love and cherish you.”

“Can we have the rings?” He asks.

Bo brings them over, handing them to Smoke.

You both place the rings on each other's fingers.

Before the vows are completed, Smoke takes a second to talk.

“I know, we decided not to write vows— but I just want to say this. You are my partner, my lover, my very best friend. My heart beats for you. And on this day, the day of my wedding, I promise you all of me. I promise to keep you safe and to ride out every storm with you.”

A tear falls down your cheek, making you let go of his hand to wipe it.

“Now, you have me crying.” You laugh.

Your mother wipes her eyes, crying from how beautiful this is.

“I love you, baby.” Smoke replies.

“I love you too.”

The officiant closes his book. “ It is my privilege as your officiant and by the authority given to me, I now pronounce that you are husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

Smoke pulls you into a kiss, leaning you off your feet.

The crowd cheers and claps, everyone so happy for the two of you.

You both walk down the aisle hand in hand, getting your picture taken and rice being thrown over your heads.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated

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[mrstargayen09]

This fic had me on a chokehold for how GOOD it is...also liked it bc of fifty shades of gray trope (I AM FERAL FOR IT)

[slytherclaw1978]

my screensaver if I was dating pope

[mrstargayen09]

The toothy smile really makes me into becoming a puddle of nothing

[thatcorporategirlie]

The Lottery of Fate

18+ account - minors do not interact

titus danforth f!reader Word Count: 10.6K Rating: E

Summary: You return to the estate after learning Chester has fallen ill, and learn that the beginning of a new game is about to unfold.

Warnings: (SMUT MDNI 18+), professor reader, reader has sex with someone else (don’t yell at me), language, mentions of illness (cancer), death of a character (happens offscreen), sexual tension (so much of it), feelings, mutual pinging, so much yearning (titus is soooo down bad for you), emotional argument, non-sexual intimacy, pet names, smutty thots (horny dreams), a boob grab (titus can’t help himself), softness, angst, grief, I think that’s it

A/N: This chapter takes the core lore and plot elements from the movie, but I’ve adapted them to fit the story I’m telling here. I’ve made creative adjustments where needed, so this isn’t a direct or fully accurate representation of the film’s events. Still, there are spoilers this time and some dialogue from the movie. GIF found HERE by @kaizsche. dividers as always by @saradika-graphics

Thank you for reading!! if you reblog with commentary i love you so much <3.

Masterlist l PART 1 | PART 2 | You’re reading part 3 l PART 4 (coming soon)

TWO MONTHS LATER – Manhattan, New York City

Your chest rose and fell in the dim glow of your bedside lamp, sheets tangled around your sweat-dampened legs. The ache between your thighs lingered—a satisfying throb from David’s (a professor in the Linguistics department) steady thrusts, his cock filling you just enough to push you over the edge. He actually had made you come, grunting as he chased his own release inside the condom, but your mind had wandered mid-fuck, flashing to Titus. You hated admitting that when you clenched around David’s dick, you were imagining Titus pinning you down instead, with his rough hands bruising your hips. Guilt twisted in your gut then, but you shoved the thought away.

The bathroom door creaked open down the hall. David was in there, as he stepped to the trash can, peeling off the used rubber with a wet snap. You heard the faucet run, him rinsing his hands, splashing water on his face. He was intelligent, attractive, and most importantly… he seemed like a normal guy. The date last week had been fine with witty banter over wine, and his fingers tracing your palm. You said yes to the date because after bolting from Newport, you buried yourself in work and your research… anything to forget about Titus and the chaos of the Danforth’s.

He padded back into the bedroom and smiled that easy, post-fuck grin.

"You okay? Want me to grab you some more water? I can stay a bit?" He sat on the bed's edge, hand grazing your knee, eyes hopeful.

Your stomach knotted. You usually didn't fuck on date two—scratch that, this was barely date two—but nothing felt right since Newport. You sat up, clutching the sheet to your breasts, nipples still pebbled from the cool air.

"Uh, this was fun," you said, voice cracking awkwardly. Your cheeks burned. "But I actually needed to work tonight. Need to do some grading."

His brow furrowed, but he nodded slowly.

"Yeah? Tonight?" he murmured, fingers trailing up your thigh, testing.

"Yeah," you replied, slipping out of your bed and grabbing your discarded panties from the floor. You tugged them on, then snatched a loose t-shirt from the chair, pulling it over your head. It hung to your thighs, and David's gaze followed every move, lingering on the curve of your ass as you bent over. He stood and stepped into his boxers, then his jeans.

"Maybe we'll do this again," he said, voice tentative, zipping up while watching you closely.

"Maybe," you echoed, the word souring on your tongue.

"Did I—" he paused, shirt half-buttoned, expression shifting to uncertainty,  "misread this?"

"No," you said quickly, meeting his eyes. "I had a nice time. I just really need to grade some papers tonight. I’m behind."

David nodded, a small smile returning as he finished dressing. "Then, I’ll see you around, beautiful," he murmured, leaning in to kiss you, lips soft and lingering on yours before he pulled back. He grabbed his rain jacket from the hook by the door, gave you one last hopeful glance, then slipped out into the night.

The door clicked shut. Alone, you flopped back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. What the hell was wrong with you? David seemed solid with no red flags. Plus, he had fucked you to completion and left you sore in the best way.

You rolled over, and grabbed your laptop, but your mind drifted back to those intense hazel eyes. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the screen blurred, dissolving into that night. The conversation replayed like a wound you kept picking at, the memory still raw and bleeding.

"That's not possible," you whispered, shaking your head. "My mother wouldn't—she couldn't—"

Titus didn't flinch. He stood by the mantel, one hand resting on the carved wood, posture relaxed but eyes sharp as scalpels.

"She was protecting you," he said.

"Protecting me?" Your voice cracked, splintered. "I woke up with a concussion and spent years thinking I was losing my mind.”

Titus pushed off from the mantel, taking a step closer.  "Your mother saw you with Celia and noticed the confusion on your face. She then saw Eleanor getting ready with her crossbow. And she knew—she knew—that if you saw what happened next, if you witnessed Celia die, you would never be allowed to leave this property alive."

"So she fucking hit me?" you said flatly, the words tasting like ash.

"She saved your life."

"No… she decided I didn’t deserve the truth."

"If that’s the narrative you prefer, because it makes you the victim… then that’s the fiction you can cling to."

"She stole years of it! You all did!" The shout tore from your throat. Your hands were shaking, fists clenched at your sides. "Do you understand what that did to me? The therapy. The nightmares. The way I couldn't trust my own memories."

Titus watched you with that patient, predatory stillness that made you want to scream. "She made a choice."

A bitter laugh escaped you. "A choice?"

"Yes."

You turned away from him, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes until stars burst behind your lids. "And I was just… what? Something to manage? Something to keep quiet." You dropped your hands, spinning back to face him. "My mother was part of whatever this is. Why?"

Titus hesitated. "Because she was aware of the High Council."

"The High Council?" you repeated, incredulous. "What is that?"

"I can’t tell you," he said. "It’s not information you’re meant to have."

"But my mother was?"

"She was the housekeeper," he said. "Our staff knows our family better than most. That’s why we choose them so carefully." His hand lifted, fingers brushing your jaw, and you flinched away—but his grip was gentle, almost reverent. "You were safer not knowing. You are safer not knowing."

"Safer?" A hysterical edge crept into your laughter. "Nothing about this is safe. Nothing about your family is safe. And I'm tired of being treated like a fucking child."

His eyes darkened, something flickering there—frustration, maybe, or fury he was barely containing. "You’re letting your emotions make a spectacle of you."

"Oh, really? Well, I think you just see me as a fucking liability. Someone who might crack, might spill, and might ruin the carefully constructed lies you've all built."

"You're not a liability." His voice was low, rough, scraping against something raw in your chest. "You're the only person I've ever wanted to tell the truth to."

The words hung between you, heavy and impossible.

"But you still haven’t," you whispered.

He didn't deny it.

The silence stretched, filling with the crackle of flames and the pounding of your heart. You stared at the sharp lines of his face and felt something inside you harden.

"So," you said, your voice suddenly flat, hollow, "is this the part where you kill me?"

Titus's expression cracked. Shock flickered across his features, raw and unmistakable. "What?"

"I know about Celia. I'm a loose end, aren't I?" You forced a smile that didn't reach your eyes. "That's how this works. Witnesses get silenced. People who know too much probably disappear…right?"

He stared at you as if you'd slapped him. "You think I would hurt you?”

"I don't know what to think, Titus. You've lied. You've hidden things. You've let me drown in my own confusion while you, your family, and my fucking own mother stood by, playing chess with my life." Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out. "So tell me. Am I leaving this room alive?"

"Of course you are." His voice was barely a whisper, rough and wounded. "I would never—"

"Then I'd like to leave now."

You moved toward the door, past him, your shoulder brushing his chest. His hand caught your wrist, warm and calloused, halting you.

"Wait."

"Why?" You didn't turn around. "So you can explain more reasons I shouldn't trust you? So you can tell me how this was all for my own good?"

"Because I don't want you to walk away thinking I’m the reason you don’t feel safe.”

"I don't feel safe, Titus," you said honestly, finally turning to meet his eyes. "I can’t trust you."

His grip on your wrist loosened, fingers trailing down until they caught your hand, held it like something fragile. "Stay. Let me—"

You gently pulled your hand free. "Goodbye, Titus.”

You walked out and didn't look back.

And now, you were lying in a bed that smelled of a man who had fucked you while you imagined someone else, the weight of that goodbye pressed against your ribs like a blade. You closed the laptop, the screen clicking shut in the dim bedroom. The ceiling fan spun lazily above, casting shadows across the walls. Your throat burned with unshed tears.

Titus's face swam behind your eyelids.

Fuck.

You tried to crush the image, but it only sharpened. The way he looked when you pulled your hand free. The broken silence as the door clicked shut behind you.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. David's name lit up the screen: "Made it home safe. Hope you get your grading done. Let me know when you're free again."

You stared at the message. He was so uncomplicated, and yet your thumb hovered uselessly over the keyboard, no words forming at all.

Because how the hell could you explain that the only man occupying your thoughts wasn't the one who had just made you come?

You were deep into your reply to Dr. Adams in your office at Columbia, fingers moving quickly as you tried to finish the paragraph before you lost your train of thought. His latest email had been a goldmine. The scanned folios he’d attached, the annotated translations, even notes written in the margins of a manuscript from his own fieldwork on the ritual life of the Carolingian court. All of it had pushed your research forward in ways you hadn’t expected. You and he had been communicating for weeks, and he had provided you with several items useful to your work—particularly the liturgical diagrams (visuals) from the Aachen manuscripts and the comparative notes on royal procession protocols. You were just about to add a line thanking him for the digitized fragments of the ordo coronationis (formal script for how a king was crowned in the Carolingian world) when your office door slammed open.

The sudden burst of the office door swung open with a force that echoed off the walls, making you jump back in your chair.

"What the fu—" you began, and looked up to find Ursula looking you up and down, a smirk creeping across her lips.

"Wow," she said, surveying the room with a too‑wide smile. "Cozy little cave you’ve got here. Very… hostage‑chic."

Your pulse spiked. "Ursula, you can’t just—"

"Oh, but I can." She shut the door behind her with a soft click that felt louder than the slam. "You’ve been ignoring my calls. And my texts."

"I blocked you."

Her smile sharpened. "I noticed."

She took a step closer.

"I’m calling security," you said, reaching for your phone with shaking hands.

Ursula’s laugh was soft, delighted, and absolutely chilling. "Go right ahead." She tilted her head, watching you with predatory amusement. "You really think anyone in this building is going to drag me out by the elbow? Please. I’d love to see them try."

Your fingers hovered uselessly over your phone.

"You blocked me?" she repeated, "That hurts my feelings."

"Bullshit."

"You’re right. But…" she continued, smile returning, "I’m willing to forgive you. Because we have things to discuss. Important things."

"I don’t want to talk to you."

"That’s adorable," she said. "But irrelevant."

"Get the fuck out of my office," you yelled.

"No. I’m not fucking leaving," she growled. "Because you clearly don’t understand the situation, and Titus is too… Titus to explain it to you because he’s in love with you."

Love?

Your mind rejected it instantly, the comment was so absurd and transparently manipulative that it felt like she might as well have told you the sky was green.

"You really want to know what the High Council really is?" Ursula leaned in, voice lowering to a conspiratorial purr.

You felt a chill crawling up your spine, with a sense of dread that was hard to shake—but you still nodded.

"It’s six families—ours included bound by a pact older than this country. The pacts were made ages ago, with a being they call Mr. Le Bail. Satan, if you want to get biblical about it." She slid into the chair across from you, crossing her legs with casual elegance. "Years ago, one of our Danforth ancestors made a choice. He pledged his soul to Mr. Le Bail in exchange for power. Not just for riches or influence, but control over the very fabric of the world."

"Power in exchange for doing what for Mr. Le Bail?"

Ursula gave you a slow, knowing, almost pitying look. The kind someone gives when the answer is so horrific, so obvious, that saying it out loud would be redundant.

Your breath caught, the words sticking in your throat as your mind snapped back to that night—Celia’s shaking hands, her wild eyes, the way she’d whispered this fucking insane family is going to kill me, they’re hunting me. And suddenly it all aligned with a clarity that made you sick. Everything you’d ever studied, every theory you’d dismissed as too extreme, every instinct you’d had about the Danforths—it was all true. They weren’t just eccentric or secretive. They were part of a ritualistic cult bound by blood. And the exchange wasn’t symbolic. It was sacrifice.

A cold, hollow "Oh" slipped out before you could stop it.

Ursula’s smile was thin, brittle, and edged with something like sympathy. "Yeah," she murmured. "Oh."

You stared at her, trying to process the revelation. "So, all this time…these families, their rituals, the whole high society…it's all part of some ancient pact?"

"Exactly. And now, every generation of our family has to keep that deal alive," Ursula sighed, almost fondly, as if she were explaining something obvious.

"Religious indoctrination is a powerful thing, indeed," you muttered, trying to make sense of everything she’d just told you.

"Oh, spare me the dissertation tone," she snapped, clearly offended. "This isn’t one of your little philosophy debates where everything is a metaphor or a social construct. Don’t reduce this to belief or brainwashing. The pact is a fucking fact."

You opened your mouth, but she steamrolled right over you.

"Titus and I grew up watching what happens when someone breaks the rules. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. People die. The consequences are real." Her expression hardened, daring you to argue. "So don’t pretend this is just some fucking bedtime narrative… because trust me, the price for disobedience is blood."

The idea that their ancestor had willingly or unwittingly signed their lives away to a malevolent force was fucking crazy. The questions swirled in your mind—how much of what they did was out of their control? Were they just pawns, victims of their own history? Or were they complicit, knowingly or not? Because if they were just victims, then what did that say about free will? About morality? About the very nature of good and evil?

Ursula’s voice sliced through your thoughts. "Titus and I didn’t ask to be born into this mess, you know. We just were. It’s not like we chose this dark family legacy." She paused, then gave a small, humorless laugh. "But here we are, and we’ve got to live with it. Sometimes, doing bad things is the only way to survive. We’re just playing a game we didn’t choose." Her eyes locked onto yours, intense and unflinching. "So next time you think about the high‑and‑mighty Danforth’s, remember this: we’re just as trapped as everyone else. The difference is, I’ve stopped fighting it. I’ve accepted what we are. I’ve embraced it. Because we’ve been told our whole lives that it’s divine. That it’s destiny. And I’d rather rule my cage than pretend it isn’t there."

"So that’s it? You’ve decided to wear the chains because pretending they’re jewelry is easier? That’s not destiny, Ursula. That’s surrender."

"I’m not going to be judged by someone who lectures about philosophy and ethics from behind a desk that was essentially bought with Danforth money."

"Fuck you," you growled.

"You want to talk about chains? You grew up cushioned by privilege you didn’t even realize you had. Elite schools, elite circles, elite academia—courtesy of the very family you love to moralize about. So don’t pretend you’re above any of this."

The words hit harder than you expected... because they weren’t entirely wrong. Ursula rose from her chair in one smooth, decisive motion.

"Get up," she said. "You’re coming with me."

"I’m not going anywhere with you," you spat, heat rising in your chest.

"Father is sick."

"What do you mean, sick?"

"When he got back from his last trip, he started complaining about abdominal pain. Bad enough that even he couldn’t ignore it." She folded her arms, her voice flattening into something grim. "He finally saw a doctor. Then a specialist. Then another. Turns out it’s stage 4 pancreatic cancer."

Chester. Concern punched through you before you could stop it, and you hated yourself for it. But the truth was undeniable: he was the closest thing to a father you’d ever had. And the thought of him really being sick made your eyes water.

"Father would like to see you," Ursula said, already turning toward the door. You stood up despite yourself, and Ursula paused in the doorway, glancing back with a peculiar look.

"And you know…. he really is," she added softly.

You frowned. "He is what?"

Her smile curved, sharp and knowing. "In love with you."

It took a beat (one long… and stunned heartbeat) before you realized she was talking about Titus.

Titus lingered, watching you. He was caught off guard because he hadn’t even known Ursula was going to New York to bring you back to the Estate. And now here you were, standing in front of him in a soft cream blouse tucked neatly into high‑waisted charcoal trousers, the sleeves slightly rumpled, and a worn leather satchel still hanging from one hand like you’d forgotten it was there. You looked… hollowed out. Shoulders tight, jaw set, eyes that didn't quite land on anything for more than a second. You were here, but you weren't. And you damn sure weren't looking at him.

"Chester's been asking for you," Titus said, his voice bouncing off the vaulted ceilings, a little too sharp. "Which is surprising. Usually, he just asks for morphine and the remote."

You didn't answer. Just gave a tight nod and followed Ursula down the hall. Titus trailed after you, feeling like a stray dog hoping for a scrap of attention. Pacing himself. Trying to be cool and failing miserably. When you all reached Chester's room, the air was thick with the smell of old wood and medicinal ointment. He was propped up against his pillows, looking like a skeleton that had decided to outlive its flesh. But the moment you saw him, a genuine spark lit up your face.

Jesus Christ. Even dying, Chester was getting the look Titus was starving for.

"Child," he rasped, his voice a dry rustle. "You're here.”

Titus leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying to look casual while you crossed the room. You didn't spare him a glance. Just walked straight to his father’s bedside and took his gnarled hand in yours.

"Chester," you said, and the softness in a voice that hit Titus like a punch to the gut.

His fingers curled around yours. "I'm happy to see you."

You sat on the edge of his bed, and Titus watched your shoulders drop, just a fraction. Meanwhile, he was standing there like an idiot, waiting for a crumb of your attention.

"So, what did I miss?" you asked, trying to inject some levity. "Did one of the maids finally run off with the chef?"

Chester chuckled, a wet, rattling sound. "Always with the jokes."

"If one of the maids ever ran off with the chef, Ursula would drag them back by their hair. Both of them." Titus said. You finally looked at him. Just a flicker. A flash of something before you turned back to Chester. It was enough to make his chest ache.

God, he was fucking pathetic.

"If they ran off, I’d simply replace them before dinner. Some of us plan ahead," Ursula said, standing near Chester, hands clasped loosely behind her back. Then, Chester's phone buzzed on the nightstand. A low, insistent hum against the wood. He looked at it, his thin fingers trembling as he picked it up. The screen lit up, and he saw the group chat name: High Council.

Chester tapped the screen. And then, in a voice that had suddenly regained some of its old authority, he read aloud:

"Bride survived." He paused. "Le Domas family gone. The ball is in play."

The room went silent. The kind of silence that went under your skin and burrowed in. Titus looked at Ursula. She looked at Chester.

"No," Titus said, the word ripping out of him. "No, that's not fair. That's ours. The seat—it belongs to us."

"It doesn't matter," Chester said, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "It's in the rules."

Titus felt the walls closing in. "Dad, please."

"Be a fucking man. You’re a Danforth. You know what you have to do, Titus," Chester hissed.

You pushed yourself to your feet so quickly that the mattress sank behind you. "Wait—what’s going on?" The words felt thin and unsteady, and you looked genuinely nervous (almost frightened), your fingers curling into fists as if you needed something to hold onto. Titus turned toward you, startled, as he realized you weren’t supposed to be involved in this or hear any of it. The look on your face, which was filled with confusion blending with fear and a slow dawning realization, made Titus feel bad. You didn’t fully understand what Chester was asking, not yet.

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of this moment. He’d imagined it countless times—dreaded it, denied it, shoved it to the back of his mind. But seeing your reaction…your eyes darting between him and Chester, as if trying to piece together something he never wanted you to see. It made it all feel suddenly real in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

"You must win the seat back." Chester's voice cracked, but the command was iron.

Ursula stepped forward, her hand landing on Chester's shoulder. "We will. You have our word."

Chester nodded, a final, solemn gesture. "Then get on with it." He turned his face toward you, a faint, tired smile tugging at his mouth. "You and your mother never looked at us the way others do. You saw the human parts. Thank you. You’ve done right by us. Remember that, no matter what comes next."

Ursula’s hand clamped around your arm before you even realized she’d moved. One sharp tug and you were stumbling backward, away from Chester’s bedside, away from Titus.

"Ursula—wait—"

And then Ursula's grip tightened, and she was pulling you. Steering you out of the room. You twisted, trying to keep your eyes on Chester, on Titus, on the way Titus looked like he was about to break in half. He wasn’t looking at you… he wasn’t even trying to.

Something inside you snapped.

"Titus! Ursula—what the fuck is going on?!"

Your voice cracked, too loud, too raw, bouncing off the walls like a trapped animal. Ursula didn’t flinch. She didn’t even slow down. Then Pernella appeared out of nowhere, tall and severe, her silhouette swallowing the doorway. She took your other arm from Ursula with a grip that felt like iron.

"This way, miss."

"No—no, stop—what is happening? Titus!"

Your heels scraped against the floor as Pernella dragged you down, your breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts. You twisted, craning your neck, desperate for one more glimpse of the room you were being ripped away from.

"Titus! Answer me!"

But the door was already closing. The hallway swallowed your voice. And the last thing you saw was the shape of Titus still standing beside his father’s bed, still not looking at you, still holding the weight of something you didn’t understand.

Then the darkness of the corridor took everything else.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe fifteen. Time had lost all meaning by the time footsteps echoed down the hall.  Two sets, each heavy with purpose. You turned toward the doorway just as Ursula appeared, heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Behind her, Titus emerged like a shadow pulled reluctantly into light—his face pale, his jaw tight, his eyes unfocused and distant.

Ursula stopped at the threshold, her heels stopping precisely on the edge. Titus lingered a step behind her, gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.

"Father has passed," Ursula announced.

The words landed like a slap. Your brain rejected them, scrambled to fit them into some framework that made sense.

"What?" you managed.

"Father is dead," she repeated, somber and unyielding.

You looked at Titus, searching his face, but he remained unreadable. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders slumped forward, muscles twitching in his jaw.

"No." The word escaped you, trembling, fragile. Then louder, almost desperate: "No—you killed him. You just—you killed your father."

Ursula tilted her head. "Well, he was probably going to die in a few months anyway. We just had to speed up the process."

"Speed up the process?" you echoed, voice rising with disbelief.

"It was necessary." She said it like it was obvious. Like she was explaining why you'd need to file paperwork before a business merger. "He knew the stakes. He understood."

You stared at her, mouth agape, struggling to find words or even breath. Your eyes darted back to Titus, who was still not meeting your gaze. Ursula shifted her tone, her words becoming clinical, businesslike.

"I'll notify the others to deliver the bride here by tomorrow. We'll need to prepare."

Titus didn’t respond, but he provided a slow, barely perceptible nod. Without another glance, Ursula turned and strode past you, heels clicking steadily down the hall. The sound faded, leaving behind only the crackling fire, the ticking clock, and the suffocating silence of everything left unsaid. Finally, Titus moved. He turned, slowly, and started walking in the opposite direction. You followed him, footsteps heavy behind him, before you managed to speak.

He heard your footsteps behind him before you said a word.

"Titus."

He kept walking.

"Titus, wait. Titus."

His strides lengthened. The hallway stretched ahead of him, endless and dark, lined with portraits of Danforth’s who stared down at him with painted eyes that seemed to know exactly what he'd just done.

"Titus, please. What the fuck just happened?"

Your voice cracked on the please. He heard it. Felt it somewhere deep in his chest, in the hollow space where his black heart was. But he didn't stop.

"Titus, you both just…you killed your father. And Ursula—she's acting like it's a Tuesday. What the fuck is going on?"

He reached the end of the hallway and turned a corner. You kept following; your footsteps were faster now, nearly running to keep up.

"Talk to me. Please. I just—"

He finally stopped, and you almost collided with his back, stumbling to a halt just behind him.  For a long moment, he stood there, shoulders rising and falling with a breath that looked like it cost him everything. Then he turned around.

"Go fucking home," he commanded.

The words hit you like ice water. "What?" you managed, voice trembling.

"You heard me." His tone was low, flat, and dangerous in a way you’d never heard before. "Go home. Leave this place."

You felt your own face contort, anger rising to meet the shock. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Then you're a goddamn idiot."

"I don't care. Seriously, what the hell is going on, Titus?"

He stared at you. A long, heavy silence stretched between you, filled with the crackling tension of a room about to catch fire. Then he turned again and started walking, leaving you no choice but to follow. Your footsteps pounded against the floor, matching his stride step for step. He reached a door at the end of the hall (his room) and pushed it open without invitation. You stepped inside immediately, not waiting for him to beckon.

The room was dark, lit only by a single lamp beside an unmade bed. Books cluttered every surface, a half-empty glass of whiskey resting on the nightstand. The curtains were drawn tight, sealing out the world beyond, and Titus stood in the middle of the room, his back to you.

"I’m going to ask one more time…what the fuck just happened?" you demanded, your voice ringing off the walls. He didn't answer for a long moment. Then, slowly, he turned. His eyes were red-rimmed now, and his cold mask was cracking, revealing something raw underneath.

"The high seat," he said, his voice rough. "It's the jewel of power."

"What?" you echoed, struggling to keep up.

"The seat. The one my father held. It's the seat that—" He stopped, ran a hand through his hair, paced a few steps. "The High Council doesn’t technically have a permanent leader. It’s a seat that can be rotated. Think of it as a game."

"A game?"

"The game." He laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "The one my father just lost. The one we've been playing for centuries."

Your mind spun, trying to grasp what he was telling you. "I don't understand." Titus stopped pacing, facing you fully this time. His eyes were dark, unguarded, and filled with something that made your stomach knot.

"The bride of Mr. Le Domas survived hide and seek tonight." He said the words like they were holy scripture. "Which means the entire Le Domas family is dead."

"Dead?"

"Yes." His voice was matter-of-fact. "And because they're dead now, the high seat is empty for the first time in a long time. My father has held the seat for decades, but now all families are in play. All of them can claim the seat."

"Okay," you said slowly, trying to find the thread. "So... you claim the seat. You win. Problem solved."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because the seat has to be earned. Through the game. Through—" He stopped, shook his head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that Ursula and I can't lose this seat.”

"Why?"

"Because the high seat controls the council. And the council controls everything."

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. "Everything?"

Titus met your gaze. "The world."

The world. The word echoed in your skull, bouncing off the walls of your mind, refusing to settle.

"Why the fuck do you need the world, Titus?" He flinched. Just a fraction, but you saw it. "Don't you already have everything? You're a Danforth. You have money and power. You're the son of one of the most influential families in—" You threw your hands up. "What more do you need?"

"You don't understand."

"Then make me understand!"

"I can't." His voice cracked. He turned away from you, walked to the window, pulled back the curtain just enough to look out at the dark grounds below. "You don't want to understand. Trust me."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"Then what do you want?" He spun around, and his voice was sharp now, cutting through the dim room. "You want to hear that I’m a monster? Fine. I’m a fucking monster."

"I want to hear the truth!"

"The truth?" He laughed, but there was nothing funny in it. "The truth is that my family sold their souls to a demon 300 years ago, and now I'm the one paying the bill. The truth is, my sister and I just had to kill our father to participate on his behalf. If I don't win that seat back, then what was this all for?" The words hung in the air between you, ragged and exposed. His chest heaved, trembling hands pressed flat against his thighs as if holding himself together was all he could do.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened again, searching for something to say.

He shook his head, a sharp, jerky motion. "Go home." he whispered, broken and quiet. "Please. Just... go home."

He turned away from you, walked toward the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. A moment later, you heard the sink turn on. And then, quieter than the running water, a sound you'd never expected to hear from him… a sob, choked and muffled and desperately hidden behind the closed door.

You stood in the middle of his room, surrounded by his books and his whiskey and the ghost of everything he'd just confessed, and the tears came before you could stop them. Chester was gone and you barely had any time to say goodbye. This past summer, he’d been working nonstop, slipping in and out of the house. There hadn’t been enough time. There was never going to be enough time. Because you had been stubborn and pushed him away your entire adult life. You sank onto the edge of his bed, your hands gripping the sheets like they were the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth, and you waited in silence.

Suddenly, you realized that maybe… Titus wasn’t a monster. He was simply born into a system that made him do monstrous things.

The hot water had run cold ten minutes ago, but Titus hadn't moved. He stood there, palms flat against the tile, letting the last remnants of heat drip down his spine and swirl into the drain. Steam curled around him, and he watched it dissipate like everything else in this godforsaken house.

He turned off the water and stood there for another long moment. Maybe you'd finally taken the hint. Maybe Pernella had scooped you up and dragged you to a guest room. Maybe Ursula had done something worse. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, not bothering to dry his hair. Water traced cold lines down his chest, his shoulders, the spaces between his ribs where he could feel his heart still pounding like an animal in a cage. Titus pushed the bathroom door open, bare feet on the cold floor, and stepped into the bedroom.

And there you were… sitting on the edge of his bed.

His heart stuttered, and he froze mid-step, one hand still on the doorframe, the towel hanging loose around his hips. The dim lamplight caught the curve of your shoulder, the line of your jaw, the way your fingers were gripping the edge of the mattress. Titus felt the weight of your gaze like a physical thing that was traveling across the planes of muscle, and the water still beading on his skin. Your lips parted slightly, and he watched you catch yourself, watched that little furrow appear between your brows as you dragged your eyes back up to meet his.

"I asked you to leave," he muttered.

Your voice was quieter than I expected. "Ursula scooped me up in that private jet. I can't exactly go home."

He turned toward his nightstand, where his phone sat charging. "I'll ask Alex to fly you back. Give me five minutes to—"

"Can I just stay here tonight?"

The words cut through him like a blade, his hand hovering over the phone, and he turned back to you. You were looking at him, and he saw something in your eyes that he didn't expect. You didn’t look afraid.

"With you," you whispered. "Can I stay here tonight with you?"

The silence stretched as he could hear the clock ticking in the hallway and his own heartbeat, loud and traitorous. He noticed that your face was tired, and the shadows under your eyes were deeper than he had ever seen them. Your lips were full and slightly parted, and he could see the faint tremor in them, the way you were holding yourself together with sheer will. And your eyes. They were the kind of eyes that made Titus want to say things he had never said to anyone. That made him want to burn this whole estate to the ground and build something new from the ashes, just so he could see them light up in a world that wasn't cursed.

He swallowed hard. "Sure," he mumbled. "Sure, you can stay."

Inside, something dangerous and foolish was cracking open—a jolt of excitement, crisp and electric, surged through his veins. He walked past you toward the closet, his towel still hanging on by a thread. He pulled open the door and closed it to grab the first pair of boxers he found. Titus then stepped back out and reached for a t-shirt that was lying on a chair.

"Don't," you said.

He turned, shirt halfway over his head, and looked at you.

"You don't need to. I know you don't usually sleep in clothes."

"How do you know that?" he asked, letting his shirt fall back on the chair.

A small, almost-smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "I pay attention." Then you stood up. And slowly you reached for the buttons of your blouse. He watched, frozen, as you unfastened them one by one. The fabric fell open, revealing the curve of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts beneath a simple black bra. You shrugged the blouse off and let it drop to the floor, then reached for the zipper of your pants. They slid down your hips, over your thighs, pooling at your ankles. You stepped out of them, and there you were…in nothing but your bra and underwear, standing in the middle of his room like the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

It wasn't lace or silk or anything designed to seduce. It was simple, practical, and unassuming. And it was the sexiest thing he had ever laid eyes on. Because it was you. Because you were staying. Because you weren't running. Titus couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He just watched as you walked to the bed, pulled back the covers, and slid in. The mattress dipped under your weight, the sheets rustled, and then you looked at him, your head resting on his pillow with your hair fanning out behind you.

"You coming?"

He exhaled, unaware that he'd been holding his breath. Then he crossed the room—neither hurried nor hesitant, simply advancing toward you like a man who'd been lost at sea and finally seen shore. He slid into bed beside you, the sheets cool against his skin. You both laid there, side by side, staring at the ceiling. The space between you was barely a few inches, but it felt like a canyon.

"Titus?" Your voice was small.

"Yeah?"

"What do you and Ursula have to do tomorrow?"

The question hit like a stone in still water; ripples spread outward, dark and inevitable. He continued to stare at the ceiling.

"The bride," he said. "The one who survived. Either Ursula or I have to kill her. To keep the seat."

The silence that followed was worse than anything you could have said. It stretched and stretched, filling the room, pressing against his chest until he couldn't breathe. He wished he knew what you were thinking. He imagined you were probably deciding he was an evil person. That you'd made a mistake, staying. That in the morning, you'd be gone before he woke up, and he would never see you again. In a way, he was evil. He had known it for years. Titus had just gotten good at dressing it up in charm and self-deprecation.

Then you turned.

He felt the shift before he saw it…the mattress shifting, and the sheets rustling. Then, your hand was on his chest, fingers tracing slow, delicate patterns across his skin…drawing circles, lines, shapes he couldn't name.

"I'm sorry about your father," you said.

He opened his mouth to say something and he didn’t know what, but it was probably going to be something deflective or dismissive. However, before the words could come out, you moved. Your arms wrapped around him, your body pressed against his, and your face was buried in the crook of his neck. For a long, terrible moment, he didn't move. He lay there, rigid, his arms at his sides, and his heart hammering against his ribs. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him. Not a perfunctory embrace at a family gathering. Not a handshake disguised as a pat on the back. A real hug.

It had been years. Decades. Maybe never.

His arms came up slowly, hesitantly, and wrapped around you. He pulled you closer, his hand splayed across your bare back, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. Your breath was warm against his neck.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again. "I'm so sorry, Titus."

"Don't," his voice cracked. "Don't apologize. You didn't—"

"I know. But I'm still sorry."

"You know, in that Eternal Sunshine movie you made me watch, that one character said, 'Blessed are the forgetful.' I used to think forgetting was mercy. But after today… forgetting feels like drowning. And you—" He reached for you, almost without thinking. "You’re the only thing that makes it feel like I can breathe."

You laughed a soft, broken sound that vibrated against his chest. "You're quoting Kirsten Dunst’s character quoting Nietzsche while lying in bed with a philosophy professor the night before you have to kill someone?"

"I’m trying to distract myself."

"Clearly."

He felt your fingers resume their tracing on his chest, drawing lazy patterns along his collarbone, down his sternum, across the dip of his ribs, and he felt his skin tingle wherever you touched him.

"You constantly surprise me," you murmured.

"Oh yeah?"

"I’m just saying I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth next."

"Careful. Keep saying things like that, and I might start thinking you like me," he smirked, turning his face to look at you, and your face was inches from his.

"You know I like you," you whispered, your hand coming up to cup his jaw, your thumb brushing across his cheekbone. Titus didn't answer immediately because he wondered if you loved him like he loved you. Instead, he let his hand move from your back to your waist, his fingers splaying across the curve of your hip. Your skin was soft, warm, and alive. He traced the line of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your hipbone.

"You're perfect," he said. "And I'm terrified."

"Of what?"

"Of what happens tomorrow. Of the fact that you're lying here, in my bed, and I don't know if you'll be here in the morning." He felt your body shift, pressing closer, and your lips brushed his collarbone, featherlight, barely a kiss.

"I don't know either," you admitted, pulling back and staring at his lips. "But I'm here now. And I don't want to be anywhere else."

"Don’t look at me like that."

You blinked. "Like what?"

"Like you want me to do something I shouldn’t." His eyes flicked to your mouth for the briefest second before he forced them back up. "I want to," he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "God, I want to. But it would hurt too much. Right?"

"You’re about to do something that goes against every moral principle I’ve ever believed in," you admitted. "I don’t know how to reconcile that. I don’t know how to make any of this make sense." His hand tightened on your hip, and his other arm wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. He could feel every curve, every line, and every breath you took. "And I don’t know how to lie here with you and pretend I’m not… affected by you. I don’t know how to want you and still be the person I’m supposed to be… I don’t know how any of this works."

He understood what you were saying. Of course he did. He was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. He was on one side of the line, and you were on the other. If you crossed it, you would lose something you couldn’t get back.

"You can't be here tomorrow," he said, voice rough. "When it happens. You can't be in this house."

"I know."

"You have to leave. By noon. Alex can fly you back, but you can't—"

"I know, Titus."

He fell silent, realizing that words were useless anyway. Tomorrow was coming, whether he wanted it or not, and nothing either of you said tonight could change that.

"Will you hold me?" you whispered. He answered by rolling onto his side, pressing his chest against your back, curving his body around yours like a shield. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you close as his lips found the back of your neck, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there. Then his hand rested on your stomach, fingers spread wide, feeling the rise and fall of your breath. Your hand came up to cover his, interlacing your fingers.

"I've got you," he murmured. "I've got you."

And in that moment, it was almost true. In that moment, the world outside didn't exist. The High Council, the bride, the seat, the blood on his hands…all of it faded into white noise. There was only you, the warmth of your body, and the steady rhythm of your breathing as it slowed. His eyes were open in the dark, listening to you fall asleep. And for the first time in years (maybe ever), he felt something…

He felt peace.

Titus pressed one more kiss to the back of your neck, closed his eyes, and let himself drift.

The first thing you registered was warmth. Not the filtered morning light bleeding through the heavy curtains, not the distant sound of birds outside the estate grounds. It was him. The solid heat of Titus's body curved around yours, his breath slow and even against the back of your neck. You blinked awake, disoriented for a moment. Then you felt it: his hand, splayed across your ribs, thumb resting just against the underside of your breast

Your lips curled into a small, private smile. You liked knowing that even unconscious, his body was seeking yours out. The thought sent a pulse of warmth through your chest that had nothing to do with the blankets. You shifted slightly, testing, and his fingers twitched—tightening almost imperceptibly, as if afraid you would slip away. Your eyes drifted to the bedside clock. 8:02 AM. You laid there, suspended in the cocoon of his presence. The silence between your breaths felt sacred. His hand rose and fell with your ribcage, and you found yourself pressing back into him, fitting the curve of your spine against his chest.

That's when you felt it.

The ache.

It started low in your belly, a dull throb that pulsed between your thighs. You bit your lip, suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact: his morning wood curved into the swell of your ass, and his breath stirring the hairs at your nape. You wondered if Titus was the type of man who would kiss someone during sex, or would he bury his face in their neck instead, and just lose himself completely?

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, chasing friction that wasn’t there. The ache deepened. There was clearly something severely fucking wrong with you. The man had just killed his father and had probably killed more people than you could ever guess. And here you were, tangled in the aftermath of his grief and your own confusion, wanting something you had no business wanting. Your mind wandered further…to the fantasy you had earlier in your dream, the one where he woke you with his mouth between your legs. You pictured his tongue, deliberate and skilled, drawing sounds from you as he had on the golf course. You imagined the way he'd look up at you from there, with that smirk calling you his 'good girl.'

You squeezed your eyes shut, heat flooding your cheeks and your core. Then Titus shifted, and his hand slid and cupped your breast fully. His thumb brushed your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra, and you gasped softly, eyes flying open.

"Morning, angel," His voice was gravel and smoke, rough with sleep, and you felt the rumble of it against your back, causing your entire body to tingle in response. You turned your head, meeting his gaze over your shoulder. His eyes were heavy-lidded, a sleepy heat in them that made your stomach flip.

"Hi," you whispered. He didn’t move his hand. Didn’t apologize for touching you…he just held your gaze, his thumb tracing a slow, maddening circle around your nipple. The silence stretched, thick and electric. You stared at each other, neither willing to look away. It felt like an eternity—far too long for people who were supposed to maintain their distance. Yet, despite everything, neither of you moved. His pupils dilated slightly, and you saw his throat bob as he swallowed. There was a world of things unsaid in that gaze. I want you. I shouldn't. The yearning was a tangible thing, a thread pulled taut between you. You could almost hear the words he wouldn’t say, hanging in the air like smoke.

"Coffee?" you managed.

He blinked slowly, as if surfacing from a dream, a ghost of a smirk crossing his lips. "Yeah. Coffee." He released your breast, but his hand trailed down your arm as he sat up. You both dressed in comfortable silence, and you caught him watching you from the corner of his eye as you pulled your clothes back on. He was already in a dark button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair slightly tousled. He looked like fucking sin.

You walked out together, your shoulders nearly brushing. The hallway was quiet, the morning light slanting through tall windows. As you rounded the corner toward the grand staircase, his hand found yours. It was just his fingers sliding between yours, casual and unhurried, but the intimacy of it stole your breath. He didn’t look at you, Titus just held your hand as you descended the stairs together, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You found Ursula in one of the dining rooms, seated at an ornate table before an elegant spread: fresh fruit arranged like art, delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar, a carafe of what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice, silver pots of coffee and tea. The chef stood by at a nearby cart, plating something that smelled like butter and herbs.

Ursula glanced up as you entered, and her eyes immediately dropped to your joined hands. Her expression flickered with surprise, then with something unreadable. But she said nothing.

"Morning, Ursula," Titus said, his tone almost too casual. He pulled out a chair for you before sitting beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table.

"Good morning," Ursula replies, lifting her coffee with steady hands. "You're up early."

"You both have a busy day," you said, reaching for a pastry. Your fingers trembled slightly, but your voice was calm. "Thought I would get out of your hair soon."

Titus poured your coffee without being asked, and the chef brought over plates of eggs Benedict, perfectly poached, with hollandaise glistening. You took a bite, letting the richness melt on your tongue.

"So," Ursula said, setting down her knife. "How was the rest of your summer?" It was a loaded question, but she asked it lightly, so you smiled, playing along.

"Uneventful, for the most part. Mostly focused on my research." You took a sip of coffee. "You?"

"Business as usual." She gestured vaguely.

The conversation flowed, stilted but warm. Ursula and Titus asked about your work and the fall semester, which had just started, and you asked them about their latest hotel acquisition. It felt almost normal…as if a woman wasn’t due to arrive by helicopter soon to die.

Partway through, Alex appeared in the doorway, phone in hand. He nodded at you, then addressed Titus. "I can fly her out whenever. Just say the word."

You raised an eyebrow. "I appreciate the offer, but Charles can drive me to the airport. I don't need a private jet."

"Let me buy you a flight," Titus said quickly.

"I already bought one. Earlier, when I stepped away to use the bathroom." You took a sip of coffee. "It leaves at 2:32. But I'll leave before noon—grab lunch with Charles somewhere."

Titus frowned, that stubborn set to his jaw. "Alex can still—"

"Titus." You cut him off, amused. "It's a two-hour flight to Manhattan, not a transatlantic crossing. I think I'll manage in economy."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but you pressed on, a sarcastic edge creeping into your tone. "Besides, I've experienced how Alex flies. I'd rather not arrive with my stomach in my throat, thanks."

Alex laughed, unoffended. "Fair enough." Titus's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Breakfast was winding down, and Ursula stood, smoothing her skirt. You rose too, catching her arm gently before she could leave.

"Ursula," you said quietly. "Can we talk?"

She stiffened, and her eyes scanned your face. For a moment, you thought she would refuse, but she sighed, allowing the faintest crack in her armor.

"Walk with me."

You fell into step beside her, leaving Titus at the table. The two of you drifted into the adjacent hall, morning light pooling on the marble floors.

"I'm sorry…about Chester," you whispered, your heart clenching.

Ursula stopped, and she stared at a painting on the wall—a muted landscape, all grays and greens. "You don't owe me apologies." Her voice was clipped, but softer than you expected. "For the record, Father adored you… in his own catastrophically dysfunctional way. I suppose I’m grateful you were with us during his final moments."

You opened your mouth with tears forming, but she lifted a hand.

"Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not about to get sentimental. God forbid."

"I guess this is goodbye, then."

"I guess it is." Then she exhaled, long and tired. "Take care of yourself."

"You too."

"For what it’s worth," she added, voice dipping, "I hope I do see you again. Even if it’s not soon. But, given our track record, I’d say 12 years is a safe estimate."

Before you could respond, she walked away, and you watched her go, a lump forming in your throat.

An hour later, you were ready, and Charles had the car waiting for you. You stood at the door, the morning sun warming your face, when Titus appeared beside you. He held out the envelope you had handed to Chester all those months ago.

"I think Father would have wanted you to read this." You took the envelope, fingers brushing his, and your mother's handwriting stared up at you.

"Titus..." you said, feeling your throat constrict. You didn’t know what to say, so instead, you stepped forward, cupped his face, and kissed him. It wasn't gentle. It was desperate and hungry—a collision of all the things you couldn't say. Your mouth moved against his, and he groaned, pulling you flush against him. His hands tangled in your hair and your back, gripping you as if you were the only anchor in a storm. You tasted coffee and longing; you tasted him. When you broke apart, you were both breathless.

"Be safe," you whispered.

He smirked, that arrogant glint returning. "Worried about me?"

"Annoyingly, yes."

"I'll be fine. Just..." he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "I’ll see you soon."

You both knew it was a lie… because you didn’t know when (or if) you’d see him again. You didn’t know what would happen to him, or to you…so you didn’t promise anything. But you didn’t say goodbye either. You slid into the car, the letter heavy in your hands, and heavier still in your heart. Charles met your eyes in the rearview mirror, then quickly looked away, as if he’d seen too much already.

As the car pulled away, you watched Titus step back, hands slipping into his pockets, watching you with a look that said everything neither of you dared to. You sank into the leather seat, the envelope heavy in your hands, the taste of Titus still fresh on your lips. The car pulled away from the estate's iron gates, and you watched Titus recede in the side mirror and that raw adoration in his hazel eyes lingered, a phantom touch against your skin.

Charles cleared his throat quietly. "Airport, miss? Or did you want that food first?" You barely heard him while your fingers traced the envelope's seal.

"Miss?" Charles prompted again.

"Brunch. Somewhere quiet." Your voice came out huskier than intended. The ache between your legs hadn't faded—it had transformed into a hollow longing, a pulse that beat in time with Titus's name. You could still feel his hand in your hair, his tongue sweeping against yours, the possessive grip on your waist. The car hummed as Charles navigated the winding roads, and trees blurred past, dappled with sunlight flickering across your lap.

You unfolded the letter.

The paper was aged and slightly yellowed. Your mother's looping script filled the page:

Chester, I’m sorry I quit. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But my daughter has been begging me for years to leave. The secret I’ve had to keep from her has strained our relationship, even if I pretend it hasn’t. She doesn’t bring it up anymore, but I know Kip’s wedding changed the dynamic of our relationship. I’ve never been able to be completely honest with her. What kind of mother does that make me? Probably a terrible one. I never told her about your world because I didn’t want her exposed to the darkness. And I’ll admit, a part of me is relieved to hold on to the truth alone. Even though it hurts. Even though it has built a wall between us. Because if keeping her in the dark means keeping her safe…then I can live with being the one who carries the burden. I only ever want what’s best for her. That’s why I accepted the job with your family in the first place. I knew it would give her access to a world I could never have given her alone. Maybe that was wrong of me. But I would do anything for her. Anything. She may never understand my choices, but I still believe I did the right thing. She’s grown into everything I hoped she would be: accomplished, self‑sufficient, and stronger than I ever was. It’s all I ever dreamed for her. And even though I have no right to request this from you… I’m begging you that if something ever happens to me, you’ll look after her. She’ll fight you on it. She’ll pretend she doesn’t need anyone. But I’m asking you to be the person who doesn’t walk away from her, even if she pushes you away. If I’m gone… she’ll need someone who sees past the armor she wears. Please send the kids my love. They both have visited my new place. You must tell Titus he has to stop sending me money. The other day, I found out he paid off my mortgage for my apartment in Bridgeport, and he’s still sending me more money. I cannot accept this. Also, I know Ursula is behind the cleaning service that suddenly started showing up once a month. And the groceries that appear on my doorstep every week? She claims it’s a 'subscription error,' but I’ve never subscribed to anything in my life. I don’t deserve this kindness, but I’m grateful for it all the same. Take care of yourself, Chester. -Your friend

Your vision blurred, the words were still there, ink bleeding slightly at the edges where your mother's hand had pressed too hard. You pressed the letter to your chest, breathing through the tightness.

She loved you more than anything.

You thought of all those years you had spent resenting her. All the unanswered questions, the cold silences, the way she'd deflect when you asked about her work at the Danforth estate. You thought she was ashamed, and you thought she was hiding something because she didn't trust you. You thought of the apartment in Bridgeport, the one you had just recently sold with the realtor. The faded furniture, the stack of books by her armchair, the way she'd light up when you visited…even though you only came twice a year. She never complained. Never asked for more. And all this time, Titus and Ursula were taking care of her. Paying off her mortgage. Sending cleaning services and groceries. 

I would do anything for her. Anything.

You thought about the choices she made. The secrets she kept. The darkness she shielded you from, even when it meant building a wall between you. She sacrificed your closeness to keep you safe and give you a better life.

Something settled into your bones, cold and certain because you realized that you didn’t want to be protected from the darkness. Or the Danforth's. You thought back about your philosophy lecture. That one class, where you stood and asked your students:

"Would you sacrifice a person to maintain wealth, status, or influence?"

And now, sitting in this car with the letter pressed against your chest, you realized the question was incomplete. Maybe…you wouldn't sacrifice a person for wealth. Or status. Or influence.

But for love?

You thought of Titus. The way he looked at you this morning, like you were the only thing in the world worth protecting. The way he held your hand while walking down the hall, as if he was anchoring you without saying a word. The way he kissed you goodbye, like he was willing to burn this whole world down to keep you safe.

You thought of Ursula. Her gruff affection, her sharp tongue, and the way she pretended not to care about you, even though she did. How she always made sure people treated you as their equal—cutting off anyone who spoke over you, correcting anyone who dismissed you, and silencing anyone who underestimated you with a single, unmistakable warning in her eyes.

You thought of Chester. The way he tried, in his own flawed, fractured way, to protect the people he loved. He was the person who taught you things without ever sitting you down to teach them. Someone whose disappointment could level you, not because he was harsh, but because he believed you were capable of more.

You thought about your mother. She was a mystery you spent years trying to unravel, and yet, beneath all of it, there was an unconditional love you had for her that you couldn’t explain. It was a love that ran deeper than explanation.

You thought of the bride… the one who was supposed to die today. And you realized with a clarity that should have terrified you but didn’t… that you didn’t care.

You didn’t care if she had to die.

You wanted Titus and Ursula to win the High Seat. You wanted them to keep their position because that would mean that the world would be theirs. And if that meant a stranger's blood was meant to be on the floor, if that meant another secret would need to be buried beneath the estate's ancient stones…

Then so be it.

Masterlist l PART 1 | PART 2 | You’re reading part 3 l PART 4 (coming soon)

Part 4 really will be the end. Probably. Maybe. Don’t quote me.

This story grew far beyond what I originally intended. I thought it would be a simple two‑part piece, but the more I wrote, the more it became clear that it needed space—especially to explore the history behind the twins. They didn’t choose any of this. They are the result of decisions made generations before them, shaped by a legacy they never asked to inherit.

I’m sorry this story keeps dragging me (and you) along for the ride, but apparently I have no self‑control when it comes to tragic men, dark legacies (cough - generational trauma in families), and morally complicated dynamics

Also, Titus was softer this chapter, but don't let him fool you. He will be feral for reader in the final part. THERE WILL BE A HAPPY ENDING <3

[thatcorporategirlie]

@swtsn @ugotmeblushingbaby

Can’t wait to share part 4 with y’all! Thanks for the love

[mrstargayen09]

This is INSANELY GOOD. Thankyou so much for feeding me again mother<3

[grimgasm]

trenches, i’m in them 🩷

[mrstargayen09]

Real girl problems

[hello2heaven]

these all being different john wells productions LMFAOOOO

[chateaubarnes]

ice cream dividers !

feel free to use; please credit somewhere on your page! 💓

[mrstargayen09]

If only i could write a fic i would use these dividers since i'm a big sweetooth

[uhhh-ghouls007]

How not to keep it strictly professional in the teaching hospital