I dunno, stop apologizing for your art. This includes not posting enough, too much, changing style, inconsistent style, repetition, subject. Its your art its your expression. Have fun.
This is part 3 to my role reversal AU. Read Part 1 and Part 2 here!
Word count: 3.2k
Pairing: Tsyeyk Suli x f!curvy!avatar!reader
Description: When the link pods glitch out, you confront your own humanity head on with your mate at your side.
Content warnings/tags: Reader's body is talked about, self-insecurity, Tsyeyk is trying to convince her to transfer, light angst, arguing, reader in human body, takes place 2 years after Avatar 1.
Author's note: I'm BAAACCCK on my Jake Sully crazy talk! Here’s a random part 3 that no one asked for. 😂 Thank you, Finnie, for beta reading and helping me out!!
Na’vi!Jake, part 3 to They Stare
“Norm, come look at this,” you called over your shoulder, eyes flitting over the code that you were having trouble believing. The data on the tablet in front of you had to be wrong, or else you were losing your mind. When the connection from everyone’s human minds to their Avatar bodies had started minorly glitching a few days ago, Norm had asked you to do a diagnostic scan on the pods. You had expected a small bug or something, but nothing like this.
Norm’s clunky footsteps came closer and you turned to show your friend and fellow avatar driver the information you were being presented with. As a Na’vi anthropologist researcher, you didn't have as much knowledge about technology as your colleagues. Norm may have been a researcher as well, but he picked up this stuff quickly. He was a whiz when it came to the link pods.
He peered over your shoulder to read it and his reaction made your stomach sink to your toes. His eyes bugged out as they rapidly scanned through the code on the screen.
“What the hell?” he asked under his breath, taking the tablet from you.
“Is that what I think it is?” you asked, pointing to a certain line of code.
“I don’t even know what this is,” he huffed, calling Max over.
The Chief Scientist furrowed his brow at your worried expressions and came over. “What’s going on?” Max asked, holding out a hand for the device.
“Look at this,” Norm said, shoving the tablet into his hands.
Immediately Max started shaking his head as he read over the text. “How… this can’t be right,” he said, refreshing the screen and rerunning the diagnostic. A minute later, it filled in the exact same text as before and Max’s brow lowered even further.
“We’ll have to rewire new computer boards for each link pod. This could take weeks, this is…” Norm trailed off, hand coming to his forehead and rubbing at his temple.
“Bad,” you finished for him, your mind reeling at everything that would have to be done.
“This isn't going to be fun, you guys won’t be able to link until we get this fixed,” Max added.
“Wha- At all?” you scoffed, immediately thinking of how unhappy Tsyeyk would be at the news.
Your mate was fine with your human body, he swore he loved you just the same, but he had also been asking you to consider a transfer ever since the Battle of Ayram Alusìng two years ago, this was only going to make his insistence stronger. As much as that would be ideal, you still hesitated. The death of your mentor and friend, Grace, had rattled you so thoroughly, that the thought of letting Mo’at attempt it on you made you unthinkably nervous.
You know that transferring would make your life simpler, but being human was such a big part of you. You planned to make the transfer one day, but you just didn’t feel ready to say goodbye yet. This body was your last true connection to Earth and your family still living there. You were supposed to do a 6 year rotation and then go home, but now you were permanently staying on a moon light years away from your own species. You had built something here, a new family, found love with Tsyeyk, but Earth was still your heritage. As messed up, dirty and corrupt as Earth was, it was still once all you knew.
You looked at Norm as he shook his head, “Mutxuk is going to kill me,”
“You stand no chance,” you winced at the thought of Norm’s pregnant and hormonal mate.
His gaze swiveled to you with a glare, “You’re one to talk. I don’t think the Olo’eyktan is going to be thrilled either,” he reminded you and your face fell further.
“We’re both dead,” you groaned.
-
Later that night, you steeled your nerves before returning to the Omatikaya village in your human body. The climb up to your kelku was twice as hard in your smaller form and there was a brief moment your hands trembled at the exertion. “Tsyeyk,” you said softly, finally entering your shared kelku and looking for your mate.
Tsyeyk looked up from sharpening his knife, his face immediately forming a smile as he realized it was you. “I was wondering where you were.” His Olo’eyktan mantle had been discarded for the day, already hanging up on its stand, his bow below it. He looked relaxed as he crouched on the woven floor.
“Unilnyu (dreamer), why are you in your human body? I thought we had plans tonight,” he asked, his mouth quirking up at the corners as he remembered the conversation exchanged earlier this morning. He was only paying half a mind to your answer as he looked back down at his weapon.
“They’ll have to be postponed. Uh, I have something to tell you. Put down the knife,” you requested, coming closer.
His eyes shot back up to you, lowering the knife, but not putting it down as you asked. “Why?” he asked, looking worried now.
You sighed, “I’m not telling you until you put it down,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. The size difference now between you and Tseyeyk stood out like an ‘angtsìk. Even with you standing, he was still nearly at eye level.
“Okay…” he muttered, finally putting down the knife onto the floor beside him. “What is it?”
You sucked in a breath, stepping closer to Tsyeyk, between his knees, and wrapping your arms around your stomach as a nervous reaction to what you were about to say. You didn't know why you were preparing for the worst. Tsyeyk was not quick to anger or ever harsh with you, that was not the fear. It was more so that you didn’t want him to be disappointed or feel that you were doing this on purpose.
“My avatar, it’s… Um, well, there was a problem with the link pod, it’s broken. I can’t link to my other body right now,” you confessed, looking pleadingly at Tsyeyk to understand.
He blinked back, looking confused. “So you are in this body until it is fixed then,” he surmised, nodding slowly.
“Yes… and it’s going to be a while,” you added.
That’s when his face fell. “How long?” he asked.
You bit your lip out of habit. “Maybe a few weeks, maybe longer,” you admitted. His own lips pressed together at the news, brow furrowing lower as you jumped in to say, “Max and Norm are working on it as we speak, the other Avatars can’t link either. It’ll just be for a little bit.”
“It is fine,” he said stiffly, looking disappointed at the news.
Your heart broke, “I’m sorry, Tsyeyk. I know you wanted to take me up in the mountains tomorrow. We can still go, I’ll just be a little slower-”
His tail twitched behind him. “No,” he demanded, cutting you off. “You have to stay safe in this body, it can wait,” he insisted.
“But, I’m fine!” you argued, scoffing at his reaction. “I’m not glass, human or not.”
“You are not glass, but you are equally as breakable. Your bones are not strong like ours, and you can not move as fast if something were to attack. Besides, this body is weak from spending so much time strengthening your other self,” he argued.
Your frown made Tseyeyk even more upset, “You talk like I’m a kid. I can still do things in this body,” you insisted.
“I know, but safe things. You cannot protect yourself as well,” he expanded.
“I know you don’t like my human body, but you can’t expect-”
“Au!” Tseyeyk reared his head back and his hands flew up to your shoulders. His blue skin covered so much of yours. “That is not true. I like all of you,” he corrected.
Your eyebrows fell low over your eyes. “But you want me to do the transfer so badly, I just thought…” you said, feeling confused and flustered. “I don't know,” you trailed off.
“You are beautiful in every way, ma’ tawtute (human). Yes, your avatar makes our life together easier, but it is what is inside that I fell in love with,” he said, tapping a finger to the skin over your heart.
Tears welled in your eyes and you desperately blinked them away. “Really?”
“Unilnyu,” his voice softened as he pulled you in close, his large hands splaying across the expanse of your back and pressing you to his chest. Your head automatically found the crook of his neck, breathing in all the familiar smells you associated with your husband. “I told you this on the night we mated. Have you not believed me all this time?” he asked as you felt his cheek rest on your hair.
“I wanted to… and I- I do, but it is hard to believe sometimes. You’re Olo’eyktan, a trained Na’vi warrior. I’m just a human in a false body,” you admitted. Your finger lightly dragged over the left line of Tahni that trailed down Tsyeyk’s neck and chest before dipping down to his stomach. Your nail dragged on his skin and you withdrew your hand before you hit his naval. “And I know I am shaped differently in this body. I’m not as slim or as pretty. You should have never chosen me,” you whispered, voicing aloud a silent thought that had been eating at you these two years.
Tsyeyk hissed quietly in anger, although you had a feeling it was not directed at you. You were thankful to be hiding away in his safe embrace and not having to face him head on. “Ma’ Muntxate (my wife), humans have always looked like wrinkled, pale aliens to me. They are ugly little creatures that kill and maim these lands and the people. I detested all of them, until I met you. You were the first that looked beautiful to me, not quite as alien, not quite so foreign. Maybe you do look like the others, maybe you do not, I do not know. All I see, all I feel, is my soul calling to yours. The rest does not matter.”
“It does matter, it matters,” you muttered, squeezing your eyes tightly.
“Not to me,” he murmured, his hand coming up to hold your head firmly to his shoulder. “You have taught me that there is good in humanity, that you are good. I do not care what you look like, although I find you very beautiful anyway, I care who you are. You are Eywa’s chosen, Toruk Makto. You led us to victory, you did what I, nor any Na’vi, could not. If that does not prove your strong heart, then I do not know what would.”
“I guess,” you muttered, “but the price was too high.” You remembered the faces of empty eyes and gaping mouths, sons and daughters who would never sing or laugh again.
“The price of not fighting was much higher,” he assured you, and it did bring some comfort.
“I still want to go to the mountains tomorrow,” you said, changing the subject so you didn’t cry.
He was quiet, and you could nearly hear the gears turning in his head. “Fine,” he finally relented quietly.
That night, you laid cushioned in his arms in your shared hammock, legs intertwined as the soft whoosh of your mask drowned out the buzz of insects and the call of fkio (small ikran) that you so loved to hear.
Your sleep was broken into parts, sporadic and restless, as you hated the feeling of the woven hammock on your delicate, human skin. It grated against your legs and back, making you feel itchy and uncomfortable. You twisted in your mate’s arms, struggling to find a comfortable place whilst not waking him. He was a light sleeper, so your efforts won few rewards, but you eventually drifted into a half sleep.
Hours later, when the sun was just beginning to rise, Tsyeyk was awoken by a harsh beeping sound, followed by desprate gasps from your mouth. His eyes flew open in a panic to see your face pressed to his chest as you usually did in your sleep, except this time, your mask had been pushed to the side in your unconscious state.
He nearly fell out of the hammock in his rush to roll you onto your back and reattach the mask firmly to your face. You awoke with a start, your hand immediately flying to clutch at his hand on the plastic mask. You heaved in air, feeling dizzy and lightheaded as you realized what had happened.
“You are okay?” Tsyeyk asked, worry lacing his tone. He was propped up on his side by his elbow, hovering over you. You could feel the way he was rigid as a board while he waited for your answer.
You nodded, too busy focusing on breathing in air to answer him with words. Eventually you rasped out, “I’m okay,” and he exhaled.
“Thank the Great Mother you are alright,” he sighed, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder, his body slumping onto yours and you felt compressed for air all over again.
“Tsyeyk?” you muttered, “You’re squishing me.”
He reacted immediately, getting off of you with the speed of a Thanator. “Sorry, I am sorry,” he rasped out. “I am not used to this, I-” he sputtered out a few more words of nonsense before he eventually shut his mouth and shook his head in frustration.
“It’s not your fault, Tsyeyk,” you said brows furrowed in confusion. How could he possibly think this was his fault?
“This is why,” he said simply, harshly poking a finger to his thigh to stress his point.
“What?” you asked quietly, stilling as you observed him.
“I do not want you to transfer into your other body because of how you look. I want you to transfer because every moment that you are in your human body is a moment that Pandora is trying to kill you. I can protect you from most things, but poisonous air? A broken mask? Empty oxygen stores? I cannot fight that with arrows or spears. I am powerless to save you."
Jake paused to take a deep breath and he gazed imploringly at you to understand. "I know that your avatar body can still get hurt, but the risk is so much greater when you are human.” He pursed his lips, looking so intently as you that you felt like crying. “Do you not want to transfer because this life is not enough? Have I done something wrong? Made you unhappy?” he asked desperately, his voice cracking your heart wide open.
“No,” you insisted, shaking your head and grabbing his hands tightly in your tiny ones. “I love my life here, with you. I love the forest, the people, Eywa. I wouldn't go back to Earth even if given the chance, but… it is still where I was born, where I grew up. I spent most of my life in this body. I spent so much time learning to love it and move in it and be how I am in it. It's hard to let it just die.”
You sighed. “I’ve been thinking about the transfer some more and I want to do it. I think I'm almost there. As much as I want to though, I saw what happened to Grace. I saw the light go out of her eyes when she passed through. Grace was the best of us, she was much stronger than me, even when she was dying. What if I’m not strong enough either?” you asked, voice dying throughout your monologue until the last words were just a quiet utterance. “I don’t want to die.”
Tsyeyk’s face fell, displaying his pain plainly and your gut twisted at the sight. “You have shown more strength and perseverance than most could ever dream of. You are so strong that you give me strength every day. I do not want to make you feel as if you have to do this, but do not let the fear of dying be the reason you wait. Grace was already dying far before the transfer started. Her story is much different than yours, you are of sound mind and a mighty body. Eywa will guide you through the passage through her eye and give you back to us, this I know or I would not have asked you to do it,” he swore, gripping your hands.
You searched his eyes for any wavering or deceit, but he held fast to his convictions. As Olo’eyktan, he had seen many ceremonies and worked closely to Eywa and saw her will play out often. He would not lie to you, and you would not lie to him.
It was time.
You felt the shift in your bones. It was in the way your lungs opened a hair to allow more air in. Your mind and body both accepted the reality before you. It was time to transfer bodies and assume a life fully by Tsyeyk’s side. No more half commitment or partial loyalty. You were all in. When it came to Tsyeyk, you had no choice, your heart would not let you be anything but.
“Okay,” you released a deep breath. “I will do it then.”
His eyes widened, “Truly? I have convinced you?”
“Truly. I will transfer as soon as Mo’at says the time is right,” you decided.
Tsyeyk smiled sadly, as if he too was losing something, but was willing to pay the price anyway. “Thank you. Thank you, muntxate. This eases my heart,” he muttered, resting his head on your shoulder.
“You are welcome, husband. It will be nice to both fall asleep and wake up next to you,” you mused, smiling fondly at the idea.
“I will begin counting down the minutes,” he said, lifting his head to smile at you before lowering his head back down to kiss your shoulder, a sorry substitute for your lips, but the mask still acted as a barrier.
“As will I, and then I will kiss you morning, noon and night and never take it for granted,” you teased, although your words held truth.
Tsyeyk’s brow shot up. “Then I will get Mo’at now, we cannot wait,” he insisted, smiling widely as he pushed away from you and slid off the hammock, gathering his items in order to leave.
“Tsyeyk!” you giggled, reaching for him as he clasped his battle band around his middle and took his knife sheath off its hook.
“Get ready for the transfer, wife. I will beg her for her to be quick at making the arrangements,” he informed you.
“You’re mocking me,” you claimed, but Tsyeyek just grinned devilishly down at you as you still laid curled up in the hammock.
“You first teased me, it is only fair. I will see you soon,” he said, leaning over the hammock to drop a kiss to your hair.
“I love you,” you laughed, closing your eyes at the sensation of him close to you.
Tsyeyk smiled lovingly as he straightened and began backing out of your home. “I love you, Eywa, so much,” he replied before he gently slapped the threshold with his palm and walked through it, presumably to go find the Tsahìk.
𓇼 mangkwan!jake who worships the ground you walk on, will absolutely kill anyone who looks at you in any type of way that doesn’t sit right with him.
𓇼 mangkwan!jake doesn’t take lightly to you disobeying him though, even if he adores you with every ounce of his body—he still will discipline you if you get snarky with him.
𓇼 does have kurus wrapped around him like decoration and will threaten anyone who laid a finger on you with the same fate.
𓇼 loves having a hand on you at all times, and if there’s an instance in which he couldn’t, his tail would be around your leg in a tight grip.
𓇼 mangkwan!jake loves feeding you the meat he prepared, he wouldn’t tell you where it came from, or who it came from though. “eat baby girl, don’t upset me now. i hunted it just for you.”
𓇼 mangkwan!jake showing off the shiny metal weapons he acquired from the pink skins but never letting you touch.
𓇼 yes, he did kidnap you from another clan and yes, he did hold you hostage in his tent filled with hanging skinned na’vi and several creatures until you learned to obey him and eventually love him.
𓇼 the prime definition of stockholme syndrome.
𓇼 will thoughtfully paint you with the colors that matched his clan, dark reds and black stripes—ash that lightened your complexion naturally blending you in.
𓇼 mangkwan!jake will let you decorate your shared kelku with your own small touches, not enough to where it overshadowed his work but enough to make you feel slightly more comfortable.
𓇼 will force the finest weavers in your clan to make you the most intricate headpiece and loincloth that made you stand out, to show that you were his mate, to brag.
𓇼 mangkwan!jake will make sure there is someone that watches you at all times when he is not present, mostly being tsu’tey or neytiri—who you can be closest with in the clan without mangkwan!jake getting extremely jealous and homicidal.
𓇼 he convinces you he does it to make sure you’re safe without his presence, totally…
𓇼 mangkwan!jake still becomes toruk makto, which contributes to the immense fear the na’vi people have for him.
𓇼 will let you ride and caress toruk, and there is no sense of danger that comes from the creature as the two share a bond that also includes mangkwan!jake’s admiration for you
𓇼 mangkwan!jake lets you keep the ikran that you bonded with, yet you couldn’t ride it without his supervision. mangkwan!jake wasn’t cruel enough to get rid of the animal, not one that meant so much to you.
𓇼 mangkwan!jake forms tsaheylu with you on a daily basis, making sure he knew the feelings that you experienced, and that there was no thoughts of you escaping the clan and faking your love for him.
𓇼 the act of the bonding connection didn’t mean much to mangkwan!jake since he held no respect for eywa and her flora that took over pandora. he mostly used it to intimidate other na’vi and threaten them with the very thing that helped them connect to their “true mother”.
𓇼 mangkwan!jake will absolutely make sure your worshipping to eywa was put to a complete stop, repeatedly drilling in your mind that he was the only deity you needed to be spiritually connected to.
𓇼 and soon enough, you eventually do believe it too.
I swear every time I get a notification that people are liking or reblogging my writing I get a little serotonin boost and now I'm trying to decide what to write next 🙂↕️
Pairing: So'lek te Elusa Kiro'itan x Female Tamtey!Reader
Summary: Your pregnancy was a welcome surprise, but unfortunately, it has made your past trauma manifest in a way that nobody expected.
Content warnings: PTSD, angst, nightmares, pregnancy, brief suggestive comment near the end and tooth-rotting fluff hopefully. The name 'Tamtey' is used once but this is basically an 'x reader' I just wanted to use the name - I am sorry if you do not like that lol. I don't think there's anything else but if there is, please DM/comment.
Based on @unikaos 's post🙂↕️
Word count: 3.6k
Divider by @cafekitsune
Life is full of unexpected twists and turns, triumphs and tribulations. You have come to know both sides of life quite well. Escaping from TAP. Working with the Resistance in the Western Frontier. Helping the Aranahe, the Zeswa, and both branches of the Kame’tire clan. Since waking up it feels as though you haven't stopped. It's only recently that you've began to slow down. And for good reason. You're pregnant.
Mating with So'lek was one of those things that was a long time overdue, everybody knew how you two felt about each other, but the fight had to be fought, so bonding just took a back seat for a while. When the smoke finally seemed to settle, So'lek went all out. First he taught you the general order of things, wanting you to learn and understand the Na'vi way after your unfortunately human upbringing. He then made sure that you were absolutely certain it was what you wanted, asking so many times if you really wanted to be with someone like him. Someone with scars. Something so permanent. You reassured him, of course, because you have scars of your own. And the permanence was just a bonus. You couldn't imagine spending your life with anyone else.
Then came the gifts. He crafted you a new bow, impossibly strong and sturdy whilst also being beautiful, baring the marks of the Trr’ong and Sarentu clans. The latter of which he has formally been accepted into by yourself, Ri'nela, Teylan and Rasi, wearing the Sarentu mark on his cheek as you all do. You presented him with a new chest guard to replace the human tactical vest he'd been sporting. He joked that he felt naked without it and whilst you could happily stare at his lean build all day, you just couldn't have him be uncomfortable. He wears it all the time now. Except at home, of course. Anyway, one thing led to another and you finally mated on a beautiful night on Sarentu grounds, surrounded by nature and a glowing Tarsyu that seemed to glow brighter with the new bond, almost like it was signalling So'lek's acceptance into your clan and your life.
That was many many months ago now, and you've never been happier. So'lek is an attentive mate, still getting used to the way things are now and adapting to having the chance to relax. But you're both doing well. You've even been spending more time just relaxing with your mate and your friends at the Resistance base. Everyone is very, very happy for you and So'lek. They were all thrilled to hear that you'd bonded, and doubly so later on when the news came about that you were pregnant. However, pregnancy changes a lot of things and in you, it's brought about a sudden, let's say, personality change.
At first, you were still adjusting to the fact that you were carrying, and therefore going to have, a child. A pure, innocent little being that'd be totally reliant on you and So'lek. Though mostly you for the first months of life anyway. It was daunting to say the least. Your body hadn't yet changed at this point, so nothing really felt all that different.
But then time went on and you started to swell. A subtle difference at first, a little rounding to your lower belly that simply looked like you'd been indulging in too many of those sweet flans one of the Ke’awa Kame’tire taught you to make. But the difference was noticeable. Not only to yourself but to everyone around you. You didn't think it'd be a problem, too happy seeing your baby grow to think anything could go wrong. And then the nightmares started again.
You don't really remember your mother, Kataru. All you know is what you learned through your journeys across the Frontier. You were taken from her, and she was killed. Leaving you and your sister, Aha'ri, to be taken by the RDA for TAP, along with a few other children, and your clan slaughtered.
Your nightmares, however, have a slight change in character. You stand in your mother's stead, fighting to protect your baby. Only for you to be gravely injured, left to die, So'lek's screams of anguish ring in your ears as he too is slain, and the last thing you see before the life seeps out of you, is a human taking your baby away and the infants screams are the very last thing you hear as you fade into Eywa's embrace. Every time, you shoot upright, screaming, panting and sweating with tears cascading down your cheeks. So'lek wakes too, of course he does, he cares about you deeply. But you cannot bring yourself to speak of your nightmare, opting to cry in his arms as he holds you tightly until you fall asleep again. So'lek tries to ask, but any attempt falls flat and he knows better than to push. You will tell him when you are ready. He hopes.
Time goes on, the nightmares continue, your belly continues to grow daily. You've subconsciously began to shield yourself, a hand over your belly most, if not all, of the time. Ears flattening to your head when somebody looks at you a little too long. Posture rigid. Tail swishing a little like you're irritated. Over time it gets worse, your nose crinkling and quiet hisses slipping free whenever someone even walks near you. Anqa briefly compared you to whatever a ‘kitten’ is, because the hisses were so quiet and non-threatening, until you scowled at her playfully. At least that time it ended in humour.
Your behaviour is completely irrational and you know it, but it's like every human around you is a threat to your baby in your mind. You don't verbalise this of course, simply opting to hiss whenever you feel threatened. Which is, frankly, all the time at the Resistance base. And nobody is safe. With time, not even poor So'lek.
During yet another nightmare, you remember Mokasa, offering up your clan to the RDA to protect his own, and for some reason, your trauma addled, pregnant mind has twisted that memory into the idea that nobody can be trusted, human or Na'vi. You end up hissing at him, quite aggressively, on more than one occasion. Once when he came closer to help you get ready for the day, a ritual of sorts that started when you'd mated, and his hand brushed the side of your belly, you'd grabbed his wrist and hissed directly in his face, ears flattened, teeth bared and all. The shock and subsequent guilt were instant, and you apologised with tears in your eyes, rubbing at his wrist even though your grip truly hadn't been tight enough to hurt, like your subconscious was holding you back. The next time it happened was when you were getting off your ikran. You'd briefly lost your footing and So'lek caught you, but again, your mind perceived his grasp as a threat and you'd hissed at him again. That's just two incidents, there have been more. Regardless of it all, he forgave you quickly every time. But he did not forget. It only added to his worry.
You still have yet to verbalise what is going on, but for the most part, the people within the Resistance seem to back off a little, boiling it down to you being a protective first time mother. But you know it's more than that. It's trauma and pain and fear ingrained into every aspect of your being. You've hissed at So'lek a lot less lately. For some reason, your mind seems to have deemed him safe once again, and thank Eywa because it broke your heart seeing the shock in his eyes the few times it happened. You still take issue when he attempts to touch your belly, shrinking away whilst holding your bump until you catch yourself doing it and stop, allowing him to touch you. Specifically, you. Not your bump just yet. Every time with a sheepish expression and downturned ears. So'lek, of course, is saddened by being unable to touch your belly where your child grows, but seeing how distressed you became the few times he's tried, he figures it's best to wait for you to allow it. But as result, he may or may not have caught onto what is wrong, and the realisation weighs heavy in his heart. Like stones pressing down on him. He doesn't know what to do. All he can do is comfort you when you allow him to, and to make sure nobody gets close enough to set you off.
The problem only seems to get worse unfortunately. During another visit to the Resistance base, Priyah came bounding up to you all excited, babbling about how she 'hasn't seen you in ages' (it'd been a week) and you've 'grown so much' since she last saw you (you really haven't, maybe half an inch). She then makes the mistake of reaching a hand out towards you, ready to touch your belly, and your mind flashes with the images of a human stealing your baby from you whilst you and So'lek lay dying on the ground. The reaction is instant. Your body drops into a low squat, one hand guarding your belly and the other raised slightly, ears pinned to your head, maw parting to reveal sharp teeth as a violent hiss rips out of you, stopping quite literally everybody in their tracks as the sound echoes around the cave, sounding more like a thanator than a Na'vi. Your tail lashes violently behind you and nobody breathes, nobody moves but So'lek, his lean form crossing the room to stand by your side, an arm in front of you in case you do more than just hiss. Poor Priyah looks terrified, her hands darting away from you as Anqa comes forward to guard her, Priyah's hands quickly clutching onto Anqa's shirt. The protective and fearful motions are what stop you, and your hand moves to your face, covering your mouth slightly.
“I.. I'm sorry,” you gasp, shame trickling up your spine and making your chest feel tight before you rise up to full height, spin on your heels and run out of the base with So'lek on your tail. He follows you closely until you reach an isolated cliff, coming as close behind you as he can. He watches your body language closely, looking for tension, but when there is none, he steps up behind you and gently caresses down your spine, just above your tail.
The gesture breaks you, tears streaming like waterfalls, your body crumbling to the ground like poorly stacked stones as So'lek follows, not allowing you to hit the ground at all. He cradles you in his arms, your body on his lap and his hands gentle on your skin, tracing over your stripes, not your scars because he knows you hate when people pay attention to the raised marks. Harsh sobs wrench their way out of your chest, heavy and erratic and painful. You feel like you can hardly breathe. Every ounce of pain and trauma seems to rattle its way out of you now. Everything you'd kept bottled up for so long, all the fear and the weight of your nightmares. It's all coming out now. So'lek feels his heart shatter.
“Ma Tamtey.. Nga yawne.. You are safe. I have you.” He speaks so softly, so tender with you even when you know you've been so unkind, even if it is unintentional. Your wails ring out through the clearing, carrying with them the pain that you've endured and the fear in your heart. You turn in So'lek's arms, burying your face against his neck as you sob out apology after apology. He simply shushes you gently, aware of all that you've been through. Your tail gently entwines itself with his, trembling faintly like you fear rejection, but So'lek would never. His tail even tightens around yours before looping around your waist, the soft tuft of hair brushing over your belly gently. For once, you don't hiss. You welcome the touch.
At this, the guilt strikes deep, cutting like the sharpest of blades as you realise what you've been doing. Depriving your mate and the father of your child from feeling your baby grow. Your vision is blurred over by tears but your hand reaches for his, trembling far harder than he has ever seen before. You gently take his hand, bring it closer and place it right over the swell where your baby resides.
“I- I'm sorry, yawntu.. I-” The words struggle to come out as your chest stutters in a fight to breathe normally. You can feel the way So'lek's tail shudders around your own in response to feeling your belly, the small life growing within, almost fluttering beneath your skin as it rolls around in there, only recently starting to move. He leans in to press soft kisses to your head, purring softly as his nose brushes down your ear and the side of your face. You whisper another apology, and he simply shakes his head in response, his thumb rubbing over the soft skin of your tummy.
“Speak to me, sevin. Tell me your fears. I wish to help you carry them,” he murmurs into your hair. “I can take no more of this. Seeing you so fearful.. I will not.”
Your head lifts and you finally lock eyes with So'lek, his expression physically crumpling at the sight of your tear streaked, slightly purple cheeks. He releases his hold on your belly, stroking his thumb under your eyes to swipe away your tears whilst nodding to encourage you.
“I- My nightmares.. Have all been of the same thing, So'lek. Losing our child to them. Our baby,” your voice wavers, but So'lek remains patient, quiet, and wholly empathetic. He understands loss better than anyone. “Our baby suffering the way I did, the way Ri'nela and Nor and Teylan an- And Aha'ri..” Your voice breaks saying the name of your poor, dear sister. “I will not let it happen.”
He sighs, nodding slowly as understanding washes over him. He hates that he was right in his assumptions. His arms tighten just slightly around your body, loose enough for you to bolt if you feel the need to do so, but tight enough to offer you the feeling of safety that you so desperately need as you continue to speak.
“And then I remember Mokasa, how he did what he did to save his own people but cost me mine. The pain of what he did will never be unwritten or forgotten. So now I-”
“You do not know who to trust,” So'lek interrupts, his tone calm and full of understanding as always.
You shake your head gently, more tears cascading across your skin, your heart burning with shame. You hear So'lek sigh and bow your head on instinct, hiding your face from him as the shame burns hotter, scared for the reaction he'll have. He must be furious with you for it, for distrusting everyone around you, even him! Your vision blurs with tears once again, tail wriggling anxiously where it is still wrapped around So'lek's. You're surprised he hasn't pulled away. But your anxiety is clouding everything you know. So'lek is not an angry man, not unless he has to be. The last time you saw him angry was when you were both captured by Bukowski and the Ash. Eventually you notice that he seems to get closer, cradling you close in his arms and pushing your head to lean against his chest, his heart beating steadily, almost calmly. A far cry from what you feared. Your eyes fall closed as you listen to the comforting sound of his heart and voice, your tears staining his skin.
“I understand you, yawntu. Loss is a heavy burden. One we know well. Our baby will not know loss like we have. They will not know the pain. I will not allow it. Our little family is safe.” His understanding is a boon for your soul, soothing some of those fears even just a little bit.
A little bit helps. But So'lek is determined to comfort you, continuing to speak.
“I will do everything in my power to keep you both safe. And our friends are good people. The humans here have no love for the RDA, and the clans have fought at our side to stop them as well. They will not allow harm to come to you or I and most definitely not our child. No more children will be taken by them. The people would fight to the death to stop them. You know this.”
Your body sinks into So'lek's embrace, exhausted from your emotions, a soft purr of appreciation rumbling hoarsely out of you, a sound that prompts So'lek to kiss your head again whilst trilling a purr in response. His hand gently drifts over your belly again, testing the waters, and this time, you don't even flinch, allowing him to trace his fingers over the stripes on your growing tummy.
“Thank you, ma So'lek..” You whisper, too exhausted to speak any louder. He hums in response, placing yet another kiss on your forehead this time. Your own hand slowly drifts to rest over the back of his, holding it over your growing womb.
“You are most welcome, yawne. If your fears grow again, tell me. I will help. If you need help, I will be here. I will carry them with you as long as we both live. Do not carry them alone. I will reassure you whenever you need it. For now, enjoy this time before our child enters the world,” he murmers, voice soft and warm as always, looking down at your face, all purple cheeked and puffy eyed from crying but still so beautiful.
“And you do not have to let anyone touch you if you do not want. That is your choice. But you cannot keep hissing at people, hm? Gave Priyah quite a fright.” His tone is lighter on that last part but you groan softly, embarrassed and overwhelmingly guilt ridden over how badly you scared the poor woman. You eventually muster a short laugh when you dwell on your behaviour, hissing at everyone who looks your way. You shake your head slightly, looking up at your mate, offering a very half-hearted but playful hiss.
“No promises. But, yes, I will apologise to Priyah.” You already have a gift planned to apologise to the poor girl. Silence falls between the two of you as your teary sniffling calms into regular little breaths, soothed by the touch of your mate and the sound of his heartbeat. The fear is still there, and part of you knows it always will be, but having So'lek by your side makes things just that bit easier. All you need is him, to be in his arms, to feel his warmth, hear his heart.
The two of you continue sitting there until Eclipse, watching the vast land beneath the cliff become vibrant with glowing life. Life that your child will know plenty of. They will not know the metal world of the Sky People. Not like you did. And as the forest glows, teeming with the energy of Eywa's children, your own decides to make itself known, a tiny hand pressing up into So'lek's palm. He looks at you in awe as he huffs a laugh of disbelief before leaning down carefully to press his lips to the soft skin of your tummy, ghosting over that tiny hand.
"Hello, 'itetsyìp, I am your sempu and I love you very very much already. You will always be loved by your sa'nu and I."
A laugh bubbles out of you, the whispered words tickling your skin before it dawns on you what So'lek just said. 'Little daughter.'
"You think it is a girl?" You ask quietly, threading your fingers between So'lek's braids to rub at his scalp. He hums softly, content with your touch and with the feeling of his child under his hand.
"I hope. Raising a little girl as phenomonal as you would be an honour, yawntu." The words bring more tears to your eyes, but at least they're not of sadness this time.
"The next one can be a little boy like you, hm?" So'lek's eyes meet yours at that, full of amusement that you're already planning for the second child when your first is still within your womb.
"Let us have this one first, yawne, you may change your mind" he says with eyes full of mirth, taking your hand in his to press a kiss to your palm. "But I will give you as many children as you wish." Your cheeks flush purple at the suggestive comment, smacking his arm playfully before shifting out of his grasp and moving to lie down on the soft mosses, not having to beckon So'lek to follow because your tails are still linked and he hardly wants to be apart from you right now. Neither do you want to be apart from him honestly. He lets you settle first before moving to lay his head against your belly, resuming his previous task of talking to your unborn infant.
You watch as So'lek spends time with your little one, his head now carefully pressed against you as he whispers softly to your tummy, like he's sharing secrets with the little one, and you just know that, regardless of whether you have a boy or a girl, that baby will have So'lek wrapped around their tiny fingers.
Description: Jake meets his son for the first time.
Content Warnings: Reader just gave birth, so verrry brief description of it.
Author's note: Just a cute little Jake fic to get me reacclimated after writing for other characters! Based on this request!
Through your sweat soaked skin, you could feel Jake’s hand on your head, cradling you like something precious as you cradled something even more so. You could not see Jake, only felt him. You were too transfixed by the miracle in your arms. It had only been moments since Tsahik had handed you the writhing, wrinkly, tiny infant, but you felt like you had held him forever. You smiled down at the baby boy, feeling his wonder through the bond.
Beside you, Jake looked on in even more awe at his son. “You did so good, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. Mo’at smiled faintly at the three of you before she made a quiet exit out of your kelku (home).
“That took strength I did not know I possessed,” you admitted.
“You’re so strong. You made it look easy,” he smiled, running a hand to smooth out the hair his kiss had just mussed.
“Thank you, Ma’Jake. It was worth it,” you said.
He had been with you every moment of the long birth, waiting for hours at your side to support and help you along the way. You had squeezed his hand so hard that you were sure he would have bruises, but he never complained. Not once.
“Nine months of waiting and now he’s here. This doesn't feel real, like it's all a dream that I don't want to wake up from,” Jake muttered.
“You will never have to,” you assured him, watching his golden eyes be transfixed on his family. “You should hold him,” you added, moving your arms toward him as an offering.
“Are you sure?” he asked you, looking conflicted. It was evident he wanted to hold his son, but he also knew that the bond with the mother was important.
“He is your child too. Neteyam is waiting to say hello,” you insisted.
Jake eased at that, reaching forward to gently take the small babe into his large hands. With both of Jake’s hands together, Neteyam fit longways nearly perfectly. Jake shifted his hand behind Neteyam’s head and settled him into his elbow closest to you. You reached out and ran your fingertips through Neyetam’s sparse, fine hair. The downy feeling soothed your nerves as your body still reeled from the shock of birth.
Your eyes had been locked on Neteyam’s cute face as he reacted to seeing his father for the first time and feeling the security of his arms. He would come to know, as you did, that they were the safest place to be.
You slowly disconnected your kuru from Neteyam’s, hating the empty feel of him not being on the other end, but knowing Jake needed to connect as well. You reached a hand to Jake’s back, fishing for the long, black braid you had redone only days ago. When you found it, you pulled it around his side and brought the ends to join them together. Your mate seemed to barely notice until the neural ends made contact.
Neteyam’s eyes grew wide as he felt his father down the bond. His mouth opened just the smallest bit and you realized that would be about as close as he would get to a smile for a while.
Jake on the other hand was beaming at Neteyam, his eyes growing glassier by the second until a fat drop of salty water fell down his cheek. Your tough marine was crying. You had only seen him cry once in the year you had known him and that had been a brief moment of grieving after Grace’s death. You hoped these were happy tears now.
"Hello, Neteyam, mighty warrior," Jake mumbled as he gently held Neteyam's tiny hand. You noticed that his own hand was shaking slightly. You knew Jake well enough to know that it was likely not fear, but excitement and adrenaline, causing the tremors.
“He’s perfect,” Jake muttered with unfiltered joy. You reached up a hand, cupped your husband's cheek, and swept away the tear with your thumb. “I feel him. He’s everything I hoped he would be and so much more.”
“He is Eywa’s gift,” you agreed.
“I think she saved the best one for us,” he said, running finger around the curve of Neteyam’s ear.
“The Great Mother does not have favorites …” you repeated what you had been told all your life, but suddenly doubted for the first time. “Yet, surely she has at least rewarded us. He is perfect,” you agreed.
Why is choosing a title for a piece of work the hardest fucking thing ever??? I've got another So'lek piece written up, just about to format it and stuff, but the title???? Clueless
Jake Sully x Female Human Reader
Word count | 6.5k
Content | 18+, explicit smut, oral sex, p in v, dom Jake, size kink, dilf kink without the word daddy, bratty reader, bioluminescent cum
Read part 1 here
You and Jake get more formally acquainted in his prison cell
“-and she had the audacity to tell Katie what I said, I mean—“ you huff a laugh, waving your mug of coffee in the air—spilling some down your RDA shirt. “Shit.” You lick your thumb and rub at it. “Can you believe that?”
“Mhm,” Jake murmurs, lying on his back with his eyes closed—half-listening as you babble on, killing him softly with your petty work-life drama.
You’d returned with a vengeance since your little escapade, making yourself quite comfortable outside his cell during your shifts—the nights becoming a blur of chat, coffee and everything in between.
Jake’s attitude had mellowed, as much as he’d hate to admit that— growing used to your soft voice blanketing the edges of his thoughts. He’d go as far to say he liked it—even. It kept him company in the silence of the prison at night. He enjoyed watching you lose yourself in your words—your little lips rambling—the way your lashes rested on your freckled cheeks when you looked down and giggled.
But on nights like this?
You bored him into the ground with your incessant, brattish small talk.
“—I told him that wasn’t an option, so of course Anna had to go and put her foot in and-“
“You know what?”
His deep voice breaks you off mid-sentence—your mouth hanging open as he slowly rolls his head over to look at you.
“What?”
“I’m starving.”
He breaks into a dramatic yawn—something grand and cat-like, his ears pinned back as the length of him stretches out with arms overhead—pearly fangs flashing—before rolling up to a lazy sit.
“But you just ate half an hour ago,” you laugh, tilting your head.
“That? Come on, that was an appetiser. What, you feeding me human sized portions now?” He smirks, tilting his head back at you, his dreads swaying forward. “I need a lotta sustenance, if you hadn’t noticed.”
There’s a glint in his eyes—the signature one you’d come to recognise when he was in the mood to play games with you.
You fold your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing. “You’re up to something.”
“What? Pfft,” he chuckles, throwing his hands up. “Guilty for asking for a little food, now?”
“You need to lay off, you’re getting a little podgy,” you grin, eyeing the outline of his stomach beneath his jumpsuit.
He crawls to a crouch beside the glass, forearms resting over his knees.
“Let me guess… new lipstick, isn’t it?”
Your bottom lip twitches as his gaze lingers on your mouth—your hand coming up subconsciously from your folded arms.
“Yeah… why?”
His eyes twinkle as they flick back up to yours. “Knew there was a reason you looked so damn pretty today.”
It was a talent, how easily he could make you blush like a stupid school girl.
“Alright. Fine,” you smirk, defeated.
You stand, gathering your mug as you turn to fetch him something.
“Wait.”
His voice swivels you back.
“Bring it through yourself, this time? Not the hatch.”
Your eyes fly wide. “In your cell? Jake, I’m not supposed to—“
“Come on,” he chuckles, tail sweeping playfully across the floor behind him. “I won’t bite. Thought you were a sucker for breaking the rules. Besides, all this acquainting?” his roguish grin ties a knot in your stomach. “Think it’s about time we had a more formal meeting, wouldn’t you say?”
Your throat bobs in apprehension.
What was he thinking?
Was it innocent?
Jake?
With that grin on his face?
Absolutely not.
Did it excite you?
Absolutely.
“Fine,” you reply, tilting your chin up as you shake yourself from your thoughts. “But for the love of God… please eat the snacks, not me.”
-
It doesn’t take you long to snake your way back from the staff kitchen equipped with a bowl of fruit—through the maze of grey corridors, to the observation room, through the airlock, to the thick metal door of his cell.
You hesitate, hand hovering over the key pad, your exo-pack clinging too tightly to your face as you take a deep breath—an attempt to calm your racing heart.
It’s just Jake.
No big deal.
Steeling yourself, you punch in the code—a sharp hiss of air spilling through the sliding door and you step in, quickly—letting it slide closed behind you, the bowl balanced precariously in your hand.
It’s eerily quiet other than the rhythmic thrum of distant machinery as you peel your eyes over to where he’s sat against the wall—his usual spot—long legs spread out in front of him, hands resting loosely in his lap—the only sign of movement the small, twitching sway of the end of his tail.
His eyes are fixated on you like two solemn, yellow orbs.
You stare back—wide-eyed and frozen to the spot.
Seeing him numerous times behind screens and glass was different. With no barrier between you, there’s a charge in the air that you weren’t prepared for—an energy you can’t place. You can smell him—a natural musk of body odour—something wild, and a little salty.
It makes you wonder if he tastes like he smells. Would his skin be rough under your tongue, or soft?
His deep voice breaks the silence, making you jump—a slow grin cracking across his face.
“What you standing over there all shy for, hm?” He beckons you over with a hand. “C’mere, wanna see what you’ve brought me.”
You inch your way over—bowl held loosely in your hand—until you’re stood eye-level before him.
His eyes fall to the bowl, a dark eyebrow quirking. “Fruit?”
“You need the diet.”
He chuckles, a sound that vibrates your entire body. “Rude. Here, set it down.” He gestures beside him with a soft, charming smile.
You bend down, leaning forward to place it—falling for his trap as easily as a rabbit to the snare as he catches your wrist, pulling with a slight tug that might be playful if there wasn’t such an effortless strength behind it.
The bowl clatters to the floor, a couple of berries rolling away.
“Jake! What’re you—“
“Sit on my lap?”
His question is late as you’re already sliding into the crook of his legs with a squeal—his knees coming up behind you, propping you up like an easel.
“For God’s sake, knew I couldn’t trust yo—“
The cat gets your tongue once you’re eye to eye with him, just inches from his face.
Breathtaking doesn’t do him justice—not this close.
Everything about him is magnificent. Every feature monumental in size.
Silver freckles dance across his face like little stars—huge, sharp feline eyes flickering with jets of gold, his striped, indigo skin glowing even under the most unforgiving light of the prison cell. You feel the sheer power of his lungs beneath you as his stomach softly rises and falls—the immense strength lying dormant in his muscular, solid limbs.
Your eyes drop to the long, textured braid winding over his shoulder, and you reach for it—curiosity getting the better of you—your apprehension long forgotten.
Jake observes in a patient silence as you slide his kuru through your grip, tilting the end up to reveal the mesmerising pink tendrils.
“Woah,” you marvel. “That’s amazing.”
His chest huffs. You remind him of himself—years ago—discovering his avatar body for the first time, when everything was still new and intriguing. It’s a precious kind of innocence that tugs at his heartstrings—one that’s lost all too soon.
Your captivation falters when you notice the small circles ghosting over your thigh. Jake’s thumb pad.
When did he start doing that?
Your eyes widen, heart picking up a beat—but you feign ignorance, continuing to turn it in your hands, studying with intent.
“So… how does it feel? You know… when you connect it to stuff?”
He glances up, narrowing his eyes with a low hum as he ponders the question.
“Intense.”
The tip of his tail sweeps past you from behind, making you jump—his fingers trailing a long, languid line up your arching spine. “Like a tingling. The connection running deep in through your bones.” His fingertips slide back down to the base of your back, chasing a shudder that racks through you uncontrollably.
He chuckles. “A bit like that.”
You let his kuru fall down, holding his gaze with eyes full of wonder.
“You amaze me, Jake.”
He blinks. Still for a beat as he gazes back at your pretty, doe-eyed face beneath the thin glass of your exo-pack.
“How long can you hold your breath?” He asks suddenly, a challenging smile forming at the corners of his mouth.
“Why?” You give a quiet laugh, brows crinkling in confusion as he reaches out to brush back a stray strand of hair that’s clinging to your mask. “Well, actually—now you mention it, I am quite proud. My personal best was four and a half minutes in RDA training when—“
His hand engulfs your mask—stopping your words in their tracks once again as he unclips it with swift expertise, lifting it from your face before leaning forward and catching your mouth with his.
Everything goes still. Your eyes flutter shut as he steals the salty tasting kiss with lips rougher than you’d imagined. It’s deep, slow and deliberate—the tip of his larger tongue slipping into your mouth to brush against yours—a greeting—before it’s gone again.
He pulls away to reattach your mask, relieving you from the toxic air that’s tailored for his na’vi lungs.
It’s a fleeting moment that has you weakened to the absolute core.
Jake watches you come back, feeling your little heart thrum in your chest, your heavy breath beneath his palm.
“Think you enjoyed that a little too much, sweetheart,” he chuckles quietly. He runs his hand over your chest—the contour of your breasts—checking you. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” you reply, voice a little shaky, eyes crinkling in a smile. “I.. You just have no idea how long I’ve dreamt of that.”
He pulls you in closer, his nose hovering under the line of your jaw. “Hope it didn’t disappoint.”
“Jake, what about the fruit…” you glance sidelong at the abandoned bowl beside you; berries spilled across the floor.
“I wasn’t hungry for that.”
Your chest hitches as he slides a hand beneath your shirt, ruching the material up over your bra before settling back against the wall with an appreciative twitch of his tail.
“Knew I couldn’t trust you,” you murmur, a blotchy flush creeping over your chest under his wolfish gaze.
“C’mon, baby,” his grin is crooked and boyish, eyes untamed as they flick from your face to your chest. “Where’s that little slut that teased me behind the glass, hm? Thought you couldn’t wait to get your hands on me.”
“This is riskier, someone could walk in—“
“Mm, they could.” He leans off the wall, face close to your chest—his warm breath ghosting over a hardening nipple beneath your bra. “But that’s half the fun.”
He envelops your boobs in his hands—enormous and rough, and your head starts spinning—the feeling of them everything you’d dreamed of and more.
“Think I’ve opened a can of worms,” you say, an attempted joke that comes out far too breathily.
He squeezes—lightly—enjoying the little sound that escapes you.
“M’just so horny, baby. Can’t even jerk off. Makes such a mess in here.”
“Jake..” you warn—a futile attempt, your chest puffing up into his hands, betraying you.
He leans down, a slither of pink tongue darting out to brush against the thin material—testing you—the warm, wet sensation igniting a trail of sparks through every nerve of your body.
“Don’t want me to make you feel good?” He murmurs, manipulation slipping from his tongue like honey.
You glance down to where his cock is pressed up like a rod against his jumpsuit—a small, damp pinpoint of glowing pre-cum already seeping through.
It’s enough to snap you faster than you can think.
“Here,” you murmur, fumbling your shirt over your head before unclasping your bra, your boobs springing free as it slides to the floor.
His pupils dilate immediately to drink in every inch of the plump little tits he’d been envisioning ever since you took your top off behind the glass.
“Goddamn, baby… Can I?” he leans forward more, his tail smacking the ground with a dull thump—excitement taking over.
You nod, eagerly. “Please do.”
He takes your boob, dragging a loose, open-mouthed kiss across the plush—his eyes closing at the softness of it—before he captures the nipple, sucking like a hungry hound.
“God, Jake, easy,” you sigh, arching your back off the ridges of his knees as his hands loop around your back, pulling you up closer to him.
His tongue rolls around the nipple with a vibrating groan, flicking over the sensitive tip—his ears perking up at your whimpering, yellow eyes darting up to watch your reaction. “You like that?” He murmurs, grazing his thumb back and forth over the other hard peak.
“Mhm, so fucking much,” you nod wildly, squeezing his biceps through the material of his jumpsuit—huge and solid arms—something sturdy that keeps you grounded as the pleasure pulses through you more rapidly. Something for you to hold onto as you start grinding against your own panties.
You peer down at him, his dark lashes resting like crescent moons against his cheeks—lips moving in a lazy manner, and you realise he’s enjoying every second of this—getting a thrill out of pleasing you, taking his time to turn you on.
And boy, was it.
Your hips shake in little shudders, head rolling back with a blissful groan as you enjoy the sensation of your own soak against your engorged clit.
He pulls away—suddenly—halting your begging hips, leaving you chasing the feeling.
“Think you’re getting way too excited there, princess,” he smirks wryly.
The breath knocks from your lungs as he flips you over by the waist, your front resting against his propped-up knees as he spreads your ass and thighs in front of him like a platter.
“Let’s see what panties we have on today, hm?” He hums as he peels your pants down to your knees—revealing the skimpy, black laced thong buried between your ass cheeks—a cute bow decorating the top—something you’d starting wearing in recent weeks, in case of—well. Just in case.
“Ohh-hoho,” he jeers with a hearty chuckle, his stomach bouncing you. “Is this for me?”
“Shut up,” you groan, flicking his knee—thanking the heavens you’re faced away so he can’t see your cheeks glowing bright pink.
“Cute. I liked the white ones,” he murmurs, sliding his hands up and down your hips, “but this is sexy as fuck.”
He circles your ass cheeks in his grip like putty—squeezing it, pushing it together before pulling it apart—an appreciative groan escaping him at the sight of the damp black string nestled in your tight slit.
“Dirty little slut, ain’tcha? Wearing this to work. Thinkin’ of me.”
You wiggle around like a mewling kitten—completely at his mercy as he teases a slow finger down the length of it.
“Don’t be a brat, now,” he growls, a firm hand holding down your fidgeting leg as he sinks further down the wall, peeling your pants off your legs fully and throwing them to the side before jerking your ass up higher to his face. He leans forward—quickly—nuzzling between your thighs, his eyes closing as he fills his lungs with the teasing scent that’s lingered in the air from the moment you stepped foot in his cell. He holds you steady by your twitching hips, hot breath pouring through the thin line between your pussy and his parted mouth as he inhales you like a suffocated man.
“Arghfuck,” he sighs loudly, his tail thrashing the floor as he pulls himself in further. “That’s so fucking good.”
“Jake!” You squeal, the flat of his nose pushing your thong in deeper with each delve, sending ripples of warmth from your pussy down your legs.
“Let’s get this out the way, shall we? Doin’ neither of us any favours.” He hooks a finger through the black string, pulling it to the side to fully reveal your pussy—crimsoned with arousal—the pink puffy shell-like centre glinting with your slick.
The silence falls heavy as he touches it—two fingers running slow circles around the entrance, his ears flattening at the soft squelch of your wet warmth.
“Jake, mfuck,” you whine, head spinning like a disco ball against his knees.
“So fuckin’ turned on fr’me, aren’t you.” He bites his lip as he explores your slit, gliding a thick thumb pad down the length—landing on your puffy clit and pressing with a calculated pressure that makes your heart skip a beat. “That feel good, hm?”
“Mmm. Need more Jake, please,” you plea in shameful desperation.
“Yeah?” His erection twitches with a begging push against its restraint—but patience calls. He knows he needs your little human pussy loosened up if he’s to fit inside. “What’d you need then, sweetheart?”
“Mm..mouth.”
“Do you now,” he hums.
You’re not sure if it’s his warm breath ghosting over your cunt or his tongue itself. All you know is the sudden electric warmth spilling through you—flooding your body as you tremble with mewls of pleasure in his lap.
The tip of his tongue dips in, curling—scooping out as much of your sweet pussy’s juices as he can in a single swipe, before swallowing it with a loud, relieved sigh.
Stars haze the edges of your vision the moment his tongue finds your clit—licking wide, repetitive drags up and down—switching to quick teasing circles with the tip, your little hysterical noises like music to his ears.
The pleasure builds up in waves—taking you higher—until it becomes a plateau of hot, fuzzy warmth that has your thighs clenching around his face, your climax soon approaching.
“Close?” He asks as if reading your body like it’s a language he already knew.
“Mmmmh,” you mumble.
He pulls away, tongue sweeping over his lips, leaving your pussy throbbing.
Your eyes fling wide with a sharp gasp as two thick fingers greet you—pushing inside, stretching you open in a way you didn’t know you needed.
He explores inside your entrance in shallow circles until finding the sweet, spongey spot he’s looking for. “There she is,” he murmurs.
Your eyes roll back in a groan as he curls his fingers down against your g-spot, dragging against the target with a pressure that has something hot coiling very quickly inside you. A sharp sensation that feels like you need to pee.
“Jake, feels like m’gonna explode.”
“Don’t hold it.” He leans beneath his working fingers to capture your clit in his mouth—pulling it between his lips with a strong suck while his fingers pump quicker, curling harder against that spot of pressure that’s undoing you.
You stiffen as you feel it building—up and up—until you’re tiptoeing on a wobbly tight rope, knuckles white on his knees, about to brink.
Your face scrunches tightly. “I’m—AH—I’m, I’m gonna—“
A final rolling vibration of his tongue against your clit and his fingers digging tightly into the spot of pressure snaps you—sending you spiralling into an explosive, squirting orgasm—delicious hot waves relieving your pussy, every nerve in your body shuddering with pleasure as the tension he’s built up in you releases three-fold.
His throat rumbles deeply as his takes it all from behind—his well-earned gush pouring onto his face, trickling down his forearms—fucking up his jumpsuit once again, but like heck he cares. He drinks it up, lapping your ass and thighs clean— tasting the subtle sweet and salty mix of your cum before dragging a last soft lick over your sensitive pussy.
“Damn, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “You’re quite the squirter.”
You can hear the self-satisfied look plastered all over his face.
“I’m not, usually,” you laugh out of breath. “That was incredible.”
He plants a slow stream of wet kisses up your thighs to your ass, big blue hands sliding up and down your hips. “I can tell by the mess you’ve made of me.”
You lean over your shoulder to take a glance, your cheeks flushing at the sight—his jumpsuit soaked with dark wet patches, his blue skin glistening with your cum as he grins foolishly.
“Shit… sorry,” you giggle.
“Sorry?” His grin turns crooked. “We can make it work to our advantage, don’t you think?”
He unzips the jumpsuit, shedding it from his arms—his darkening eyes trained on yours as he rolls it down lower, past his hips.
His incredible blue cock springs free with a slap against his abs, and you can all but gawk at the sight. The thick, veiny shaft curves upwards from the base of stubbly, dark pubic hair around his groin. It bobs with a gentle rhythmic pulse—the foreskin rolled back fully to reveal the swollen, aroused head—blue pre-cum trickling out of the slit. Your eyes skit up over his chest and arms as you swallow—your stomach flipping as the sheer size and strength of him dawns on you once again.
“Seen something you like, baby?” He taunts, the corners of his mouth quirking up.
You nod weakly, biting your lip. “This…”
You reach back for his cock with an outstretched palm, but he grabs your wrist—pushing you away with a flick, his eyes storming over with a firmness.
“Only when I say you can.”
He’s cruel—making you watch as he takes it in his own hand instead, teasing you— rolling it up and down in his grip, his head lolling back against the wall with a relieved sigh. It doesn’t take long before he simply can’t wait—his knees hitching higher, sliding you further into his lap with a small squeak.
“No more fucking around now, c’mere pretty.”
He pushes his cock down with his thumb, resting it along the entire length of your heat, both of you groaning in unison at the contact.
“Fuck,” he sighs, rolling it up in little jerks as he grips your hips, gliding his cock between your ass cheeks like a slip ’n slide. “You feel amazing, baby.”
Your head rolls forward at the ridged underside of his warm, smooth hardness rubbing against your cunt, building up heat with each drag.
“Put it in Jake, please?” You’re making me lose my damn mind,” you whinge.
His chest is heavy as he takes it in his hand again, pumping a few more times before pushing it back against your clenching hole. “Think you’ve cummed hard enough to fit me in this small cunt, hm?”
“I can handle it,” you moan, grinding against him in frustration.
He drags it up and down—your clear juices mixing with his pre—until he guides it in with his thumb, the head finally pushing inside.
Your sharp whimper clashes with his closed-mouth groan as he slides in inch by inch—two sounds stemming from different sensations.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he moans—his nostrils flaring, eyes falling shut. “Just like that, pretty angel. So fuckin’ tight.”
His grip on your hips becomes bruising as he pushes in more boisterously with growing excitement, until you yelp—a high-pitched warning that stops him in his tracks.
“Too much, sweetheart?” He breathes.
“It’s big,” you chuckle in a fluster. “Just… adjusting.”
You jolt as he reaches under his dick to dust fingers over your mound, rubbing steady circles on your clit that soon has a pleasant warmth replacing the burn.
“Better?”
“Mmh,” you nod with a little sigh, your muscles relaxing, letting his cock sink in further.
His tail flicks up to curl around your thigh as he pulls you back to lie flush against him—giving him better access—one hand covering your clit, the other snaking around your throat in loose, subtle dominance.
“I’ve got you,” he coos from above your ear in a whisper, his breath ticklish.
“Go deeper, Jake,” you shudder—craving more—sinking your nails into the flesh of his forearm as you lean back against him.
The pain is a pleasurable drug that has you hooked—your pussy stretching open for him like a flower until he’s in almost to the hilt, pressing tightly against your cervix.
Your walls give an involuntary squeeze around him, sending a strong pulse traveling from the base of his cock to the tip that you both feel.
“Fuck, good girl,” he whispers, his fangs grazing your ear. “Making me so damn proud, princess. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
The sex isn’t brash. Not to begin with. Both of you moving slowly, absorbing every sensation—the air of the cell falling heavy with the hushed sounds of deep breathing and whispered moans.
Your fingers tangle in his thick dreads, back arching up in delight as he kisses and nips at the sweet spot on your neck—one hand running down to fondle your breasts while the other works ceaseless circles over your clit.
“Feels so good, Jake,” you whimper, rolling your hips faster against his with growing pleasure—his dick slipping in and out quicker now, easier with your building slick—the sound of moist skin slapping softly.
“Yeah?” He bites down on your shoulder before trailing a wet tongue up your neck, sending a ferocious shiver through you. “Gonna cum for me again?”
“Mmm, yeah,” you cry.
“All over my cock, just like you’ve always wanted?”
His dirty talk has you bouncing quicker and he adjusts to match your pace, one hand splaying out on the floor to hold him up as he ruts up into you, the other arm holding you in place while his fingers pick up to rapid flicks over your pulsing bud.
“Thassit baby, ride me how you need.”
“Mmfuck!” You wail louder, verging quickly.
He grabs your hand, guiding it over your belly under his, both feeling his cock bulging in and out beneath your skin. “Feel that? Feel me buried inside you?”
You glance down at it in fascination—your face scrunching up—thighs clenching and squeezing together as your climax fast approaches. Jake moves to the side, his cock hitting a sweet spot that has you gasping, legs shaking.
“Right there, baby?” He pants, holding that spot as he thrusts into you harder—faster—clamping your waist down as he fucks you into your orgasm, sliding two fingers either side of your clit—trapping it—rolling the hood back and forth.
You cum—screaming silently, head thrown back against his shoulder as your pussy explodes with throbs of white-hot pleasure around his dick, your heart racing against his chest.
Jake feels every sensation—your tight cunt clenching around his cock with your orgasm, trying to milk him dry—and it damn near enough works.
His head falls back against the wall as he stifles a groan between tight lips, his eyes clenched shut. It’s all he can do to stop himself from cumming—his cock throbbing on the edge of release inside you—but he holds it with a concentrated thrash of his tail.
Don’t you dare, Jake.
He always had been a self-torture sucker with an edging kink. He thrived on the control.
“My God,” you groan, writhing lazily in his arms with his rock-hard dick still firmly buried inside you. “I’ve never felt this goo—”
“We ain’t done yet, pretty.”
You barely have time to recover as he’s shifting onto his knees, carrying you against him in a shuffle to the floor-to-ceiling glass before plopping you down on all fours in front of it.
“Remember this old friend?” he smirks.
You bite your grin. “How could I forget.”
He clicks his tongue with a tilt of his chin. “Hands. On the glass.”
The surface is stone cold as you reach out to splay your palms against it, watching in the reflection as he positions himself behind you, spreading your thighs apart with his knee.
You gasp as he yanks your thong down to your knees before grabbing your hips and lining his cock up with your entrance. You nearly choke on your own tongue as he thrusts into you with no hesitation—his ears flat to his head as his hands clamp tightly around your waist, claiming you.
“Sucha good pussy,” he sighs, his stimulated cock twitching with relief to be buried back inside the tight warmth where it belongs.
The scent of sweat and sex hangs in the stuffy air of the cell as he fucks you—hard—the way he needs, sweat trickling down his temple—the sound of his balls slapping against you over and over in a quick rhythm—your white, gummy slick pooling around the base of his cock as it punches in and out of you.
“C’mon—baby,” he breathes, voice tight with effort. “Wanna make that pussy pop once more.”
You pant—head hanging between your arms, your frame becoming limp and weary as you hold onto the glass with weak hands. You feel him deep against your womb, the pressure held inside you, but your climax hovers behind a wall you can’t quite climb with your level of exhaustion.
“Can’t,” you sigh in defeat, head flopping further. “M’too tired.”
“Hey. Look at me.”
It’s a growl that has your eyes snapping up to his reflection in the glass.
You watch him—his sweat-slicked arm and shoulder muscles rippling under the down-lighting of the cell as he tugs at your hips over and over, his abs clenching as he ruts into you—sharp teeth bared.
It’s a sight that has your heat building up again in a way you didn’t think possible.
His eyes are heavily engulfed with the black of his pupils as he watches your reflection in the glass too—your palms splayed against it—swollen, heavy tits bouncing, your mouth hanging open with a trickle of drool down your chin as you take a cock too big for you from behind.
He falls forward with both hands on the glass, trapping you between it as a groan escapes him through gritted teeth. “God, needa cum.” His cock twitches wildly, his thrusts faltering. “C’mon, baby, cum fr me. You can do it.”
“Don’t stop, Jake,” you gasp weakly, brows knitted together in concentration, the pulsing of his edging dick sending waves of heat through you, “I’m almost… there—”
Jake—with the stamina of a God—plummets into you with the last of the strength he has left, picking up his pace to a feral shag—reaching down to fumble desperately with your clit. His balls tighten, cock twitching with one last heavy pulse that starts to snap the rope deep in his groin.
The home run.
“What’s my name?” He demands of you with all the authority you’d expect from a title like Toruk Makto.
“J-Jake…”
“Louder.”
He pulls your hair back in a fist, jerking your head up to look at him—his other hand crawling tightly around your throat as he makes you whine his name pathetically—each syllable coming out as a choppy choke with every slamming thrust.
“J-a-ah-ak-e!!”
It’s the last push you need.
You cum, quickly—finally—choking for air under his tight grip on your throat as white stars blur the edges of your vision. Your knees buckle under the weight of him—each shudder and raw cry racking through your exhausted little ribs until you melt in his grasp.
“Fuck—“ he pulls out, tapping your thigh with urgency. “Turn round baby—quick, gonna cum.”
His tone spins you into action and crawl around on your knees to face him.
“Deep breath.” He unclips your exo-pack with a shaky hand, the other clenched tightly around his cock as he guides it to your mouth.
You catch the tip just in time as it starts throbbing out the first spurts of his hot, salty load onto your tongue.
“Oh fuck, open that pretty mouth ’n take it all,” he gasps—gripping the back of your head roughly as he pulls your mouth further down his cock, his hips jutting forward in trembling thrusts as he unloads.
You try not to choke, gripping the shaft between both hands as it throbs with strong orgasmic pulses—sending wave after wave of his thick cum down your throat.
“Mmmff,” you muffle through a gag as you gulp back each salty wave, gawping up at him with watery lashes and mascara-stained cheeks.
“Swallowin’ like my good lil slut, huh, sucha good girl takin’ all my cum like that, t’s so fuckin’ hot babydoll,” he babbles, drunkenly—his words becoming slurred and thick in accent as he drags an index finger across your jaw, gazing down with heavy-lidded eyes at the sight of your small, soft lips wrapped around his cock.
Your chest spasms as you swallow the last of it—but you never leave his eyes. Sucking his cock-head dry, a mix of sex and salt coating your tongue as you lick over the sensitive slit. He squirms and collapses over you—his palm hitting the glass, the other landing on the small of your back.
“Fuck. Good job, baby,” he pants, swiftly pulling your body up to his chest as he falls back onto his haunches and re-attaches your mask.
“Breathe.”
You gasp in, flooding your starved lungs with oxygen as Jake presses soothing coos and kisses into your neck, his arms cocooning you.
You hold onto his shoulders as your breath returns, your ruddy cheeks lighting up with a toothy, idiotic grin.
“Holy shit. Thanks for the heads up on the tsunami.”
He chuckles with flattening ears. “Sorry, cupcake. Didn’t wanna make a mess.” His fingers dust your hair back from your mask. “Knew you had it in you.” His eyes flick over you—inspecting—before he cups your chin. “Open your mouth.”
You do as he says—opening with a raised brow, wondering why he looks like he’s found something extremely amusing in there.
“What is it?”
“Look.”
You turn your head to your reflection in the glass, your eyes widening in horror as you see your tongue stained with a luminous blue glow. It looks like you’ve eaten sour sweets—something between toxic waste and a blue slushie.
“Jesus, Jake! How long is that going to be there?” You swipe at it to no avail, the colour not shifting.
He tilts his head back and forth. “Give it a week.”
“A week?!”
His shoulders bob with a low laugh. “Nah, just fooling. Sure it’ll be gone in a day or two.” His tone isn’t certain. “At least you can think of me every time you look in the mirror,” he smirks, nuzzling against your shoulder.
You shake your head—unamused—but your lips can’t help but curve into a soft grin. Your eyes close as you slump into him with a small yawn—exhaustion quickly catching up.
“Hey, you better get going,” he mumbles, peeling you off him you as your tired, pouting face tries to follow. “Can’t have you falling asleep in here.”
“But you’re so warm and nice,” you moan. “Wanna sleep on you.”
He huffs—softly—his eyes crinkling at the edges.
“You’re cute. But you gotta get dressed. C’mon, now.”
He plops you down on the floor before standing and zipping up his jumpsuit. You glance up in awe as he towers above you before your knees tremble, threatening to buckle beneath you.
Jake’s quick to lean down, shooting a hand out for you to grab onto.
“Woah, steady there,” he chuckles, watching you wobble like a deer on ice as you try hold yourself up.
“Safe to say you’ve fucked me senseless,” you giggle. “I’m good, I’ve got it.”
You sway diagonally as you pull your pants up, staggering to where your shirt lies in a heap on the floor before picking it up and tossing it over your head. You check yourself in the reflection of the glass—smoothing your hair, sticking your tongue out and scrunching your nose at the stain—before turning to where Jake’s already flopped down on the floor with his legs crossed, an arm propped up behind his head.
He’s watching you, something deep and satisfied softening his sharp yellow eyes.
“Don’t forget your fruit,” you smirk.
He glances beside him at the untouched fruit, picking a scarlet berry from the bowl and popping it in his mouth with leisure as he holds your eyes, the tip of his tail giving a subtle sway next to him. “Mm. Tastes good.”
You tap at the sides of your thighs as you watch, suddenly feeling hot and awkward under his intense gaze.
“Good… well, guess I err… should go.”
“Guess you should.”
You clear your throat. “If you ever want to…”
He quirks an eyebrow.
“...Eat fruit again…” your cheeks flush the colour of the berries.
The chuckle bubbles in his throat. “Depends what you bring.”
“Whatever you want.”
He turns a berry in his fingers. “Doesn’t taste as sweet as you.”
Your heart skips a beat.
His smirk slides into your stomach. “Go on, get out. Starting to look like you want another round. Gimme a couple moments, at least.”
“Don’t tempt me,” you chuckle in a titter, swaying back and forth on your feet.
A pause. The air thick.
“Right, well… I’ll be going,” you say, clapping your hand on your thigh before turning on light, feeble legs.
“Forgetting something?”
You glance back over your shoulder.
He’s holding your lanyard up between his fingers.
The lanyard with your key card in.
He couldn’t get out without knowing the code, but your heart still starts to race. How did he…?
You stride over, snatching it from his hand as you glare him down, his ears twitching back and forth in amusement. Dangerous play in his eyes.
“Just because you fuck like a God doesn’t mean you can mess with me,” you remark, tilting your head up defiantly.
His smirk curls further—a lazy, amused lift.
“I fuck like a God, huh?”
Your lips press into a line, eyes narrowing. “It’s not an excuse, Jake.”
“You know how adorable you are when you’re pissed? Needa remind me to annoy you more often.”
The hint of a wry smirk flickers across your face.
“Fine.” You saunter the last steps to the door, emphasising the sway of your hips—the one that gets him hot around the collar.
“But the more I stay pissed?”
His ears perk up.
“The less you get to see these.”
You don’t need to gesture to your tits for him to know what you’re talking about.
He hisses out a throaty laugh. “Alright, sweetheart. You win.”
You grin. “See you tomorrow night, Jake.”
The door seals closed behind you with a thump.
He exhales in satisfaction as he settles back on both arms, eyelids getting heavy, sleep starting to creep over him.
Being held captive wasn’t half as bad with his little prison play thing.
𓇼 jake tried REALLY hard to begin courting you at first, he struggled a bit but he did eventually secure you.
𓇼 it’s not like you didn’t like him, you were just worried about his intentions as a dreamwalker especially after the incident.
𓇼 but once you guys were together, it was such a seamless relationship.
𓇼 he was still so attentive with you even after his severely busy schedule in the clan.
𓇼 he would BEG you to hang out with him.
𓇼 quite literally would stare at you with those big puppy eyes and WHINE if you didn’t give him the attention he so desperately required.
𓇼 words of affirmation is definitely his love language
𓇼 “you’re doing so good, baby.”
𓇼 “you’re more beautiful than i could ever imagine.”
𓇼 “i don’t know how i got so lucky, punch me?”
𓇼 “you’re proud of me, right sweetheart?”
𓇼 will let you ride on toruk, with their shared mutual respect for one another, the big creature became fond of you as well.
𓇼 there were many times when you noticed jake staring at you whilst you were trying to talk to him—like he couldn’t have been more obvious
𓇼 literally like ‘blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff’ now lemme take you to our kelku already
𓇼 he is so very protective, in battle, and even in your regular cycles of the sun. if ANY and i mean absolutely ANY clan member stared at you too hard, jake would be so quick to pull you away and glare at them. maybe even trail his hand down your lower back to make them get the message
𓇼 don’t even think about getting hurt, jake would probably have a heart attack, like seriously
𓇼 even if it was only a small cut jake would be right on top of you worrying like a scared mother
𓇼 like damn bro would you relax for ONE SECOND it was only a papercut
𓇼 jake is so warm, which was so helpful on colder nights whenever you two snuggled up and his heat radiated off of him. no need for a blanket.
𓇼 it’s very rare if jake ever gets upset at you, it would most likely be if you ever did something so reckless it could’ve gotten you killed
𓇼 he will take your side, even if you were wrong (which is never)
𓇼 he has you on his songcord, specifically whenever he first discovered his love for you. it was a very significant moment for him, even more than when he became toruk makto.
𓇼 dreams everyday of having a family with you, imagining little you’s running around makes him so impatient every single day until the time does arrive
𓇼 compliments you everyday, i mean every day.
𓇼 he will absolutely put you before everyone else, even himself
𓇼 whenever you performed tsaheylu, jake almost cried. he would’ve never imagined becoming so integrated with the omatikayan people, let alone creating a bond so pure with someone as special as you
𓇼 some nights he thanked eywa for viperwolves almost killing him, because if not—he would’ve never been blessed with meeting you.
HEAR ME OUT: Pregnant Tamtey who gets VERY protective of her belly. She is hissing at literally everyone who looks at her wrong or gets too close for her liking. Even So’lek/her mate might be on the receiving end.
Okay... I'm writing this. Like it's in my drafts and I've started it, BUT!
I've started writing it from the perspective of the reader who is Tamtey - think a lot of 'you' being thrown around. Later on I might have So'lek and others refer to reader as Tamtey but I'm also debating changing the perspective so it's not an 'x reader' and is instead 'Tamtey x So'lek'. I can't decide😭 feedback from literally anyone would be stellar
I've also just decided to make it sad af sorry I'm taking a real spin w this loool - the hurt will hopefully be soothed after I just felt like writing some sad
You stared curiously at the peculiar muscle on your husband’s toned stomach, currently closed as he naps beneath you on his chaise lounge. One finger reaches forward, lightly tapping against the outline of the mouth before pulling back.
To your surprise, it opens, lips curling into a cocky grin before it starts… speaking?! Its voice is deep and matches Sukuna’s perfectly, large tongue flicking out.
“Curious, hm?” It drawls slowly, flashing the sharp canines that had been hidden just seconds ago. You lean over to the nearby table, pulling a strawberry from the box and holding it tentatively near the mouth.
“Do you eat food?” You asked, sounding a little stupid talking to your husband’s stomach.
It laughs lightly, lips spreading in amusement. “I do, woman. What do you have in mind? A finger? An arm?”
You grimace. “Ew. No, I have a strawberry.” You press the tip of the strawberry against the tongue, watching it pull the fruit from your grip and chew loudly, red juice staining the sharp teeth.
You watch mesmerised at the unusual body part, noting how expressive it was and how it still managed to work even when Sukuna himself was asleep.
“Do you want another?”
“Hm.” The mouth hums for a second before the tongue flicks out and presses down flat against your two fingers resting against his lower abdomen.
Hesitantly, you lift them, saliva coating your fingers as Sukuna’s mouth stomach sucks on them greedily as if trying taste their flavour. You’re sat in awe, entranced as lewd sucking sounds fills the room.
“Ngh-“ Ryomen grunts suddenly, arm lifting from over his eyes as they flicker open. Immediately, his mouth pulls away from your fingers, closing innocently and leaving you both dumbfounded and aroused.
As Titus Danforth's sugar baby, you don't know much of his secretive, wealthy lifestyle. But when he accidentally gets you pregnant with a potential Danforth heir, it's decided that you'll be joining the family. There's no manual as you're plunged into their world of extravagance and violence.
Chapter Summary: After finding out you're pregnant with his child, Titus must secure his family's approval in order to make you a unique proposal: Become the new Mrs. Danforth.
Tags/Notes: marriage before romance, established sugar relationship, also ft. ursula and daddy danforth, meeting the family, possessiveness & protectiveness, obscene wealth, predator/prey dynamic, brat!reader, piv, mating press, creampie, oral (f receiving), messy sex, edging, denial, spitting, mouth covering, titus lowkey whipped already
Content: pregnant reader, canon-typical content, a brief instance of body shaming
A/N: since I already posted most of what was initially chapter one as a teaser during my 3k celebration, i decided to be silly and give you a mega chapter one instead!
Word Count: 14.1k
Ursula Danforth slaps one perfectly manicured hand across her twin brother’s cheek. He doesn’t even flinch; he’d been expecting worse. “You’re so selfish. Stupid and useless like a child. Knocking up a sugar baby, of all things.”
Father paces across the large sitting room with a clenched jaw. Eventually, he stops in front of his son. “How dare you do this to us? Right before the most important hunt of this family’s life, too. I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible.”
Ursula sneers, “I believe it. This is what happens when a spoiled brat grows up. Poor baby Titus always has to have everything exactly how he wants. Probably never bothered with condoms because ‘it just doesn’t feel as good, sweetheart.’”
“Don’t be so crass, Ursula,” Father spits in her direction before returning to his son. “I assume you’ve communicated that abortion isn’t an option.”
“Of course,” Titus replies, keeping it curt to avoid a verbal lashing. Or a physical one, given the tension thick in the opulent room full of blades and guns. Father demanded the conversation be moved to the innermost room of the estate when Titus told them in front of a few members of staff. This sort of thing is best discussed in private, even with the most discreet staff money can buy.
The abortion discussion had gone better than expected, considering you told him you’d be keeping it before he could even get to the ‘my family would sedate you through delivery and then discard you before they let you abort a Danforth’ thing. He’d given you a line about supporting you however you needed in order to stall you while he discussed what to do with his family. Ultimately, your fate wasn’t his decision but a collective decision for the betterment of the Danforth name.
But Titus does, admittedly, dislike the idea of abandoning you. Despite your lack of status, money, or power, he feels an…affection for you. Similar to the affection one might have for an injured bird. He’d been raised to put creatures like that out of their misery, but your only brokenness was being part of the masses. That could be improved upon. So, to advocate for you, Titus swallows hard and offers, “This may not be a bad thing. Our family needs an heir, after all.”
“Not under circumstances like this,” Ursula scoffs. “You should marry advantageously. Within the seven families, at least. How could you even think-”
Father raises his right hand.
Silence falls.
“You may be right, Titus. We’re long overdue for a new generation of Danforths and neither of you seem particularly close to finding anything akin to a real relationship. Your mother would be horrified.” Father drapes himself in his authentic Jacobean austere velvet armchair in the corner, beneath a grand window he’s spent hours and hours ruminating out of through the years, especially since his wife died. Without looking at his son, he asks, “This…girl of yours: Is she good stock?”
Titus considers that. He imagines how very lovely you look obediently presenting yourself for him on the hotel beds where he’s taken you multiple times a week for the last six months, gazing up at him with reverent eyes and an innocent sort of expression that doesn’t necessarily match your occupation of choice. “I’d say so. She’s young. Pretty.”
Ursula rolls her eyes. “Of course.”
Father gives her a lethal gaze. “Don’t interrupt. This is important.” His eyes turn back to his son and he asks, “Her personality?”
“Sweet,” he answers right away. That’s the first word that comes to his mind. It’s the thing he likes most about you; you’re so, so far from everyone he knows. Kind and tentative and eager to find reasons to smile. The kind of girl who brakes for pigeons. After a moment of thinking, he relents, “A bit stupid, at times, but charming. Docile. I’ve never seen her disagree with someone.”
That seems to please Father. He doesn’t like women who fight back, even his own daughter at times. He probes further, “Does she have any family?”
“She’s estranged from her parents. No siblings.”
“Good. How about education?”
“She’s getting a master’s degree.”
“In what?”
“I don’t know,” he replies with a chuckle. “Something with books, maybe. I’m not usually with her for the stimulating conversation, Father.”
“Don’t be vulgar. Does she have a criminal history? Any connections in our world?”
“No. I vetted her thoroughly before selecting her as a…companion.”
“Boring. But that could be useful in its own way.” Father thinks it over as he watches the gardeners outside tending to the hedge maze across the pond. Winter is beginning to melt off the extensive grounds and they’re preparing for the glory of spring blooms. For vibrant fresh blood, too, in the coming months with the vernal equinox and other traditional celebrations fast approaching. He asks the final question, the only one that matters: “Could she be a Danforth? Or will we have to be rid of her once the baby is born?”
Titus thinks of your laugh, your ease, your total lack of darkness. It’ll be difficult to balance the reality of his world with you, but he’s intrigued by the challenge. With a steady voice, he admits perhaps the deepest secret of this whole situation: “I’d like to keep her.”
The tension eases at that. Keeping up appearances will be best. And if there’s one thing the Danforth family does well it’s keeping up appearances.
With the first smile of the day, Father stands, embraces Titus, and announces, “We can make this work, son. We will.”
Titus stiffens at the rare show of affection, trying not to reveal that he’s pleased with the decision. That would only show a chink in his armor. He would’ve handled the other option, keeping you in the dungeon as a toy of sorts until the birth, but it’ll be better for everyone if he has a wife and his child a mother instead of a nanny. “Thank you, Father.”
“She’s going to have to move in,” Ursula tsks as she, too, gives her brother a short but earnest embrace. “We can’t take risks with the baby.”
Father adds, “And there will have to be a wedding, of course. With all the families invited.”
“A wedding?” Titus gripes, “Isn’t it enough to just-”
“No,” Father interrupts. His fingernails dig into his own palms. “Just because you started this improperly doesn’t mean you’ll continue it that way. In two months’ time, before she starts showing, we’ll have a wedding.”
“Everyone will know it’s a shotgun wedding,” Ursula points out. “Even the most asinine of our associates can manage basic addition and subtraction.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Father insists. “It’s the 21st century. The baby will be born with its mother sharing the Danforth name. Nothing else matters.” He levels his gaze at Titus. “Go and tell her. I expect to see her moving in here before the weekend’s up.”
“Yes, Father,” Titus agrees, already taking his phone from his pocket to dial you. Before leaving the room, he takes a deep breath and says once more, “Thank you. I won’t disappoint you.”
Father gives him a wink. The thought of the first baby born to the Danforth family in four decades lifts everyone’s spirits. It’ll be a good change. “Careful, or you’ll make us think you like the girl.”
He expects you to make a fuss about it. Fully prepares himself to have to drug you, tie you up, kidnap you, and make it clear you don’t actually have a choice in the matter, as distasteful as that would be to him. At the very least, he anticipates resistance. For it to take more than one brunch. Modern women want careers, don’t they? It’s part of why he’s always sworn off girlfriends and dating in the standard sense. Ever since it became relatively acceptable for the elite, he’s strongly preferred paying for the company of simple, complication-free women procured by the family lawyers. He doesn’t want a girlfriend. He wants…a pet. A well-trained companion. Something reliable and reliant. A pretty, obedient creature to recline on the couch who makes no demands and listens with rapt attention to his every order.
So he’s pleased beyond belief at your reaction to his offer, outlined to you at your favorite chichi breakfast place in one of the nicer hotels downtown.
You gaze up at him over your streaming mug and ask bluntly, “What’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one,” he lies. Smooth as butter. “I want to take care of you and the baby and I have the means to do so.”
“You’d already be doing that just by paying me at the rate you already do. With my job and your payments, I can afford a comfortable life,” you point out. “But you want me to marry you. Move in with you. So I have to assume there are rules. Catches.” You take a sip of the caffeine-free tea he’d ordered for you, savoring the spicy and citrusy notes. The ginger helps soothe your stomach. “Look, you’re obviously very wealthy. And I know you’re not rich because of something…normal, if you don’t mind the word.”
Titus snickers, “Not at all. Go on.”
“Before you made us exclusive, I’d been with a lot of secretive, rich men,” you explain slowly, “but you don’t seem like most of them.”
The waitress approaches your table. Titus rattles off quickly, clearly annoyed at the intrusion, “We’ll both do the three-course menu. I’ll have the foie gras torchon with prosciutto and figs, the filet mignon as rare as you’ll serve it, and the caviar trio in lieu of dessert.”
The order doesn’t surprise you after countless meals spent together. His food is always expensive and tastes of life cut short.
The waitress gives you a warm smile. “And for you, darling?”
“Don’t call her that,” Titus says, curt and emotionless. “She’ll have the yogurt parfait with the pistachio granola, lobster eggs Benedict, and the baked apple strudel.” Then he gives you a glance that borders on affectionate. “And I’m guessing she’d also like the gelato flight after.”
“You spoil me,” you lilt with batting eyelashes. Then you tell the waitress, “And a ginger ale, if you don’t mind. Thank you.”
As she disappears, Titus’ typically flat expression transforms into one of concern, which you haven’t seen on him often. He observes, “Ginger ale. Ginger tea. Morning sickness?”
You sigh and confirm, “That’s been the theme of week seven.”
“Seven weeks,” he muses, sounding almost wistful. “Does that mean you’ll have your first ultrasound soon?”
“Monday morning,” you tell him with a tentative smile. “You can come, if you want.”
“I will. Definitely.” Titus sits up straighter and adjusts the sleeves of his charcoal-gray button-down, a nervous habit since his custom-tailored clothes always fit perfectly on his chiseled body. “You were asking about rules. Saying I don’t seem like most men.”
“Right, yes.” You touch his hand across the table and he lets you. Titus never asks for affection, but you know he craves it. Deeply. Otherwise he would never have sought you out in the first place. Sex is cheap; companionship is priceless. While rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb, you muse aloud, “You don’t brag about your money, which means you’ve always had it. It’s just a part of you; you’ve never been without it. Your schedule has too much freedom to be a doctor, you don’t dress like a lawyer, you’re too private to be a CEO or anything you’d want to peacock about, and you’re not annoying.”
He smirks at your analysis. “What does that rule out?”
“Tech bro. Anyone who works in blockchain or AI.”
“Smart girl,” he praises with a short chuckle. “What’s your theory, then?”
“Something dark and secretive,” you tease, clearly joking with the low, spooky voice like a Halloween recording you put on. He doesn’t react like it’s a joke, though. So, more seriously, you say, “Maybe private security? Something with weapons; I know you try to be subtle, but I’ve always seen your carrying a gun.” That pleases him; you’ve already noticed his danger and didn’t flinch away. “I doubt it’s really illegal, like drugs, because you’re so clean about everything. I mean, my main point of contact the first three months was your lawyer,” you remind him with a laugh. Then you lean forward and continue, “Regardless, I can tell you have the kind of life where you’re not just going to marry and whisk away the first girl you knock up without some rules.”
Sounding amused, he sips his expensive cocktail and teases, “I can’t just want to be an honest man for the mother of my child?”
“You can, sure. But that’s not you.”
“You’re right about that,” he concedes after a moment. With a deep breath, he sits back in his chair and tells you, “I wouldn’t call them ‘rules’ so much as, perhaps, guidelines. Expectations. I won’t force anything on you. And I won’t abandon you if you go against them.”
That’s a patent lie, but he doesn’t think you’ll defy him, so he keeps it to himself.
You cross your arms over your chest. “Let’s get down to it, then, because I can imagine worse fates for this baby and me than having a rich, handsome daddy to take care of us. But I want to know what I’m getting into.”
“Very sensible. I can appreciate that.” The first round of food arrives and he gestures for you to dig in while he begins, “Your first priority would be growing a healthy pregnancy, of course. Go to all of your doctor’s appointments, follow their recommendations to the letter. You’d quit your job. Continue your classes if you’d like, but you’ll need to cut out any unnecessary stress. You’d move into the family estate; you can decorate and rearrange our building however you’d like as the lady of the house. I don’t care about things like that.”
“What do you mean by ‘the family estate’?” You give him a teasing raised eyebrow; you’re the only person he allows to look at him like that. “You live with mommy and daddy?”
“My father lives in the primary mansion on the grounds, yes. Mother is dead. There are a lot of different outbuildings along the property; it goes on forever. I don’t even know how many acres anymore; the lawyers buy up adjacent properties whenever they go for sale. We’d be in my private house, which is further back on the estate.”
“Like a guest house?”
“An eight-bedroom guest house, but yes.” Without giving you much time to process that, Titus goes on, “You’d have some social responsibilities as Mrs. Danforth. My mother’s passed now, so you’d be the official host when our family holds events, which we do often. You’d just have to look pretty, though, which you’re phenomenal at already.” As your cheeks warm, he assures you, “We have a whole team to handle the planning side if you aren’t interested in those sorts of things.”
You give a timid smile. “I like planning and hosting parties. It’d be nice to have some occasions to show off all the fancy dresses you’ve bought me.”
That makes him smile. Really smile. Like he can see you slotting into his life. “Good. Great. Well, you can have as much or as little involvement in our social circles as you’d like as long as you’re willing to put on one of those dresses and sit next to me adoringly when needed.”
“So far, that fits my resume to a tee.”
“And, in that vein, there are certain standards of dress and, let’s say, etiquette, for lack of a better word, that my sister can help you with getting used to.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yes. Ursula.” He toys with his fork, hovering it over the decadent spread. “I suppose we still have a lot to learn about each other.”
“I’m an open book,” you retort with a cheeky smile. “You’re the one with the secrets. I don’t even know your last name.”
“Danforth,” he says quietly. Like it’s a secret. Maybe it is. “Titus Victor Danforth.”
“Very stately name.” You wrinkle your nose a bit. “Does our baby have to have a name like that? It’s hard to imagine calling a newborn Titus Victor.”
“We’ll agree on a name like any other couple,” he chuckles. “But, for the record, I have family with much worse names than Titus.”
“Like Ursula,” you joke, earning a conspiratorial snort. You nod and drink some more of your tea as you consider everything thus far. “So I have to learn to sit pretty and do tricks. Got it. What else?”
His voice darkens and so do his hazel eyes. “The most important thing is that you’ll allow me to keep you safe and protect you. Against anyone and anything. By any means necessary.”
Your own voice drops to a whisper. “You say that like I’ll be in danger.”
“Sometimes you will be.”
Not taking it all too seriously, you check. “But you’ll always protect me? And our baby?”
He puffs up his chest and insists seriously, “With my life.”
No matter who or what tries to get in my way.
You narrow your eyes at him. “And you’ll take care of everything financially?”
“Yes.” Zero hesitation. “Always.”
You don’t doubt he can keep that promise, at least. When you take on sugar clients, you make sure to have proof of funds before agreeing to any arrangements. Titus passed that test with flying colors; you’re sure there’s incalculable wealth behind the many, many zeroes you’ve already seen. He’s always driving around in tinted luxury cars, wearing suits by $10,000-a-piece designers, handing over heavy black cards for quadruple digit dinner dates with no dobut on whether they’ll clear.
With a tiny smile, you press, “And you’ll marry me?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Can I have a real wedding?”
“Here I was thinking I’d have to convince you of that,” he laughs. Something unfamiliar is knocking around pleasantly in his ribs. “Our wedding would be very, ah, socially significant. You’ll be impressed by the guest list, I’m sure.”
“Give me a teaser.”
“Let’s just say if a bomb were dropped on it, the world’s economy would collapse.”
“Yeah, alright,” you giggle. He’s looking forward to the day you realize he’s telling the truth on that matter. “So I’d be a wife. Hm, okay.” You jokingly tap your chin and squint like you’re really thinking hard about it. “Does that mean I’ll have to cook for you?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“How about cleaning? Laundry? I hate doing laundry.”
“That’ll all be handled.”
“So we’ll have…servants?”
Titus can’t help but notice the way you’re already saying ‘we.’ He doesn’t mind the sound of it; you’re right where he wants you. Needs you. “We prefer to call them staff, but yes, we do.”
Curiosity piqued, you press, “How many?”
He starts running through the mental rolodex; the estate’s goings-ons don’t interest him much, so they’re at the periphery of his mind. “Full-time, on-site staff? We have three chefs – one in each house’s kitchen, of course – and an estate manager who oversees a handful of groundskeepers, gardeners, and housekeepers. There’s an incredibly effective security team. Part-time? Lawyers on retainer, naturally. And we have connections for anything you’d want. Ursula has her tennis coach and her pet pool boy. Father has his favorite mixologist and, ah, massage therapist. I’ve got my golf caddy as well. Each of us has our own driver, but you’d probably share mine a while. That’s a high-trust position; I’d want to personally hire yours for the safety of the baby. You’d also have your own personal assistant to help with whatever you need day-to-day. And you’ll be in charge of hiring out any childcare support you want, when the time comes. Nannies, tutors, those sorts of things.”
“Wow.” Your fork is stuck mid-air. “So you and your family are…rich rich.”
His lips curl up slightly. It’s nice to be around someone who isn’t used to snapping their fingers and having whatever they want in moments. Charming. “That would be a fair assessment, yes.”
Titus notices a selfish, almost cute little shimmer lighting up your eyes as you ask, “So I can have whatever I want?”
He cocks his head to the side and considers that. What it might mean to someone who didn’t grow up in the world he did. “Within reason.”
Your eyes narrow. “How about a car? Like a really ridiculous one – a neon yellow Lamborghini?”
Almost offended at the idea, he scoffs, “A car? Of course you can have a car. I thought you were going to say something ridiculous like an elephant.”
You pout and cross your arms playfully over your chest. “So you’re saying I couldn’t have an elephant if I really, really wanted one?”
Feeling indulgent beneath your delight, he sighs dramatically, “I suppose I could reopen and repurpose the stables for the mother of my child.”
“The stables?”
“My mother loved horses. We were raised on dressage but never really took to it. When she died, my sister and I-” let those wretched horses free and hunted them with arrows “-decided not to keep up the responsibility.”
“Could I have a horse?”
He almost winces at the memory of countless on-site animals becoming casualties in the family games, intentional or otherwise. Still, because it’s important, he relents, “If you want, sure. I don’t see the appeal, but you’ll have whatever hobbies make you happy and keep you occupied.”
“Don’t worry; I hate horses. Just curious.” You can tell he’s amused by your version of an interrogation, so you go on, “Will you still take me on dates?”
That puzzles him. Do you like these dates with him? He’s always assumed you just see him as a paycheck, which he doesn’t mind, but the idea of a real relationship does tantalize him to a certain extent. So he says, “If you’d like that. I do enjoy your company, after all.”
“And sex whenever I want?”
A laugh punches out of him. They’re rare from Titus, so it makes you grin, too, for a second. He rolls his eyes and nods. “Of course; that’s one of my favorite parts of your company.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to give that up with you, considering the, ah, quality.”
Blush tinges the apples of his cheeks and you know better than to point it out. Titus has never been shy about his sexual prowess, but he also grew up in a family where it’s not acceptable to talk about those things over brunch. Titus clears his throat and checks, “What else do you want to know to decide?”
“To recap, I’ll be fed and housed and safe and spoiled beyond my wildest dreams?”
He nods, pleased. “Exactly.”
You bite your lower lip and ask, “But what if something happens to you? I’d be giving up all my independence and relying on you. I don’t want the baby’s security depending on whether or not you’re around for us.”
He doesn’t assure you that nothing will happen to him the way you’d anticipated. Instead, he admires your practicality. You can tell his life is dangerous, but you aren’t flinching. “You’ll be written quite handsomely into the family estate. Above my sister, actually, since you’ll be the mother of an heir. That’s permanent, even in the event of death or divorce.”
“An heir?” You almost choke on your food. “You’re not royalty, are you?”
He laughs, “Not in the sense you’re thinking of, certainly.”
Softer and more seriously as you consider the implications of everything said so far, you touch your lower abdomen and ask him, “Will our baby be safe?”
“Safer than you’ve ever been in your life here in the ‘real world,’” he says with actual sarcastic finger quotes. Then he squeezes your hand, meets your eyes with a new kind of warmth in his, and affirms, “I swear that nothing will ever harm our children.”
You smirk and tease, “Didn’t realize we had more than one on the way.”
He shrugs modestly. “I always liked having a sister.”
“And I always wished I had siblings.”
“Sounds like you agree.”
You let out a sharp laugh, the ridiculousness of the conversation hitting you at once. This is the kind of arrangement people agree to in the dark romances you read when you’re ovulating and here you are actually considering it for the rest of your life. After a minute of eating and thinking, you tell him, “I just have one more question.”
“Anything.”
“Will you love me, Titus?”
He takes his time thinking about the answer, which you appreciate. He isn’t just going to tell you what he thinks you want to hear. Honesty is more attractive to you than his silvering curls or glass jawline, though those definitely do it for you. Always have.
You’ve wasted a lot of time on men who lied to you, who strung you along, who took advantage of your lack of security. As strange as it may be, the thought of someone being very clear about their expectations and giving you everything in return has an appeal after all of that. You’d never have to worry about the things that currently absorb 90% of your time again.
You’ve finished your dish by the time Titus collects his response. Slowly and carefully, he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses each finger; you can’t stop the fluttering of your heart in response. Titus murmurs, “You may have to teach me how, bunny.” Gradually, he meets your eyes and offers, “If it matters, in the time we’ve known each other, I’ve already grown quite-” he struggles to find the word; you wonder if he’s ever been given ones for this variety of feelings “-fond of you. Which is unusual for me.”
A smile blooms over your lips. Relief punches Titus in the gut and he’s not so sure why. You take your hand from his and press it gingerly to his silver-scruffed cheek. “Fondness will do.”
“Are you sure about this?” Your best friend, Natalie, asks for the fiftieth time as you finish packing your suitcase. Titus had arranged for professional packers, movers, and cleaners for your entire apartment over the weekend, so all you had to do was pack for a long weekend. “It just seems a little fast to me.”
You shrug and try to brush it off, “I’ve known him for six months already.”
She balks, “As a client.”
“Well, unplanned babies tend to rush relationships,” you cut back. “It’s not like he’s a murderer or something; he’s just a rich guy who needs company. Plus, look at these pictures he sent me.”
You unlock your phone and toss it to her where she’s rifling through your closet, taking her turn to pick over it since you’re going to be switching to maternity clothes soon enough and, it seems, designer after that. Natalie scrolls through the grand Danforth estate and her mouth slowly falls open the same way yours did when Titus showed you. Water features both natural and man-made, meticulously maintained flower gardens, a hedge maze, marble sculptures around the grounds. Not to mention the interior. He’d only sent pictures of his residence on the property, which was styled minimalistically compared to the opulence elsewhere, but you could already imagine outfitting it exactly how you want.
Natalie scoffs, “Are you serious? I didn’t even know places like this still exist. Are you sure this isn’t all, like, a catfishing scheme and he’s just going to lure you into the woods and keep you chained up in a cabin or something?”
You roll your eyes and tell her, “After he made the offer, he showed me everything on his iPad. Titles, holdings, all the legal stuff. I guess his great-great-times-a-million grandparents built half the trade infrastructure in America and then used the money for real estate and investments and now they just have mega money. He told me that there are a lot of families like his that have old money managed by lawyers that’s just accruing more and more money by being in banks.”
She raises a curious eyebrow. “So he doesn’t have to work?”
“Sort of.” You try to explain to the best of your understanding, paraphrasing from the spiel Titus gave that you admittedly kind of zoned out during, “Since his dad retired, he’s got a seat on the board of basically every company in the country, so he has a lot of meetings and travels a lot.”
Natalie changes into one of your dresses and inspects herself approvingly in the mirror. “Does that mean your baby is gonna have to be a boring businessman?”
“Or boring businesswoman,” you laugh. “This one’ll be the oldest, so they’ll have responsibilities, yeah.”
“The oldest?” Her eyebrows go up again. “You and gramps are having more than one?”
“He’s not that old,” you start, a bit more exasperated now, “and he’s going to be my husband. If I want more kids, who else would I have them with?”
“Jesus, you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“You’re here pilfering my closet, aren’t you?” The intercom buzzes by the door and you tell her, “Finish up; that’s my ride.”
“Is that him? Mr. Moneybags?”
You peek out the window and see the dark-tinted black Rolls-Royce idling in front of the door. The white-gloved, black-capped chauffeur who’s driven you around a handful of times before stands by the passenger side with his hands linked in front of himself. You mutter, “No, it’s his driver.”
“His driver? Damn.” Natalie takes the things she wants off their hangers and starts to walk you out. “When do I get to meet this guy, anyway?”
The two of you take the stairs together and you suggest, “At the wedding, I guess. Two months or so.”
Natalie scoffs and shakes her head. “Two months to plan a bachelorette party for a pregnant bride.” She squeezes you into a tight, warm hug. “It’s a challenge, but I’m up to it.”
“I know you are,” you giggle. “I can have the driver drop you off somewhere, if you want. I’m sure Titus wouldn’t mind.”
“No, thanks; I’ve got a job interview right up the street.”
Natalie insists on bringing your suitcase down the stairs, setting it on the stoop and scampering away before she has to ‘pretend to be fancy in front of one of your servants.’ As she disappears around the nearest corner, you wave and smile at the driver, hopping off the raised entry to meet him by the road. “Hi, Chip, thanks for coming to get me.”
“Good morning,” he says warmly. He hefts your luggage easily into the trunk and assures, “It’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Danforth.” At your curious look, he explains before you can question, “Master Danforth instructed all the household staff to refer to you with your new title so you get used to hearing it.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Master Danforth?”
Chip cracks a rare conspiratorial smile. “The usual title for the eldest son while his father is still alive. His father is Sir Danforth, but I’m sure you’ll call him Father like Titus and Ursula do.” He opens up the back door for you and assures, “It’s a lot to get used to, but you can ask any of the staff for help with anything.”
You slide onto the smooth leather, lowering the partition between the driver and the back, which Titus never does. As the car leaves the city and starts the winding path into the countryside, you glance at Chip and pose, “I’ve wanted to ask before, but now that I’m gonna be family I think I’m allowed to know: How much do the Danforths pay you?”
Surprised by your frankness, he just laughs, “More than enough.”
“C’mon, you can tell me,” you lilt like you’re doing a heist together. “I can dig it up anyway; Titus says I get free rein of the whole property.”
“Really?” Chip chuckles under his breath. “You must be awfully special to him.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Not even Miss Danforth has full access to the entire estate. Their father mainly stays in the front house these days, too,” he explains, “so Titus must think highly of you to allow you unsupervised access.”
You joke, “Or he’s lying to make me feel safe and thinks I won’t meddle.”
Chip glances at you in the rear view mirror, no joking in his expression. “That’s also a possibility.”
You chew on that for a second and then press, “That doesn’t mean you get out of answering me, by the way. If I’m marrying into a family where the staff are underpaid, then-”
Chip almost wheezes out a laugh, caught off guard by the assumption. “I suppose I shouldn’t let you think that about your future husband.” He takes a long breath and explains, “Discretion is expensive. Security is expensive. And loyalty is priceless. I’ve worked for this family since Titus started high school and needed his own driver. Most of the staff have been with the Danforths for a decade or more. I’m sure the hiring process for your personal employees will be rigorous – background checks, security clearances. My starting salary was $80,000. By year ten, that had doubled. I’ve never had to ask for a raise; my salary just gets silently adjusted at the start of the year. Especially since Titus took over the family’s management, their generosity has been staggering. If you include all the above and beyond benefits – he pays for my daughter’s private school tuition outright, covered every penny when my wife went through chemo a few years back – and the bonuses, it has to be about a quarter million by now.”
You let out a low whistle. “Jesus.”
“Security all makes twice that,” he goes on as he pulls the car off the main road through a massive automated iron gate. Your skin prickles at the knowledge of getting closer. The view is shrouded by thick trees, making the whole estate feel hidden. “Trust me: You’re surrounded by the most loyal, discreet staff in the world.”
You huff out half a laugh. “Should that make me less nervous?”
“Nothing to be nervous about,” he lies lightly.
As the car finally breaks through the trees, the magnificent grounds come into view and the air leaves your lungs. You press your forehead to the glass to get a better view of the property. At the base of the grand front house with its storied old stone and hand-carved Grecian details being devoured by brilliant green ivy, you see the unmistakable shape of Titus in one of his usual charcoal gray suits, strong and broad in a soldier’s stance. He’s waiting at the bottom of a staircase which opens onto a large half-circle drive that reminds you of something out of The Princess Diaries. A man you recognize as a member of his security detail flanks him; you’ve only spotted him at the periphery before, lingering at the entrances of the restaurants Titus takes you to or waiting in the lobby of hotels. He makes a point of being unnoticeable, but you make a point of rarely letting your guard down.
You hear the gate shutting behind you, a thud instead of a click. Deep. Final.
Stopping the car a few feet from Titus, Chip slides out, opens your door, and smiles earnestly. “Welcome home, Mrs. Danforth.”
The moment you’re out of the car, Titus is lifting his arm for you to slip into, which you do.
“Hello, darling.” Titus loops his hand around your lower back and pulls you close enough to smell his brisk, masculine aftershave. He plants a chaste, claiming kiss to your forehead and then holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Nervous,” you tell him sheepishly. Before he can jump on that, though, you add, “Nausea hasn’t been too bad today.”
He nods slowly, examining your expression carefully. “I’m glad. Let me know if that changes; you can have whatever you want whenever you want now that you’re here.”
“I’m still waiting on my elephant,” you reply lightly, leaning up onto your toes to kiss him.
He hadn’t been planning to let you kiss him in front of any staff, but he’s pathologically unable to resist you when you look so soft and so ready to submit to his plans for you. Your wide eyes are longing for reassurance, for steadiness, for him to produce the scaffolding of your new life together. When you step back down, he cradles your face and teases, “All in due time, princess.”
Then Titus gestures for his bodyguard to step forward. Up close, you can see pockmark scars over all the skin visible around his dark sunglasses and black-on-black suit. There’s also a feathery brown bruise on his jaw and you can’t help but wonder if he got it in the line of fire, so to speak. Titus introduces, “Smith, my personal security detail, will be yours while I hire a new one.”
You cut him a sideways look. “You don’t need your own security detail in the meantime?”
He gives you a cocky, handsome smirk in return. God, he’s devastatingly beautiful when he’s like that. The ruler of his domain. “I can handle myself, bunny.”
You needle, “Then why have one in the first place?”
“I like to be underestimated,” he replies easily. Not wanting to let you dwell on the implications of that, Titus continues, “Smith will check any and every room before you go into it and then remain stationed by the nearest door. He’ll also do some personal training with you on the family security protocols to make sure you’re prepared.”
You swallow hard and nod, extending your hand toward the bodyguard. “Good to meet you.”
Smith glances at Titus, who nods briefly. Only then does the security guard shake your hand – once, firm, quick. More scars over his knuckles. “It’s an honor, ma’am.”
You gesture between them with a suspiciously pointed finger. “What was that?”
A smirk flickers on Titus’ mouth. You’re too observant for your own good and he hates how much he likes it. So he explains honestly, “Nobody is allowed to touch you without my permission.”
You narrow your eyes. “And if I give them my own permission?”
You can’t.
My word is law.
A chill goes down your spine at the possessive darkness in his eyes. You might have your own security guard now, but there’s a level of safety above that, one that only comes from being under the protective wing of Titus’ unyielding power.
Titus chews on his response a moment and then amends, “Male staff are not allowed to touch you unless it’s an emergency.”
You tsk and tease, “Jealous, jealous.”
“You really shouldn’t talk to me like that,” he admonishes, but you know it’s more of a contradictory plea. Titus craves being challenged as much as he hates it. He can’t tolerate it in business or from family in case it’s perceived as weakness, so he yearns for it from you, the one person who has no desire to actually challenge him. With a shake of his head, Titus dismisses Chip and then says, “I’ll give you a tour of the central grounds and our home. Then I have to go out on business for the afternoon before dinner with my sister and Father in the main house. In the meantime you can get settled and play.”
You laugh, “Play?”
“Whatever it is you want to do to entertain yourself,” he replies with a hand wave and a shrug. “Explore the grounds, interrogate the staff, snoop around all the places you shouldn’t.”
You offer a small conspiratorial smile. “Sounds good to me.”
Then Titus does something new and unexpected: He threads his fingers through yours. You get the sense that he’s practicing behaving like a normal, convincing couple. But you still notice that his palm is slightly clammy. Nervous. Titus Danforth gets nervous about holding a pretty girl’s hand for the first time. Cute.
For half an hour, he guides you around the few acres of land that sit between the three main houses, which are in a U formation. There’s a hedge maze that he warns you not to go into unless you have a few hours to kill, a drone to map it out from above, or a helicopter on standby. Then a tennis court (“you can page our trainer from the gate”) and a pool that’s half inside and half outside (“heated, of course, with a hot tub attached”). At the center of it all sits a series of fountains with emotive sculptures captured in such vibrance you’d believe they come alive at night.
“The tableau of Artemis and Actaeon,” Titus explains as he points out the features – a beautiful nude woman in a righteous stance with a bow raised, a muscular stag fleeing, a hoard of gnashing dogs tight on its heels. “Actaeon wandered away from his companions and found the virgin goddess Artemis bathing when she didn’t want to be seen. To punish him for breaking the boundary between the mortal and the divine, she turned him into a deer and sent his own dogs after him.”
You study the series of sculptures, water running down features like blood, and ask softly, “And your family liked that story enough for this whole water tribute thing?”
Titus chuckles and explains, “Artemis is sort of the Danforth version of a patron saint.” His hand drags slowly, pointedly down the center of your back until you shiver. “Goddess of the hunt. She’s a good omen for the family.”
“Goddess of the hunt,” you repeat curiously. “Interesting.”
He raises an eyebrow and starts to lead you toward the second largest house on the left side of the property. “Is it?”
You snicker and match step with him. “Most families go for, y’know, saints of unity, love, that sort of stuff.”
“She’s also the patron and protector of women and children,” Titus adds on the walk through the rose garden that leads to your new home. “And she chooses when to bring wellness or illness. She’s a good woman to have in your corner.”
You give him a coy sideways glance and muse, “I’ll try not to piss off her statue, as then. I want to stay on the good side of anyone who’s going to protect me and TJ.”
“TJ?”
“Oh, yeah, the baby,” you giggle far too adorably to be allowed on the deathly quiet Danforth Estate. “I’ve been calling him Titus Jr. in my head to try to get used to all of this.”
Something you haven’t seen before glitters in his eyes at the comment. “You think it’ll be a boy?”
“It’s too early for me to even think it’s real,” you reply with a soft laugh. “I can’t believe we’re going to actually hear the heartbeat on Monday.”
“I can’t wait.” He gives your hip a little squeeze that feels much more relationship-y than he usually gets. Then he gestures proudly at a large swath of empty land. “Welcome to the final stop of our tour before the house.”
“It’s, um, lovely,” you offer as you gaze at the undeveloped ground, parts of it divided up with unintelligible spray paint marks. “I’ve always wanted a half acre of empty space. My dream.”
“It’s going to be a space for the children,” he explains with something close to softness in his voice. Like he’s scared you’ll reject the sweet idea from a man you know mostly to be harsh, biting. “I thought…Well, I thought it might be nice for them to have a playground, a splash pad, those sorts of things. The property isn’t very child-friendly; there hasn’t been a baby here in more than forty years now. Time to change that.”
Your heart grows about three sizes at the thought. Titus isn’t just inviting you into his life; he’s carving out space for your shared future. “If you didn’t have anything to play with here at home, what did you and Ursula do for fun as kids?”
“We didn’t have fun,” he almost scoffs. You can tell the memories behind the sound are painful but far away, like reaching through a broken chain link fence. If he pulls back, the pain will become real. “My parents were-” Titus searches for the right word a while before deciding on one that’s close enough“-severe. Dour, often. They thought children should be trained and disciplined, not raised. Father thinks the idea of cherishing a child is the same as spoiling them.”
You shrug and give his hand an affirming squeeze. “I guess they got what they wanted; you’re successful, clearly. Driven, strong, powerful.”
“But not fulfilled,” he murmurs, only loud enough for you to hear. He wouldn’t want the staff knowing his feelings. He takes his hand and rubs your back almost absently, like a nervous habit. With a sideways glance, he labors out, “I think being a parent should be about giving your children more than you got. But I got everything. Always. So what can I give to my children, who will have more than they’ll ever need?”
“A space to play,” you finish for him. You lean up on your toes and plant a kiss on his scruff, unable to conceal the smile that comes at Titus talking about fatherhood so softly. “You’re going to be a great dad.”
He blinks hard a few times. His organs feel like they’re in the wrong order, but it’s not unpleasant. Winding his fingers with yours once more, he almost smiles. “You really think so?”
“Wouldn’t have agreed to all of this-” you gesture to the ridiculous property all around “-if I didn’t. I’d kind of figured being the softie would be my job, but I’m happy to share the load.”
Titus downright pouts. “I am not a softie.”
You nod toward the grass and lilt, “The evidence to the contrary is pretty compelling, sweet pea.”
“That’s too far,” he sighs, suppressing a laugh, “even for you, my little terror.”
As you approach Titus’ house – your house – Smith steps out in front and opens up the ornate wooden door. There’s a golden, roaring lion’s head knocker that clicks slightly as the door swings open to reveal the marble foyer. No amount of pictures Titus texted you could do the place justice. Every detail is strikingly opulent from the golden chandeliers and Italian marble checkerboard floors to the sheer embroidered curtains and high ceilings.
The only thing you don’t love is, well, Titus’s taste. You wrinkle your nose as he shows you through the sitting room and dining room. “You really like black and gray, don’t you?”
He watches you inspect his living space. It’s been a very, very long time since he’s had a woman here. At home. “They match everything. It’s easy.”
“I guess,” you mutter, running your hand over a black leather couch that’s smooth and cool beneath your fingers. You point out, “It’s a little cold for a family. I can’t really imagine a baby toddling around, can you?”
“No,” he replies honestly, “but that’s why I have you. I’d like you to change it all so it’s…warmer. Hire a designer or pick out everything for yourself, whatever makes you happiest.”
As your eyes rove along the under-decorated hallway toward the living wing, already imagining how you might redesign the space, you ask him, “And how would I do that? Will you give me a check or something?”
Titus rolls his eyes and laughs. “A check would imply a budget and supervision; I don’t want any part in it unless you truly think my input would be valuable.”
“That’s hot,” you laugh. “More men should act like that.”
He hums, amused, and then reaches into his jacket, removes a sleek wallet, and hands you a heavy black card. The Black Card, you realize as you stare down at the centurion engraved on dark steel. “That card is yours for whatever you like. You’re already an authorized user on the account; I had the legal team take care of that. It auto-pays every month and I won’t even look at it, so I better not catch you overthinking your spending habits.”
“Ooh la la,” you say, taking the card from him and turning it over in your hand. You’re more than familiar with money, even his money, but it’s never been yours to spend however and whenever you want. No budget, no restrictions, no instructions. It feels almost like getting your first car; that shitbox meant freedom. Your eyes go to his and you ask, “What’s the limit?”
Opening up one of several bedroom doors, he tells you like it isn’t even interesting, “It’s NPSL.” You swallow hard. No Preset Spending Limit. Before leading you inside, he turns around and gives you a mischievous smile. “In fact, there’s a minimum. To maintain our status with the company, you’ll need to spend $350,000 a year on that card.” He smirks at your open-mouthed shock and muses, all cocky and coy, and touches the tip of your nose affectionately. “Can you do that for me, princess?”
“Are you joking?”
“I don’t joke often.”
You balk, “What would I even spend that kind of money on?”
He laughs out loud. “Ursula could spend that much in an hour; I’m sure you’ll find something. For example, where have you always wanted to buy jewelry from?”
You bite your lower lip and reply, “Tiffany.”
“Right, of course. I got you those earrings for Christmas,” he remembers fondly, especially fond of the mind-numbing orgasm you’d ridden out of him wearing nothing but said diamond earrings. “Any time you want, you can take your cute little ass downtown to the shop and get everything else from that collection. Better yet,” he goes on, taking his phone from his pocket and sending a few texts, “I’ll get an appointment for you at their flagship in New York and you can use your fun new card on some first-class tickets for you and a friend and buy out the damn store just to show off.” Before you can roll your eyes and scoff out a response, he presses his index finger to your lips, kisses your forehead, and coos, “You’re filthy rotten rich now, kitten, you’ll have to discover ways to act like it. Now, may I continue my tour?”
You give him a giggly mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
He debates jumping on it but bites his tongue, trying to keep a modicum of self-control with his regular staff lingering nearby. So he takes a breath and leads you through the open door into a vast, relatively blank bedroom, leaving Smith stationed outside. He tells you, “Until we’re married, you’ll stay here in one of the guest rooms. Anything else would be inappropriate.”
You nudge him with your hip, a little too confident. “Inappropriate like all the kinky premarital sex we’ve already had?”
In response, Titus grabs you hard by the waist, flipping you around and pushing you against the nearest wall, hand behind your head. There’s a caution to his touch, though, and it steals your breath away. He’s certain not to be too rough with you. He cups your face in one large hand and studies your features intently. Your eyes widen as you look up into his stoic hazels, finding something dark and unreadable in them.
And then he kisses you. Deep, serious, claiming. Your knees go weak as he presses the curve of your spine, pulling you as close as possible to his body. It feels like a warning more than an act of affection. When he pulls back, he gently touches the tip of your nose with his pointer finger, drawing out a smile, and tuts, “You’re going to have to learn not to talk like that in front of others. It’s bad form.”
“No sex jokes in front of the posh folk,” you tease with a serious nod. “Got it.”
“Good girl.”
“You shouldn’t call me that if you want me to behave.” With embarrassingly warm butterflies taking flight in your stomach, you push out your lower lip and give him your best puppy dog eyes. “I really have to sleep alone?” You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, leaning your weight on him. “In an unfamiliar place?” You drag your lips up his rough neck and suck his sensitive skin, smiling to yourself when he draws in a sharp and wanting hiss. “With my big strong fiancé all the way across the house?”
Titus gives a low chuckle, looking at you like a puzzle. He traces his finger up your neck and along your jaw until he reaches your chin, tilting it upward. He turns your face from side to side, examining you, and you shiver from the intensity. His lip twitches at the corner. “Would you really prefer to sleep in bed with me? Why?”
You take his hand in yours and guide it down to your hip. His other hand instinctively follows and they roam around to your ass, which you arch out to be more enticing. He follows by squeezing your flesh and grunting softly under his breath. You ruck your hands up beneath his shirt and rake your fingernails over his abs until you feel him tremble ever so slightly. On your toes, you whisper against his ear, “I get cold at night.”
Titus sucks in a sharp breath when you take his earlobe between your teeth and nibble ever so slightly. He leans his head back and groans, “Mmm. You’re too powerful for your own good.”
“Just powerful enough.” Then you nibble your lower lip, avert your eyes, and add bashfully, “And I might need you.”
His brows furrow in genuine confusion. “Need me? For what?”
You shrug and try not to sound too vulnerable. “I mean, I’m pregnant. What if I wake up and something’s wrong?”
Titus sets his jaw, considering that. He brushes his thumb over your cheek and studies one of the many emotions he doesn’t have much experience with: Worry. Lowering his voice, he assures you, “Nothing’s going to go wrong. Not if I can help it.”
With a sad little smile, you reply, “Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t stop me from being scared of complications. Or worse. I don’t want to have to wonder where you are if I wake up afraid.”
At that, he nods solemnly, takes your hand, and starts leading you to the opposite wing of the house. He may not experience anxieties like that, but he understands that his job is to quell yours. “Come on, then; I’ll show you our bedroom. Don’t tell Father; he wouldn’t understand.”
Your eyes narrow. “Will you get in trouble if he finds out?”
“Yes,” he says with a dark humor in his tone and a glint in his eyes. “He’d put me in time out and take away all my favorite toys.” He’d have one hour to hunt me while I remain unarmed. Titus presses a kiss to the center of your forehead. “Don’t worry, bunny; I can handle myself. Handling you is what I’m worried about.”
As he pushes open a set of opulent double doors, you poke his firm shoulder and protest, “I’m a perfect angel.”
“Precisely my concern.” As you step into the suite, he raises a silent hand to stop Smith from following. Closing the doors, Titus strides to where you’re admiring the space, wide eyes greedy over the California king, the floor-to-ceiling windows with grand velvet curtains, the massive his and hers closets. “I know it’s plain right now; I don’t have much of an eye for taste – except in women, of course.”
You smack him lightly on the arm. “Flatterer.”
His deeply ingrained instincts urge him to flip your arm around, pin it behind your back, twist you into submission. But then you smile at him and it’s so warm and open and trusting and earnest that he almost smiles back. “Only for you.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” You traipse into the adjoining bathroom suite and gawk at the oversized soaking tub, practically its own pool with jets and a head rest, and add, “I get the impression you have to flatter a lot of people in your world.”
“They have to flatter me,” he corrects. You feel his hand on your back and catch sight of him watching you in the large mirror above the double vanity sinks. His first finger trails up your spine and he smiles when you shiver. “And soon they’ll have to flatter you, too.”
“If they have to suck up to you, and you have to suck up to me,” you muse, turning around into his arms, “does that make me the boss of the whole world?”
Titus cradles your face in one hand. His expression is completely and totally confident as he tells you, “I spent the first thirty years of my life watching my mother snap her fingers-” he punctuates it with a click of his own “-and get whatever she wanted from whoever she was speaking to. She commanded attention, power, money. Everyone listened when she spoke. She was the only woman – person – my father ever acquiesced to or listened to. Nobody on earth has more power than Mrs. Danforth,” he finishes, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “and very soon that will be you.”
For a second, you’re breathless, taking in the intensity simmering in his eyes. Then you avert your gaze a second, swallow hard, and look back at him with your usual mischief. “Mommy issues much?”
Rolling his eyes dramatically, Titus swats your ass and laughs, “Father is going to hate you.”
With a raised eyebrow, you needle him, “You say that like it might actually be a good thing.”
Titus confirms, “Being hated by my father is always a badge of honor. He can’t stand me.” Then he takes your hand, leads you back to the bedroom, and sits you down on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. “Now, I have to leave for some business before I introduce you to the family tonight, but I do have one thing I need to give you in the meantime.”
“A welcome home gift?”
“Something like that,” he replies, walking over to his bedside table and removing a black velvet box. He kneels in front of you, your legs on either side of his shoulders, and your heart starts to pound. As he opens it to reveal the ridiculous ring inside, he begins, “Now, bunny, if you want a proper proposal with a string quartet or a sunset on the beach, I’ll do that, but for-”
“Titus, shut up,” you whisper. “Is this…for me?”
Your eyes are glued to the ring. You’ve never seen anything like it. Clearly it’s an antique piece; the metalwork and stones have been meticulously maintained and show a high level of craftsmanship. The large center diamond is black – an almost surreal color, both drawing light in and flinging it out, seeming at once opaque and transparent from different angles – and surrounded by a halo of small pearls and diamonds set in fine platinum. It’s not eye-catching so much as jaw-dropping.
Your heartbeat thuds and whooshes in your ears as Titus removes the ring from the box and takes your left hand in his. You splay your fingers to give him better access.
“My great grandfather had it made for his wife and my mother held onto it for me to give to mine, not that she believed I’d ever find one. It won’t be the most expensive piece in your collection, but it’s the most precious and rare to our family name.” Titus slides it onto your finger and then kisses the skin just above it, his lips softer than you’ve ever felt. He holds your hand in his and urges. “I never want to see you without it.”
“I should take it off to shower and sleep,” you point out absently, still staring at the ring. You flick your eyes up to his. “And I assume you’d still like to see me those times.”
“I’m going to have to start punishing you for all this flirting, you know.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a promise?”
He shakes his head and lets out a sharp, amused breath. “Oh, you’re in for it now.”
In the next breath, Titus smirks and lifts you easily, tossing you up onto the bed. As you shriek out a laugh, the plush fabric and thick mattress catch you like a cartoon cloud. Titus pounces on you like a panther while you’re still getting your bearings, hiking your skirt up around your waist and yanking your panties down hard enough to rip the elastic. You don’t complain; for every pair of your underwear he’s ruined, Titus has always gifted you five more from nicer shops.
His fingers circle your clit hard and fast, working you up frantically, and you know exactly what his game is. It’s one he plays often and well. You’ve got no choice but to enjoy the expert way he touches you, months of knowing how to get you off and bring you down painstakingly memorized.
Then, as you expect, the very moment your walls start to clamp down, Titus stops all touch and slaps your clit hard. The sting rockets up your spine and you gasp. Your thighs shake and he laughs at your mewling.
Before you can even start to think , he pulls his shirt off, casts it aside, and crawls onto the bed next to you. Then his middle two fingers are on your clit again and his lips lock onto yours and you’re moaning and whining and hoping, hoping, hoping he won’t-
He slaps your clit once more and you nearly knee him with the force of your body’s reaction. He stills your leg with a smirk and coos, “Careful, princess, you’ll pull a muscle. Can’t have that.”
You challenge him with narrow eyes. “Then how about you pin me down and fuck me so I don’t squirm?”
“So goddamn greedy,” he huffs. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today.”
“I wonder whose fault that is.”
You watch, mouth watering, as he takes off his belt and slacks. You even notice the brief hesitation as the leather belt runs over his fingers; you’ve been known to beg for a whipping with it on more than one occasion. But he’s being gentle with you – for Titus, at least. He returns to you on the bed with a wolfish gaze, spreading your legs apart and admiring you for long enough to make your breath hitch. When you feel the tip of his swollen cock nudging at your entrance, it’s with a toe-curling gentility that makes your body sensitive.
Titus always thrusts into you agonizingly slow, no matter how worked up either of you are. He savors the little flutters and twitches that come with filling your pretty cunt millimeter by breathless millimeter. Once he’s seated inside of you, feeling the way your hips instinctively roll back into his and how your cunt is clamping onto him like it needs reassurance, Titus presses his thumb to your lower lip and orders, “Beg.”
And even though you’re having to actively hold back from squirming and moaning, you know he loves the chase, so you grip his curls tight and reply, “Why should I?”
“God, you fucking brat.” He spits on your face and you lick it off your lips, never dropping his eyes that trace your movements. “If you won’t beg for what you want, then I expect you to stay there and take whatever I give you.”
Your eyes widen in a mix of lust and fear, right on the primal line that Titus so loves to play with. One of his hands goes down to cover your mouth. There’s a millisecond where his eyes flick up to yours, asking permission, and it’s gone as soon as you give an imperceptible nod. When you and Titus fuck, your minds run parallel to one another; the same temptations and ideas call both your attention.
Once his salty, heavy palm is clamping your mouth shut, Titus fucks you like he needs. Your pleasure becomes entirely secondary to him; he only touches your clit because it amuses him to watch you squirm and kick and writhe, unable to speak or moan or do much of anything besides take it.
When he hikes your legs higher, working you into a full mating press that lets him fuck you hard and deep, your eyes roll back and your moans turn into squeaks. His thumb continues its strumming on your clit as you start to shake from pleasure. He purrs, “There we go.”
And then he cums.
Unannounced, unplanned, unrepentant. He pulls out and gives your thigh an affectionate pat.
You grab his hand and wail, “No, no, no no no nonono! Titus!”
He lifts your fingers to his lips and kisses each one softly, “Didn’t I say this was a punishment? You have to learn to behave yourself.”
You lean back, raise your arms above your head so that your tits are on beautiful display, and look up at him like an innocent, needy puppy. After a beat of charged silence where his eyes ravish your body, you say the one word you’re always careful to withhold from him until the right moment: “Please.”
Above the bed like a god, Titus gazes down at you, panting and disheveled and leaking his cum. He tsks and sighs, “How am I supposed to punish you when you take me so well?” Then he drops to his knees, hooks his arms beneath your legs, and tugs you to the end of the bed as if you weigh nothing. “When you’ve done everything I’ve asked without complaint?” He slides two fingers into your sopping cunt, curling them toward himself and grinning when you arch your back and whine out in pleasure. He nips your inner thighs with his teeth and rests his free hand on your lower abdomen, over your womb. Leaning toward your wrecked pussy, he murmurs at last, “When you’re carrying my child? I couldn’t possibly deny you.”
And he descends on your swollen, aching clit. The taste of his own cum mixed with your juices drives him wild. The taste of his ownership. After all the edging, you’re mere moments from tumbling over the precipice.
He doesn’t make you wait any longer.
He growls into your cunt as you spasm around his fingers, the orgasm burning up your spine and boiling beneath your cheeks. Your back arches and he refuses to let you stop cumming, keeping his tongue just as firm and fast as you punch into overstimulation. It’s so good it borders on painful and that’s what he loves the most. The moment when you cry out his name and try to push his shoulders back because it’s just too much and only he can finally release you.
Your chest heaves as you collapse back onto the bed. Titus slowly withdraws his fingers from your pussy and licks them clean, drunk on the taste of the two of you becoming one. You can’t talk or think as you rest the back of your hand on your forehead to cool it down. After a few moments of breathing, you smirk up at him and tease, “I knew you’d cave, you big softie.”
He kneels over you again. “I assure you it was completely selfish; making you cum strokes my ego.”
“Mhmm. Whatever you say.”
Titus tuts out a chuckle and checks his watch before swearing under his breath. After a searing kiss that gives you the sense he wants nothing more than to start a second round, Titus sighs, “Three hours as my live-in trophy wife and you’re already making me late.”
You nip his collarbone. “Bite me.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He holds your chin and orders gently, “Ask Chip to take you downtown. Designer district. Buy an outfit that makes you feel perfect and be home in time for dinner at six.”
At 5:58, Titus knocks on the door of his own home with a bouquet of white roses. He can already imagine you rolling your eyes at his display before Smith opens up the door on your behalf. Titus is pleased to see that you let him open it without argument, already beginning to accept having others watch out for you.
You step into the moonlight and Titus hands off the flowers to Smith, who falls back behind you. For a moment, Titus is at a loss for words. You’ve always made a point of dressing up and looking beautiful for him; that’s a part of your arrangement, a part of the business of being a professional sugar baby. He’s even paid for you to get plenty of lovely pieces to add to your wardrobe.
But this?
You’ve spent the handful of hours since he left (and attended several excruciating meetings) pampering yourself into a state more akin to divinity than humanity. He may not have the eye for fashion that his sister does, but he can easily identify the trappings of a woman feeling confident about herself: Freshly French-tipped nails, sleek high heels with a thin strap around your ankle, makeup subtle and feminine. The burgundy halter dress hugs your curves, the silk crepe just structured enough to be formal but swinging enough to be sweet and flirty.
He wants to devour you.
And when he kisses you hello, he makes it obvious, dipping you far backwards and gripping your hip like it owes him money. He can feel the designer quality of the dress, soft as butter, under his fingertips. Then he rakes his hands up your thighs and growls against your ears, “I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you in the one situation where I absolutely have to.”
You give him a modest twirl and ask, “You really like it?”
With his hand on your lower back, Titus guides you toward the main house and purrs, sounding both proud and possessive, “You look perfectly at home in luxury, kitten.”
You try to quell your nerves as you walk up the marble steps to the back entrance of the home, where Smith opens the large glass doors to usher you both inside. Unlike Titus’ – and your, you have to keep reminding yourself – house, the main house is opulently designed, drenched in old-school grandeur. Everything is antique, hundreds of years old, in dark woods and rich silks. It’s more like walking through a museum than a home.
When Titus brings you into the grand dining room, you can see just how well his father and sister match the decor. Thin, severe, expensive. His sister is drop-dead gorgeous in a very ‘90s leading lady way while his father has the sort of face and demeanor usually reserved for stereotypical evil wizards or vampire counts. Titus has to push you into their eyeline when you find yourself shrinking beneath their stares.
Mr. Danforth and Ursula both stand to greet you but don’t move otherwise. Titus takes a deep breath and announces, “Father, Ursula, I’d like to introduce the future Mrs. Danforth.”
Father offers you his hand first, but you’re clearly not supposed to shake it, so you just present your own. He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your skin softly. “How lovely to finally make your acquaintance. My son has sung your praises extensively.”
“That’s very sweet.” You bite your tongue despite how easy it would be to tease Titus because you know for a fact he never would’ve mentioned you to them at all if it weren’t for the baby. You stick with a polite albeit slightly stiff, “Mr. Danforth, it’s an honor to meet you.”
Titus’ gentle, affirmative pat to your arm almost makes you laugh – the situation is too weird for words – but you still hold back. It’s a truly herculean effort not to point out how otherworldly this whole thing is. You haven’t exactly met people who just reek of power and status, their presence so effortlessly commanding that you want to laugh so you don’t cry or hide.
Then it’s Ursula’s turn with you. She doesn’t shake hands, doesn’t hug, doesn’t even speak for a solid thirty seconds. You can feel Ursula’s eyes on every inch of you, dissecting and analyizing. It’s like she’s trying to see through your skin or maybe telepathically peel it off your bones. You’re holding your breath until she finally says, “You’re very pretty.”
“Thank you.” Swallowing hard, you force a wobbly smile and tell her, “You look stunning, exactly like I expected from how your brother talks about your fashion sense.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Please; Titus wouldn’t know fashion sense if I smacked him over the head with it. And I’ve tried.” Before you can try to come up with any possible response, she gestures to your dress and asks, “Where is this little number from? It looks appropriately expensive for the occasion. A gift from our Titus, I assume?”
“Um, yes, he sent me shopping today.”
She gives you a pitying sort of smile and squeezes your forearm in a way that feels truly predatory. “He’s always so generous with his playthings.”
Titus clears his throat. “Ursula.”
“I’m just teasing,” she laughs without any humor. Then her narrowed eyes return to you. “Really, though, where did you find a dress like this in our dingy little city?”
You smooth out the fabric and tell her, “It’s, um, it’s Yves Saint Laurent.”
“Looks like something I would wear.”
You try on a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I told Chip to take me somewhere you would shop.”
“Maybe I’ll go and pick one up in my size,” she muses, still scanning your body for every flaw, which you’re suddenly painfully aware of, coming up with brand new insecurities every second her focus moves. “I’d ask to borrow it, but yours would drown me.”
Titus cuts her off sharply, “That’s enough.”
She pouts at her brother. “Don’t be so sensitive, ducky; I’m sure she can-”
“No.” You’ve never heard Titus’ voice as stone cold and commanding as when he tells her, an order and a punishment, “Never speak down to her. Never.”
Ursula rolls her eyes and plops herself dramatically in one of the oversized dining chairs. She pouts and says, “Fatherhood is already making you so boring. Now I’m going to have to weaponize her against you so I have someone to complain with about how boring you are. Sigh.”
And dinner goes just about like that.
Mr. Danforth unabashedly interrogates you about your life, your family, your history. Ursula critiques your answers. Titus snaps at them both when they push too far. You just try to hold onto your fork and sneak bites of decadent food in between the family bickering. You can tell there’s a kind of affection entirely foreign to you in the way they jab and dodge each other’s barbs. The way rich people talk to each other – all subtext and speed – is surreal to listen to. Eyes rolled about memories in St. Barts and arguments over clients in Aspen; it’s like they’re speaking a different language from the one you learned growing up.
By the time you’ve finished pretending to like flan because you’re terrified of being rude, they seem to have hashed out all their regular arguments, everyone beyond ready to leave the rest alone. Titus can tell you’re getting overwhelmed by their equally intense presences fighting for dominance, so he slides his hand protectively onto your knee and announces, “I think we’ve kept my fiancée awake late enough, haven’t we?”
Ursula pouts, leaning across the table and snatching your left hand into hers for examination. “You already gave her mother’s ring and I missed the grand proposal? How tragically unromantic.”
Father sighs, “They’re doing things a touch out of order, darling.”
“I wouldn’t want an extravagant proposal anyway,” you manage to squeak out. “A nice private moment between the two of us was perfect.”
“Ah, so she’s the one making you boring,” Ursula laughs. Then she lowers her gaze and adds, “If you don’t like extravagance, you may be marrying into the wrong family. Your wedding guest list is already 250 people long.”
“I’m definitely looking forward to all of it,” you assure as you desperately try not to sound either meek or ungrateful, “but Titus is being kind enough to ease me into the waters. Trust me: The beautiful estate and stunning, personal ring made as much of a statement as any proposal.”
Father smirks at you with a pleased satisfaction that seems to surprise Titus and his sister. “What a diplomatic response. My daughter will be lucky to learn from your decorum.”
As Titus stifles a laugh, Ursula stands up dramatically from the table and reminds him, “I’m literally a diplomat, Father. Try telling the people of Monaco that I’m anything but diplomatic when I personally broke ground on the country’s latest arts center.”
“That was for optics,” Titus cuts back, adding under this breath, “unlike my work in Geneva.”
Ursula brandishes her knife like she might really use it on him, making you gasp gently under your breath, and that’s when Father officially clears his throat and stands with a curt, “I think that’s enough family time for one night.”
“I completely agree,” Titus replies, rolling his shoulders before he stands up. After pulling your chair out and guiding you to your feet, he says, “We’ll see you both at the Governor’s Ball on Saturday.”
Titus shakes his father’s hand at the end of dinner and, once again, you have to remind yourself not to tease him. Thankfully, it’s a surgical extraction from there and Titus has you walking back toward your house in no time.
After Titus dismisses Smith for the night and arms the extensive home security system, he meets you in the primary bathroom, where you’re unclasping your jewelry and examining yourself in the mirror. Titus must’ve had someone on staff put away your things because your bedtime skincare routine is laid out on the countertop. Before reaching for any of it, you bite your lip and ask Titus, “Be honest: Did I do okay?”
He comes up behind you, slipping his strong arms around your waist. “You did great. I’m only sorry Ursula was so very-” he struggles to find the right word “-Ursula.”
“I expected worse,” you tell him with half a smile. “I didn’t expect you to stand up for me, though. To your sister.”
“Ursula is the family the universe gave me. She’s my best friend and my closest confidant – and she’s a nightmare. A hellion.” Titus kisses your forehead and gently touches your stomach. “You’re the family I’m choosing. That means you come first, button. I’m not going to have my children watch their father sit idly by while their mother is insulted. I’m practicing setting a good example.”
You stand up on your toes and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Titus runs his hands up your spine and fiddles with the halter tie at the back of your neck. “Now let’s get you out of this very lovely dress so you can sleep. Do you need a back rub? Some ginger tea?”
You raise an eyebrow as you slowly take out your cleanser and reusable cotton rounds. “Are those real offers or are you teasing me?”
“Real offers. From either a masseuse I can have here in fifteen minutes and our chef or from me personally.” He tugs the dress down your body, guides you to step out of it, and discards it in the bathroom hamper like you didn’t pay $3,200 for it a few hours ago. “No funny business, just relaxation and rest, especially well earned after spending a few hours with my family.”
“I could probably tolerate a foot rub before bed,” you giggle as he kisses across the tops of your shoulders.
“Go on, then.” He strips off his own shirt and makes quick work of his belt and slacks, too. Looking deliciously sturdy in just his black boxer briefs, he leans against the bathroom doorframe and says. “Finish getting un-ready and come lie down with me, princess. I’ll make sure to get you nice and relaxed before bed.”
“You want me to do my whole bedtime routine topless?”
“I’ll grab you something from your closet,” he offers, frowning a little because he admittedly does like the idea of watching you traipsing around with your tits out. When he returns with a tank top and silky shorts, he notices you still haven’t started taking off your full face of makeup. Too knowingly, he strolls into the bathroom with the pajamas and asks, all low and teasing, “Are you nervous to take off your makeup in front of me?”
You toy with the damp cloth, studying him in the mirror, and admit, “A little. And not just the makeup.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and laughs, “I’ve seen you naked, kitty.”
You scoff, “Naked and made up with at minimum highlighter and mascara. Or in very manicured outfits.”
He offers, “I’ve also seen you in pajamas before.”
“Lingerie,” you correct. “You don’t really think I sleep in slutty little negligees and teddies, do you?”
“A man can dream.”
“Well, if you hadn’t noticed, typically you rip those off me, fuck me unconscious, and then leave before my actual bedtime routine,” you reply, poking him in his hard chest. As you tug on the tank top and shorts, you go on, “I usually wake up around midnight, get room service on your tab, and sleep in my ugly sweats since you never spend the night.”
Clearly amused by the whole thing, he presses, “Are you worried I’ll rescind my proposal to the mother of my child because you aren’t a model in your sleep?”
“I don’t know!” You huff and glare at him, knowing full well you’re being hormonally dramatic now. “This is all very new to me, Titus. I have to wear a four-figure dress to dinner and go to the fucking Governor’s Ball, I guess, but I still have to be me at bedtime? All while figuring out how to be your fiancée and not just your sugar baby? It’s weird.”
Titus closes the space between you, each step stern and confident. He takes the makeup removal pad and cleanser from you, gently lathers the cloth, and starts to work it over your face without saying a word. Titus says the most when he's silent. Right away, you melt beneath his touch. His totally sturdy gaze. Quietly, he relents, “It’s a lot. I know that. You don’t have to come to the big social events right away; we can start smaller than the fucking Governor’s Ball.” He smiles when you crack one of your own. “If you aren’t ready to jump right into being my wife, there are plenty of other bedrooms you can stay in and have your own space.”
“I don’t want my own space,” you whisper back. “I’m just scared of taking up too much of yours, I guess. Or not fitting into your life the way you expect. Of being Mrs. Danforth correctly. Not looking expensive enough or beautiful enough or-”
“Quiet now,” he interrupts, words harsh and clear but tone nothing but warm. “Do you know what I want from Mrs. Danforth?” Titus finishes wiping your face of its mask and then examines your products and selects your moisturizer. He massages it into your face and neck with fingers so tender you could cry. When he’s finished, he holds your face in one large hand and murmurs, “I want you to sit by my side and sleep in my arms. You. We have the rest of our lives to work out the details.”
For the first time, you feel the real you slip out in front of Titus. No flirting, no pushing, no hiding. All you can manage to whisper is, “Thank you.”
He gives you a soft kiss and then goes on, quiet but urgent. “As for worrying about your appearance, you have never been lovelier to me than you are right now,” leading you to the bed and sitting you down with your feet in his lap, he finishes, “because you’re mine. And that’s the most perfect thing you can be.”
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