the last great demented dynasty XXI
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a/n: throughout the chapters, certain songs will be mentioned at the beginning or after a partition. the music is chosen mostly for the vibes and the melody. if the lyrics align, yay. if not, play along. but i highly recommend listening to the songs on loop for its section if you're a 'take-your-time' reader. idk, the music just adds some oomf to it.
summary: your last minute twist elicits very distinct reactions from people. but who cares, when you're winning.
warnings: long chapter, making out, kissing, groping, more mention of satanism, hail satan mention, religious descriptions and imagery, smut, piv, sex duh, fingering, cunnilingus, lingerie, titus obsessed with his WIFE, mating press, crème pie (but wrap it before u tap it unless u want kids)
with your cuts finally healing and your deep bruises fading, you sat on one of the plush couches in the grand danforth salon. titus sat close to your left, just a giant ball of warmth around you. ursula occupied another armchair to your right side. the lawyer leaned forward from his armchair directly before you, all circled tightly around the heavy, open pages of the dementhund and the meticulous, handwritten translation you'd done.
when you'd said you had a plan, no one except ursula knew what it was and she had done a marvellous job at keeping it a secret. now that you were only one singular game away from winning—a really crucial, final game at that—you finally decided it was time to disclose it.
"convenient," the lawyer said, just the one word as he leaned over the coffee table, looking down at your notes through his golden-rimmed monocle. he carefully scanned the near-enochian words on the yellowed pages.
he took it off, and let out a long mildly pleased sigh. "i see you have been playing your own game, miss l/n. i admit, i have to hand it to you."
"what. what was in it? what is it?" titus asked abruptly, his deep voice slicing through the air as his dark eyes latched right back onto your face, desperate for answers.
and then, you finally explained.
"there's a clause in there," you said, pointing at the book.
"it states that council ranks and family seats can be legally merged, or entirely transferred, through a binding marriage between two distinct families. according to the old records, this used to be the traditional custom to secure good fortune for those belonging to families of lesser ranks and lesser prestige, allowing them to absorb into the higher houses without shedding blood."
titus nodded slowly, his mind processing the information as he tried to piece it together. frankly, the moment your lips formed the word 'marriage', his brain short-circuited a little. even did a little bouncy dance within his skull.
you smiled softly, turning your head slightly to look at him. "you know... i have always wondered what it would be like to take the next step with us."
titus' head shot up at your words. he stared at you with wide, hopeful eyes, his invisible tail practically twitching to wag right off his body.
"we have had our fair share of ups and downs," you continued, keeping your voice smooth and earnest, "and we did not always like each other at the start. but over time, i have grown to like you. a lot more than i think i ever intended to..." you trailed off intentionally, letting the silence hang.
and boy, did he shift expectantly in his seat. his massive shoulders relaxed, his chest puffing out just a tiny bit as he leaned in toward you, looking incredibly, adorably smug.
"so… what do you say, ursula?" you asked smoothly, turning your entire body away from him to face the other danforth, who once more carried a calm, knowing smirk at your little stunt.
oh, the absolute, crushing look of betrayal that instantly washed over titus' face. his jaw literally dropped, his smug expression twisting into a massive pout, by a dark frown, a nervous tick in his jaw, and an angry twitch above his eyebrow. you almost expected him to flop his ears down and whine out loud like a punished puppy.
"i mean, i don't know where mr le bail stands on homosexuality, but if it's such a sin, hey, he might be into it," you muttered.
"no! NO! you are going to marry me! ME!" titus shouted abruptly, interjecting before you could even finish your sentence.
he practically threw his hands up in the air, before he turned a gaze of pure desperation toward the lawyer. "tell me this is a joke. tell me right now. she can not actually marry ursula."
the lawyer, thoroughly entertained by his sudden domestic meltdown, simply shrugged. "the clause strictly says a marriage to the heir of another family in the council permits for the spouse of a lower rank to rise to the higher, or to change family lineages and share council seats. historically, it is the man who takes the bride… but, the phrasing is archaic. perhaps a little legal experiment is in order—"
"nope. that is all i need to hear." titus snapped, turning back to look at you pointedly, his chest heaving as he pointed a thick finger at your face. "you are marrying me. end of discussion."
you quickly pressed the back of your hand hard against your mouth, desperately trying to conceal your laughter as your shoulders shook. ursula let out a refined giggle beside you.
you left the salon, the plan being to go about your business but titus was absolutely not done. like a clicker-trained dog, he followed you instantly, hand reaching out to grab your arm.
"we're getting married," he said again.
you snickered at him, but he just pulled you into him, hands gripping your hips.
"do you need me to spell it, titus?"
too late. you could tell. that man was gone. ascended to heaven at the thought of marrying you. and though it was a ploy to save your life from the games and emancipate yourself from your father, a part of you felt just a tinge of wonder too. you couldn't imagine yourself married, let alone married to titus danforth. but he was on cloud fucking nine.
his thumb brushed over your lower lip as he brought his hand to cup your face. "fuck, why didn't i think of it sooner. we could've gotten married ages ago."
"ages ago, titus, we didn't even know each other."
you let yourself follow, be led by him, even if it was against a wall in the corridor and prying eyes knew better than to look. he pressed you against the wallpaper, pinning you with his body.
"doesn't matter. you..." he leaned in to inhale your scent, nose brushing against your neck. "were always going to be mine," he purred, nipping at your jaw.
a mix of excitement and nervousness warred within you. possibly, your desires had a little conflict in them. you'd come to fall for titus, big time. but marriage? what would that even entail? it was more than being his 'wife'. living together under a different dynamic, hell, it meant being a danforth and you weren't sure you'd like what came with it. most of all, you did not want to be a part of the satanic rituals his family seemed to dip their toes into.
"you're going to be my wife..." titus said more to himself than you, swallowing hard, steeling himself to accept that reality.
he leaned in a pressed wet kisses to your neck, "my wife..." tongue running over your skin, lips sucking the flesh there.
"you'd like that, baby? hm?"
"it was my idea, jackass."
titus whistled. "careful, that's your future husband you're talking to."
"oh, you're never gonna stop gloating, are you?"
"fuck no," he chuckled, and captured your mouth in a kiss. his lips moved with hunger against yours, tongue slicing through them to slip inside your mouth. he tangled one hand in your hair and held you steady while the other roamed around your body, around your waist, the small of your back and ultimately landed on your ass with a smack, fingers digging into the plump flesh.
you locked your arms behind his neck, let your hand run through his greying curls. you kissed him back, parting your mouth to let his tongue in shamelessly.
titus groaned into the kiss, teeth clashing, wet lips smacking agianst each other. his tongue plundered your mouth recklessly. his hips ground his erection against you. he could not resist the allure of you, of prolonging your heated moment. jesus, if he could fuck you against the wall, he would, his dick was simply dying to. but no. no no no. if there was any way he was going to have you, it was going to be in his bed, with a ring on your finger.
he broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your throat, licking up the salty tang of your sweat.
you whined at the loss of his mouth on you.
"sorry, baby..." he huffed against your pulse. "this has to wait."
"whyyyyy?" you leaned in, chasing his lips.
titus smirked, giving your cheek a small pat. "we got a wedding to plan, baby."
titus felt like a kid handed being handed a thick stack of money and set free in a mall with the unhinged way he was handling the wedding preparations. it had not even been half a day since the final decision had been made in the salon, and he had already been on back-to-back international calls with high-end planners who were ready to fly into the country at the mere snap of his fingers. everything had to be perfect. everything had to be danforth.
hairstylists, parisian modistes, michelin-starred chefs, elite florists, classical musicians—absolutely everything a grand wedding could ever need, titus had on a manic speed dial. that man was on a single-minded mission, and god help anyone who befell a different time zone.
ursula had to bear miserable witness to the frenzy because she was the one tasked to handle the massive logistical security overhaul. it meant running intensive, microscopic background checks on every single piece of external help entering the grounds, filtering the highly selected, high-society invite list, and having the entire manor equipped with state-of-the-art security systems—night-vision cameras, thermal motion sensors, and multi-band media jammers to ensure the council secrets remained strictly within the estate walls.
"what do you think she will like?" he asked his sister abruptly, his large frame towering over several catalog displays of floral arrangements. his finger pointed at a dark, brooding bouquet of blood-red roses with their jagged thorns left completely intact. next to it were even more obscure, gothic options: deep indigo aconite, velvet-petaled black hellebores, and twisting, dark sprigs of deadly nightshade.
ursula sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "titus, don't you think it's best you actually ask her? it's not me you are marrying."
"but you are... a woman. all women like the same things," he murmured, his brow furrowing as he genuinely tried to apply his limited logic to the situation.
ursula raised an eyebrow, a look of sheer disbelief crossing her face before she rolled up her fashion magazine and smacked the back of his head with a sharp crack.
"what." titus grumbled, rubbing the spot with a pout.
"you'd be a lousy husband with that caveman mentality."
"you dont know the first thing about women, titus. just how to scare them."
titus fell silent, staring down at the opulent displays before him. in a way, she was right. he had instinctively picked what his twisted family always picked no matter the event. always something ominous and luxurious. there really was no difference between a high-society funeral dinner and a wedding. but he did not like that. he hated it, actually. he wanted something more for you; he wanted grand. all for you.
"what about the wedding dress?" he asked, trying to redeem himself as he tapped a heavy leather binder. "i already brought options from milan."
ursula stared at him, completely gobsmacked.
"titus danforth. you do not pick the bride's dress. you stay far away from it or tear it off her on the wedding night."
he blinked, his face a loading screen.
she shook her head in utter exasperation, turning on her heel. "leave that to her. you... stay away."
she began to step away, walking down the long corridor, and a desperate, completely out-of-his-depth titus looked after her.
ursula raised a warning hand. "i mean it. do not touch the dress."
titus stood there, a little sad that he wasn't able to think this through. how hard could planning a wedding be? he remembered kip's wedding. and though he despised his cousin, it was a pretty grand wedding. too bad his wife died during the games, but the ceremony was worth remembering. not too gauche. and you clearly deserved the best. so what could he even do that would surpass any festivity in the history of the danforth family?
not that he got the chance to do any of the actual, hands-on planning he had envisioned anyway. the lawyer had him completely buried under another massive mountain of council paperwork, seeing as your official addition to his family would unwrap a whole nightmare of asset division. not to mention, your potential seat on the council should you win the final game—in which you would still be participating, but now strictly under the prestigious danforth name.
and though titus loved you dearly, enough to sign absolutely whatever legal document came his way without a single second thought, he felt completely, utterly distracted. he sat at his grand mahogany desk in a perpetual state of 'can i not just do this later?' and 'i just want my baby back'. his shoulders slouched over the stack of papers, a restless sigh escaping his lips every time anotehr page was turned.
and just how much work was there anyway??? since chester's death, the estate and its coattails of generational fortune were bequeathed to titus and ursula. now that titus was getting married, you legally had to be written into the equation.
now... titus was not a senseless fool when it came to wealth. he possessed absolute control over just how much to give you, and knowing your nature, he knew that even a danforth hairpin would burn holes straight through your moral compass. you would hate the excess, hate the bloody history attached to every coin. so he did the next best thing to protect your conscience; he handed over the entire philanthropic quarter of the danforth wealth directly to you. it used to be his late mother who handled that specific division, though she had carefully and cunningly chosen exactly which public charities to donate to so that much of the money would eventually find its way back into their own offshore accounts. titus was certain that you would make a vastly different, much more genuine impact with it. not that he personally cared about the charities himself, but he cared about you, and he knew your eyes would soften for every starving child, stray animal, or dying forest that crossed your path. giving you the power to heal things was his own twisted way of keeping you happy.
for titus, it was disastrously easy to get completely distracted by the thought of you in a wedding dress. the heavy paperwork before him blurred into smears of ink as his mind wandered right back to the weathered chapel sitting on the desacralised, shadow-drenched grounds of the family estate. he could picture it perfectly—the soft candle light catching your beautiful skin as you walked down the altar toward him, your small hand sliding into his.
the mere thought of putting a ring on your finger, of claiming you completely in front of the council, made his chest tighten. he kept replaying the words over and over in his head, waiting for the exact moment he could finally call you 'mrs danforth' out loud.
he rested his chin in his palm, staring blankly, and wondered if you were also thinking of him like that. if you were sitting in your room right now, counting down the hours just as miserably as he was, dreaming of the moment.
meanwhile, you did not have a single moment to yourself. ursula swarmed your room with security details, hounding you about restricting the number of outside invitees to practically negatives. a small exception was finally made for meghana, but only because you provided enough physical proof to satisfy ursula that she was indeed a completely harmless, long-term friend of yours. it was utterly bizarre having her on a speakerphone call with ursula, trying to explain that apparently you were now getting married in a rush, and she was invited, but that she would absolutely have to sign a heavy non-disclosure agreement before she could even step foot onto the property.
"where's titus?" you asked, looking past the guards hoping to catch a glimpse of him or at least have a brief word with him.
that was the last you heard of it because the very next moment, you were whisked out of your room and planted into another grand salon, watching numerous modistes slide in massive rolling racks filled with dresses as black as coal, heavy veils with delicate, twisting silver filigree work done along the trim, and sharp heels you could easily use to stab someone to death.
"i am... sorry. this is a wedding, right?" you blinked at the dark velvet and silk.
"and?" ursula asked, not looking up from her tablet.
o-kay, you guessed. that would be a first for you. but it certainly suited the family's ominous reputation quite well. you tried them on, dress after dress, standing on the small wooden podium as the stylists pinned the fabric. it felt absolutely horrendous. it felt like wearing someone else's funeral dress—specifically that of a corpse freshly dug out of a coffin.
"ursula... i..." you shook your head, staring at your reflection in the tall mirror. "i dont like these. like, at all."
she sighed, tapping the end of her stylus pen on the screen. "well, you have to pick one. and it has to be black. that is the council color for a merging lineage."
"well... none of these seem... 'me', you know?"
"i don't," she said pointedly. "but... you can tell them what you'd like. they have the fabrics, they'll get it stitched."
so you sat down with the team of stylists, pulling a chair up to the sketchpads. it was a herculean task trying to convince these people that you were not a cultist sociopath and that you actually wanted to feel pretty on your wedding day, not like you were actively decaying. never in your life had you ever cared deeply about what you wanted to wear or how you would look in it. comfort was your ultimate key, and that had not ceased to be of importance to you just because you were entering high society.
and even though this entire marriage was a life-saving decision born completely without a choice, the absolute least you were going to do for yourself was choose your fucking dress on your own terms.
the next topic ursula brought up was the bachelorette party. and in her world, that meant everything lavish, everything exclusive, and absolutely nothing genuine.
she dropped the names of underground vip lounges, elite members-only clubs where the danforths had held private booths for ages, and hidden estates where things went down that ordinary citizens could never comprehend. you just shook your head at her until your neck hurt.
"i don't understand," she said, her jaw tight as she stared at her digital planner. "if these don't work, what on earth do you want?"
"ursula, have you... like, ever actually been to a normal bachelorette party?" you asked, genuinely concerned for the woman's incredibly feeble social experience outside of cultist rituals.
♬⋆.˚ voulez-vous (mamma mia!); cast of mamma mia! the movie, philip michael, christine baranski
and that, ladies and genitals, was exactly how you ended up sitting in the plush interior of the danforth limousine next to ursula danforth, her oversized designer sunglasses hiding just how much she was terrified of whatever normal human activity you had planned for the night.
then, to her immense surprise, a grumpy francesca sat directly opposite to you on the leather bench. her neck was held rigidly together by a thick, medical velcro collar from her time in the arena with titus, forcing her to sip her high-end champagne through a plastic straw since the tilt of her head was lowkey fucked.
and then there was meghana, who was frankly just happy to be there.
"why is she here?" ursula asked, staring at francesca through the dark tint of her sunglasses.
"because... i invited her."
"why did you accept?" ursula redirected the question to her.
francesca rolled her eyes, a movement that looked incredibly stiff given the rigid structure of her neck collar. "i don't know."
"come on, it is my bachelorette," you interjected, leaning back against the leather seat. "all is forgiven."
"really?" ursula asked, entirely unimpressed.
the round of introductions that followed was absolutely wild. it went from meghana waving cheerfully with a "hey, hello, i am her best friend," to francesca leaning her entire upper torso forward with a monotone "hey, hello, i tried to kill her thrice."
but somehow, the whole sisterhood of the traveling mini-skirts actually worked. the limousine finally pulled up right outside a dimly lit, slightly shady dive bar—the exact one you used to frequent back in your college days to escape the stress of classes.
you beamed as you stepped out onto the cracked pavement, meghana hopping up and down at the familiarity and nostalgia.
ursula held back whatever judgmental quip was bubbling under the surface. your party, your rules. cross the heart, swear to cheap bear and soggy fries, she had to accept that.
"why are we at... al's pancake world?" asked ursula, looking up at the flickering neon sign.
"it's the best bar there is."
"yeah," said you and meghana, walking inside, two hefty bodyguards making the way by pushing away anyone else trying to enter at the same time as you.
you wore a comfortable red henley top tucked into a black mini skirt, paired with sturdy, well-worn brown leather boots—your classic, unbothered college attire. meghana, always the eccentric one, walked beside you in a vibrant, artsy two-piece set covered in starfish.
then there was the council elite. ursula carried class with her everywhere she stepped; she was dressed in a pristine, tailored tweed chanel skirt suit that probably cost more than the bar's entire liquor license. francesca, who had finally come out of her brooding, grieving phase, had chosen a blinding, blingy silver sequin dress. it was an incredible outfit, completely ruined by the massive, thick velcro neck collar that kept her chin pinned strictly toward the ceiling.
you took your seat at a vinyl booth in the far corner, the springy leather squeaking beneath you. your bodyguards immediately stood erect like stone columns at the edge of the table, their arms crossed, glaring death threats at a group of regulars by the pool table.
neither ursula nor francesca seemed even remotely comfortable or functional. the air smelled faintly of stale beer and burnt maple syrup. but before they could even complain, you spotted a familiar waiter across the room.
"WILSON!!!!" you chirped, raising a hand and projecting at a volume ursula had absolutely never heard from you before.
a skinny, overworked waiter in a stained apron jogged over, blinking in surprise. "hey! l/n! long time no see."
"you too!!! alright, let's have a round of dirty martinis, one each to start with, and keep the beam me up scottys coming" you ordered smoothly, not even needing to look at the sticky, laminated menu. "and bring out some bacon strips, stuffed mushroom caps, oooj, maybe hot wings, fries, or onion rings... you know what, just bring it all."
the dive bar—or restaurant, or whatever hybrid it was—was loud and chatty. classic rock songs played through a crackling speaker dangling from the wall in a corner. ursula gingerly hovered her manicured fingers over the scratched wooden table, looking as though she expected to contract a disease from a single tough.
she and francesca shared a glance.
two cheers later, the thick shroud of social discomfort completely fell off, and the four of you found yourselves settling into a loud, incredibly nice harmony. the table was already littered with empty martini glasses and grease-stained napkins.
"wait, wait, wait," you laughed, leaning over your dirty martini, pointing a french fry at the latina. "you have never, never hooked up with a stranger?"
francesca did her best to shake her head. "that is beneath me"
"i mean... now is as good a time as any."
so… two heavily layered shots of a 'beam me up scotty' later, the three of you hid shamelessly behind the monolith of your largest danforth bodyguard. you peeked around his massive black-suited shoulder, watching a nervous yet giddy francesca approach the jukebox.
she tapped on the shoulder of some random college guy who was frankly too buzzed to realise he'd just been chosen as the subject. neck collar or not, francesca was an undeniably stunning woman.
within ten seconds, she had him pinned slightly against the machine, and that was how francesca had her very first, hilariously awkward make-out moment with a stranger in a dive bar.
"mierda, i am never doing that again," she croaked a minute later, trotting back to the booth with her cheeks flushed bright red, wiping her lips frantically with the back of her hand.
"you are absolutely doing it again eventually, aren't you?"
francesca did not deny it; she only ever smiled, a genuine, unburdened look on her face.
unsure of what to order next, the four of you spent the next few minutes fiercely quarreling over the sticky menu, trying to pick the next round. every option was a hard no for someone and a enthusiastic yes for another. ursula refused anything with artificial blue dye, meghana wanted something fruity, and you wanted something heavy.
finally, you realised the easiest way to pick was to find the one with the funniest sounding name, purely for the sake of it.
thus, a massive, foaming pitcher of dunkelweizen was placed before you. it tasted absurdly, overwhelmingly wheaty—almost like liquid sourdough bread—making all of your faces simultaneously cringe in disgust after the first sip, and immediately triggering a game of 'never have i ever'
"never have i ever," meghana started, leaning forward on her elbows, her starfish-patterned top catching the neon glare, "gone snorkelling"
you and ursula sat perfectly still, but francesca—after a confused beat—took a sip of the thick dunkelweizen, her neck brace shifting slightly. "i snorkeled once. in a private grotto in capri."
"okay, my turn. never have i ever... been arrested," you said, taking a bite of a fried mushroom cap. both ursula and francesca calmly raised their glasses and took a synchronised sip.
you and meghana stared at them. "wait, really?"
"it barely counts," ursula clarified smoothly, setting her glass down with total chanel-clad composure. "a minor corporate espionage misunderstanding in zurich. i never actually stepped foot inside a cell. the danforth legal team had the bail paid and the records deleted seconds after the handcuffs were on."
"same," francesca croaked through her straw. "except mine was an illegal weapons transport in bogota. the chief of police took one look at my father's name on the wire transfer and gave me a ride back to my hotel in his cruiser."
meghana’s jaw was practically on the sticky floor. "you guys live in a movie. okay, francesca, go."
"you have never been to a convenience store?"
"why would i?" francesca defended herself, her silver sequins shimmering as she gestured with a bacon strip. "everything is brought to the estate. if i want a snack, a chef makes it. what even goes on in a convenience store?"
"boy, we are taking you to a 7-eleven after this," you muttered.
ursula swirled the remains of her drink, then said, "never have i ever... asset-stripped a rival council family's offshore holding company just because their heir annoyed me at a gala."
francesca drank immediately, letting out a dark chuckle. "he deserved it. he was a prick."
"he truly was," ursula agreed, raising her glass to her cousin.
the night rolled on pretty hilariously over your conveyor belt of drinks and junk food.
then you finally left the scene, packing the rest of the cold onion rings into a greasy brown paper bag. you stayed completely true to your word and marched the drunken bridal party of four straight over to a nearby 7-eleven.
you and meghana burst into absolute, uncontrollable cackles the second francesca stepped inside. she stared down the candy aisle with a look of profound, existential horror.
"why is everything under five dollars?" she whispered as she squinted at a bag of sour gummies.
"is it toxic? is this how the government controls the lower classes?"
"it's called... affordability, amiga," you choked out, tossing a bag of jalapeño and carolina reaper cheetos into her arms.
you made her try a cheap can of canned a&w root beer, which she cracked open with her thumb, took one hesitant sip through her plastic straw, and immediately gagged. "this is carbonated toothpaste."
when you walked back outside, your chauffeur immediately hurried to open the heavy door of the idling danforth limousine, politely insisting that you all get back into its safety, but the crisp night air felt too good, and you were far too buzzed to sit still.
"nope. we are walking," you declared, waving him off.
your stone-faced bodyguards had no choice but to adjust to the change of plans. they followed briskly at a designated ten-foot radius, their hands resting near their waistbands, trying to look incredibly intimidating while watching four utterly drunk girls waddle like helpless ducks down the cracked pavement.
"okay, okay, wait," meghana grinned, her eyes bright with gossip. "we talked about rich people stuff, but we need real tea. what is it actually like being with titus? because he looks like he could... murder."
ursula let out a sharp, uncharacteristic snort from behind her. "please englighten us on what it's like being with my brother."
and then well, the floodgates opened.
"he has the emotional maturity of a rottweiler," you started, waving a piece of chocolate for emphasis. "if i'm out of his sight for more than twenty minutes, he starts scanning and sniffing the whole manor. he's like a dog looking at me like im ham, you know."
ursula raised her eyebrow.
"he's never beating the dog allegations, okay?" you pled your case and well, with a shrug she let you.
"you think that is bad?" ursula interjected, "i have had to deal with the man barking at a piece of lace. lace, y/n. because he thought it looked too much for your skin."
"awwwwww," meghana cooed.
"he is a giant child," you giggled, leaning heavily against ursula's shoulder as you waddled forward. "he tries to look so dark and brooding in front of the lawyer, but the second the door closes, he's a pouty messsss."
ursula was quietly vibrating with laughter, her thumb pressing stop on the recording. it was, without a doubt, the most genuine, unhinged fun she had ever had with any other woman in her high-society circle.
"no no, listen to me. one time, he didn't move from my bed, demanded i scratch his head because 'he was feeling something something'."
"are you sure he's not just... ageing?" asked francesca, who surprisingly was okay with sharing chips from the same bag with meghana, someone she'd only met hours ago, someone who was miles away from her status.
you groaned, taking another bite of the cheap chocolate as the alcohol sloshed around happily in your system. "the man has exactly two modes: underworld mafia, and a big, touch-starved block of granite."
"true. when titus was a child, and he realised he liked being hugged, he didn't want to ask for it. because our father thought it was emasculating. so titus paid one of our maids to hug him every two hours."
"no fucking way," you gasped.
meghana patted your shoulder. "mmmkay, but look, we're all thinking it. the guy is built like a brick wall based on what i saw. on a scale of one to ten, purely on a… physical level... what are we working with here? give me the rating."
you blushed hard, earning hoots and nudges from the others.
francesca let out a dry, raspy chuckle, "when i was... like a pequeña, i thought he was muy cariño, si."
"really?" asked ursula. it was, rather refreshing to know a bit more about her, even though their families never say eye-to-eye, none of it was her fault. she was simply born into it. just like titus and ursula.
"so he's a textbook ten?" asked meghana.
"oh, si si. shoulder to waist ratio muy bien. shame about the personality."
"please," ursula scoffed. "if we're being objective, his vascularity is ridiculous."
you yelled, pointing your half eaten chocolate bar at ursula. "no, trust me, all that time we were training in the gym, he's dripping sweat, looking like sex on legs and then he opens his mouth and blurts soomethng like 'baby, the lawyer made me read three paragraphs today. head hurts. kiss it better.' what a bait and switch my god."
"he does not say that!" meghana gasped, her jaw dropping.
"he does. and the worst part is,, i like how needy he isssss," you whined, cheeks red that had nothing to do with the alcohol nor the cold air. "he can be so sooo pathetic and i fucking love it."
"i give the body a twelve out of ten. the brain? a solid, loving two," you summarised.
"okay, blame it on the drinks. but... what's the situation down there?" meghana asked.
all the women groaned, though there were grins all around.
you gawked, slapping her across the shoulder. "you did not just ask me that!"
"come onnnn, might as welllll," she pled.
you turned to ursula for help.
"i mean... it'll come in handy when i have to embarrass him."
"and i've seen the man naked more than i had to since we were children. i'm glad someone else is too."
after grumble of protest, you groaned. "fineee. he's..." you pursed your lips, licking them a little and earning ooohs from the ladies. you covered your face with your hand, chuckling along iwth them.
"GIRL GO GET SOMEEEEE," meghana beamed, shaking your shoulder.
"no pero how is he in bed?"
"oh my god, i'm not discussing my sex life with you."
"okay but the age gap thing is hot. am i wrong to say that?" asked meghana, her voice trailing off into a giggle as she almost tripped over a crack.
poor girl. if that was the most she could consider 'wrong', she was perfectly safe insulated from the actual bloody wrongdoings you and titus were responsible for.
you let out a soft, hazy laugh. "i don't mind. he's... surprisingly easy to be with. like. yeah he doesn't always get my references and our tastes are very different."
"he really is," you continued, your voice dropping a bit into a fond, drunken mumble as you stared down at your brown boots. "like, the second i say i'm too tired or when i've been in heels too long, he just scoops me up without a word. he doesn't care about his pride too much. he just… lets himself be soft. it is nice. it makes all the other terrifying stuff bearable."
♬⋆.˚ dancing queen (mamma mia!); meryl streep, julie walters, christine baranski,
as the four of you walked, you stumbled upon someone else's garden wedding reception. a beautifully lit white gazebo stood in the center of a manicured lawn, people dancing in massive, joyous waves to a lively song playing from a proper sound system.
for a long moment, you stopped on the pavement to watchthem. a sudden heavy ache settled in your chest. you found yourself wondering… your own wedding would never have that kind of pure, unadulterated joy. it would never have a large, chaotic crowd of smiling family members and genuine friends. yuor guest list consisted entirely of council heads, cults, blood-sealed obligations, and a permanent place in titus's life—one you could never be cured of. no matter the fleeting happiness you had been feeling a few minutes prior, the sheer weight of your impending wedding scared you more than ever.
but before the dark thoughts could pull you under, you felt meghana's warm hand close tightly around yours. with a bright reckless grin, she dragged you straight through the open gate and into the edge of the dancing crowd. ursula and francesca exchanged a single, bewildered glance before following right behind you anyway. of course, your concerned bodyguards were on your tail, sticking out like sore thumbs.
you took a hasty sip of the last of your canned beer, tossing the can into a bin before shedding your borrowed worries. for who could truly, really ever resist letting go and vibing to 'dancing queen'?
the next few minutes were a blur of absolute bliss. it was strange, it was vibrant, and it was still completely amazing bouncing up and down on the grass, your hands swaying wildly to the music alongside ursula, francesca, and your best friend. you were right in the thick of a whole crowd of happy, energetic women who didn't know who you were, and didn't care.
"my best friend's getting married too!!!" meghana cried at the top of her lungs above the thumping bass of the music, throwing her arms wildly into the air.
instead of being booed out or chased off the private property by the actual wedding guests, more loud, drunken cheers erupted from the crowd. the people dancing around you immediately hooted, clapped, and threw their hands up in solidarity, completely absorbing your little rogue bridal party into the collective celebration.
and oh, how her happiness was contagious.
you caught ursula actually jumping on the beat, her chanel suit, now perfectly wrinkled and dirtied, bouncing right along with her, while francesca managed to wave her arms in the air even as her stiff neck collar kept her looking straight at the stars.
any lingering shadow of the council, the lawyer, or the grim final game vanished entirely under the twinkling fairy lights. in that little pocket of time, you realised: how impossibly hard life got, nothing was ever wholly bad. and no matter the terrifying, life-or-death circumstances under which you had met them, you had somehow found new friendships once more.
for one entirely liberating, beautiful moment, titus danforth wasn't on your mind at all. there was only the merry and cheer of dancing with your girls—drunk, blushing, and utterly, wonderfully carefree.
meanwhile, on his end of the city, titus was currently stuck in the absolute depths of the world's most boring and dead bachelor party. it was the exact same routine he had endured a hundred times before. expensive cuban cigars, high-stakes poker tables, and top-shelf liquor in a posh, dimly lit vip club he had been a card-carrying member to for years.
a small crowd of men he loosely called 'acquaintances'—mostly young heirs and business associates—circled him under the guise of celebration. but really, titus could tell they were better off focusing on the exquisiteness before them.
all he could think about was you. were you having a good time? was ursula being a nightmare? he honestly wished your sigil would just start hurting, or that the stupid ring the lawyer gave you to wear would magically vanish so you would run straight back to him.
in short, he was completely miserable without you. he had not seen your face or heard your voice in two whole days. and the wedding was literally tomorrow. what if the pressure had gotten to you? what if you had finally realised how insane his family was and ran away?
unable to take the suffocating atmosphere inside the lounge for another second, he excused himself and stepped out onto the concrete balcony overlooking the glittering night scape. pulling his phone from his tailored trousers, he dialled your number and waited anxiously for you to pick up.
except, when the line finally clicked open, you sounded suspiciously like a gruff, heavily built man.
titus gripped the balcony railing, his jaw tightening instantly. "the fuck? where is y/n? put y/n on right now."
he figured you must have handed your phone over to your assigned security detail for the night. it must have been ursula's paranoid advice.
"uh..." the bodyguard hesitated over the receiver.
"uh? what, are you deaf? i said put her on!" titus growled.
"i am… sorry, sir, but… she is currently…" there was background scuffle on the other end of the line, followed by the distant, muffled sound of a crowd roaring in approval. "…she is arm wrestling a local man named kirk, sir. she has just won, sir."
titus closed his eyes, letting out a heavy, deflated sigh as he rubbed his throbbing temples with his free hand. he did not even know what to say to that. he cut the call without another word, leaning his massive forearms against the cold stone railing to sulk in the dark balcony air, completely left behind while his bride-to-be was apparently running out in town.
he had never missed you this much in his life.
he sulked all the way back home to the manor, his expensive silk tie loosened and hanging limply around his neck, a half-empty bottle of high-end cognac heavy in his coat pocket. he felt a deep, radiating sadness that he simply could not separate from his body. it was completely ridiculous. what even was this? a 49 year old man, capable of brutality unimaginable—pining miserably for his fiancée. pouting like some kid because she wasn't around.
he didn't even have the energy or the desire to walk through the grand front doors. instead, he slumped right down on the cold stone steps of the manor entrance, staring out at the empty, shadow-drenched driveway. since you weren't inside, the whole place felt dead anyway. he sat there with his broad shoulders hunched over his knees, looking for all the world like an abandoned puppy left in a damp cardboard box.
pulling out his phone, his heavy, scarred thumbs began to aggressively spam your lock screen with increasingly needy, utterly unsophisticated text messages.
SORRY IGNORE MY PFP MY FRIEND SET IT ON MY PHOEN
he stared fixedly at the glowing screen, his chin resting heavily in his palm as he waited for the little typing bubbles to appear. he didn't care how pathetic it looked, and he didn't care if the morning dew ruined his custom-tailored trousers—if he couldn't have you in his arms tonight, he was fully prepared to stay stubbornly rooted to those cold stone steps until the sun rose and the chapel doors finally opened.
it was the late afternoon of the wedding, and as usual, whatever the rest of the civilised world did, the danforths did the absolute opposite. black wedding dress, evening nuptials.
you stood on a small velvet platform in the center of the spacious dressing room, two quiet maids meticulously smoothing out the heavy, layered silk of your skirt while a third carefully adjusted the cascading dark tulle of your veil. only ursula danforth could have had two separate haute couture elie saab dresses ruthlessly cut up and restitched just to create a custom masterpiece for you.
even though she was technically on the groom's side of the aisle, ursula hadn't minded spending the afternoon in your changing room, sipping champagne and critiquing the maids' needlework.
and it was a very good thing she was there.
because one moment you were having your hem pinned, and the next, the heavy double doors violently flew open. a completely disheveled, wild-eyed sebastian burst through the threshold, his face contorted in absolute fury as three burly security guards lunged forward, trying to grab his shoulders and drag him back out into the hall.
"you... wretched... fucking... bi—" he roared, his voice cracking with pure venom before a guard's hand clamped over his mouth, forcefully hauling him backward. the heavy oak doors slammed shut once again, cutting off his muffled screams.
"is he going to be a problem?" you asked, your voice tighter than you intended as you stared at the closed doors.
ursula let out a long, irritated sigh, rubbing her temple. "trust me, the moment he found out about the arrangement, he's been a giant pain in the ass for security. he is... absolutely going to be a problem."
"but he can't technically meddle with the plan, right? legally?"
"you're well above eighteen," ursula replied smoothly, her sharp gaze meeting yours in the mirror. "it's not up to him to decide whom you marry."
sure, sure, okay, that was... reassuring.
as the maids went back to work, a cold wave of reality suddenly hit you, washing over the lingering warmth of last night's bachelorette party. what the hell were you actually doing? you were getting married to titus. to a ruthless, near-satanic billionaire who commanded an underworld cult.
the sudden, vivid memories of the games flashed behind your eyes—the terror, the blood, the agonising pain of your injuries, which were still throbbing faintly beneath layers of professional concealer. you felt nauseated as you looked at your reflection in the black gown. you felt like throwing up right there.
but you forced a breath down, gripping the fabric of your skirt. you didn't have to face the rest of your life right now. all you had to do was get through the day.
♬⋆.˚ the yellow house; clint mansell
if there was any, any sign that you needed to make better life choices, the universe was currently sending them to you in wholesale.
the sky above was a bruising grey, dark and stormy clouds gathering like an ominous duvet over the chapel's stone spires. crows the colour of your dress, circled overhead in lazy, jagged loops, eventually settling atop the dried, skeletal branches of nearby trees to stare down at you with single, tilted black eyes.
on the other side of the danforth estate, the winds howled violently across the vast, bleak moors. you used to think the woods surrounding the property were creepy, but these moors were simply morbid—a desolate, wind-battered expanse straight out of wuthering heights.
since you had no family left to give you away, and asking sebastian was most certainly out of the question unless you wanted a murder at the altar, you stood entirely alone on the stone steps of the chapel. the grand, heavy wooden doors remained closed before you. at any moment, they would swing open, and you would have to walk down that aisle.
you turned your head back, your black veil whipping wildly around your face as you stared out at the windswept moors. a desperate urge spiked in your chest. could you run?
even if you tried, your sigil was still binding. you briefly considered the logistics—you could technically live without a hand if it rotted off from breaking the spell. but then the reality caught up: if you ran, you wouldn't be married into the danforth protection. you would still be a part of your own family lineage, which meant you would likely just blow up or be hunted down by the council anyway.
wheel of thought creaked and finally halted to a dead stop in your brain.
no. there was no turning back. you were doing this.
the heavy wooden doors dragged open with a low groan. for a split second, your eyes saw absolutely nothing—just a vast expanse of darkness punctuated by blurry, flickering spots of pale yellow light. then, as your vision adjusted, you slowly stepped forward into the chapel. clutch into your hands was a meticulously arranged bouquet of dried flowers. it was an eerie arrangement that oddly, was exactly how you had been feeling since the very moment you were entrapped into the danforth family.
your eyes flitted anxiously across the pews, scanning the room. you looked at the faces of guests you had never seen before in your life, all of them dressed in strict, somber black. even the people you did recognize looked less like wedding guests and more like grim reapers holding invisible sickles, waiting for a harvest.
then, your gaze landed on meghana. she sat near the front, offering you perhaps the only genuine, innocent smile in the entire room.
the moment your eyes met hers, a piercing, suffocating guilt began to burn inside you. you felt a sickening twist in your stomach for lying to her—and for what you were keeping hidden about david, too. she still had no idea about the full truth. she didn't know that the very man standing at the end of this altar had killed him.
but the guilt truly settled in cold when you realised: you were completely okay with knowing that. you were barely even disturbed by it anymore.
with every step you took down the aisle, it only solidified. did you even look the same as you did when you first met them? you looked down at your hands, hidden beneath the delicate black lace of your gloves. you had blood on them now. it had been entirely unintentional at first—a desperate bid for survival—but lately, it had been out of pure volition.
maybe you didn't belong in the light anymore. maybe you truly did deserve to be a danforth.
when you reached the altar, stepping up onto the stone platform, you finally turned to face him. you felt his large, heavy hands gently lift the dark tulle of the veil off your face, pinning it back over your hair, over the crown of thorns.
his eyes carried a completely different colour entirely tonight—a shade darker than you had ever seen them before. it felt more and more like he could see straight through you, reading the profound conflict and terror written into the lines of your face.
"nominee, satani, lucifer, excelsis, bestow upon these your blessing, in the name of satan. lucifer, belial, leviathan," the lawyer's voice carried clearly through the thick, incense-like fumes of your thoughts.
"through this marriage, let the old bonds cease and let the new be born. from the house of l/n, y/n l/n offers in body and spirit," the lawyer continued. he reached forward, pricking the palm of your hand with one sharp end of a double-nibbed silver pen. the metal bit into your skin, drawing a dark bead of blood. he pressed the nib into the red drop and pointed toward the heavy parchment. with a slightly steadying breath, you signed your name. you did it.
"from the house of danforth, titus danforth offers in body and spirit."
titus didn't hesitate. he signed eagerly, his signature bold and sweeping, his hazel eyes fixed entirely on you, drinking in your undeniable beauty in the black gown.
"any vows you have prepared, now would be the time to present them."
titus looked down at you with an earnestness you honestly thought would be impossible for a man like him to convey.
"none of these people deserve to hear what i want to confess to you," he began, his deep voice carrying a quiet, resonant gravity through the silent chapel. "so let me say this... you slapped my hand that day in the hospital and... it still burns today when i think of you. you are seared into my heart. nothing, not even me, can prevent the calamity of my falling in love with you. i fear it's an eternal feeling. i don't know if you'd believe me, but my life was purgatory before i met you."
he leaned in slightly, his warm breath brushing against your cheek as he whispered for your ears only: "...and now my life is you."
you gulped, your throat tight. in the short burst of nanoseconds that passed as he pulled away, you thought of a million things to say to him. your mind raced in a total panic. how on earth were you supposed to top that? you hadn't actually expected him to be this deeply, genuinely in love with you.
you took a soft, grounding breath, looking up into his dark gaze. "you… uh… probably should have a tornado or a hurricane named after you. huh…" you let yourself smile a little.
"i spent a great part of my life trying to forget you. erase you from my memory. when i met you again, and you were just... not twenty-something anymore... i didn't think i'd survive you."
titus’s lips twitched, a little mischievous, incredibly fond glint appearing in his eye.
"but i did," you continued, your voice growing steadier. "and i'm glad to admit that i was wrong about you. i hope you continue to surprise me with your love, danforth. because now you're gonna have to survive me."
a wave of hushed, amused laughter rippled through the grim pews of the chapel.
the lawyer raised his hands, closing the heavy leather ledger before him. "your vows, being made by intent, i now pronounce you… man and wife... hail satan!"
"hail satan!" you heard titus assert.
as did the audience. you weren't sure how it felt. you didn't say it, and you called that a win.
"you may kiss the bride."
titus' fingers cradled your face like you were frailty, only he knew you weren't. he knew he was holding a flame that couldn't be put out. his breath ghosted over yours once... and then he kissed you. and though his lips were slower, softer than ever, though that kiss was being witnessed by many, you could tell every part of him was screaming and writhing to have more.
your mind was adrift in many places during the post-wedding reception, a hazy cocktail of adrenaline and pure exhaustion clouding your head. thankfully, titus had actually listened to your explicit instructions denying any animal or human sacrifices for the celebration. sure, he had thrown a miniature, broad-shouldered tantrum in his study about "proper tradition" when you first brought it up, but in the end, he had listened to you.
you stood beside him near the towering glass champagne pyramid, staring down at the brand-new ring of your finger. a peculiar piece of jewellery to sya the very least—a matching larger band resting on his finger.
"pure obsidian," titus pointed out, leaning down to your ear, his large hand coming up to rest on the small of your back. "you see those red streaks on the inside of the band? that's my blood. forged directly into the gold."
you raised an eyebrow, looking from the ring up to his smug, handsome face. what?
"yours is in mine," he added, a deeply satisfied, possessive grin spreading across his lips as he kissed his ring.
well. that no longer surprised you. at this point in your relationship, a little blood-forging was practically a vanilla romantic gesture.
before you could even formulate a response, the lawyer materialised smoothly before the two of you, with his... goat-like headgear.
"thank you. mr le bail's finest gift to me. and... congratulations," the lawyer droned.
"as my personal gift to you, given that you are now legally bound to mr. danforth, you no longer require the sigil to enforce your compliance."
with a sharp, effortless flick of his pale wrist, a sudden, fleeting warmth bloomed against your skin. you looked down in real-time as the red sigil faded into nothingness.
you let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding for months, sighing the biggest, most dramatic sigh in the entire history of sighs.
"dude," you gasped, staring at your clean wrist in absolute awe, then at the lawyer. "i could literally kiss you right now."
your hand preventively flew up, clapping directly over titus' face, forcefully turning his growing, frowny pout away from the lawyer before he could snap the man's neck for a harmless joke.
so, there you stood. a newlywed in an elie saab mourning gown, happily suffocating your terrifying new husband with one hand while holding a glass of vintage champagne in the other.
you flashed a brilliant, blindingly fake smile at every passing council member who you knew fundamentally wished you were beheaded, yet were forced to offer you their deepest congratulations anyway.
in many ways, the wedding worked out fine.
you were free of sebastian, free of the sigil that threatened to cut off your wrist, under the protection of the danforths, and possibly... a future winner of the council's high seat. the final games weren't done, after all.
♬⋆.˚ death of peace of mind; bad omens (I WAS PRESERVING THIS SONG FOR THIS EXACT MOMENT SINCE CHAPTER 1 I KID U NOT.)
the ceremony had ended in the absolute dead of night. outside, the air was bitter and howling, the wind rattling the heavy stained-glass windows of the estate—honestly, it was just the perfect weather to sign oneself into a high-security asylum.
instead, your commitment paper was a marriage license, and your cell for the night, and your life, was titus danforth's master bedroom.
and oh, he was more than happy to roll out the red carpet for you. from the moment you left the chapel to the exact second the bedroom doors clicked shut behind you, he had been repeating those two words like a prayer.
"mrs danforth," he murmured again.
then again. and again. he simply loved the taste of it. his hand grasped yours, thumb tracing the obsidian on your finger, drinking in the sight of HIS ring on your finger, and his name in your life.
he didn't waste a second. not one.
for days he was separated from you, the love of his life, now his wife. he wanted to devour you and seemed like you did too, given how you couldn't stop staring at his lips.
he leaned in, teeth npping at your lips. he let them brush over your skin, your jaw, your neck. his teeth sank into the flesh of your shoulder. bite! he licked the gasp off you, soothing your skin with his tongue. if he could, he'd eat you, eat the omni-consuming beauty that radiated off you.
you shuddered, gripping his shoulders. your lips parted to let a swoon escape through, and then they met his once more, begging for kisses that could ruin your life or prolong it.
titus groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down your back to grip your hips through your dress. he oulled you against him. his mouth moved greedily over yours, demandingly, practically no space for air between you.
he couldn't bare parting from you. "mrs... danforth," he purred into the kiss. "my wife..."
his hands roamed your curves, squeezing and kneading every inch of you.
"my fucking wife," he panted as he kissed you senseless. his hands finally fumbled with the fastenings of your dress, desperate to reveal more of your skin to his hunger.
he peeled your dress off, let it pool at your feet. he tossed your veil aside, took off the crown you had on you. oh how his eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight of your lingerie inside.
"fuckkkk, baby... this the one you bought with ursula?"
the delicate black lace of your bra, tits spilling out plenty. he reached out, calloused fingers tracing the swell of your mounds, feeling your nipples pebble under his touch.
"divine," he rasped, licking his lips.
he dipped his head, leaving open mouthed kisses over your breasts as he shrug off his own suit and vest. he sucked gently, then not so gently. he brought his hand back up to tug one cup down and then captured the pert nipple between his lips. his tongue swirled around it.
you helped him undress, your hands then running over his rough freckled body. the room was dim but even through the lack of light, you could see him, see the age on his body anew. and it aroused you just the same.
his chest rumbled with excitement. he revelled in your touch, int eh way you seemed to find beauty in his ruggedness. his body responded eagerly to your caresses.
his cock throbbed with need, already leaking precum, in anticipation of being buried inside you finally.
his eyes bore into yours intensely as he grabbed your face again, kissed you till your lips were swollen, wet in each other's spit. he guided you back to his bed and pushed you down on the silky sheets. he crawled on top of you. titus was ravenous for you. but he was just as eager to please you. you were his wife after all.
his body pressed onto yours with all his weight. his fingers slid down between your legs, parting through your slit, smearing the wetness as they stroked you.
"you belong to me now, baby. for life," his voice rumbled in your ear.
he freed unclasped your bra finally, freeing your breasts. his eyes lingered on your boobs which bounced a little. his eyes trailed down to your panties, his own hand inside them. he slowly tugged them off too, inhaling your scent. the musky aroma of your arousal filled his nostrils as he brought the damp fabric to his face.
he was no expert, but he'd know that scent anywhere.
"oh, she's realllly needy today," he murmured into your panties. he was overwhelmed by his instinct that told him you were just perfectly fertile.
his fingers stroked you, then sank into you. he pumped them in and out to draw out your pleasure, but also to wet you more for him. you let out moans after moans, just for him. your hands curled arond his neck, around his bicep.
"titussss," you whined. "need you..."
"need me to what, baby? tell me," he panted against your lips, fingers working you extra deliciously, wet squelches echoing between you. his thumb circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to send sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.
"nnnhhh... you know whatttt"
he chuckled, leaning into suck at your neck. he withdrew his hand just a bit, causing you to whimper, then slammed it back in. the force of just his fingers was enough to drop your jaw agape.
"nooooo, baby, i don'ttttt," he mimicked you.
he leaned in and spat in your open mouth. you swallowed without being asked.
"that's my good girl," he purred.
"nnhhh... fuck me. just fuck me. i need you inside me titus."
"say the magic word." oh this bastard wanted to play games.
you slapped his cheek hard. "listen to your wife, danforth. fuck me. now."
titus grinned at your words, his dick pulsing and twitching, harder and wetter than ever. he pulled his fingers out of you, sucking them and licking them clean.
he parted your thighs, settling between them and slowly lined his throbbing cock against your hole. he slid in slowly, groaning with untainted pleasure as he sank in. his eyes rolled back, fully sheathed inside your velvety walls.
he paused for a moment, letting him feel embraced by your warmth. he looked down at you.
"i'm gonna fuck my wife now."
he thrust once, then twice, then began to move, setting a pace that allowed him to savour every feeling of your gummy walls against the veins of his cock. his hands came to rest on both sides of your head as he looked down at you.
"oh, fuck, yeah just like that," he hissed, hot breath fanning your face. "take me... take," thrust! "your" thrust! "husband" thrust!
he looked down once more, watching how your glistening pussy sucked in his cock.
the bed shook beneath you as he slammed into you. his cock pistoned in and out of you, each drag of his length sent waves of ecstasy through your body. your mind recalled you and the girls trying to rate how titus was packed, how he was in bed and you wished they knew. knew how good he fucked you, how hard and rough he could be and how much you were a whore for it.
his gaze remained fixed on your bouncing tits, his own chest heaving up and down with vigour. the sight and sound of your pleasured moans, the way your body responded to his thrusts only spurred him on.
"look at you," he growled. "so perfect f'me, baby. made to be fucked like this. by me. by your husband."
he puncutated his words with a deep stroke, grinding his pelvis against yours. sweat dripped down his body already, muscles straining.
his hand slid between you and rubbed circles over your clit, hell, he spelled out his name over it. each rub sent jolts of pleasure and made you slicken even more. that only got you wetter and he slid in even more, fully bottoming out.
"godddd yessss," he groaned. "so fucking wet for me, baby."
his fat cock stretched your pussy to perfection, and he loved how warm it felt, just the right sleeve for his length. skin slapped against skin, ragged panting and your lewd moans bouncing off the walls of his room.
he picked up his speed, his balls slapped against your ass. he kept rubbing your clit to amplify your pleasure, and in return his.
"fuck... this greedy pussy was made for my cock. oh, she wasss," he purred, his thrusts turning erratic.
he didn't want it to end, not at all. not until he got what he wanted.
he hooked your thigh one by one over his arm and pushed them up up up, folding them back until your knees pressed against your breasts. the position left you wide open, pussy engulfing his cock, welcoming it like a solider.
"remember this, mrs danforth," he panted. "you're gonna give me an heir."
you didn't know why that thought turned you on so much. up until the evening, marriage seemed like a distant reality for you, yet now here you were, folded in a mating press under titus danforth, and all you could do was nod your head and moan out a sultry 'yes'.
"yeah? you want that, hm?" his hips snapped forward, thrusts picking up an impatient pace as he pounded into you.
"fffuck...yes.... yes yes yes," you mewled in his ear.
his grip on your thighs tightened. his fingers dug into your flesh as he continued to rut into you, into oblivion. your whiny cry and the grip your cunt had on his cock did not a single thing to help his case.
"very good, mrs danforth," he grunted, thrusting, rutting into you. oh what a fortunate and generous angle. he hit spots he'd never touched before, split you open like never before.
"spread out like a fucking feast, look at you," he rasped in awe and lust alike. "so beautiful."
the slick sounds of his cock driving in and out of your filled the room. each thrust brought you closer to your orgasm. his nails left indents on yur inner thighs as he kept them parted and pressed against your chest.
"fuck, this body... it's meant for this. meant to carry my child." he groaned. "you'll give me an heir, won't you?"
he was balls deep inside your heat, slick walls clenching around him greedily. his eyes glinted with hunger as he slammed into you over and over to make his point.
"yeahhh, i'm gonna fill you up with my cum..." he thrust hard a few times. "gonna breed you..."
lewd moans spilled out of you as he kept fucking into you. his weight crushed your thighs back onto your chest. his tongue slid in your mouth once more, kissing you wet, sloppy, laced with promises he meant to keep.
"need to, ngggghhh, stuff you full of my cum, baby," he panted and groaned against your lips. his vision blurred at the edges, and he knew he was close.
he buried his face in the crook of your neck, hips rocking into you. your body convulsed around him, walls fluttering like a butterfly. he gritted his teeth. he wanted to savour every second of it, wanted to milk you dry before taking his own satisfaction.
"come for me, baby," he urged you as he continued to rut into you. "fuck... come on my cock."
your legs shook, toes curled in and your back arched into him as you quivered and clenched around his cock. you came with a loud, ecstatic moan. your tremors only turned him on further. there was a whole new level of pleasure in making his wife come.
seeing you come was all the sign he needed to bury himself to the hilt inside you, giving himself a few good pumps before he let go and came inside you, releasing a thick load of his seed inside your walls.
he collapsed on top of you, keeping your thighs high up. "gotta...." he panted. "let it take..."
he could feel his cum leak out around his softening cock, he was sure your inner thighs were a sticky mess and he couldn't have it any other way.
he lifted his head to look down at said mess. "look at that..."
he hoisted himself up, and watched his creamy cum trickle from your pussy onto the sheets. he swept his thumb through the cum oozing from you and pushed it back in, plugging the space his cock was still occupying.
he looked at you, at your fluttering eyelids and panting mouth. he leaned in to press kisses over your face, on your lips, your nose. "took everything like my good girl... so proud of you, baby."
he gently pulled out of you, softening member slipping out with a wet squelch. a trickle of his cum followed anyway, but he just pushed it back inside iwth his finger.
god knows how many rounds you went on for, but neither of you got a wink of sleep that night. both of you were a soaking mess by the time you felt you were done.
and like the dutiful husband he now was, he gathered you into his arms and cleaned you up.
"my beautiful angel," he murmured. "you did so good. let me take care of you, hm?"
he cleaned every inch of you, his hands moving tenderly. there was something sanctimonious about it. he memorised every inch of your skin as he cleaned it up. he peppered kisses wherever he saw space.
truly hadn't believed it until this exact moment. you were married to him. you were his wife. his. ghe reality of it seemed to physically hit him as he looked down at you, dainty and softened in his arms in bed, his shirt on you. legs bare and tangled in his as you traced the veins on his arm absentmindedly.
nad though the moment was delicate, fiercely intimate, and thick with a desire he'd been suppressing for days, his mind couldn't help but drift. behind those shadowed eyes, all he could think of was the next game.
because it was a danforth game. the family legacy. the hunt.
for so long the arena had been barren, and he had to watch you play as his nemesis. he had to hold back his majesty, his power, all for you. and now it was going to be an absolute honour to have you alongside him.
as his wife. his partner. his huntress.
the hunt is coming. so drop in the comments what (pain) you would like done to sebastian and i shall make it happen. im taking orders.
SORRY FOR THE DELAY it is 30th june somewhere. let it be. i am tired. my period just ended, as did any ounce of strength in me. there typos everywhere. i typed most on my laptop, some on my ipad and phone. and some i literally dropped from my notes. dw, this isntt the end of smutty smut.
anyway, comments are loved loved loved, reblogs are always welcome, all my ghost readers; u da real gems
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