"insert some weird quote about flowers"

struggling writer, the chaos on this page is basically what's running through my mind 24/7.

[fanfichubcircuit]

I’m ovulating so let’s make it everyone’s problem.

Thinking a lot about sex with Simon. You don’t know him well but he’s so sweet and beautiful. But the stress he has is getting in the way of him adapting well. He and Ryland are snapping at each other all the time. And really you just want Simon inside you making each other feel good.

He’s holding you up against a wall of the ship your legs wrapped around him as he slides in and out in wet smacks. Both of you are clothed except where you meet to stave off the cold. He stretches you so nicely with his cock moaning into your shoulder.

Rocky rolls by and asks you some questions. You try your best to answer, but your brain is mush. You don’t even think Rocky wants an answer he just wanted an excuse to see what you and Simon are doing. But it wasn’t like you initiated this in some corner of the ship. And Simon doesn’t even acknowledge Rocky. Just groaned as you clenched down when you ‘got caught’. Rocky says something about asking Grace instead and rolls off.

You let yourself float in it until Simon speaks.

“Just 10 more minutes. You can have the Captain after that. We just need…” Simon is gasping for breath now. “Just need some time. Then they can help you with whatever.”

You zone back in enough to see Ryland across the room. His eyes are shocked for a moment before he locks eyes for you.

You’ve known Ryland for months. You wonder what he thinks of his captain letting this new stranger use them. You hold his gaze as you pull Simon deeper into you with your legs.

“Okay.” Ryland tousles his own hair before unzipping his pants pulling out his own cock. “Ten minutes and then we switch.”

[ken-dom]

Hello! What is your take on the geese guys dick sizes/situation?

Lars Lindstrom / Driver / Colt Seavers / Ken / Henry Letham / Holland March / Sierra Six / Ryland Grace / Luke Glanton

∘₊✧ & their dicks!

Anon is out here asking the REAL questions!! Please readers, do not be offended if I've described a Goose dick differently to how youn imagine it, this is just my take on them and I'm open to suggestions because I really do love a fictional dick!!

Content: nsfw, descriptions of dicks, afab!reader, sex, hand jobs, oral (reader and Goose receiving), premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction, hyperspermia, glizz, I mean this is literally all about dicks so y'know... it's cock-use adjacent

∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧ Lars Lindstrom

Lars is big, but he doesn’t know since he has little to no frame of reference, plus no one’s ever seen him naked. He’s seen some racy clips from the porn that Kurt shows him, but the guys in those movies tend to be on the bigger side so Lars just thinks that’s the standard. 

He’s long and thick, uncircumcized, with a light trail of dark golden hair leading down over his lower belly to a natural little bush around the base where you’ll find his neatly tucked balls. He’s pretty too; pale and smooth – and flushes pink at the tip when he gets a little excited.

Lars finds blow jobs a little overwhelming sensory-wise, so more often prefers touching, either over clothes and dry humping, or soft, slow handjobs… until he gets needy and whiny and you move a little faster. It can take Lars some time to recover after an orgasm, the intense sensations staying in his body for a while after, so no matter how much he enjoyed himself with you, he can feel a little touched out – but he will eagerly go for another round of pleasuring you when he’s caught his breath. He has been known to cum untouched while eating you out.

∘₊✧ Driver

Driver is a grower. There is a subtle bulge in his jeans, but when he gets hard it’s frankly unavoidable.

He’s a decently neat size, with a very light amount of blonde hair around the base and well proportioned balls. When he gets hard, he’s a good six inches and girthy, but not intimidatingly so – he’d stretch you just right.

He doesn’t usually wear underwear, finding the sensory aspect of wearing under-layers too restricting when he’s driving and the friction of his jeans can sometimes feel really fucking good. Especially when you kiss him, or even just smile in his direction and he feels himself twitch inside the denim. It doesn’t take much to make him come undone, because he’s deliciously sensitive. He doesn’t mind how you pleasure him and he does have a short refractory period, so it doesn’t take long to go again if he spills too early, and when he does go again, he’s so needy and whiny and intense. He just falls apart with you.

∘₊✧ Colt Seavers

Colt is a monster and has been jokingly compared to a roll of three Coke cans. With the biggest dick of all the geese, he sometimes gets a little lightheaded when he gets a boner.

He’s handsomely thick, has pretty veins that are so sensitive to a gentle touch, and thick dirty-blonde hair at the base following on from a tempting trail.

For a blow job you’ll need both hands along with your mouth to take him completely. He has to take his time when he fucks you because the stretch can be… a lot. But once you’re prepared by his fingers and tongue, and he’s buried deep, he breathes out a low growl of, ‘Fuck you’re so tight baby-’ circling his hips painfully slowly to get you comfortable before he pounds into you.

∘₊✧ Ken

Ken is fascinated with his dick. Having recently gained one when permanently returning to the Real World as an ex-doll, he feels very proud of it.

It’s plastic-perfect, like a dildo that was made to look like a realistic cock. His new dick did come with a small amount of bleach-blonde hair, as neat as the rest of him. He’s perfectly proportioned, big enough to fill you, but not to hurt.

Ken has a great time learning how to jerk off. He also learns that his cum is pink and glittery (affectionately known as Glizz)! With you, he is eager to try anything and everything and has so many questions, and wants to learn everything there is to know about pleasure – yours and his. Ken is frankly insatiable, and will hump you at any time you’re left alone together.

∘₊✧ Henry Letham

Henry doesn’t think too much about sex, unless he’s with the right person who ignites that little flame of desire inside him just the right way. Then, he will get super invested, and jerking off will become a regular routine until you kiss him one day and take his breath away.

He is on the slightly smaller side, and that’s NOT a bad thing. He’s perfectly in proportion, fills you just right, and is pretty – in a sad way, just like him. He has never trimmed or shaved a day in his life, but he would if he thought you’d like it.

He is intense, and fucks you deep and thorough, never satisfied until you’ve come undone at least once – only then will he let himself really feel the pleasure you give him. Henry can take a while to get hard. Unless there’s a very specific kink at play that really gets him just right, he needs the emotional context behind the act to feel right. But he is an eager lover once he gets going, and will shed a tear or two when the resulting orgasm subsides.

∘₊✧ Holland March

Holland has a love-hate relationship with his schwanz. Sometimes it’s hard when he really could do without it, and other times it won’t cooperate.

He’s an impressive length. with an impressive bush of dark brown-blonde hair, and he knows how to use it. His balls are on the larger side and feel so heavy when he hasn’t cum for a while (he likes you to include them when you’re having fun down there).

Holland prefers handjobs to blow jobs because they feel more personal, and therefore more intense, and he is one for romance. He likes to watch you pleasure him, kiss you while you’re touching, feel the caress of your touch while you feel the throb of his desire. With his narrow hips, he’s incredibly skilled at getting the angle just right for you during sex, and making you feel full. You won’t only be full of his dick, though; Holland has hyperspermia, so when he cums, it goes on and on - it’s messy and sexy – copious amounts of his seed pump from his tip, prolonging his orgasm while you try to take it all. But you can’t ever quite manage to, and it will dribble out down your legs or over your chin. Handjob? Be prepared to both get covered in his release.

∘₊✧ Sierra Six

Six is as large as the rest of his body. He knows he’s big, and he’s quite proud of it, but he doesn’t try to impress you with that fact because he really thinks his dick can speak for itself when he’s hard.

He’s handsome, thick, curves up really beautifully when he’s hard, and when he’s had time he will groom his hair just a little bit, although that will get neglected when he’s busy.

Six likes you to take care of him so he can give up control, so he’s happy with whatever you want to do with him as long as you’re having a good time and taking away the prospect of any decision making. He can only do this, though, if he trusts implicitly, so you’re one of very few to ever see this vulnerable side of him and get free reign of how to pleasure him.

∘₊✧ Ryland Grace

Ryland is another Goose who is bigger than he knows, and he’s very modest about it – and about his abilities. He’s relatively inexperienced, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t an enthusiastic lover.

His dick is thick, veiny in a very pretty way, natural hair at the base, and balls that hang just slightly lower than the other Geese.

Ryland moans LOUD. He’s kind of embarrassed about it, but when you touch him, he just melts into pure pleasure and can’t stop himself. He loves to guide you on his cock, sitting back against the headboard or in a chair while you ride him, with his big hands holding your hips in place as he fucks up into you. It’s a very safe way for him to feel a sense of control without taking it away from you completely. And he’s kind of easy to excite – a naughty text here and there will fluster him so much that you can’t send them while he’s at work. He’s hard and leaking from the lightest touch, and he will cum from a handjob in under a minute. But when he’s buried in you, he likes to draw out the pleasure, keeping you still as he essentially edges himself in your pussy.

∘₊✧ Luke Glanton

Luke takes a lot of pride in his body, and his cock is no exception. He wants to be the whole package for you, and his actual package is just delicious.

He is of average size, pale, and has pretty balls. He keeps his hair closely trimmed and there are tattoos down there that you get to discover when you undress him, like unwrapping a birthday present; your favorites are the little loveheart and the lipstick stain left by amorous lips, calling you to kiss him in that exact spot (you discover he moans when you do. He got the tattoo in that spot for a reason).

Luke is open to anything you want to try, and wherever, too – he will drive you to the middle of nowhere to have you suck him off against his bike in nature, or he will eat you out around the back of his trailer when you looked at him that particular way and he couldn’t wait to get you inside. His favorite sexual activity of all, though, is whatever feels the most intimate. He loves to be able to look into your eyes and cum simultaneously because it feels like such a close and special thing to share. He will lay around with you afterward, inevitably getting hard again pretty quickly while you’re laid in his arms talking and kissing, because it feels kinda romantic and he loves that.

[angelzarchive]

Every Breath You Take, Court Gentry x Reader —Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard! Courtland Gentry (Sierra Six) x Politicians daughter! Reader

Synopsis: After a violent break in leaves her shaken and injured, the daughter of a powerful politician is placed under the protection of a man known by a single name: Six.

Cold, controlled, and impossible to read, he is nothing like the polished security detail she’s used to— and nothing like someone she can outright trust.

He thinks she’s a liability. She thinks he’s insufferable. He says nothing at all; she talks too much. Every step, every word, every glance becomes a careful dance of stubbornness and restraint.

But when danger lingers closer than either of them expects, the boundaries between protection and something far more intimate begin to blur…

Genre/ Content: Grumpy x Sunshine romance. Bodyguard/ protector AU. Enemies-to-lovers vibes (initially clashing personalities). Forced proximity/ constant supervision. Fluffy & sarcastic banter. Slow-burn romance. Hurt/ comfort. High-stakes danger/ suspense. Power dynamics/ rich/political family. Reader is a florist, likes to keep away from her father’s business. Protective, broody love interest. Little bit of an age gap but it’s not mentioned and it’s nothing crazy. Violence. Injury/ medical scenes. Stalking/ surveillance themes. Kidnapping/ threat to the protagonist. Swearing/ strong language. Psychological tension/ anxiety. Mild trauma/ PTSD. Past death of a parent. Sexual tension.

Date/ Status: Ongoing as of 06/04/2026.

Notes: Hi all!! I just recently watched Project Hail Mary in cinema (twice lol) and like many of you, I’m obsessed with Ryan Gosling at the moment. Like enough to bring me out of retirement. But, I remembered that I had some Court Gentry drafts and ideas tucked away from 2023 so I thought why the hell not?? I’m not too sure If anyone reads any Six stuff anymore but I just love his character too much to not. So, to whoever comes across this, I hope you enjoy!! Also, Ryland Grace works to come muehehe, I just love a hot nerd ;)

Prologue

One

[classickook]

just another thursday | sierra six

pairing: courtland gentry (sierra six) x fem!reader

summary: in which lloyd hansen has taken you, six’s girlfriend, instead of claire and you get injured in the process.

warnings: swearing, mentions of a gunshot wound and blood, hurt/comfort

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i wrote this instead of working on my 20 other wips but what’s new?

you didn’t think your day would lead to you bleeding out in a random maze slash courtyard of a foreign country, yet here you are with your special cia-assassin-or-whatever-the-hell-he-is boyfriend kneeling in front of you.

“look at me, baby. keep your eyes on me, all right?”

you nod weakly, putting far too much effort into the simple action in addition to keeping your eyes open long enough to focus on the face in front of you, feeling deflated and dizzy as if your mind had been separated from your body.

“bad news is there’s no exit wound so the bullet is still lodged in your arm.”

you swallow sharply, finding it difficult to breathe past the pain and the horrible news that six just dropped on you. it feels like sandpaper coats your tongue and the roof of your mouth. god, wasn’t there any water around here? you try swallowing again and just barely make a successful attempt without choking.

“didn’t hit the brachial artery,” six mutters quietly. “that’s good, at least.”

“you a doctor now?” you wheeze.

“i’ve been at this a bit longer than you have, sweetheart,” he chuckles, glad to see that your humor is still intact despite the oozing gunshot wound in your upper arm. “comes with the territory.”

“yeah, well, your territory sucks.” you let out a sharp hiss and squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers apply more pressure to your wound. “fuck.”

his steely blue eyes flicker up to yours in a look that can only be described as pure agony at the expense of your pain. “i’m sorry. just a bit longer, okay?”

“sure,” you rasp.

his gaze lingers on you for another fleeting moment as if gauging your reaction for any change before continuing. six silently tears a strip of fabric from the bottom of his black fitted t-shirt, biceps flexing with the movement and you use that as a distraction from the pain.

“this is going to hurt the worst,” he warns, but then quickly slips his hand into the pocket of his jeans before handing something small to you that flashes silver in the low light. “take this.”

the fingers of your good arm pluck the tinfoil-wrapped rectangle and flick it open. “gum?” you ask, arching a brow in disbelief, “really?”

his lips twitch a bit. “you’re better off chewing on that than grinding your teeth down.”

“jeez, it’s gonna be that bad, huh?”

he shrugs his broad shoulders and says, “better safe than sorry.”

“great.” you pop the gum into your mouth and urge your jaw into motion as artificial watermelon coats your tongue. typical. “should’ve known it would be watermelon.”

“it’s the best,” he replies easily as if there truly is no other flavor of gum to compare it to. what a dork, you think affectionately.

you inhale sharply, blood and musk and petrichor overwhelming your senses as you prepare yourself for what would no doubt be the most excruciating pain you have ever experienced. “i guess i’m ready.”

he nods once, still surveying your features for any signs of panic, but you try to keep yourself calm, neutral, as if tricking your mind into believing this is no big deal; just another thursday, as six always says.

“i have to get the bullet out, okay?” the tilt of your chin is the only response he gets. “then i’ll put more pressure on it and wrap it until we can get you to a hospital.”

a faint whimper crawls up your throat at the thought of it all and six attempts to school his features at the sound of your distress, but you still notice the slight tick in his jaw beneath the scruff of his goatee. “okay,” you say quietly, trying to put on your brave face for him. he’s been through far worse than this, you scold yourself. don’t be such a baby.

“you’re not being a baby.”

shit. you didn’t realize your last thought had been voiced aloud. maybe the pain and shock are really getting to you now; you can’t even control your thoughts or tongue anymore.

“it’s okay to be scared,” he continues. “in fact, you should be scared. no part of this is normal—not for you. i was supposed to protect you from him, from all of this. i failed you.”

you shake your head slowly, feeling woozy and weak as the adrenaline bleeds from your body. “it’s not your fault. you saved me in the end… just in time.” you offer him a weak smile but you know he doesn’t believe it, that he’s choking on his guilt and letting it soak into his every pore as you sit wounded in front of him. “just get this awful thing out of me so we can go home, yeah?”

without another word, you feel prodding fingers burrowing into your flesh and you clamp down hard on your teeth, stupid watermelon gum be damned. “fuck,” you groan as tears prick your vision until six’s face is nothing but an unrecognizable blur.

you bite your lip, your tongue, your cheek—anything to reorient the pain onto something else, and the taste of copper floods your mouth.

another whimper bubbles past your lips and you squeeze the fingers of your good arm onto six’s thigh, nails pinching into the fabric of his jeans until you can almost feel the warm skin beneath.

“that’s it, you’re okay. almost done,” six coaxes gently as his fingers pull back, now coated in blood and encasing around the golden bullet that burrowed its way past flesh, blood, and muscle. “keep your eyes on me, baby. i just have to wrap it, okay? you’re doing so good, i’m so fucking proud of you.”

your eyes blink open and focus on his shoulder as pressure builds in your arm. six continues to talk you through it as he wraps the strip of fabric around your wound and tightens it snuggly until you can’t really feel anything but a constant pulsing sensation.

you blink blearily at him until his features sharpen into view, noticing the familiar steely blue eyes looking up at you that appear more electric than usual due to the smudges of dirt and blood on his face. even still, he looks beautiful.

he bows his head and chuckles lightly. “you’re delirious, sweetheart.”

damn. did you say that out loud too?

six rises from his crouched position in front of you and gently urges you into a stand, large hands holding you steady along your waist and lower back. “are you feeling okay…? dizzy, nauseous, is the pain worse—”

“six,” you croak. “i’ll be okay. just take me home, please?”

he releases a sigh of relief to see you speaking and standing well enough on your own given the blood loss. “yeah, baby. let’s get you out of here.” one arm stays firmly placed around your waist, however, as he leads you out of the maze and back out front to the car that’s waiting for the two of you.

six is so gentle with you, taking his steps slow and steady as he maneuvers you into the passenger seat, buckling you in carefully and shutting the door before rounding the vehicle until he’s behind the wheel. your forehead is pressed up against the cool glass of the window, allowing it to soothe your impending headache along with the sweat peppering your brow.

“six?”

his hands freeze on the steering wheel, quickly directing his attention to you, afraid that you’re in too much pain or that you might faint or—

“can we stop by mcdonald’s on the way back?”

he coughs. “mcdonald’s?”

you nod against the window and hum your assent. “i really want french fries.”

six stifles the laugh building in his chest before pulling out of the courtyard. “sure, sweetheart. i’ll get you some french fries.”

“with extra ketchup?”

“of course.”

[petals-justmine]

Assignment: Keep the brat

Assignment: Keep the brat

[Courtland "Sierra Six" Gentry | The Gray Man]

Summary:  Sierra Six was assigned to look after Fitz’s only daughter where he needed to deal not with danger but to your brat ass… and himself. Pairing: Court Gentry!body guard x fem!reader!brat overprotective! soft daddy! Sierra Six x afab!annoying brat Warning: smut, slowburn, no use of Y/N, use of profanity, age gap, size kink, mention of guns, handcuffs, tragedy, slight drama, discussion of anxiety, isolation, injuries/accidents. no tragic ending. Word Count: 7k Note: it supposed to be overnight smut but ideas are keep coming so here ya go. I didnt use's Fitz first name btw Tags: @leisilver @ttya @mablesyruppp @live-logs-and-proper Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan work made for entertainment purposes only. All rights and credits belong to the original creators. Any fictional elements or resemblance to real people or events are purely coincidental. || MASTERLIST ||

Sunrise of noon touches your skin while letting your floaties circle you around the pool, letting the hoodie you are wearing soak in water, wasting your prime years being locked up just because your overprotective father overthinks every time you step a foot outside.

“Oh there you are!” 

Speaking of your father, Fitz walked up to the side of the pool calling your name calmly. “Sweetheart, come over here, I want you to meet someone.” He waves his hand asking you to get closer to him and you lousily use your hand as a paddle to turn you around and face him but did not make an effort to swim closer to him.

There, you see a taller man with a broad shoulder beside him in a well done suit. “I want you to meet, Six. He will accompany you here starting today.” Fitz said. 

He looks nice. You thought. He looks nicer than other security that Fitz has hired before but you bet he would only last three weeks to three months max since whenever you escaped Fitz hired them. 

You uninterestedly raise your hands to acknowledge his existence, and your dad continues to walk him around the villa while telling him you don't usually act like that. which is true. 

One day he was here, and the next day gone. It had always been like that ever since you were young. Still, you never fought him on it, no matter how much you missed him. He’s the only one you have. You don’t hate your dad and the decision he made to cage you up in this big ass house, you just hate you being isolated, away from your friends, from the night life you used to have and the life of a normal young adult. 

You don't hate the house, but you hate being in there. Being locked.

That Six guy made a steely look at you before stepping again inside the house. It was sharp and it was firm. It was his way of knowing someone’s behavior. You just shook it off and continued to float around the pool.

Your hoodie was still soaked but not water dripping when you walked inside the house. there you saw Six on the counter browsing in his laptop so you went there to annoys in his first day.

“Six, right?” You asked, he looked at you from the side of his eyes and back to the screen of his laptop before he could answer you, “Did your parents really name you number?”

“It’s my codename.” He simply answers you without his eyes leaving the screen. 

“Then it shouldn't be a codename, it's a number therefore it is supposed to be a code number… or just simply code?” You said that made him look up and try to analyze what you just said. 

You clapped, “Anyways since your ‘codename’ is Six, I bet you'll just be around here hmmm six weeks.” 

Six turned to face you not to argue but to address the soaked hoodie you were wearing, “You’ll get cold. You should remove that.” he said, you are a bit surprised with his gentle voice despite having that broad body in a suit

crossing your arms in front of him with a brow raised, “....your house?”  

with no single emotion in his face, he said and crossed his arm, “No, but authorized to make changes around here.” Authorized? That's new. He must be really something to your father.

“Interesting…” You said while nodding your head, and grabbed the hem of your hoodie and pulled it up exposing you in your bikini beneath in front him. 

He was watching you as you removed your wet clothes and when your eyes met his again, you saw a very minimal flinch in the side of his eye that he tried not to show. “....more interesting.” you said, smirked. 

For the past few days, You kept annoying him whenever he entered your sight. asking him random questions or even personal ones, but he barely gives you something about himself. 

You’re not that invested in him but you just wanted to nag him. You are done nagging them and following the other staff in the house, plus barely sees them. They're no fun. Six is always there, maybe the fact he is sort-of your bodyguard.

“Soooo Dad actually hired you as a bodyguard?” you asked, balancing along on top of the garden’s brick wall with your arms stretched out for balance.

“This feels more like babysitting,” Six muttered, squinting up at you as the rising sun hit him directly in the eyes. “Can you please get down from there?”

You grinned. “You’re a little old to be a babysitter.”

Six silently snorted and shook his head. “And you’re a little old to need someone watching over you.” Yet he never took his eyes off you, ready to catch you the second if you slipped.

Six is a well disciplined, professional and oriented man. He was detailed in every single security measurement of the house and always checked on everyone. He's a good guy, but you don't want to get friends with him or get attached since eventually Fitz will hire him anyways once you escape out again, you were just monitoring him and observing to see any potential loop.

By night, you switch to your usual clothes for a black hoodie and matching jeans, all chosen with one purpose in mind: not getting caught. This serves as your first attempt to go out. You stepped out of your room and carefully eased the door shut behind you, making sure not a single sound escaped into the sleeping house.

You scanned around, checking if anyone might be following as you made your way toward the kitchen's back door. Every step was measured and cautious. You had done this before—sometimes successfully, sometimes not—but tonight had to be quiet. No creaking floorboards, no rattling handles, nothing that could draw attention in the middle of the night. Yet just as you reached for the lock, a voice breathed into your ear.

“Going somewhere, young lady?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of Six’s voice. Whirling around, you found him standing far too close, still slightly bent down from where he had whispered into your ear, his sharp eyes fixed on you with that unreadable expression he always wore.

There was the faintest trace of amusement on his face, like he had been watching your entire escape attempt and had simply chosen the perfect moment to ruin it.

“I was just- just— to there— umm” Your eyes were not cooperating as it continuously flinched. Six watched you as you think and came up with excuses for this attempt to escape. You sighed and raised your hands up, “Okay, fine. I am trying to escape, okay?” You rolled your eyes and started to walk, passing him, back to your room.

You stopped and turned around back to him, “Why are you wearing a suit in the middle of the night?”

“I’m at work. Why are you dressed like a burglar?” He asked you back. You just make a sound and roll your eyes again before walking back to your room.

He secures the whole house all day and night long, and sometimes it makes you wonder if he sleeps.

Six doesn't need to follow you around but the opposite, sometimes he wants to hide you while still doing his job. He didn't expect an early 20s woman would be this annoying, or it's just you. You do follow him around to bother you, and it's your way getting newly hired body guard to get into their nerves,

Yet Six is different. You believe that he is something more than a regular bodyguard that your father hired.

Your footsteps were light, you can’t even hear yourself breathing as you stepped carefully towards Six while he is busy in his laptop again. You watch him as he places a glass on his side on the table, still carefully stepping closer to him to scare him.

“Need anything?” damn it. 

He only tilted his head slightly while still on his screen. 

“How did you know I was coming? I barely make noise?” You said.

You casually walked over and sat on the table right in front of him. “Can you please not sit there?” he asked politely, barely glancing up from his laptop. 

“Make me…” you challenged. You always tested the limits of his patience, and somehow, you always failed to find them. Six simply set his eyes back on the screen and typed a few more things before standing up, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“What now?” you asked suspiciously as he approached. In the next second, you let out a yelp when he bent down and effortlessly hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

There was no time to fight back. One arm secured your legs against him while he carried you off with the same calm expression he wore for everything else. “Put me down!” you demanded, kicking uselessly, while 

Six merely continued walking as though a stubborn woman around was part of his daily routine. He still manages to carefully put you down on the couch, “Behave.” He said as you pouted your lips with furrowed eyebrows.

As the day turns to night, you are having this itch to escape and go out with your friend, a night wouldn’t make bad guys track, right? This time you wore your regular shorts and black sandals and packed your outfit in a bag that you will just leave at your friend’s house or somewhere. You still did things the same way you always had—quiet and seamless. No eyes should be on you, but with Six around, you had to get creative just to avoid being caught. 

You made sure to keep him busy all day, sending him to get this and that, making him do one thing after another, and bothering him on top of all that. Yet he never complained, which was exactly what you hated. Not a single complaint from him.

You successfully made it through the long-ass hallway, but the route you chose required passing through another living room meant for guests whenever your father wanted more privacy. There were too many open spaces in this house that you had to cross. 

Choosing to carry your shoes and walk barefoot instead, you quietly stepped through—until the television caught your attention. A familiar figure sat in front of it, watching something. You weren't sure what. You shouldn't have cared what Six was doing at this hour, but your curiosity got the better of you, and you found yourself creeping closer to take a look.

There you saw Six, head uncomfortably comfortable leaning to his shoulder. Somehow guiltiness pinches you seeing him exhausted, passed out on the couch and falls asleep watching tv. Although you were cruel to him all day, you still have the heart to put a blanket around him. 

As the blanket settles on top of him, your curiosity makes you check his face closer as you have never seen him that closer. From the longest eyelashes you had ever seen on a man, down to his well-trimmed beard and perfectly sculpted jaw, your gaze eventually returned to his sleepy eyes, that is now one shut and one half open quietly looking at you. “Be careful young lady, I bite.”

Your eyes widened in surprise when he caught you staring at his face while he was completely unaware—or maybe he wasn't, but the first thing that came to your mind was to run straight to your escape route, but before you could do anything, a handcuff caught your wrist. “What the fuck?” you swore.

the next thing you knew, he was locking the other half of the cuff around his own wrist. “You are not going anywhere tonight, not in my watch.” he said, making you literally cannot go anywhere. 

You have tried all night to check his pocket or sneak to his suit to check the key of the handcuff while he’s asleep, only to find out that he is a light sleeper as his forehead furrows every time he feels shift in his body or around him. When you finally give up, you settle beside him, as you have no other choice, watch the random documentary showing for late night viewers on the tv before sleep consumes you. 

Six woke up with you leaning in his arms while peacefully sleeping. It was still dark outside when he looked at the glassdoor. He took a lock pick from his pocket and unclasped the handcuff from your and his wrist. He could have picked you up and brought you to your room but he chose to wrap the blanket you gave to him and pulled you closer to him for you to use his arms as your pillow. 

A smile forms in his face when you unconsciously squeeze your small body  into his arms and throw your arm around him. His intentions were pure, he only wanted you safe but his body also needed to buy some time to have proper sleep that he hasn't gotten for weeks. This way he could do both. 

By morning, You woke up in your bed but the last thing you recall is passing out from watching tv beside Six. He probably brought you to your room by carrying you in shoulders again, what do you know? you are a heavy sleeper anyways. 

You felt something bulking in the pocket at the back of your shorts, and when you took it, you found the card holder you got last night from one of Six’s pockets. A devilish smile forming in your lips but instantly got interrupted when you saw a bunch of names in the IDs but all of it with Six’s picture. “damn how many identities do you have? ”

Pass 1 o'clock when you get out of your room. You went directly to the pool side where you spotted Six calmly checking around with his binoculars.

You approach him, “What are you doin, Brent?” Six thought you were just messing him around with some random names. so he’s not Brent Maxwell Jones. 

“Pretty busy, Philip?” There was no reaction from him. Six still has no idea what you were trying to do. You crossed out Philip Hanson in your mind. “Look, Bradley!” He did look at the spot you point out with no binoculars on but you think he wasn't Bradley Collins. 

He remained silent when you tried to call him Alexie, Alexie Campbell, but he also started to have an idea on what you were trying to do but the time it hit him.

“I wonder how close Courtland to my father was…. or maybe Allen Moore—” You were able to catch his attention with a side eye glimpse of you. “oh! You are Courtland Gentry!” You felt like having awards after doing a research paper in college for digging into his fake id/s. continuously poking his arms while keeping calling him by his name. you can sense he is mentally rolling his eyes on you.

For the next three days straight, you made it your personal mission to call him by his full name in every corner of the house. As usual, he never complained, though he had become quieter lately. 

You cared—of course you did—but there was something deeply satisfying about seeing whether you could finally get under his skin. “Good morning, Courtland Gentry,” you sang the moment you spotted him in the kitchen. 

“And what are we having for breakfast today, Courtland... Gentry?” 

You paused dramatically before adding, “Should I call you Mr. Courtland Gentry? Or would you prefer Agent Gentry? Sir Gentry, perhaps?” You leaned over the counter with an innocent smile. 

A loud bang of his fist against the counter echoed through the kitchen, making you flinch. “Enough.” He turned to face you.

He wasn't shouting. That was the worst part. There were no insults, no raised voice, but he was mad. His furiousness is oozing out from his skin with coldness in his eyes you had never seen directed at you. 

“You are twenty-two years old,” he said firmly. “Not a kid. A woman. Which means you're old enough to understand when someone is telling you that a line exists.”

He let out a slow breath, collecting himself before continuing. “You don't have to like me. You don't even have to respect me. But you do have to respect boundaries.” His eyes stayed on yours, stern but never hateful. “My personal information is not your business. I'm not your babysitter, and I'm not your friend. I'm here to keep you safe, and not to deal with your attitude. I've been patient because I know you're better than this.”

His voice softened just slightly—not enough to undo the sting, but enough to remind you he wasn't trying to hurt you. But for the first time in days, he looked tired. tired dealing with your shit.

You were looking at the floor at this time but when you look up to his eyes again tears have already built up in your eyes, one blink away would flow down to your face. “I’m sorry…” When it finally poured down to your face, you stepped back and ran out of the kitchen.

Six wanted to let you by yourself, that is what he used to do with people who get close to him, to teach them lessons and to give them time for themselves but you were different. 

He found himself running out the kitchen to catch you and before you could lock yourself in your room, he quickly grabbed you in the hallway and pulled you into a hug while you were still in tears from something you did not expect to happen. 

You were still lucky. Most people would have lost their temper long before now, but Six had handled his emotions the same way he handled everything else, with control. Yes, he had scolded you, but it felt less like being yelled at and more like being taught. 

You hated it that he wasn't angry at you, because that would make things easier for you and reason for you to stay away. You wanted to throw the blame somewhere else. Instead, you were left sitting with the uncomfortable truth that he was right.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. chin in your head and his hand found your hair, fingers moving through it with surprising gentleness. At that, you looked up at him with swollen eyes, no longer bothering to hide how hurt and embarrassed you felt. 

His expression softened. Using his thumb, he carefully brushed away the tears still slipping down your cheeks, the gesture so tender it almost hurt more than the lecture. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” He said while continuing trying to calm you down. “No.. no.. I am sorry. I am—” you couldn't even finish your sentence without sobbing and burying your face to his chest. 

In that whole day you stayed in your room and he let you rest while still checking from time to time. Something hits on you when you realize the relief you felt after hour long crying, it wasn’t just because of the overwhelming sensation you felt on first time seeing Six’s temper but also that isolated feeling of loneliness you kept for months being locked up. 

You never address that to yourself, you keep it sitting around. never cried. did not attempt to let it out. It stayed in your chest like a rock that gets heavier as time goes by. because you knew you can’t do anything. This was the best thing to do while waiting for your father to come up with something else that will make you more safe outside world. 

This time you slept heavier than usual, like no emptiness will wake you up in the middle of the night.

Next day, you found Six in the garden doing his morning route, making his rounds around the house to check any potential breach made into the house. 

“Good morning, Six…” You softly greeted him. He immediately turn around you and glance at you for some seconds before turning away, his throat bobbed up and down, “Good morning too,” 

He thought of complimenting the nighties you were wearing but it would sound inappropriate, he has no plans to creep you out. He let out a slow heavy breath, composing himself before looking back again to you. 

“How’s your night?” He asked.

“It was… I felt lighter. I slept better.” You answered him, walked closer to him and sat on a bench nearby. 

Sunlight rises but it hasn't touched your skin yet. The cool morning breeze swept through the garden, making you pull the shawl tighter around your shoulders. You silently watch Six as he observes around with his binoculars. “Thank you anyways…”

“For what?” He asked, shifting his attention to you. 

“About yesterday, I appreciate you for being transparent to me.” You paused, “I just hate being locked up, this feels like a cage…you know,” You wanted to detail everything in your mind but you let the silence explain all of the emptiness you felt and that was enough for Six to understand all of it.

“Believe me when I say I understand you, like a lot. but what I can guarantee is better days are coming, I promise.” He unthinkingly tucked the hair that blocks your face at the back of your ear. You choose to ignore the tingling sensation you felt from his fingers that touches the side of your face,  “...and this is better than other ‘cages’.”

You chuckled, “Like where? Prison? How'd you know, been there?” It caught you off guard when he looked at you with the side of his eyes. Your teeth bit your inner lips in shame. “uhmm sorry.” You mouthed and shrugged your shoulders.

“Don’t be, your cousin did ask me worse than you did” Six said.

For a moment you tried to think of who's cousin he was referring to, “Who’s cousin?”

“Yours” He simply answered.

“Name?” Asked him again.

There he also got confused, “Claire, isn't she your cousin?”

“Ohh Claire, yeah. She’s… dad’s niece.” You answered.

“...making her your cousin, right?” Six has a point, but you have this feeling he doesn't know yet. “Basically yes? but we aren't that close. I was already in my early teenage years when my mom met Fitz… I mean dad. and She married him and dad adopted me without thinking twice. Don't you know your boss' background?”

“Well, I don't stalk my boss and his personal life is too discreet. You are even locked here, if that makes sense.” He said.

“I was locked here for a reason” You are oversharing all at once, “It started when we got involved in an ambush where my mom died in an instant in my dad’s arms. That was three years ago. I heard that was because our security made a miscalculation with the time and sudden change of routes, leading us to that tragedy.” You simply told him, no stuttering, no shakiness in your voice. signs you are doing it better now. 

“Dad really loves her and he has told her that everyday till she died in his arms.” bitter smiled to Six. 

His arm wraps around your shoulder and caresses your arm with his thumb, “I’m sorry for your loss… I promise it’ll never happen again”

You two truly shared a bond in the four months he’s been around, he often played with you with some random boring board games or even followed him when he made rounds in the house even he asked you to keep your ass inside.

but despite all of this, you knew you were someone to be locked in. your will to enjoy night life again with your friends has never left. Tonight will be the night. you think you have gained enough of his trust to not watch over compared before.

Again, in the same way you did, since you have no other plan to do it but this. tippy toes with your bare feet in the house, no sound should be heard while you're on your way to your escape path. 

But while on your way, you accidentally came across a gym area. lights were on and the only person you think of using this is Six in all people in the house. Your curiosity made you take a peak inside the room to check where those groans were coming from, when you should continue moving when nobody’s around. 

There, you found Six on a pull-up bar, repeatedly lifting himself with extra strength. You couldn't help but watch as his muscles flexed and sweat covered his body.

Sound of his exertion is sending shivers to your spine. Watching him work out was something you could sit through for hours. Six wore nothing but his cargo pants and shoulder holster, the dark straps stretched across his bare torso in a way, and those made your panties wet already.  

a random realization that you shouldn't think came across your mind—You haven't laid even months before getting locked in the house, that could be the reason why— and that should be the only reason why you are thirsting after your body guard. You shook your thoughts off.

Your eyes went back and continued to trace his tones like scanning every part of it. “What did they feed him in prison…”

You realized you were thinking out loud when you caught his attention and glance towards your direction. “Shit shit” You stepped back and immediately ran away when you saw Six walk towards the door where you are peeking at him. 

Your no sound plan has failed as the hallways filled with the echoes of your bare feet running towards your escape way out of the entire mansion. This time your chosen path is to the basement as you heard there was a tunnel that goes out to the roads. You are now this desperate to go out.

Before you could pull open the heavy basement door, hand shot past you and pushed it shut. Your eyes widened. You were doomed. again. You could see the tats in his arms clearer because of the sweat glazed all over his body.

His heavy pants from exhaustion chasing you are loud enough to be heard in your ears. You have no plans to turn around because you knew he had no time to put his shirt on and that you wouldn't be able to hide your flushed face. You stayed still while waiting for him to say something.

 “Great, I don't have to go for cardio. I just got one.” He said in between panting. warmth of freshly worked out body is oozing out from him that you can feel from your position. 

You even tried to twist the knob, but he only pressed his hand more against the door, trapping you in place as he leaned in closer. His body was now against yours from behind, leaving no space for you to move.

When you felt something pressed against your back, the first thing you think was a gun as you saw him wearing his shoulder holster earlier, your free hand went behind you and searched for that thing poking your back. 

“A gun?” You asked as your hand landed on a long clothed thing. You know smaller guns can be tied in the legs but often it is placed in the side of the legs not in between. You made a small squeeze with that object you thought was a gun. 

It was longer than your hand as wrap around it and round thicker for it to be a gun. approximately longer than your fist wrapped around it, but it was softer to be a metal and round thicker to be a gun… in the back of your head you have an idea that it could be something else.

“Worse, princess.” Six is basically groaning, almost swallows his own words, his breath shakes and you knew it wasn’t because of chasing you, and this endearment was new. You noticed how his finger curled up and made scratch in the doorframe. “Stop squeezing it, it's not a gun.” 

Fuck. Was it really his—? Your eyes widen and you immediately take your hand back and face him. That's the time you confirmed what you were touching earlier when you saw the tent building in his pants. “S-sorry”

you didn't really know what you were doing but your body decided to run off him, lucky enough with your size you could escape under his arm from being cornered. However Six thought you were escaping to look for another escape plan out of the house.

Both of you are back again in the hallways running and chasing each other, Even then, you knew your tiny legs were no match for his athletic stamina. You darted into your father's chamber, heading for the exit that led to his playroom by the pool outside.

Why am I running?

Why is he chasing me?

Why he’s inappropriately big?

oh gosh get off my head.

All of the thoughts are coming into your mind all at once. You palmed your face down trying to forget what happened a while ago— 

That must be because of his pants, right? —that could be it. yep, it's his pants. you and your mind agreed that it was only Six’s cargo pants. One thing’s for sure, it was his thing in your whole palm.

You made your way out by crawling to a small hole from your father’s playroom. You were bent down to your knees while catching your breath on the side of the pool.

Heavy pants behind you made you turn your head at your back,

“Running away from me?”

“Oh god—!” You jump out of surprise but that also trips your ankle backwards and you step out of the edge of the pool, “Six!” It was the last thing you cried out before the water submerged you completely, the cold water closing over your head. Everything went so fast that you didn’t notice you were able to grab his wrist making him join you as you fell into the water. 

He held you in your legs in a bridal way before bringing you from the floor of the pool to above the water. You were coughing some of the water out while hugging him around his neck. “I know how to—” coughs “—swim”

“Is that how you say thank someone?” He calmly asked while still holding you in your legs and back. You hate it when he does that, returning something good to the attitude you have thrown at him. instead. It filled you with guilt, making you feel like the worst person alive. At the same time, it was unfair how attractive it made him seem. Gentleman. Patient. Annoyingly handsome. It made your mind have no single appropriate thoughts about him.

You bit your lips, “T-thank you, Six.” Six noticed that, with that small distance of his face to yours, he would notice every single movement you do, and so did you. You watched as his gaze slowly went to your lips.

His throat moved up and down, and minimal flinch in the side of his eye. That same flinch you saw on the first day he came here. You know he’s a weak man inside that he is trying to hide, and knows that himself. “Six…” you called softly and that was the only thing that made him look back up at you.

Six was fighting a battle entirely within himself. Against his own feelings. Against his integrity. Against the trust Fitz had placed in him to protect his daughter. But this is something he didn’t know would still grow in him after years. One wrong move, everything’s gone. He is one step away from losing his mind.

He reminded himself, over and over, that he was here to do a job. Yet his gaze kept drifting to your lips before forcing itself back to your eyes. His jaw tightened. “Keep yourself together, Court.” He said to himself.

You were sharing an effect with each other without realizing it. You test the waters by sliding your hand from the back of his head down to his neck and eyes never leave each other. Your body syncs with him, breathing at the same time, memorizing each other’s faces, drooling and both waiting who would take the step. 

He let your gravitational force pull his face closer to you while still battling with his mind. “Courtland this is not…”

You have copied the pace he’s making, slowly shutting your eyes and letting this happen as the gaps between your face from his, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

“...right” Six said to himself before holding you with the back of your neck and closing the spaces in between. His bottom lip catches your teeth with urgency. It was full of months lying to himself that he wouldn’t lay a single finger on you, but here he is, giving in at last, setting every reason he had to stay away aside for just one moment.

Your hand running all over his face and head while letting him pull you closer to him taking every part of your lips and exploring your mouth with his tongue after letting him in.

Six manages to get out of the water while still carrying you in his arms and bringing you straight to his room without breaking the kiss. He doesn’t even care whoever sees you two, he wants you, that's in his mind, he wants you so bad.

Slowly laying your back in his bed and settling in between your legs while his kisses are travelling down to your neck. He took your both wrist to pin it above your hand using a hand. “Six! No they will see it—” but your body betrays when a moan escapes from your lips when he bites a spot in your chest. He paused to look at you, “Saying something, princess?” His eyes were filled with lust. He’s unstoppable from whatever he wants now. 

He got up on his knees and took his phone out from the pocket of his cargo. That must be waterproof as he could still use it. After some few seconds of tapping on it, he tosses it across the bed and there the room starts to get dim as the windows start to shut with metal-like material, sealing it closed. “Are you locking us down?” You asked.

“I’m still on my shift, princess, I am just borrowing some minutes…” He said while unbuckling the leather shoulder holster and tossing it on the floor. “...maybe hours.”

He pulled you from being laid on your back, laying from his soaked mattress, and made you sit on the edge of the bed. His hand cupped your whole chin and jaws to look up at him standing in front you. “Let’s see if that mouth could do more than complaining…” rubbing his thumb against your lips, then guiding your mouth open.

Water dripping from the strand of his hair down to his face and toned abs, that does not bother you as your attention focuses on his free hand. He unbuttoned his pants, your eyes watching as he unzipped it, like he’s unwrapping a gift for you. Your mouth has never been this watery while watching him slide his massive cock out. 

“I..” You looked at his eyes for a second and back to his cock that was almost level to your face, trying to believe it was real . All of your speculations earlier were correct, he is big as what you have palmed. He’s massive as hell.

Pinch of fear jolts to your body thinking how you would take him. He watches you flinch when his dick jerks by itself. “On your knees, princess.” 

You were under the spell of his dominance. He placed his hand on top of your head as you sank to your knees on the floor looking up to his eyes,  “Now show me what those mouths can do…” Your cold fingers slowly wrap around his shaft and make unnecessary strokes, he’s so massive that your fist was not enough to hold him. you watch as his chest heavily rises and falls before lining up towards your mouth and slowly sinking down. 

Not even halfway through you were already choking, but with overwhelming lust in his mind, he continued thrusting inside your mouth until his tip poked your throat. “Fuck..” He took himself out, grabbed fist of your hair before slamming his cock back again inside your mouth. Fucking your mouth senseless until he reached the back of your throat.

You were gladly taking him whole even when tears fall from your eyes that messes up your smudged makeup more. Seeing you helplessly wrecked has given him a euphoric sensation that is not helping him to keep longer while you were sucking him harder, adding to this the vibration of your moan crawling in his dick inside you, 

“Mmm Six..” your attempt to compose words while his cock inside your mouth. Furrowed brows, sucking all the air in between his shaft and mouth walls. And you knew that would send him close. “Shit! No!” He said and took out himself. 

His hand is back to your jaws while looking up at him. You chuckled and smiled like crazy at him, “Bad move, princess…”

“Why? It’s fun.” You said, licked your lips, not taking him seriously. For a moment you forgot how hard his thing is, and how ready it is to make you unable to walk after.

“Let’s see if you can still laugh later.” He warned you.

Grabbing the edge of your tank top and pulling it off you. He kicks his pants off before pushing you back to his bed as he crawls on top of you.

“Let’s be clear, punishment is not my thing.” He said as he licked you from the top of your breast up to your neck, “but I am claiming all of this as mine. All mine.” He whispered while sucking your jaw, pressing his throbbing cock to your core under your thin short.

Six slides his arm in the back of your arms and grabs you by your shoulder while continuing rubbing himself to your core. You’ve never been this wet before as you never knew sleeping with older men will send you a huge volume of serotonin in your head.

In just a second, all of your clothes have fallen on the floor, joining him naked. His hand in his cock, rubbing his tip in your folds, spreading your wetness all over your cunt. 

“W-we shouldn’t be doing this, right?” testing if he would agree. You wanted to be assured he also wanted it as you do. You don’t want to end up walking outside this room regretting it, because you won’t. 

And maybe to test his guilt too.

He paused and looked at you, with slightly titling his head. 

“Yeah, I agree.” his eyes showing against the words he’s saying, lust has never left.

Six watches you as tortuous pain travels all over your body from your core as he thrust his hips towards you. You gasped to his mouth and he swallow it, “We’ll talk about that after I fuck you hard, princess.” 

mouth parted open, head tried to bury as deep as you can in his bed and nails dig in the nearest thing you could grab. “Six!” screaming his name out.

As soon as he hits your core and makes his whole shaft cover with your wetness, he moves himself right away. wasting no time waiting for you to get used to his size. He has shown you enough gentleness for months, tonight is different. Six was done fighting himself.

Your body was almost hidden by his larger frame. One hand was enough to guide you, steady and firm. Before grabbing you by your waist with both hands and a thumb pressed to your lower belly. 

Six slows down his thrusts, yet deeper. Slamming every part of your walls. 

He got up on his knees and deliberately slowed down his hips in the slowest way he could do. He’s so huge that he would press his thumb on our belly and feel him thrusting on to you. While you are helpless there, moaning his name.

Six catches your lips once again when he goes back on top of you. teeth clashing. You want how he wrecks you, it drives you insane, it drives you to your climax. After a few more thrust, your touch and kisses obviously became more needy. He noticed that.

He kissed your lips, “Words, princess, use your words”

“I’m near…” You mumbled, needy.

“And how do you ask for it? Hm?” His thrust is slowing down, but there’s no way you would submit like that. “Shit.. I want you Six…”

He moved his head from side to side, “No, princess. Stop being brat. If you want it, ask for it, nicely.”

Your legs are trembling and needing more attention from his declining pace thrust, “What do you want, Six? I’ll do anything you want after, just make me finish.” almost cried

“Now I don’t want you to call me that. Ask for it nicely.” He pressed his hips through you as deep as he could inside you and stopped it from there.

“No.. don’t… don’t stop— fuck I need so bad—” You cried out while your cunt seeking for his attention, “—Please! Please, daddy! I need you to fuck me hard. Please have my pussy, It's all yours!” You whined. 

That’s all he needed to hear from you, he starts to move his hips again, taking out his cock and slamming it back inside you. He hits the right spot every time he slides inside you. His thrust was so hard that you bounced the same way as he went in. 

His hand wandered in every inch of your skin while continuously driving you to your peak. “Please… more… fuck me hard. please..” You asked him and he gladly gave it to you.

Not long after you started to feel the same tension that built up inside you earlier. “I’m near.. I’m near..” You chant in his ear. nails dig to his back that left scratches.

“So am I, princess…” he said before crashing to your lips once again.

You kept calling for him between the kisses as you felt your climax getting closer and closer. pleading with him as never left your lips while crying in pleasure. With a few more hard strokes, you hit your peak. 

“Mmmm….” You ride your climax as he continues to thrust to you, reaching for his. He had just made you euphoric that lasted longer than you expected. legs shaking. body is exhausted.

Six’s low pitch groans echo, his thrust went incredibly fast and not long he took his shaft out releasing his cum in your belly.

His head collapsed on your shoulder where he placed pecks while catching his breath. You take a glimpse in your belly when you feel his cum dripping to your waist down to his bedsheets. 

“A shit amount of loads you have, Six…” You chuckled and he kissed that away to hide his shame. “If you could just see yours, princess…shit amount too because of me.” he winked, conceited but the credit was really his after all.

Both of your attention went to the door across the room when you heard someone knock,

“Mr. Six, is everything alright?” a staff member asked from outside, their voice carrying a note of concern. The sudden lockdown of the entire house had clearly caught everyone's attention.

Another week passed when Fitz came back from his trip from Thailand and Malaysia. Six were already in the front door waiting for his arrival, which he warmly accepts. “Sierra Six.” Fitz said and gave him a hug.

“I am really glad and amused that you survived six months here with my daughter. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you from the staff and of course from her, you know, even when she complained at first.” He laughed, “How did you do that?”

“I—” he did not expect to be questioned, he’d be better interrogated by the CIA about his bullshit at work than his personal stuff, “—just happened.” he said with bullets of sweat in his forehead.

“That’s ma boy.”

Their both attention diverted when they heard your voice calling, “Daddy!” You shouted out when you saw your father along with Six talking in the living room. 

Fitz turns his head the same time as Six did in an instant, getting their both attention. Fitz noticed that. Eyes squint at Six.

You ran and hugged your father for missing him from his months-long business trip. 

“I miss you!” You said while hiding your face in his arms. 

“I miss you too, my sweet princess…” Fitz said that made Six swallows and fixed the collar of his suit. While he is busy hugging you back, he’s eyeing on Six and mouth, “we’ll talk later.”

|| MASTERLIST ||

BONUS SCENE: [fluff]

The night before your last attempt to go out.

You invited Six to join you for a movie night. You have nobody else but him since other staff have no interest in your fun.

Six has decided to wear something more normal clothes, black shirt and gray sweatpants. There were some droplets of water coming from his brushed up hair shows he went to shower first before coming upstairs in your mini theater. You bet that if your friends were here, either they are gossiping about him or one of them has already sat in his lap. 

Yes, you have seen some of his tattoos before whenever he rolled his sleeves up but not in this one where the sleeves of his shirt are only limited and made you clearly see more of the details of his tattoos all over his arms, those that used to be covered by the sleeves of his suit. 

“You should let your tattoos breathe often? It looks nice.” You said while sitting on the other side of the couch across from him. A smile made in his lips before pressing the remote to turn on the tv. 

For the whole night, you made him sit there on the other end of the couch and watch a series that you both never knew would make your emotions feel like a rollercoaster. 

While watching, you caught him many times falling asleep but his body would jerk like his instincts kicked keeping him awake. He would just shake his head to keep his eyes open. that happened plenty of times from the past episodes.  “You need to sleep.” You said and moved closer to him.

“I’m fine, let’s watch the next episode…” and you knew he wasn't paying attention anymore as he’s not aware you’re done watching the whole season and you already switched to movies. 

You can see how tired he is through his eyes. “You need to sleep… I'm not going anywhere, I promise.” You said with a hand raised level to your chest. 

Six knew you wouldn't run this time with that tone of voice, but his instincts are simply keeping him awake and with no enough assurance, he won’t be having proper rest tonight again. 

“Is your room locked?” You asked 

“Why?”

“Is your room locked?”

He answers, “No.”

Six watched you as you went downstairs to his room. His ears track your loud steps to ensure you are going nowhere but only around the house. You came back holding the same handcuff from last time, he watched you as you walked in front him and locked it to your wrist, “What are you doing?” He confusedly asked.

“The only way for you to have…” You said before hooking the other half to his wrist. “...better sleep tonight.”

He was about to resist when you speak, “You won’t be able to sleep if you have no peace of mind, and this is my assurance to you that I'm not going anywhere else tonight. It's not for you- you. but for whatever subconscious you have that kicks in keeps you awake.” You smiled “So…. good night!”

and quickly faced the television so he won't see how red your face right now. Your gaze went to your wrist that is linked to his and told yourself to read a less explicit novel starting today…

Next movie has reached its credits unattended with the two people heavily passed out and sleeping loud. Six opened his eyes and found that the hands of the wall clock had already passed two o'clock. When his gaze shifted to you, he noticed you had fallen asleep in an awkward position, clearly trying your best not to lean against him and disturb his rest.

His lock pick was still tucked away in the pocket of his suit upstairs, so he carefully reached for the pin in your hair and used it to unlock the handcuff, freeing both of you. The click startled you just enough that you unconsciously turned toward him, your body immediately collapsing against his chest. Six had the option of carrying you back to your room, but you had been right—he wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully with his mind constantly checking whether you were all right.

So he simply let you settle on top of him as he eased himself back against the couch. His gaze falls from your eyes slowly down to your nose and to your soft lips coated with that favorite glitter gloss of yours. His hand sneaks to your bare waist like it has its own mind and knows where to place itself. Six gulped when his hand made contact with your soft skin while still memorizing every part of your face.

Six shook every thought that came up in his mind and made a deep sigh he could never do. He reminded himself that he’s only here to guard and keep you safe…. but turns out he’s guarding himself as well.

Making sure you were still sleeping like a log against his chest, he finally rested his head back on the pillow before closing his eyes. This is definitely not another Thursday…

Waking up from cozy sleep that couldn't compare to the thousand-dollar mattresses your father used to buy. You don’t know how but you found yourself next to Six as you woke up. His other arm was wrapped securely around your waist and your head rested on Six's arm as you watched him let out tiny snores in his sleep. You noticed that the cuff was no longer in your wrist.

There was something soft about him like this, his usual sharp tense edges nowhere to be found. The calm look on his face told you he was sleeping well.

You hate to admit but he’s more than what he is supposed to be here. 

[blueangelbby]

Ok but prejac denny my love please give me more of the pathetic boy embarrassing himself 😭😭

-💿

Specifically thinking about prejac Dennis who actually used to really struggle to cum.

His partners weren't exactly talkers. More like deep grunts and the occasional cheap "You like that baby?" And Dennis kinda sorta 100% thrives off of words of affirmation. Praise. Verbal confirmation that he's doing anything even remotely good.

Dennis got used to making his partners feel good and dealing with himself later on.

He's half convinced Robby won't be able to get it up when they finally actually land in a bed. Which is fine, he's completely used to not being able to get anything good out of a hook up. Or whatever this is going to be with his superior.

But the simple kissing turns into frenching that turns into heavy petting and Dennis is still clothed, Robby's still clothed, but he's grinding down against the dark denim of the older man's crotch, and he really just needed a quick second to catch his breath but then-

"You look so pretty like this, baby"

Dennis's breath hitches. But Robby doesn't seem to notice and keeps moving his hands up and down his body and pressing kisses into his neck and mumbles "You're killing me, kid, you gonna let me take care of you now? Gonna let me make you feel good?"

His hips stutter so quickly and he can't even hear the rest of what Robby's saying to him because his ears are ringing. He can barely breathe and it takes him a few seconds to realize exactly what's happened. He opens his eyes to find Robby staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and-no that can't be desire-

"Oh my god."

"It's okay."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm just-"

But Robby's hands sit firmly on his waist and he can't get up to leave or run like he really wants to. So he buries his face in Robby's chest instead, completely mortified.

"Dennis. It's okay, baby." He's grinning. Dennis can hear it. "I mean, way to boost my ego, thanks for that-"

Dennis groans. "I don't usually-it's never happened like that."

"What? That quickly?"

"No," Dennis mumbles. Robby smells nice. He always does. "Like. That. Or at all, I guess."

"Oh, sweetheart. What have they been doing to you, Denny? All that from a few sweet words? What's your plan for when I get my hands on you, hm? Without all these clothes in between us?"

[puppiegracie]

hucklerobby lazy fucking is just soooo hotttt ugh. robby spooning dennis from behind, fucking into his welcoming heat with long, slow thrusts. panting against his shoulder, weakly rolling on top to press dennis into the mattress, completely prone, grinding soooo deep in that tight cunt.

dennis hiccuping little cries into the sheets, eyes heavylidded and cheeks flushed hot, every inch of him melty with pleasure. feeling almost light-headed with it, robby's thick cock stuffing him so full, the heat of it throbbing inside his fluttering hole. it's syrupy and neverending, a simmer that pools in his gut, building up so slowly to orgasm.

dennis whining weakly I can't, I can't— please, mmmm, so full... daddy, please, feels, haah, s'good... robby murmuring shh, baby, doing soo good... you can take it, you can, doing so well with daddy's dick stuffed up in that pretty tummy, hmm? thaat's it... mmfuck, I love you... feel so fuckin good... mmm, denny, baby, keep squeezing me just like that, haah...

[rr-after-dark]

Andrew “Pope” Cody Masterlist

♡ -> smut

❀ -> fluff

⚠︎ -> angst/sensitive topics

☆ -> personal favorite

Series

Whipped (Complete)

Part One (7.4k) ⚠︎ ☆ Summary: Pope Cody doesn’t handle his pregnant wife being taken hostage very well. Part Two (3.1k) ♡ ❀ Summary: After ‘taking care’ of your kidnappers, Pope takes care of you before bed.

Guard Dog (Complete)

Series Summary: When you move in down the street from the Cody family, you definitely aren't expecting romance. But Andrew gradually becomes a fixture in your life, for better or for worse.

Chapter One (3.6k) Chapter Summary: The Codys are always interested in someone new moving to their street, so Smurf assigns her oldest son to look into you. Chapter Two (2.7k) Chapter Summary: Pope keeps finding excuses to spend time with you, leading his family to a difficult realization: He likes you. Chapter Three (2.8k) ⚠︎ Chapter Summary: Pope shows up at your library volunteering shift to ask you to a family dinner, only to find a man bothering you. Shockingly, he doesn't take that very well. Chapter Four (1.8k) Chapter Summary: After making repairs around your house, Pope's left a mysterious bag in your closet. It's the family's first test to see if you have what it takes to stick around. Chapter Five (4.9k) ⚠︎ ☆ Chapter Summary: You go to the Cody house for a family dinner (i.e. an interrogation) to see if you're good for Pope. Chapter Six (4.2k) ♡ Chapter Summary: You wake up the morning after your dinner with the Codys to find that Andrew slept on your porch to keep you safe. Chapter Seven (5.7k) ❀ Chapter Summary: As you fall in love with Andrew, you gradually become more and more a part of the Cody family. Chapter Eight (2.2k) ♡ ❀ Chapter Summary: You take Andrew up on his honesty policy, leading to a middle-of-the-night offer. Chapter Nine (4.4k) ♡ ❀ Chapter Summary: How Andrew behaves & how your life changes as he moves in with you and decides you're his for good. Chapter Ten (1.3k) ❀ Chapter Summary: You realize that Andrew Cody is your forever.

Slice of Life (Ongoing)

Series Summary: Vignettes of your life with your husband, Andrew Cody, after leaving Oceanside for good as you both heal, grow, and raise your family in the Northeast, far away from the Codys.

Prologue: A Cody Boy (5.4k) Chapter Summary: After Smurf's gender reveal party for your second baby, you and Andrew make a big decision for the future of your family. Chapter One: Leaving Oceanside (2.5k) ❀ Chapter Summary: Your small family travels across the country toward your new home and you feel the beginnings of hope blooming. Chapter Two: Weirdo (3.6k) ❀ Chapter Summary: You begin to settle in Pennsylvania and the family unexpectedly gets a new member. Chapter Three: Goldilocks (2.9k) Chapter Summary: Your son arrives a few weeks early, which means you and Andrew have no idea what to call him.

Timoclea (Ongoing) ⚠︎

Series Summary: After a brutal gang rape, your lifelong best friend Andrew Cody helps you get vengeance by tracking down and killing the perpetrators.

Chapter One: Already Dead (2.3k) Chapter Summary: In the middle of the night, you show up on Pope's doorstep covered in bites and bruises. Chapter Two: Pretty Little Omega (2.8k) Chapter Summary: Pope helps you heal and prepare to take on your attackers. Chapter Three: First Kill (5.0k) Chapter Summary: You and Pope begin the process of hunting down your attackers, starting with the easiest to find. In the aftermath, you discover that Pope is being over-medicated by his mother, essentially stripping him of his alpha nature. Chapter Four: Famished (5.4k) ☆ Chapter Summary: Pope feels the effects of stopping Smurf's anti-ferality medication; the two of you hunt down attacker #2. Chapter Five: Maybe Someday (2.7k) Chapter Summary: A meal with J and Mia, a confrontation with Baz. Chapter Six: Anything But That (3.3k) Chapter Summary: After Andrew saves you from an unexpected attack from one of your assailants, you go into heat with him by your side. Chapter Seven: Yours (2.8k) ☆ Chapter Summary: You go feral when Pope is ambushed, which makes you realize the truth of your feelings for him.

One Shots

Take What You're Given (3.7k) ♡ ⚠︎ ☆ Summary: Pope comes to you in the middle of the night with needs and news. Kinktober 2025: Sex Work

How to Treat a Girl (2.7k) ❀ Summary: When he finds out you’re pregnant one afternoon, your husband Andrew doesn’t react the way he’s ‘supposed to’ – not that he ever does. But he never lets you doubt his love for long.

Like a Moth. Or a Plant. Or Something. (12.7k) ❀ ♡ ☆ Summary: After noticing you on your daily jog outside of his skatepark, Andrew just has to intervene to save you...maybe more than once. Once your lives have maybe-too-literally crashed together, you both feel the undeniable lightness of a new relationship.

Blurbs & Ficlets

boy dad/girl dad (400) asking him to slap you (400) ♡ daddy chores (700) ❀ ☆ fake dating first kiss (700) don't touch her (900) alpha!pope/omega!reader (1.0k) ♡ asking him to be your first (1.1k) ❀ slutty dancing, jealous pope (1.1k) forced proximity bodyguard au (1.4k) giving him his first blowjob (1.5k) ♡ ☆ uniform kink (2.1k) ♡ ☆

[thatcorporategirlie]

The Lottery of Death

18+ account - minors do not interact

titus danforth x f!reader Word Count: 11k Rating: E

Summary: You’re falling for Titus, and it makes no sense. He’s tied to everything you’re against. Warnings: SMUT (MDNI 18+) professor reader, mentions of an original character, (Ursula’s ex), smidge body insecurity, alcohol, being tipsy/drunk, hungover reader, sexual tension (so much of it), flirting, feelings, mutual pinging, jealousy/possessiveness (titus is soooo down bad for you), pet names, semi-public smut, (golf course... specifically the golf cart!!!), dirty talk, praise, thigh riding, dry humping, oral sex (f – receiving), emotional argument, angst, flashback of a hunt (mentions of blood, but no violent graphic descriptions), kips wife is also an original character, i think that’s it A/N: I’m on my period, plus all this Quinn promo definitely made me feral. Sorry…not sorry. Your girl was horny when she wrote that smut scene. I wrote this in a way where anything 'revealed' in this story is in the trailer / general lore implied from the trailer, and / or discussed in the first movie. However, I’ll label this as smidge spoilers just in case. Also, the picture in the mood board is not representative of reader, once you read the story, you’ll understand it's another person. GIF by @wesandresons.

thank you for reading!! if you comment/reblog i love you so much <3.

PART 1 | You're reading part two | Part 3 coming soon

The sun had been sitting heavy for hours, turning the grass gold and the stone patio warm beneath your calves. You and Ursula had taken a few lazy dips in the pool throughout the afternoon, letting the water cool your skin before drifting back to your loungers near the edge of the garden.

Half‑empty glasses sweated beside you, the rosé bottle(s) migrating between you without either of you acknowledging it, Now everything felt pleasantly loose around the edges, the world softened by sun, chlorine, and just enough wine. You’d decided to extend your trip after the original two weeks passed. What were another two? Chester was barely around. He’d flown in for a few days, just long enough to check on a few things, and then he was off again...this time to Hong Kong to close a deal with some company.

Ursula lay stretched out beside you, sunglasses tipped low on her nose, one arm draped lazily over her stomach. She looked relaxed in a way you rarely saw. You weren’t sure how long it had been. Two hours, maybe more? Long enough that your skin hummed with heat and your thoughts drifted without permission.

And if you were honest…you were both probably a little drunk. Ursula let out a small laugh at something you’d said a minute earlier, the sound warm and unguarded. You traced the rim of your glass again, the sunlight catching on the pale pink wine. The question pressed at the back of your teeth, and maybe it was the rosé or the heat or your curiosity…but you let it out.

"Why didn’t you marry Conrad?"

Ursula’s sunglasses didn’t hide the way her eyes widened. She lifted her head, then pushed herself upright with a slow, deliberate motion. Her designer red swimsuit caught the light as she adjusted the wide‑brimmed hat on her head, buying herself a second.

"Well," she said, lifting her sunglasses with one finger, "that’s not what I was expecting."

"I mean… my mom told me you were engaged for, like, 2 seconds," you shrugged, though your pulse ticked faster. "And then you guys broke it off."

Ursula studied you for a moment before the breeze suddenly lifted the edge of her hat, and she pressed it back down with two fingers. Your mind drifted back to two years ago, when your mother had first told you about Ursula’s engagement. You remembered the way she’d said it that Ursula had called her personally to announce she was marrying Conrad Fairfax Harrington III. Your mother had been delighted. She’d met Conrad while working on the estate, and she’d spoken about him with the kind of fondness she rarely extended to the family’s inner circle. They’d dated for years, apparently—long enough that your mother had even questioned what was taking so long.

Which was why the second call had stunned your mother.

Barely a month later, Ursula had phoned again, but this time to say the wedding was off. No explanation, just a breezy, "We’re not proceeding. It wasn’t right."

"Conrad," she repeated, almost to herself. "God. That feels like a lifetime ago."

She took a slow sip of her drink, eyes drifting toward the far end of the garden, where the estate stretched out in sun‑bleached stone and manicured hedges. Then she gave you a boilerplate shrug, the kind people use when they’re trying to make something sound smaller than it was. "We weren’t right for each other. Happens."

You frowned. "Didn’t you guys date a long time? Like… 5 years or something?"

"7," she corrected, "Which is 6 and a half years longer than I should’ve tolerated his taste in furniture."

"Did something change during the engagement? Or had things shifted before then? Or—I don’t know— was there some big moment where everything snapped?"

"You’re just full of questions today." Ursula turned her head toward you slowly, like she was deciding whether to be amused or throw you into the hedges.

You hesitated, then blurted the thing you probably shouldn’t have.

"Oh my god… did he meet someone else?"

"Him cheat on me?" she barked out a laugh…absolutely delighted by your audacity. "Please. He worshipped the ground I walked on. Which, frankly, should’ve been my first red flag. No one is that devoted." But the humor didn’t fully disguise the truth humming beneath it…that she’d cared for him more than she wanted to admit, and that losing him had cost her something she still didn’t have the language for.

She tipped her head back against the lounger, letting the sun hit her face.

"Anyway," she said breezily, "he dodged a bullet. Marrying into this family would’ve been a tragedy for him."

You squinted at her. "Why?"

"Why?" she echoed, as if the question itself was silly, and gave you a look that said, You already know the answer.

You suspected, but did you really know? Was it as ugly as you thought? God, you hoped not.

"Did you love him?" you whispered.

Ursula snorted in an inelegant, unfiltered sound that told you the rosé had definitely settled in. "Love?" she scoffed. "Love is for fools and poets. A marketing strategy. Something books and movies cooked up to convince people they’re incomplete unless they’ve got someone hanging off their arm." She waved her glass vaguely, as if dismissing the entire concept. But then her voice shifted…almost like she hadn’t meant to let it slip. "And besides…" She stared into her wine for a moment. "In this family, we learned a long time ago that love isn’t in the cards for us."

She blinked hard, as if realizing she’d said too much, and sat up abruptly.

"I need more wine."

You watched her stand (a little too quickly), brushing imaginary dust from her red swimsuit. She didn’t call for anyone, didn’t press a button, or summon a staff member like she normally would. Ursula went inside the house, a silent confirmation that she wasn’t fetching wine but excusing herself from the conversation. You exhaled, reached for the bottle of sunscreen, and squeezed a line of it onto your palm.

Your mind was scrambling to make sense of what she’d just said. You smoothed the sunscreen over your shoulders, your collarbone, the tops of your thighs. The lotion went on cool, but your skin felt hot anyway. You were halfway through rubbing some onto your arms when the door slid open again.

Without looking up, you called out, "I hope you brought water—"

But the rest of the sentence died in your throat, because it wasn’t Ursula.

It was Titus, dressed in khakis and a blue crew-neck T‑shirt, which was surprisingly casual for him. He was usually always wearing something crisp, tailored, and intimidating. Instead, he looked almost… normal.

Titus's eyes raked over you slowly, deliberately, like he was cataloging every curve and shadow the sunlight painted on your skin. That smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the one that always made you wonder if he knew something you didn't or if he just enjoyed watching you squirm. 

Ever since he apologized, something in the air between you had shifted. It was subtle…more like a series of small, almost accidental moments that had begun to add up. When you crossed paths in the hallway, you no longer looked away. Instead, you exchanged words. At first, brief, then gradually more extended. Dinner had stopped being something you avoided when he was in the room; somehow, you’d ended up sitting near each other more often than not. And there was that one night in the home theater when both of you were watching a movie in comfortable silence, the kind that felt natural and unforced. It was confusing how quickly you had become so at ease with him, especially given how uncertain and guarded you had felt before.

And then there was the carriage house.

He’d offered to show it to you one afternoon, almost casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. This place held pieces of your formative years and, most importantly, the echo of your mother’s laughter. As well as her lessons. You drank alcohol inside here for the first time with a friend. You’d been sixteen, curious, and hiding from the world for an afternoon. Your mom had found you an hour later, throwing up, and instead of yelling, she’d sat beside you and told you that you were terrible at being sneaky. You were also so fucking grounded. A whole month. You hadn’t meant to share all that with Titus. It just… slipped out. The memories were warm and a little ridiculous, and he’d listened without interrupting or teasing. And when you’d fallen quiet, realizing how much you’d said, he’d looked at you with this strange, gentle understanding. You knew he could tell you were sad about the renovations. Because in a way, changing this space felt like erasing her. It was a goodbye you hadn’t prepared for.

You swallowed hard, your hand hovering awkwardly over your arm, the sunscreen glistening on your fingers like some kind of evidence of your vulnerability. He’s probably used to women with flawless bodies sculpted by personal trainers, not someone like me in a basic one-piece that hugs a little too snugly around the hips, you thought, the insecurity twisting in your gut like a knife. The alcohol from earlier buzzed in your veins, blurring the edges of your thoughts and making his gaze feel heavier, more intentional than it probably was. Or was it?

"Getting some Vitamin D?" Titus drawled, his voice low and smooth, laced with that flirtatious edge that could be teasing or something more if you let yourself read into it. He sauntered closer, and you forced a laugh, but it came out breathy, unsteady, as you finally lowered your hand and capped the sunscreen bottle with a soft click.

"Yeah, trying too," Your words tumbled out a bit too quickly, the wine making your cheeks feel hotter under his scrutiny. Was he really looking at you like that, or was the booze turning every glance into something charged? You shifted on the lounger, the fabric of your swimsuit pulling taut against your thighs, suddenly hyperaware of how it clung to the soft swell of your breasts.

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine despite the sun's warmth. "Trying, huh?"

His eyes flicked to the bottle in your hand, then back to you. Without asking, he dropped onto the edge of your lounger, the cushion dipping under his weight and forcing your legs to part just slightly to make room. The proximity hit you like a wave with his thigh brushing yours, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the sunscreen's coconutty tang.

"You've barely covered your back." He wasn’t wrong. You were wearing one of those one‑piece swimsuits with a completely open back. The kind that looked modest from the front but dipped low and clean down your spine. Thin straps crossed at your shoulders and disappeared, leaving everything else exposed to the sun.

Your heart stuttered, a mix of protest and something warmer, more insistent, pooling low in your belly. "I can handle it," you shot back, but your voice lacked conviction, coming out softer than intended, almost playful. You twisted slightly, trying to play it cool, but the movement only made the straps of your one-piece dig into your shoulders, reminding you of every imperfection you suddenly couldn't ignore. Titus leaned in closer, his smirk widening as he plucked the bottle from your fingers. His touch was brief but electric, his warm hand grazing yours, leaving your skin tingling.

"Turn around."

You hesitated, the insecurity flaring again, but the alcohol nudged you forward, whispering that it was harmless. With a dramatic sigh that hid your nerves, you twisted on the lounger, facing away from him, your back exposed to the sun and his gaze. The position felt intimate…your legs pressing together as you braced your hands on your knees.

The cap snapped open with a sharp pop, and then the cool squirt of lotion hit your skin, making you gasp softly. It was cold against the heat of your body, but Titus's hands followed immediately, large and sure, spreading the sunscreen in firm, circular motions across your upper back. His palms glided smoothly, the slick sound of lotion being worked in filling the air as he kneaded it into your shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots there with just enough pressure to draw a low, unintended moan from your lips. It slipped out, breathy and surprised, your body betraying you as the tension in your muscles melted under his touch. He paused for a beat, and you could feel the heat of him behind you, his breath ghosting over your neck.

"Professor, it seems you need a massage. You’re so tense," he murmured, voice husky now, the flirtation unmistakable even through the haze of your buzz. His hands slid lower, tracing the line of your spine, fingers splaying wide to cover the curve of your waist. You bit your lip to stifle another sound, but a soft whimper escaped anyway when his thumbs dipped just under the strap, teasing the boundary without crossing it. Your breath hitched, every stroke of his hands igniting nerves you hadn't realized were so alive. The lounger creaked faintly under your shifting weight, your thighs clenching as warmth built between them. You glanced over your shoulder, catching his hazel eyes as his fingers worked lower still, massaging the lotion into the small of your back with deliberate, unhurried pressure.

His hands lingered for just a second too long on the small of your back, the slick warmth of the sunscreen and his touch still seeping into your skin as you both froze at the sound of the door sliding open again. Ursula stepped back onto the patio, and you and Titus both straightened instinctively, the moment between you snapping closed. Your heart was still racing from the intimacy of his fingers on your skin. Ursula peeled off her sunglasses, hooking them on the neckline of the tank top she had put on, her sharp green eyes flicking between you and Titus.

She crossed her arms, one hip cocked out. "Just got off the phone with the girls," she announced. "We're hitting this new bar tonight. And you," she pointed a finger right at you, "you're coming. No excuses."

You blinked, the haze of the sunscreen application and the lingering buzz from the drinks making your protest sluggish. "Wait, no, I can't—"

She cut you off with a wave of her hand, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Oh, please. You've been holed up teaching that online class, grading shit, or doing research this entire time. It's summer, for fuck's sake. All you're doing is working your ass off on that laptop like some hermit. You need to go out, have fun. Maybe get laid?" Her lips curled into a wicked grin. "When's the last time you felt the weight of a man on top of you, huh? Don't tell me it's been so long that you've forgotten."

Heat flooded your face, burning hotter than the sun. You ducked your head, mortified, the words hitting too close to home because it had been a while. Longer than you'd admit to anyone, let alone in front of Titus. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, the earlier tension with him now twisted into something awkward and exposed.

"Ursula," Titus interjected, his voice a low growl. He shifted on the lounger, his broad shoulders tensing, jaw clenching as he shot her a sidelong glare, one hand flexing against his thigh like he was holding back from saying more. She ignored him and grabbed your arm before you could sink further into the cushions.

"I don't even have any going-out clothes," you stammered.

"Oh, relax, you own a credit card. You’ll buy something. Come on, let's go. I need to fix your face, and that’s going to be a whole… process with you." She tugged you up with surprising strength, her fingers wrapping around your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

The lounger springs groaned in protest as Titus stood too, his lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossing over his chest in that brooding way that screamed jealousy without a word. His eyes followed, a muscle ticking in his jaw as Ursula hauled you toward the door.

As she dragged you inside, the cool air of the house hit your skin. Ursula was already rifling through her phone, muttering under her breath.

"Shit," she said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the foyer. "I need to call the pilot so he can get here with the PJ."

"What?" you screamed, stumbling after her, the patio door sliding shut behind you with a definitive thud.

"Yeah, we're going to Nantucket tonight."

Titus didn’t expect to still be awake at 1 in the morning, but there he was, lying in the dark with his phone lighting up the room. He wasn’t even doing anything productive…just scrolling, trying to tire out his brain. Then his screen lit up with a message from Ursula.

He opened it, and she’d sent him a few photos taken at some party from a discreet angle. The first photo showed a woman in a gold dress seated between two men, her hand resting boldly on one of their knees. The next photo was of her in the center of the frame with a man they did business with, a very married man, sitting on a velvet couch draped across his lap. They were kissing, her hand curled around the back of his neck, his wedding ring catching the light.

Classic Ursula. She probably snapped it for future leverage. But Titus barely seemed to notice any of that. Because you were in the picture too, standing off to the side, holding a cocktail in one hand. The Capri crystal‑embellished beaded tulle mini dress you wore caught the light, scattering it in tiny reflections across the frame. The dress looked delicate and intricate, and unmistakably out of your price range.

Titus knew his sister well enough to recognize her handiwork immediately. Ursula had definitely used her credit card to buy you that dress. Probably without asking you first. Then he noticed the jewelry…the earrings and the necklace. Both distinctive pieces he’d seen before in Ursula’s collection. Titus stared at the screen longer than he intended, his thumb hovering over the phone but not moving. The glow of the screen was sharp against the dark room, holding him in place as he absorbed the image.

You were fucking gorgeous. He locked his phone and lay back in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Titus's mind raced, the darkness of the room closing in like a vice. 

What if someone tried to fuck you tonight? 

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, twisting his insides with a rage that made him want to smash the phone. He sat up abruptly, the sheets tangling around his legs, his breath coming in sharp bursts. You deserved better than these sleazy bastards. He unlocked his phone again, zooming in on the photo of you standing there in that dress Ursula had shoved on you, the beads shimmering like they were mocking him. You were probably surrounded by drooling men and their wandering hands. Were you getting groped by some hedge fund asshole?

Titus's fists balled up, knuckles whitening. He could picture it too vividly…the way these men were probably stripping you bare in their minds. You were his (whether you knew it or not), he seethed internally, the obsession coiling tighter in his chest. It made his blood boil because these men didn't deserve to even breathe the same air as you. He wanted to shield you from it all, wrap you in his arms, and lock the world out. No more parties, no more dresses that hugged your curves like an invitation. Just him… keeping you safe, and only his hands would be the ones allowed to trace your skin, to feel the heat of you against him.

The jealousy surged, a dark wave crashing over him. What if some fucker approached you? What if he pulled you onto his lap, his fingers digging into your thigh, and whispered bullshit promises into your ear to get you into bed? Titus growled low in his throat, the sound echoing in the empty room. He'd kill for you. Snap any man’s neck without a second thought, and watch the life drain from their eyes for even just thinking about touching you.

Titus spent the entire next morning trying to bury himself in work. He had a meeting scheduled with the family accountant, a sizable stack of documents waiting for his signature, and a long list of financial decisions that demanded his full attention. Normally, he could easily compartmentalize and push everything else aside, but today was different. Today, his mind refused to stay focused.

Every time he attempted to concentrate, his thoughts drifted back to you. And finally, to the unsettling fact that neither you nor Ursula had come home last night. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter (complete lie), that he didn’t care (even bigger lie), and that he had more important things to think about (another lie). But none of those reassurances helped.

By the time he finally returned home in the afternoon, he felt drained and stepped inside, loosening his tie, and shut the door behind him.

The sound echoed through the foyer.

"Too loud," you groaned from the staircase.

He looked up sharply, and there you were, on the staircase wearing a faded concert tee and sweatpants. You were moving slowly, one hand gripping the railing tightly, the other pressed to your forehead. You looked up, squinting as if the light was personally attacking you. "I’m hungover."

He raised an eyebrow. "I gathered."

"No, like—hungover hungover," you said, dragging yourself up another step. "I honestly can’t remember the last time I drank this much."

"You look like you can’t remember the last time you slept either," he smirked, trying not to smile.

"I didn’t. Ursula dragged me everywhere. I think we went to 3 places? Maybe 4?"

"That would explain the state you’re in," Titus replied, leaning casually against the banister. 

You groaned again and buried your face in your hands. "I’m never drinking again."

"You say that now."

"I mean it. I’m too old for this shit," you insisted. With a defeated huff, you turned and resumed your slow climb up the stairs. "I’m going to bed. If Ursula asks, I died. She dropped me off; she had to handle some business in town."

"I’ll pass along the message," Titus said, watching you go, one hand gripping the railing like it was the only thing keeping you upright. You missed a step, caught yourself, muttered something under your breath.

He pushed off the banister with a quiet sigh. "Alright. Come on."

"What?" You blinked down at him.

"You’re going to fall on your face at this rate," he said, already moving up the steps. "I’m making sure you get to the east wing without breaking something."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the argument died somewhere between your headache and your dry throat. "Fine," you muttered.

He walked beside you, matching your sluggish pace as you dragged yourself down the long hallway. Despite your state (hair a tangled mess, makeup smudged, and your eyes dull), you still looked remarkably beautiful, even in your disheveled, exhausted condition. Titus couldn’t help but notice how your features, though marred by fatigue, still held a kind of effortless grace, the kind that seemed to glow even through the haze of suffering. The contrast struck him…that you looked perfect, even while you looked utterly miserable. 

When you finally reached your room, you made a beeline for the bed, already half-collapsing onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, your body sagging with exhaustion.

"No," Titus said firmly from the doorway.

You groaned into the comforter. "Why?"

"The best hangover remedy isn’t just passing out in yesterday’s makeup."

You lifted your head an inch, squinting at him through bleary eyes. "Then what is it, oh wise one?"

"A bath," Titus said simply, gesturing toward the bathroom with a subtle nod.

 "A what?"

He repeated, more deliberately this time, "A bath. It’ll help relax your muscles and clear your head. Then you take a nice long nap. Trust me."

"I don’t have the energy for a bath."

"That’s why I’ll run the water. You just need to get in it afterwards."

You pushed yourself upright with a dramatic groan, feeling the weight of your body protesting every movement. "I hate everything," you muttered, voice muffled against the pillow.

From the bathroom, the familiar noises of the faucet turning on and the soothing flow of water filling the tub reached your ears. This wasn’t an ordinary bathroom…it felt more like a personal spa. Heated floors warmed your feet, soft recessed lights cast a calming glow, and a rainfall shower spanned almost an entire room. At the heart of it all stood the tub: a deep, sculptural soaking pool carved from a single slab of smooth, creamy stone, which was large enough to swim laps in if you dared.

Titus took his time, adjusted the lighting first, dimming the overheads and switching on the warm sconces along the wall until the room felt calm, almost serene. He played around with the temperature meticulously, testing the water with his hand to find that perfect, comforting warmth. He was thorough, ensuring every detail was just right. When he was satisfied, he reached for a glass jar of Epsom salts on the shelf and sprinkled a generous handful into the water. The crystals dissolved instantly, releasing a clean, soothing scent. He added a few drops of premium lavender essential oil, allowing its soothing aroma to drift effortlessly through the air. Next, he retrieved a plush, hotel-grade towel from the warming rack and draped it neatly over the edge of the tub. Finally, he carefully folded a soft washcloth placing it gently nearby.

Finally, he stepped back, satisfied. "Alright. It’s ready," he called out. You shuffled toward the doorway, pausing briefly beside him.

"You didn’t have to do that," you mumbled, voice rough and your eyeliner smudged. "I can’t believe you even know how to make a bath, honestly."

He gave you a flat look. "I’m capable of basic human tasks."

"Are you… being nice to me?" you teased.

"Don’t get used to it."

You giggled, immediately regretting the effort, and pressed a hand to your forehead. "Ugh. My brain hurts."

"Then go sit in the bath," he said, stepping aside so you could pass. "And drink water. A lot of it. I’ll have Paula bring you some."

You nodded, slow and pitiful, and Titus lingered just long enough to make sure you didn’t trip over the bathmat before he turned to leave.

"Um—" you started, and he paused, his hand still on the doorframe. You were standing there, shoulders pulled up tight, fingers twisting nervously in the hem of your shirt.

"Do you… want to eat dinner together tonight?"

Titus kept his voice even, trying not to let any of his curiosity show. "Sure. What do you want me to ask the chef to make?"

You shook your head immediately, almost as if you couldn’t help it. "No, let’s go out tonight. You took a deep breath and then added, "I’m craving this burger I used to get in Providence."

"Alright," he smirked. "We can do that."

"Okay. Cool. Great." you said, sounding a bit more at ease.

Titus exited the doorway, gently closing it behind him with a quiet click. He began walking down the corridor, making his way directly to his office. As he reached the end of the hallway, he suddenly became aware that he was smiling. Or at least his version of smiling.

Later, after your nap, you found him downstairs with the driver, keys in hand, ready to drive off. You led him to the burger place, which was a tiny, questionable spot squeezed between a laundromat and a pawn shop. It was the kind of place he’d never set foot in on his own. As soon as he stepped inside, Titus knew exactly what he was in for with the grease-stained menus, flickering neon lights, and a fryer that sounded like it was struggling to stay alive.

You ordered with enthusiasm, and he ordered simply because you were ordering. When the food arrived, you took a bite and sighed like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

He took a bite too, and his face scrunched up in displeasure. It was… fucking awful. You burst out laughing at his reaction, and it was the kind of unrestrained laughter he had never heard from you. Titus forced himself to take another bite. Not because he liked it, and not because he wanted to.

But because… he honestly would’ve eaten horse shit if it meant hearing you laugh like that again.

The next week, you found yourself at the Newport Country Club, a place that felt both familiar and suddenly new. Chester used to bring you here when you were in college. He’d parade you around the club, introduce you to people with firm handshakes, all while you stood there pretending you understood the rules of a world that wasn’t built for you.

You were in the women’s locker room, washing your hands slowly as your eyes lingered on your reflection in the mirror. The golf outfit you had bought…something you had sworn you wouldn’t splurge on, actually looked pretty good on you. Yet, despite that, you couldn’t help but tug at the hem of your shirt and adjust your skirt nervously, your frown deepening as you studied your own face.

When Titus found out that you’d never really learned how to play golf, he had offered to teach you on the estate. Before you knew it, you’d said yes, impulsively, without really thinking it through. Since then, you’d had a few lessons, and truthfully, you were terrible at it. Titus never outright said it, but you could see it in his expressions, in the way he subtly guided you through each swing.

You vividly recalled that first time clutching the club awkwardly in your hands at the Danforth estate. Your stance was all wrong, with your feet too close together, hips slightly twisted, throwing off your balance. When you swung, the ball barely moved, trickling forward to a pitiful stop just a few feet away. You bit your lip, warmth flooding your cheeks with embarrassment, fingers tightening around the grip as if that could somehow make up for the miss. Titus stood a few paces behind you, adding a dense, almost suffocating weight to the air.

"Easy there," he drawled, stepping closer with a teasing smile, his voice smooth as he circled around you slowly. You couldn’t help but notice how broad his shoulders looked under that fitted polo, the fabric stretched tight across his muscles. Without a word, he moved behind you, aligning his body with yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine despite the warm day. His large hand covered yours on the grip, firm and guiding. He adjusted your hold, pressing his fingers into the backs of your knuckles, then shifted one hand to your elbow, nudging it straighter, while his other palm settled against your hip, giving it a gentle, guiding push. The touch felt instructional on the surface, but beneath it was an undercurrent of some sort. His skin's heat seeping through your thin shirt, his breath brushing your ear as he murmured corrections.

"Loosen up a bit, yeah? You're gripping it too tight, like it's going to bite back."

You nodded silently, acutely aware of how his chest nearly grazed your back. You swung again, this time with more power, and the ball sailed farther. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better.

After the shot, he lingered, his hand lightly trailing down your arm in approval before stepping back. "Not bad. Good girl."

The words slipped out casually, like they meant nothing, but they sparked a flutter deep in your belly. You clenched involuntarily, a secret throb stirring between your thighs, making your breath hitch. Deep down, you realized how much you liked it. How the praise was wrapped in his calm authority, how it made you feel seen and craving more. Your eyes widened slightly, lips parting in a soft exhale, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice. But your body’s warm, tingling response betrayed you.

As the lessons continued, you began to notice it more… how you’d hesitate just slightly on some swings, deliberately letting your form slip so his hands would return, correcting you with that same touch you’d started to crave. One afternoon, you 'missed' a straight shot on purpose, the ball veering off wildly. You turned your head, feigning apology with a sheepish smile, brows furrowed in mock frustration, but inside, anticipation coiled tight. Titus sighed, and you couldn’t tell if it was at your obvious sabotage. He sauntered over, smirking with that confident curl of his lips. His tall frame loomed as he gripped your waist from behind, fingers wide across your sides to realign you.

"That was sloppy. I know you can do better than that." His touch was firm, guiding your hips with a gentle roll that pressed him against you, and you felt every inch of his strength. His strong thigh muscles bracketed yours as his arms wrapped around you to demonstrate the swing, pulling you through the motion as if you were an extension of himself.

It was intoxicating, the way he handled you. When the ball finally connected properly, arcing cleanly across the green, he released you slowly, his hand brushing your lower back in a lingering pat.

"There you go. Good girl."

Today, he had a meeting scheduled with a business colleague at the club. You’d asked if you could come along, to practice more, but… that was a lie. It was really because you wanted to spend more time with him. As you continued to stare at your reflection in the mirror, you tried to make sense of it all. How had this man become the person you wanted to be around? The person you had become strangely aware of, suddenly conscious of every glance, every word, every faint smile he threw your way?

Titus embodied everything you’d spent years dismissing with his old-money elegance and the kind of generational wealth that was fucking disgusting. He represented privilege without self-awareness and was part of a system built to protect those already protected.

You thought about the online class you’d taught yesterday, and you delivered a lecture on economic power and moral responsibility, which was the kind of topic you loved because it let you challenge your students to think critically about the systems they lived in. You’d talked about how wealth shapes behavior, how privilege can warp a person’s sense of what’s normal, how easy it is for comfort to masquerade as ethics. At one point, you’d even said:

"The more money someone has, the easier it becomes to mistake convenience for virtue."

And the whole time, you were sitting in a house that probably cost 30 million dollars, drinking coffee you didn’t make, and wearing clothes the maid had steamed and laid out for you that morning.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. You felt like a fucking fraud.

You’d closed your laptop afterward and just sat there, staring at the carved molding on the ceiling, wondering when exactly your life had drifted so far from the version you recognized. You remembered how you and your mother used to argue over this—she never understood why you were so disillusioned with this life.

"I took this job to give you opportunities I could only have dreamed of!" she always said. After Kip's wedding, you begged her to quit, but she refused. As a result, you two didn't speak for nearly a year. During that time, you moved to the UK, and when she finally visited you at Cambridge, you both chose not to bring up the Danforth’s.

You stepped out of the bathroom, breath steadying as you made your way back toward the terrace. The club was buzzing with the low hum of weekend brunch: clinking cutlery, soft laughter, the occasional burst of applause from a table celebrating something.

Titus spotted you before you reached the table, and he shifted in his seat, making space for you beside him. Titus and his colleague were mid‑conversation, something about an acquisition, but he paused long enough to stand up and pull out your chair. You sat, smoothing your skirt, and thanked him.

You swallowed when his gaze lingered on you, a smirk flickering on the end of his lips. You just sat there, hands folded in your lap, trying to look composed while the waitress returned with water. His colleague who was probably a man in his late fifties with a sun‑leathered face and a navy blazer, reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigar.

He held it up slightly. "Mind if I smoke?"

"I don’t mind," you shook your head.

He had been perfectly pleasant to you so far…overly polite, even. But you weren’t naïve. You knew exactly why. His son was 'considering business school,' as he had put it, and while that wasn’t your department, he perked up the moment he realized you were on a first‑name basis with the dean at Harvard Business School. You had taught a seminar there last year. Just a guest course on organizational ethics. Suddenly, you were "Doctor" and "Professor," suddenly your insights were "fascinating," though you could practically see the strategic calculations behind his eyes.

He wasn’t being nice to you. He was being nice to the access he thought you represented.

"I mind," Titus said.

You turned toward him, confused. That didn’t track. You knew Titus enjoyed them because you’d seen him multiple times at the house, leaning back with a cigar in hand, smoke curling into the night like it was part of his bloodstream. So hearing him object now made no sense.

"She’s just being polite," he added. "She hates the smell." You stared at him, caught off guard because you did hate the smell, but you didn’t realize he cared. "And besides," Titus went on, "we need to go. I promised her we’d actually golf today, and I’ve spent this entire meal listening to you outline a truly terrible plan for how we acquire this company."

His colleague froze, the cigar halfway to his mouth. Titus stood, smoothing his jacket with a practiced flick of his wrist. "I expect to hear something better by tomorrow morning. I want something in my inbox by 6 am."

"Of course, Mr. Danforth," the man said quickly, his voice tight with nerves. He turned to you with a strained smile. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Professor."

"You as well," you replied, keeping your tone polite as Titus stepped behind you and placed a hand at the small of your back as he guided you away from the table and toward the waiting golf caddy.

"I know you have to work," you said once you were far enough from the table, your voice low so only he could hear. "You can keep talking to him if you need to."

"I’m probably going to fire him. He’s incompetent. I don’t know why Father has held on to him for so long."

Before you could respond, the golf caddy rolled up beside you, cheerful and oblivious. "Mr. Danforth, I can take you both out to the course now."

"We won’t be needing that."

The caddy hesitated. "Sir?"

"I’ll drive," Titus said, already steering you toward the row of private carts, his hand still at the small of your back.

The caddy blinked, thrown off. "Are you sure, sir?"

"I’m sure," Titus replied, the words sliced clean and precise. You felt a pang of sympathy for the caddy. He couldn’t have been more than 20, probably home from college for the summer, just trying to make some extra money.

Titus nodded toward the back of the cart. "Put our clubs in."

The caddy scrambled to do it, fumbling only once before securing them properly. He stepped back quickly, as if afraid to take up too much space. Once the clubs were in place, Titus climbed into one of the private carts and waited for you to join him. You climbed in beside him, still trying to catch up to the shift in his mood. He started the cart with one hand, the other resting casually on the wheel as he pulled away from the terrace. Before he turned onto the path, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded bill, and handed it to the caddy with a brief nod.

The kid’s eyes widened slightly, relief washing over his face as he murmured, "Thank you, sir."

Instead of heading toward the main course, he took a narrow path that dipped behind a line of old oaks, which was a route you hadn’t noticed before, one that clearly wasn’t meant for guests. The further he drove, the quieter it became.

You glanced at him. "Where are we going?"

He didn’t look at you, but the corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly.

"Somewhere we won’t be interrupted."

And he kept driving, deeper into the most private part of the grounds. The golf cart hummed softly as Titus navigated the narrow path, the old oaks towering overhead like silent guardians, their branches weaving a canopy that filtered the sunlight into dappled patterns on the ground. The air grew thicker with the scent of freshly cut grass and earth, the distant sounds of the main course fading until it was just the two of you, isolated in this hidden corner of the grounds. Finally, he eased the cart to a stop behind a thick cluster of trees, the engine cutting off with a quiet whine, leaving only the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Titus turned to you then, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. The way the light hit them turned the green flecks into something almost predatory, but there was a vulnerability there too, something raw beneath the surface.

"You know… I'm not only firing him because he's incompetent," he said, his voice low and edged with something darker than anger.

"What do you mean?" you murmured, tilting your head, confusion knitting your brows.

He leaned closer, those eyes narrowing slightly, his gaze dropping for a split second before snapping back to your face. "He stared at your ass when you got up to go to the bathroom."

The words hung in the air, heavy and possessive. Your stomach flipped, and a rush of heat flooded through you as you processed what he said.

"I didn't fucking like it," he growled.

"You didn't?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"I didn't," he echoed, and you knew then, in that charged silence, that the weeks of buildup had led you here. There was no more dancing around it. His hand reached for your face, fingers gentle as they cupped your cheek, thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

"Titus," you breathed, his name a soft plea, and your lips parting as you leaned into his touch.

The kiss started slowly, and it was surprisingly tender. His mouth met yours with a careful pressure, lips soft and exploring, like he was savoring the taste of you for the first time. You melted into it, your eyes fluttering shut, a quiet sigh escaping as his tongue brushed yours lightly, coaxing rather than demanding. His free hand settled on your waist, pulling you closer across the seat, his breath mingling with yours in the confined space of the cart. But he didn't stop there; his lips trailed from your mouth, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive skin of your neck. His tongue flicked out, licking a slow, deliberate path up the column of your throat, tasting the faint sheen of sweat that had gathered from the day. You shivered, a soft moan bubbling up as he sucked gently at the spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing enough to send sparks straight to your core.

"Titus," you gasped again, but it dissolved into a whimper when he captured your mouth once more. You fisted in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, and he growled low in his throat, the tenderness fracturing into feral hunger. He could feel your pulse racing against his tongue, and it was driving him insane. No one was ever going to look at you like that again, not while he was breathing. You were his to protect, his to ruin.

Suddenly, his kiss deepened further, teeth nipping at your lower lip as he angled his head to claim more. Your hands fisted tighter in his shirt, and he responded by hauling you over the console and into his lap in one fluid motion. You straddled him, knees bracketing his hips on the narrow seat, the golf cart rocking slightly under your weight. The seclusion of the oaks made it feel illicit, exposed even in privacy, but that only fueled the fire. His hand slid under your shirt, calloused palm skimming up your side until he cupped one breast, thumb circling your nipple through the lace of your bra. You arched into his touch, a sharp gasp breaking the kiss as he pinched lightly, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful like this," he murmured against your mouth, his voice husky with praise, hazel eyes dark and dilated as he pulled back just enough to watch you. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you down onto his thigh, the hard muscle pressing up against your core through your panties underneath your skirt. You gasped, the friction immediate and electric as you rocked forward instinctively, grinding against him.

"That's it, baby." He squeezed your breast harder, kneading the soft flesh as his mouth found your neck again, tongue lapping at the sweat trickling down, sucking marks into your skin. A whimper slipped from your lips, your face feeling hot, brows furrowing in pleasure as you moved again, the seam of his pants rubbing right where you needed it. His expression was intense—lips parted, jaw clenched, those eyes of his fixed on your face like he was memorizing every twitch.

"Look at you, so eager for me. My perfect girl." He thrust up slightly, meeting your rhythm, and you moaned louder, the sound echoing softly in the quiet grove. Your hands braced on his shoulders, nails digging in as you picked up the pace, fucking his thigh with desperate rolls of your hips, the pressure building fast and filthy.

"God, Titus," you panted, your eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in a silent cry as waves of heat coiled tight in your belly. He praised you through it, words spilling out in a gravelly stream.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart. Making such pretty sounds for me. Come on, let me feel you soak me." His grip tightened on your hip, the other still mauling your breast, pinching the nipple until it ached deliciously. You rode him harder, thigh muscles flexing under you, the cart creaking with each grind, your mouths crashing together again in a sloppy, tongue-heavy kiss that left strings of saliva between you when you broke apart. Sweat dripped down your back, and suddenly your orgasm hit—sharp and shattering. You cried out his name. Your body shuddered, face contorting in bliss, lips pressed together in a gasp as you clenched around nothing. He felt you tremble in his hold, your wetness soaking through to his pants.

"Good girl," He praised, but he didn't let you come down fully. Before the aftershocks faded, he was shifting you, strong hands shoving your skirt up around your waist.

"Need to taste you," he growled, eyes wild now, feral edge sharpening his features

"Oh, fuck," you moaned, completed turned on. He yanked your panties off, and saw your cunt…bare, glistening, and swollen from the friction.

"Jesus, look at this pretty pussy." You were drenched, begging for his mouth. He could smell you, musky and sweet, and it took everything not to rip his pants open. But first, he needed to bury his face in your cunt, and make you scream his name until you forgot every word in the English language.  

"Please. Please please please," you babbled, watching his eyes locked on your cunt.

"You've been aching for this, haven't you?" His words hit like a spark, making you clench visibly, and more of your arousal leaked out.

"Yes, fuck, I need it," you begged. He maneuvered you out of the cart with urgent hands, lifting you effortlessly and setting you on the back chair, the metal warm from the sun. The grass crunched under his knees as he dropped down, pulling your legs up to drape over his broad shoulders, spreading you wide.

"So fucking wet for me already, dripping down your thighs. Have you ever been this wet before?"

"No…" You whined. “I only—only g-get this wet for y-you," you choked out. And it was the truth, because you had never been this wet after an orgasm. It was probably because you had this powerful man on his knees for you. Powerful Titus, reduced to this, pleading for you to fuck his face publicly in broad daylight amid the course's open sprawl.

"It’s for you, Titus."

"Fuck." The word left his lips as a gravelly exhale, more a prayer than a curse. The sight of your slick arousal and the scent of it had been one thing, but now your trembling admission? It ignited something primal and absolute in him.

Everything felt raw and desperate. The oaks loomed close, leaves whispering like they could see you, and you felt so exposed. His mouth descended on your pussy like a man starved, tongue flat and broad as he licked up your slick folds in one long, filthy stroke. You yelped, hands flying to his salt and pepper hair, the sensation overwhelming—wet, hot, and unrelenting. He devoured you, sucking your clit between his lips with a hungry groan, nose bumping against you as he buried his face deeper. His chin was glistening with your arousal, and his stubble was scraping your inner thighs raw.

"Taste so good," he rasped between laps, the words vibrating against your skin. It was desperate, the way he ate you out. His tongue thrusting inside, then circling your entrance, lips smacking obscenely as he lapped at your arousal like it was his lifeline. He added two fingers, thick and rough, pumping in and out while his mouth focused on your clit, sucking and flicking until your thighs quivered around his head.

"Fu-uck," you whined, face twisting in ecstasy and embarrassment, moans turning into breathy sobs.

"Feel good?" he growled against your folds, voice muffled and ragged, breath panting hot across your skin.

"Yes," you panted. Oh God, yes, Titus, p-please don’t stop." You glanced down, chest heaving, and caught him...his free hand palming his cock through his pants, squeezing the thick bulge with a frustrated grunt. His gorgeous eyes flicked up to meet yours with raw desperation mid-lick, and his fingers crooked ruthlessly against that spot inside of you.

The thought that he was the one unraveling you, the one capable of drawing these shattered, beautiful sounds from your throat, filled him with a savage possessive pride.

"That's it," he grunted, the vibration a direct assault on your senses. His mind was a single, focused point of heat and need. The taste of you, the desperate sounds you were making, he could feel your climax building. "Come for me. Let me feel you come all over my face."

The sight of him, so hard and straining, touching himself while he feasted on you… it was too much. Your thighs clamped tight around his head, your pussy pulsing wildly as your orgasm broke. You arched off the seat, a keening whine tearing from your throat, as your eyes rolled back in your head. He didn't stop, tongue and fingers working you through it, drawing out every pulse until you were limp and gasping, utterly spent in the hidden heart of the grounds.

Titus rose from between your thighs after your recovery, his own breathing ragged and uneven. The raw hunger in his eyes hadn't dimmed; in fact, it had only intensified. He remained silent, leaning in instead to capture your lips in a deep, claiming kiss that tasted of both you and his own desperate need. Your hands moved to his waist, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt, the metallic clink echoing sharply in the quiet. Suddenly, your phone blared from the golf cart; the sound was like a tiny, digital guillotine, slicing through the moment. The spell shattered, and you froze, his fiery gaze flickering with desperate heat while yours was replaced by a dazed confusion.

You felt the panic building inside of you, a knot tightening in your chest. The gravity of what you had done was beginning to sink in. Thinking about it was one thing, but actually getting involved with a man that you were half convinced was the heir of some satanic cult was another thing.

Fuck.

You practically sprinted back to your room the moment the driver dropped you off. The second the bedroom door shut behind you, you went straight for your suitcase, yanking it open and shoving clothes inside without even folding them. Your hands were shaking. You knew this was a mistake…coming back here, letting yourself get pulled into this world again. You should never have given that letter to Chester. Everything had spiraled from that single decision, and now all you wanted was to get out before it got any worse.

"This is your mood after two orgasms?" Titus growled as he burst into your room, the door slamming against the wall hard enough to rattle the frame.

You stopped where you were, hands still on the half‑packed suitcase. The open luggage on the bed suddenly felt incriminating. Titus’s gaze moved from the suitcase to you, slow and deliberate, and the look on his face made your stomach drop.

"Where are you going?"

You swallowed hard. "What happened earlier was a mistake."

"A mistake," he repeated, like he was tasting the word and finding it ridiculous. He took another step, closing the distance. "Let me get this straight. You, spread out and screaming my name where anyone could have seen... that was a mistake?"

"Stop it," you whispered, your cheeks burning. You folded a blouse with trembling hands, shoving it into the suitcase.

He didn't stop. He took another step, crowding you against the bed. "The way you begged? The little sounds you made right before you fell apart on my thigh? That was a mistake?"

"Titus—"

"What? I shouldn't have tasted you?" he pressed, his gaze boring into the side of your face. "Shouldn't have learned exactly how sweet you get when you come on my tongue?"

"Just stop," you said, firmer now, a plea wrapped in anger. You grabbed a pair of jeans, not even folding them, just balling them up to create a barrier of motion between you. He was right in front of you now, his presence overwhelming. He reached out, not to touch you, but to snap the lid of your suitcase shut with a final, definitive thud.

"You don't get to call the only real thing I've felt in years a fucking 'mistake' and run."

"You can fuck anybody you want, Titus," you snapped, your voice trembling with a fury that was half horror, half a desperate need to push him away. "The entire world is your feet. Go find another woman to amuse yourself with."

He didn't move back. He loomed, his body a wall of intent. The casual, predatory grace was gone, replaced by a rawness you'd never seen in him before. His eyes, usually so guarded and mocking, were stark, stripped bare.

"I don't want to fuck just anybody," he said, his voice terrifyingly sincere. The words weren't a smooth line; they were torn out of him. "I only want you."

"Well, I don’t want you."

"You’re seriously going to stand here, and look me in the eye, and tell me you don’t want me?"

Before you could form a denial, his hand came up, not harshly, but with a firm, undeniable certainty. His palm was warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing just below your eye. The contact was electric, a direct circuit to the memory of his touch everywhere else. Your eyes, against your will, filled with traitorous tears, blurring his intense, searching gaze.

He saw them. His own expression flickered—something like pain, so he leaned in, his intention clear, his focus dropping to your mouth. But the movement broke the spell.

With a choked sound that was half sob, half cry of protest, you shoved your hands hard against his chest. "Don’t!"

The push wasn’t strong enough to move him far, but it was enough. He stumbled back a single step, more from the shock of the rejection than the force. You stood there, breathing raggedly, the ghost of his touch still burning on your cheek. The tears you’d held back spilled over.

"You know why I can't just... do this with you," you said, your voice barely a thread of sound, breaking under the weight of it.

He didn’t move. His expression didn’t change. He just held your gaze, the storm in his eyes banked to a dangerous, waiting stillness.

"Then fucking say it," he commanded. He needed to hear you speak the reason into existence, to give a name to the thing that was stealing this from him.

"Kip's wedding," you whispered. "For 12 years, I’ve been pretending that maybe I was wrong about what happened. But I wasn’t. It did happen."

The raw confession hung between you… it was like a ghost was given flesh and voice. You saw the exact moment your words landed, and the way his entire body went rigid.

"His wife didn’t just run off with her ex," you went on, voice shaking. "You and I both know that’s not what happened." Your throat burned as the memories pressed in, sharper than you wanted them to be. "My mother told me I imagined it. That I was confused." You shook your head, tears gathering despite your best effort to hold them back.

"But I didn’t imagine it. I know what I saw."

The wedding had been a blur of champagne and forced smiles. Dinner was over, the band packing up. You were pleasantly fuzzy, your mother’s uncharacteristic permissiveness with the wine a surprising delight. You watched from the terrace as the Danforth’s gently guided Kip’s radiant new wife, Celia, away from the straggling guests and toward the looming main house. Their smiles were bright, their hands on her arms firm.

"Time for a family nightcap," you heard Chester boom, ushering everyone else toward their cars. Staff materialized, beginning the swift, silent cleanup. Your mother found you, her own smile tight.

"You've had enough fun, honey. Time for bed." She steered you toward the carriage house, her grip a little too sharp.

You drifted into a fitful, wine-heavy sleep in bed. Then you heard the noises. They jerked you awake. Not the distant thump of music or laughter, but something else. A stifled scream that was cut off too quickly. Your heart slammed against your ribs, the pleasant buzz of alcohol evaporating into pure, cold adrenaline. You slipped from the bed, your feet silent on the cold floor. Peering out the window of the carriage house showed nothing but still, dark gardens. With a trembling hand, you turned the knob and stepped out into the night. The air was cool, smelling of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine—a scent that would forever be tainted. You moved like a ghost, staying close to the shadows of the hedgerow, following the direction from which the terrible sounds had come.

That’s when you saw her. A crumpled splash of white against the dark boxwoods near the old reflecting pool. Celia. Her beautiful lace wedding gown was now torn and saturated with a shocking, wet red darkness that glistened under the sliver of moon. She was trying to crawl, one hand leaving a slick, dragging trail on the dewy grass.

Her head lifted as you approached, her face a mask of blood and dirt. Her eyes, wide with a primal, animal fear, locked onto yours. Her mouth opened, but only a wet, gurgling sound came out at first. She tried again, her voice a shattered, stuttering whisper you had to strain to hear.

"Please... help me."

You dropped to your knees beside her, the damp grass soaking through your nightclothes. The coppery scent of blood filled your nose, thick and nauseating.

"Celia," you whispered, your own voice trembling. "What happened? Who did this to you?" She trembled violently, a bloody hand flailing before it finally clutched at the fabric of your sleeve, her grip surprisingly strong.

"The... the card," she rasped, each word a painful, wet exhalation. "I pulled... the Hide and Seek card." Her eyes were wild, pleading for you to understand something fundamental, something terrible. You stared, uncomprehending… A card?

"I don't understand," you breathed, your gaze darting over her ruined dress, the dark, spreading stains.

A raw, desperate sound escaped her, a mix of a sob and a choke. Her fingers dug into your arm. "They're going to kill me," she managed, her voice rising to a broken scream that was barely more than a harsh, tearing whisper. "This fucking insane family is going to kill me! They're hunting me!"

Before you could react, before you could even process her words, a new sound cut through the night. It was the deliberate crunch of boots on gravel, approaching fast from the direction of the main house. Celia's eyes widened further in pure terror. You hooked your hands under her arms, the slick, warm blood immediately coating your skin.

"Come on, Celia. Up. We have to go." You strained, your muscles burning, managing to haul her partially upright. She was a dead weight, her legs buckling. The bootsteps were almost upon you. You took a staggering step back toward the faint light of the carriage house door, dragging her, your own bare feet slipping on the wet grass. You had just turned, your back to the approaching threat, your entire world narrowed to the twenty feet of safety, when it happened.

There was no warning sound. Just a blinding, white-hot explosion of pain at the base of your skull. It wasn’t like being hit. It was like the night itself had solidified and shattered against you. Your vision flashed pure white, then spiraled into violent, swirling darkness. The last thing you felt was Celia slipping from your grasp. The last thing you heard, fading as if down a long, dark tunnel, was Celia's voice. Not a whisper anymore, but a full-throated, ragged scream of pure agony that was abruptly cut short. Then there was nothing. No sound. No sight. Just a deep, swallowing blackness that pulled you under.

You woke up in your bed in the carriage house. Morning light streamed in, harsh and wrong. Your head was a throbbing universe of pain. Your mother was sitting in a chair beside the bed, calmly dabbing a cool cloth to your forehead.

"You had a nasty fall last night, honey," she said, her voice smooth as glass. "Far too much champagne. You hit your head on the fountain ledge."

"I fell?" you whispered, your voice cracking. "No… I was with Celia. By the pool. She was hurt… Oh my god, where’s Celia?"

You pushed yourself up further, the world tilting.

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard her screaming," you rasped, your throat dry and raw. "Mom. I saw her. I found her. Outside. On the ground."

Your mother’s hand stilled on your forehead. She sighed, a sound of profound disappointment.

"Oh, honey," she murmured. "What you likely heard was their horrible fight. It was terribly embarrassing. It seems the new bride was... not so great. Kip discovered she was still sleeping with her ex."

"What?"

She leaned closer, the scent of her perfume (usually so comforting) was now cloying and suffocating. "You couldn’t have seen her because she left last night. Celia ran off in the middle of the night."

"But—I saw her. She was... her dress was torn. There was so much blood—"

"You must of imagined things when you hit your head. The mind plays tricks, especially when it's confused and full of champagne."

"Mom—"

Her gaze was unwavering, a steel trap snapping shut. "You. Are. Confused."

You wrapped up the story with Titus, your voice barely steady.

"Somebody knocked me out," you said quietly. "And whoever did… also killed Celia. So…if you respect me at all… you’ll confirm that what I remember is real." Titus didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed once, a small, controlled movement that told you he was choosing his words carefully.

"I know our family is different," he finally said.

"Different," you replied sarcastically.

"We have our own ways of handling problems. Some would call it barbaric. Others," he gave a slight, chilling shrug, "would call it interesting."

"Stop talking in riddles, Titus. Please," you begged, stepping toward him. "Just say what you mean."

"If I say it plainly, you won’t like the answer."

"I already don’t like any of this," you said, your voice cracking. "I just need the truth."

He exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for years. "You’re not wrong…about that night. About what you heard. About what you saw."

Your heart lurched.

"But," he added, "you’re asking me to confirm something that will change everything for you. And once I do… you don’t get to go back to pretending."

You stared at him, pulse pounding.

"Titus," you whispered, "I stopped pretending a long time ago."

"In the interest of fairness," he said, his voice conversational, as if discussing the weather, "Celia really was fucking her ex. Kip was livid. But yes. My aunt Eleanor killed Celia. Put a crossbow bolt right through her chest. Clean shot."

He said it. He just said it. Like you hadn’t spent years in therapy over that night, thinking that you were fucking crazy. He looked at you, his head tilting slightly, an expression of almost academic curiosity on his face. "But it wasn’t my aunt who knocked you out that night," Titus continued, his voice dropping to a low tone that was somehow more terrifying than his previous casualness. "Aunt Eleanor was busy… retrieving her bolt. Making sure the job was done." He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto yours with an unnerving intensity.

"The person who came up behind you, who swung that heavy stone garden ornament with just enough force to put you down but not kill you… that was your mother."

PART 1 | You're reading part two | Part 3 coming soon

And just like that… I lied, and this is going to be three parts. Guess I need to create a masterlist for this. And yes, before anyone panics…even if Titus Danforth is a murder daddy, this story will have them end up together. Again, I’m a softie, even when it is for a fucking unhinged man… so they will have their twisted HEA 🖤

Readers going out outfit: CLIO PEPPIATT Capri crystal-embellished beaded tulle mini dress | NET-A-PORTER

[fqjth]

౨ৎ a vow to honour (2)

pairing ➵ vampire!titus danforth x reader

summary ➵ titus shows up again, this time with an opportunity she can't turn down

warnings ➵ 18+, age gap (duh), sexual tension, predator/prey dynamics

words ➵ 2672

other parts ➵ one , three

authors note ➵ part two is here! guys, i am beyond words at how grateful i am for the support on the first part. coming back to writing was a huge thing for me, and to be welcomed back with such support has meant everything to me. i really hope you like this part as much as the first! part three is already finished and ready to upload, so look out for that! i tagged everyone who commented, not just those who asked :) this has not been proofread!

જ⁀➴

Morning light spills softly through the curtains. It's quiet, warm. Y/N slowly blinks awake, her head feeling heavy against the pillow. For a moment, everything feels just as it should be. She exhales, shifting slightly against the mattress. A dull ache lingers at the side of her neck, causing her to wince. Her fingers instinctively lift, brushing against her tender and sensitive skin.

She lifts herself slowly out of bed, her bed. With no memory of how she got home, her head feels fuzzy. A mirror on the far-right wall of her bedroom, she examines her neck. Nothing. No marks, not even a bruise. When she presses down on it again, the pain is gone.

What happened last night?

She racks her brain for any discerning piece of information, trying to put together what occurred last night.

The gallery, she remembers the gallery. Titus was there, he had greeted her. Then, yes, he showed her a painting. A woman, gorgeous, seductive. Watching. But what happened after that? She remembers him close, the way his cologne smelled like spice and the earth, then…

She woke up here.

The rest of the day passes by slowly. It was difficult to focus, to think of anything but the missing pieces of the previous night. Half-formed conversations, abandoned tasks, unanswered text messages. She moves as if she’s slightly out of step with everything around her.

That night, at the dinner table that is built to seat ten people, Y/N sits with her parents as they discuss matters of work. She doesn’t bother listening, can’t seem to get the energy to even pretend. She keeps her gaze on her plate, mind elsewhere, until her mother snaps her out of her daze.

“Mr. Danforth seems very taken by you” It was a simple comment, but it caused Y/N to lift her head. “He called my office today,” She continues, noting her daughter’s confusion. “Said you made quite an impression” There’s a small pause. “He was very particular about your eye for detail. He was actually interested in seeing your own work”

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night. When it does, its shallow, restless. Slipping in and out of something that never quite settles around her.

Then there’s this…feeling. Like she’s being watched, a breath that feels too close. The faintest brush of something against her cheek.

She startles awake, sitting up right with her breath quick and uneven. Her eyes dart around her room, nothing but darkness and moonlight spilling from the window. The window she swore she shut before she went to sleep.

By the time her week begins to resemble something normal again, it’s almost easy to convince herself it was just a dream. And yet, something still settles wrong deep inside her. Like an itch she can’t scratch, a task forgot that needs remembering.

She finds herself reaching for something familiar, something comforting. The studio has always been that place for her. A space where she can turn her brain off, just for a short period of time and focus on nothing except her art in front of her.

Sunlight filters through the tall windows, catching on scattered paint jars and unfinished canvases. The familiar scent of oils and turpentine settles around her, grounding in a way nothing else has managed to all week.

With her headphones on, playing a recognisable pop song, she begins to paint. A brush stroke against canvas, she lets herself get lost in her art. For twenty minutes, its nothing but her and the canvas. A nudge to her left snaps her out of her rhythm. She takes off her headphones, letting them sit around her neck as she looks in the direction of the person who bumped her.

“Did you hear? Apparently, some gallery owner is coming in today” Sadie says as she puts down her tote bag and takes a seat. “He’s ‘looking for raw talent’” She does air quotes with her fingers.

Sadie’s comment sends a chill down Y/N’s spine, like a cold wind just blew past her.

She swallows the tightening feeling in her throat. “Do you know who?”

“Nah,” Sadie responds as she continues setting up her canvas, her brushes and paints. “Just some rich guy”

Sadie’s nonchalant comment settles in Y/N’s stomach, heavy and nauseating. What are the chances that it’s him? There’s plenty of rich guys in the city who own galleries, it’s an indication of a refined version of a midlife crisis purchase. God, her dad had been considering investing in one a few years back.

She shakes her head and puts her headphones back on, hopping the upbeat music of Sabrina Carpenter will block out the nerves that are making the brush in her hand tremble.

But it doesn’t work.

Her strokes grow uneven, messy. It’s as if she’s lacking the control she usually has. She exhales sharply, frustration as she drops the brush into the cup of water. The soft splash, the clink of wood against glass cuts through the quiet of the gallery. Sadie glances over with knitted brows. A silent what’s wrong with you?

She gives Sadie a blank stare. How is she supposed to explain everything she’s been experiencing the last week? When her mouth opens to say something, anything the familiar sound of the instructors’ voice echoes through the room.

“Alright everyone!” She says, clapping her hands. She steps forward, drawing a few reluctant glances as conversations quiet and brushes pause mid-stroke. “I’d like to introduce you all to Titus Danforth”

Whispers scatter, comments thrown in every direction under people’s breaths. But she doesn’t hear any of it, the only thing she’s focused on is how is eyes meet hers immediately. Her breath hitches, the unsteady beat of her hear echoing in her ears. And the way he tilts his head, it’s almost as if he hears it too.

She scratches her neck, the same spot he…

No. That was a dream…right?

“He’s expressed interest in supporting emerging artists. He’s thinking of possibly even showcasing some of your work.” The instructor adds, but she’s barely registering anything as her gaze follows him around the room.

There’s something effortless in the way he carries himself, something she had pinned when they had first met. Like a man who knows how important he is, a man who knows he can command someone at the flick of his wrist. People straighten as he passes them, a comment here and there about their work. He notices every frown, every blush, every little reaction someone gives him. Everything until he’s standing behind her.

He leans in closer than he had with anyone else. His breath warm against her neck as he speaks. “Surely this isn’t your best work, Y/N” he whispers. He turns his head slightly as she tilts hers to meet his gaze. His voice drops, something quieter than only she can hear. “Did you get home alright the other night?”

Her lips part to answer when her instructors voice speaks from behind them. Titus straightens slowly, clearly not as affected as she is by his presence.

“Y/N is one of my most promising artists” Her instructor smiles. “She just tends to lack the self-confidence to agree with me”

Titus lets out a polite chuckle. And, without looking away from Y/N, he says “I’d love to see what else you’ve created. Do you mind showing me?”

Sadie, with a look of encouragement mixed with amusement gives her friend a nudge. Y/N scrambles to her feet, almost knocking her canvas over in the process. When she catches it, Titus reaches it for it as well, their hands brushing.

“Uhh, umm this way” She says, avoiding eye contact and brushing her hands against her apron.

He follows one step behind her to the back of the studio where a few pieces of her art hang on the wall. It quieter here, more private. Titus takes a moment to analyse each work, and Y/N finds herself itching for his approval.

“You’re inconsistent” he states clearly.

She turns to look at him properly. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t look at her, just point to each one of her paintings. “In some, you can feel what you were trying to convey. The emotions you’ve put into every stroke. But others” he turns to her, “feel empty”

Their eyes hold for a moment. It’s as if he’s daring her to look away first. When she does, Titus hums and nods to himself.

“I’m glad you got home safe,” he says, plainly as they look up at her work. “I was worried considering how much wine you had”

She looks up at him confused. “Wine?” She doesn’t remember drinking anything that night. Not even a glass of water. But she was seemingly forgetting things a lot lately, and that would explain her not remembering getting home…

“Don’t worry, I didn’t let it slip in my email to your mother” he winks, and something stirs in her lower stomach. “Plus, I must admit I had a bit too many myself. Got a bit…” his fingers reach and graze her neck, “carried away”

Titus takes a step back, the distance between them returning as easily as it had disappeared. The instructor peers around the corner, a hopeful smile on her face. If Y/N didn’t know any better, she would have thought he heard her coming and put distance in purpose. “Well?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer right away, just allows his gaze to sweep across the studio. Then, “I’d be interested in showcasing a few of your artists”

Back in the main open space, Titus lists of the names of 6 people he wishes to have a part of his gallery. He speaks calmly, effortlessly as he nods to each person. Then lastly, his eyes land back on hers. “And Y/N”

A ripple of excitement moves through the room. Sadie lets out an excited sound beside her, grabbing her arm and shaking her gently. She wishes she could join in the enjoyment, a month ago she would have, but all she can focus on now is him. The way his eyes bore into hers, the way she can’t help but feel like this was all planned.

The week leading up to the gallery is a mixture of worries, restless nights, and excitement, anticipation.

This is a big deal, having her art showcased in such a way. She knows she’ll finally get the exposure she’s been wanting for years, and for once, her parents are proud to say that their daughter is an artist. But on the other hand, something settles uncomfortably in her stomach. Nerves, anxiety, that shaky feeling you get before a first date. The problem is, she doesn’t know if it’s from finally getting the opportunity to showcase her art, or if it’s about seeing him again.

The gallery is more alive than the last. The excitement of young artists showcasing their work, proud family and friends mix about the space. She says hello to the other people from her studio who Titus had picked, all sharing in the same enjoyment of such an honour. She grabs a glass of wine from a passing tray, needing something to keep her hands steady, to keep her nerves in check.

She watches as parents hug their kids, whispering praises to them. She feels a sense of longing. Her own parents absent due to a work-related trip. “We wish we could go, honey” her father had said before they left, “make sure send us pictures”

So here she was, standing in a short crimson dress that flowed to just above her knee. In heels that hurt to wear as she fought back tears with a glass of wine. That’s when she spots him. Across the room, talking with people who looked just as important as he did.

He looks over in her direction, tilting his whiskey to her as he smiled. She felt her stomach flip, her face warm as she took a big sip from her glass. Titus excuses himself and walks over to her. The people around him instinctively move out of his way.

“You look lovely tonight, Y/N” he smiles, taking in the colour of her dress against her skin. But just as easily as he lets the compliment slip from his tongue, he moves the conversation on. “I haven’t seen your parents, are they with you tonight?” he asks as he looks around the room.

Y/N takes another sip of her wine. “They’re on a business trip, something they couldn’t get out of”

“That’s a shame” his eyes are back on her.

“I’m used to it” she brushes him off, her wine now gone. He furrows his brows, eyeing her empty glass.

“And is drinking going to help you feel better?” he asks, almost sounding concerned.

She laughs, shaking her head. “Probably not”

“Here,” He takes the glass off her, and places it on a moving tray behind him without looking. “walk with me” he offers her his arm. There’s a moment of hesitantly before she accepts it. His hand settles over hers.

The noise of the gallery fades as he guides her through it. Not entirely but enough that everything feels quieter, more intimate. He leads her toward a more secluded part of the space, where the lighting is softer, the crowd thinner. Memoires from a few weeks ago cross her mind, a sense of déjà vu.

“You’ve done well,” he says after a moment, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry.

She lets out a small breath, almost a laugh. “That’s not what you said in the studio.”

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “I didn’t say you weren’t good,” he replies. He stops and looks at her “I said you’re inconsistent”

Her gaze flicks up to him. “Then why pick me for the showing tonight?”

He hums, as if considering her question. “Because I have faith in your abilities” his sincerity making her heat skip a beat. “Because someone needs to make sure you know how brilliant you are”

Her breath hitches. And suddenly, he feels too close. Or maybe it’s her that’s too close to him. “Titus…” Her words die on her tongue as her gaze drops, just briefly to his lips then back to his eyes.

He notices, she knows he does. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything.

Then, she’s pressing her lips to his. A moment passes, two where everything else seems to disappear around. The chatter, the music, the whole room seems to be gone in a blink of an eye. It’s only when she inhales, that reality crashes back down around her.

She pulls a way, a look of panic on her face. “I-“ her breath is uneven, her thoughts racing to catch up with what just happened. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I just…” She goes to take a step back, to put distance between them, but his hand catches her hip.

“Don’t apologise” His voice is quiet, soothing. And before she can try and step back again, he closes the distance. This time, he’s kissing her. Slow at first, as if trying to map out the feel of her lips against hers. Then his tongue breaches into her mouth, and she lets herself melt into his touch.

When they part again, that’s when she sees it. Something sharp, catching the light above them. He makes no effort to hide, instead watches as the realisation washes over her face. Her eyes go wide with fear, panic and fear.

“What…What are you?” she stutters

He brushes hair out of her face, finger grazing gently against her skin. “Oh, sweetheart” he says condescendingly, “you already know the answer to that”

 He waits a moment, to see if she’ll run, to see if she’ll make an attempt at escape. She should step back; she knows she should leave. When she doesn’t, he offers his arm once more.

“Come with me,” he says quietly.

There’s a hint of hesitation before she nods, allowing him to lead the way.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

gif by: @billy-crudup

taglist: @goblinbabyy @iobsessoverfictionalmen @leksi-rae , @laceyvt3 , @momdancingtomcr , @4ria790 , @pedritosgfreal , @headcaase , @fuck-yeah-dylan , @wrongendofthetelescope , @pinkcupcakepizza , @marleyindapitt , @kristel1990 , @leeemabean , @akbl0gz , @savanahc , @hoffmanfan13 , @boricuas-fic-recs

*tried my best to tag everyone who asked, i’m sorry if i forgot anyone!*

[glamorizethechaos]

Inferno Masterlist

Summary: It started with a drunken dare—one impulsive ring of the doorbell at Station 42 that should’ve been nothing more than a funny story the next morning. From the echoing halls of Fernwood Elementary, to the roaring engines and restless nights at the station, an unexpected wildfire ignited between you and Brett Richards.

But wildfires don’t stay contained. As boundaries blur and emotions deepen, you’re forced to confront what happens when a spark becomes a blaze—one that could warm you for a lifetime… or burn everything you thought you knew.

Chapter One: Gravity

Chapter Two: Fire Prevention

Chapter Three: Lucky Bones

Chapter Four: Innamorata

Chapter Five: DEFCON 5

Chapter Six: Strike

Warnings: all warnings will be listed before the chapters! alcohol, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, brett is a widow, smut, bondage & rope play, fire, fluff, will add more as the story continues

Dividers Credit: @uzmacchiato & @heremptyplatform & @cafekitsune

[tears-of-acid-and-sluts]

So… Shawn Hatosy wanted to shape how he’s sexualised by his fandom and chose to play a character that’s first and foremost an EATER!???!

[unearthlyeclipse]

CLARK KENT :: SUPERMAN P!LINKS // NSFW/SMUT

A/N: The long-awaited Clark links... This movie genuinely changed my comprehension skills... I love me a sweet man who works AND LITERALLY SAVES THE WORLD WHILE RISKING IT ALL FOR PEOPLE WHO ACCUSE HIM OF DOING THE OPPOSITE??? A dream hunk of a man.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, p in v, riding, nipple sucking, grinding, groping, brief choking, overstimulation, missionary, blowjobs, deepthroating, mate press(?), handjobs, face riding. Let me know if any links break or if any warnings are missed!!

You and Clark the minute you got home from the Daily Planet.

Clark on his knees, lifting your trembling body in the air as he ate you out.

A slow and passionate Clark grinding into your body, hips rolling against yours while he drenches himself in your moans.

Bracing yourself by gripping Clark, his hands on your breasts as you rock your hips madly.

Taking Clark's cock like a champ! Although he's fighting back his orgasm the second he inserts himself in your mouth.

Clark loves keeping you locked beneath him as he fucks you.

Clark had you feeling so full.

Grinding against Clark and his dumb, rock-hard torso...

Helping out Clark after a long day of work.

Clark enjoys having you ride his face.

Clark rooting you on for your next orgasm.

Letting Clark lose himself as if he were in heat. Allowing Clark to be just a bit rough while fucking you. Clark plowing into you like no tomorrow. Clark holding your thighs to his as you came, fully overstimulated by his thick shaft constantly pummeling your insides. Clark was never a big fan of dirty talk, yet your voice will always get him all hot and bothered.

[sluttyouroboros]

Robby fucking into Dennis and holding him down by the back of the neck until he comes and Jack just shifts Dennis’s hips to line up with him and he asks Robby “you sure your kid can handle this?” As Dennis is melting into a puddle of sweat and semen underneath him Robby says “look at him” and Dennis is so blissed out drooling with eyes glazed over Jack can’t help but immediately pound into him

[mildlyaffrontedsqueakytoy]

Jack loves sitting on his specially reinforced shower chair and holding Dennis in his lap while Robby pounds desperate little whines out of their boy's mouth and into Jack's ears as their boy clings to his shoulders for the ride.

[titus-danforth]

➻ pairing: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!ER Nurse!Reader

➻ summary: Jack Abbot is the dad that stepped up for the sweet little girl who is the daughter of his favorite ER nurse- having been a part of her life since she was a newborn. How does he not fall for her mom?

➻ warnings: 18+ MDNI, fluff, longing, shitty bio dad to a sweet little girl, mentions of past shitty relationship, Jack’s dead wife mentioned, postpartum depression and stress mention

➻ author’s note: I’ve had this idea brewing for a while- Jack is definitely the best stepdad.

Jack Abbot is still raw and wounded from the death of his wife two years ago- closed off and sits across from his therapist while he listens to him talk about changing to the night shift for a bit. Comfort in the darkness? More like he can still pretend his wife is sleeping in bed- that he’s just working late and will see her once he gets home later. And when she’s not home after his shift? She’s left for work- she’s running errands- she’s just not home. She’s not dead. She’s not gone. She’s just left for a few hours. All while he’s getting used to the swing of the night shift Pitt crew- where the kids are over caffeinated and the chaos is constant. Where he can forget about his life for a bit- where the silence in his mind is deafened for just a bit.

Jack Abbot who was having a terrible shift. Who was going through the motions of pushing the pain from his leg down and trying to find a place to rest when he hears a soft cry, a whimper even- coming from behind the door of the supply closet. Opening it and expecting maybe the intern who got yelled at by the radiologist but it’s a nurse- and a baby. A baby who’s barely a few months old- sleeping in your arms while you cry and try to not wake the baby up after working so hard to get her to sleep. “I’m sorry Dr. Abbot, I was just-” you sob but stop when he holds his hand up- as if to say it’s okay, grunting softly when he slides down the wall next to you before sighing in relief. “Who’s this?” He asks, nodding towards the little pink bundle that your husband deposited in your arms a few hours ago- grumbling about her wanting you and won’t take the bottle and how he needed sleep while you were trying to chart on your patients.

Jack Abbot who holds your daughter for the first time that night- taking her in his big arms while you chart next to him. It was cathartic for you both- Jack hasn’t held a baby in years and she somehow made him forget about the shooting pain in his leg and heart and you haven’t had someone else hold her without her screaming or feeling anxious. She settles in his arms- doesn’t struggle the way she does with your husband. There’s silence in the supply room that night- the soft, sweet sounds of your daughter cooing or sighing in her sleep that you’ve fallen in love with while Jack rests against the wall and lets the weight of her ground him. He hasn’t felt this relaxed since his wife passed- hasn’t been able to let his mind be silent and for a minute he thinks he’s able to do this again. He’s able to live- even if she’s not there anymore with him. Who doesn’t dread going home that morning.

Jack Abbot who watches you nearly every shift- exhausted and struggling with a newborn because your husband refused to be a father. The hospital child care center won’t take infants until they’re 6 months old- you’d bring her if you could because you knew your husband didn’t love her. It became painfully obvious when you both found out it was a girl- his smile dropped, his face told you everything- he didn’t want this baby. He didn’t want your daughter. Her father rejected her- he went through the motions when you told him you were pregnant. Your husband smiled and nodded when they asked if he was excited- but he was still detached. Completely different uninterested, didn’t even help you postpartum- left you bleeding and sore and mentally exhausted but said women do it all them time. His mom did it three times- you’re fine.

Jack Abbot who sees the exhaustion on your face- who sees the way you fight to stay awake because you’ve spent all day tending to your daughter and now you’re trying to work and tend to patients now. He can’t coddle you- he doesn’t. Who knows you’re competent but he can tell you to sit down- he can tell you to eat something because you need to keep your energy up. Who slides you a coffee at 3 am, perfect temperature and made exactly how you like because he pays attention to you. Who slips protein bars in your pocket- offers you some of his dinner because he makes way too much and won’t even get to eat it all so it shouldn’t go to waste. Who trusts you- immediately finding a bond with you because you’re both passionate about what you do and- you’re both lonely.

Jack Abbot who recognizes your daughters cries now- who smiles softly when he sees her in her carrier at the nurses station with your after your husband left her there without even a text or so much as a warning. “She’s teething,” you apologize- attempting to gently shove a pacifier in her mouth but she won’t stop and her little face is scrunched up in anger and tiny fists balled up to let the entire pit know she’s upset. “C’mere- no none of that,” Jack fake chastises the baby when she whimpers- taking her out of her carrier and asking if it’s okay to take her for a moment. Who takes in your exhausted look and messy hair and the tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. Who you find 15 minutes later in the break room with your daughter in his lap- gumming on his gloved fingers and drooling all over his hand while he reads a case study out loud.

Jack Abbot who doesn’t shame you for having your daughter- who helps you in those few months until she’s able to go to the hospital’s daycare. When he’s not busy he’ll take her in his big arms and call her a baby bunny because of the way she kicks in frustration when someone takes her from him- little angry thumps that endear him. Who lets you cry on his shoulder when you find out your husband was having an affair- “you’re just not the same anymore,” his excuse when you when you confronted him about it. But you didn’t cry for your marriage- you wept for your baby. Sweet little girl with big eyes and a gummy smile- “I don’t think he ever loved her,” a confession to Jack, while wiping your face and sighing before Jack tells you “you love her- that’s enough.” Who helps you through the divorce process- even arguing on the phone with the expensive lawyer your husband hired because they were trying to leave you with nothing.

Jack Abbot who is there for all your daughter’s firsts. Her first tooth- poking out like little fangs and going “ow!” dramatically when she bites him for the first time. Her first solids- baby sat in his lap while you push a spoon of puréed veggies at her and says it looks disgusting- when you try to scold him because now the baby is making a face and- “I’m just being honest.” Who gets excited when she takes her first steps- chunky legs tentatively taking a step forward while the nurses encourage her and the only person she wants to walk towards is him. Catching her before she falls and throwing her up in the air with a laugh and a “good job baby bunny!” Who is actually her first word- not mama or dada but “ACK!” trying to mimic you saying Jack. Repeating it over and over when he says “no- Abbot,” “ACK” “Dr. Abbot,” “ACK.”

Jack Abbot who stays by her bedside when she gets sick- when you bring her into the ER because something is wrong and you know this isn’t normal. Who watches you stumble over your words while you try to take control of triage but- this isn’t someone else’s child- she’s yours. You know her breathing is off, you’ve been watching her fever and it refuses to budge, she hasn’t had an appetite or wanted water- you even tried to bribe her with popsicles or soda and she didn’t even react. Who watched you force back tears while you rattle off her vitals and didn’t stop until his heavy hand landed in your shoulder- “hey, we got her okay? I got her.” Who goes up to the peds floor to check on you both after his shift was over- leans against the doorframe when he sees you asleep with your head right next to her on the bed. Who smiles when he hears her little “rabbit?” because she still can’t say Abbot- “hey baby bunny,” with a whisper so he doesn’t wake you up. Who promises you he’s not tired- he’ll watch her while you go change and take a shower- he’ll watch her while you work that night because you can’t afford to miss a day of work since the divorce. Who spends the night reading to her- checking her vitals and monitors and coloring with her. Who gives her as many popsicles as she wants- both their mouths purple when you come in during your lunch and ask if they’ve had actual food yet.

Jack Abbot who watches her little face crumple every time she gets disappointed when her sperm donor bails on her- when he doesn’t show up to his scheduled visits because he’s busy with his new girlfriend and her son. Her son that he’s devoted to- a boy who can play catch and run around and who he can be proud of. And maybe that hurts you more than anything because his absence is purposeful- his lack of love was a choice. And Jack can’t understand how this little girl’s father can willingly leave her life. She’s so bright and sweet- has your eyes and smile and the little scrunch of her nose when he tells her she needs to do her homework- “I didn’t do my homework- that’s how I lost my leg.” Who sits her at the break room table to help her- basic math or reading but he’s encouraging her and smiling and wondering what this would have felt like if he and his wife would have had any kids.

Jack Abbot who falls for you so easily. Who’s watched you struggle for 5 years alone with your daughter. Who loves your laugh- because you still have a sense of humor and will make snide comments that have him doubled over some times. Who still has little supply room breaks with you- sitting on the floor with your backs to the wall like when you first met. Sharing a protein bar between you both and taking a minute to just breathe. Who reminds you that you’re a good mom- that you’re doing the best you can and your daughter is happy and that’s what’s important. Who makes sure you get approved off for holidays or her birthday or any little dance recital that she has- who also buys her flowers for said dance recital and watches with a smile when she demands he see her practice. Who loves your smile- soft and sweet and even amid the chaos of the ER it’s like a breath of fresh air for him. Who sits on the roof with you after a tough shift- sharing pizza and beer and watching the sunrise together with your hands dangerously close and brushing together.

Jack Abbot who knows your daughter’s favorite color is purple, that her favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry, that she hates math but loves reading so he buys her books, that she loves to color and sing and he knows her favorite song and knows the characters in her favorite movie. Who listens to you argue on the phone again when her dad says he can’t make it to the zoo date that he promised- all while she sits at the nurses hub with her backpack and a sad face and- “he’s not coming- is he?” But Jack says he’ll take her- he’ll take her to the zoo instead. Asking if she’d like that and if you would mind and the three of you spend the day together- like a family would. Where she sits on his shoulders and points out the elephants or where he helps her lean over to feed the giraffe or when he buys her as many stuffed animals as her little arms can carry. Who passes her to you- when she’s asleep and dozed off in his arms and when she settles back against you she whispers- “goodnight daddy.”

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[maho6any]

the taste of sleep

somno pussy eating with mingi... drools everywhere

bf!mingi x f!reader

thinking about mingi...

he really couldn’t help himself. it’s not his fault he got a little peckish at night. he felt like he was burning from the inside out, and he needed to fucking eat something.

lying beside him in bed, in nothing but a flimsy tank top and sleep shorts that rode up the sides of your thighs like a beckoning sin. your soft rise and fall of your chest as you slept so soundly, tangled in his sheets. your hair is a mess, and your lips parted in soft breaths.

your thighs, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of them. his hands would wander about your legs, his breath shivering whenever your voice would drift in a small whimper in your sleep.

your skin would shiver when he’d drag his big, rough hands over the exposed flesh of your thigh, the darkness of your shared bedroom swallowing your figure beautifully.

he seriously could not help himself. he’d apologize tomorrow morning. even though he wasn't actually sorry.

you were sleeping so peacefully, a dreamless slumber. it was the warm hands you felt first, encasing your outer thighs and gently urging you open.

you couldn’t tell if you were maybe slipping into a dream or if mingi was just being handsy again; your brain was nowhere near awake enough to tell.

you twitch in your sleep as mingi slides your shorts and your underwear down your legs in one go, gentle enough to ensure he does not rouse you.

he wanted to wake you slowly, ease you into it. he wanted to savor it as much as he could before you woke and realized what he was doing.

warm fluttering breaths against the bare sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his hands pry your legs open, settle on his stomach below your body, his lips trailing wet kisses up and down your skin.

you squirm in your sleep, and he can’t help the pump of his heart at the sight of you, so cute, so vulnerable.

he kisses around your cunt, along the sides, and on your mound. his fingers gently massaged the soft flesh of your thighs; his eyes remained trained on your face to gauge your every reaction. the twitch of your brow and the soft, barely there catching of breath.

he finds his mouth has a mind of its own, his tongue falling from his mouth and splitting your pretty pussy lips with a low groan. you had always praised him for his mouth, his plush lips, and his thick tongue. he always knew how to eat you out like no other, and your taste always had him craving your cunt like some kind of drug.

the muscles of your thigh shiver, and mingi loves the way your lips part just a little more. he outright avoids your clit at first, not trying to immediately rip you from your peaceful sleep with too much stimulation.

he settles for dragging his tongue through your folds, his shoulders relaxing when your familiar taste floods his mouth. wet and warm, he slides the muscle through your pussy, guttural moans that he’s sure you’ll be able to feel low in your belly.

he wonders if you’re dreaming now, your legs shifting around his head as a low whine slips past your lips. he wonders if you’re dreaming of his mouth on you, wishing for your insatiable boyfriend to make you cum on his tongue.

he knows what you like, and he’s trying not to give in to his most primal instincts. to make you cum so hard you fall right back asleep.

he kisses your fluttering hole sloppily, gathering saliva in his mouth, and he pulls back a moment and spits directly onto your pussy, before he’s back to suckling kisses and deep carnal licks.

he’s losing it fast, and he’s decided that you need to wake up now. he misses his pretty girl's watery eyes and her soaked little moans.

“baby…” he moans into you, his hands squeezing the flesh of your thighs a little harder. his mouth trails up your folds until his lips find your clit, slipping his tongue under the hood of it, and a gasp falls from your tired lips.

he smiles as he wraps his mouth around the sensitive nub and sucks. hard.

your thighs jerk, and suddenly a haze begins to cloud your brain. your eyes flutter beneath your closed lids, and your heart begins to race. mingi moans around your clit, his tongue sliding down between your soaked lips once again and messily stroking you with his tongue.

“i miss you, baby, wake up.” he moans around your clit again, and your entire body shakes. slowly, your eyes open, and a fuzzy warmth throughout your body is what greets you. you find yourself moaning without knowing why, and a hot pleasure crawls up your back and floods your insides.

warm hands on your inner thighs, and deep pressure in your belly. you lazily crane your tired head up to look down, and you moan whiny and broken when you see a familiar head of pink hair between your legs.

his eyes lock with yours, and he growls against your slippery cunt, and you feel as his tongue bullies your clit with sticky kitten licks.

your head falls back against the pillow, and your thighs try to close around his legs, but mingi doesn’t let you. “hi, baby.” he giggles, and your ears are flooded with wet, obscene noises of him eating your pussy like you tasted as heaven embodied.

your body is on fire, your brain still hazy and sleepy as pleasure wracks your insides. “m-mingi…” you moan lazily, and he answers you with a groan, pulling his head back and spitting your arousal that he’d gathered in his mouth back into your pussy before he’s diving in with a hungry purr.

“good morning, beautiful.” he teases, wet, open-mouthed kisses against you that send your brain into overdrive. your moans come out low and broken, and mingi genuinely eats like he hasn’t had sustenance in years.

“sweet fucking pussy.” he coos drunkenly, his mouth seemingly suctioned to you. “don't be mad at me, i was just hungry.” he pouts, his pretty little puppy eyes glued to your face, all the while he lays his thick, wide tongue flat against your clit and shakes his head side to side.

you whimper, and your hands fly and grip at his short bright hair, and he moans against you when you tug nice and hard.

“mmm- fuck! mingi… was s-sleeping…”

he shushes you, circling the tip of his tongue around your clit and effectively silencing you. back down, the flat plane of his tongue feels out every inch of your cunt like he’s trying to memorize the feel of it with his mouth.

“i know, baby, i know. ‘m sorry, okay? just couldn’t help myself… fuck…” his hands slide further up your thighs and spread you open more, his fingers sliding to your cunt in a v shape, spreading your sticky pussy lips and drooling directly into your entrance.

“she just tastes so fuckin’ good…” he moans, burying his tongue into your hole and nudging against your clit with his big, pretty nose. soaked, wet slurping noises that make your ears hot and your spine arch.

that little coil in your belly that builds with each flip of his tongue and each nudge of his nose. each low, bassy moan that shoots through your cunt and each press and knead of his hands on your thigh has you spiraling.

your breaths come heavy, and your hands grip his scalp ever tighter, and mingi knows you're close.

his own breaths are riddled with their own franticness, and you only seem to gush more slick into his mouth, in which he drinks up with a thankful purr.

“cum for me?” he begs between your legs and wraps his soft lips around your clit once again, “please? want you to cum for me so badly, babydoll. i know you want to.”

his fingers promptly gather the mess he’s made between your lips and soak them in it. slowly, he slides them deep into your cunt and curls them up just right, and you choke out a guttural moan.

“there we go, listen to her baby. she’s so slick, so loud.” every slow, deep drag of his fingers further proves how turned on you are. wet, squelching noises with every roll and curl he tortures you with. letting low groans and whines vibrate around your clit while he sucks like a man starved.

low, repeated, ‘mhms?’ flow from his throat as he urges you toward that peak, craving your pretty pussy to cum for him so he can quell this hunger.

“f-fuck mingi! oh god…” he laughs and suckles at your poor clit, his voice muffled and low as he speaks to you.

“come on, come on…” he encourages with enthusiasm, and you feel your orgasm pooling in your lower belly. to help you along, his hand finally leaves your thigh, and his palm finds the area of your abdomen right below your belly button.

“cum on my tongue, baby. let your cunt do the talking and cum for me.” it’s like an instant command, as his palm presses down firmly against your lower stomach, and you shatter.

your entire body tenses and then shakes as you cum on his fingers, on his tongue, to which mingi greedily drinks up with a giggly moan. your moans shiver in your throat, and he finds his hips moving on their own, humping his rock-hard cock against the mattress of your bed.

“fuck yeah…” he coos into your cunt, detaching from your clit and giving it soft kitten licks with his fingers, continuing to curl and prod deep inside of you, coaxing you through that hazy orgasm.

his fat tongue licks you up, sliding his fingers out of you with a slick squelch while he cleans you up with greedy groans and low whines. he litters your spent pussy in soft kisses, all the while praising you senseless while you come down from your high.

“good fucking girl babydoll, this pussy tastes so good.”

“breathe, baby, don’t float away from me.”

“nearly came in my pants, you’re just too sweet, can’t help myself.”

your hands finally slip away from his mussed hair and fall limp at your sides, and you already feel sleep overcoming you once again. it was 2 in the morning after all.

you feel him crawl up your body, burying his face in the crook of your neck and landing soft, lusty kisses against your throat. effectively, you were being lulled back to sleep, and you began to relax against him once again.

“can i fuck your thighs, baby?” he whispers against your throat. “i promise i’ll be gentle.”

you groan, and as much as you’d like to go back to sleep, the fresh gush of arousal slipping down your thighs is telling.

you whimper out a low yes, but he’s already moving and slipping his thick, heavy cock out of his pants and positioning himself behind you.

“you’re so good to me, honey.” he whines against your shoulder. you moan as he slides the girth of his warm cock through the slick mess between your pussy lips, pressing your thighs together so he can fuck them the way he wants.

so much for sleep.

[cylovesmg]

i ain’t even read this yet but my panties are already damp