Saw you wanted requests, specifically for Titus. What about Titus Danforth x reader where she was in an arranged engagement with him and ran away? For years she thought she was safe, she cut her hair short, got the tattoos she’d always dreamed of, piercings, etc. The one day Titus shows up to claim what he is owed and she’s forced to re-enter a world that she now is a total outsider in. Ty Ty!!!!💚
🩸 ﹕𓏼 come, mouse. — running from titus danforth . .
಄ ﹕𓏼 a story brought to you by laluhlove || not beta-read, we die like real men. Summary: years of running was no use. of course he’d find his wife. or who was almost gonna be his wife. Tags: arranged marriage, stalking, titus being obsessed, mentions of cults, titus straight up beefing with reader from day 1, slight age gap(reader is 47, titus is 50), condescending!titus, titus uses a gun to make reader look at him, pet names, reader and titus drink alcohol.. Pairing: titus dansforth x fem!reader Word Count: 1.5k words! Author's Note: this is a REQUESTT!!! HAPPY FIRST REQUEST, GUYS!! Thank you to the lovely anon who asked this of me!! titus is so fucking hot bro i was meowing in my seat watching him.... im making this a two parter because why not? anyways, CONSIDER REBLOGGING AND LIKING IF YOU ENJOY! hail satan! ⤷ reqs: OPEN || masterlist
“oh i dont hate you, sweetheart.” titus drawled out as he loomed over you, your chin firmly in his grasp as he tilted your head as if observing you. “just fucking annoyed you made this so hard for me.”
his hazel eyes gleamed as he tutted softly, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "where've you been, doll? quite rude running from your husband like that.”
—
it had been years. decades, even.
decades of peace, silence, and solitude.
decades of a new you. a new name, new place, new friends, and social circles. this wasn't supposed to happen. your new life shouldnt have had this ending.
you were supposed to grow old and happy, away from those devil worshipping freaks and your shitty father who tried to sell you off to some old man and his stupid son. you were 18 when you ran. when you shed your name and disappeared into the cold night like a ghost. and you were what, now? 47? it had been a long time.
it had been the night of your wedding day when you left.
you had a few thousands to your name. money that felt more like a bride price than a fucking gift. you had no interest in a creepy wedding in a cave with guests dressed more like cult members rather than people with sensible minds.
so you did what you had to do. you ran, stealing a car and driving as far as it took you before you switched to using rentals so they wouldn't be able to track you. you colored your hair various natural shades to fit in, modified your body with tattoos and piercings you always wanted but never fit in the high classes, changing names and stories in every city you haunted for a few years before you moved once more. you were careful not to make friends. friends were liabilities in the world you now had to survive in.
the money didn't go far, so what did you do? took odd jobs. odd jobs that no one else did, living paycheck to paycheck. it was rough, but doable.
paranoia was a new familiar lover to you now. it inhabited every decision you made from what you wore to what time you slept at night. you thought you were safe. you had to be.
—
clueless. that was what everyone was.
clueless to the world, clueless to the system that governs it, and clueless to the ones who controlled the system.
but titus wasnt, oh no no no. he was a part of it. a benefactor with ancestors smarter than most. they knew the system. played by it. obeyed it like a master who knew best.
which, it did.
the council—and more importantly, his father—had arranged a wife for him back when he was a boy. a beautiful girl with bright eyes and the temperament of a bull. he hated her.
it wasn't even that serious in hindsight—but her constant whining and yapping about not wanting to marry him got on his nerves far too easily. but even still, he had to marry her. he was prepared like a soldier. trained for this his whole life, trained to be the perfect husband, trained to eventually lead the household in place of his father.
he was 21 when you left him. 29 years since you had the nerve to humiliate him in front of the very people waiting like rabid dogs at the slip of his steps.
that was when he decided that he will never let you go. that for as long as he was alive, you shall never know peace.
—
returning from a graveyard shift was the norm nowadays. ever since a close call a few months back.
that time when you saw men tailing you back when you were in chicago. when you noticed black unmarked vans and vehicles stopping outside your home. that was when you knew that chicago wasn't safe. breached, again.
you moved, a protocol set to yourself and kept like an oath. to slip up would be to surrender to a death that was waiting if you ever came back.
now you were in austin, texas. that should buy you at least a few years, no?
as the cold wind bit into your skin through your jacket, you ignored the dread the seemed to pool down in your gut—must be the long shift. the motel sign buzzed with electricity, a sound you’ve grown accustomed to when you stayed at these places when you needed time to find a new place.
you sigh as you turn the key in the knob of your door, the lock clicking open.
the room was dark. as expected.
you stepped into the darkness, turning on the warm lights and going to take off your jacket when.. clink!
you immediately turned around, eyes wide to be met with…
him.
he sat at the sofa chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he took a sip. his eyes weren't even sparing you a glance, yet right on the table beside the bottle of cheap whiskey you planned to drink yourself to sleep with, was a gun.
“what the fuck…” you breathed out. his eyes finally met yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“ah. hello, mouse.” he said, voice low, gravelly, and smooth in cadence. the same voice you hadn't heard in person in what seemed like forever. "you look so.. different, love."
mouse. god, you hated the smug tone he got when he used that name. may it be from letters he sent to your door, or texts that showed up even after you changed numbers.
“what do you want, titus?” you scoffed out, glaring daggers into the man with the salt and pepper hair.
“thats no way to treat your husband, no?” he drawled out as he took slow measured steps to you. the whiskey forgotten on the table as his hand toyed with the gun. a subtle warning for you to behave. “are you done with this bullshit chase you lead me on, doll? got it all out of your system now?”
the tilt of his head said it all. he genuinely believed you wanted to come back. that you just wanted him to chase like some pathetic dog. and in a way, he was pathetic with the way he kept playing along.
“fuck you, titus.” you spat out, the glare in your eyes hardening even more even as he towered over you with his broad shoulders and that glint in his eyes. patience, but boy was it thinning. “like hell ill ever be your fucking wife.”
titus looked more amused than annoyed, really. sure, he was annoyed, but man wasn't he having some fun.
he gave a slow, deep chuckle. deep enough it reverberated from the depths of your scared heart. your heart. it was racing.
he looked down smugly at you, using the tip of his gun to tilt your head up to look straight at him. “dont be scared of me, baby. i dont hate you.” he reassured, as if that was any of your concern.
before you could reply any more, he suddenly gripped your jaw in his hands. his gaze turning colder. harsher.
“oh how i dont hate you, sweetheart.” titus drawled out as he loomed over you, your chin firmly in his grasp as he tilted your head as if observing you. “just fucking annoyed you made this so hard for me.”
his hazel eyes gleamed as he tutted softly, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "where've you been, doll? quite rude running from your husband like that.”
you take a nervous gulp, one he surely felt.
“get. out.”
“or what, hm?”
“ill call the fucking cops.”
“bullshit. go on. call them. call them and see that no one—and i mean no one cares about you ‘cept for me.” he dared, his grip turning to one around your neck. he gave a slight squeeze. yet another warning of the last of his patience snapping.
“so here's the deal, love. you either come back with me, quit this little game of yours like your dear old daddy would have wanted…” he paused, trailing off as he leaned into your ear, whispering… “or i kill you right here. right now.”
he pulled back, meeting the fear and shock in your eyes with coldness and seriousness devoid of warmth.
“of course, you don't need to decide right now, no.. but ill be back, yeah?” he gave a smile. one that didn't quite reach the hazel of his eyes as he walked to the door, letting your neck go.
your hand flew to where his once was.. panting as if you hadn't breathed when he was there.
on his way out, he called out over his shoulder.
“and if you don't decide, don’t you worry. you never had a choice anyways. just wanted you to feel like you did, bunny.” he smirked, looking over his shoulder, meeting your eyes.
“burn in hell, titus.”
“oh very soon, mouse. very soon. 'm bringing you with me, too.”
