When your daughter's psychiatrist suggests you get in touch with your abusive ex-husband in prison for her sake, you're not thrilled. Fortunately for you, he's dead. Unfortunately for you, someone else is alive and very keen on playing the part of a doting father. wc: 3.4k
PART I | PART 2.1 (you are here)
I would like to know the color of your eyes.
You wiped down the kitchen counter in a daze, the rag swiping over and over a spot that was already clean. The ten words repeated themselves in a loop, one you hadn't been able to escape since receiving them two weeks ago.
You weren't ashamed of chickening out. It didn't take anything to tell him what a drab and dull hue the color of your eyes were. Millions of people existed with the same set of eyes. It wasn't even a risk, a harmless question.
Loaded with so much intensity it took your breath away.
Every night before bed you would find yourself going over the letter, tempted to pick up a pen and write something back but the seemingly innocent question was so much more than it looked like. It felt like a caress to the cheek, whispers carrying over in the wind, the slight thrill that ran through your veins when doing something that was forbidden. It felt wicked and evil. Felt dangerous. Like your heart dropping when you tip off a cliff and go plunging into the roaring waves.
You were waiting for the waves to break skin.
His newest letter lay on top of the refrigerator, the only color in your washed-out, run-down apartment. You'd already gone through the contents of his letter to your daughter, the only letter in the envelope, resealing it to give to her when she got home. Why would he write to you when you'd given him no reason to?
You didn't want to invite him into your space any more than he already took up. The line that had been drawn in the sand had been washed away but you were picking up the stick again. You'd guard over that line yourself.
Determined, you sat down to write.
What crime are you guilty of?
Other than wanting to know you better?
Of course he would ignore your question. So, you decide to ignore his blatant flirting. He was hedging just like you were, both of you, peas of the same pod. You wouldn't show your cards till he surrendered and from what you'd gathered, he wasn't one to bow out so easily.
Almost as if he could guess that you were getting ready to shut him out again, you notice the tiny -> arrow at the bottom of the page before you flip it around to see he'd scribbled something at the back as well.
Was that question too difficult? I understand. Here's a simpler one. What's your favorite color? The little bunny likes pink or purple but I can't tell. Does her Mommy prefer the same?
It was simpler. After putting your daughter to bed, you sat on the kitchen counter, pen poised at the paper but not writing. You couldn't remember the last time you'd thought about such innocuous things. A favorite color, your favorite weather or even something as silly as your favorite candy. It had been too long since you'd wondered about these things. That innocence had long been snatched away.
Lightning flashed outside the window, catching your eye. A moment passed before the rumble of thunder followed. And like everytime it rained, you were thinking of that night.
If you closed your eyes, you could still picture the droplets on your skin coming in through the open window. The glass shard seeping deep into your foot, the living room turned upside down and the TV shattered in the middle of it from where he had thrown it at you. Between it all, you hadn't been able to tell if your forehead was also cut or if it was the rain. It was such an impractical thing to be focusing on, but you'd chosen self-preservation. And yet, you didn't dare raise your hand to touch and find out, hadn't dared remove them from around your belly as you did your best to shield your unborn child.
Lightning struck outside the window again. And even with your eyes open, you pictured it clearly. The image burned deep behind your eyelids for all of eternity.
Crimson. Unlike any you'd ever seen. Shining, gleaming, burning.
With a wry smile, you refocus back on the paper and start writing.
Bunny's preferences change like the season. Last month her favorite color was orange. This month is pink.
Mine's red.
Mine's red.
Three words. Eight letters. Shot to his chest straight as if she'd uttered them right to his face.
Red. Of course your favorite color had to be red. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
Lying in bed, your letter covered his eyes as Sylus inhaled every last bit of your perfume lingering on it. For the two weeks you had gone silent on him again, he wondered if you were done entertaining his antics.
Then he wondered if you'd correctly deduced the deeper implications of his question. The intimacy around it was as subtle as him screaming it in your face. And still, it bothered him. Every word you wrote to him bothered him. He wanted to get to know you but knew that anything personal would have you running for the hills. You were cautious, too cautious.
So, why then, were you entertaining a criminal? Involving your daughter in something that clearly went against your principles?
When he sits up, he notices the tiny, identical arrow at the bottom of the page and flips it over to see what else you had to say.
Dodging questions doesn't make you look any more innocent.
With a smile threatening to break, Sylus realizes you're not going to make it easy on him. He much preferred it that way. The following day, with his pen hovering over the paper, he makes up his mind as he begins writing.
The red packaging was glaring back at you.
Imagine your horror when you opened the sweet old lady's mailbox and a red package the size of your head, barely fitting inside was staring back at you. There was no mistaking who it was from, who it was for, and you'd quickly tossed it into your bag before anyone saw.
You were so paranoid that he might have someone watching at the post office for who takes his letters that you'd resorted to using this poor woman's address and now, now the fear had you by the neck, sweating and shivering in broad daylight.
You'd torn open the packaging as soon as you got home, before you even put your bag down, plucking out the softest, sweetest looking bunny plushie with pink fur complete with a purple tiara.
You hated your heart for flipping the way it did.
Does the little princess like her gift? I'm sorry for sending one impromptu without your permission.
Do you like yours?
You drop the letter immediately, digging through the box and coming up with a silk cloth. Too big to be a handkerchief, just barely passing the mark for a scarf. Silk, extravagant and pricier than you could ever afford. The little S stiched in the corner catches your eye, makes your heart race.
The color is an exact match of your favorite shade of red. Leaves you a little light-headed. And then the paranoia comes crashing back.
Akin to the previous letter, there's an arrow mark guiding you to flip the page.
I'm not innocent and I won't claim to be. I simply do not wish to lose a beloved pen pal and my access to her drawings.
I beat up a man within an inch of his life.
Your heart is beating so loudly that you cannot process anything over the rush in your ears. Cannot stop rereading the words. Cannot stop the tremble in your hands, the way they shake, the way your knees buckle. You hold on to the counter to give yourself some reprieve.
You'd been playing house with a criminal. How could you have given him the benefit of doubt for a single second?
Old habits die hard, you thought bitterly as you cleaned up the mess, tossing the wrapping paper and opening his letter to your daughter to inspect it. It was a pattern with you now. Ten guys could line up in front of you and you'd skip over all the 9 decent ones to choose the trashy jerk.
You're irrationally angry with yourself for entertaining him at all, for letting yourself get carried away like this. You're tossing the wrapping paper in the trash, mind half made up to do the same with the plushie but a hollow feeling taking shape in your stomach gives you pause.
The bunny is soft beneath your labor-roughened fingers, the calloused skin that was always peeling off. You wouldn't be able to afford buying a soft toy this expensive for your daughter without feeling like you'd burned a hole through your wallet. Even if you saved up for months, you would never put that money toward a plushie and you knew it. The one you'd recently bought for your daughter couldn't even begin to compare to this one.
You take your foot off the pedal of the trash can, sighing deeply. You were tired to the very bones of your body, so exhausted and worn out that you didn't remember a time before it. What it was to be carefree and relaxed. All your life, for as long as you could remember, had been spent running. First from your irresponsible, junkie parents who had tried selling you to be able to afford the drugs they preferred and then from your husband who'd trapped you in an abusive marriage before you could see the signs.
Placing the bunny on the counter, you pick up the letter again, ready to pocket it to trash it with the scarf later, when the tiny writing you didn't notice before catches your eye.
He deserved it.
The hollow feeling that had been expanding past your gut and into your chest bursts like a balloon, all the air in your lungs leaving you in a single exhale.
You don't know what it is about this criminal but his silent conviction and the quiet certainty with which he wrote those words gives you pause. He didn't overexplain his side, didn't try to play it off and brush it under the rug. He didn't shy away from answering your question (this time) but he didn't feel the need to defend himself.
With a sigh filled with long suffering, you come to a conclusion you're not enthusiastic about.
You believed him.
The little princess loves the plushie, thank you. I do hope this is the extent of your generosity though.
->
What did he do?
And you? Did you like your gift?
->
I think I'll spare you the gory details, darling. Trash needs cleaning and I feel necessary to see it through myself sometimes.
You stopped asking questions after that. You liked to think it was none of your business but frankly, you were scared to find out. Scared that his answer would inevitably lead to the end of this budding acquaintanceship.
It would seem Bunny wasn't the only one who was lonely.
Did you like your gift?
Your only guiding force in life was to give your daughter a good life and ever since she'd clutched your finger in the dingy hospital room where you'd given birth, you knew you'd do anything to make her happy. Happier than you could have ever imagined yourself to be.
To see those drawings with the black crayon marring all the other colors on the page had broken your heart. The fact that she didn't make a peep or a single complaint when you had to pull long shifts at work and couldn't pick her up from school wrecked your soul. You wanted to give her everything she'd ever want. That had made you risk something this dangerous just to please her. And you would do it every time.
But that scarf, that was the one thing that was yours. It was the first time you'd ever been gifted something, not too extravagant, barely constituting as a present but still, you wanted it just for yourself. For once. Something that inherently belonged only to you. That wasn't thrifted or bought second hand.
And so, it sat in the back of your closet, in an unmarked box like a secret. Like something of great value. Like it was your most prized possession. Like it was priceless.
It drew out a pathetic laugh from your throat. Your most prized possession was a handkerchief from a criminal serving a sentence of heaven knew how long? Truly pathetic.
No. And I would appreciate it you refrained from sending anything else going forward.
Now you weren't only pathetic, you were also a coward.
The following week, you receive a blank cheque in the mail.
I apologize for the gift; it was certainly in poor taste. There is no limit on the amount for the cheque. Treat yourself to something special on my behalf, please?
No innuendo. Just a request. Your gaze kept snagging on the last word like it was a gravitational pull. Why did you feel like this was a man that did not plead often, if ever?
The cheque feels weightless in your palm but also weighs you down like a truckload on your chest. Your eye immediately drops to check the name on the bottom right only to see initials.
S.Q
His name really was Skye then?
No matter how tempted you were, you refused to involve yourself with the likes of such men- people, again. You would not give him a chance to trace any of your actions back to you. The moment your daughter starts showing signs of her positive disposition returning, this penpal-ship was coming to an end.
But the sad, pitiful part of you was so tempted. If there really was no limit to the cheque, you take a moment and glance around your dingy apartment, wouldn't that be nothing short of a miracle for you?
With a twofold, the cheque is torn and the pieces flutter around the kitchen. A pathetic laugh escapes you when you realize your fingers are twitching with the urge to tape it all back together.
Last thing you needed was charity.
Even if it didn't feel like it.
Thank you for the cheque but I think it was too excessive. Let's refrain on sending any type of gifts altogether. Bunny included.
You find yourself thinking of him often at work as you wipe down tables and mindlessly carry orders around like muscle memory. If you let yourself indulge, you could go hours without realizing where you were, what you should've been doing.
He'd said his hair was lighter in color. Was it light brown or more of a sandy blond? If he had beaten a man within an inch of his life, he'd have to be built like a tank to achieve it, right? What color were his eyes? Did he have scars? Tattoos? Pointed nose or button? Did he wear his hair longer or was it cut short to the scalp? Did he wear specs? How old was he? What work did he do before committing the crime? Was he in the shady business long term?
You thought back to the cheque he'd sent to you. No limit, he'd said. Was this one of his tactics to lure unsuspecting women in? Was he in the business of trafficking?
That line of thought startles you to the point of dropping your tray, the clatter drawing attention of all the patrons in the restaurant. Your heart drops when you notice the broken dishes and know that it will be docked out of your pay. You don't even get a chance to think your actions through, immediately dropping to your knees and picking up the shards, numbed to the point that you don't feel anything when a few of the pieces break skin.
You're dragging your feet on your way home, well past midnight when you'd gotten to work nearly 16 hours ago, on your feet the entire time save for two half hour breaks in the middle. Sending your daughter to a good school and paying for a child therapist was going to run you into the ground.
Even as you fight the tears welling in your eyes, you know you wouldn't choose to go any other way.
You cross the mailbox, belatedly realizing it was a Tuesday as you go to check it. The crappy events of the day have only made you regret tearing up the blank cheque even more. So, what if some bored criminal 'billionaire' wanted to do some charity? He wouldn't blink if a few thousand went missing from his bank account, wouldn't even care.
When you get home, Bunny is already in bed. Your precious daughter was too mature for her age, and you hated it. Hated that you were stealing her innocent childhood from her just because her mother couldn't make the right decisions in life. For the longest time, you sit by her bedside and watch her sleep.
It's only when you're tucking her blanket tighter around her that you notice her clutching her new bunny and remember the letter in your purse.
The bulb above the kitchen table flickers once, twice, thrice and just as you're convinced that it needs replacing and your dwindling savings are going to take a hit again today, the light flicks on. Using your closed fists to massage your knotted shoulders, you pluck out the letter, bypassing the one for Bunny for the moment.
So, it would be okay if I drew pictures too?
Underneath the writing there was a stick figure drawing of three people, clearly a family. He'd drawn bunny ears for the shorter girl standing between the two adults, holding their hand. The 'mom' had cat ears, and the 'dad' had devil horns.
Before you can help it, you're laughing at how ridiculously endearing it was. He'd doodled what looks like a tiny crow next to his stick figure, a cat next to yours and a wand in Bunny's hand. It is the silliest, most goofy sketch you've ever seen, and you love it to bits.
Your smile drops immediately when you realize how easily the laugh had come to you; how light and carefree you'd felt just a second ago. The day from hell that you'd just experienced felt so far away, like it was from a different lifetime and that scares you. Enough to stand up again to dispel the spell even if your feet were killing you.
Unacceptable. You were falling back into old patterns, newer tricks with the same outcome, and you were done. The only person you're living for is your daughter and no one else has any place in the life you've built for the both of you.
But as you lay in bed that night, you're thinking of the tiny sketch again, a smile splitting your lips so wide as you recall how adorable it was.
With a silent apology to your daughter, you close your eyes. He may not have a permanent place in the life you'd built but just for a little while, you could pretend.
Right?
Pictures are okay but you need to sharpen your skills.
Pardon me for not being as talented as our daughter pretty princess. My talents lie elsewhere, I'm afraid.
You ignore his usage of our even as you fight a smile.
What do you do for a living? Apart from being the occasional garbage collector and a struggling artist?
Sylus laughs, immediately sitting down to write back.
Meditate, mostly. Solitary confinement can be lonely. Occasionally participate in the sparring matches here on Saturday to pass time.
You weren't a fool. Solitary confinement wasn't just given to just any other inmate. The crime had to be of a serious measure, or he'd have to be someone who was a danger to other criminals.
Maybe if you stopped beating up people, they'd let you in a public space instead of keeping you isolated.
Do you atleast win these matches?
Do you atleast win these matches?
Sylus has to rub the back of his palm over his mouth- once, twice before he gives up any attempt to hold his amusement down, smiling so wide it hurts his cheeks.
I cannot be blamed for the half-witted fools who challenge me in the ring. Besides, you need to get a few bones broken to build resilience (:
If I said no, will you tend to my wounds?
You're rolling your eyes when you first read the words, but you've smiled to yourself all day every time you've thought of them.
Sylus opens your letter impatiently.
I'm not your caretaker.
His brows furrow at the flippant tone. Confused, he peeks into the envelope to see if there was more. Between his daughter's letter and the envelope, there's something lodged in the middle and he plucks it out, only to bark out in laughter when he lays his eyes on it.
->
Bunny is.
Please thank Princess Bunny for her care and the hello kitty band-aid. Atleast someone cares for her old man. Her mother's charm is her cruelty.
All your life you'd felt like a pushover. Someone who was used to being walked all over. A doormat.
Your lips lifted. Felt nice to hear you had claws too.
How old are you?
Old enough to be the starring role in every fantasy you've had of me.
That letter gives you pause. Makes you look around like he'd caught you. Like he knew what you did lying in bed. You decide he needs humbling.
Sylus is brimming with tension when he plucks out the second letter in the envelope. It had been 3 weeks since you'd responded and he'd worried that he'd taken it too far, that you were done with him, spent sleepless nights wondering if you'd write back.
Full of ourselves, are we?
Feeling left out, darling? Want to feel ful(l of me)filled too?
You hate that he doubled down every time. There was really no humbling a man who considered himself above the average lot.
You kiss your mother with that mouth?
Your response is instantaneous this time and he can almost feel the way you must be seething, if the blot of ink against the letters is any indication.
No, just our daughter's mother.
There was truly no winning with him.
A/N: First things first, I know the chapter is a bit underwhelming as compared to all the promise of the premise but there's a reason I'm calling this part 2.1 cuz I am a staunch believer in buildup, and I want to do it justice.
Secondly, I am OVERWHELMED at the response the first part got. The kind words everyone wrote, trust me when I say I reread the comments hundreds of times and scrolled thru the reblogs like a fanatic. Truly thankful to everyone who stopped a second to say such sweet things, in my comments, in the reblogs and even my asks. I'm so grateful<3 Feel free to reach out if you notice any typos or errors!
I don't have a permanent taglist but if you'd like to be tagged for updates on this fic, comment below and I'll add you!
I need to know everyone's reactions to having a bush and then shaving your bush PLEAASE.
Xavier has gotten used to the bush. He loves the bush.
That’s like… his baby low key. That man is slipping a hand down the front of your shorts just to play with your pubes to fall asleep alright?
Like he’s petting the kitty for real.
So when you come out of the shower and she’s bald? He’s a bit stunned to say the least. “You shaved?” The towel has dropped to the floor as you rummage around your drawers for some panties to slip on, turning with a grin to show Xavier the fruits of your labor.
“I did! I saw a hack online and I wanted to try it, it’s been a while since she’s been clean shaven down there… feels so soft, wanna touch?”
You’re wiggling your eyebrows at him, completely unaware of his little mini crisis now that his favorite fidget toy is gone. “…soft?”
Okay, well, maybe he can compromise. "Yeah, super soft, I gotta put some lotion on her though... maybe you can help me out with that?" Oh? Yeah maybe this wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to him.
Zayne had been quite shy at first about his love for your bush. Something about it just really, really does it for him, okay?
The further you got into your relationship, the more apparent it became. So? You quite shaving, stuck to cleaning up and trimming when it felt necessary. But never really waxed or clean shaved.
That is, until summer hit and you really wanted to wear this one swimsuit and no matter what you did, the hair was just too obvious.
"Zayne, baby? I gotta tell you something." You actually felt a tad guilty as you peek into his office, towel still clinging to your body. "That... sounds guilty. What did you do?" Break something, maybe? Accidentally post an embarrassing photo of him? No, maybe worse.
"You know that bikini?" Oh, oh no. Yeah, way worse. You could see the horror dawning on his face before you could even drop the towel. "Zayne, please, I had to..." But his eyes look like that of a kicked puppy, his work abandoned as he swivels in his chair. "You didn't..."
"I had too." You whine, opening your towel to show your clean shaven, hair free, smooth, bush-less kitty. He nearly falls to his knees.
Rafayel has never really cared either way, honestly. He's quite used to being relatively hairless down there due to being Lemurian.
He doesn't expect you to shave or wax to meet those "standards", he doesn't mind you having a bush in the slightest. He actually is rather fond of nuzzling it after he eats you out.
"Raf..." You breath into the kiss, head tilting back as his lips trail lower towards your jaw. Their end destination currently throbbing between your thighs. "Hurry... I don't wanna wait..."
You're squirming, ungracefully trying to kick off your shorts as you feel his lips curl into a grin against your heated skin. "Fine, fine, cutie. Someone is impatient." Pulling away, Rafayel easily yanks your shorts and underwear off in one go, trying not to do a double take when he's greeted by the sight of your bare, clean shaven pussy.
"What inspired this sudden style change?" You blink up at him, nearly forgetting you had shaved yourself while showering this morning.
"J-just felt like it. Does that really matter?" You spread your legs a little further, a little more of your dignity flying out the window as you pleaded for him to please you just how you loved him to.
"Nah, it doesn't. But she looks cute like this... looks cute all the time though..." You can't dwell on it, not when his head dips down and disappears between your plush thighs.
Sylus prefers your grooming habits to be whatever you're most comfortable with. He loves the bush, loves when you're clean shaven, doesn't matter to him so long as you're comfy.
"I did something today." You grin as you plop down beside him on the couch, a freshly poured glass of red wine swirling in your cup as he nurses a second cup of whiskey. "Something exciting, it seems?"
You try and swallow your grin but are unsuccessful, holding the crimson gaze that is peeking at you over wire rimmed glasses.
Sitting on your knees, you take a small sip of the liquid before leaning closer to your lover. "I shave my kitty today."
It had been months since you had gone fully bald. Trimming was one thing, keeping her neat and clean was another. But totally bare, Sylus couldn't recall the last time he had seen it. "oh?'
"Wanna see?"
"Of course I want to see."
Setting your wine glass on the coffee table, you push up on your knees and yank down the front of your shorts. Shamelessly flashing Sylus with a far too innocent grin on your face. "Nice work, kitten. Not a single nick or sign of irritation. I'm impressed."
Caleb has always been fond of the bush, he especially loves when it gets a little wild and grown out. Sticking through your undies, peeking out the sides. You very rarely let it get that long though.
"Hey colonel." You're relaxing on your shared bed when he shuffles into the room, eyes easily looking over your frame and doing a double take.
"You...shaved her?"
You sit up slightly, peering down your body with a raised eyebrow before looking up at Caleb again. "You're sick and twisted, how the hell did you know I shaved my cooch just by looking at me?" But it's the way your panties are sitting on your hips, the way there is no hair peeking.
"Just... know you. That's beside the point. What made you shave?"
The colonel hat hits the dresser, then the gloves, all the while his eyes are locked on you with intent. "Just... got bored? I don't know I haven't done it in a long while. Do you not like it?"
The look that flashes across his face makes you feel stupid for even second guessing. "I was just curious, pips." His feet fall heavy as he walks towards you, immediately falling to his knees when he hits the edge of the bed. "Should I show you how much I like it?"
Valko is a wolf, naturally he's used to people having body hair. He finds it mildly odd when they don't. But like, your preference, you know?
So, he makes you aware of that right from the start of your relationship. Letting you know that you don't have to shave for him, that you don't have to be hairless for him. He loves some body hair, he loves the bush.
"Woah... did I miss something?" You've gotten comfortable with changing in front of him, not thinking twice as you strip from your uniform to hop in the shower. "Huh?"
"You uh... you shaved it off..." peering down, you realize his amber eyes are locked on the freshly shaved front of your pubic bone.
"Oh, yeah. I don't know I just felt like trying it out, it's been a while since I've done it. Do you not like it?" Valko's jaw actually drops at the question. Him? Not like your pussy? What?
"I'd be a moron if I didn't like it, but you know I love you with hair, right?" He really wanted to make sure this wasn't an insecurity thing. At that realization, you can't help but grin, stepping forward to place a chaste peck on his lips. Finding it oddly touching and adorable.
"I do know that... but do you wanna feel how soft she is now?"
MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH // JACK ABBBOT // DENNIS WHITAKER
NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED
⤷ //. cw: foursome, daddy kink, sir kink, fauxcest, puppy play . //
a hand was sent flying across your now reddened rear, firm and exact in its delivery.
“can’t leave the two of you alone for one fucking minute.”
abbot cursed under his breath, aggravation instilled in his every word and breath as his hand cracked once more on your ass.
“think it’s fucking cute, don’t you? disobeying my rules?”
he then grabbed a fistful of your hair, cruel in its grasp as he bent your neck upwards, causing your back to arch downward into his lap.
“c’mon then! tell me why you two couldn’t wait for another damn hour.” huffing, he released your hair, glaring back at the other man who was staring at the entire scene on his knees.
dennis was still in his briefs, shirt stripped and discarded somewhere on the kitchen floor. your own clothes must have been strewn somewhere there as well, because you were left to wear a now ruined pair of panties and a lacy brassiere.
glancing over to your brother, you pleaded. lips quivering as you mouthed to him not to tell.
but as your eyes met—finding those pitiful blues now hooded in shame—you knew then that his loyalties lied with your owners instead of his own sister.
“i-it was her idea, sir..” dennis mumbled, hands firm on his knees as he hoped and willed for his cock to soften within his briefs. knowing well enough that abbot could see how the tip was now leaking and soiling the cloth.
“is that right?”
his attention then returned to your ass, cupping the fat as he massaged the reddening swell.
“he-he was hard! i-i just wanted to help..” you squeaked without thinking, soon realizing that you were now in deeper shit than before.
because dogs don’t speak unless spoken to. and abbot wasn’t talking to you. wasn’t even looking to you.
and when his gaze settled on your now worried face, the man smirked.
because prior to this, dennis had been placed in that horrible cage—a punishment for an earlier crime—wearing nothing but that same pair of briefs and a shirt. and the poor boy had been whimpering for hours, his cock weeping through the slit of his underwear, horny like a mutt in heat.
and you were the kind little pup who wanted to help their big brother, wanted to offer your cunt so his cum won’t have to be spilled on the cage floor.
cause that would be such a waste, and it’s never good to put such things to waste.
“really?” abbot chuckled, the sound rumbling from his throat as his roughened palm squeezed your now sensitive ass, “so you thought it was fine to let your brother out from his cage? so what? so his stupid cock won’t be lonely?”
clicking his tongue, his hand then cracked on your ass once more—harder this time—as the pain made your lungs swell and expand. the sound now echoing through the living room walls.
“expected more from you, sweetie. you’re supposed to be the smart one.” he said as he grasped at your jaw, making you meet his gaze.
tears were now streaming down your cheeks, skin as red as your now abused ass,
“t-thought i-i was helping, sir… he-he—“
SMACK!
and you cried out once more, body now shaking from both the pain and the impact—throat becoming more sore,
“i-i’m so-sorry, sir.. pl-please..”
but the older man had no mercy in his gaze, even as he watched those tears trickle from your cheeks. watched as your bottom lip quivered and your breath hiccup.
“dennis.”
abbot called, earning your brother’s immediate attention—back straightening in hopes that he could relieve you from his wrath.
“briefs off. now.”
and without hesitation, the other man stripped himself until he was bare, his hardened cock standing at full mast—your own gaze attached to the swollen tip.
he stood there for a moment, waiting for abbot to tell him to sit. and when he was given the command, he then went back on his knees, sitting on the heels of his feet. obedient as ever.
but before abbot could continue his discipline, the door to the house opened, with robby walking in from his shift.
the man was in his usual mood, somewhat cheerful since he was home, but that immediately shifted when he saw what was happening in front of him.
his cute little girl laying across his husband’s lap, ass beaten red and his boy kneeling on the floor naked.
it seems that abbot didn’t even bother to tell him about their most recent act of disobedience.
“hey…” michael greeted, tone cautious as he set aside his bag on the kitchen counter, noticing the clothes strewn across the floor.
your camisole laying near the counter, your skirt near the refrigerator door, and dennis’s t-shirt atop of your discarded socks.
“ahh..” the older man said, looking back to abbot’s expectant gaze.
“guess someone decided to let their brother out of the cage, huh? got lonely or something, sweetie?”
robby then approached the couch where you and abbot have been this entire time, arms now resting on the back cushions as his gaze traveled across your curved spine and your ruined rear.
“n-no, daddy! j-just wanted to help de-denny… was whimpering so much throughout the afternoon and..”
biting down your bottom lip, your tear stained eyes flickered between your handlers.
but robby was quiet. assessing. and letting you continue.
“—and i, uhm… told him that he could… cum inside so he doesn’t have to be so hard..”
at that admission, jack scoffed and shook his head.
and without warning, he then lifted you off his lap and tossed you to the floor beside dennis—the carpet cushioning your fall as the man stood at his full height.
“if you wanna be a little cum bucket so bad, sweetie.” slowly, he undid the buckle to his belt, “then i’ll fill that fucking needy cunt myself.”
glancing over to his husband, jack then cocked his head to the side.
a silent invitation.
and who was robby to decline?
…might write a second parter to this, still unsure.
thoughts of rabbot walking in on you touching yourself. . . <3
masterlist ☕︎⋆.˚
content warnings .ᐟ SMUT. mdni! dom!rabbot, sub!reader, mean!robby, soft!jack, slight fauxcest, daddy kink, use of pet names, use of a sex toy, masturbation, rabbot hint to reward and punishment 𓂃˖ ࣪⊹
when your boyfriends get held up in the ER—jack leaving for night shift and robby getting stuck with him after day—you can’t help but squirm waiting for their return. robby should have been here already and jack had just left, so you were completely alone in the house, and left to entertain yourself.
luckily for you, jack had bought you a little wand to help you when they were away. robby had been a little opposed to the idea at first but relented in favor of your puppy eyes and jack’s persuasion. that being said, you decided to take matters into your own hands by playing with your toy.
only you’d forgotten to ask for permission.
you weren’t too far into your solo session when the two of them entered the house. you hadn’t heard the sound of them discussing their patients or the latest work drama as you were too busy working your fingers inside your pussy, the wand buzzing against your aching clit.
“yeah, so gloria thinks—“ robby was saying as he pushed the door open to your bedroom, jack in tow. he cut himself off when he caught sight of you. “holy shit.”
“well, would you look at that,” jack smirked as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.
you paused instantly and covered yourself with the comforter, sitting up in bed with heated cheeks and messy hair. any effort to hide what you’d been doing was definitely futile now.
“robby! j- jack, i—“
“looks like someone’s misbehaving,” robby tsked as jack approached the bed. you automatically pulled the covers even tighter, shielding yourself from view. “told you not to get her that wand.”
“ah-ah, sweetheart, let daddy see,” jack chided.
you pouted at him but did as you were told, timidly pulling the covers down to reveal your weeping pussy, the wand slotted between your thighs.
“poor baby. got so needy without us, huh?” jack cooed. you nodded with a small whimper.
“oh, please,” robby practically scoffed. he walked up behind jack and stared at you, crossing his arms. “she knows better. don’t you, baby?”
“i—“
“don’t listen to your dad. he’s just pissed he had to stay late,” jack said, ever the softer of the two. “now, let’s get you taken care of, huh?”
robby chuckled, but it lacked real amusement. “yeah, right. how about punished?”
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Robby has never been a fan of birthdays. This year, loneliness drives him to download Tinder on an impulse, only to come across the last person he expected to find there: his favorite resident.
As some of you may know, I tried posting this fic twice and it got mistakenly flagged both times. Since then, I’ve been getting advice on things that might help prevent it from happening again. I’ve tweaked some of the pictures, adjusted a few hashtags, and I’m hoping that does the trick.
Tomorrow, I’m going to try posting it one more time. If it gets taken down again, then I’ll post a version with a link to read the full fic on AO3 instead. Either way, one thing is certain: tomorrow this fic will be available one way or another.
18+ mdni | what happens when you use your safe word with the li’s? (separate)
TW. SAFE WORD USE (it’s gonna be diff flowers in this post), ROUGH s, oral (m + f), throat fucking, overstimulation, edging, s toys, anal, spanking, collar, leash, choking, restraints, guys like SERIOUSLY MEAN degradation, pet play, gagging, mention of nausea
ㅤꨄ︎ xavier
xavier’s been at it for hours, slamming his hips against yours as if he had a personal vendetta against your cunt. back folded into a deep arch as he bullied his cock into your throbbing entrance, he was thrusting hard enough that you nearly hit the headboard with each push of his length into your hole, a tear-soaked pillow being the only thing to cushion your head.
“such a dirty fuckin’ girl, already filled you up twice n’ ya still want more?” he groaned, rough hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. you shook your head, choking out a sob of ‘slow down’ to no avail.
he grabbed your hair in a makeshift ponytail, pulling you towards him until the back of your head rested on his shoulder. “want me to slow down? nah, i know you love it when i fuck you like a whore.”
tears spilled from your eyes as you searched for something to grab onto for comfort; the edge of the headboard, bedsheets, even his arm—anything to ground you as he fucked you within an inch of consciousness. xavier laughed as he watched you struggle, pressing down on your lower abdomen and moaning when your walls tightened around him. “say it. fuckin’ say you’re my dumb cum slut”
he punctuated each word with a bruising thrust, finally pushing you over the edge as you screamed out your safe word “bluebell”. his movements stopped immediately, the grip he had on you now gentle and holding you steady.
sobs wracked through your chest as he slowly withdrew from your throbbing hole, sitting you against the headboard before grabbing a tissue from the bedside. he wiped your tears and the sweat from your face before brushing your hair from your face, letting you calm yourself before daring to speak.
when your cries finally morphed into hiccups and eventually sniffles, xavier grabbed the cup of water next to your bed and watched you eagerly gulp it down, chuckling before stroking your hair.
“okay?” he questioned, voice a full 360 from just minutes ago. you nodded, beginning to apologize only for xavier to shut you down immediately. “hey, i was pushing it. i’m sorry, thank you for using it. why don’t we jus’ sit a bit, yeah?”
you nodded, appreciating the kindness and understanding from your partner. xavier sat next to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as he stroked up and down your arm, listing the new plushies available in the arcade near your house to help ease the tension in the air.
ㅤꨄ︎ zayne
you vision went white as zayne drew another orgasm from you, wetness shooting from your cunt onto his eager face as his fingers continuously rubbed that one spot he knew all too well.
his lips attached to your clit, sucking vigorously as his long digits began to scissor inside your hole once more, your hips trembling under his grip. he laughed against your cunt, giddy at the reactions your body so easily gave him. “so easy for me, huh? don’t even have to try and i have you creaming on my tongue”
you whined his name, hands desperately trying to push away his head from your overstimulated core only for him to grab both wrists with his free hand. “you begged me to cum and now you’re complaining?” he scoffed, pulling his fingers out only to suck them into his mouth before roughly shoving them into you again. “we’re done when i fuckin’ say so”
“z-zaynie…please, need a break” you sobbed, heartbeat thumping in your ears as you felt another mind shattering orgasm coming. your cries only fuelled his ministrations, climax suddenly washing over you with your legs going limp as uncomfortable shocks ran through your body. just as you thought he was finally finished, zayne began slapping your cunt, drawing more spurts of fluid from your entrance. the cruel overstimulation had you screaming out “lilac” before you even knew it, zaynes insistent movement ceasing at once.
he wiped his hands on his pants, quickly moving up towards you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “hi sweet angel. i’m so, so, so sorry, tell me what you need” he muttered between small pecks, pulling back to see tears welling in your eyes. his heart ached as he realized your current state was because of his actions.
“j-jus’ need a sec” you hiccuped, reaching for him and pulling him towards your side. “don’t wanna stop, just need a breather”
he let out a sigh of relief, nodding and quickly slinging an arm around you as you curled into him. your body trembled while the rise and fall of his chest soothed you, nerves slowly easing as each second ticked by. zayne stayed close to you, brushing his fingers through your hair and taking up the space you allowed him to.
ㅤꨄ︎ raf
your throat bulged with rafayels cock as he rutted into your mouth, groaning when your nails raked down his thighs. your head hung off the edge of the bed, the slap of his heavy balls against your face with every thrust making you dizzy with lust. you felt his length still inside your throat, a large hand stroking the outline of his huge cock over your neck.
“m-made for this, right? fuck you take it so good” his needy voice moaned, palms roughly slapping your tits before he started his movements again. “loosen up for me princess, breathe through your nose like i taught you”
you tried to follow his instructions, lungs burning as your nostrils flared with effort, trying to inhale any air you could. your hands began to shake as you started to push his hips away, unable to suck in any air with his steady presence over you. he laughed before withdrawing his cock from your lips, pupils dilating while watching you gasp for air.
just as you felt your body begin to calm down, rafayel slapped the tip of his length against your lips, motioning for you to open your mouth for him once more. you shook your head desperately, hoarse voice rumbling out “tulips” twice before he finally understood you.
rafayel immediately helped you up, a hand steadying your back as you continued to even your breathing. you pulled his looming body towards you and inhaled the familiar floral scent of his laundry, forehead resting atop his flowy shirt. the tightness in your chest eased as he stroked your back, apologizing for going too far. you sat like that for a few more minutes until finally moving back at the feeling of his body beginning to shake.
your eyes flitted up to find rafayel crying, his long fingers quickly swiping away the tears before apologizing. “i’m sorry, jus’ feel so bad i pushed you.”
you chuckled at the endearing display, pulling him next to you on the bed and trying to ease his overwhelming emotions the same way he did you.
ㅤꨄ︎ caleb
you watched with bated breath as caleb increased the pace of the bullet vibe inside of you, messy cunt dripping onto the sheets under you while your limbs pulled at the restraints he had you tied in.
he’d edged you three times already, punishing you for “laughing too hard” at your coworkers joke. this wasn’t new for the two of you, one of caleb’s favourite things to do being you tied up, begging and crying for him to let you cum. the sound of your voice pitching up while tears trailed down your face was simply music to his ears.
today though, you felt yourself rapidly approaching your limit, body beginning to shake uncomfortably as he ruined your climax once again with an evil grin.
“awww, what’s wrong pips? ya mad i’m treating you like a whore? maybe you shouldn’t act like a free-use slut then, hm?”
the mean words had your cunt squeezing around the vibrating toy buried between your walls, an intense burn running through your nerves as he raised the intensity to the highest level.
“wanna hear you tell me why im punishing you. let me hear you say you’re a brainless cockwhore”
a sob ripped through your throat at the cruel tone in his voice, body twisting as you tried to get away from the stimulation. his raucous laugh was your last straw, the word “sunflower” falling from your lips making him turn off the vibe completely.
you continued to shake as he untied your restraints, massaging the tired muscles as blood flowed back into them. caleb crawled towards you after soothing the red skin, gently laying your head on his chest and lightly patting your back. “did too much, i’m sorry baby” he whispered against your scalp, letting your breathing steady before finally sitting you up.
he wiped the tears on your lash line before grabbing the cup of water on your bedside table, letting you sip it slowly. after he was sure you were fully calm and back in your body, caleb asked you what you needed next, letting you lead his movements in a way you wanted.
ㅤꨄ︎ sylus
the sharp sting of sylus’ hand against your ass had you screaming, blood-red skin tender to the touch with each heavy hit he landed on you.
you intended for the night to end this way, hoping your teasing touches and annoyed glares would be enough to make him “punish” you. sylus knew this of course and was glad to fulfill your wishes, but he was unintentionally taking out his work stress on you as well. the month had been slow and while he didn’t have to worry about money, he still did. he was always concerned he wouldn’t be able to give you the life you deserved, so any time business was slower, his worries crept to the front of his mind.
his jaw tensed as you began to squirm in his hold, trying to wriggle out of his harsh grip to no avail. he scoffed at your movements, stroking the burning skin on your ass and watching how you flinched with every touch. “pretending you don’t want it when i can see how wet you are.”
you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together, shame filling you as you questioned whether or not you were sick for getting off to this. your train of thought was interrupted as he landed four consecutive slaps to your upper thighs and each cheek, a hoarse scream falling from your lips before you began to continuously mutter “roses” under your breath.
you weren’t sure if he’d even be able to hear you (he was old asf his hearing was leaving fr) but sylus immediately turned you over and cradled you in his arms, making sure to avoid the sensitive skin on your bottom. tears continued to flow down your face as he soothed you, mumbling ‘what a good girl you were’ and how he was ‘sorry he went too far’.
you let him carry you to your bedroom and lay you on your front, applying a gentle analgesic to the tender skin on your behind. after you were settled sylus climbed in next to you, gently rubbing your back and letting your brain quiet before asking what you needed next.
ㅤꨄ︎ valko
valko tugged the leash attached to your collar, pulling you along as he walked to your bedroom. “t-too hard” you tried to speak, quickly cut off by another harsh pull on your throat.
“dogs don’t fuckin’ talk—you wanna speak, you’re gonna bark like the bitch you are”
you were the one to bring up petplay, asking if it was something he’d be into. valko immediately agreed, listing off the reasons why he’d be the perfect pup until you corrected him and said you wanted to try it this time.
he easily fell into the role of a dominating owner, rough movements indicating he’d been imagining this for a while now.
you watched as he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting until you crawled between his knees before giving you your next instruction. “let me see your pretty tongue, puppy”
you hesitantly stuck out the muscle, eyes widening as he spit on it. you were about to swallow it until he roughly grabbed your tongue between two fingers, shoving another two digits down your throat and smirking as you took them eagerly. your eyes rolled back as he touched the back of your throat with ease, gagging when he pushed further.
you expected him to withdraw them at the first sign of resistance, but valko continued to tease your throat, forcing his fingers down and encouraging you to take them until you felt yourself preparing to vomit.
a gurgled version of “lilies” fell from your lips, valkos eyes widening before finally relenting and letting you swallow down your nausea. he stared in surprise as he realized he’d gone too far, apologies quickly falling from his lips before he scrambled for a tissue to wipe your face with.
you laughed at his antics before stroking his cheek, letting him know you just needed a break. he loosened your collar to give you more room to breathe, moving to get you a cup of water and letting you gulp it down before letting you lead the way.
Oof thinking about sexy onlyfans guy with a monster cock who only sells vids of himself jerking off and groaning with his deep voice. He never collabs even tho he has hundreds of offers from other onlyfans models who want a piece of him. His career skyrockets within just a few months and his subs are BEGGING to see him collab with a woman so they can imagine themselves having sex with him.
He caves, promises he'll make a collab video soon. Onlyfans models are spreading rumors that they'll be collabing with the legend himself, but they all go silent when he posts a three hour sex tape of him fucking you, his chubby girlfriend.
A Protocore throws you and Xavier two years into the future. You end up on his balcony. Your future selves end up against the glass door 😏.
CW: Smut. Jealousy. P in V 🔞MDNI🔞
Huge thanks to @stardustsirens for helping me with this series! 🧡🧡🧡
Caleb's part here
"Please tell me that's the last one"
The air reeked of burned grass and dead wanderers. You let out a long breath and let your shoulders drop as the last Wanderer dissolved into light that flickered once and went dark.
A few paces away, Xavier had a few hair strands stuck to his forehead and a thin sheen of sweat at his throat, and that was the extent of the damage. Meanwhile you looked like you'd been dragged behind a truck.
"Perimeter's clear," he said, quiet, like nothing in the world could rattle him. He crossed the debris toward you, boots crunching over glass and rubble. "You're bleeding, though."
You looked down. A chunk of crystal debris had opened a gash along your calf and you hadn't even noticed.
"Huh. Didn't feel that happen."
"Let me look at it." He dropped to one knee, taking a bandage roll out of your hands before you'd even fully pulled it from your pouch.
His hands were warm. Warmer than it made sense, given the cold. When he folded the torn fabric of your pants back to get at the wound, his fingers grazed bare skin and something jumped straight up your spine. You bit down on the inside of your cheek so you wouldn't make a sound about it.
This was the problem with Xavier. Some days he fell asleep against your shoulder like it was the safest place in the world. Other days he kept a careful distance between you and answered everything in a polite, unreadable tone, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.
"Does that hurt?" his thumb pressed against the unbroken skin just above it — the touch was not necessary to wrap the bandage.
"A little," you said, watching the top of his head, how the moonlight caught the color of his hair. "Xavier. Can I ask you something?"
His hands didn't stop moving, but his shoulders went still. "Yeah."
"Why do you do this?" You asked flatly, too tired to dress it up. "Sometimes I think we’re... I don't know, really close. And then other times, you look at me like I'm just another Hunter from the Association. It's confusing."
He finished tying off the gauze, stood up and finally looked at you "I just think about things. More than I probably should."
He reached out to help you up, hands closing firm around your forearms.
"Think about what?"
You went to test your weight on the bandaged leg and the ground chose that second to be uneven. You pitched forward, right into him, your chest hitting his. His hands slid from your arms to your waist to catch you.
Neither of you moved.
You could feel his heart going fast under his uniform, which didn't match the calm on his face at all. His eyes dropped to your mouth, came back up.This is happening, you thought, a little dizzy with it. He's actually going to—.
His grip on your waist tightened. Something cracked open behind his eyes, just for a second "You shouldn't stand this close to me"
"Xavier—"
He stepped back before you could get anything else out.
Crunch. Something snapped under his boot.
A white protocore.
He picked it and it suddenly went off with light, a white light expanding outward faster than you could track. The air got sucked straight out of your lungs. Your ears popped hard enough to hurt, and then the ruins, the sky, and everything else was sucked into a roar of wind that yanked you forward like the world had grabbed you by the throat.
You hit something solid and warm.
"Oof — sorry —"
A grunt came from underneath you. You blinked against sudden dark, hands slapping down flat against Xavier's chest. You were sprawled on top of him, legs tangled, face mashed against his neck.
"Oh my god." You scrambled back so fast you scraped your palms on the floor. "Sorry — are you okay?"
Xavier sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, hair falling into his eyes. "Fine. Are you hurt?"
"No, I— " You stopped. Looked around. "Wait."
You weren't standing in the ruins anymore. You were standing on a balcony with black wrought iron railing and a view of city streets that looked oddly familiar.
"Is this our building?" You turned in a slow circle, "Xavier, did you just teleport us home?"
"I didn't teleport us anywhere."
"You definitely did something..."
"I didn't" He was already moving past you toward the railing, scanning it like it might answer a question you hadn't asked yet.
"Okay, well, something got us here," you said, following him. "So if it wasn't you, what was it?"
He didn't answer right away. He crouched by one of the plants, fingers brushing the soil. Damp. Recently turned. "I don't have an explanation for this."
"When did you get so many plants?."
He moved to a small table near, where two mugs sat, both used, one rimmed faintly with lipstick.
"This is kind of freaking me out."
You spotted a newspaper folded beside the mugs and reached for it before he could stop you.
The date on the header didn't make sense. You read it twice.
"Xavier." You held it out to him, throat tight.
He took it, scanning it fast, and for the first time all night something like real alarm broke through his usual calm. "This is two years out."
"Two years." You said it slow, testing the weight of it. "Okay. We're just —somewhere else. Somewhere with your exact view, which is a really specific coincidence, but fine, sure, this is wrong, so so wrong—"
"Calm down."
"Xavier."
"What."
You pointed, wordless, toward the far corner of the balcony, where a lumpy, badly painted bird feeder hung crooked from its hook, one wing chipped clean off. You'd have known it anywhere.
"That's Fatso"s" you said.
Xavier followed your finger, and whatever he'd been telling himself died on his face.
You grabbed for your communicator on reflex. Dead screen. "No signal," you said, more to yourself than to him.
"Mine's the same. Clock's not even holding steady." He pocketed the device "We need to see what's inside. If someone's living here, we ask them what year it is."
"Oh yeah because that is a completely normal question to walk in and ask a stranger."
"Stay behind me," he reached for the handle on the sliding glass door, testing the weight of it without committing to opening it yet. Behind the curtain, something moved.
You froze. Your fingers found the sleeve of his uniform and held on.
A hand pressed flat against the glass from the other side of the curtain, fingers spread.
Xavier looked ready to run.
A second hand appeared beside it. Bigger. Scarred across the knuckles. Something in your chest went cold with recognition even before your brain caught up. The second hand moved to close over the first, fingers lacing through.
There were two people on the other side of that door. And from the way the curtain was moving, they were not just standing there.
"Xavier," you whispered, barely any air behind it at all.
He didn't answer. He didn't move his hand off the door either —just stood there frozen, staring at those hands through the glass like his whole nervous system had collapsed.
Then he moved. His hand closed around your shoulder and pulled, one smooth backward motion that tucked you both into a narrow space where the balcony wall met the building's outer brick. The spot was tight —barely enough room for two people to stand without touching —and the angle it gave you was merciless. The glass door sat directly in your line of sight, lit from inside.
You should have looked away immediately.
But you didn't.
The curtains moved a bit. Two bodies, pressed close. The woman's face was hidden, her head tipped back behind the line of the man's shoulder. His face was visible. Hair catching the light. That jaw.
Xavier
The anger came fast and hot and settled behind your sternum like coal. Months of warmth and then distance. Months of patience that felt like it was always just about to become something and never did —and here was the answer to all of it, pressed against a glass door in an apartment that was still his, two years from now, with someone else.
He was kissing her the way someone kisses when they've stopped being careful about it. Deep, his hands dragging her back against him, the movements of his lower body slow and unmistakable.
You looked away. Focused on a crack running through the middle of the wall beside you. Breathed through your nose.
Beside you, Xavier was still looking. His face was flushed.
"Is that—" His voice came out wrong.
"Yup," you said. The bitterness in it sharper than you'd intended. "That's you"
A sound came through the glass.
The impact of skin against the glass door followed immediately by a broken moan, the sound dragged your eyes back to the glass door against your will.
The curtain had been pulled aside all the way.
The view was now unobstructed.
The woman was pressed flat against the glass, her bare breasts against the cold pane, her hands finding the frame for something to hold onto. Her face was fully visible now.
The anger in your chest went out like a light.
It was your face.
Your shoulders, your hands, the sound of your own voice coming through the glass in pieces, breathless and nothing like anything you'd heard from yourself before. Your future self's cheek was pressed to the glass too, eyes half closed, lips parted around sounds that weren't words.
Future Xavier's teeth found her shoulder and bit down, not gently, leaving something that would be visible tomorrow. His hand came around the front of her, sliding between her thighs to line his beautiful cock against her entrance.
Then he drove forward.
The sound she made came through the glass loud and clear and a small involuntary noise started building in your own throat.
Xavier's palm came over your mouth.
Fast. Firm. His fingers sealing the sound in before it could escape. His hand was shaking.
The glass door shook with the next impact. And the next.
Xavier had his mouth at her ear saying something you couldn't hear through the glass but could read in the way her expression changed when he said it.
Xavier made half a sound against the back of your head and he immediately swallowed the other half.
You felt it anyway. Felt the way his arm tightened across your chest, felt the unsteady rhythm of his breathing where his chest pressed into your back.
You couldn't look away from his face —the future version of the face that was currently breathing against your temple— wearing an expression you'd never seen on him before.
"Xavier," you said, against his palm. Muffled.
His arm tightened.
"Xavier." Louder this time, enough that he could feel the shape of his name against his hand.
His mouth dropped to your ear "Don't move." The words came out rough "If they see us—"
Inside the apartment, your future self pressed her palm hard against her lips.
Future Xavier's hand closed around her wrist.
He pulled it down. He held her hand at her side and kept it there, and when she turned her face toward him he was already looking at her.
He wanted to hear her.
Below you a glass door scraped open.
One floor down, a man stepped out onto his balcony. Cigarette unlit between his fingers, head tilted slightly, listening to the night.
You pressed further into the shadow.
The rhythm inside the apartment changed. Not slower. The opposite. The glass shook in its frame and the sounds coming through it stopped being something that could be mistaken for anything else, and the man one floor down stopped trying to light his cigarette.
You looked at future Xavier's face.
His eyes were angled down and to the left.
He picked up the pace.
She tried again, her hand came up toward her mouth. Future Xavier caught her wrist without looking and his mouth moved against her ear again.
Whatever it was, she stopped trying to be quiet.
You thought about what you'd just watched him do. The escalation. The man on the balcony below. The reason your future self's hand kept getting pulled back down.
Was he jealous of that stranger?
Inside, her feet left the ground. Xavier had both arms around her, her arms caught under his, breast bouncing with every thrust.
You saw it first.
An unmistakable pressure beneath the surface of her stomach. Moving with every thrust. A belly bulge.
Your mouth went dry.
She was dripping. You could see it even through the glass —the inside of her thighs slick and glistening where his movements had worked everything down, coating her skin, catching the apartment light every time he pulled back. The glass had a faint fog to it from her breath, small clouds appearing and disappearing with each exhale.
The deep flush running from her chest to her throat made something in your lower stomach pull tight.
The Xavier beside you tracked every place her body responded to him, her hardened nipples, the way her toes curled against nothing, the flutter beneath her skin that mapped exactly where he was.
Crash
A flower pot.
It hit the floor and you both stopped breathing.
Inside the apartment, silence.
Immediate and total.
Through the glass you watched future Xavier's head come up. No panic in it. No confusion. Just a slow turn toward the sound, his eyes moving through the dark until they found the spot where the two of you were standing.
He couldn't see you. The angle was wrong, the shadow too deep.
He knew someone was there anyway.
His expression went cold and your future self said something against his chest. The curtain moved slowly across the glass from inside and the light behind it went out.
You had thirty seconds. Maybe less.
Xavier crouched beside you. The Protocore looked small against his palm, throwing a faint white pulse between his fingers for just a second.
The glass door began to slide open.
The air changed, the balcony, the broken pot, the man with his unlit cigarette, all of it collapsing into white noise and rushing dark.
You hit the ground hard. Your knees met broken stone, the air was knocked out of you on impact and you spent the first few seconds just existing on the ground.
Xavier landed beside you.
You pushed yourself up to sitting. "So..."
Xavier said nothing.
"That was weird."
Still nothing.
"We were—"
"I saw it" he opened his hand and noticed the Protocore was gone "I was standing right next to you."
"So we're both aware of what we watched."
"Yes."
"And we're not going to talk about it?"
He looked at you. "Are you going to be able to not talk about it?"
"Probably not."
He made a sound that wasn't quite a sigh, stood up and offered you a hand. You took it and he pulled you to your feet and didn't immediately let go.
"That man on the balcony," you said.
Xavier's jaw moved. "What about him."
"Future you saw him and then—"
"I know what he did." He dropped your hand. Turned to look at anything that wasn't your face. "You don't need to walk me through it."
"I'm just—" You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to smile, it felt inappropriate and also completely unavoidable "Was he showing off?"
"We're not talking about that."
"Xavier—"
"Not yet." He said it quietly. Just a line in the ground, clearly drawn. "Not tonight. There's—" He exhaled. "There's a lot I need to sit with before I talk about any of it."
You nodded. That felt fair.
You started walking, picking your way back through the rubble toward the gap in the wall where you'd come in, and Xavier fell into step beside you like he always did —slightly behind, slightly to your left, a position that meant he could see everything around you before you could.
The walk back was quiet. You were almost at the gap in the wall when he spoke.
"Can I ask you something."
"Go ahead."
He was quiet for a beat. Just long enough that you glanced over at him.
"Future me?" he said. "Or me?"
You stopped walking. "What?"
"You heard me. Who do you like more?
"Xavier, that's not—you are the same person—"
"Future me is two years ahead and has information I don't have and he was doing—" a small pause, "—things to you that I have not yet done. So. Future me or me?"
You stared at him.
He stared back.
"That is the most ridiculous question you've ever asked me"
"Humor me."
"You"
Something in his face changed.
"Good," he said.
"But future you did have his—"
The not quite smile disappeared. "We're going home," he said, and turned toward the gap in the wall.
You followed him, and you were very glad he was walking ahead of you this time because the smile on your face was not something you were ready to explain.
dad!valko who picks up your daughter by the neck of her fluffy onesie with his bare teeth, like how a wolf picks up it’s pup. he’d walk around the house with her like that, swinging around in the air and giggling as she gets a front row view of her dad’s laptop screen and this week’s Eoncore tech report…that is, until you freak out and force valko to put her in a carrier.
dad!valko who’s not super great at buying baby clothes for your baby girl. he keeps on coming back with sleepers that spell ‘PUPPY PRINCESS’ in big pink font, socks with grippy paw prints on it’s feet, sweatpants with a polyester tail…least to say, you’ve taken over buying the clothes for now. but you keep the little wolf onesie with wolf ears on it’s hood, because seeing your baby match your husband is too cute.
dad!valko who sleeps curled around you and your daughter, tail wrapping around the both of you, the same way he’d slept practically circled around you when you were pregnant. the baby disappears against him. you have to peel away from his muscular arms if you want to get up in the middle of the night. even if you’re being careful, his eyes would snap open and pepper you with questions of ‘where are you going?’ before following after you dutifully to sit outside the bathroom to wait for you (or hold your hand through the door). it comes from a place of love, promise.
dad!valko who is aghast when his toddler daughter refuses a home-made chocolate cake for her second birthday. instead, she points to the picture of a cream cheese frosted slice of carrot cake with wide pleading eyes, her tail swishing behind her in the exact same way her father’s did when he wanted something from you.
“aw, but sweetie, don’t you want a yummy milk chocolate gateu—“
“no!”
“ow, ow! okay, okay fine, carrot cake it is, now let go of daddy’s ears—“
dad!valko who likes to go on woodland hikes with you and your baby. you used to have to put one of those dog walking leashes on him so he doesn’t get too excited and break off to chase a deer or a squirrel. but now, you’ve got to put one on your daughter too (who recently started walking) so she doesn’t run after him. like father like daughter. sigh.
dad!valko who likes to tickle your daughter’s teeny nose with his fingers to hear her laugh, and tickle her toes with the fluff of his tail. she’s the cutest thing he’s ever set his eyes upon. the sweetest, though albeit a bit toothless smile he’s ever seen. every time she beams up at him, valko’s heart clenches. every time her little paws find his, he can’t help but to squeeze up next to you, give you those eyes, and ask…
“awwww, babe, do you think we should make our little pup another little brother or sister?”
Price who’s been married to you for twenty years and been cheating for twenty five of them, swaggering home from the pub like he’s Britain’s last surviving sex symbol. Bragging to the lads that he’s still got it every time he picks up another young college kid with big doe eyes and fat tits who could have any pick of guy and choose him. Refusing to divorce you when the others bring it up because where else is he going to find a loyal wife who cooks, cleans, and somehow never notices the lipstick on his collar?
Vs
You, who’s known the entire time. You, who’s done more than know. You, who’s been bribing, blackmailing, and occasionally outright paying women to sleep with him since the first girl. Not to boost his ego. God, no. You’re simply keeping the old bastard happy and unsuspecting until retirement.
Then the house, the pension, and the good silver are yours.
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
turnnoffyourmind
amandla
yousharknotpass
