#Wild Blue Wonder Press

[penspagesandpulses]

Guest post: Feeling Qualified to Write from a Christian Perspective by Kellyn Roth

Hi there! I’m Kellyn Roth, a Christian historical women’s fiction & romance author. I’ve been independently published for many years, and I now run my own company, Wild Blue Wonder Press, to spotlight other amazing Christian authors. Recently, I was published in the Author Conservatory’s anthology, Voices of the Future: Stories of Courage & Compassion, and Courtney was kind enough to bring me…

[shouyuus]

sfw; modern neighbor!vi au

cool but enough about that. thinking about vi who lives in the same apartment building as you and is on the same floor just a few doors down, who sees you struggling with some boxes when moving in so she sweeps in to your rescue and well i mean you're not one to look a-gift-horse-muscular-butch in the mouth when she's so valiantly offering to carry these boxes for you.

who introduces herself and tells you that she lives here with her sister, who's studying mechanical engineering at the university. her? oh, she's a freelancer! you know how it is these days, teaches boxing at the local gym, helps her dad with the family bar on the weekends sometimes, "bit of this and a bit of that." and it sounds like she doesn't wanna talk about it all that much so you don't ask.

you ask her in for a cup of coffee, say it's the least you can do to thank her for helping you with the boxes.

"pleasure's mine, helping a pretty girl like you."

woof.

you swallow, busying yourself with your beat up little moka pot, asking her if she wants sugar or creamer. both, she says, and you pause, looking over your shoulder. she's leant up against your half-unpacked sofa, her arms knitted loosely over her chest.

"what? i've always like my stuff with a little bit of sugar."

it's a simple enough statement but the way she says it makes all your fingers and toes tingle. you swallow, fiddling with the fraying edges of your sweater sleeve.

"yeah, no -- that's --"

you jump as the moka starts to bubble and you pull it off the stove, feeling the same heat working it's way into your skin.

it's easy, so easy, after that. she offers to help you unpack (only if you need it of course) and well, you could use another pair of hands. you tell her that you'll pay her in pizza, and she smiles so wide you can see the hint of a dimple etching itself into her cheek.

you end up spending the whole day together, and when all the boxes are broken down and tamped into a pile by the door, your fingers grease-stained, sitting curled up on your now fully built-out couch, with plastic cups of prosecco, she sighs, staring into the bubbling liquid with a smile just a hitch away from sadness.

"cool! well -- thanks for the pizza," she sets down the cup and pushes up off the couch. you clear your throat and scramble up as well, pressing your palms into your thighs.

"no! thank you for helping me --" you motion around your apartment, "and uh --" you chew on your lips, teetering on the balls of your feet.

"if you ever wanna hang out," vi says, grinning as she rounds the sofa, glancing over her shoulder, "i'm just two doors down."

you slump down onto the sofa, pressing a hand to your chest, feeling it's wild, fluttering beat beneath your palm as you try to steady your breathing.

a few days later, you knock on her door, only to find a girl with shocking blue space buns and a pair of magnifying goggles on her head that make her look truly unhinged.

"who're you?"

you blink, fingers clutched around a large mug.

"uh -- uhm -- i just -- i moved in to the unit two doors down a few days ago and i was -- i was wondering if i could -- borrow some... sugar?" you hold out the mug, wondering if you've just royally fucked up.

"powder? who's at the door?" vi's voice calls out just as the girl with blue hair opens her mouth.

powder pauses, a sly smirk twisting the edge of her lips as she pushes up her goggles to reveal bright blue eyes just a few shades darker than vi's.

"oh no one, juuuuust... the super cute neighbor you couldn't shut up about from a few days ag --"

something clanks from further in the apartment and the girl named powder gets yanked back as vi appears, wide-eyed and a bit disheveled, clearing her throat as she almost crashes into her doorframe.

"h-hi! what -- what're you doing here?"

"i uhm --" you swallow, warmth prickling beneath your skin.

"sugar," powder says, rolling her eyes, waving a hand as she prances back into the apartment.

"sugar...?" vi asks, almost uncomprehending.

you lick your lips, holding out the cup, "yeah... i -- uh -- ran out..."

vi blinks down at the empty mug for a second too long before her eyes flash up to meet yours.

"yeah? what've you been up to, using so much sugar?"

you lick your lips, biting down on our bottom lip as she steps back to motion you into the apartment. it's not big, but it is cozy, sticky-notes and doodles littering almost every available surface, cups with day-old coffee/water/tea cluttered on the countertops. but vi reaches up into the cupboards and tugs down the sugar bag.

"i --" you cut off as she fills up your cup.

you don't want to tell her that you were trying to bake cupcakes of all things. and for her no less.

"ahh... don't wanna tell me? s'okay -- fine then, keep your secrets," she teases, shooting you a tiny wink as she leans up to put the sugar back.

"it's --" you nearly trip over your words as they tumble out of you, "i was -- wanted to make some cupcakes -- f-for... you..." you force out, turning away as her eyes widen slightly, "but i keep fucking up the measurements so --" you chance her another glance.

vi watches you with a soft smile, leaning against her kitchen counter.

"for me, sugar?"

you nod, now feeling impossibly hot as she vi slates you a knowing smile.

"well, lemme know when you're done," she says, "and uh..." she glances down at your sugar cup, "don't be afraid to put in a little extra for me, okay?"

you walk back to your own apartment in a daze, staring down at the cup of white sugar grains as you finally get back to your kitchen and set the mug down. you look at the two batches of failed cupcakes sitting on the counter and sigh, a helpless little smile ticking up the corner of your lips as you remember the twinkle in vi's eyes as she'd told you to add a little more sugar for her.

you drop your face into your hands with a loud groan, slumping back onto the couch, letting your feet dangle off the side as you stare at the light-stricken ceiling.

and you say, to no one in particular --

"i am so, so fucked."

[whoreforsexymen]

Vander 🫗 | SMUT Headcanons

Pairings: Vander x Reader, Dom!Vander x Reader

Rating: NSFW!! 18+, MDNI ! You WILL be blocked.

Pronouns: She/Her + Female Anatomy Descriptions

Word Count: 898

Tags: DaddyDom!Vander, Spit play, Finger Sucking, Fingering, Crawling, Thigh Riding, Rough Sex, Dacryphilia, Size Difference, Etc.

Notes: Just some spicy Headcanons for our big, old, husky, bearded barman 🤍 as well as some for a darker version of our big teddy bear dad 🤍

- Vander is completely enchanted by your lips. Every chance he gets, especially when he cradles your face in his hands, he can’t resist the urge to brush his thumb over them, savoring their softness. It’s also no wonder how primal it makes him feel considering how your own natural instinct is to suck the skin of his thumb gently. Every. Single. Time.

- He can’t help but prod at them until you let him breach the surface. You’re always so hungry for a taste of him, no matter if it’s his cock or his fingers. Always so insatiable, and deeply unsatisfied until moments like these when you’re greedily swirling your tongue around his finger.

- He never wastes time in hooking his thumb into your mouth, toying with making you and your tongue slave to find it. The slickness of your saliva and the sounds that follow are nothing short of immaculate, a perfect blend of neediness and yearning that leave him desperately smitten.

- The way you whimper, and the way your thighs grind together to ease the tension and aching in your clit drives him to the brink—the sounds unraveling him, each one igniting the flames of his own aches.

- He wants nothing more than to switch his fingers out for his cock— but unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to hear you as well. His fingers are slim enough to let the noise pass over them, but his cock would be a different story.

- Vander is a gentle lover by nature, but— like any part of nature, he has his more unpredictable moments. His ‘natural disasters’ or sorts. Though—you wouldn’t necessarily call them ‘disasters’.

- Just as easily as it is for him to spend hours tenderly ramming his cock into you, during more ferocious, needy moments, he’ll waste no time in fucking you senseless. Despite it mainly happening every blue moon, he knew when you needed it like this, and he knew that you’d be willing to take it on the days he needed it like this.

- You both have happily accepted that he’s a man with a wild side to be nurtured every now and then. And you’re so good at nurturing it for him. When laying in bed, he’s started fucking you from behind, quickly losing his patience for tenderness. He’s sat upright against the headboard, and pulled you on top of him, all without ever disconnecting from you for even a moment.

- With your back pressed to his chest, he cups under your knees, almost folding you in half from the way he gripped and pulled them back- as he started slamming his hips at a merciless pace. The angle had you practically foaming at the mouth, considering—with his given strength—he uses minimal effort to bounce you up and down to meet the way he was snapping his hips up into you. The way your ass bounced on his legs is a sight that constantly makes his dick twitch when he thinks back to it.

- The screams you could never bother to try stifling almost kept him up at night sometimes. Too many times have the recollections made him overfill a pint or two behind the bar counter, earning questioning glances from bar patrons. He can’t always help the way his mind wanders when he has you to ravish every night.

- Vander often says things like:

“C’mon Angel— Look at me while you suck my cock dry. I wanna see those pretty little eyes of yours.”

“That’s it— Attagirl. Atta-fuckin’-girl.”

Dom!Vander HC’s

- Will make you kneel on the ground, mouth wide open, pussy dripping, and leave you like that. He’d tell you that you weren’t allowed to swallow your spit. He’d then pull up a chair and sit in front of you, despicably far, and just watch you. He’d wait until your shirt became transparent from how much drool had fallen on it. Then—only then, would he speak.

- “Crawl…” he commands.

- You obey. You crawl to him, almost desperately quick, until you stop at his boots. He’d be tempted to make you grind on them, but he prefers his thighs for that.

- You crawl onto him, straddling one of his massive thighs.

- Just a few minutes into him making you grind yourself down on it, his blue jeans are just as soaked as your shirt.

- “Attagirl.” He’d coo as he’d start guiding your hips for you with his hands. It’s your fault if you think he’s going to let you cum anytime soon, though.

- When he halts all movement once you’re practically falling off the edge of your orgasm, he’d tut at you when you keep trying to desperately find the friction again.

- “Don’t you fight me.” He’d snap as you greedily tried to chase your orgasm, thrashing your hips around against his grip.

- He’d pull your hair and make you look at him, his other hand holding your jaw with contempt.

- Denial was his virtue. He won’t let you cum until you’re crying and begging for mercy.

- “Cry for me, Angel.” He’d command, needing to see the tears in your eyes while you begged for release.

- When you’d get too embarrassed to do so, he’d grip your face tighter.

- “Let. Me. Hear. You.” So you do. You let it out.

- And then—only then, will he slip his thick fingers in you.

- “Excellent. Such a good girl. Now. Get yourself off on daddy’s fingers, yeah?” He’d purr.

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: post sex scenario-ish, nikto x fem implied! reader, drunken sex implied, idk what else. might marry this man

The worst part was after the sex. Your memories of last night were probably a blur. And for Nikto, well, he'd never let himself be so vulnerable as to forget a night spent with something as sweet as you. When you had first approached Nikto, he wondered if you realized how hideous and ravaged he was.​

Didn't have the time to pull his face mask up when you trotted over, begging for a night with him. He wondered if sober you, the one buried against his sternum, would remember the rough texture of his countless scars, of the mutilated bits of his body - if you would wake up with fear, screaming for him to get out.

Yet you never gave him the chance to cower - hide away his trauma branded flesh. Somehow your grip so strong, fingers curled into his own. A python-like death grip wrapped around his left leg with both of yours. Naked. His shirt.

Oh fuck.

Realization was really hitting when he felt your soft, elongated sigh against his jaw, lips rubbing the scarred texture of his skin. The fascinating texture you couldn't get your cold fingers off of last night, even when he let you flip positions, in hopes it would lessen this touchy, needy state of yours. Nikto only achieved the opposite. You grasped at his fingers for support, hips rolling as you whimpered, letting him muffle your explicit sounds with his finger tips pressing to your lips, mesmerized by how effortlessly soft your skin was.

He was staring at you like he loved you.

And maybe you were just really drunk, lost by the feeling of his cock bruising your pretty cunt just to break entrance; followed by far too many orgasms to clear through the spilled word dictionaries in your brain. Whatever it was, you drew to a reckless conclusion. You slurred a kiss into his palm, whispering how much you loved him. A soft prayer he would stay until you woke up because he was just “so fucking hot” and you “wanted to make out with him again.”

Didn’t even fight back when he just shushed you and hid your face in his chest, desperate to not let you feel the boiling heat that surfaced in his face.

Too much for an exhausted man like himself. Couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around you, relishing in your sweet scent with the hint of smoke from the incense you burned. Smoke used to terrify Nikto, remind him of harsher times. Would make his heart throb and his body tremble - and yet the scent from you made him want to trace the vertebrae of your spine until you swatted at him like a small, feral cat.

The rigid sensation his dry fingertips mapped made the loud thoughts in his head blur away - even if just momentarily. The several voices which once ran rampant and rebellious within his darkest mind caverns had finally slowed. A single thought running through his mind as he curled the soft locks of your hair between his finger tips, tightening the grip and watching it feather down.

"How soft."

Not realizing Nikto had spoken his thoughts aloud, he was genuinely surprised when you finally stirred awake, a curious gaze in your eyes and a groggy "mhm?" making it's way out of your sigh. Poor man, cuddling you like you had his family in a room downstairs, eyes wide with fright, and his heart beat picked up pace. It surprised you, confused you, yet you just did your best not to scare the wild man that bubbled in his mind.

Buried your face back into his chest, kissing against his soft muscle. Biting a soft, pink hickey that flushed easily and licking away your own drool. Eyes glancing up from behind your lashes as you felt his body settle just a bit. Maybe if you were a little less in love with the big muscles and puppy, blue eyes, you would've taken his secure tighten around your body as a sign that he was about to dedicate his entire life to you. But you didn't - just let your eyes flutter shut and let your head plop back between his muscled breasts.

tagging friends :)) @yandere-kokeshi @kettlemouse @babybimbo777

[baby-yongbok]

Catch The Moment - Lee Know x afab!Reader

⤷ Content warning - Themes of pregnancy ⤷ WC - 0.8k ⤷ Summary - You tell Minho something special in the perfect place to capture it. ✧ Masterlist ✧

“It's gonna eat my money.” Minho scoffs as you drag him into the photo booth in the far corner of the busy arcade. 

You smile, rolling your eyes and mulling over the selections on the screen. You choose the decorations for your photos while he watches with a pout.

“Oh will you stop it, Min. It'll be fun, come on! We did this on our first date, remember?” You look into the camera and see that he's looking over at you on the screen.

“Yeah, well, these machines are old now. They never replace them, and -” He hushes when you press the start button. 

Minho lets his argument die on his tongue with a dramatic huff and eye roll that gets you chuckling.

“It's about capturing the moment, baby.” You take his hand in yours, looking over at him with a smile that softens his core a bit.

 “And what moment are we capturing exactly?” He looks down at you with a lopsided grin, his bright brown eyes shining down at you. 

Today’s outing was your idea. A cute date at a nearby cafe and the arcade after, just like your first date. 

“Well…” You trail off, smiling way too wide for him not to find it suspicious. “I have something to tell you.” The booth starts counting down to your first photo after going on its programmed spiel about how it works. 

Minho raises his eyebrows, intrigued. 

The shutter goes off. 

“What?” He looks over at the screen of the booth then back at you. It’s preparing to take the next picture. 

“You know it's taking the pictures right?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed.

You nod and he looks at you expectantly. The booth starts counting down again and you dip your hand into your jacket pocket and present him with a blue and white pregnancy test. You hold it in your palm, smiling up at him. 

He looks confused for a second, just a second before his eyes widen at the wand in your palm. 

The shutter goes off. 

“Wait.. you're serious? Jagiya, are you serious?” You giggle at him, red at the tips of his ears with sparkling wide brown eyes. You nod and the booth prepares to take the third photo. 

“I'm pregnant.” You announce through a toothy smile. Minho takes the test from you, staring down at the positive result with a sense of wild wonder. An excitement you've never seen him wear before. 

“You're pregnant.” He parrots as the booth counts down to the next photo. He breaks out into a smile, nearly bigger than your own.

The shutter goes off.

“We're pregnant.” You mutter, tears starting to well up in your own bright eyes.

 “How long have you… when did you take this test? What are… you're pregnant.” Minho rambles, his smile fading and reappearing seconds after as he processes the news. 

He settles on giving up on his questions for now. The booth prepares to take its final picture and Minho looks up at you. He doesn't speak. He can barely breathe with the pressure of shock and excitement multiplying in his chest every couple of seconds. 

His emotions are a mess but one thing is clear to him. One thing floats to the top of everything else and pushes him closer to you in the booth. The test is in his lap, his hands cup your cheeks and the booth counts down. 

“I love you.” He smiles, leaning his forehead against yours. A tear falls from your eye as some brim at his waterline. 

He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet. You both can't help but to smile into it. 

The shutter goes off. 

“I love you so much. I can't believe this.” He mutters against your lips, kissing you again, a bit longer this time to hide the fall of his own tears.

The booth prints the pictures, ejecting them into the printer slot and Minho pulls away reluctantly to retrieve them.

You look over them together, smiling at the way it captured his reaction to the news perfectly. 

“You’re a sneaky little thing.” He smiles over at you. “You planned this. This is why you wanted to go out today, isn't it?” 

“Guilty.” You chuckle, wiping your eyes. Minho looks back into his lap and picks up the test.

“Let's do it again.” He takes out another five dollar bill and pops it into the machine. “Tell me all over again.”

“What happened to it eating your money?” You tease, quickly selecting the photo customizations again.

 Minho turns to you, moving the first print of photos out of sight. “I don't care about that.” You chuckle at his change of heart. The sparkle in his eyes gleams bright in the lights of the booth. 

He cups your cheeks again, “I want to relive that. Tell me again.”

The booth starts up and you smile up at him. “Tell me.” He doesn't try to hide the tears threatening to spill over this time. He keeps his eyes on yours, a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

The booth counts down.

“I'm pregnant.” A tear falls. 

“Again” He mumbles and your own tears start to fall.

“We're gonna be parents.” You smile and he kisses you. Soft as a feather and full of love. 

The shutter goes off. 

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[bitchface24-7]

Can you do Jayce and Viktor finding out that one of them got reader pregnant (Viktor thinks there’s no way he could got reader pregnant because of sickness) but when the baby is born they look just like Viktor?

OOPS… - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: y’all fucked up, literally and figuratively. You’re pregnant. You didn’t plan for this, even though you should’ve; y’all fuck like rabbits. But now you’re at the end of your pregnancy, you can’t help but wonder which one of your partners knocked you up.

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of morning sickness, changes in appetite/appearance, weird cravings, giving birth (not detailed), pre-established relationship (YALL ARE MARRIED) Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/m/f

p.s. cute and funny request… may I pray this never finds me. I'd probably only get pregnant for them and they're not real. To any reader who's experienced this and or has kids, you're a trooper and I salute you, cause fuck that!

PART 2

The three of you had an accident you can't help but think as you look at a positive pregnancy test. Most babies are oopsie babies, you comfort yourself.

You never planned for this, this was never in your equation. But you feel a small sense of fondness, its proof of your love; your boys.

You wish somehow this baby was both of theirs. They could have Viktor’s eyes, Jayce's nose, your smile. They'd be perfect. But that's impossible, so only of your lovers knocked you up.

You wonder who did it.

Oh well… now you gotta break the news to them first. Then you can speculate who fertilized one of your eggs.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Essentially ten months pass by in a flash. Your stomach gets bigger and bigger, your back and feet ache, you can’t stop throwing up the first trimester, your cravings are wild and your boys get you whatever you want no matter the time. Even if it’s dead at night.

Everything was normal that day until your water broke. You three rushed to the hospital and got set up in a delivery room. Jayce and Viktor are nervous, pacing, and worriedly looking at you. Giving birth can be incredibly dangerous, and they don’t want to lose you.

They’re by your side the whole time, holding your hand, putting a cold towel on your head, motivating you. They made the process as easy as they could. The three of you even joke around.

“I can’t wait to see which one of you knocked me up.”

Jayce and Viktor choke a bit before laughing, “It could be either of us honestly. We’re kinda like rabbits.”

“Jayce!”

“What?”

“It’s probably Jayce’s. I can’t imagine my illness makes it good for my own fertility.” Viktor adds quietly. His tone low and a bit melancholic. You and Jayce look at him and deny his statement. “You don’t know that! Have you been gotten tested or is it an assumption?”

“Assumption.”

Then you scream, and your boys panic pressing the call button on the side of your bed. Two nurses rush in and ask to check your dilation, you agree.

One nurse checks, then the other nurse. One states you’re fully dilated and the other rushes to call for the doctor.

Now it’s time to deal with one of the most painful moments of your life.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’re panting, your entire body hurts, and you think you may have broken Jayce’s hand. It’s all worth it when you hear your baby cry.

“It’s a healthy boy! Congratulations!” A nurse says as she lightly cleans your baby, making sure not to let the fluid from birth stay on his skin for too long; we don’t want him to become hypothermic.

She hands your baby to you and his cries immediately cease. He looks up to you and you gasp lightly. He’s Viktor’s. He’s 100000000% Viktor’s.

They’re identical.

You tear up lightly and sniffle. It’s like looking into a tiny mirror of your partner. Same eyes, even though babies are typically born with blue eyes; your baby has Viktor’s golden eyes. Same eyebrow shape, same nose, same lips. They even share the same beauty mark by their eye.

You laugh a bit and your boys look over to your tiny boy. Jayce’s eyes widen as he chuckles, and pats Viktor on his shoulder. Viktor just stands there speechless.

“I carried you for essentially ten months and you come out looking just like your daddy? You’re perfect!” You coo at your baby, your baby coos back at you and you have to hold back a squeal.

“You can’t have kids, huh?” Jayce jokes and Viktor grumbles. Viktor’s demeanour isn’t very scary due to his beaming smile as he looks down at his baby. Your baby. Jayce’s baby.

“So, what’re we naming him?”

You blank for a second. Shit, you didn’t think of that. Oops.

“I never planned on having kids, so I never planned any names.”

Viktor looks blankly at you, “Me neither.”

The two of you look at Jayce. He shrugs lightly, “I didn’t expect to have kids but I did come up with names when I was younger. I always liked James for a boy, and Rose for a girl.”

“You romantic. Rose, really?”

“At least I thought of names, leave me alone Viktor.”

You giggle at them, “James it is. James Talis. It does sound nice huh?”

Viktor and Jayce stop bickering and look at you with hearts in their eyes. Oh, it’s official. You’re now four.

Welcome to the world, James Talis. You’re already loved more than you could ever imagine.

The only men I’d give birth for. Hope y’all liked this!! Love ya ❤️

[luvst4rc0r3]

“Tangled”

Jinx x GN!Reader

WARNINGS:None

WC:775

NOTE: Braiding Jinx’s hair. Established Relationship!!

The dim light of the workshop cast long shadows across the walls, the faint hum of electricity the only sound between you and Jinx. Her hair was wild today—wilder than usual. Loose strands stuck out at odd angles, the electric blue a tangled mess from whatever she’d been up to earlier.

“Hold still,” you murmured, your fingers carefully parting the chaos into sections.

Jinx was sitting cross-legged on the floor, knees bouncing impatiently. “I am holding still,” she grumbled, though the way she kept twisting her head every time a spark caught her eye said otherwise.

“You’re literally moving right now.”

“Am not.”

“Jinx.”

She groaned dramatically, throwing her head back before finally giving in. “Fine, fine. Geez, you’re bossy.”

You smiled, your fingers deftly weaving her hair into a braid. “Someone has to be.”

Jinx huffed, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she rested her chin on her palm, letting the silence stretch between you. For once, she wasn’t filling it with nervous chatter or some wild story about how she’d blow something up. Her body felt lighter, less tense, as if your touch smoothed out more than just her hair.

“Why do you do this?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter than usual.

“Do what?”

“This.” She tilted her head slightly, motioning toward your hands. “The whole… touching my hair thing. Doesn’t it get boring?”

You paused, fingers still in her hair as you thought about how to answer. “It’s not boring,” you said finally. “I like it. I like being close to you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a second, she didn’t say anything. Then, in true Jinx fashion, she snorted. “Pfft. You’re so sappy.”

“You asked,” you teased, tugging lightly on a strand of hair.

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand dismissively, but you caught the faint pink dusting her cheeks.

You kept braiding, the rhythm soothing for both of you. Jinx stayed quiet, which was rare, and you wondered if she was lost in her head. You didn’t push, though. Jinx’s mind was a wild place, and sometimes it needed room to run.

When you finished the first braid, you secured it with a small band before starting on the next section.

“You’re really good at this,” she muttered after a while, her tone almost shy.

“Thanks. You’ve got great hair to work with.”

“Duh.” She grinned, finally turning her head to look at you. “Think I’d look good with, like, a thousand braids?”

“I think you’d look good with anything.”

That earned you a genuine laugh, light and carefree. The sound warmed your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

When you finished the last braid, you gently tilted her chin up so she’d look at you. “There. All done.”

Jinx blinked up at you, her pink eyes wide and curious. “Do I look badass?”

“You always look badass.”

She smirked, but there was a softness behind it, her usual sharp edges dulled by your presence. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Just stared at you like you were something rare, something she couldn’t quite figure out.

Her voice was softer when she spoke again. “You’re different, you know that?”

“Different how?”

“You don’t treat me like I’m…” Her words trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Like I’m broken.”

You reached out, brushing your thumb gently over her cheek. “You’re not broken, Jinx. Not to me.”

Her breath caught, and for once, she didn’t have a snarky comeback. Instead, she leaned into your touch, her pink eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or just a moment of peace.

You didn’t think. You just moved closer, your hand sliding to the back of her neck as you pressed your lips to hers.

Jinx stiffened for half a second, caught off guard, but then she melted into the kiss, her hands clutching the front of your shirt like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

It wasn’t wild or rushed. It was soft, tentative, like the two of you were afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing you’d just created.

When you finally pulled back, Jinx stared at you with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly parted.

“Wow,” she whispered, a grin slowly creeping onto her face. “You kiss like a sap, too.”

You laughed, brushing a strand of blue hair from her face. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“Yeah, well…” She smirked, leaning in until her forehead rested against yours. “Guess you’re not completely boring.”

And in that quiet, tangled moment, it felt like the whole world had fallen away. Just you and Jinx, and the small, fleeting peace you’d created together.

Hii!!

I randomly thought of this soooo I hope you enjoy!

I want food

[bumblesimagines]

Entwined

Request: Yes or No

Summary: (Y/N)'s always believed in the saying of not shitting where you eat, but life has an unexpected way of springing up on you.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Anora warnings, mentions of sex work and strip clubs, brief/short sexual content, miscommunication(?), the man Ani deserves

~~~

His eyes traced the neon sign encircling the gas station across the street, the vibrant blue casting a glow over the pavement and cars coming and going. Ever since getting the apartment, he indulged in people-watching from his spot by the window to decompress after each tiring workday at Headquarters, a little habit to ease his sluggish mind out of work mode. 

There were regulars he started to recognize, some neighbors he scarcely saw in the halls and cars with license plates from other states that always left him wondering why they'd chosen to drive so far from home to visit Brighton Beach. He watched them stop for gas, watched when they rushed inside for the bathroom or staggered out of the store with beers in hand despite being a sip away from passing out on the sidewalk. 

He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the chilly night air and watched an older man check on all four tires with his foot to avoid taking his hands out of his pockets. The corner of his lip twitched into an amused half-grin when the man ducked his head into the car only to tug it back out and slap the top of the vehicle in frustration before doing another round of checking the tires. 

"What, are you a peepin' tom or somethin'?" 

Pressing the cigarette onto his windowsill, he added a new black ring to the countless others before flicking it into the darkness to be forgotten within the hour. He eyed the gas station one last time, giving a small huff of amusement when the man's angry words reached his ears, and then stood from the windowsill to properly shut the window and tug at the blinds.

Ani remained lazily sprawled on his bed, her messy hair scattered out across her bare back and the glittery tinsel strands she loved putting in her dark hair shimmering with the dim lamplight that lit the room in a soft orange glow. She swung her legs back and forth in the air and propped her chin onto her knuckles, the area around her mouth and eyes stained from her smeared makeup. She batted her lashes at him and gave one of her sparkling smiles, the one dancing the line being genuine and alluring. 

He shook his head at her and tossed the pack of Marlboro's aside onto his nightstand. "Peeping tom?" He repeated with a small laugh. "Do you even know what that means?" 

"'Course I do." Ani rolled her eyes and twisted around on the bed, the sheets and comforter dragging and crinkling with her movements until her back was against the headboard. "I'm not a fuckin' idiot." She scoffed, dragging her acrylics through her hair to comb back the wild and frizzy strands.

A hum vibrated in the back of his throat with feigned uncertainty and she let out a mixture between a gasp and a laugh, her hand reaching over to grab a pillow and throw it at him. He dodged it and it fell onto the floor with a soft thump, left to be picked up later when he'd crawl into bed for the night. Ani's shoulders shook with gentle snickers as her body slumped against the headboard, looking lighter than she had when she'd shown up on his doorstep with pouty lips. She hadn't given much details apart from mutters about one of the strippers at Headquarters.

Diamond always had a knack for getting on Ani's nerves. He gave it a week before one tore the other's hair straight from the scalp.

With an almost wistful sigh, Ani leaned forward, pressing her palms on the bed and slowly crawling across it toward him. She sat back on her knees and pressed a hard kiss against his stomach, looking satisfied when it left a lipstick mark, before she tilted her head up at him and batted her lashes once more.

"Maybe you could draw a bath for us?" she asked with an innocent tilt of her head, her fingertip rising to teasingly trace the waistband of his briefs

"Yeah," (Y/N) gave a soft snort and pushed his fingers through her hair, her eyes fluttering shut at the action and her head pushing into his palm like a cat receiving affection. "Give me a second."

(Y/N) had lost track of when Ani went from simply being a stripper at the club he worked at to a friend he occasionally slept with. He vaguely remembered when the friendship sparked during a night when they were both working, her entertaining the coming and going clients and him behind the bar feeding them drinks that'd have them pulling every bill out of their wallets by the end of the night.

He'd stepped outside to escape the stuffy air and music and stood by idly whilst Ani and Lulu shared a cigarette and exchanged gossip, his ears occasionally tuning in to hear what Diamond had said or the relationship drama between Crystal and her on-and-off girlfriend until Lulu shuffled inside to continue her shift. Ani remained outside, and by the third time they made brief eye contact, she struck up a conversation with one of her little smiles. 

The weeks after were casual, with some idle small talk when neither of them were busy, an occasional smoke break together where he'd silently nod along while she complained about one thing or another (most often about a snide remark Diamond made in passing or how the DJ never played good music) until she asked for a ride one day and they fell into new habits. He'd drop her off at the train station or sometimes drive to her place to drop her off, each ride ending with her leaving a lipstick mark on his cheek before hopping out.

And then things really shifted.

The sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon and he'd just clocked in, nodding passively while Dawn vented about girls calling in sick last minute and 'messing with her perfect schedule' as he wiped down the counter. Dawn gave a quiet huff, and her mouth parted as if to spew one last grievance before she noticed something in the distance and gave a low groan. He watched her with an amused grin as she stormed away, always acting more like the owner than Jimmy ever did. 

"Want a smoke?" Ani's voice rang out next to him, a coy smile toying on her lips as she approached the bar.

He gave the club one last scan to check for guests, but it was too early for many of the regulars to waltz in without a care. They always waited for the cover of night to properly time their excuses for their families at home, as if their skewed clothes and reeking breath would go unnoticed by their wives. He always failed to conjure up pity when one of them moaned about an ongoing divorce while having their arm wrapped around a girl half their age.

With the air outside too cold for either of their liking, they lingered in the VIP area and watched other employees ready the unoccupied rooms for private dances. Ani swayed on her crimson red pumps, her faux fur coat hugged tightly around her body, and a cigarette hanging loosely between her fingers. She turned her head to the side and blew the smoke out into the air, finishing their little pre-work smoke when she pressed the cigarette into the ashes in the ashtray and left it to be cleaned up later.

"You've ever gotten a lap dance before?" She asked with a grin and lifted her brows expectantly. He knew the girls well enough to know when they were planning something, when they were dangling bait and waiting for an eager fish to bite. 

Arching a brow, he asked, "Why?"

"I can give you one free of charge." A spark ignited in her pretty dark eyes. "You've been a real sweetheart to me these past weeks. Thought I could do somethin' nice for you."

There were a million different ways she could repay him: paying for food, offering him gas money each time he gave her a ride, convincing Jimmy to give him another vacation day. But girls like Ani mastered the art of trade, giving in exchange for something, most often money. It came like second nature to them to bat their eyes and coo velvety words, eyes always either wide and pleading or down-turned and seductive.

He wondered if Ani knew how to switch it off. If she knew how to leave Ani at the club and become Anora again. 

"Come, it'll be fun, I swear." She giggled and grabbed his hand to tug him into the nearest room, swiftly turning on her pumps to shut the door behind them before urging him toward the worn-out leather loveseat that'd definitely seen better days. 

The room was small, designed precisely for private entertainment away from prying eyes, and had a purple color theme. Plum-colored walls, lavender neon signs in the shapes of lips and curvy figures, an indigo side table beside the loveseat for drinks or powders, and a wall-length mirror for viewing pleasure.

He'd never taken the time to fully explore Headquarters, and he'd never found a reason to. His job was to provide drinks, keep an eye on said drinks, and cut off customers before they made the janitor's life harder and freaked the girls out.

Ani grinned at him and reached up to her shoulders, slowly dragging the coat down her arms until the sparkly navy blue dress that clung to her body peeked through. She stepped closer with a slow sway of her hips and raised her knee to sink into the loveseat, a giggle shaking her shoulders as she draped the coat over the backrest before she moved back to stand and ran her fingertips over the hem that barely reached to her thighs. 

Music began pouring into the room from the speakers and briefly put a scowl on her face when an early 2000s pop song filled their ears. "I swear, I don't know how that fucker got hired." She huffed and turned her head toward the speakers with an accusatory stare, as if the speakers had any fault in the person controlling them. He only snorted in response. "Fuckin' Jimmy and his stupid cousin."

Ani shook her head and pushed her long strands of hair past her shoulders, a small chuckle escaping her before she reached back to drag the zipper of her dress down until the top loosened and drooped. Her teeth caught her shimmery bottom lip and she tugged down the straps to reveal a skimpy, little black bikini top. She slowly shimmied out of the dress until it slipped down her thighs and pooled at her feet, her index fingers curling around the equally little bikini bottom. 

(Y/N) swallowed and rubbed the heel of his palm against his clothed thigh, eyes flickering away briefly and catching the identical bow tattoos on the back of both of her thighs in the mirror's reflection. He only ever saw glimpses of them, occasionally heard Lulu gushing over how cute they were, but he'd never seen the ink up close. He felt inclined to reach out and trace the lines but rules were rules. No touching on the dancers.

The corners of her eyes crinkled when she laughed lightly and she spun around, making a show of bending over as her hands grabbed his knees to push his legs apart. She settled over his groin and gave an experimental roll, another giggle escaping her when his body flinched in response. "You ready, sweetheart?" 

Since her first day at Headquarters, Ani had perfected the art of dance over time, and it was obvious in her fluid movements and keen eyes. She repeated movements that earned her more reactions and never faltered in her confidence, her hips moving and ass pressing against him with purpose from time to time. Eventually, she reached behind her and undid the laces of her top, letting the small fabric fall to the floor before she pressed herself to his chest and arched her back to shove off her perky breasts. 

He kept his hands to himself despite the warmth flowing through his body and the occasional hitching of his breath, until the weight of her body briefly left. She shifted around to face him and straddled his hips as best she could on the loveseat, her half-lidded eyes dark and hazy with desire he didn't see often. Ani pressed her palm over his cheek, her thumb stroking delicately over his cheekbone while her other hand traveled downward to mess with his belt. 

His eyes flickered to the camera in the corner of the room, the one meant to ensure customers were following the rules and the dancers were safe, but the little red light had yet to flicker on. It would any minute, though. The chances Jimmy would fire either of them were low, he liked them both too much, but it'd change the dynamic between them and their coworkers. Diamond would get insufferable. "Ani-"

"We've got time." She assured him as she popped the button on his pants and tugged them down to his thighs. "We'll be fine, baby."

Settling over him more comfortably, Ani grinded down over his bulge, and he allowed his hands to squeeze her thighs when he felt a wetness seep through the fabric. She smiled down at him and pressed harder, dragging herself back and forth over his bulge at a tantalizingly slow pace until the light gray fabric of his boxers turned dark. 

Her movements slowly picked up and she leaned in, coiling one arm around his neck as she mushed their lips together in a heated kiss. Her gloss smeared against his mouth and he tasted the strawberry flavor when his teeth caught her bottom lip. She released a muffled groan against him and dropped the hand on his cheek to tug blindly at his boxers until they slipped down far enough for her to wrap a hand around him. 

He cursed softly and she laughed, her cheeks and neck flushed pink when she leaned back to flick some of her hair back over her shoulder. She gave him a few pumps and tilted her head to the side, biting her lip again and pressing her thumb over the slit of his tip. His hips jerked in response and pre dribbled down his shaft. 

"You can touch, y'know." Ani cooed, her biceps pushing out her chest enticingly. 

Swallowing thickly, he ran his hand up to her hip and tentatively cupped the underside of her breast, his eyes darting back to her face as he lightly squeezed. Her lips stretched into a pleased smile before her brows furrowed and her head tilted back when he groped at her chest more firmly, a shaky gasp exhaling into the air when he pulled her closer and latched onto the hardened nub. He had half a mind to avoid leaving any noticeable marks while swirling his tongue and gently digging his teeth into her skin.

Soft, breathy mewls and curses fell from her lips, strands of hair beginning to cling to her skin as sweat formed. Her hand left him and she leaned back again, only to give her bikini bottom an impatient tug to the side and expose her glistening folds. She grabbed at his length again and dragged the tip along her wetness, their bodies simultaneously tensing at the feeling and foreheads pressing together. Their breaths fanned against each other's skin, hot and shallow, and hitching when it nudged inside.

Ani only spared him a breathy chuckle before sinking down as far as she could take him in the cramped loveseat, her hands immediately slapping over their mouths to muffle the long, guttural noises. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths and his brain grew hazy, fingers digging into her hips before sliding back toward her ass to squeeze.

He lifted her slowly and she lowered herself down again, his hips jerking upward to keep her halfway. Her hand flew down to grab onto the armrest and her eyes screwed shut. When he wrapped his arms around her and repeated the action, her body seized up and her legs quivered, a flow of curses and whines filling his ear. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her face buried in his chest, each swift snap of his hips sending ripples across her skin. 

His hazy mind pushed aside the worries of being caught and reprimanded. He'd deal with the consequences later.

Dipping his hand into the rippling soapy water, he gave a satisfied hum at the warmth and turned the water off right as Ani appeared in the doorway with wine glasses and a bottle in hand. She gave an eager and excited shimmy of her shoulders before gingerly setting the cups and bottle aside to take his offered hand and step into the water. 

Settling down in the tub, she gave a long sigh and lowered just enough for the water to lap at her shoulders, her knees tucking toward her chest to give him space. "Maybe I should move in." She murmured with a smile, voice playful yet he caught the underlying genuineness beneath it.

The place she called home wasn't much to look at with its age and walls that shook whenever the train passed with its squealing tires. It was old, rundown, and in a questionable area, but the rent was cheap and the bills were easily divided between her and Vera. He'd only gone inside once to get back a jacket Ani had 'borrowed' (truthfully, he was pretty certain she'd stolen it right under his nose and lied about him having given it to her), and while it was heavily cluttered, it felt homey and welcoming.

"And your sister?" (Y/N) carefully stepped into the tub and adjusted to avoid the cold spout pressing into his back, a sigh of relief unconsciously escaping him when the water dug into his skin and naturally worked on his tired muscles. 

"Her little boyfriend can help her. Vlad's over every other day. The least he can do is start payin' some bills instead of freeloadin' off us like some parasite." Ani lightly huffed, wringing her hands before collecting her hair and tying it into a messy bun on the top of her head. Her lips pursed and she gave a small sigh. "He's a good guy, though, I'll give him that. And it's not like I'll leave her like that."  

"You think they'll get married?"

Her nose scrunched up. "No."

His barked laugh bounced off the walls and he shook his head, sinking deeper into the water and resting his head back along the wall of the tub. Ani raised her leg and draped it over his knee, soapy water gliding along her exposed skin. His hand came to rest over her ankle, fingers running back and forth in thought. He'd been holding back the news for long enough. Better now than later.

"I'm taking time off, Ani. A whole week." Her eyes darted up to look at him, widening with surprise. "I got this, uh, family thing down in Florida. My cousin's getting married to his girl soon and I thought it'd be nice to accept the invite."

"You're leavin' me?" Ani immediately pouted and he smiled, lightly squeezing her ankle when her shoulders sagged dramatically. "What am I going to do without you?"

(Y/N) licked his lips and lifted his head off the tub wall, his throat clearing softly. "You can come if you want. I haven't booked the tickets yet and the hotel's going to be close to Disney."

Ani stared at him, her mouth pulling into a frown. "You're fucking with me. Don't do that, dude."

"I'm not, Ani. I know you've been dying to go." He grinned at her teasingly, a chuckle vibrating in the back of his throat. "You're a whole Disney adult, huh?"

"You're serious? You're seriously askin' me to go with you to Florida... and Disney?" Her softened with subtle emotion as she pushed herself to sit up straighter, her eyes flickering wildly between his.

When he nodded, she surged forward, the water swaying from side to side and threatening to splash onto the floor with her movements. She wrapped her arms around him and planted a kiss on his lips. "Oh, my god, we're going to Disney?!" She squealed and laughed, planting more messy kisses across his face. 

His features scrunched up and he chuckled, letting her kiss him until every inch of his face was smudged with her lipstick. Her body slumped against his and she released a dreamy sigh, her head resting over his shoulder as his hands rubbed up and down her back. "You don't have to go to the wedding. It'll probably be a shitshow, anyway."

"What kind of girlfriend would I be if I said no to being your plus one?"

His hands stilled and his chest stuttered with a choked breath. Girlfriend. Now that was a word he hadn't considered in years, much less thought of when he thought about Ani. Relationships always seemed like a chore, another weight added onto the pile of work and bills and life. Girlfriend... was that what she was? They ate out occasionally, but nothing fancy to warrant it being a date in his head, much less part of a whole relationship. 

"I..." Girlfriend. Somehow, he didn't mind it. He resumed caressing her back and she relaxed under his touch, the fleeting tension leaving her body. "I don't know. You'd be a smart girlfriend to avoid that mess." 

Ani curled up against him with a soft chuckle, practically nuzzling into his neck when his arms wrapped around her securely. The tip of her acrylics dragged along his arm and her eyes fluttered shut. "You can meet my mom and her man. They're over in Miami. She's a little crazy but I think she'd love you."

"Sounds like this is going to be an interesting trip." His head moved to prop on the top of her head, her black strands tickling his chin. "Better than I was expecting, at least."

[lovebugism]

“don’t you dare touch him” eddie x shy!reader

idk i need a situation where reader never really speaks up but she finally does when it comes to eddie because she loves him sm😭

thanks so much for your request! hope you like it!! — the one where eddie melts when his quiet gf sticks up for him in front of jason (shy!reader, fluff, 2.4k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

The drive from Forest Hills to the arcade is spent with Lucas and Dustin bickering in the backseat and Eddie’s hand on your thigh.

“It’s been two years, and you still can’t beat my high score, Dusty Bun,” the former boy taunts. The nickname spills like venom from his smiling face. “Just give it up, okay? It’s not happening.”

Dustin grins back at him. It’s more so mischievous than it is taunting. His deep blue eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You are so gonna be eating your words by the end of the night. When we leave, Princess Daphne is gonna be mine, alright? For good.”

Their arguing becomes background noise. With your cheek lolled against the hand you’ve got propped against the window, you’re pulled into the wispy lilac cloud your gaze is so heavily fixated upon. The sky billows lavender against a sea of pink and golden orange — a summer sunset so vivid you can taste it.

The only thing keeping you grounded is Eddie’s palm on your knee, wide and warm and all-consuming. His thumb rubs against your skin so softly you think it must be absentminded. It feels like static shock, anyway. He laughs quietly to himself, and his fingers tremble gently against you. This time they squeeze you with a newfound intention as he brings you back to him.

“What do you think, babe?” Eddie asks, pink mouth spread in a pearly white grin. His chocolate eyes glimmer with the golden hour sun as his gaze flits between yours and the road. “Think Dusty Bun has a chance here?”

You nod, scrunched nose and squinted eyes, silent in your support for the curly-headed boy who’s still yelling over Lucas in the back of the van.

“What about me?” he presses. And because he knows better than to give his quiet girl anything other than a yes or no answer, he follows quickly, “You think today’s the day I finally beat your Space Invaders high score?”

A beat passes. The momentary silence is filled with arguing boys, old tires on older asphalt, and Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” spilling softly from the radio. A quiet smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You purse the mischievous expression to the side as you turn away from him again.

Your non-answer makes him laugh. It sounds exactly like the colors of the sunset.

His beat-up van jerks when he puts it into park. The door on the side squeaks as the kids file out of it. Eddie’s does too, but you can’t hear it over him telling you to “sit tight.” 

You wait patiently in the passenger seat like you always do, smiling to yourself as the boy rushes around the hood to open the door for you. The hinges screech in protest. His wild curls billow in the wind as he smiles. “C’mon, sunshine. Our palace awaits.”

The group of you stand beneath the spinning neon sign he parked next to — glowing orange and white beneath a setting sun. Someone calls from across the parking lot, “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Your heads snap in the direction of the painfully familiar voice. 

Jason and the rest of his abnormally tall goons stand outside the new gym that just opened on the strip. The dark, vacant building wedged between The Palace and Family Video was no longer as scary as it used to be now that it was occupied. You were just hoping it’d be something more exciting. Forcing arcade nerds and gym bros into one spot feels like a crime.

“And they brought little miss wallflower, too,” Jason lilts with his pretty smile and straight teeth. His blonde hair is a darker shade of brown, damp with half-dried sweat. His lean form is unnaturally built underneath his white tank top and basketball shorts. 

It isn’t any wonder why he turned out to be such a raging douchebag. 

Someone so perfect needed at least one flaw.

“The gang’s all here, huh?” one of his other friends — Andy, you think — concurs from behind him, always in the boy’s shadow.

“Like what you see, fellas?” Eddie calls out from across the slab of pavement separating the group of you. He’ll never turn down an opportunity to take the piss out of the so-called jocks, all muscle and no brain. 

“What do we do when those assholes give us hell?” he’d often ask when you’ve had a particularly shitty day with them. “We give ‘em hell right back.”

Jason’s thin lips curl into a more mischievous smirk. His blue eyes are lighter in the golden sunlight, and they twinkle beneath the neon signs as he looks you up and down. “Yeah, actually,” he hums with his unabashed ogling. “I do.”

Mike’s lanky legs sidestep to stand ahead of you. He does it so swiftly, so instinctually, you don’t think he even really meant to do it. Despite the raven-haired boy halfway covering you, you cross your arms over your torso in a further attempt to keep yourself hidden. 

You feel so suddenly exposed in your frilly floral sundress — especially considering the only thing you wear to school is baggy jeans and baggier sweaters. You feel like you might as well be naked standing in front of them just now.

The younger boys stand on high alert as Eddie walks the short distance to Jason. The brief journey is made quicker when the blonde boy strides to meet him halfway. It’s a high school sort of standoff — neither particularly wanting to get physical because the real-life repercussions aren’t worth it. They just want to see who can piss each other off the most.

“She is pretty, isn’t she?” Eddie concedes with a grin, flashing you a brief glance over his shoulder. He turns away quickly at the sight of your wide, pleading eyes. He scrunches his nose in feigned sympathy. “I bet you’re real jealous, huh? Especially now that you’ve got nothing but your right hand keeping you company ever since Chrissy dumped your ass.”

“Watch it,” Jason warns through gritted teeth.

“I think I saw her riding around last week with Harrington, actually.”

The blonde boy’s sneakers scuff against the concrete as he takes a daring step closer. His piercing stare never wavers. “Don’t talk about Chrissy.”

“Don’t talk about my girl, and I won’t talk about yours,” Eddie retorts in lilt. And then, because he can’t help but twist the knife, he tilts his head to his shoulder and continues. “Well, I guess she’s not really yours anymore, is she?”

“I said don’t talk about Chrissy!” Jason repeats, louder than before, when he lets his anger get the best of him. One hand shoots up to shove at Eddie’s chest, using only enough force to make the boy stumble slightly back. 

While Dustin, Lucas, and Mike gear up for a fight, Eddie only laughs in response — big, boisterous, and boyish.

You don’t even realize you’re stepping in front of the group until you’re already doing it. The words seem to fly from your mouth without you even thinking about them. “Don’t touch him!” you shout. 

And even though it wasn’t particularly loud, it quiets in the mindless bickering all at once. Everyone turns to gape at you — Jason, Andy, Dustin, Eddie. Everyone is equally surprised by your outburst. Because you don’t speak. Ever. At least, not if you can help it. 

And it’s not because you don’t have anything to say, because you do. It’s just that your brain works too much, and your mouth can’t keep up with it sometimes. It’s easier just to be silent.

That’s what you’ve been known for ever since you were little. You went through all of it — the bullying, the sad eyes, the talks with teachers, the ‘is everything alright at home’s. Everything was fine, for the most part. Your childhood was equally as middling as everyone else’s. You just had a harder time being human than most people.

Jason smiles again, amused by your warning. “What was that, sweetheart?”

You swallow through a tightening throat. Your sweaty hands clench into balls at your sides. The words come out quieter than before, but no less meaningful. “I said… Don’t touch him.”

“Oh, so she does speak. Here I thought no one ever taught you how to,” the blonde boy laughs. You feel disgusting when his attention settles solely upon you. The lingering sick feeling is eclipsed by your gratitude that Eddie’s no longer in his line of fire. “I’m gonna be honest… I thought you were cuter when you were quiet.”

You don’t know what he means by that. You can’t tell if he’s being genuine, or if he thinks you care enough about what he thinks to slink back into your shell.

“Leave Eddie alone,” you retort drily.

He snorts. “Yeah? Or what?”

There’s a thousand words you want to say. You open your mouth to spit all of them at the boy across from you, but nothing comes out.

“Yeah,” Jason laughs at your silence. “That’s what I thought.”

You stand your ground when he walks towards you. His strides are slow and menacing, like he’s expecting you to back away. You might’ve if you were anywhere else — if Eddie wasn’t a couple feet away and the rest of your friends weren’t crowding behind you. You’re made somehow braver by their presence.

“This is a really cute dress, though, sweetheart,” the blonde boy compliments with a thin smirk. “You should dress like this more often. You know what? You’d really fit in at the strip club downtown— what’s it called?”

“Pink Paradise,” Andy answers without missing a beat.

Jason smacks his lips against his teeth. “That’s the one.”

“Is that the one your mom works at?” you wonder with your arms crossed over your chest. Your head tilts to your shoulder as you squint at him. “Is she still giving those two-for-one discounts?” 

Jason’s confidence stutters at your biting reply — even more so by the choked-back laughter accompanying it. Your boys don’t bother to hide their humored giggles, though the basketball team covers theirs by coughing into their fists.

“Ooh. I didn’t know you had such a much on you,” the blonde lilts as his blue eyes narrow. “I’m like… fifty percent more attracted to you now.”

“Leave Eddie alone,” you deadpan once more. “And go be a douchebag somewhere else.”

One of his friends breaks free from the pack. He’s tall, thin, and toned. He’s got the same haircut as Lucas: compact curls, squared off on the sides. You know him — Patrick McKinney. He’s the only one of Jason’s friends that was actually nice to you. Or, at the very least, he wasn’t a total asshole.

“Let’s go, man,” the boy ushers, nudging at Jason’s bicep. “Let’s go shoot some hoops or something. This isn’t worth it.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Oh, please— the only shooting Jason Carver does is into a kleenex. It’s why you were benched all last season.”

“I twisted my ankle!” the blonde boy defends, sounding weak and pathetic beneath the chorus of laughter as Patrick drags him away.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you mutter, perhaps too quiet for him to hear, as Lucas pulls at your forearm to guide you in the other direction. His touch is still gentle — it would be uncharacteristic of him to be rough with you. It would also be a terrible idea with Eddie just a few paces behind the both of you.

The walk to The Palace is a silent one. There’s too much to say, and everyone’s just a little too amazed to say it. Eddie, however, never had a hard time killing a quiet. He rushes on long legs to match your quick strides, reaching you rather easily. 

“Hey, hey, hey— you okay, babe?” the worried boy wonders. He takes a gentle hold of your wrists when you reach the awning beneath the arcade. His chocolate gaze flits attentively over your form, nowhere near as leering as Jason had been. 

He can tell by your heaving chest and glassy eyes that you’re a little overwhelmed. When he takes your face in his hands, he finds that your cheeks are burning, too.

You nod into his warm palms in silent reply, back in the comfort of your shell all over again.

“What’d you do that for, huh?” Eddie singsongs with a quiet laugh. His thumb dances over your cheekbones as he grins at you. “You know I don’t like you getting involved with those assholes.”

“They don’t get to talk to you like that… Or put their hands on you,” you mutter. Despite your soft tone, Eddie can see the fury flashing in your eyes, getting angry about it all over again.

His smile widens — proud and hopelessly in love with you. “No. They don’t. Especially not with my girl around, huh?”

“Nope,” you murmur, popping the p. A sheepish grin pulls at your mouth, equally as proud and in love.

Eddie leans down to kiss you, guiding your mouth to his with the hands cupping your jaw. It’s innocuously chaste, being that you’re still standing in a public parking lot. You could never quite stomach the attention of PDA, anyway. His pink lips lock with yours in a fleeting peck, and his arms wrap around you a second later.

He smothers you into his chest, and you revel in every second of it. He smells like cigarette smoke and the cologne he tried to cover it up with. He smells like a home you could live in forever. 

You smile into the thrifted Blondie tee you got him — which he happily accepted because he loves you (even though he hates Blondie). He presses a kiss into your hair and smushes his nose into the crown of it as he laughs.

“‘Is that the one your mom works at?’” Eddie repeats with a soft chuckle, chest swelling with pride once more. “God, babe. That’s good.”

“Shut up…” you murmur.

“I’m serious! I didn’t know you were such a good smack-talker! I think you might be a genius, actually.”

“Don’t,” you grouse with a lighthearted scowl. You pull away from him only slightly — enough for him to put your face back in his hands again. You feel safest there, even if you are pouting up at him.

“You’re so cute,” the boy muses with a beam. His eyes glimmer like a sea of chocolate syrup, melting with all the love he has for you. “You’re like a cinnamon roll. A cinnamon roll that could bite people.”

“That’s exactly what I am,” you monotone and try your best not to smile.

Eddie couldn’t hide his grin if he tried. “And that’s exactly why I love you.”

[mediumgayitalian]

"It's two sugars, right? And approximately eighty percent cream by volume?"

"I love you," says Will seriously.

Nico snorts. "You love caffeine. If you loved me, you would be looking at me when you said that, not the cup."

"Hm? Are you talking? Me and my caffeine are trying to have a conversation, thanks. Come back later."

Nico laughs, big and raspy, and Will grins the kind of grin that squishes his round face. He sets the cup down and slides his hands down Nico's arms, circling his wrists; the kiss is clumsy and ridiculous because neither of them can stop giggling long enough to press their lips together properly.

"I can, like, see sound," Will mumbles. "Shit is wild. Complaining is purple."

"You know, you can quit."

"Can't."

"Revolt?"

"Tried. Got dragged back."

"Hm. Well, you know what Cecil says."

"I'm not throwing a Molotov cocktail in my own infirmary, and you can't either, before you say that."

Nico sighs, kissing one last kiss to the corner of Will's mouth before pulling away. "I could make it look like the cleanest of accidents."

"I'm sure."

"And then you could come spend time with me." He takes his special, nametagged place in the good spinny chair, with the perfect ass indent and comfy cracked leather. "I'll take you wherever you want. You wanna go to Florence? We can go to Florence."

"I'd love that, actually."

"Okay! I'll pack you a bag. You wait by the door, I'll distract them with a Mol--" Nico hastens to correct at Will's Look™️. "With a very small and almost inconsequential stick of dynamite I will give to Harley."

"Better."

"Okay! Be ready in ten."

He gets a Look again, but it is much softer this time, blue eyes dark with regret.

"Nico."

Nico scowls. "I know."

"It's only because Dad's gone silent."

"Ugh. I know. Can't your father choose a less inconvenient time to get smited, or whatever happened to him."

"I'm pretty sure he's alive. I mean, the sun is still kicking, and I still get occasional dream concerts."

"Pretty sure that's PTSD."

"It's possible."

"I just want to kiss my boyfriend in peace," Nico grumps, falling back in his chair so hard he damn near goes sprawling. He yanks himself up, pink-cheeked, and pretends not to notice the laughter Will hides in his hands, lest he file for divorce. "Stupid godly drama."

"A-fuckin'-men to that."

Will powerwalks past the nursing station, pressing a kiss to his fingers and his fingers to Nico's forehead. Nico resists the urge to grab his hand and pull him backwards, into the V of his legs, into the circle of his arms; instead he watches, chin in his wrist, as Will flutters from cot to cot, smiling gently at the younger kids, rolling his eyes at the older teens. He works as if he has four arms, pouring medicine and humming passing hymns, looping heart monitors in place and encouraging his siblings every time he walks by. For someone who has had to spend a not-insignificant portion of his time in this place since the other Apollo kids lost their vitakinesis, he seems remarkably comfortable. Nico wonders how much of that is learned habit.

"Hey."

Will hums in acknowledgement, sweeping his glowing hands over a kid's broken leg.

"What do you want to eat."

"You just brought me coffee."

"That's a drink, for one. For two, that was four hours ago."

Will blinks. There is still gold ringed around his irises, and his scars and freckles twinkle like stars.

"It has?"

"Mhm."

"Oh -- woah." He stumbles a little, when he stands, steadying himself on the counter until Nico can slip an arm around his waist. "I think I'm maybe, um, done for the day."

"Good," Nico murmurs, glaring at the two campers who open their mouths to complain. "Anyone else can just heal the mortal way for a bit. You need to rest."

Will nods, and Nico guides him out, holding the screen door and taking it slow down the porch steps. Will is warm, more than just the burn from his hands and his throat, and when Nico glances out of the corners of his eyes his cheeks are red and eyes downcast.

"Nobody's watching," Nico promises quietly. "Even if there were, you're just tired."

"I'm limping like a ninety year old man."

"The socks and sandals really sell that look, yeah."

"Shut up."

Nico presses a grinning kiss to his cheek. "No. Come on, Grampa. I'm gonna get you set up in bed and then I'm going to steal, like, twelve sandwiches from the dining hall."

"Barbeque sandwiches?" Will asks hopefully. "Your bed?"

"You're going to get what I give you," Nico snarks, mapping a route to the nearest BBQ place in his head. There's that one on Park and 30th that's open late. "And -- uh, yeah. My bed. If you want."

He is normal about that and Will snickers for no reason, or perhaps because he is dumb in the brain. Por que no los dos. Both.

They make it finally to the black marble steps of Cabin Thirteen, and Will pulls away before Nico can decide whether or not it's worth it to shadow-travel them both inside. He twists and rests both hands on Nico's cheek, cooled down to pleasantly warm, now, and leans in slow until their lips are just nanometers apart, a hairsbreadth of distance between them.

"Thank you," he whispers, near silent in the fading evening.

Nico can only nod.

Will breathes with him for a moment, eyes closed and breath warm. When he opens again the gold is fully gone, and the blue is dark like dusk, almost purpleish.

"I love you," he murmurs. He straightens up and presses one last chaste kiss to Nico's forehead. "Thank you for looking out for me. I'll see you when I wake up."

He climbs carefully up to the cabin, slipping through the heavy doors without tripping over anything, for once. A blessing, maybe, from a clouded father, or from grateful Fates. Nico stares at the door until the sun sinks below the ground and the heat fades from his cheeks, and then he smiles.

He sinks into the shadows in search for twelve sandwiches, and a coke for good measure.

[prettybugsinbandages]

Blot!reader pt.4

Part 4 to this

This is a darker story. I suggest you refrain from reading it if you're in a fragile mental state or unable to handle darker themes

(No but seriously, pt. 4 is extra graphic.)

The walk to Ignihyde was suffocating in its silence. The air sat stagnant, thick with something unspoken, clinging to your skin like a second layer. Somewhere in your bag, your phone buzzed—a new message from the group chat. Under different circumstances, it might have brought you comfort, a reminder that you weren't alone. But tonight, isolation wrapped around you like a mourning lover, familiar and unwanted.

Your mind wandered, flitting between fragmented thoughts like a radio caught between too many channels. It was exhausting, a constant background noise atop the weight already pressing on your shoulders. The steady rhythm of your footsteps on concrete softened as you entered the Ignihyde dorm, giving way to the cool echo of marble halls. Tonight, even the usual mechanical hum of the dorm's technology felt muted, as if the entire building was holding the breath for some crescendo.

The invitation still gnawed at the back of your mind. You hated to admit that the Blot had a point—something about this felt... off.

Idia's door loomed ahead, a simple barrier yet somehow imposing. Before, it had been a gateway into a world of dim neon lights and digital sanctuary, an introvert's haven. Now, it felt like the threshold of something, heavier, something waiting. Judging. You exhaled, squaring your shoulders before knocking softly.

The response came in the form of a quiet click as the lock disengaged.

Inside, the usual blue glow of Idia's room bathed everything in its cold light, but the atmosphere was different. The usual hum of monitors filled the air, but it felt heavier, dampened by something unseen yet tangible—despair, maybe. A slow, sinking sensation settled into your bones before you even took a step forward.

Did he lose in the game? You wondered, letting your gaze sweep over the multiple screens in his setup. but there was no new game on display. Instead, strings of data filled the monitors, lines of statistics and files that hinted at something far more serious. Had he already begun hacking the game? Or was this related to his unofficial internship at STYX?

Idia sat hunched at his desk, wearing the familiar pajamas you'd come to associate with the version of him that had grown comfortable around you. His knees were drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around himself in a posture that spoke of exhaustion. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, his normally wild hair casting deep shadows over his hollowed-out expression. The way he curled in on himself was almost childlike, a feeble, pitiful attempt at self-soothing.

You nearly laughed—an instinctive, misplaced reaction to lighten your own mood. but you tactfully swallowed it down.

Instead, you focused on what he had invited you here for. "Which game was released?" You ask instead, kicking off your shoes and coming up behind him.

The moment you moved behind him, his reaction was immediate. He shut the files in a heartbeat, screens flickering back to something more benign. But the damage was done. You'd already seen it. And the unease pooling in your gut only grew.

You didn't like the way Idia seemed to mirror the way you felt.

Slowly, his eyes drifted toward you and something about his gaze unsettled you. It was blank, hollow. No nervous darting, no anxious fiddling with his sleeves. For once, Idia didn't look away. His stare was unwavering—determined, but utterly hopeless all at once.

It made you want to stand a little taller—to brace yourself, because whatever this was, whatever had brought him to this point—you had a feeling you weren't going to like it.

"Idia?"

He doesn't answer right away. When he finally speaks, his voice is eerily flat. Clinical in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"...Take off your jacket."

You blink. What?

"It's—no. It's cold. Your room is always freezing." You argue, your throat tightening. You don't like the way the air suddenly feels heavy, pressing in on you.

Idia's fingers twitch. "You won't."

A shiver crawls up your spine, and it has nothing to do with the temperature. Something is wrong. You can feel it in your bones, in the way your limbs feel impossibly heavy—like gravity itself has turned against you, dragging you down under the weight of something unspoken, something ugly.

The creak of Idia's chair cuts through the suffocating silence as he turns to face you fully. His expression is... off. The usual awkward hesitance is gone, replaced by something raw and strained. His lips are parted, as if he wants to say something, but the words refused to come—lodged in his throat like razors, threatening to spill blood if he forces them out.

"What are you?"

The question lands like a dagger between your ribs. You inhale sharply—a mistake. "Idia, what—"

"No." His voice trembles, and his hands curled into fists, the fabric of his pants bunching under his white-knuckled fingers "No, don't—don't do that." His breathing is shallow, uneven. "Tell me; What are you?"

He sounds afraid. but not of you. No—he's afraid of knowing, of confirming whatever terrible thing is clawing at the edges of his mind.

"You're not normal. You know that, right?" His words stammer out, breath hitching. "You—you're not even cold when you should be. Do you—do you even realize that?"

A laugh escapes him, the sound ragged and worn—nearly broken. His voice rises, faster, breaking, unraveling. "You haven't noticed it, have you? You haven't said a damn thing about it—my room is negative six degrees." His voice climbs higher, fraying apart. "It's freezing—!"

Your blood runs cold—colder than it already was. You hadn't noticed the way his breath fogged in the air with every exhale. Your jaw locks shut, a dull sting in your palms forcing you to realize you've clenched your fists too tight, nails biting deep into your skin.

"Ortho scanned you." The words come out rushed, panicked. "I didn't think much of it at first, but— but I kept thinking, and looking and—" He swallows hard, struggling to force the words out. "I've seen those numbers before! T-that's what happens before an overblot takes over, except—it's not stopping. You're—"

His voice breaks, filled with despair. "You're frozen there."

You step back, arms instinctively coming up as if to shield yourself from the weight of his words. "Idia—"

He cries out your name, standing abruptly. The motion is almost aggressive, but then—he hesitates, body almost jolting forward before he stumbles back as if afraid to get any closer.

"No. No, don't act like I'm crazy! You know something's wrong, don't you?!" His voice is raw, frayed at the edges like he's spent nights crying until his throat was raw. "I'm not an idiot—look at you!"

His gaze locked onto your finger—the Blot ring. Moving to hide it like a fool, you only further incriminated yourself. You were too flustered, too out of your element. A person that thrives in carefully articulated plans will never blossom in unexpected situations and confrontations.

Silence stretched between you, tense, suffocating and then, finally—his voice drops to a whisper. "That's a Blot stone, isn't it?"

Your jaw clenched as you forced a smile, trying to get the upper hand again. "It was a gift from a friend."

Not a lie.

But not the truth, either.

Because the Blot—whatever it is, whatever you are to it—is not something you can explain. Not something you can put into words.

He watched you in silence, his gaze heavy, searching—like he could drag the truth out of you by sheer force of will. The room felt smaller, the air thinner, the walls pressing in and closing the space between you. Your skin prickled, instincts screaming at you to move, to run—but your feet refused to obey.

He was closer than he'd ever dared to be before, breath shallow and uneven, pupils contracted into pinpricks. it was the look of someone who had seen something they were never meant to see.

He was afraid.

"It's Blot, isn't it?" His voice is softer now—not less intense, just careful. As if he were unraveling a puzzle, and each word was another thread pulling the truth closer. "How? You don't have magic—so how? You didn't get sick, you weren't cursed—"

The silence stretched thick between you, swallowing the hum of his electronics, turning the once-familiar background noise into an irritating drone. You said nothing, but it was enough.

He exhaled a short, bitter laugh, devoid of humor. A wry smile flickered across his lips, brief and brittle. "I can't believe I didn't notice sooner. I mean, of course—! Of course, it had to be something like this. The first real friend I make and they're some... monster."

Your breath hitched, anger rising fast, sharp and sudden. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. Monster? He had no idea—no idea what you had sacrificed, what you had done to survive.

Idia noticed the shift immediately, his expression faltering. He took a step back and bumped into his desk, drawing out a low curse. "How much of you is still here?" he asked, and this time, his voice was small and fragile. "Did I ever get to meet you? Were you ever real?"

The words should have gutted you. Maybe later they would, but right now, there was no time for doubt—no time for guilt. You had come too far, had too much left undone to let this shake you.

So you smiled. Soft, careful, deceptive. A picture of warmth despite the cold seeping from your skin. You took a slow step forward the same way people approached startled animals.

Idia almost broke right there. How could you smile like that—so beautifully, so effortlessly—when he was holding your rotten truth right in front of you? He wanted to scream, to cry, to beg you to undo it. He wanted to pull you into a rare embrace and promise that it would be okay.

"It doesn't matter what I am." You you began, voice steady despite the way your lungs are closing at the fact you're admitting it to yourself. "I'm here, Idia. See? I'm real." Your words were flowery and sweet rivaling powdered sugar. Cold hands met his as you laced your fingers together gently—as if they belonged together, tilting your head up to meet his terrified gaze once again.

Your hands, impossibly cold, found his and laced together. Gentle, deliberate as if they belonged that way. His breath stuttered and yellow eyes widened, darting between you and the affectionate embrace. The chill of your skin confirmed his worst fears, but still, his heart pounded at your saccharine touch. A traitorous part of him bloomed with hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, things could still be okay.

You both exhaled.

A cloud of mist curled from Idia's lips.

None came from yours.

The walls pressed in again, suffocating and constricting like a serpent.

His expression shattered. "'Real?'" he echoed, the word brittle, dangerous in its quietness. "You think—?" He lets out another sharp, shaky breath, his breathing picking up, hands trembling in yours. He wanted to pull away, but they constricted instead, holding you tighter. "Real people don't have to convince others they're real."

The words cut deep. A blade straight through your skull.

And then he laughed. not out of amusement—but the hollow, broken sound people make when they don't know whether to scream or cry. His shoulders shake, and his fingers press hard against your knuckles like he's grasping at anything—even you—to keep himself together.

"You're dying." Idia whispered.

"You're already dead." His voice was eerily calm now. Empty as he sunk to the ground, dragging you down with him.

"And I don't know what I'm supposed to do with you."

The walk home was slow, the silence stretching thick and suffocating. Creeping whispers slithered into your mind, sharp-toothed and insidious, gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. You had left without a word, untangling yourself from him with a violent jerk—shoving him away as if his touch burned.

Only now did the look on his face register. The hurt. The despair.

Guilt settled into your gut like a stone. He was terrified—not just of you, but of what you had done, of what you had become. Idia's questions sent your thoughts spiraling, prying open doors you had never dared to unlock. Before now, your focus had been singular, your purpose unwavering. And yet—had you ever truly thought beyond that goal?

Had you ever been anything else?

Your pace quickened. Unknowingly, you gnawed at your thumbnail, gaze unfocused, lost in the labyrinth of your own mind. You had no destination, only the restless movement of your feet leading you anywhere, nowhere.

Were you ever real?

As you passed the window, the dark pane caught your reflection—a sight you had no desire to face. Yet, before you could stop yourself, your pace faltered and you drew closer. The sound of your footsteps echoed, hollow and distant, swallowed by the wind that howled like a living thing, shrieking in the shell of your ear.

The stranger in the glass stared back, their expression twisting in revulsion, lips curled in a sneer as if the very thought of mirroring you was unbearable.

Were your eyes always that color, that shape...?

You couldn't bear to look.

The thought burrowed under your skin like maggots in rotting flesh, itching, writhing, unbearable. They skittered through your veins like they belonged there with you and bile rose in your throat, bitter and acrid. You wanted to claw yourself open—to dig out whatever filth lay inside and present it to a watchful divinity, to dissect yourself beneath the eye of heaven, to strip away this diseased existence and return to nothingness once again. To be the faceless, nameless void again.

"Am I a corpse?" you whispered into an empty night.

The world only answered with silence. Cold. Oppressive. Cruel.

Your teeth clenched so tightly that the pressure throbbed in your skull, tension coiling like barbed wire and you felt something wet slide down your arm. Blinking, you pulled your hand back.

The nail-biting had evolved into something worse—your thumb torn open, the flesh peeled away to ragged strips down to the bone. It glistened in the moonlight, pale and wet, like a shard of quarts freshly unearthed.

Your breath hitched and hands trembled, but the pain hadn't set in yet—adrenaline drowning it out like restless tides.

A laugh bubbled up, fragile and unhinged, teetering on the razor's edge between hysteria and horror. It spilled past your lips in a wavering exhale, like a drunken ballerina twirling toward oblivion.

Your vision swam, locking onto the raw, ruined digit when a mortifying thought occurred to you—one that felt nearly alien.

It's already severed enough.

Might as well finish the job.

Before you could sink your teeth into the rest of your thumb, shadows lashed around your wrist, yanking your hand away with sharp, bruising force.

The Blot materialized before you, its form flicking like a nightmare barely held together, face unreadable—featureless, shifting—but you could feel its glare, an icy pressure boring into your skull like an icepick.

The slender digits wrapped around your arm only tightened, sending a dull ache up your elbow as your fingers numbed beneath the crushing force. Cold blood still dripped sluggishly down your skin and for a moment you thought the Blot might reprimand you, scold you for damaging yourself. After all, it needed you intact, didn't it? Alive and whole?

Then again... you couldn't quite recall the exact terms of your contract, the entire encounter seemed far away and blurry.

Instead, the Blot's voice dipped into something almost gentle, low and intimate in a way that made your spine stiffen.

"My... What have you done to yourself, little star?" It murmured, its words gliding over you like silk, knowing and low. "I warned you not to go to that boy's room... What happened?"

Despite the soft tone, its grip remained ironclad. A brittle, breathless laugh escaped your lips, the force of it making you dizzy. "He knows—Idia knows." You searched the Blot's face for any sign of deception, anything to suggest this was another game it was playing with you. It always seemed to know more than it let on, and foolishly you hoped it knew how to fix this predicament. "Actually... he seems to know more than I do. Why is that?"

You sounded far more vulnerable and accusatory than you'd have liked, making you cringe internally.

Your head swam. It was getting harder to focus, harder to breathe. Lungs grew stiff, like rigor mortis had set in and the muscle was now too firm to move. Even the fresh forest air seemed repulsed to enter your bloodstream.

The Blot's free hand materialized a handkerchief, dabbing away the streaks of blood down your arm with an eerie, deliberate tenderness. It pressed the cloth against your wound, the pressure grounding you just enough to feel the sting. "He's smart," it mused, voice edged with something unreadable. "Threateningly so. I advise you avoid him, darling. He's no good for you."

A pause. A breath. Then, softer—almost an afterthought, spoken like arsenic honey: "Or remove him. Anything for your goal, right?"

The casual suggestion sent an involuntary shudder down your spine, your body tensing on instinct. The moment of vulnerable hesitation was all it needed. Before you could react, the Blot lifted your injured hand—bringing it to its face. It was warm—soft—something you'd never have expected from something like it. You could feel its breath against your wrist as it nuzzled into your palm, quietly begging you to adore it the way it adores you.

Before you could realize it, the Blot's breath gently fanning against your finger as it took your thumb into its mouth, the sensation stinging for a moment.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat. Its tongue was warm, contrasting against its otherwise frigid presence, the sensation having an odd numbing effect that dulled the throb of your injury now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

You scrutinized the Blot in the short moment as it seemed to savor the taste of you—gazing at you with something dark and devoted, like an adoring lover, something dangerously akin to reverence as if you'd given it every star in the sky.

Even worse—you felt sickeningly safe in the weight of that adoration, the realization digging the knife deeper into your gut. For the first time in what felt like forever, warmth seeped into you—real, tangible and you almost leaned into it, instinctively reaching for something genuine, something real.

Connection. Affection.

The realization crashed over you like cold water, and you yanked your hand back, barely avoiding the scrape of its teeth. Your mouth opened, poised to scold it—to revel in the kicked-puppy demeanor it always assumed when chastised—only for your breath to catch on something else entirely.

Your thumb was healed perfectly as if never damaged but left behind was a mark—a scar shaped like teeth, a deep, pitch-black imprint that looked less like healed flesh and more like a crack into the void itself. The mark had seemed more like a brand upon your flesh, reminiscent of the lace-like markings overblotters had.

Instinctively, you tried to wipe it off—only to realize it stubbornly refused to fade.

"All better." the Blot chirped, the previous air of seduction vanishing in an instant. It slipped effortlessly back into that playful persona, as if it hadn't just done something deeply intimate.

There was no time to respond as the Blot suddenly jolted, its form flickering before vanishing into nothing and a sound echoed behind you—footsteps.

Someone was coming.

Folding your thumb into your fist, you shoved your hands in your pockets and turned, your gaze landing on a familiar figure—sandy hair catching the dim light, tired blue eyes flicking toward you with something unreadable in them. Ruggie.

Relief almost escaped in a sigh. You and Ruggie had worked together before—odd jobs, small schemes, and a shared understanding of the little sacrifices needed to survive. In time, a comfortable camaraderie had formed. You'd earned his favor, trust, and respect taking on extra work when exhaustion clung to him like chains in deep water. That familiarity should have steadied you. It should have made this easier.

But the weight pressing against your ribs, heavy and suffocating, refused to let up.

Lately, guilt had followed you like a stray dog, skulking in your shadow, nosing at your heels, whining for scraps of attention you refused to give. You tried to convince yourself it was misplaced, that you were entitled to the power you'd clawed for and deserving of the luxuries you'd earned. And yet, in the quiet of the night, when there was no one left to lie to, the thoughts gnawed at the edges of your resolve.

What if they didn't deserve this? What if they were undeserving of your plan for revenge?

By now, the dog had devoured you, leaning nothing but bones in its wake and it heavily impacted your interactions these days.

You forced a smile, ignoring the weakness in your knees, the warble in your voice. "Ruggie? It's late. What're you doing out here?" You chuckled and motioned him over.

His hesitation was slight but enough to send a ripple of unease through you. "Sam has a sale before closing," he muttered, glancing toward the direction of the shop before his gaze flickered back. "Gets rid of stuff that doesn't sell." Ruggie's voice trailed off, distracted.

"Hey... what was that?" He inched closer and set down his bag of groceries, gaze lingering on the spot in the forest clearing earlier where the Blot once stood.

Your stomach dropped, throat constricting as if barbed wire circled it like a serpent going in for a kill.

Ruggie sat straighter than usual, ears perked, tail stiff with bristling fur. Dull blue eyes locked onto you, scrutinizing and sharp. No room to play dumb, no easy escape. You opened your mouth, a defense already forming but he cut you off before you could speak.

"That shadow thing." His nose wrinkled, displeased. "It was creepy... Are you okay? Was that a campus ghost?" Ruggie had an idea of what it was, one he really didn't want to confirm or think was possible.

The concern burned like acid on your skin and for a split second your carefully constructed expression wavered.

He saw. He knew.

The thoughts whirled around in your head, a flurry of panic, anger, and grief. Too many people knew. Involuntarily, you found your mind circling back to the Blot's suggestion: Or remove him. the words were small in the back of your head, but they burned like hot iron.

You... wouldn't do that.

You're not that bad.

Lying once again felt like swallowing something foul, but your teeth were already rotten from all the saccharine lies fallen from your lips like angels.

What was one more? You're doomed anyway.

You let out a sigh, feigning exhaustion, and tilted your head back, the weight of the thoughts locked inside were too much to hold up. Your eyes lidded, shifted to meet Ruggie's and you chuckled. "Worried for little old me?" You teased, voice low and calm, betraying the tyrannical storm within.

You shifted your tone to allow a hint of vulnerability to slip through, creasing your brows and making him feel special—after all, you're opening up to him out of everyone else. "After the overblots, something changed. Maybe it was the repeated exposure to all that strong magic, maybe I've been here too long."

What a bad lie. You continued it anyway. "I've been practicing getting used to it. Applying the stuff I've learned in class really is fun. Don't tell, okay?"

It sounded fake even to you, but you prayed to whatever gods would listen that Ruggie would believe it.

The gods refused to answer.

Ruggie chuckled and crossed his arms, disbelief clear. "Hah? Are you pullin' my tail? You just- developed magic? What about the Yuus then?" His arms crossed, tail flicking once, sharply. "You expect me to believe that?"

Irritation flickered behind your eyes. Damn Blot. It's harder to lie when someone sees clear proof. Before you could respond, Ruggie's expression shifted, voice dipping into something softer, nearly hesitant. "Just... don't do anything too stupid, yeah? What will I do if my favorite coworker vanishes?"

It was clear he understood the lengths desperation led someone to. You must've had a reason, and clearly you didn't want to talk about it. Ruggie wasn't sure what you'd done, but as long as you're okay... it should be fine, right?

Internally you pumped your fist and attempted to direct the conversation to something else. "What about Yuuka?" You ask, a playful lilt in your tone.

"She's in sometimes. Leona gets Yuuka to do some errands like me, but we're never assigned to anything together—just two chores at once. Boring, lonely." He drawled, one ear flicking sharply at something that irritated it.

You nodded quickly, eager to let the previous topic fade before the cracks in your façade grew too wide. But Ruggie wasn't looking at your face now, no longer quietly admiring the angles and shape—his gaze had dipped lower, posture stiffening.

The handprint on your forearm was still there—your poor circulation kept it clear and visible, blood still hadn't rushed to fill in the space beneath your skin, leaving a clear, pale mark on your flesh.

Your stomach twisted violently, dread, your forlorn lover, gripping you tightly. It felt like you were drowning in sand; Gritty, dark, uncomfortable, and excruciating.

You wanted to give up.

Ruggie reached for your wrist, his fingers barely moving before you wrenched back, springing to your feet so fast you felt lightheaded. The boy's gaze darkened, expression creasing with annoyance and concern.

"You know, you've been acting really damn weird." he muttered. His tail bristled further, ears twitching. "It was always strange how you just showed up one day—not just stepping on stage with the others. Nobody even remembers seeing you there anyway. You just appeared one day. One day you were nobody, and then suddenly..." His lips pressed together, eyes shining with unspoken feelings. "You were somebody. To everyone. To me—please just tell me what's wrong."

There was an edge to his voice now, sharp and unforgiving yet hurt and confused. "And now you're jumpy, your excuses suck, and I saw whatever the hell that shadow was."

It was too much. Your senses overloaded, screaming at you to do something. Every nerve ending was firing conflicting signals and your body felt hot for once.

Or remove him.

Ruggie never got the chance to say more.

You lunged, mind going blank. Not now. Gods not now. You didn't want to think of your circumstances, or your life, or what you'd once been and now are. It hurt. It all hurt.

Ruggie reacted fast—he always did and it was admirable, but this wasn't a fight he knew how to win. It was brutal, desperate, nearly on the same level as fights the ones he'd get into for scraps of food as a child—and yet this was worse, like your entire life depended on it.

He fought back hard, scrappy as ever, teeth bared in something between a snarl and a plea. But you weren't just fighting to win.

You were fighting to end this.

He didn't want to hurt you. Ruggie needed you to stop— to listen..!

His mind spun, air cruelly knocked from his lungs as he hit the ground. The world seemed to churn as he tried to focus his gaze. Your weight pressed against his chest, arms pinned beneath your knees. Ruggie attempted to focus, but his vision swam from the impact.

A monster towered over him, primal by every meaning of the word, heaving and desperate. Its eyes were a cocktail of rage, yet tears spilled from them—the eyes he admired that once held so much conviction now full of sorrow.

A rock was held above your head, one too large for you to have been able to pick up in such a short amount of time, yet poised to come down on him.

This isn't happening.

In the space between heartbeats, he felt it come down.

The crunch echoed in his ears as they filled with blood.

Skull collapsing like a shattered pastry. The bones splintering, cartilage crumbling beneath the force of it. Over and over again—

No.

His body jerked. The scene in his mind unraveled in an instant, yet the bloodlust in your eyes lingered, making it feel real.

His breath hitched, shallow and frantic, ears flattening so hard they almost ached. Every instinct in him screamed at him to run, but his body remained frozen, muscles locked in tight animalistic panic.

When you hesitated, a weak sob escaping you, the stone slipped from your hands and landed with a dull thud beside his head and your body crumbled like paper on top of Ruggie. Whatever spell of despair you were under shattered under the pressure.

Ruggie scrambled away, breath ragged, body trembling. His usual smirk was absent, snark stolen by something colder, something raw. No jokes, no clever remarks. Just wide, fearful eyes staring up at you like he was seeing you for the first time—was this the real you?

You were going to kill him.

And yet against all logic, against the terror still clawing up his throat and clutching his heart-

Ruggie was still worried for you—the way a loyal dog is despite the way its master treats it.

This monster hunched over on the forest floor, wracked with sorrow unimaginable—even by the divine—was still somebody's baby. This monster wanted to go home and fall into the embrace of somebody safe.

part five

Pls read:

Hello!! Thanks for reading part 4. As mentioned in a previous post, I'd like to make this story a little more interactive. Since I'm writing a fanfic, and technically writing "YOU", I thought It'd be fun to have you guys as the readers, genuinely get your thoughts and questions in.

So, I'm inviting anybody willing to ask one question that may be selected for an interaction in part 5's confrontation scene I have planned.

Think hard on this one question, the Blot is a crafty thing so be careful with your questions.

Of course I won't be able to choose every question for the interaction. Any extras may be added to something separate. (You can tell the blot you wanna make out w it 😔)

If you want slightly more info or hints about the Blot, I suggest you read this post, if you haven't already.

taglist: @tachibubu @shirp-collector-of-fixations @goatsmilksblog @iris-arcadia @pumpkindevil @gabile18 @sugarxrt @fancyhawk45 @mewchiili @olxh @muffinenergy @citrus-cinnamon @boredselkie @tipsyon-tea @blerp-22 @is-it-night-or-day @xinfinityx @ashieeeesh @b0nesandskin @texas-fox @owl778 @ghostlysyntaxed @youwannatrade @jar-03 @brights-place @pebble-bb @boredwithlifeatthispoint @casperandcats @rinart89 @raineondrugs @o-ffic @chloemari-e

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (8/?)

WARNING: Graphic violence

A mission goes wrong - instead of punishing Starscream as expected, Megatron finds a different way to get under his skin - making Starscream watch as he beats you up instead.

Haha I lied I guess drunk shenanigans was what I needed to turn the writing tap back on... so here is some angst (!!)

WARNING: Graphic violence

---

The mission was an abject failure.

Gritting his denta, Starscream knows he'll be punished as he stiffly delivers the report to Megatron. At least you're safe in his habsuite - as horrible as it is, you know the drill by now. Not that he likes subjecting you to constant emergency first aid, but at least he can be the one to tank Megatron's wrath.

Helm bowed, on his knees, he braces for the blows to his frame - or would it be Megatron's cannon this time? No pain comes, though - what he doesn't expect is Megatron's silky laughter, which is somehow even worse.

"Oh no, Starscream. You think that you can offer your frame up for punishment and it'll be enough to atone? I think not."

Starscream's optics narrow as he works through what Megatron means. Surely - surely not.

But the cruel smile that warps Megatron's faceplate only grows wider as the increasingly cacophonous sounds of a struggle approach the bridge. Place forgotten, Starscream shoots to his pedes in horror as you are shoved through the doorway, furiously trying to break free from the grip of several low-ranking lackeys.

"Lord Megatron," Starscream says, fighting to keep the tremble of rage from distorting his vocaliser. "you can't. They're barely more than a youngling - "

"It doesn't matter to me what they are," Megatron snarls. His blood red optics flash, a cruel grin splitting his faceplate as he rises from his throne. "All I need to know is that you care."

Starscream lunges forward at the same time you're shoved aggressively before Megatron. However, he's immediately restrained by a flash of blue and purple - Soundwave and Shockwave.

"Starscream: Necessary to the Decepticon cause," Soundwave intones. "Recently: Has been distracted. Reason: Young charge. Conclusion: Going soft."

"I'll show your cassettes soft!" Starscream screeches, thrashing in their grip.

"Cassettes: Aid Soundwave."

Optics wide, you force yourself to face the looming shadow above you.

"Tell me, little one," Megatron purrs, silky smooth. "What have you contributed to the Decepticon cause?"

The fear you feel comes from the knowledge that there's no right answer. Megatron doesn't want to hear that you've been in every battle since Starscream joined the Decepticons, doesn't want to hear that you were the one to patch up his SIC - even if he's probably figured it out. He just wants to hurt Starscream. You steal a quick glance at your commander, unable to maintain his facade with you in imminent danger - wild-eyed and feral in his desperation to reach you because he hadn't anticipated that Megatron's cruelty could reach such lengths, and now you were going to pay the price.

"Nothing?"

His voice slithers into your audials like venomous snakes, infecting your processor with doubt. It's a terrible time to be reminded of your guilt for being unable to help Starscream more - but the slump of your shoulders is what Megatron was gunning for. His optics harden, cold as ice and sharp as flint. You wonder how Orion Pax felt seeing the shift of his optics into something unrecognizable, something monstrous.

"Then, for the good of our cause, I have no reason to withhold from eliminating a drain on our resources," Megatron snarls.

The first blow sends you reeling back, the ringing in your audials reverberating with Starscream's cry. You have no time to recover - another strike to your chassis, a vicious swipe aimed at soft mesh. You stand no chance against the former feared gladiator of Kaon, and everybody knows it. The searing pain has you gasping, servos pressed to the gash in your side - energon, hot and sticky, flows freely over your plates. Megatron circles you lazily, looking vaguely bored.

"Pathetic. Where's the fight in you? It seems that Starscream's training leaves much to be desired."

Okay. Now that you won't accept. Not after everything Starscream has risked for you. You grit your denta and glare at Megatron. If you're destined to meet Primus today, you're not going down without a fight. This, however, seems to please him, because his disgusted expression shifts into one of malicious glee, optics glinting with barely contained bloodlust. "That's more like it," He growls, laughing as you lunge at him with a cry - he easily swats you aside. Scrambling off the floor, you take stock of your enemy - Megatron is twice your size and fully armoured - built, quite literally, like a tank. The only advantage you have over him is flight, and now is not the time to think about fighting fair.

Gathering your energy, you shoot upwards, towards him. He definitely wasn't expecting that - miraculously, you manage to land a kick to his helm. Your efforts barely put a dent in his armour, but in a crazed way, Megatron seems pleased.

His grin is feral as he stalks towards you. "Commendable, little seeker," He says, leering at you. "If you survive this, I will spare you."

You barely manage to dodge his servo as it comes down, but that's where your luck runs out. Already anticipating your move, Megatron grabs your leg as you jet upwards and slams you into the ground. Warnings explode on your HUD - your mechanisms are going haywire, and the impact had shaken something out of place. Your frame radiates pain, pain, pain, but still, you try to drag yourself away - and cry out as Megatron grabs you by a wing.

The snap of plates is an awful, awful sound. That's all you can think of before agonizing pain explodes in your wing, arcing like lightning down your spinal strut. Mechanisms creak, wires snap a little too easily under Megatron's unforgiving servos - you thrash under his pede, frame completely overtaken by agony. Distantly, you hear Starscream's roar of rage, but it's not enough to drown out the screaming spit of static that overtakes your voice.

Heavy blows rain down on your frame, unceasing. Your plates may as well be made from aluminum under Megatron's fists, denting at immediate contact. There's no escape - you flinch away from a punch only to meet claws that shred your plates open like paper. At this point, you can barely see through the energon that stains your frame and drips into your optics. The growing pool of energon beneath your pedes and the sluggishness of your processor tells you that you're losing power fast. Any way you move, there's no escaping the agony the wracks your frame, searing, burning - rushing like liquid fire through your lines, rushing from torn wires to hotly sear over your plates. Worst is the pain in your wing - you're distantly aware that it's broken, hanging by a few remaining wires whose only purpose seems to be ferrying pain to your frame. Horror wracks your frame as you consider that you may never fly again and suddenly, survival seems to be the worst punishment of all.

Your sob for Starscream is the last straw. Baring his denta in a snarl, he activates his thrusters to wrench himself away from Soundwave and Shockwave, throwing himself in front of your broken frame just as Megatron pulls his fist back for the final blow.

"Enough," Starscream hisses, savagely.

For a nanoklik, all is still.

Unexpectedly, Megatron steps back. "Interesting," He drawls, and turns away as if disinterested by the entire affair, completely undisturbed by the explosion of energon that now covers the bridge. "A promise is a promise. Take them to Knockout."

Starscream looks down at your broken frame, snapped wing and shattered cockpit, and for a nanoklik has absolutely no idea how to lift you up without increasing your agony. There's no avoiding it, but you are not granted the mercy of passing out when he does lift you up, a screech of static garbling your vocaliser when you sob at the pain in your wing. "Shhh," Starscream murmurs, his steps frantic as he storms off the bridge. "It's all right now, we'll get you fixed up - "

You know he's desperately trying to rein in his EM field so as not to scare you further, but you can dimly feel the abject panic that vibrates through his plates where he's holding you close. You make the mistake of looking into his optics - Starscream is just as terrified. You've never seen him this panicked, not even when you cracked your faceplate open. Dread wracks your frame at the realization of how bad it must be.

"What if I never fly again?" You sob.

"You will," Starscream says fiercely. "You will fly - I will not accept any other outcome."

By some small mercy, you've slipped into stasis by the time he bursts into Knockout's med bay. Knockout looks uncharacteristically grim - all his tools are laid out, clearly having been warned of your arrival.

His intake flattens into a hard line when he sees the state of your wing. Starscream must have seen it, because his EM field immediately spikes.

"I don't care what you do," Starscream growls. "But that wing must be restored."

"I can rejoin it," Knockout says, sombre. "But I cannot guarantee full use of the wing afterwards, because there's no telling whether the severed sensory nets will reactivate."

Starscream snarls in disgust, his own wings trembling. Before his white-knuckled grip can dent the medical berth, Knockout speaks again, thoughtful but hesitant.

"The other option would be a wing replacement. The success rate is high, but I'm sure you know what the major obstacle to that is."

It barely takes a nanoklik for Starscream to come to a decision. "I will see to it," He says curtly. "I expect you not to question my methods."

Knockout ex-vents. "I'd better get started before they come online," is all he says. "You'd better go."

Starscream nods, expression stony as he pivots to depart the med bay. Rage crackles through his lines, propelling him upwards as he takes to the air. He'd grievously misjudged Megatron, and you had paid the price. Something had changed - the look in the warlord's eyes had been crazed, blinded by bloodlust. Gone was logic and reason. Mindless cruelty had taken its place.

"Megatron is not fit to lead," Starscream whispered grimly to himself. Something had to give.

Megatron is not fit to lead.

And if he had to be the one to incite change... then so be it.

Previous / Next

Edit 1: “If you feel nothing, then why are you shaking?” Cry with me over @xarologys art <3 all the feels :,)

Edit 2: And a bonus snippet inspired by art :D

[bitterrfruit]

Wild Cherries

John Price x f!Reader tags/cw: modern western AU, cowboys, mean!John Price, chasing, spanking, light sadomasochism, age gap (ish), brat taming, dubcon if you squint, smut wc: 4.9k 18+ mdni

Jonathan Price owns the ranch that neighbours your family's. You've got a bad habit of hopping the fence between them, snooping and stealing, leaving little traces of your misbehaviour behind. What happens when you poke the bear?

✼ Read the full chapter on Ao3 ✼

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.” 

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin. 

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change. 

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay. 

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose. 

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him. 

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers. 

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Lawrence made me come and say hi.” 

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance. 

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.” 

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment. 

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?” 

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it. 

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise. 

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.” 

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.” 

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?” 

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you. 

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.” 

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath. 

“I bet you are.” 

an: hey y'all, as some may recognise, this is the extendo version of my old drabble 'cowboy price'. Not yet the part 3 that many of you were asking for (i'm sorry), but there will be many more parts to come, and I hope they will sate our collective hunger for horny western Price!!

Above is only a snippet, the rest is on my Ao3. love youuuu <3

[sadhours]

kinktober day 3 • cock worship

aka: obsession

billy hargrove x fem!reader

kinktober masterlist

cw: 18+, minors dni, smut, daddy kink, dirty talk, dom!billy, cock worship (duh), oral (m receiving), face fucking, facial, cum eating

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

His lips pout as he gazes down at you. His eyes don’t match. They look entertained and cruel. He grabs his crotch over his tight denim. Shakes it in his hand.

“This what got you acting like that?” Billy wonders aloud, voice dripping in condescension.

From your knees, you nod and dumbly reply, “Uh-huh.”

Billy chuckles, tone matching that look in his eyes. You know he’s about to give you everything you want. He presses his palm against his clothed cock, you can see its swelling from under the denim. Always does when you drop to your knees like this.

“Tell me what you want,” he replies, voice low and a bit husky. He plays cool but you know he wants it just as bad.

“Your cock,” you answer easily.

He meets the reply with a laugh, all cruelty and callousness. He shakes his head and tells you, “No shit, dumbass. Tell me what you want to do with it and maybe I’ll play nice and let you.”

“Wanna worship it,” you whine, blinking up at him like a puppy dog.

“That’s your second strike,” he says, sternly. “Be a good girl and tell me how.”

You lick your lips, eyes trained on the erection before you— strained under denim and ringed fingers gripping it. You don’t even know where to start. Imagination running wild, jumping ahead and thinking about his gorgeous, heavy cock slapping against your face. But if you say that, he might give you a third strike. So you sniffle, collect your thoughts and again lick your lips.

“Wanna press my face against it, right now— wanna feel how hard it is and, and,” you swallow and inhale sharply, “Wanna lick it, over your pants and beg for you to pull it out.”

Billy smiles, apparently pleased with your response and he nods slowly, “And if I pull it out? Then what?”

“I’ll stick my tongue out for it,” you reply and whine, feeling all tingly just at the thought.

“Ya gonna be a good girl? You’re not gonna get to desperate and beg me to fuck your pussy, right?” he asks, voice tilted up and again, all condescending. “Gonna focus on me, yeah?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you nod, pouting in hopes he’ll believe you.

He seems satisfied, smile still on his lips as his fingers move to the buttons of his jeans. Undoes all of them and shoves the jeans down his thighs. Then he stops, looks at you expectantly and he’s got you trained well.

You move forward and nuzzle your face against the bulge in his white underwear. You smell him through the fabric, the stench of sweat from his day makes your stomach tighten with arousal. He puts his hand on your head, pets you with endearment and lets you continue. You lick the shaft of his cock over his underwear, eyes wide and blinking up at him. He groans lowly, letting you know he’s enjoying it.

With your lips finding his tip, you suckle on him over the cotton and his fingers grip on the roots of your hair. An excited gasp pushes past your lips and you continue mouthing him over his underwear.

“Well?” he heaves, tugging on your hair, “Ya gonna beg or what?”

Wide eyes find his darkened blue ones, eyebrows furrowed as you lick against the imprint of him and mumble against it, “Daddy, can you please pull out your cock? Pretty please. I wanna taste it so bad.”

“Think you deserve it?” he pouts, a tilt to his head, blonde curls bouncing as he does it. He’s so pretty it makes your heart rate triple.

Offering a whine against his strained cock, you insist, “Yes, I’ve been a good girl. I’m always a good girl for you.”

Billy laughs, a soft one full of endearment— maybe pride. He pats your head but makes no movement to pull himself from the constraints of his underwear. So you whine, like a petulant brat who isn’t getting her way because that’s exactly what you are. His eyebrows raise as he straightens his head, “I don’t know. I think you’re being impatient. And we both know how many times I’ve taught you that lesson. Show me what you’ve learned.”

You swallow hard, hooking your fingers in the waist of his jeans that are shoved halfway down his thighs. You use the leverage to nuzzle against his rigid cock, nose dragging along the shaft of it and then you’re mouthing at the tip again. Sloppier this time, saliva coating his white briefs and making them a little see-through. You can see the pinkness of his tip now and it only makes you that much more impatient. However, he’s got you trained well. So you just blink dumbly up at him as you drool over his covered cock.

It’s definitely an obsession. You find yourself thinking about his cock all hours of the day, been known to lock yourself in the washroom at work to rub your clit furiously at the memory, just to get home and beg to worship it. Much like you’ve been doing tonight. It’s not your fault though, it’s really the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen. Perfectly girthy and long. Feels heavy on your tongue and in your hand. The gloriously pronounced vein that runs along it feels wonderful on your tongue. His clean shaven, heavy balls, the cherry on top— or bottom.

You can’t forget to give them attention, dropping an inch or four to mouth against them. Breathing jaggedly as your fingers dance along the outline of his shaft. It’s a deep need churning in your gut, always making you feel this incredibly powerful desperation. Like you’d do absolutely anything to see, touch and worship this cock— anything to please the man attached to it.

He groans lowly, using his grip on your hair to press you even closer to his crotch, “Fuck yeah, atta girl. Show Daddy how good you can be.”

Coating his briefs in your drool, you work your mouth all over his balls and cock. Eyes trained on him intently, full of desperation and pleading. Then you just can’t take it anymore.

“Please daddy, please,” you whine, gyrating against the air. A movement you can’t control, fueled by utter necessity.

Billy smirks, wolffish like he gets off on how badly you need this, need him. He licks his lips, “Please what? What do you want?”

“I need you to pull out your cock, please,” you beg, voice absolutely wrecked already and you’ve just begun.

“Need it, huh?” he grins, tugs on your hair again and looks like he’s thinking it over.

You nod against his cock, lips still rubbing against the shaft. He pushes your head off, shucks his underwear down his thighs and his cock springs out, bounces slightly and has your eyes following it the hold time. He grabs onto your jaw, narrows his eyes down at you and demands, “Open.”

Jaw dropping, you stick your tongue out in preparation of what he’s gonna do. You know him well. Billy’s mouth closes and his jaw moving as he gathers all his salvia before he spits it down into your mouth. You preen, closing your mouth and swirling his salvia with yours. Moaning in satisfaction with it.

“C’mon baby,” Billy taps your cheek with his fingers, “worship me.”

You don’t have to be told twice, surging forward to lick a broad stroke from his sack up to his tip. Back down and back up. Suckling on the shaft and then the base. Licking repeatedly against the ridge where his head meets his shaft, you circle your fingers around the base and give him a squeeze. Billy exhales, lips parting and then his tongue slides against his bottom lip. Not only is his cock gorgeous but so is his fucking face. You can’t stop the whine that rumbles out of your throat as you lick against his tip. Circle your tongue around it and then poking his slit with the tip of your tongue, drool pooling out over him.

Next, you stick your tongue out and slap his cock against it. Making sure you keep that eye contact with him, you jerk him slowly in your hand. The tips of your fingers barely meet wrapped around his thick cock. Your other hand reaches up and cups his balls in your palm, rolling them around just as your lips wrap around the head of his cock. Billy’s hands gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail, grip tight and guiding the pace for you. Sinking deeper into your mouth, you make sure to open your throat for him.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles out, “you’re so good at this. You know exactly what Daddy likes, huh?”

You attempt to nod with the mouthful of cock, gagging only a little from the motion. Blinking rapidly, you recover quickly and start bobbing your head. Drool dripping from the corners of your mouth, coating his cock and your hand in salvia. This is absolute heaven, your head feels all fuzzy and you just know you’re soaking through your panties— can feel the slickness on your thighs.

Billy let’s go of your hair to unbutton his shirt and shrug it off. Soon enough, his hands are back in your hair but latched onto the roots.

“So messy,” he observes, his voice sounding a little dazed but not nearly as dazed as you feel. “You like making a mess while you suck daddy’s cock, yeah? Just the perfect little mouth for me to fuck.”

A part of you wants to attempt to answer but you feel drunk, maybe high on the feeling of his cock heavy on your tongue and poking at the back of your throat. So you just blink up at him, try to agree with your eyes. And Billy gets it, because he holds your head still by the grip of your hair and thrusts his hips. Controls everything. Uses your mouth. Fucks into you like he’s supposed to, like you want him to.

Your hands move to grab onto his thighs, eyes closing as you focus on keeping your throat open— not letting yourself gag too much from his thrusts.

“Good girl,” he pants, inching towards a whine. You can tell he’s close, but he keeps fucking your mouth for a beat and thankfully pulls out. You don’t want this to end so soon. He grabs hold of his cock, fingers gripping his base and he rubs the shaft all over your face. You stick your tongue out for good measure and bask in the euphoria you feel, that gorgeous cock warm and wet against your face.

He continues, “Fuck, such a pretty girl for daddy. You look so good with my cock on your face like that.”

You hum, looking up at him and replying in the most seductive voice you can manage, “Thank you, daddy. I love it. I love your cock.”

It’s not as seductive as you’d like, voice wrecked from the abuse your throat just took. Billy likes it anyway, bites his lip and rubs the tip of his cock against your lips, “I know you do, baby. That’s why you’re my good girl. All mine, yeah?”

A nod of your head as you kiss against his head and then wrap your lips around it again, hollowing your cheeks as you suck hard. You can taste the saltiness of his precum and it makes your head swim. Billy starts stroking his cock, fast and quick and you’re a little sad because that means he wants to cum but you also want nothing more to taste it.

He groans, loud and low and long, face contorting as his climax inches up on him. God, he looks pretty like that.

“Wanna swallow it or want it on your face?” he asks, rushed and desperate.

You pull off of him a bit to answer, “However you want it, Daddy. I can taste it either way.”

And then he’s busting, all over your face with a broken moan. Your eyes close and your tongue sticks out on instinct. A drop of it lands on your tongue and your lips curl up in a hint of smile. Then he’s swiping his finger along the rest of it on your face and brings it to your tongue. You take all of it, wrapping your lips around his finger and sucking as you open your eyes and gaze up at him.

He exhales shakily, “Atta girl.”

[dmitriene]

lowhonor arthur and his pretty girlfrienddd <3

cw: lowhonor arthur, implied sexist language but not from him, description of minor wounds.

arthur morgan and pretty things go apart from each other, there's nothing pretty about him as a man, there's nothing pretty that could be attached to him or either his side, but there's you, he sees you as a flower, something so delicate and fragile that it can crumble into particles blown away by the wind just from the single brushing touch of his rough, dirty fingers, something that he cannot afford to do, to stain, even if not on purpose, even if you yourself reach out, neat, dainty hands are stretched out to him.

he sees you as those landscapes sketched in his diary with a fragile pencil graphite that breaks and smears over thin paper, each of them alive like you, bright to the point that sunbathes his so often cold gaze, softening with your warmth of the sinking sun, waving grass, soothingly singing birds, you are like all that living things that he considers wonderful to himself, each new day in which a dog of a man like him is alive is nothing more than luck, and the sight of your radiant smile directed at him is one of the wonders of this exact world.

people around you are cruel, maybe because of a difficult time, maybe because they were born that way, but they allow to take out their cruelty and the pettiness of their own soul on you, reproach you for something that is a reason for arthur to worship you, your feminine principle, your tenderness, sensitivity to the living and the dead, the good and the cruel, to give gratuitous smiles and help, to get a spit in the feet that you do not understand anything, because you are a woman born to be silent, to serve.

arthur comes to you with blood on his bare, calloused hands and tightly pursed, pale lips, one from cruelly given blows, the other from the received attempt to repay him his own violence, but he will never return to you as a loser, so when he sits down next to you, it is for you to patch up the visible damage from the defense of your honor on his broken, raw bleeding knuckles, the flesh sensitive, torn, but he doesn't even twitch at the touch of your own hands and the burning sting of alcohol, his gaze is like tobacco gum, riveted to your face, the blue pooling to green in those kaleidoscopic eyes simmer with devotion.

you engender an animal fear in him, the fear of never returning, of not waking up to your exposed, limp body pressed against the hard curve of his larger, muscular one, not to feel the gentle, almost tickling warmth of your passion bruised skin beneath his scarred fingertips, your bright smiles, to which even the rising morning sun smiles, those careful, playful kisses lingering lingering over the rough skin of his unshaven face, the rasp of his stubble practically burns, but you only giggle, pressing closer with your body and fidgeting nose, loose limbs tangling in one.

arthur knows his way to you by the subtle smell, he will come back blind, wounded, near death, but he will never allow himself to leave you alone, you can learn from him sharp words, self defense, an escape plan if something suddenly goes wrong, but he will still not let you face any situation where you'd need such knowledge, he'll fight and growl and hide you behind him until he can't anymore, and even so, he will hide you in his palms like the dearest bird to his heart.

more intoxicating than any cheap, disgusting booze, and even expensive, seasoned, sweeter than wild berries freshly grown on the bushes, enchanting with the mere sound of his name falling from your parted, bitten lips in a drawn, almost gasping breath, with your fingers pressing, instead of scratching, into the fair skin and moving muscles on his broad, arching back, with your face warm, eyes closed under the weight of drooping eyelids, nuzzling into the crook of his burning neck, breathing in his scent with a moan.

even if the stars begin to fade and rain down in a hail of precisely cutting bullets, nothing will take you from arthur, he will not allow.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[esmeefreckles]

Getting in trouble | Lia Wälti x G!P reader

+18 SMUT MINORS DNI

DADDY KINK. G!P READER. BLOW JOBS. LIGHT DOM/SUB. LIGHT BONDAGE. ORGASM DELAY/DENIAL. TEASING. VAGINAL FINGERING. BEGGING.

A/N: thanks to @lanawubbonmoy for the beta reading and help.

When Lia heard the key turn into the lock of their apartment’s door, she knew she was fucked. In truth, she had been for some time as she had been fucking herself, quite literally, spreadeagled on the bed, face pressed hard into her wife’s pillow. There would be consequences, that much she knew, but she was three fingers knuckle deep inside her cunt and release was a couple of thrusts away at best.

She thumbed her swollen clit roughly, the straining nub of flesh pounding harshly under her touch, and moments later she came, gushing messily all over her hand and the sheets, teeth sinking into the pillowcase to muffle her cries. Just as Lia was crashing down from her height, shaking and undone like a collapsed cathedral in an earthquake, the bedroom door opened and you stepped inside.

“You disobeyed,” you stated, without even looking her way.

Lia guessed she didn’t need to, the smell of sex clinging to every surface, heavy and chokingly humid. She watched you tread through the room with hungry, half lidded eyes, drinking in her every move. You wore a tight fitting suit, midnight blue with a matching tie spilling over an immaculate button up shirt. Your heels, which made you several inches taller, as if it was necessary that she look even more imposing, clicked softly on the wooden floor. At the same time, you puttered around, setting your bag against a wall and out of the way before shrugging out of the suit’s jacket.

“My instructions weren’t that hard to follow,” you said, laying the jacket across the back of a chair, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. Lia couldn’t help but imagine those slender fingers playing along her ribs.

Lia groaned and threw an arm across her face as if that could push back the blush she felt creeping up her neck to spread across her cheeks. “You were away for a whole week,” Lia practically whined, “and I was horny .”

“And I texted you that I was on my way from the airport. You could not wait an hour longer?” You finally turned to face Lia, your eyes darkening as they openly raked the heights and valleys of Lia’s body. Lia felt herself quicken and tremble with a delicious sliver of fear under that flinty stare, thighs moving to press together and conceal the proof of her disobedience.

“Stay still,” You ordered with the same hard voice Lia was sure you used at your job, “you chose to break the rules and now will take your punishment.”

There was a spark of something primal swirling in the depths of your eyes, an almost brooding curve to your hard pressed mouth as you waited for Lia’s reaction. Lia’s heart began a wild hammering against her ribcage.

“And how would you punish me... daddy ?”

The word quivered between you two, almost visible, and you couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath, pants tightening as heat shot down your spine making you stir. It took all of your willpower to resist the urge to shed your clothes and just join your wife in bed, taking her until you both were too exhausted to do nothing more than lay in each other’s arms. But you both had agreed to the rules before you left, and Lia had broken them, just when you thought she’d be good this time around. And yet as you kicked off your heels and stalked towards the bed, pants tenting further, you knew Lia relished what was to come. Punishment and reward, merge together like two sides of the same coin.

“First of all you will lay there like the dirty slut you are,” you sat on the edge of the bed and undid the cuffs of your shirt, rolling up your sleeves past the elbows, “and just wonder what daddy is going to do to you while you make even more of a mess on the sheets.”

You paused, frowning down at Lia before adding. “Perhaps I should make you clean after yourself.”

Lia stirred, mouth dropping open for a retort, but before she could say anything you followed through, reaching down between Lia’s legs to drag your fingertips across the swollen, drenched folds of your wife’s cunt.

“Did you get so worked up thinking about me, or was someone else on your mind?” you purred with a hint of threat, pinching Lia’s clit and causing her hips to cant upwards sharply.  When you withdraw your hand, now glistening with slick, you brought it level with Lia’s mouth.

“I only get this wet for you, Daddy,” Lia whimpered, immediately missing her wife’s touch, pussy clenching desperately around nothing, “only for you.”

“Suck.” The order was hurled Lia’s way almost lazily, your fingers ghosting against Lia’s lower lip, but it speared through Lia like lightning and almost split her open as even more wetness spurted out of her to drench the bed beneath her ass.

Lia opened her mouth obediently, humming as the taste of her own slick spread across her tongue. Lia lapped her juices up, meaning to take her time as her tongue lightly grazed the length of your fingers, but you had other ideas, pushing three of your fingers inside Lia’s mouth to the hilt, only giving Lia time to open wider before pumping them in and out at a hard pace.

“I think you’d rather it was my cock you were taking.” your breath was scalding along Lia’s jaw and Lia moaned eager assent around her wife’s fingers, licking them clean with an aroused obscene slurp.

When you relented, slowly pulling out and allowing her to nuzzle into your hand, Lia heaved a shaky breath, peppering her wife’s now sticky palm with kisses.

“Please,” Lia tossed her legs, the heat between her thighs spreading along her nerves, devouring her as if she were a timber tree succumbing to a forest fire. “Please I’ll behave...I’ll be a good girl, daddy… please fuck me.”

You stood with a groan, hand reaching out to steady yourself against the headboard. Your cock was fully erect now, the silkiness of Lia’s mouth, the wet heat of her tongue sliding between your fingers having contributed to that fact in no small part. It pushed against the fabric of your shorts and throbbed with an insistence you could no longer ignore.

You faced Lia deliberately, hands slowly going to your belt buckle, stilling there until you were sure you had your wife’s full attention. Lia was beautiful like that, and she swallowed harshly as she took in every little detail that she could. Lia's usually pale skin was flushed a rosier tint, every inch of it gleaming with a light film of sweat. More droplets sneaked their way down Lia’s body as you watched, gathering in the valley between her breasts and slowly trailing down the hinted swell of her belly, pooling at her navel. Your mouth watered for a taste, a lick of the salt painting Lia’s heated skin, but first you had a lesson to inflict.

When you pushed your pants down, along with your boxers, you heaved a sigh of relief at the sudden release of pressure. Your cock sprung free, heavy and thick, the tip already glistening with precum. You heard Lia’s sharp inhale, but feigned disinterest, taking your time to pull the pants down and send them skidding across the floor.

When you looked back to the bed Lia had disobeyed again, sitting up and leaning forward, mouth slightly open in anticipation. Lia’s eyes were heavily lidded, her pupils blown so wide that the clear green in her irises was pushed into a narrow ring, making her eyes take on a feral quality, the look of a hungry beast on the brink of being sated. And just when you saw Lia’s eyes glaze over, your mind completely overtaken by lust, you pounced and was on the bed in a heartbeat, the tie you’d worn only moments before swiftly going around Lia’s wrists and securing them above her head.

Lia had only a moment to realize what was happening, and then she was being pressed into the mattress, a low moan escaping her at the display of your wiry strength. Her hands were tied up quickly, firmly enough that she could not free herself no matter how she tugged but not cruelly tight, and she had half a mind to arch her back and try to throw you off. But then she felt your stiff cock rub against her stomach, leaving fat drops of precum behind, and all thoughts of resisting faded as the waves of heat consuming her cracked her bones and boiled her marrow. Lia was dimly aware of you shuffling up to kneel right over her and then she felt the tip of your cock push against her mouth.

“Open up.”

Lia smirked against the throbbing head, and turned her head away in a small act of defiance, her clit pounding hard when your fingers tightened in her hair, yanking her head back in place.

“I said open up, whore.”

The term should have felt demeaning, humiliating and in any other situation, from any other person it would have. But when Lia looked up into your dilated eyes, she saw the ever present tenderness lurk beneath the lust that had the both of them whipped, like willow trees bending to the fury of a winter storm. Her tongue flicked out and she licked along the head’s divot, gathering your essence on her tongue, before allowing you to push inside her mouth, slow and gentle in stark contrast to the tone of your voice.

Lia resisted the urge to raise her head and suck more of your cock into her mouth, letting you set the pace you wanted. Lia was rewarded moments later as you gave her several more inches, and she eagerly pushed her tongue along the straining shaft, laving it with attention.

“Good girl,” your hand moved to stroke her cheek, “see how good you can be for daddy when you want to?”

Your eyes had softened back to full fondness, their depths holding the words you’d whisper in Lia’s ear every night before they fell asleep.

You had stilled inside her, not fucking Lia’s mouth yet, just letting her feel the heaviness of her cock as it rested on her tongue, allowing Lia to realize how thick it felt and how wide it would stretch her throat when it was finally thrust inside her to the hilt. Precum drizzled from its tip, the headiness of its taste bursting into her mouth and Lia moaned, begging for more with her eyes. And more was swiftly given, your hand moving from Lia’s cheek to cup the back of her head, assisting Lia as she lifted her head off the bed so that she could take more and more of you inside.

Soon enough you were buried almost completely in Lia’s mouth, the swollen tip of your cock nudging at the back of Lia’s throat. When you stopped your gentle thrusting Lia wanted to scream in frustration, but the sound that came out of her chest was a needy keen that set you to a chuckling softly.

“Relax your throat.” you coaxed, free hand coming to rest against the column of Lia’s neck. “Like that...good girl…” you hissed softly as you felt Lia’s throat give way, allowing you to sink even deeper inside her throat. You wanted to use her, to feel the muscles flutter against your length and milk your cock until she came and Lia swallowed every drop. Instead, you just stayed inside, cutting off Lia’s airflow until you felt Lia’s jaw begin to slacken, and then pulled all of the way out, earning a disappointed groan from your wife.

“Daddy?” Lia managed to croak out, between one big lungful of air and the next. Her chest burned from the temporary lack of oxygen, pleasant tendrils of pain curling around her bones and reaching down to stoke the furnace of her belly.

“What punishment would it be, if I gave you what you wanted right away, baby girl?” 

You moved off her, one of your hands hooking into the tie securing Lia’s wrists and dragging Lia along. You pulled Lia to her feet and then sat back down on the bed, legs swinging over the side. You patted a toned thigh with your free hand and pointed to your lap.

“Straddle me.”

Lia moved to comply, slick running down her inner thighs in rivers at the thought she was finally getting what she had wanted all along, but you who had followed her gaze, smirked widely, shattering her hope.

“Not facing me,” you snorted at the incredulous expression that crossed Lia’s face, “the other way.”

You grabbed Lia by her hips and pulled her down so that she was sitting on your lap, Lia’s back pressing into your front.

“Like this,” you murmured, leaving open-mouthed kisses along Lia’s spine, “so that you can watch yourself be fucked in the mirror and see how much of a fucking, dirty girl you are.”

You met Lia’s reflected, disbelieving gaze and grinned, hands leaving the flare of your wife’s hips to move up her sides, gently following the contours of Lia’s ribs.

“You will not disobey me again.” you suddenly snarled, your hair swinging as you turned your head to nuzzle against Lia’s neck before you bit down hard and sucked a lilac bruise into her collarbone.

Lia arched into you with a scream, tied hands twitching vainly against the restraints.

“Say it.” You released the marked flesh with a wet pop and licked the bruise slowly, tongue melting against the stinging skin. Lia flinched.

“I promise…. ahhhh…. daddy. I will be good.”

“We both know you’re lying.”

Lia whimpered, hating how stricken her expression looked in the full mirror, how the light inside her eyes betrayed her thoughts. Thoughts that you could see clear as noonday light (as always) and at her wife’s words Lia gushed all over your thighs, wishing that your cock was splitting her sex open instead of weighing against her back, tantalizingly close yet still denied to her.

But judging from your bared teeth and knitted brow Lia would not get it until she crumbled in surrender, and she gathered herself ready to slide off your lap and do everything (anything) that you demanded. Your fingers spreading her folds and entering her was so unexpected that Lia flailed, incapable of comprehending the sudden fullness stretching her inner walls, and she would have fallen if not for your other arm winding around her waist and keeping her in place. Again Lia was rendered speechless by the clash between the ruthless clench of your jaw as you fucked her raw and the gentleness of your other hand rubbing soothing circles over her spasming belly.

“You’re doing so good baby girl.” The praise was like cool honey sliding down Lia’s back, “You’re going to take my fingers and then maybe if you beg me well enough, you will get what you want. Are we understood?”

“Yes, daddy.”

You smiled, watching Lia’s head bob up and down eagerly as you peppered your wife’s back with tender kisses, a small sign that you hadn’t forgotten where the limits lay. You felt Lia relax back into her more, her legs falling even wider apart, and you moved your hand so that you could slide another finger inside your lover’s dripping depths. It was a tight fit, but not as tight as your cock would soon make it, and you increased the tempo of your thrusts, curling your fingers against Lia’s front wall every time you pushed inside, marveling at the amount of slick you managed to coax out.

Your own cock leaked precum almost constantly, and you jerked your hips, savoring the friction of the shaft against the small of Lia’s back. Lia pushed into her in response and you groaned, deciding that perhaps you’d tortured your wife enough for the time being.

“Please daddy,” Lia whined, voice sultry with desire, “please let me have your cock. I’ll try and behave better.”

“I am glad you recognize it’s a matter of trying, baby girl.” you answered drily, voice somewhat cracked with your own need, “you are too stubborn to be pliant all the time, but that’s just how daddy loves you.”

You withdrew your fingers, Lia’s muscles clenching madly to try and keep you in, rubbing gentle circles around Lia’s swollen clit before pressing your thumb firmly against the tip. She held it there a moment, letting Lia slump against you, your other hand tugging at the knot that held Lia’s wrists together. When the tie fell away, you pushed Lia off your lap and made her turn around, pulling her to stand between your knees.

“Your wrists baby girl, show them to me.”

Lia raised her hands and you trapped them within yours, bringing them up to your mouth to kiss the inside of your wife’s wrists. The skin was a bit redder than normal, but not chafed. Still, you have to make sure.

“Have I hurt you?”

“No daddy,” Lia smiled down, a sheepish grin gracing her lips, “I think I did it to myself when I tugged too hard.”

You sighed, a worried frown digging into your forehead, and you dropped the act for a moment, letting yourself through. “You could have used the safeword, love.”

“You know I don’t mind a little pain, babe.” Lia bent down and pressed her lips to your temple, “Now quit frowning or you’ll end up looking even older than you already do.”

Lia’s banter ended in a squeal as she was tugged down roughly, air leaving her in a rush as the tip of your cock nudged against her entrance.

“You were saying, baby girl?” you snarked, right before capturing Lia’s mouth in a heated kiss that was a riot of sliding tongues and pulled lips. Lia emerged from it gaping-mouthed and breathless, gasping again as you gently pulled her onto your cock.

“I missed you so much…” Lia sighed as her muscles burned with the slow stretch, whimpering when the head of your cock popped inside her, “so very much.”

Lia’s vision blurred with unshed tears and she buried her face into your neck, letting herself sink deeper onto your hard shaft, embracing the pain that blazed up her spine from it before it turned into liquid pleasure that filled the hollows of her bones with warmth. Lia didn’t care that some of her tears slipped through regardless, wetting the collar of the shirt you still wore. Lia only cared for the fullness inside her belly, for the soft slap of her wife’s thighs against her ass as you began to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper and rougher as Lia’s muscles adjust.

It had been only a week, and Lia felt stupid for letting such a short time get to her this way, but it had happened. She’d worked long hours at the Arsenal gym, hoping fatigue would help, but her nights had been too long, and the bed, emptied of her wife, was far too cold for comfort. Lia clung on for dear life, fingers digging angry welts into your shoulders even through the fabric, and her wife murmured softly in response, hands grasping Lia’s hips and pulling her relentlessly down so that she impaled herself upon your length. They came together, their hoarse screams combining into a roar like that of raging waves breaking on the coast. Lia shook like a boat in bad weather, every last drop of her arousal rushing out of her as she took spurt after spurt of her wife’s thick cum deep inside her womb, muscles spasming violently until she could do nothing but sag into your strong frame. You felt Lia slump in exhaustion and you managed to scoot back, before letting yourself fall on the bed, Lia spread out on top of you while you tapered off inside her.

“My love…” you brushed damp strands away from Lia’s face before kissing the tip of her nose, “Lia…”

“Mmmm…” Lia groaned, too tired to even talk, and content herself with nuzzling into your neck more firmly. “Don’t leave again for a while?”

The quiet, desperate hope tingling each word punched right through you, and you felt yourself neatly gutted as if Lia had been wielding a razor-sharp sword, instead of making a request. You knew why Lia had asked, and you hummed softly in response, fingers slowly carding through the knotted mess of Lia’s hair.  March was a difficult time for Lia, the pressure of the season was always high this time around. Your arms tightened around your wife.

“I had some unused vacation time and I decided to take it,” you reassured, hands stroking softly down Lia’s back, “I am home for a couple of weeks.”

“Really?” Lia raised her head, excitement written on her face.

“Really,” you smiled fondly, “but by the time vacation’s over you’ll beg for me to go back to work.”

“Nah,” Lia laughed, lifting slightly to look into your eyes, “I know the perfect way to keep you busy.”

Lia moved off your body, feeling your softening cock slip out of her, and reached for the duvet bunched up at the foot of the bed. They could rest for a short while, and then she would make sure that you were the one doing a bit of begging.