No Word Just Read

Safe. Protected. Home.

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: I finished the entire series in a week and I am literally so obsessed! I cannot wait for the next season and I just had to write for Tim. I really hope you enjoy this. Requests for "The Rookie" are open!

Word Count: 1.2 K

When you think of Tim Bradford, now Sergeant Bradford, a lot of things come to mind. Tough. No-nonsense. Fiercely dedicated. The kind of guy who thrives under pressure and expects nothing less from those around him. Tim’s the guy who keeps people at arm’s length, both metaphorically and literally, a fortress of hard-earned authority. But one thing you’d never peg him as? A sucker for cuddles. Or hugs.

He wasn’t the kind of guy you’d expect to be a sucker for cuddles. Or hugs. Stoic, guarded—those were the words people used to describe him. The guy who kept his emotions in check, always composed, always in control. But after 18 gruelling hours on his feet, every inch of his body ached, and his mind buzzed with exhaustion and all he could think about as he drove home was y/n, the way she’d wrap her arms around him. How she’d rest her cheek against his chest, her warmth seeping into him like sunlight after a storm. It was all he wanted and all he could think about.

The moment he reached home, every part of him itched to burst through the door, stride straight to her, and lose himself in her embrace. He could almost feel it—the warmth of her arms around him, the soft scent of her shampoo filling his senses, melting away the weight of the last 18 hours. But as he reached the door, his hand hesitated on the key. What if she was sleeping? The thought softened his urgency. Quietly, he slid the key into the lock, turning it with deliberate care, the faintest click breaking the silence. Pushing the door open just enough to slip inside, he tiptoed across the threshold, his movements cautious and measured.

But little did he know that sleep was the last thing on her mind. She was curled up on the couch, a book resting in her lap, softly humming along to the faint music playing in the background. The moment her y/e/c eyes met his, her face lit up, and she sprang to her feet, her joy radiating like sunlight through the room. Her expression quickly shifted as her gaze sharpened, scanning him from head to toe with practiced care. She looked for any signs of injury, any hidden pain he might be hiding, her concern as palpable as her love. Only when she was certain he was physically okay, did the tension in y/n's shoulders ease, and a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaped. His reaction was the opposite though. The sharp, vigilant eyes that had been trained all day to watch for danger, to stay alert to every possible threat, softened the instant they locked onto hers. In her presence, the edges of his world dulled, and for the first time in hours, he felt something close to peace. Tim Bradford had finally made it to his home.

“You’re home,” y/n said softly, he didn’t say a word, just crossed the room in three long strides and pulled her into his arms. The weight of the world slipped away as her familiar scent surrounded him, grounding him.

"Hey, baby," she said softly, her voice warm and soothing as she pulled him closer. "Rough day? I saw the news. I’m so proud of you."

He let out a weary sigh and pulled back a little, “I’m just grateful we got those kids back to their parents safely," he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion yet tinged with relief.

Y/n reached out, her fingers grazing his cheek gently. "You did good," she whispered, her gaze steady and full of admiration. "More than good." Tim only hummed in response as he buried his face further into her hair.

"Are you hungry? Should I warm up some dinner for you?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as her eyes searched his face.

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "No, we grabbed something from the food truck near the station before heading out. Did YOU eat?" His hands found her cheeks, cupping them gently as his eyes filled with worry, scanning her face like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She grinned, a playful spark lighting her expression. "I did. The last time I offered to wait and have dinner with you after work, you threatened to watch ‘The Bachelor’ without me. Remember that?"

His smile widened into a low chuckle. "And the threat still stands," he teased. "I’m gonna grab a quick shower, and then we can get back to it. Maybe... some cuddles, too?" His voice softened with hope, a rare vulnerability sneaking through his exhaustion.

"Deal, Sergeant," she replied, laughter bubbling in her tone as she poked his chest. "But make it quick, or I’m starting the episode without you."

He gave her a mock salute, his grin growing as he headed for the bathroom.

When he came back, the living room was unrecognizable, transformed into a cosy sanctuary. Y/n had pulled out the couch to its full size, layering it with a soft, inviting blanket and scattering pillows around. A few of her stuffed toys nestled in the corners, adding a playful touch, while a small assortment of chocolates and snacks sat neatly on the table beside the sofa, within easy reach. The fairy lights she’d insisted on months ago— “They add character!” she’d argued—were now casting a warm, gentle glow over the room, their soft twinkle making the space feel magical. The TV was ready, paused at the latest episode of ‘The Bachelor’, the title screen glowing in quiet anticipation. As if that wasn’t enough, a few lavender-scented candles flickered softly in the background, their soothing aroma already working to calm his frayed nerves. She’d remembered, of course—lavender always helped him unwind.

He stood there for a moment, taking it all in, his heart swelling with gratitude and affection. This wasn’t just a room; it was a safe haven. Yet none of it held a candle to her. Y/n was his safe haven. She stood in the middle of it all, a quiet smile playing on her lips, her eyes full of love and a hint of mischief. Y/n wasn’t just the one who made the room feel like home. She was home.

“Hey, you’ve been standing there for a while. Want me to bring the party to you?” she quipped.

With a terse nod, he shakes his head and runs over to her. No words were needed.

As he reached her, she shifted on the couch, sitting upright to make room for him. Without hesitation, he lowered himself onto the soft cushions, resting his head against her chest. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat filled his ears, a soothing melody that made every hardship, every struggle of the last few days, feel distant and almost insignificant. He snuggled in closer, his body melting into hers, while her arms wrapped around him protectively. One hand rested on his back, grounding him, while the other slipped into his hair, her fingers weaving through the strands with gentle, rhythmic motions.

For years, Tim Bradford had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, always the protector, always the shield. But here, in her arms, he finally felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in far too long.

Safe. Protected. Home.

.

.

.

.

.

This was so good I loved it and it was written amazingly

childhood friends (Finnick Odair)

summary; after three years of not talking to Finnick, you get reaped for the Hunger Games, and he decides it's time to apologize for leaving you behind the way he did.

warnings; swearing

wc; 3.6k

–

When you finally became eligible for the Hunger Games five years ago, you accidentally started a nasty habit of wishing to get deathly ill to avoid the reaping. All you want is to get sick enough for the peacekeepers to give you a pass, because if they think that you’ll die before you reach the arena, then they don’t want you. The Capitol wants entertainment, and a sickly tribute is a boring tribute.

The goal is to survive the illness, whatever it may be. Let it take weeks for you to recover, if that’s what has to happen. As long as you don’t die from it, because that’s exactly the problem you’re trying to avoid.

You didn’t live seventeen years of your life only to be reaped and thrown into an area to fight for your life. You made it this far. You have one more year until you’re free from the reaping. Free.

Unfortunately, for the past five years, you’ve woken up as healthy as the day you were born. There’s not a single symptom that you could bend to look malicious. You think that if you end up surviving this year’s reaping, that you’re going to go around licking doorknobs to make sure that you’re sick next year.

You turn to the bathtub full of water that your mom’s been filling for you while you made breakfast. It’s probably not even warm anymore, but you have no choice. She won’t let you go outside unless you’re well-dressed in the chance that you do get selected in the reaping. She won’t have her eldest representing the family badly.

You step into the tub, and pleasantly find that it’s lukewarm. It won’t be this way for long, you have a small window to get yourself cleaned up and hair washed before it turns ice cold. You sink into the tun, letting it warm your skin slightly, and then you get started.

As you scrub your skin with a bar of unscented soap, you stare at the adjacent wall. In the Capitol, you heard that they have running showers. You can turn the knob and have hot water come out immediately, and bathtubs that they can fill with hot water without having to wait over an hour for the water to boil first.

They might have those appliances here somewhere in the district. If you had to guess, you’d say the Justice Building, where the mayor and his family stays, or any of the victor homes in Victor’s Village. Since they won the Hunger Games, it’s nothing but the best for them.

You bet that they forget that the rest of the district doesn’t have the same luxury as they do with the hot water. Even the upper class part of district four doesn’t have showers. The houses were never installed with them—maybe better bathtubs. You can’t imagine how expensive it would be to run that water.

You don’t think you’d leave the bathroom ever again. You’d sit under the water for hours, letting the water hit your face, or the top of your head. You’d close your eyes and imagine the warm rain that you get in the summertime. And you would be able to do that every day until you got sick of it.

Instead, you’re stuck with a bar of soap, and a tub of cooling water. The same water that turned a slight shade of white because of the soap, that you now have to use to wash your hair. You could get your mom to brew you a whole new tub, but you don’t have time for it. She leaves only enough room to get you in and out before the rest of your family gets in.

You turn your head to the side while lowering your hair into the water to get it wet, squeezing it a few times to make sure the water sticks. After that, you reach for the bland bottle of shampoo that smells faintly of strawberries if you smell hard enough. You lather, and then rinse, and when you’re done, you pull the plug on the tub to let it drain while you get dressed.

You dry your body, and start on your hair for a minute. You stop when you realize that it’s going to be a longer process than you expected, and opt for pulling your dress on, being careful not to get it wet. The moment you open the bathroom door, arms full of dirty clothes, heading for your bedroom, your mom is already passing you with the first pot of hot water for your little sister’s bath.

“Drop the clothes in the hallway, I’ll clean them later tonight.” She tells you, eyes landing on your hair, “Do you need help putting your hair up?”

“If you have time, or I can do it myself.” You shrug.

“Grab a chair and take a seat in the kitchen.” She directs your chin upwards, correcting your habit of looking down, “I always have time for you.”

You give her a half-smile, dropping your dirty clothes in the hallway while you head to your room to grab the hair ties and brush. When you look at your clock, you see that there’s only an hour and a half before the reaping. It seems like a lot of time, but with a family of five, it takes so much longer.

You brush your hair while you wait for her to come into the kitchen, several pots are on the stove with the heat turned to high. Your brother sits in the living room, playing with his toys, and your dad is nowhere to be seen. You’re pretty sure he bathed last night to avoid today’s mayhem.

“Sit.” She tells you, you pull out a chair.

She’s gentle when she pulls on your wet hair, used to your younger sister’s whining about rough hands. She’s never been bad about the brush, it’s more of her redoing your hair several times to make sure that it’s absolutely perfect. It’s one of the struggles that come with having to appear as a lower middle class family. They’re always about image, even if you have nothing to show.

Your mom’s side of the family used to be a line of jewelers. She was even raised to appraise precious jewelry. She would buy jewelry at a low price and turn around and sell it higher. It worked out for your grandparents for a while, until your mom asked for a better cut on the profit, since she was the reason why they were making so much.

Her parents denied her, and then shut her out entirely, firing her. By then, your mom had already married your dad, so she had him to fall back on. She watched as her parents started to lose profit, and lost business altogether because they got rid of her. And when they came to her, asking for her charity, she laughed in their faces and told them that they’re dead to her.

You haven’t seen them, not since you were young. From what you remember, they lived in a big house, more bedrooms than they needed. It wasn’t even your mom’s childhood home, she says they sold that and upgraded. They must’ve moved to a different part of the district, because you’ve never accidentally run across them.

Your mom’s always told you that if you need her, then she’ll come running, no matter the situation, no matter the reason. It’s the least she could do because her parents couldn’t step up and give her a little more money for her work. She says that once you turn eighteen, she’ll get you a job at the fabric store she works at, and she’ll make sure that you’re well taken care of.

You know she doesn’t mean to, but sometimes she makes you sad.

“Okay, all done.” She says, “Maybe sit in front of an open window so it dries faster.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She grabs your face to press a kiss to your forehead, “Be ready in an hour.”

“I will.” You smile.

You wander back to your room, or rather the room you share with your sister. You prop open the window, and instantly a warm breeze comes through the air. It’s a shame the Hunger Games takes place in the middle of summer. It’s the only time of year you genuinely enjoy, and it’s ruined by the Capitol.

You sit on the edge of your bed, staring out the window. One minute turns to ten, and you’re sure that you should get up and get your shoes on, at the very least, but you don’t move. You can’t get your eyes to focus either, no matter how hard you try.

There’s something wrong, you’re not usually this drained before the reaping.

You blink slowly, turning your head away from the window to look at your room. Your mouth screws, and you force yourself up to pull on your shoes. You go back to sitting on your bed when you’re done, playing with a string on your bedsheets. 

Your sister comes into the room soon after, already dressed and hair done. She briefly looks at you before getting to her knees to play with her toys. It doesn’t last long until she sets them down and looks at you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You glance at her, and then at the window.

“Oh, well,” She shrugs, “I had a dream last night that you got reaped.”

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Your face twists, finally coming back to life, “Especially not to mom.”

She doesn’t say anything, playing with her dolls. The two of you sit in here for another thirty minutes, before your mom is collecting you to leave. You close the window in the bedroom, and briefly check on the state of your hair in the bathroom. It’s not perfect, you knew it wouldn’t be, but it looks good enough. Your mom nods in approval.

The five of you leave the house, heading to the District Four Justice Building. You’re not the only family heading that way, most of the neighborhood is leaving too, all on foot. Cars are also a luxury for the rich, but even they’re too expensive for the victors.

When you reach the area where you need to sign in, your mom kisses your forehead, and then your dad does too in the same spot. She then reaches over and redirects your chin upwards, “With beauty and grace, (Y/n).”

“I know. I’ll see you guys in a little bit.” You smile.

Your sister is barely eligible for the games this year, she’s just turned twelve. You watch as your parents repeat the process with her. Your brother’s got another three years before it’s his turn to experience the reaping. You hold your hand out for your sister to take to guide her through the process.

You get signed in first, and then wait nearby to watch her first time with a reaping day peacekeeper. They pass her easily, and she hurries to stick close. Inside the fenced area are hundreds of girls and boys, all varying in age. You bring her to the back, where the twelve section is.

“I’ll see you right after, okay?” You fix her hair.

“Okay.” She agrees.

You move down the aisle to the front, where the other seventeen year old girls are gathering. It’s fairly empty up here, allowing you to pick a spot without blocking anyone else’s view. You’re not sure if they’d mind anyway. When you were younger, you’d use the older teenagers to block the stage’s view of you, afraid of them picking you just because they felt like it.

You let out a breath, and raise your head.

Most of the chairs on the stage are filled by the regular occupants, like the mayor, and your Capitol escort. In the other chairs sit the victor’s that District Four has had over the past sixty-seven years, there’s four of them.

Mags Flanagan, she’s the oldest victor up there because she’s the first victor of District Four. To the right of her sits Muscida, another female victor, she’s younger than Mags by a good twenty years. The next in line is Librae, she’s in her thirties. And the very last and recent victor is the only male that Four has had so far, and that’s Finnick Odair.

He broke the record for the youngest victor, previously it was fifteen, but he set it at fourteen. It’s going to be an impossible record to beat, since every thirteen year old that goes inside of an arena is dead within the first to third day. They never last past the first week.

Finnick’s the same age as you are. You used to be really good friends with him, since his family lived in the same neighborhood as you, and you went to the same school together. After he won, they all moved into Victor’s Village, and you never really had the same friendship as you did before.

You tried to be normal, for his sake. At school, you saw how everyone else was treating him and figured that he’d want things to go back to normal. You could see past his arena-self, considering he did what he had to in order to survive. You guess that he couldn’t handle it anyway, because eventually the two of you stopped talking, and then he stopped coming to school in general.

Despite now living in two different areas of District Four, you still manage to see him every year at the reaping. You can’t imagine what it’s like mentoring, especially since he had no choice when it comes to the job. The district requires one male and one female mentor. You think you’d go insane.

Briefly, Finnick looks up, and manages to catch your eyes. They’re gone in the same second.

Right as the big clock hits ten thirty, the mayor steps up to the podium to start giving the Dark Days speech. After hearing it so many times, you’re sure that you could recite this in your sleep without missing a beat. It’s the same speech, nothing changes to the script. You’re forced to stand here and listen to him drone about it.

And when he’s done, the Capitol escort steps up to the microphone. She’s dressed in bright colors, and has a wide grin on her face. You guys have had her for the past two years, you think you preferred the man before her. He was less peppy and seemed to realize the monstrosity he was committing by selecting children to fight to kill each other.

“Happy Hunger Games!” Her accent gives you a headache, “And may the odds be ever in your favor. We’ll start with ladies first.”

She wanders over to the girls’ glass bowl with thousands of slips inside of it. Only five of them should have your name on it. You suck in a breath between your teeth, holding it while she picks a slip from the middle. She holds it up in the air, a folded piece of white paper held shut by black tape. She then moves over to the microphone, shimmying her shoulders in excitement as she unfolds the paper.

She takes in a breath, a smile overcoming her face, “(Y/n) (L/n).”

You can feel the air leave your lungs, lips parting as you struggle to intake air. Somewhere out there behind the rope, you think you can hear your mother’s anguished scream. Several heads swivel to find you, hands balled into tight fists to distract from the jelly feeling in your legs.

Move.

You step out of the seventeen section and into the aisle, where the peacekeepers immediately come to your side to guide you to the stage. You press your lips together, head falling to look at your shoes, when you’re suddenly reminded of her gesture. You raise your chin and start down the path, trying to appear brave.

The Capitol escort’s got this smirk on her face, you look away from her and to the stairs, which feel almost impossible to take. One at a time, you’re raised until you’re on the same level as they are. She guides you next to the microphone, and you plant your feet there, eyes wide as you stare off into the crowd. A large sea of bodies, too many to fit in the square, so they fill the streets and alleyways nearby.

You take in deep breaths through your nose to contain the tears that want to take over your body. You don’t even realize she’s called the boy's name until she’s demanding that you two shake hands. You turn, and find a boy from the sixteen section. His hands are wet when you touch them, and he looks like he’s going to puke. 

The Panem anthem then plays, and as soon as it’s finished, you’re pushed to go inside of the Justice Building. They bring you to a vacant room, where you’re left to pace and wait for your family to come. You only had one more year of this until you were free, you just had to get reaped at seventeen.

The door swings open, and in comes your family, your mother rushing to hold you tightly. She squeezes the air out of you, letting out a quiet sob, “Why didn’t you tell me that your sister had a dream that you’d be reaped?”

“Because you’d react this way.” You murmur, hugging her back. Your dad comes over to stroke your hair. “It’s okay, mom.”

“You must be good.” She says, pulling away to hold your face, “You must show them that you’re wonderful. You can do that.”

“I can, because I learned from you.” You agree, “It’ll be alright.”

Your brother and sister wander over, both of them with tears in their eyes. You hug them tightly, promising that you’ll be home soon. The peacekeepers come back, telling you that your time with your family is up. Your mom insists on pressing a kiss to your forehead, the same with your dad, before they leave.

“You’ll be good.” She tells you, “Tell me that you’ll be good.”

“I’ll be good, mom.”

It’s a few minutes before they take you and bring you to a car to transport you to the train station quickly. You chew on the inside of your cheek while staring at the window, continuing to take breaths to calm yourself. The station is crowded with reporters when you get there. You avoid the cameras and head inside of the train, where the doors shut behind you, and the train begins to move.

You let out the breath of air that you’ve been holding.

“Congratulations!” The escort says, you eye her warily.

“On what?” Your counterpart asks, “On our death sentence?”

A frown comes over the escort’s face. You can hear a familiar laugh, and he shows himself a second later. Finnick’s got this smirk on his face, “What did I tell you about congratulating the tributes? It’s insulting.”

“Regardless of what you think,” she suddenly hisses, “It’s required of me to do.”

Finnick raises his eyebrows, “Right. Why don’t you take Landon to his room?”

She presses her lips together, “Fine, let’s go you two—”

“No, I need a second with (Y/n). We need to talk.”

The way Finnick speaks is so much different from what you remember. He was never this direct with people, he had a tendency to beat around the bush to avoid hurting feels. It has something to do with the confrontation aspect of it, and he never wanted the drama of having a rivalry.

Now he seems like he doesn’t care. He stares at the escort, waiting for her to object, but she must think that it’s not worth it, because all she does is shake her head at him before leading Landon off.

He turns to you with a toothy smile, “I’m going to pay for that later.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” You laugh.

Without saying it out loud, the two of you gravitate for a hug at the same time. You squeeze him tightly, letting out a slight laugh. The last time you talked to him was three years ago. So much can change in such a short amount of time. You probably don’t even know him anymore.

“I just wanna say I’m sorry.” He begins, pulling away, “After the games—”

“I don’t blame you, Finnick. How can I?”

“I don’t know, we were close. We grew up together, I thought you’d be angrier.” He rubs the back of his neck, “I tried with the whole school thing, but no one treated me normally except for you. And I thought it would be enough but there was that one week where you got sick and I had to do it all alone. I couldn’t, I didn’t even make it through the week.”

“I know. You did what you had to do. And you seem to be doing better now than you were before, right?”

He nods, eyes falling to the carpet flooring, “Yeah, something like that. It sucks that it took you getting reaped for me to say something.”

“I’m happy you’re talking to me at all.” You tilt your head, “If you wanna make up for it, though, you’ll make sure that I’m set up to win.”

Finnick’s eyes meet yours, a mischievous grin crossing his face, “Oh, you have no idea the wonders I can work for you.”

Spaces Between Us

Summary: Spencer’s time after prison starts to affect his marriage and it takes his wife leaving for him to realize what he wants

reader and Spencer being married but after jail Spencer is really distant and barely speaks to her so she is really depressed and she leaves one day when Spencer is away but when he comes back he freaks out because he can’t find her so he goes looking for her everywhere.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Angst)

Content Warning: mention of divorce | prison arc |

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist Navigation

At some point, and she wasn’t exactly sure when, it all got a little too much.

Seeing Spencer in jail did break her, tearing their marriage until it was hanging on by a thread.

It was never fair because it was never his fault. Someone else had framed him. Y/n had no doubt about that. The few months he was in jail were terrifying. Worse than when he was on a case, and every time the phone rang, she expected it to be someone saying he’d died.

Keep reading

reblog to heal the person you reblogged this from

This was so good it was beautiful and captivating please read and check out the author their amazing

The Aura Painter | DOB

Painter! Dylan x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 12K (12.057)

Warnings: Mentions of sexism, masturbation (mutual or solo), unprotected sex (this is a fic, be safe), cum play, breeding kink, filthy tbh, some cliché romance scenes. This is my second time writing ‘smut’. But this is the first time writing something so long and so filthy, bear with me.

A/N: This is an idea that I’ve had in mind for so long. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed imagining it. And of course, writing it. If you do, please give it some love and share it. The biggest solo piece I’ve ever written!

All Rights Reserved. The author, me, don’t allow any type of copy or adaption.

BIG MASTERLIST  |  KO-FI

Keep reading

Reblog if you remember this movie

Please go check out the original author they are amazing

The Alpha’s Mate

Genre: Fluff, smut, supernatural

Warnings: smut, violence, death, werewolf mating, knotting

gif is not mine, it’s just fucking cool

The club was bumping the latest dancing big hit.  Bodies were packing the floor.  Sweat and pheromones were thick in the air, and Aiden scrunched his nose.  His sense of smell was heightened, being a werewolf and all.  The women were desperate, and the men were horny, and the stench was almost overpowering.

Being in heat, Aiden knew he should have waited, and just stayed in his house.  There was real danger to people, particularly females around him, when they released pheromones to, while sexually interested in the males around them.  As much as he wanted to pin every single girl in this club to the wall, and pump them full of his semen, he didn’t want to.

Then a new scent cut through the malodorous air.  The new scent was sweet, flowery, like new, fresh rosebuds.  The effect was instantaneous.  His heart beat faster, pounding in his chest really.  His breathing came in slightly faster, making him dizzy.

Keep reading

Please go check them out Their work is amazing

Hey I was wondering if you take requests is so can you do a Wednesday x Enid x Xavier smut and Enid Is submissive and has been needy and bratty all day so Xavier and Wednesday tame her and they tease her by kissing touching each other infrint of Enid and make her watch ik that's really detailed sorry but if your not taking requests that's fine totally disregard this ask thanks and love you work btw💙

Thank you so much for the request, I hope this is okay. Also sorry it took me a bit I have been busy with work.

Warnings: Humiliation, pet names, use of the words pup/puppy, mentions of spanking, finger sucking (brief), made to watch, p in v, dom/sub dynamics, riding

Word count: 1,444

Enid pouted from her spot on the floor, picking the hem of her skirt as she slumped down. She was kneeling at the feet of her lovers, Xavier and Wednesday, sitting between them both like a simple puppy. They were eating dinner right above her, opting to hand feed her bites of theirs instead of giving her a plate.

The blonde was in trouble, which she hated with a passion but somehow she always found herself in the position. Maybe that was because both of them had a sadistic side. This time though, Enid really had been asking for it. She woke up clingy and needy as ever, starting off her morning with trying to get herself off on Xavier’s thigh. It had been instinct really, the full moon was nearing and her hormones and emotions were through the roof. That was strike one. She was well aware of the rule of asking permission, something Xavier had put in place for both girls as soon as he noticed they had trouble asking for what they wanted.

Her next strikes had come throughout the day. She was grumpy from not getting what she wanted that morning and it carried through her attitude for the rest of the day like a spoiled child. Wednesday hated nothing more than whining and backtalk but Enid would swear to the judge that she was entitled to be pissed off. She was horny and had been denied the sweet release of grinding herself down on her boyfriend’s thigh. Honestly she was the victim in all of this. 

Wednesday snapped her fingers, drawing Enid’s attention back to the present, “Fix your posture, Pup.”

Enid quickly straightened her position, sitting up higher on her knees. She parted her lips when Wednesday offered her a spoonful of mashed potatoes. The couple above her always used this tactic, slipping her into a pet-like headspace to remind her of her place. She was just grateful for the attention. 

“I’m sorry for misbehaving,” she spoke around the food in her mouth, taking a moment to savor it and swallow before she continued, “I just wanted attention.”

Xavier brushed some of her hair from her face, being the softer of the two doms but possibly even more strict than Wednesday. He held her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him. Her mouth went dry with how dark his eyes were, a warmth spreading between her legs.

“You’re a spoiled brat but that’s okay. You’re just our dumb little puppy…constantly thinking with your pussy instead of that cute little head of yours. That’s our fault, we’ve been slacking on taming you.”

Enid’s mouth gaped at the cruelness of his words, the degradation going straight to her core. 

“It’s easily fixable. Domesticating animals is a common task, disciplining them is that much easier. Enid, I want you to show Xavier how sorry you are for your behavior.”

Wednesday stood up before kneeling beside the girl. She started to undo the male’s jeans, pulling out his semi-erection. Xavier sighed contently at the feeling of the cool air touching his dick, feeling smug at the way he could visibly see Enid’s mouth watering at the sight of him. Wednesday gave her boyfriend a few calculated strokes with her hand, enjoying the way he was already squirming from the slightest touch from her. She looked over at Enid who was trying her hardest to act patient but Wednesday knew if she had a tail it would be wagging. 

“Open.” Wednesday demanded, taking her free hand and pushing Enid’s face towards their boyfriend’s cock. 

With eagerness, Enid let her glossy lips part, her mouth dropping open and her tongue rolling out. She was anything but shy about this act, accepting his length into her mouth happily. Wednesday tangled her hand in the girl’s hair, guiding her up and down, watching with unblinking eyes how Enid was suctioned to his dick obediently. 

Xavier threw his head back, moaning at the sensation of Enid’s hot mouth around him, her drool pooling at the corners of her mouth knowing he prefered when she was sloppy. Wednesday hated being covered in her own saliva so she often liked when Enid did the blowjobs. It always worked in the blonde’s favor though because she loved giving head and being completely at the mercy of her lovers. 

“That’s a good girl, so much prettier when you are using your mouth for something other than giving us attitude.”

Enid only hummed around him, her knees were blushing as they dug into the floor beneath her but she didn’t care. The only thing on her mind was pleasing the man before her. She thought he looked so enchanting like this, his eyes drooping and his legs spread wide, leaned back against the kitchen chair. For a moment, she was so blissed out that she almost forgot this was a punishment. Xavier leaned forward and took over holding her head, he tilted her head back, slipping his cock further down her throat. He groaned deeply at the feeling of her throat contracting around him as she tried helplessly to control her gag reflex. He held her there, her button nose against his pubic bone, sputtering and blinking stray tears from her eyes.

He let her go, watching her drop to the floor, coughing as she caught her breath. She was bright red in the face and her throat stung but her pussy was aching. Wednesday moved her out of the way, coming in between her and Xavier. Enid didn’t even know when her girlfriend had stripped but there she was in all her pale glory. She raked her eyes over Wednesday’s body, following her curves and the swell of her breasts. She had two tiny flashes of silver pierced through her nipples, and Enid longed for her every time she saw the bars. 

“You’re going to sit there and watch us now, Pup. That’s your punishment for being a brat. Understand?”

Enid held back a pout and nodded her head, “Yes sir.”

With that, Wednesday straddled Xavier’s lap, sinking down on his length with a soft sigh. Enid watched with jealousy as his cock slid deep inside of Wednesday’s freshly trimmed cunt. Usually the blonde was right there in the center of their fun, but being forced to just watch was definitely a punishment. She hated not being able to have their hands on her, and being as horny as she was already, this little show was not helping. Her eyes stared ahead as Xavier held onto Wednesday’s hips, bouncing her up and down on his cock. The sound of her wet pussy was filling Enid’s ears, making her hips rock against nothing. She knew better than to touch herself without permission. Last time she did so, Xavier had made her lay flat on her back with her legs in the air as he spanked her bottom with one of her hair brushes. 

“Ohh fuck! You feel so good, lamb.” Xavier spoke roughly against Wednesday’s ear. 

The raven-haired woman didn’t respond, only whimpered pathetically as the man started to snap his hips up harshly into her. The sound of their skin clapping together echoed off the walls. They looked so beautiful, fucking roughly in the middle of the dinning room. Enid wanted nothing more than to be fucked but there was somthing erotic about bbeing forced to watch them. 

Enid could almost feel Wednesday’s orgasm as it rippled through her. She spasmed in Xavier’s lap, he hadn’t been far behind, pulling out and letting his cum fly. Some of it hit Enid on the cheek with how close she was to the show, and Xavier couldn’t help but to chuckle. Once Wednesday had gotten off of his lap, he beckoned Enid over with his finger. She scrambled over on her sore knees, placing herself directly between his knees. She pressed her face against his softening cock, almost purring when Wednesday scratched her scalp as a form of praise. Xavier wiped his cum from her face with his thumb before slipping it into Enid’s mouth. He rubbed her back as she sucked on his finger gratefully. 

“Why don’t you go run a bath for us all, pup. Then we’ll all wash up and we’ll take care of you. How’s that sound?”

Enid instantly became bouncy at her boyfriend’s words.

“You want me to fuck you too, my love?” Wednesday pressed a kiss to her head. 

“God yes. A hundred times yes.” She nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to rush to go get the bathwater started. The other two just shook their heads at her excitement. 

Love reading

16 bitches😘

Anime and manga fan

Shy and like to keep to self

Cancer♋

And please give music recs

TODAY IS THE ONLY DAY YOU CAN REBLOG THIS