#swatches

[tyrianbruises]

He's beautiful.

His breathing has gone ragged and I can hear an angry wheeze beneath it, exertion squeezing around his ribs. I want it to be me that squeezes him so: to feel his bones in my hands, the shudder of uncooperative lungs, the way he would squirm helplessly. I can almost feel it already, the flutter of his fearful little heart in my claws, the heat of his tears on my skin. I shudder at the thought, and my quills tinkle softly with the motion.

He gasps, spinning, searching for the source of the sound. His eyes cannot make use of the little light that filters through the canopy and his sad little ears help him not at all, only serve to make him more fearful.

That's alright. The hunt will end soon, and he will be mine.

He will see.

[ultradpg]

Pixel dailies: Swatches

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[tyrianbruises]

"You might've kicked our asses, but we scored first," he pants. He's grinning, companionable but a little too smug. "You broke first. Still get to be brag about that."

I study him for a moment. His wife will complain about the grass stains on his shirt and shorts, how hard they are for her to get out, and nobody is as invested in some stupid backyard barbecue bullshit game as he is. Needlessly competitive about everything he does, even if it's in a friendly way. Even if it's a stupid competition that could ruin his marriage, this white-picket-fence farce he's got going on.

So I think about him on his knees in the dark, panting, hands gripping my thighs, face pressed against my crotch as the only thing he can manage to say is, "please, please, please." Weeks of antagonism that wasn't ever supposed to go anywhere, a game that he made up, a game that only he could lose because I'm not stupid enough to get trapped in a boring marriage. Higher stakes, and he still broke first.

"Yeah," I say slowly, and something about my smile makes him look away. He glances at his wife, across the yard commiserating with the other housewives. Perfect hostess, excellent cook, desperate to have his babies as soon as she can. Probably thinking about how soon they get to try again once the party's over, from the little slip of lace I see when the wind blows her dress the right way or she leans forward a little too far. Now that I've seen what he's working with, I'm not sure I really blame her.

"I guess we both have something to brag about."

[penableme]

(via Diamine Forever Ink Mixing with some formulas pt2 : r/fountainpens)

[penableme]

(via Thoughts on these inks? : r/fountainpens)

[penableme]

(via If Barbie was a pen? : r/fountainpens)

[tyrianbruises]

She watched as he lit his cigarette, the glow illuminating the hard lines of his face. "Let me guess. 'I'm old enough to be your father.'"

He took a drag before he answered. It was almost too dark for her to really parse his expression, but the glow of his cherry made him look angry. Predatory. That was why she was here, standing in the cold. Waiting for his will to bend, for his self control to snap and his hands to close around her throat or twist in her hair.

"No," he said finally. He sounded frustrated, just a little bit, somewhere under the coldness. "My son is almost a decade older than you."

And that wouldn't stop him from taking her home and spreading her legs, using her for hours. If anything, he'd just fuck her harder.

[penableme]

(via Help me find the perfect orange ink!! : r/fountainpens)