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appocalipse · 8 months ago

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never mine ✧ eddie munson

bartender!eddie x fem!reader • old friends to lovers • chapter 01 • 3.5k words

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Summary: After everything that had happened with Vecna and the Upside Down, Eddie Munson left Hawkins as soon as you and the rest of your friends managed to clear his name. And you understood why Eddie and his uncle had made that decision. Truly, you did; Eddie's innocence had been proven, yes, but Hawkins was a small town and some people would always turn up their noses at them. It didn't mean you didn't miss Eddie, or think about him over the course of the next decade. Somehow, in your heart, you always felt that one day you would meet him again. The last place you thought that would happen, though, was at a bar — that Eddie, now in his early thirties, owns in New York.

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

It isn't the type of bar you usually frequent.

For starters, it's tucked away on a relatively quiet street in Brooklyn instead of being one of those swanky, pop-up bars you've gotten used to seeing all over Manhattan since moving here from Boston last year. Also, it's more rustic than sleek, more dark than trendy, its exterior walls adorned with faded red bricks, its small windows lined with black frames. It seems almost like an anachronism among the new construction that has been sprouting up all over this part of the neighborhood.

But even before you get close enough to see what the sign reads, something about this little place feels oddly familiar. In some intangible way, it reminds you of a time you left behind when you moved here: your years spent growing up in a sleepy Indiana town named Hawkins.

And maybe it's just because it's clearly about to rain — the air wet and misty, as though a storm is coming — but right now, for reasons you can't explain, you feel compelled to enter.

So you take a deep breath, open the heavy wooden door and step inside.

The inside is as rustic as the outside, with one long bar stretching across most of the space, booths running along the adjacent walls, and several tables scattered in the center beneath the glow of dim, gold lights. A jukebox quietly plays 'In Bloom' by Nirvana at the back. And just like outside, everything feels achingly familiar, a wave of nostalgia you don't quite understand crashing into you so intensely that you have to grip one of the barstools tightly to steady yourself.

"One sec, doll. Be right with ya!"

He's not really looking at you when he says those words. He's got his back turned, hands busy preparing a drink at the far end of the bar, head just barely visible as he hunches over to scoop ice cubes from the metal container beside him. You can't see much from where you're standing — he's wearing a denim jacket rolled up to his elbows, hair pulled up into a messy bun at the top of his head — but there's something about his voice, sweet yet gravelly, something about what little you can see of his face that makes your breath catch in your throat.

And then he straightens up, turns around. And you both freeze, staring at each other.

Eddie Munson.

It's impossible. But it's him; the same Eddie who sold you weed a couple times your senior year of high school. The same Eddie you grew to call a friend before he left Hawkins without even saying goodbye. The same Eddie whose name still leaves a dull ache in your chest if you think about it too long.

Ten years later, and he's somehow more handsome than ever, all grown up. His hair is a little shorter, curlier than you remember. He's wearing dark-wash jeans and a navy Henley beneath his scuffed leather jacket. That playful expression you once found so adorable is now made even more endearing by a small scar across one eyebrow. And those eyes — a warm brown, expressive as always — are locked onto yours as his lips part, slightly agape.

"Y/N?"

Your heart pounds in your ears when you nod. It's hard to tell what emotion lies behind his gaze, but after a few seconds of staring at you like this, he slowly places the drink he was preparing down on the bar countertop and all but runs toward you, a giant grin lighting up his face.

He nearly knocks you off your feet with the force of his hug, pulling you tight against him.

But you're not complaining.

You cling to him just as tightly, your cheek pressed against his chest. The scent of cedar and tobacco mixed with something else — something unmistakably Eddie — overwhelms your senses as he picks you up a few inches off the ground and spins you around with an excited laugh, making you wrap both arms around his neck for stability.

"Jesus Christ," he exclaims, setting you down before gently taking hold of your shoulders. "I can't believe it's really you."

For the briefest moment, it almost feels as though you've gone back in time, returned to 1986 — the year everything changed forever — right after defeating Vecna for good and before Eddie moved away with his uncle, Wayne, just days before you followed suit to leave for college.

And it seems impossible — ridiculous, really — that you should both be standing here, in this bar in New York of all places, years and years later. So you just stand there blinking, speechless, trying to make sense of it all with the most stunned smile plastered across your face.

"I—"

"What's going on out here?" someone yells from the other side of the room. "For fuck's sake, Ed, if you're gonna flirt with another customer, do it a little more quietly."

At that, Eddie drops his hands from your shoulders and turns toward the woman speaking, more amused than you've ever seen him. He playfully sticks his tongue out at her before giving you a wink.

"Sorry about that," he chuckles.

The woman leans forward a little bit, squinting as though she can't quite believe what she sees. Then a smile stretches across her face, too. "Wait, aren't you–"

"Yes," Eddie interrupts. "It's her, Dottie."

The woman — Dottie — seems to be in her 50s, with shoulder-length blond hair streaked with gray and a sleeve of colorful tattoos on one arm. When she strides toward you, she's wearing an easy smile that crinkles the corners of her green eyes, extending her hand to you over the bar.

"Hey there. I'm Dorothea, but everyone calls me Dottie. You must be the girl that Eddie—"

Eddie quickly steps in between you. "We were just catching up, actually," he explains. "Do you mind giving us a few minutes to ourselves? Great, thank you."

He doesn't give her time to respond; Eddie kisses the back of Dottie's hand and grins, then wraps his fingers around your wrist as he drags you behind the bar, through a set of double doors leading to a stairwell.

"Mind the step, sweetheart, it's a little steep," he cautions, keeping a tight grip on you as you both ascend the stairs.

And maybe it's because you're just getting over a breakup, but your stomach flutters from the nickname, from the way his thumb draws gentle circles into your skin.

This isn't the first time he's called you sweetheart. You don't know why it affects you differently now.

"Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer until the two of you reach the top of the stairs, at which point he drops his hand from your wrist and faces you.

"Well, here we are!" he announces, stretching out his arms and turning in a full circle. "Home, sweet home."

You blink as you look around, realizing you're standing inside an apartment — presumably Eddie's — whose open floor plan means you can see straight into the kitchen and living room.

"I can't believe you live here," you mumble, more to yourself than anything else.

A large black sofa sits opposite the TV, a coffee table littered with beer bottles, candles and an ashtray between them. There's a little dining room table for four beside the couch, across from the galley kitchen where the counters are covered with dirty dishes. But despite the mess, everything still feels very... cozy, somehow. Welcoming.

Eddie chuckles, reaching behind himself to loosen the hair tie at the base of his skull. A few tendrils fall loose across his forehead as he tousles his hair, then combs his fingers through it. You feel something twist in your abdomen, your breath hitching in your throat.

Fuck, you think. That's distracting.

"Yeah, me either sometimes," he says with a shrug. "But it's got a roof, a bathroom and a bed. It used to be Dottie's, but now that she and Wayne are married, she decided to move in with him instead."

"Your uncle got married?"

Eddie nods, and the expression that settles in his features softens as he talks about his uncle.

"They met at the bar. Got hitched a few years ago, have a little place not far from here. It's cute, really. Like a little love story for old folks or something. But yeah, this place is all mine now. Not bad, huh?"

Your heart aches a little hearing this — not because you're sad that his uncle found love (you do feel happy for him), but because you hadn't realized how much you've missed in the last decade, how much of Eddie's life you weren't around for.

Still, you smile.

"Not bad at all," you agree.

Eddie's returning grin is more hesitant this time. As if he wants to say more, but he's unsure of how.

"I missed you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Because you had; so much more than you ever knew was possible. Even when you'd only grown close to him for a few weeks before he moved away, he had managed to make such an impression on you that his absence became a wound you couldn't quite heal, no matter how many years passed.

So for the longest time, you told yourself that he'd probably forgotten all about you anyway, since he never tried to contact you after he left. It was easier that way, somehow. Better than waiting for something that would never happen.

"Me too," Eddie breathes, voice so quiet you might have imagined it. "Me too, sweetheart."

For a second, you can't breathe.

When you do, you inhale his scent, a hint of weed and tobacco mixed with cedar. His cologne, then, you suppose. And there's something entirely new, too, something that belongs uniquely to him.

You stare at Eddie, trying to find the right words, but all you can manage to utter is:

"Really?"

His eyebrows knit together in confusion. Maybe concern, too.

"What? Why do you seem surprised?"

"No, I just–" you trail off, thinking. "I dunno. I guess I just...figured you wouldn't even remember me after so long. It's been...what? Ten years?"

"You thought I didn't remember you?" he asks incredulously, and those deep brown eyes widen a fraction.

You bite your lip, sheepish. "I don't know. Maybe. A little bit," you confess, looking away.

Eddie exhales a half-chuckle.

"Sweetheart, you're — Jesus — you're not exactly easy to forget," he utters softly, almost like he hopes you won't hear.

You can't help but laugh at this, although your cheeks immediately warm up, burning like fire. "Says you."

There's something almost bashful in the way Eddie smiles, his gaze cast downward as he reaches for a strand of hair and curls it around one finger.

"Don't you wanna sit down?" he asks. "I'll get you something to drink. Any preference?"

"Whatever you're having is fine," you reply, still a little overwhelmed by everything that's happening as he gestures for you to take a seat on his sofa.

"Alrighty. Just wait here. One sec."

As you make yourself comfortable on the black leather, you notice several framed photographs atop the mantle of the fireplace. Most of the pictures depict Eddie with people you've never met — a tall, handsome black man, a blond guy, a girl with short, spiky hair and a tattooed arm — but the one you can't look away from is a smaller frame with a picture of you, Dustin and the rest of your friends squeezed tightly together, the sun setting behind you.

It was taken after you beat Vecna in 1986. Before Eddie moved. Before you did, too. Everyone in the picture looks dirty and exhausted, but there's also an air of celebration hanging over all of you that you can clearly see just by the wide, gleeful smiles stretching across your faces.

"It's a real shame you ever doubted it, by the way."

Eddie's voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you turn around to find him already halfway to the couch. He's holding two beers in his hands.

"I wasn't—I didn't mean to pry or anything," you explain, your heart beating a little faster.

He shrugs as he hands you one of the beers and takes a seat beside you, close enough for you to feel his thigh press against yours.

"Nah, it's okay," he assures, his gaze traveling to the picture you were examining a few seconds ago. "That's a good memory."

You nod in agreement as you bring the bottle to your lips. It's cool and refreshing against your tongue, but not as calming as you need it to be.

"I'm sorry for just barging in here, by the way. I don't actually know why I came in the first place, I just... felt like something was pulling me in," you tell him.

And it's true; that strange sense of familiarity that tugged you forward earlier today has started to fade, now replaced by a comforting warmth that feels like coming home.

Eddie snorts a laugh before taking a swig of his beer.

"Sorry, I'm just making it weirder and weirder, aren't I?" you groan, leaning forward to place your beer on the coffee table.

Eddie sets his down, too.

"No, you're not, sweetheart," he soothes, taking one of your hands in his and rubbing a calloused thumb over your knuckles. "Why would you think that?"

You can't look at him when you answer.

"I don't know, I just... I spent years wondering about what happened to you after you left Hawkins, and then I randomly show up here, and now we're just sitting on your couch like we haven't spent ten years apart? It feels insane."

There's something unreadable in the way he's looking at you, then.

"You look really pretty, by the way," Eddie says.

Your heart is thumping so loudly you worry he can hear it.

"Oh yeah?" you tease with a grin, desperate to hide the fact that you can feel yourself blush all the way up to the tips of your ears. "Prettier than when we were twenty-one?"

The grin he flashes you is bright and lopsided, playful.

"Way, way prettier, actually," he drawls.

Your brain seems to malfunction after this, his words playing on a loop, over and over and over again inside your head. And all you can do is return his smile, feeling a pleasant heat pool in your belly that has nothing to do with alcohol. "Eddie Munson, are you flirting with me?"

He laughs at this — a genuine, low chuckle.

"Depends. Is it working?"

Yes, you think.

"Not at all."

"Liar," he smirks before raising the hand he's still holding and pressing a kiss to its back. "Then yes, I am."

Your breath catches in your throat, a thrill running down your spine as Eddie holds your gaze with a small smile. But then it fades, replaced by something more serious as he absentmindedly traces a pattern onto your palm with his fingertip.

"Can I ask you something?"

You nod. He lets go of your hand.

"If you're here, does that mean you're also living in New York?" he asks, eyes filled with a cautious hope as he stares at you. "Or did you just happen to be passing through on vacation?"

"I moved here a year ago," you tell him, biting your bottom lip. "I can't believe you're really here. What are the chances, right?"

It feels like some kind of cosmic joke. And while you never quite stopped hoping that you and Eddie might meet again someday, you didn't expect it to happen like this. In a bar. In New York.

Ten years later.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, huh?"

"You sound like an old man."

He chuckles at your teasing tone before bending forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him.

"I just—this is gonna sound totally lame, but..."

Eddie trails off, chewing on his lower lip as he searches your eyes.

"Go ahead," you urge gently.

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing a few strands away from his face as he takes a deep breath.

"When I left Hawkins, I felt like a fucking idiot because I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you. Not really, I mean. And I—shit, I really wanted to. More than anything. So... the reason why I left without saying anything was because I was scared that if I saw you one last time, I'd lose my nerve and not leave at all. And...I know, I know it's dumb, because we had only known each other for a couple of weeks, but—"

"It's not dumb," you assure him. "Not to me, at least."

It's one thing knowing someone for a long period of time and losing them. But when you grow attached to someone so quickly, so suddenly — like you did with Eddie — it leaves an emptiness behind. Something you can't quite fill, nor begin to explain to anyone else without feeling as though you're speaking nonsense.

"It's not?"

"No. Not at all."

And you wonder if he can see the vulnerability in your eyes when you reach forward and brush your fingertips over his. It's all you dare to do, all the courage you can muster, but he responds by uncurling his own and sliding them between your palms. His hand feels warm, smooth. Cold where the silver of his rings touches your skin.

"I never forgot you, you know? And I—" he stops, and you watch him swallow hard. "Shit. Sorry. You're gonna think I'm a creep."

"Try me."

The smile on his face is shy and endearing, his cheeks flushed pink when he admits: "Sometimes I have this...dream."

You cock your head to one side, curious. "What about?"

"About you."

Eddie glances down at his hand in yours, studying it for a moment like it's the most interesting thing in the room.

"Mostly about that night you saved me. You know, from the bats."

"I didn't save you," you protest. "I just...I got lucky."

He scoffs, shakes his head like that's the most preposterous thing he's ever heard.

"Sweetheart, I was half dead when you showed up. If it wasn't for you, I would be completely dead right now."

You glance at Eddie's side, where you remember him having an angry, festering wound when you found him. You wonder if the scar is still there, if it bothers him.

"Maybe," you concede, and his smile returns. "So you dream about that?"

"Among other things. Yeah."

Your heart hammers in your chest as you consider what those other things might be, his gaze intense upon you as you nervously wet your bottom lip with your tongue.

"Other things?" you repeat.

"Other things," he confirms. "I might tell you about 'em sometime if you play your cards right, though."

"Oh, right," you muse, pulling your hands away from his with a soft chuckle. "This is you flirting, isn't it?"

"So what if it is?" he asks, grinning as he leans back on the couch cushion.

You don't miss the way he looks at you, the same way he used to in high school whenever he was trying to get under your skin, to rile you up. And it seems that — even after all these years, with you all grown up, both of you in your early thirties — he hasn't lost his touch.

"So what if it is," you echo.

Eddie raises both eyebrows, smirking. "Guess you're gonna have to come back sometime if you wanna find out. You know, just to be sure."

"I—" you hesitate, realizing you hadn't considered the possibility of leaving before, too caught up in the whirlwind of seeing him again after so long. "Shit, yeah, I should...I should go, I've kept you long enough as it is. I should let you get back to work—"

You move to stand up, but a gentle hand on your arm stops you.

"Wait," he pleads, voice soft. "Do you...have anywhere you gotta be? Anywhere you need to rush off to?"

"Um—" you look down at the floorboards, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "Just my bed? It's getting late. Well, not really, but...it will be soon?"

The tension slowly eases from Eddie's body as he relaxes, his expression becoming playful.

"Are you asking or telling?" he teases.

You sigh.

"I don't wanna intrude."

"You're not. At all," Eddie says firmly, his words a promise. "Besides, you still have a lot to catch me up on. So you can tell me all about whatever boring day job you landed now that you're living the big apple life, and I'll tell you about my band, which has a gig tomorrow, by the way, so you're definitely coming to see it."

"Wow, you're bossy now," you point out.

His eyes gleam as they hold yours, and when he speaks, his voice is husky, full of mischief.

"You have no idea, sweetheart."

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stolenviolet · 2 months ago

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ok ok i just stumbled upon your baby death au (and im feeling things idk what)... and just wanted to ask, what is voldy's relationship with harry here? not sure if i made sense but eh im curiousss-

You made perfect sense!

(And I hope they're good feelings? Maybe?)

As for their 'relationship' in this AU (my version anyway) well… let's just say it's complicated haha

To start, they basically just co-parent Death.

Obviously, they can't stand each other in the beginning. Being, y'know, enemies and what not, on top of navigating peace talks and treaties to end a war, isn't exactly a recipe for romance.

So yeah, nope! No butterflies in the stomach for these two (yet).

However, raising a kid together kind of forces them to adapt to one another, and that's when they start to notice the little things.

Harry notices Voldemort takes his tea straight in the mornings but prefers it a little on the sweeter side in the afternoon.

Voldemort notices Harry's love of flying and that he tends to get a bit antsy if he hasn't touched a broom in a while.

Harry notices Voldemort, while great at most things (his words not Harry's), is actually a pretty terrible cook.

Voldemort notices that Harry can only really sleep with the doors open or if there's another person in the room.(trauma from being locked alone in a cupboard, I'm sure.)

Both notice how, despite not having the best childhoods themselves, they ultimately want what's best for their son and tend to compromise on most things where he's concerned. (though this was incredibly difficult for Voldemort in particular to grasp. especially early on.)

Then came the lingering glances. The slight brushing of fingers when handing over a book. The casual teasing that leaves them both feeling bit warm.

Needless to say, eleven years of being domestic with someone, some type of affection was bound to take root and sprout. Not all at once, mind you. Voldemort is still, well…Voldemort, so there was quite a bit of emotional baggage to unpack (y'know the whole 'I killed your parents and tried to kill you' thing).

So it's not until their son leaves for his first year at Hogwarts, and they're truly left alone together for an extended period of time, that they both realize 'whoopsie! there might be more going on here than we thought!'.

Because now there's no lingering excuse of 'Well, clearly, we're only speaking/spending time with each other because Thomas is here'.

No. Now they both have to face the fact that something has been building between them.

And from there, things get a little, shall we say…romantic~

(kids out of the house, time for the parents to have some fun *wink*)

Long story short: Slow Burn, Enemies to...Co-parents? to Lovers.

#i hope i answered your question #in a way that doesnt make me sound like a rambling lunatic #baby death au #harrymort #tomarrymort #ask

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yandere-daydreams · 2 months ago

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Title: Encore.

Pairing: Yandere!Fontaine Trio x Lumine (Genshin).

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: Kidnapping, Nonconsensual Touching, Loss of Bodily Autonomy, Implied Stalking, and Bondage.

Lumine felt the heat of the fire, first.

She’d been left too close to it – its mild warmth allowed to build and burrow into something strong enough to sear. Her arms got the worst of it where they were bound behind the back of her chair, and then to a lesser degree, her legs, still somewhat affected by the damp, bone-deep chill that came with spending any amount of time in the tunnels that ran underneath Fontaine with any amount of bare skin. Clearly, her yet-to-be-decided kidnappers were either unconcerned with her comfort or, more worryingly, overconcerned to the point of unintentional negligence. She’d been held hostage plenty of times, but neither the Fatui nor the Abyss had ever bothered to keep a hearth lit in her cell.

Less alien, though, were the restraints she’d woken up bound by. Her wrists were tied behind her back with some kind of heavy, coarse rope, and she was blindfolded – the cloth thick enough to smother everything but the vaguest outline of the room she’d been left in. She grit her teeth, testing the rope’s durability before turning her mind towards solutions more creative than brute-strength. She didn’t have a weapon, and her elemental powers ranged from unhelpful (she doubted dosing herself with water or sprouting weeds would do her much good) to hazardous, lest she accidentally electrocute herself while trying to wear through the rope. If she’d known that she’d be in a situation like this, she would’ve gone to Natlan first. At least, then, she’d stand a chance of burning through her restraints without—

“Ah. Careful, there, darling. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself so early on.”

Lumine didn’t realize she’d been unconsciously pulling at her bondage until she stopped moving entirely, going rigid. It hadn’t occurred to her that there’d be a guard – someone waiting for when she came-to.

And, even if it had, she never would’ve imagined that guard’s voice sounding so familiar.

It took her a second to find her tongue, another to dredge up the motivation to use it. Even then, her voice was uncharacteristically meek – weak from disuse and muted by unwillingness. “…Lyney?”

“The one and only!” He was, evidently, not quite so downcast. She felt gloved fingertips skirt over her temples before finding the blindfold’s knot and gracefully undoing it. The cloth was pulled away with a dramatic flourish, and Lumine blinked against the dim light – practically nonexistent save for the gentle glow of the fire – before turning her attention toward her surroundings. She’d been right – they were keeping her underground. Stone embraced them on all sides, the walls unadorned and the furniture limited to a wooden worktable against the far wall, the hearth burning into her back, and the surprisingly nice armchair she’d been restrained to. There was a single exit, but even if she hadn’t been so firmly rooted to where she was, it wouldn’t have been a possibility. Left posed on the threshold, poised and waiting to be acknowledged, was Lynette – her unblinking gaze fixed on Lumine. As always, her expression was blank, ambivalent, but the way her tail thrashed at her feet conveyed… something. Lumine couldn’t be sure what, just yet.

Lyney cleared his throat, and with more than a little hesitation, Lumine turned back to him – her eyes already narrowed into a barbed glare. Considering the context, he was astonishingly casual (by his own standards, anyway). A dazzlingly bright smile was painted across his lips, his posture closer to that of a performer preparing to take the stage than a captor preparing to interrogate his prisoner. He was trying to act like himself, like she would’ve expected him to, but that might’ve been part of it – an attempt to disarm her. She bristled, curling her hands into fists and reminding herself that until she got out of here, he wasn’t a friend behaving strangely, but an enemy waiting for his chance to strike.

But, of course, he saw through her aggression as easily as she saw through his lack thereof, his smile taking on a slightly sympathetic note. “There’s really no need for that,” he said, with an airy laugh. “The last thing we want to do is fight you. Look, Lynette and I aren’t even carrying weapons. I can’t say the same for the guards down the hall, though – something to keep in mind if you’re thinking about making a run for it.”

She scowled, falling deeper into her anger where she couldn’t feign apathy. “Untie me.”

“So demanding, dear. Is that any way to speak to your host?” Another laugh, this one more full-bodied than the last. “Are you really in that much of a rush to leave?”

She was. This was already more civil than she had to be. “Why am I here?”

Lyney’s grin widened, his back straightening. He glanced towards Lynette, who responded with a shallow nod, before answering. “We heard you were going to leave Fontaine.”

Lumine remained unimpressed. “…and?”

“And,” Lyney went on, audibly eager. “You’ve done so much for our family, and for Lynette and I, and everyone was so distraught to hear you’d be going so soon. After some deliberation, we decided it would be better if you—” A pause, a dramatic rolling gesture, “—simply didn’t.”

She felt something at the base of her throat tighten. She’d had problems like this, before – Venti inviting her to Angel’s Share more and more often as her time in Mondstadt came to an end, Ningguang sending her on the most menial of errands to try and prolong her stay in Liyue – but she was used to the bittersweet sentimentality of friends, and the sour tinge that came with adding the element of distance into relationships that were once so close-knit. She was significantly less used to those friends trying to keep her around by force.

“I can’t stay in Fontaine forever,” she said, plainly. “You of all people should understand why.”

“Oh, of course not, we’d never ask you to stay in Fontaine.” He edged closer to her, resting a hand on her shoulder as he rounded closer to the hearth. “Only that you stay with us. Father’s been very generous, too. She’s given us permission to use our information networks to keep searching for your brother, so there’s no need for you to keep travelling all alone and putting yourself in so much danger—” He cut himself off with a deep sigh, a slow shake of his head. “Just the thought alone is terrifying, isn’t it, Lynette?”

In her doorway, Lynette perked to attention. For a moment, she seemed unsure of whether or not she was meant to answer, but she made up her mind quickly enough. “…it is, brother.”

The cold blade of betrayal pierced Lumine’s chest, the strike sudden and deep. She did what she could to steel herself, to suppress her reaction, but more than she would’ve liked managed to seep through her defenses; a new stiffness to her shoulders, tension her jaw, little tells they’d both be able to pick up on. Admittedly, Lynette’s duplicity carried more weight than her twin’s. Lyney had always reminded her of Aether – bright and energetic, effortlessly charming and painstakingly emotional. Conversely, Lumine saw herself in Lynette. They both carried a sort of quiet coolness; an edge buried underneath thick layers of measured distance and calculated disregard. She’d thought (albeit, unfoundedly) that it might’ve been enough to breed some kind of unspoken respect between them. Or, some kind of mutual understanding, at least. Something strong enough to stop her from doing something like this. She must’ve been wrong, though.

(She had to be wrong. If she wasn’t, then she would’ve started considering the other commonalities her and Lynette shared, would’ve started to imagine what it would’ve been like if the roles had been reversed, it had been Aether rather than Lyney, if she would’ve gone along with an idea so delusional just because it’d come from the person she loved most. She would’ve had to admit, if only to herself, that the answer would’ve been yes, of course, without a second thought. The more time she spent away from him, the fewer things she wouldn’t do just to see his smile again.)

“He says your name in his sleep.” One of Lynette’s pointed ears twitched, her tail curling around her ankle, like she was biting back a smile. Her actual expression remained blank. “Frequently.”

Lumine heard Lyney huff behind her. “Well, I don’t think she really needs to know—”

“Loudly, too,” Lynette cut in, seamlessly. “It wakes me up, sometimes.”

To his credit, Lyney made a hasty recovery. His presence shifted behind her – disappearing momentarily before reforming at her side, his hand now on the arm of her chair. Carefully, he lowered himself to her height – as if hovering just outside of her peripheral wasn’t enough. “What my dear sister is trying to say,” he started, choosing the path of civility. Lumine had never noticed just how violently she disliked the saccharine cadence he so often spoke in, not before he’d decided he was only going to use it to coo at her with all the affection and all the patronizing confidence of an owner, savoring an excuse to talk down to a pet. “Is that we’re both very happy to have you here. She’d never say it out loud, but Lynette’s been especially impatient – she spent all of yesterday at the city’s gates, waiting for you to get back from your last commission.”

“Only because you asked me to, brother.”

“The only thing I’ve ever asked you to do is—”

Lyney pulled away from her, snapping toward his sister, and before he could realize he’d made a mistake, Lumine acted. She drove her heel into the ground and in response, a jagged spike of geo-infused earth broke through the stone immediately behind her, cutting through the rope binding her wrists and spearing the back of her chair, stopping less than full inch from impaling the base of her spine. Just as quickly, Lynette summoned her weapon, but it was too late – Lumine was already on her feet, her own sword already pulled from the gaps in reality and clenched in one hand while the other sent out a pulse of electro, creating a barrier of ozone and electricity between her and them. The edge of Lynette’s lips turned downward, the ghost of a scowl, while Lyney regained his composure, moving to take a step toward her before thinking better of it and, instead, moving to the left, placing himself between her and the doorway.

Lumine was unperturbed. “Drop your weapons and stand aside. I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to.”

“Oh, we can’t do that, love.” It was amazing, really – how he could be the only unarmed man in a room and still sound so condescending. “I’ve already told you about the guards, haven’t I? They’re not going to be as nice to you as we are.”

“I can deal with guards.”

“Always so stubborn. Even if we got on our hands and knees and begged, you’d probably still insist on making a fuss.” He stopped, laughed, the noise breathy and surprisingly remorseful. “I’ve always admired that about you, though. I know the same goes for Lynette, too.”

Lynette’s gaze shifted to him, but only for a split second. A reluctant nod was all she provided by way of confirmation, but it was enough to earn the flash of a smile from Lyney before he went on. “Be honest, Lumine – is the idea of being with us really so unbearable?”

It was, but there was something about his tone that made her hesitant to say so. It was a lilt – cloying and desperate, just on the verge of cracking but not quite so dull as to be mistaken for total hopelessness. It was a tone she recognized, albeit not one she’d ever spoken in herself. It was a tone she remembered Aether using, any time he couldn’t stand not to get his way.

Lumine saw red.

It was clumsy, really, too rushed to be anything but doomed from the start – the unbalanced stance she took while preparing to charge, how rigidly she held her weapon as she imagined all the ways she could plunge her sword into his lying chest. A strong enough breeze could’ve thrown her off, but there couldn’t have been a breeze this far underground, and she wasn’t thrown – she was tripped. Her foot caught on a sleek sheet of ice that hadn’t been there the second prior, and before she could catch herself, it was creeping upward, encasing her ankle, her calf. The ice cracked as she fell to her knees, shattered entirely as another body barreled into her back and forced her to the ground. She moved to throw it off, but the blade of a sword was already pressed to her throat, Lynette purring contentedly behind her. “Please drop your weapon,” she said, her voice impassive in spite of the audible delight reverberating against Lumine’s back. When Lumine hesitated, she angled her blade upward, threatening to cut into the underside of Lumine’s chin. “There’s only so many times we’re going to ask, Lumine.”

Gritting her teeth, she let go of her sword, glaring miserably as it clattered to the floor. Rather than respond, she looked towards the doorway – to Freminet where he kneeled on one knee, his palm pressed to the floor and a trail of ice creeping outward from the point of contact. He was making a point not to look at her, with his eyes fixed on the ground and a small, metal box tucked under his free arm. “…I’m sorry,” he muttered, and for a second, she thought he was talking to her, that someone might actually admit how wrong this was. But, that meager hope was quickly snuffed out as he picked himself up and approached Lyney, offering him the metal box. “The trail tests ran longer than I was expecting. I meant to finish before she woke up.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s not as if any of this would be possible if it weren’t for you.” The box was accepted, Freminet pulled into a short, tight hug. Eventually, he pulled himself out of Lyney’s arms, earning a chirping laugh. “It’s alright – I know you’re happy, too. Go and see her, Lynette and I will take care of the rest.”

There was a moment of stalled reluctance, but soon enough, Freminet did as he was told. Lynette made herself busy – setting down her sword in favor of gathering Lumine’s wrists behind her back –as he kneeled in front of her, the faintest possible blush painted over his pale features. “Are you hurt?” She bared her teeth, and he flinched back, smiling. “Sorry, I guess you wouldn’t be, huh? It’s not like someone like me could ever do anything that’d hurt someone like you.”

His eyes shifted upward to his sister. Distantly, Lumine heard something unlatch, felt cool metal press into her wrists, but it was hard to focus on that when Freminet’s faint smile was quickly brightening, his attention darting back to her in an instant. “We were more worried about you hurting yourself, to be honest. We could take away your sword, sure, but finding a way to deal with your elemental abilities would’ve been trickier. It was Lyney’s idea, but, uh—” His eyes dropped pointedly to the floor. “—I did most of the work, to be honest.”

She opened her mouth, prepared to spit out something vile and hateful, but Lynette distracted her, letting go of her arms and shifting off her back. Slowly, cautiously, she pushed herself up and looked at her wrists, now encased by a pair of well-polished, silver cuffs – each inscribed with runes too small and too intricate for her to recognize at a glance. If she’d been in a better mood, she would’ve had to stifle a laugh. There was no chain, let alone something to tether her to. If they thought weighing down her hands would be enough to stop her from getting out of there, they were more delusional than she’d assumed.

Almost giddily, Freminet caught her hand, slotting it against his cheek. She tried to pull away, but he held her tight. “It’s alright,” he said, smiling, melting into her palm. “Try anything you’d like to. I promise, we won’t be mad.”

It felt wrong. It was wrong, but if only for a moment, frustration managed to overshadow her rationality. Again, she called for her electro – not enough to kill, just enough to stun – and—

And, to Freminet’s apparent delight, nothing happened.

Something in her chest cracked open and spilled out. Anemo was next, then hydro, geo, anything— but all of it seemed suddenly beyond her reach, as intangible as it’d been when she first arrived to Teyvat. Her despair must’ve leaked onto her expression; Lynette’s purring grew louder as she nuzzled shamelessly into Lumine’s shoulder, and Lyney appeared at her side, his smile a mirror of that he wore after a particularly enthusiastic standing ovation. “It’s fantastic, Freminet, fantastic.” He was latching onto her side before she could stop him, any trepidation he might’ve once had now entirely gone. She tried to throw her elbow into his stomach, but he caught her by the arm effortlessly, pulling her against him and into a kiss so hasty and so forceful, she could feel her lips bruising by the time he pulled away, still grinning like a maniac. “You couldn’t possibly imagine how long I’ve been waiting to do that, my love.” And then, with his nails burrowing into her skin, “Or to call you that. Archons, it’s felt like an eternity.”

She was too stunned to think, let alone say anything, but Lynette was kind enough to take up the mantle. “Selfish as always, brother. You promised to hold yourself back.”

“I only promised to try, dear sister. And besides,” An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Our of terror or rage or some awful combination, she shut her eyes, but that wasn’t enough to block out the sound of his voice, to numb the feeling of his mouth moving against the side of her neck as he went on, eager to the point of cruelty.

“We have more than enough time to learn to share.”

#yandere #genshin impact #commission

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smuttyaf · 5 months ago

Text

You Can Be My Daddy

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝.

wc; 13.9k | masterlist

gonna post this gem to deflect from my hiatus. sorryyyy!

tw: reverse harem threesome, degradation, and choking.

Cherry.

You remember that day so clearly. The middle of June and how the breeze ran across your skin to the sweet juice of fruit gracing your lips. It was the name given to you one early afternoon when lying with your stepfather in the ruby field past the meadow of your home.

Red dye straining flesh before tongue peeked out to relish in the juices, such innocent actions changing the duration of your relationship from then on.

Inked hands and wet kisses exchanged around trees that left sprouting leaves to lie shadows amongst your bodies. Such a beautiful sight of the both of you enveloped in each other and tasting the bitter fruit on lucid tongues, it was a moment of pure pleasure where something new blossomed.

And now there’s bunny.

That day consisted of the usual sight of oak and large antique trophies found on either side of the private school walls. Plaid skirt with the Phillips Academy logo embroidered along your chest as you made your way to your class to the beat of your mary jane’s.

You listen attentively watching the brunette teacher paste himself across the room, his own thoughts and teachings expressed throughout the hour. Broad shoulders, wide frame, and chiseled features sculpturing the middle age man that’s been on your mind since meeting in the doorway.

It was only your luck that your conscious slipped and had you stumbling over the chalk left in your hand, pink panties being on display when leaning down to pick up the mineral and return it back to its respective place.

It’s was those actions that made you stay behind in class and speak to Mr. Styles. Conversation dwindling on doing well in your studies to the length of your skirt. Obviously, you played dumb, unsure that the slight alterations to the uniform were revealing, it was never an issue before but it was known now that it was.

Now it was your turn to corner him, tease him even more when acting coy to the games you play. His nails scratched amongst the wooden desk with bulge pressed snug amongst his trousers as he stumbled over your name.

“Please bunny, I want you to respect me as I respect you.”

Oh, how those words meant absolutely nothing… a few seconds after that his lips were on yours before you fell to your knees. Wet tongue swallowing his thick cock down your throat to the point your voice grew strained.

That moment was everything to you, having your way with the man of your dreams. So tall, so firm, and the swelling head between your lips tasted like heaven with the salty taste of him.

That afternoon it was set in stone your game at hand, how you attain whatever you want with a simple bat of your eye and how it’s even worse that you get away with it. Displaying the messy strokes of his seed painting your tongue to soon swallow it down and shine a brightly lit smile at the principal.

You were too good at this… having your way with seductive hips, plump ass, and gorgeous face to match. You’re a tease and take pride in it; smiling cheerily and pushing your breasts together just right to show your teacher the soft skin he wants to touch and squeeze.

And it was going good, actually it was going really well for a few weeks. Nickname written neatly across your paper, curve spine and different colour panties everyday. It was hot and exciting! Everything you could ever wish for, but obviously that could only last for so long.

A slip up of love notes to reservations over the relationship only made you decide to make it known to Mr. Styles that you had options, and if he doesn’t want to act accordingly you’ll rub it in his face the treatment he wants with someone else.

Leaving hickeys along Luca’s neck or catching his gaze on you two when he drops you off to class. Mr. Styles' sight on the adventurous hands wandering down your backside to the kiss placed on his cheek, you wanted him to feel bad for not choosing more alone time with you, for allowing his thoughts to eat him up and not trusting in you.

All you asked of was one thing and he couldn’t even do that, how irritating… how annoying… it pissed you off not being the center of his attention like all your other toys.

But now, oh… you’re nearly bursting at the seams.

Thinking you were having your way so easily with your taunting game, it was only right for karma to turn around and bite you in the ass because just as you thought you had one up on him, the annual Phillips Academy parent teacher interviews came up and sure enough both of your parents were attending.

You tried to figure out an excuse, tried to say you had a stomach ache or a killer migraine but obviously that didn’t work on your mother, so instead you sucked it up and tried your best to not sweat the inevitable situation, and sure enough it was haunting.

Brown skin met with white, and you wanted nothing more than to drop dead right then. Both holding eye contact and stiff grip that you had to find a way out of the exchange, something that won’t show you sweating.

Immediately you dismissed your presence with your mother, a weak mention of a drink to try just to ease your thoughts. You didn’t know how the hell you managed to find yourself in this situation, your stepfather and teacher in the same room and now talking to each other, this was perfect… just perfect.

Your mother sits the translucent cup down while placing a hand to her chest, her throat clears at the same time she shakes her head gently.

“That is quite sweet for the dinner,” She comments, sight looking over the glass bottle before bidding you a smile. “But you’ve always had a sweet tooth, haven’t you.”

Your lips tug at the end, a gentle and soft grin as you nod your head. Fingers lifting your own cup to your lips and swallowing the sugary grape tinged juice before your eyes flick towards Mr. Styles and Malik, both nodding to each other in unison. The sight makes your stomach turn.

“Excuse me dear, I need to go to the powder room.” Your sight following your mom as a happy expression still plasters itself across your face as you bow your head. You watch her decorative rings toss the plastic into the garbage before leaving out the door to be alone with your thoughts.

The hammering beats of your heart quake in your chest, pads of your fingers clenching into the warmth of the cup that leaves sweaty prints along the surface. A deep breath travels through your nose with lashes fluttering as your mind completely blanks.

What the fuck did you actually get yourself into? How did you end up here? You thought you had all your lies in place, that an instance like this would never happen but yet, here you are; bambi eye and plush lips scared from the outcome of all your deceitfulness.

Shaky hands left up the cup and bring it towards your mouth as you swallow back the remaining juice. Shoulders flex back concedingly, tongue swiping across your bottom lip before you throw your trash away and take another deep breath.

With whatever slither of confidence you have within it charges your walk towards the two men. Poised spine, alluring hips and doe eyes, you know it’s the sight they love, the sight they adore and maybe, just maybe, you won’t face any consequences to your actions.

The subtle tap of your repettos sound against the old floor boards before halting, your left hip popping to the side as your arms cross over each other on your chest. Bottom lip sucked between your teeth yet chin still tilted high despite the uneasiness flowing through.

Your view falls on the jet black strands falling across his forehead as his hazel eyes pierce through you. Lengthy lashes and rugged beard captivating your sight till you switch it towards the teacher; stubble cheeks and daunting green hues. Their aura radiates a connection unbeknownst to you, one that sends a chill down your spine.

“Speaking of the devil…”

The words come off as a teasing bite, accent thick and sight roaming over your frame as if plotting to have his way with you just like the many times he would tell you about over the phone, except this time it’s different, this time there’s a glimmer of deception.

Firm shoulders and board chests tower over your appearance as both their view latch onto your petite frame and doe eyes so oblivious and worried over the two men standing next to each other.

“Father...” Voice quiet and sincere as you look towards him. Fingers fitting against your arms as you try to keep your composure.

And you watch closely, the way his hand leaves his pocket and runs over his jaw, teeth kissing together as he shakes his head amused at your appearance. The fat flesh of your lips run over each other with eyes blinking between both bodies in amazement at the sight.

“Y/N…” Your step-father counters, head leaning to the side as he smirks down at you so coy and scared.

“Still being promiscuous, are we?”

Mouth runs dry with throat growing strain and fingers running clammy against the material of your blazer. The pounding in your ribs reaches your ears and sends nervous shockwaves throughout your brain.

Lashes flutter hesitantly between the two as you feel the creases between your toes begin to slither with sweat. Your teeth clench down on each other, nails scratching into polyester at the same time your lips fall apart.

He’s fucking with you, he has to be. He can’t possibly know what’s going on between you and your teacher, he absolutely can’t.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Thick droplet of spit eerily sliding down your esophagus, with ears ringing and jaw tight as you refrain from looking at the teacher.

That has Mr. Malik chuckle, deep and amused to the point that Mr. Styles joins along too. It has your eyes darting to him, heart causing painful shocks to run throughout your chest as the pads of your fingers begin to cause pain in your biceps.

This isn’t possible… are you even registering what truly is happening in the moment… are you in the Twilight Zone? You have to be, because the two men in your life are laughing together like old pals or something.

The taps of your mother’s heel rattles your spine, her heavy footsteps has your sight tearing away and looking towards her with an irritated smile, thankful she can at least save you.

Her perfume floods your nose as her own teeth shine in annoyance, her hand wraps around your shoulder as she brings you in dramatically to squeeze you into her body.

“My apologies dear, and Mr. Styles,” She smiles towards you before turning towards your stepfather. “Jessica managed to mix up the meeting with the Allen’s so we have to cut the day short unfortunately.”

A deep exhale leaves you as your grin turns to happiness. Thank god! This was perfect, literally saved at the right moment. Your feet flex in your shoes as you roll onto your toes, head swaying to the side to catch sight over your father who looks completely unfazed.

“We still have a couple more teachers to see, no?” Mr. Malik questions while giving your mother his full attention.

“Yes, but I really need to make it, I’m already ten minutes behind.”

“It’s okay love, you go and I’ll see the rest of them. Your viewings are always quite short.”

Your smile flattens, plucked brows pushing together as you try to comprehend if this is actually happening. It certainly can’t be real… you really have to be dreaming. Just when you think you’re about to get off scot free here is your father dangling his own satisfaction in front of your face.

Your throat grows strain, fingers curling in on each other while you fall to your heels. Your eyes roll obnoxiously as your head turns and catches sight on your history teacher. Flesh between his teeth and raised eyebrows, you can tell there’s a playful glint of happiness in his eyes, something you’ve never witnessed before.

“You’re a lifesaver! Thank you!” Cheerful voice rushes as she leans in and kisses both of his cheeks.

Now your heart is erratically beating to the point it’s the only thing that sounds through your ears as if white noise. Your mother rushes to hug you again before saying something that you don’t even comprehend because you’re completely fucked.

The strands of her hair trail away in breeze of blurry vision and slow breathing, nails digging into your cuticles as your gaze pans between the two men, your stepfather smirking charmingly and Mr. Styles with lip between his teeth.

You wish there was just a few more minutes for you to grasp everything thrown at hand. To collect your thoughts and lie accordingly but you don’t get that chance, not right now, not in this moment.

Eyes flick between brown loose curls to dark straight hair, from prickly bread to thick one, to piercing green eyes to alluring hazel hues. You’re ruined, absolutely ruined… and when looking between the two men does your mind really scramble.

There are only two choices you have; twirl around with tail between your legs or confront the issue at hand.

And because those are your only two options the sound of your heels tap against the floor as your vision fades from every single nerve swallowing you whole. Anxiety wasn’t even the word to describe how you’re feeling, and frankly you want it to evaporate immediately.

Without a second thought your feet are turning against the hardwood, arms falling to your side as lashes shelter your vision as you inhale deeply and place one foot in front of the other. Your chest surging with every beat of your heart as you try to think straight.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Bradford accent clouding your ears as your wrist is caught within his palm. The grip over you has your body twist around and look at your stepfather with fury in your gaze. You would rather die than remain standing here at this moment.

“We’re not done here.”

Fingers curl into each other as sight never breaks, your teeth clench down on each other with toes curling into your shoes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

There’s really nothing you can do. You can’t turn away and hide, you can’t plaster a smile as if everything is okay, you can’t do anything but accept this for what it is.

So with that your posture relaxes. Shoulders slouching, jaw loosening, and deep breath escaping. For once you lost at your own game. You’re not in control anymore and only in this moment do you realize that you haven’t been as soon as these two met.

There’s a silent connection between them, from their eye contact to stance. Something unknown is brewing and it makes your stomach quiver. Never in a million years did you think this would happen, but it is, and you’re caught red handed.

“Mr. Styles was actually telling me about your most recent essay, a plus was it?” His attention turns towards the teacher who nods his head in agreement.

“Yes, it was written exceptionally well.” Mr. Styles continues while raising his hand to his chin and rubbing the skin there.

“I was so intrigued when he told me about it that we agreed to go to his classroom and look over your work.” Your eyes flick between the two men who look at each other with pride. “I’ve always loved your writing, so you won’t mind, now would you?”

You don’t even say anything as your father releases your wrist and smiles down at you happily. Of course he’s thrilled with whatever endeavor he has planned, if you were in his shoes you would be as well.

The two men walk past you in your dazed out state and continue to chat with each other as if best mates in the span of half an hour. You don’t even try and further understand this situation but instead tread slowly behind the two men as they walk down the long corridor before making their way up to the third floor and into your familiar classroom.

Because of the events taking place today everyone seems to be remaining on the first floor which just leaves the rest of the school eerily quiet to the point goosebumps prick your skin, especially when your the last one to step through the door.

Your hand hooks around the knob as you step backwards and close it. View looking over the two men as one goes through his desk and the other leans into the structured object.

“Come here dear.” Mr. Malik orders while gesturing towards you.

A tight limb smile spreads as you roll your eyes and lazily make your way towards him, heels sounding against the floorboards as you pass the rows of desk to the left of you and stand next to your father.

At the same time Mr. Styles rounds the desk with paper in hand, thumb peeling the three layered essay apart while he looks over the lengthy written sheet. His sight skimming down the page before he hums pleasantly.

“Marie Antoinette is very known to the point of being called famous, but yet it is not for any good deeds. She is most well known for her selfishness and self indulgence.” He reads before passing the papers to your father who nods his head while examining it.

“Seems like you and Marie have some things in common.” Mr. Malik comments while turning to look at you peering up at him.

Your jaw tenses before slight flicks towards Mr. Styles, his view already locked on you; and normally you would be happy that you have his attention, especially with the way it obviously looks over your frame, but right now, in this moment, it’s something you dislike.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” Your teacher continues playing off your father's words which only leaves you a mess of nerves.

You’re the one who’s supposed to have them on edge, have them on the tip of their toes. You’re the one who’s supposed to have them reeling with discomfort, not the other way around. Yet, here you are with sweat slithering in every crevice of your body in the position that you love to put them in.

“N—no.” Voice barely even heard as your lips curl into each other.

“No?” Mr. Malik reiterates only making you look back towards your father.

Your tongue peeks out your mouth to run over your bitten lip, deep breath escaping your throat as you let your eyes close.

It’s time to face the facts. You’re stuck in a room with two men who you’ve led on just for the fun of it. Here you are left standing between these two because having your way with them just does something to your mind, to your body, and spirit that you just have to toy with them. But now you’re here and surrounded by your own faults and deceitfulness, having nothing else to do but accept that you’ve lost.

“You’re really smart cherry, so just use that beautiful brain of yours.”

Eyes immediately flash open at the call of your nickname, nails releasing from their previous hold as your chest turns towards your father who smirks down at you. His hand placing your essay down on the desk while his own body follows suit and goes parallel to yours as he watches you fumble.

“Father—”

“—Sir.”

At the same time he corrects you, the rough pad of Mr. Styles finger is dragging up the revealing skin of your thighs, his warm breath fanning over the right side of your neck only putting you further in uneasiness.

“What is this?” You question as your teacher steps closer to the point you feel his erection against your backside.

“What you always wanted.” His voice panning over your neck so warm and sultry that your knees tremble.

Spit runs down your throat slowly, sight looking over the way your father's lips twitch into a smirk. Once again, his head shakes in utter disappointment.

“Speechless?” Mr. Malik says while leaning towards you to the point there’s little space left between you both.

“The first time she doesn’t have anything snarky to say.” Mr. Styles chuckles into your neck that has you absolutely feening.

Even though you’re scared shitless you can’t deny that the scene before you is remarkably hot. Both men squish you against themselves as they lure you in with their teasing movements. It has your adrenaline pumping. The fact your teacher has his thick cock nestled between your clothed cheeks while your father looks down at you so content with the situation at hand. You’re flushed and bothered, and quite frankly you’re excited for whatever is in store.

“Tell us bunny, why did you lie?”

“Yes, cherry, tell us why?”

Both nicknames run across your skin that leaves goosebumps in their wake. It’s nerve racking but it feels too good to not fall prey to their taunts.

They're both so handsome; tall to the point they tower over you, delicious cologne flooding your nose as rough hands feel over your body. You simply couldn’t resist them, not when they have you like this.

“I thought it was only me?”

“So did I… especially when it’s just us two at home… all alone…”

The mention of your life outside of school with the older man has your teacher grip your flesh even rougher, heavy huff escaping him showcasing itself clear that the comment made him jealous and you can’t help the way your heart skips a beat at the near thought of him being possessive over you.

Your father bites down on his bottom lip, his hand dragging along the desk to soon fit itself along your stomach and slither its way up your side and begin to fondle your breast. The charming glint in his eye is distinctive to the many times you two have fooled around, it’s your favorite feature that you’ve distinguished since the beginning of your relationship, and without even thinking a whimper slips out.

Immediately your fingers curl into your side as Mr. Styles continues to rub your hips roughly, his own waist rutting into you that your lashes flutter in pure satisfaction. This feels so good.

“I’m sorry.” Whisper trailing out so soft and quiet that you sound innocent and so sweet, like you didn’t drag them into your game; but the only difference now is that the two grown men sandwiched on either side of you are smarter than that.

Both of them laugh hauntingly, touch continuing to roam and grope to the point you're a moaning mess under their touch, especially when your father fits his other hand between your legs and feels you through your soiled panties.

A deep breath spills from your lips while both hands go to wrap along his wrist, eyes bulging and chest flexing towards his as Mr. Styles shoves you deeper when grinding against you. Thin fingers glide through your folds making you feel the dampness of your panties press against your heated skin.

“You hear that, she’s sorry.” Your stepfather breathes against your lips, so close and teasing that you shiver under the pressure.

“Oh, that’s so hard to believe.” Your teacher smiles against your skin that the air you ingest does little to calm your pinching nerves.

“Do you think that little apology is enough for us?” His hand gripping your breast even rougher as his fingers gently feel over your wet clothed hole. “After everything you put us through?”

Your head shakes slowly, eyes never breaking contact as you continue to let them feel over your body. He is right, after all the tricks you play that barely audible plea isn’t enough, especially with the way they touch and tease you it’s clear the apology that they’re looking for isn’t something that you can just say to squeeze yourself out of this situation.

“Having my job on the line…” Mr. Styles coos while pressing his lips into your thumping pulse.

“And my marriage…” Mr. Malik so close to your lips that you whimper at the near feel of him.

“So we think it’s only right for us to have our turn with you. The way we want.”

Warm breath falls over your lips so alluring and dominant that you can’t help yourself from surging forward and locking yours with his. The cool spearmint on his tongue travels through your lips and along yours as they wrap around each other.

It’s been months since you’ve gone without the delectable taste of him that it has you moaning immediately from the touch and the way he floats across your tastebuds. So sweet yet musky, so strong yet soft.

You missed him so much… the way he tastes, the way he feels, how he completely envelops every twitch that itches through your body. A high moan rakes through your throat, head swaying to the side as Mr. Styles begins to nip and suck at your neck, the slick feel of your skin growing hot and bruised only makes your ass back into the teacher further while your father continues to fondle you.

Plush lips slouch amongst yours with ease as the alluring taste of him is so delicious that your fingers curl even tighter around his wrist. Teasingly his mouth pulls away, teeth biting into flesh and tugging gently which only further reminds you of your need for him.

“Miss me?” Hazel eyes peeling open to watch your lips part, heavy breath drawing in as his index finger curves deeper into your hole. The restraint of your lace panties peeking into your flesh has you shivering.

“Yes.” You sigh with grip loosening and head cranning towards him.

The answer to his question has Mr. Styles nails sink deeper into your skin as they rake along your waist. Such heavy motions leaving scratches to the point it sends chills throughout that you can’t help but shudder at the feel.

The split ends of his curls rub against the temple of your forehead which causes your sight to turn and look towards him who doesn’t hesitate to lean forward. His lips sinking onto yours and enveloping the sweet taste of him. His saliva sweeps through your bloodstream tasting of honey and him, and just like that you're back to moaning underneath his touch.

Your tongue accepts the way he fills your mouth and fights for dominance. So rough and demanding as he rubs his muscle against yours in pure satisfaction. The two flavors of them mixing together and injesting themselves throughout your system was heaven and you simply just want more of it.

Your fathers hand prodes away at your hole shallowly, his own breath fanning across the other side of your neck as you continue to whimper against the man french kissing you.

It’s the combination of their grips gracing your skin and lips pressing love into exposed flesh that has you pull from the exchange out of breath. Heart pounding in your ear and nails pinching into the material of your step fathers blazer.

The feelings coursing through is something you never felt before; both men giving you the attention that you love so much, that you crave so much and adore… the attention that you truly deserve. It was intoxicating and better than anything you can imagine, it’s why your eyes have a screen of submission crossing over, and why you look towards your dad with your cheeks all heated and lips bruised.

“Can I sir?” Voice coming out in a wisp of uncertainty but desire. The sound being so pleasant that it has your father smile down at you.

“Can you what?” He reiterates, fingers leaving their position to run up your folds and play with your clit.

It makes you whine, head bobbing a bit as Mr. Styles lands heavy pecks into your neck. His hands now feeling across the ends of your skirt cup your cheeks and force you forward into your dad.

“Can I have you both… please?” Lashes blinking up at him as your lip sucks itself between your teeth.

Such words falling from your mouth has your father’s signature look tug across his features, his grip leaving your legs and fitting his fingers into your mouth. He watches closely the way they enter and how you don’t hesitate to immediately suck them.

Tongue twisting around skinny fingers tasting the muted taste of yourself as doe eyes stare up at him as he continues to fit them deeper and deeper into your throat. The pads of his digits collect the saliva draping along the service, heavy grip rubbing along your taste buds making you softly moan at the feel.

His version goes dark, eyes flickering as his sight drinks you in; plush lips and wet pussy just letting his fingers slide through your heavenly mouth, it makes him groan lowly, touch drawing away and running your spit across your lips, his touch tracing your cupid’s bow as your mouth parts erotically simply loving the attention.

“Cherry… my dear… you never had a choice.”

Those words have your skin burn even brighter, flesh still flexing against his fingers as he smiles hauntingly.

So this was their plan when left alone, lead you to the third floor where no one would be and let them have their way with you. This was hot, like extremely hot, nothing that you could’ve imagined before.

“Why don’t you get on your knees.” Mr. Styles breathes into your ear, his palms feeling over your ass before landing a soft smack that has your father chuckle so sinisterly that it makes your pussy throb.

Your head nods just at the same time your father pulls his fingers away, his body stepping back slightly as his hands fall to his belt only leading you to bend your knees. One hand balancing itself behind you on your teacher's thigh as the other holds onto your father's hip.

Jingling of metal sounds throughout the space before it's being met with slacks drawing down skin. Mr. Styles shuffles closer amongst the floor while your body positions itself better in front of them as if repenting for the sins about to happen.

Big round eyes dazzle in the soft light as you watch both of them reveal their erect cocks. Your father is lengthy and skinny compared to your teacher, all thick and girthy, it has you licking your lips with sight looking between the two completely captivated.

The left hand perched along Mr. Styles thigh creeps up his pelvic bone while the one situated on your father's hip roams amongst his skin to grip his dick. Fingers encasing around his length and tugging downwards gently as you don’t hesitate to lean forward and suck the head of his cock into your mouth.

It’s salty and sweet, just the way you like him which has you moaning immediately. Lashes batting up at him as your lips sink further letting spit coating him in every inch of your mouth descending further till he reaches the back of your throat. Eyes flick up at him as the swollen head of him tickles your uvula, the fingers wrapped around him slides down with ease as you draw back up his cock.

Leaning forward your lips to pierce together to let a heavy droplet of spit paint his cock, your fingers drawing up him to curl around the extra coat of lube to drag back down.

Humming pleasantly your head turns towards your teacher as the hand on his hip carries his cock towards your mouth. Tongue stretching out to run along the underside of him as you look up, his brown curls tossed behind his face as he begins to undo the buttons of his dress shirt.

Unknown ink being exposed along his flesh that has you grinning against his warm cock, mouth drawing from the base of him and humming pleasantly at how good he looks.

“You’re so handsome.” You comment before you run your tongue across the slit of his crown.

It makes Mr. Styles hiss immediately, his hands going to either side of your face with a smirk drawing across his lips as you tear away smiling at him.

“So pretty…” Mouth parting as you finally envelope him. Velvet walls sucking him in lovingly as your hand curls around the width of him.

Spit encases the erect flesh as he fills up your mouth. His grip over your jaw forces you to swallow him down just like the first time. Nose brushing along his groin just as he tags the back of your throat.

Your eyes roll at the feel of your airway closing around him, the hand wrapped around the base of his cock curls around the underside as you trail back up his cock. Saliva strung along the head of him to your tongue swirling around his crown before you’re moaning and pulling away.

Mr. Styles hands fall from your face as your sight looks over your step father who begins removing his blazer just as your mouth wraps around his dick. Tongue circling around his girth as your fingers glide up and down his lengthy cock while twisting it in opposite directions.

That’s how your knees end up bruised in the passing moments, lips moving between the two cocks in front of your face as the men before you begin undressing and treating you like the object that you are.

Swelling crowns diving deep till they touch the back of your throat, hands carding through your hair with each exchange urging you to take them further and further till you’re pulling away begging for air.

Tears breech your waterline as your chest burns in pain, your throat strains itself with each descent of their wet cocks abusing your throat. It aches but in the most beautiful way because the sight bestowed upon you is absolutely remarkable.

Such handsome grown men using you as their toy. Sexy tattooed skin, tall firm bodies and their gorgeous spit soaked erections leaving you drunk at the sight. Touch running across flesh as their lips part, electing moans as their sight never tears away from watching every movement you make.

Twisting wrist and red tongue sending pleasure to both as they observe how eager you are at this moment compared to before. How dainty and scared to now swallow them down so needy and submissive.

“Here, come here,” Your father rushes as your lips pull away from the underside of his cock. His grip is rough as he drags you up by your shoulders, palm pushing you into the desk as the other lands a deafening smack against your ass.

“Fuck!” Raspy voice crying out as you feel his fingers roughly shove your panties down your legs. Without waiting a second his fingers are drawing down your folds collecting your juices before thrusting into your dripping hole.

A moan carries out of your sore throat, nails curling into the gloss over the oak desk, as your eyes catch on the intricate detail of the butterfly tattoo plastered along Mr. Styles abdomen.

His hands carry your chin away from the table to press his lips against yours. Soft lingering peppermint tongue gracing yours as your father drags his fingers out to thrust back in.

His touch collects the juices you expel to curl into your pussy so beautifully that you can’t help but to break away from the kiss with a moan. Sight flickering open to catch Mr. Styles' green eyes watching the way your lips fall apart to sing such a beautiful tune.

His thumb leaves your chin to swipe along your bitten flesh, rough pad of his finger tugging at the skin before he’s leaning over and peppering soft kisses against your whimpering mouth.

“Take this off.” Your father orders interrupting the affection being displayed as his free hand tugs at your blazer.

Mouths part away from each other as you raise off your elbows, hands pulling at the ends of your school uniform as Mr. Styles helps with tugging it down your shoulders. The clear buttons of your button up are next as he begins undoing them to reveal your bra clad chest.

Your hands immediately go behind your back to unclasp it, your bouncy breast displaying itself with swollen nipples that your teacher can’t help but lean down and capture them between his lips. Warm mouth sucking you in so heavenly as your father slides his fingers in so gracefully that it was impossible for you to not contain yourself from every nerve consuming you.

“Please sir, please?” You call just as your dress shirt runs down your shoulder when letting your hands run through Mr. Styles curls.

Your father’s fingers thrust back in leisurely feeling your slick nectar encase themselves around every fold of his skin as your sweet wetness adds comfort as he continues to thrust into your plush walls.

Feet shuffle amongst the floor as Mr. Malik dots kisses down the wings of your spine, his fingers continuing to curl into your pussy as his lips trail down your back. His knees flexing as his other hand grips your backside roughly pulling your cheeks apart as he lets his face descend down your lower back to lie between your cheeks.

Wet muscle slithering along your asshole just as his fingers draw away to spread your other cheek apart to run his tongue down your pussy. A harmonious moan floats from your mouth at the adventurous pleasure floating between both holes.

A warm vibration floats along your skin at your father moaning from the taste of you. Tongue trailing out from his mouth to replace where his fingers once were. Strong yet tantalizing touch dipping into your pussy to taste your juices that has your toes curl at the feel.

Such sensual touch roaming all over your body has your heart pounding in your ear. From Mr. Styles sucking your nipples into his mouth to your father continuing to spread your ass even further to let his love run though, the feeling roaming throughout is absolutely unexplainable.

Your chest falls deeper into your teacher, fingers dragging out of his hair and down his neck with another moan escaping into the air.

Every object in the room bears witness to the sinful actions taking place. How grown men have their way with a girl who played them both in the first place, how her actions lead her to be bent over the desk ready for anything in store. How this crude behavior on the premises of the school should leave everybody in the room full with such disgrace however does the exact opposite.

It has your father groan against your pussy in pure arousal as his lips curl against your sweet ones as he draws up your slit to bury his tongue into your asshole. “Yes, fuck, yes.” Bitten flesh curling into your mouth trying to restrain yourself from drawing blood from your teacher's skin.

Mr. Malik's right hand peels away for you to spread your cheeks once more. His mouth pulling away just in time to land a thick saliva teardrop running down your second hole to lead down the slit of your pussy.

His breath floats up your back, his hand smacking your heated ass cheeks once more before taking himself into his hands. Without second thought the crown of his cock runs over the mess as his lips skim across the nape of your neck leaving a trail of goosebumps.

“You like this, huh?” Voice in your ear as if a second conscious while he continues to rub himself along you. “Like being our toy to play with… to use…”

Rough grip landing another demanding strike that jerks your body closer into the grown man still feeling along your breasts; and to add the pleasure does your father finally thrust into your pussy.

Every inch of him drags down your walls slowly to let you feel every inch of him, make you remember all you've been missing out on when someone else has been on your mind. He wants it ingrained in your mind everything you forgot about when not back home and under your covers.

“Tell me baby, tell me,” Teeth biting at your ear lobe just as his hips meet your backside. The feeling of his lengthy cock pressed tightly against your sweet spot leaves you shivering once again.

Mr. Styles pulls away from your swollen nipples, his lips running up your chest to consume every whimper falling from your lips.

Just as much as he wants to admire the beauty of your face completely drunk off pleasure he can’t help but feel jealousy surge through him. The way your lashes flutter to your nose twitching, it just leaves him with thoughts of him only being the one who should be making you feel like that.

It’s why one of his hands wraps around your throat to allow your gaze to connect while the other takes your wrist off the desk and brings it towards his cock, your fingers immediately wrapping around him as a whimper floats out of your mouth when your father thrusts back in.

“Such a dirty girl.” Mr. Styles says against your parted lips. His mouth swallowing every moan crawling out as your eyes shine and let your touch drag down his cock. “Like getting fucked by your step-dad, huh?” His grip tightening around your throat as your head bobs with each stroke pleasuring every part of you.

That’s the thing you loved about your father the most, the fact he fills you up so beautifully, so lean and lengthy that it tags your cervix each time that has you a panting mess begging for more. Your dress shirt is messily running down your arm, skirt hiked up with a screen of sweat roaming over your skin as you continue to bounce to each drum of the assault fucking you into oblivion.

“Mmm I missed him…” You sigh, lashes batting as your wrist loosely jerks your teacher off. “I missed him so much.” You mumble intoxicated with the way his cock drags down your walls enticingly.

The comment only makes Mr. Styles bite down on his lip, nostril flaring and eyes burning a different hue of green. His touch tenses against your skin as the look over your face combined with your breath hitching urges himself to draw away from you and force your head towards his cock.

Your father smirks, his hand continuing to spread your cheeks to watch where you both meet every time he thrusts back into you. Creamy discharge wrapping around him to glisten in the soft light and run over every protruding vein that displays his desire towards you, and now the scene before him with you proclaiming how much you miss him right in front of the man who has your attention while at this boarding school, his paste only increases.

“That’s my good girl, that’s my cherry.” His other hand running up your spine to hold the nape of your neck and control your movements as your mouth wraps around Mr. Styles cock.

Each stride into your pussy causes your mouth to move down his dick further as your grip continues to grope down the expanse.

Plump lips sucking him down as your father pinches your sweet spot each time he draws out to plunge back in. You’re so turned on with both men having their way that your pussy emits squelching sobs every time he rocks back in.

The oak desk jerks with every pound of his hips as he fucks you into the desk. Pen, name plate, and even the chair tucked into the table shuffling with each time you're being plowed into the table. The two bodies in the room relishing in the feeling of them using you after all the mind games you put them through, it’s completely thrilling to them, especially to you.

One cock sending undeniable pleasure while the other stretches your throat. You could die right now and be happy at the feeling of them spreading you apart and using you as their toy.

“Fuck… sir…” Mouth tearing away from your teacher's cock leaving a string of saliva from his head to connect to your lips.

Knees flex forward as your right foot subconsciously lifts up towards your calf as you feel your nerves pinch and tug up your spine as your pussy continues to accept every jab. The hand perched next to your stomach tears away from the table to sink between your pelvis to try and rub your clit.

“No, no, no,” Mr. Malik coos as his free hand captures your forearm and wraps it around your back halting your movements.

“Gonna cum my way,” He grunts with grip twisting your skin while he continues barreling down your walls. “Or not at all.”

“Sir,” You plead with fingers tightening around your teacher's cock as your head continues to jerk forward.

“C’mon cherry, come on my cock.” Mr. Malik demands, his hand slipping away from your neck to collect your hair in his grasp and turn your head around.

His sight watches your eyes barely remain open as your chest inhales heavily at the physical touch racing your heart erratically. His dominating touch peels your vision back as the other restricts you from doing anything further to your body that he doesn’t want.

“Do it baby, just the way I like.” He continues to egg on as his hips now sound throughout the room only making your spine curve further into the desk.

And Mr. Styles watches everything happen; the way your eyes roll, brows itch together as your voice elects the most beautiful moan just in time as your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably. His hands by your temple run through your hair seeking to comfort as gasps begin to travel between your lips.

“Mhmm,” Your father hums in encouragement as his paste never halts but continues as he fucks your through your orgasm. “That’s my cherry.” His grip releases along your wrist to drag down your back and hold your hip.

“That’s my good girl.” He groans as your plush walls continue to tick around him in the feverish aftermath of your climax. “Right?” Hand in your hair tugging your head gently as your eyes completely glossed over in lust nod up at him.

His lips tug into a smirk before his sight cuts towards Mr. Styles, tongue peeking out of his mouth before his free hand falls from your hip and collects himself as he pulls out. The feeling of him leaving you empty only has you crying out pathetically.

The two men switch places; this time your teacher is perching one of your knees up onto the desk as the other pushes your skirt even higher up your hips. Your father steps in front of you with a glistening cock and swollen balls that have you licking your lip at the sight.

“Oh my god.” You moan as you feel Mr. Styles replace where Mr. Malik just was. His thickness expands your walls just to apply even more pressure against your cervix as he continues to spread you out when nestling himself between your folds.

Your head turns with hands balancing you along the desk, view cascading down the muscular teacher holding your sides as he presses himself tightly against your dripping lips. Mouth parting open in pure arousal as draws away to thrust back in only making you feel like he’s stretching you out more then your father.

“Daddy,” You cry, nails curling into the wood as sight never breaks away from his hips drawing back and hair framing his face with stride. “You feel so good.”

Compliment trailing out without second thought as you whimper in complete enjoyment of him fucking you right after your dad just did. His cock fills you up so heavy and delicious that you’re shivering at the feel, mouth hanging open and brows relaxing as he strokes into you heavenly.

Mr. Malik teeth clench down amongst each other at the sight before him, how you’re so enthralled with the feeling consuming you that the teacher bestows that his hand goes behind your neck, grip tightening to try and turn your attention but however, you’re not budging.

“Yeah… you like this, don’t you bunny?” Teasing voice of your teacher floating into the heated atmosphere as his eyes never tear away from your bouncing breasts and submissive face.

“Yes, daddy… you feel so good,” You gush at the same time you let your hips retreat back into his only having the head of his cock tag your g-spot each time.

“That’s right,” He grunts with one hand leaving your hips and tugging at the collar of your dress shirt to drape it off your arms and leave your upper half completely nude.

“That’s my good bunny.”

That nickname so foreign to your step-father makes his grip even tighter as he finally directs your attention to look forward. Baby hairs collecting with sweat by your forehead as your mouth continues to expel harmonious moans at the feeling conveying throughout your body.

Mr. Malik's upper lip rubs against his nose as his head shakes disappointedly, his chin tilting for a moment before his head is leaning towards your ear.

“Look at you being the whore you are.” Such disrespectful words that should turn you off doing the complete opposite as you sigh pleasantly at the comment.

“Like getting fucked by two men? Like getting passed around like the dirty slut you are, huh?” His other hand going towards his cock as you continue to moan and whimper as your body jerks into his chest from each thrust.

“Every time I’ve asked you something you’ve been ignoring me… but not him.” His teeth kissing against each other as his grip continues to tighten. “Calling him your daddy before me, you’re so fucked up cherry.”

A high pitch moan escapes as Mr. Styles' paste increases, his waist clapping into your backside as your vision continues to bob between your fathers caramel skin and the chalkboard nailed to the wall.

“All that I do for you and this is how you repay me?” Voice filled with dissatisfaction as he raises up and brings his cock towards your mouth.

“Mm- I’m sorry,” You whine, eyes looking up at him sincere as your hand leaves the desk to curl around his dazzling cock.

“No, you’re not.” Mr. Malik comments while shaking his head once more while continuing to urge your head down. “Sluts like you are never sorry.”

The crown of his dick breaks through your lips and has you taste your climax as he forces you to take all of him. His hand once holding himself cards through your hair and collects the strands into a makeshift ponytail as you swallow him down.

“Yeah, do what you’re meant to do.” He grunts as your head bobs from the thrusts behind you that control your movements from inching further and further down him.

Mr. Malik was more than furious that he had to find out you were being devious and giving yourself away to men who weren’t him. From your failed previous attempt to the one fucking you on his desk he’s pissed off. He should never have to share you nor have to confront the issue that you’ve been ignoring his every demand unless being controlled to do so. You have him fighting to restrain himself from demanding more attention out of you as you lie spread out taking another man’s dick.

And it wasn’t helping that he was pleasuring you in ways he just was. Vibrating mouth and burning skin displaying itself each time Mr. Styles thrusts back into you and how your pussy emits the sweetest noise that he wants on repeat. He wants to tear you off of him, punish you the way he wants, but right now, the feeling of your throat gasping for air from being too drunk off the sensations combing through he’ll take what he can get until you finally return home.

“Holy shit!” You groan as your mouth pulls away to allow air to fill your lungs. Swollen lips falling apart as you both find the perfect rhythm of his cock filling you up just right as your hips meet his every time.

“That’s right, take it like a good girl.” Mr. Styles encourages as his hand twists around the cloth along your hips and pulls you closer to him only making his cock delve deeper into your walls.

“Yeah, a good girl who likes to get double dipped, right?” Your father’s teasing voice including himself as he watches your tongue escape your mouth to lick the slit along his head.

“Yes, fuck, yes.” You moan with one hand leaving the desk and curling around his cock to twist it down the expanse of him. “I like it… I like it so much.” Words coming out drowsy and needy as you look over his dick glistening in your fluid as your teacher continues to bury you into the table.

“Yeah, you love it don’t you?” Mr. Styles encourages as one hand leaves his hips to land a smack against your already bruised flesh that leaves you crying outl.

“Daddy,” You moan, eyes squeezing shut as you feel tingles begin to run up the bottom of your foot. Stomach fluttering against the now sweaty service as your pussy continues to accept every tormenting thrust.

“Dirty fucking slut.” Your father breathes out as your hand curls up his shaft with a tight grip as your head begins to sway. Goosebumps spreading along your body as your limbs begin to shake at the waves rippling through.

“I can’t.. daddy… sir…” Fumbling over your words as your mouth parts and hips still against your teacher. Your hand halting its movements as your body lies across the desk with no effort to balance yourself from your orgasm racing through.

“Tell daddy you love it, tell me bunny.” Mr. Styles calls as he never slows down. Aggressive thrusts continue to bruise your cervix with each jab unable to resist the pulsing feeling over your climax wrapping around him.

“Mmm my god, I love it,” You cry, your hand leaving your fathers cock to drag against the table as your heart thumps against your chest. “I love it so much.” Blabbering into the desk as your eyes flutter and mind goes completely blank, the only thing coherent is the dick sending sensation through every bone in your body.

“Look at her,” Mr. Malik comments, his fingers drawing through your hair as you moan into the desk with spit dripping from your lips so high off dick that you’re on a whole other planet. “Cock drunk, innit.” He chuckles mischievously, having fun at breaking you down.

“Yes… I’m so… in love… I love this so much,” Moaning the words out sloppily as your nails drag down the expanse of the glossy service trying to regain consciousness.

A drumming beat swells along your pelvic bone as tears prick your eyes from the feeling encasing itself all over you. Such heavy thickness spreading you out to leave your pussy a soiled mess with puffy lips and drench folds. It’s mind numbing how immersed you are with the arousal coursing through your body, how every limp lies weak and tired as you lose control of your muscles and lie squirming along the desk.

“You’re so good… such a good girl,” Your father coos as his fingers continue to card through your hair.

Chest continues heave erratically as Mr. Styles hips begin to roll into your body, his grip controlling your hips to relax as he pastes himself. Sweaty fingertips persuading movements as the two men watch over how consumed you are by such pleasure. How your body twitches against the desk and mouth humming every few seconds trying to grasp a single comprehensive nerve.

“Letting us use like this,” Mr. Styles adds with thrust dragging slowly down your walls. “You’re the best bunny.” As his face leans down to press kisses amongst the wings of your back.

Again, annoyance flares through your father. His eyes shift away from your wrecked expression to cut his eyes towards the teacher who pays no mind to him when he dots his love along your shoulder. Fingers escape your hair to run along your neck before he’s leaning forward in your ear.

“I can make you feel better cherry,” He mutters while enveloping the sweet smell of your perfume that he’s missed so much when nestle in this spot. “Haven’t you missed me?”

“Yes sir… please?” You moan without hesitation as the feel of his thick beard rubs against your skin, so prickly yet smooth that it eases the adrenaline coursing through.

The familiar chuckle running across your cheek only reminds you just how much you’ve missed how playful and commanding he is over you. How you’ve missed his lengthy cock touching you just right as he roughs you up just the way you like, oh how you missed him tremendously.

“Switch.” Mr. Malik states as he pulls away from your face. His sight watching closely as Mr. Styles lands one last kiss along the shoulder opposite of him before he draws out of your bruised pussy.

They round the desk once again; this time Mr. Malik positions you on your back with the ends of your skirt running across your stomach and erect nipples on display. It’s the view before him that is just another reminder to your father why he’s so in love with you and the games you play. How cherry red and swollen your pussy looks, all wide and exposed with your juices glistening in the light that he can’t help himself but to lean forward and suck your lips into his mouth.

Tongue dragging up and down your stretched hole as he hums pleasantly from the mixed taste of you on his tongue. “Sir…” You moan delightfully, eyes rolling erotically as your back flexes against the damp desk.

“Always treat me so good,” You gasp just as he runs his flesh over your clit and circles it around his taste buds making you quiver against the feel.

He groans against you, one hand leaving your hip to collect your fingers along the desk and intertwine them together. Reassuring touch displaying itself in the heated room that Mr. Styles can’t help but feel envious at the pleasure he now brings you. He takes himself into his own hand and shifts along to where your head lies across the desk, his grip tapping his dick along your cheek.

Without hesitation your mouth is opening yet barely giving the needed attention as your father continues to swirl your bundles of nerves along his tongue.

“C’mon bunny, you can do better than that.” Mr. Styles comments just as another moan escapes your mouth with head falling back from Mr. Malik sucking your pussy back into his mouth.

“But daddy, it feels so good.” You moan with sight tearing away from your fathers nose rubbing against you to look towards your teacher who flares up at the comment.

He collects his dick back in his hand to tug himself off as he leans down, other hand holding your locks to lift your head to the point you get an even better view of your dad lapping his tongue all over you.

“I bet I can eat you pussy better than that.” Mr. Styles whispers so alluring that it has your heart singing at the words. “I know I make you feel better.” He continues with stubble rubbing against the temple of your forehead only making your eyes roll once again.

Both men in your ear jealous of each other having their way with you was the last thing you expected especially since they were the one who came up with this plan. Yet, both of them are possessive of your attention and telling you how much better they can make you feel compared to the other, god, you can really die happy right now.

“Daddy always knows how to treat you right, always knows what to do.” He mutters as he continues to jerk off to the whimpers falling across his neck.

“Yes, yes you do.” Moaning along to his words as you watch your father lick back up your folds sloppily to swirl your clit along his tongue once more before pulling away and positioning himself over your swollen hole.

“That’s my bunny… my good girl.” Mr. Styles encourages as he feels your breath hitch amongst his skin. “Aren’t you daddy’s good girl, c’mon, tell me.”

“I’m daddy’s —Oh, fuck!” You cry out just as Mr. Malik pushes in, his cock easily descending down your wall as finds his paste and brings himself back to reminding you of what you missed out on.

The solid feel of him thumping against your walls so stretched and ruined from these two has your mouth hanging open. Sight still watches closely as his long cock drives into your drenched pussy while you have the best view of it happening as your teacher continues to prop your head up for you to watch.

“Come on love, get it out.” Mr. Malik smirks as his hand leaves yours to collect your bouncing breast. “Tell us how much you love being a dirty little slut.” He adds with other hand gripping your knee and pushing it towards your chest as he takes lengthy rough strides into your pussy.

“Love being stretched out, huh? Having me and your teacher share you. Such a dirty dirty girl.” He continues to gas as he bruises your sweet spot with little effort in such a short amount of time.

“Oh my god,” You moan with sight blurring towards your father and hand reaching out to grab Mr. Styles’ body.

You’re completely overstimulated and frankly every single time your step dad draws his hips to thrust back in you feel as if you want to explode. His head continuously rubs along your g-spot and leaves you a soaking mess of sweat and your sweet fluid. This feeling is so foreign, from two different cocks barreling down your walls to the third climax already making itself known, you might just pass out.

“This is so hot,” You whine as nails draw down your teacher's skin as you both continue to watch his cock disappear and have you jerking up the desk as a result of the new position. “Fuck this feels so good.” As your repetto heels dangle in the air as Mr. Malik’s lean body continues to plow into your tired pussy.

“Don’t stop, please.” You encourage as your gaze begins to trail away and sight become clouded from your eyelids drifting you away into the pleasure barreling down your spine.

Your father doesn’t object or even halt his alluring motions to tease you. He continues to fuck you just the way you like; fast and hard to point he’s leaving little space between your hips as he thrust back in not only loving the way you feel wrapped around him but also the look crossing over your face.

Heated cheeks, glossy eyes, and twitching nose as your mouth expels hesitant moans as if unable to control yourself from coming undone for the third time. Looking as if on another planet from the expression crossing over as if discovering a new found wonder. Your jaw goes slack, sight becoming drowsy and spit falling from your bottom lip as the grip you have along your teacher's chest tears away as one cards through your hair and the other goes to rub your clit only increasing the pleasure coursing through.

“Jesus… fuck… I can’t—” Words being cut off as a squeal rips through your throat as a wave of arousal squirts along your fathers abdomen.

The feeling so intense it has your thighs shake against his never ending thrusts as your movements never halt from the pads of your fingers continuing to circle along your bundle of nerves. “Mmm, sir… sir… sir.” Humming his name as your hand leaves your hair and presses against his jolting hips.

Your waist retreats into the desk at the overwhelming feeling crashing over you. How the plummeting assaults of his thrust made a mess all over your father and the school floors.

Mr. Malik lets his strides relax, his touch along your breasts feeling over your side as pulls out. The empty feeling of him leaving as well as the aftermath of your orgasm has you crying softly.

“Look so pretty, baby.” He comments before he’s leaning down again and slurping the remaining juices just projected.

“Holy shit.” You sigh as your hold travels to his hair tickling amongst your inner thigh.

Your step-father is doing everything in his power to spark all your memories together and Mr. Styles finds it obvious, and sure enough it has him fuming. It already pissed him off that you had a father figure, making him seem like he’s the only one. But, it wasn’t even that. It was the fact that he plays with you the way he wants, and the way he’s been imagining and dying to do ever since he felt you wrapped around him.

He gets to spend all this time with you and have your attention whenever needed but with him he has to fight and play petty games with his own student. He’s jealous, how can he not be? He finally had you just to discover there was someone else which only makes him having to prove himself even further by having mark his territory someway, somehow.

“Switch.” Mr. Styles demands letting his grip over your hair gently place you back on the table. Mr. Malik’s eyes cut towards the teacher before his lips are sucking your folds into his mouth once more. Flesh parting with a pop as he pulls away from his turn.

“Mmm… sir,” You whimper as his handsome face comes into view, his touch drawing up your stomach as you bat your eyes at him. “I missed you so much.”

“I know baby, I know.” He coos as he takes himself into his hand and examines the way your breasts shift to how you look completely ruined.

“I missed you too… how good you are to me, I missed you so much.” He reveals which only has Mr. Styles reeling. His eyes turn away from the sight before him as he collects himself to push into your pussy.

“Fuck,” Your view turning away from your father and towards the teacher slowly stroking himself in you.

“Mhmm… look at me while I fuck you bunny.” Teacher boasting concedingly as he gently nestles his hips alongside yours before pulling away and drawing back in steadily that it has you crying out.

“This feels so good,” You moan. One hand drawing up your body to rest along your fathers chest as the other goes towards your pussy and feels where you two both meet.

“Yeah, that’s what I like to hear.” He grunts as he begins to jerk his thrust roughly into you that you’re jolting up the desk and whining pathetically.

Mr. Malik lips twist into his mouth as he looks over you enjoying yourself as the teacher has his turn. He pays attention to your erect nipples and swaying head as your nails curve into his skin and drag down the expanse, you’re loving this experience as if on a whole new high that you want to ride on forever, and your father can’t help but moan lowly at the sight at how used you look.

Messy hair, sweat collecting around your temples as you spread your legs wide to continue to let them assault your pussy any way they want. You’re so eager, ready to please and deliver this perfect pussy on a platter to these two men just by persuading words and alluring touch. God, you turn him on more than you’ll ever know, cause as much as he hates sharing you, watching your face completely blissed out and screwed was sexy.

His free hand collects yours running across his chest and guides it towards his cock. Fingers immediately wrapping around him and jerking the lengthy cock in your palm as your other hand feels each time Mr. Styles presses himself snug against your pussy before drawing out with all his girth to slot himself back in roughly and repeat those devious motions.

“Oh. My. God.” Words falling out with each aggressive thrust as he never stops stretching you out.

“You’re pussy is so wet,” Mr. Styles grunts in pleasure, absolutely loving the way you feel around him with the added feeling over your fingers lingering alongside his wet cock whenever pulling out.

“It’s fucking amazing,” He moans before his hands are wrapping around your thighs to pull further into him.

Body drags amongst the heated service as he tightens his grip to make you feel every inch of him as he dips back into your slick walls, so bruised and tired as he continues to stretch you out. It burns in the most pleasurable way possible, the difference in cocks filling you up to the point you're intoxicated off such emotions coursing through.

Thick member coated in a mixture of fluid from all three bodies adding comfort to sore walls that aid you in feeling as if being underwater. The head of his cock pounds away at your cervix until he pulls out, letting you feel every veiny pulse of him thump against your tired walls to breech yourself along your wide hole before pushing back in again.

“Daddy… I love the way you make me feel.” You whimper as your hand tightens around your father as eyes look towards your teacher who leans forward.

His mouth parts to welcome your touch sloppily pressing against his when his hips strike into your pussy beautifully. The jolting of his waist only makes your lips bump each other messingly as he drinks in every sound you make.

“Daddy.” You whine pathetically as your neck no longer finds the strength to look over him fucking you but to fall against the clammy desk and catch sight between the two men captivated by your prescence.

“Bunny.” Mr. Styles grunts as his lips descend down your neck and goes over the hickeys scratching the service.

The frayed ends of his curls bob in your vision as your father's eyes detect every twitch combing over your frame. His feeling through your hair as he steps closer to you which only encourages your mouth to lean over to suckle the crown of his cock.

“Ah fuck, cherry.” Mr. Malik groans as his head leans back in distraught at how you drive him insane so easily.

Hearing both of your nicknames pass through their lips while having their touch roam all across your skin to fill you up repeatedly that it doesn’t surprise you at your climax making itself known in just a matter of seconds. The most exhilarating feeling sparks every vein in your body with shivers in adrenaline at your fourth climax overtaking you.

Sinking pleasure builds up in your abdomen once more that only leaves you to relieving yourself by letting your fingertips rub against your clit and have another wave of arousal trickle out of your pussy. A broken whine ripping from your throat as your eyes tear up by being so enthralled due to the feeling overcoming you.

“That’s it baby,” Mr. Styles breathes against your skin as his hips never stop their riveting motions. The feeling of you pulsing around erratically has him groaning at the feel. Tiny squirms blanketing him in pure warmth and wetness that his hips stutter when drawing back.

His love pulls away from your neck to look and watch the way you wrap around him all snug. Your pussy lips rippling against each movement of him into your exhausted heat still accepting every jab into your soiled box.

“Daddy…” You whine once again as your hand pulls your fathers cock away from your mouth to collect his balls and fit them in their place. The delicate feel of your lips sucking them into your mouth has Mr. Malik scratch your scalp lovingly.

“Jesus Christ.” He moans while letting his free hand enclose around his cock and jerk himself off.

Swollen glands glistening in the glow of the room as your lips obnoxiously slurp all around him and hum pleasantly while Mr. Styles still rocks into you. It has his eyes roll at the sight; seeing your mouth stuffed and put to work as your pussy lies spread out and abused on his desk. It’s the sight alone that has his hips twitching once more, with vision blurring as his neck cranes down just about ready to fall apart.

“Holy shit.” He sighs, as his grip against your thighs begin to leave bruises in their wake at the feeling of you wrapping around him is on a whole nother level. “You’re such a good girl, such a good fuckin girl.” He grunts as he can’t help his next thrusts from being messy and uncoordinated as his toes begin to curl.

The compliment is so reassuring that subconsciously you bat your lashes up in the position you're laid in, the connection between your step father and you as you suck his balls into your mouth so greedily like you were starving only made it right for him to cum at the sight.

The grip in your hair controls your head as he pulls you away from his sack and lets his seed paint itself across your cheek to dribble into the middle of your tongue. Yet, at the same time your teacher is emptying himself into your disheveled hole as he continues to fuck himself through his orgasm as your father taps away the remaining fluid he expels along the tip of your lips.

“Mhmm… that’s my cherry.” Mr. Malik hushes before he’s pulling away from his position over you. The hand that wrapped around his cock collecting the cum along your cheek and fitting it into your mouth just like the beginning of this escapade.

“My favorite girl.” He adds, as he watches you moan around his fingers and twirl your tongue around the digit.

Mr. Styles continues to thrust himself in sluggishly, the overwhelming feeling of his cum and your own juices overflowing in your pussy that with each draw out of the tired walls does traces of your combined fluids drip and run down your swollen lips.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” He breathes out before his hand is released from your thigh as he takes himself in his hand. Cock sliding out of your pussy to let the mixture ooze out of your warmth in a thick cream pie that has you moaning at the feel.

“Mhmm…” You hum, with sight looking between your father dragging his wet finger amongst your bruised lips to swipe your saliva amongst the flesh to your teacher who watches your sore pussy dazzle in the light.

“That was good, wasn’t it baby?” Mr. Malik questions while letting his touch trail across your skin to bring your focus back to him.

You immediately nod your head. Tongue escaping your mouth to run across your lips and offer an exhausted smile as your fingers shake nervously amongst your overused clit.

“It was amazing.” You breathe out as you feel your teachers come begin to seep along the folds of your cheeks as your father begins to sit you up in a better position.

“I’m glad… but you do need to hurry up and dress. Your mother is probably on her way back by now.” The mention of your older peer is enough to have your burning thighs closing amongst each other as your elbow fixes your posture on the desk as you lean forward, an overpitched whine tearing through your throat at the soggy feel of liquid running down your inner thigh to the way your pussy feels so used.

“W-what’s wrong?” Mr. Styles questions while stepping forward and taking your hip in his hand as Mr. Malik gives him cut eye at the affection while he rubs your back.

“She’s fine, just worked up. Isn’t that right sweetheart?” He remarks while leaning forward and pressing his lips against your sweaty temple. Your teacher's nose wrinkles at the sight, and wanting to help you in any way possible he leans over the desk where his discarded blazer lies and pulls his handkerchief out to collect the fluid still spilling out amongst his desk.

The cool silk material has you whimper slightly from the feel, eyes fluttering for a moment as a lopsided grin tugs at the end of your lips.

“Mmm thank you so much daddy.” You remark that has your step father pull away from your feverish skin to watch Mr. Styles collect the rest of his seed before he’s walking towards the garbage bin to throw out the material. It’s only right for your father to be possessive at such words falling in front of his face; does his grip over your chin only grow tighter when he breathes into your ear.

“When you get home you’re getting more than a punishment for this.” It has your eyebrows knot together but still doesn’t stop the dreamy look crossing over your face.

“Why? I thought this was part of your plan?” Sarcasm evident in your tone that makes him pull away and roughly turn your body towards his still looking as if he’ll like to destroy you.

“You think I like having your attention elsewhere?” He questions while his free hand grabs your forgotten dress shirt and wraps it along your shoulders. “Now hurry up and dress.”

Without objection you do, and like always your father is there to help you put yourself and him back together to keep the facade alive. Collar tucked high to conceal the bite marks roaming around, skirt being unrolled to cover the red smacks daunting along your skin, while you wipe under your eyes to remove any marks of distress from your promiscuous endeavors.

Just like before when you stood between them so scared of what they have in store in your refined pressed uniform, you manage to still hold that innocent appeal after everything that just happened. Mr. Styles watches closely. The way your father fixes the buttons along your chest before running his palms over the creases in your blazer, his eyes fixing you up and making you look perfect like he’s done this a million times before, and he can’t help but feel upset that he won’t get to experience that with you.

As if feeling his gaze your head turns and connects with your teacher. Smile tugging amongst your lips as he pretends to not watch the affection taking place as he continues to zip himself back up.

You knew that the threesome happening was too good to be true, and hell, you’re surprised you even lived through it after the constant back and forth of them spreading you apart and pushing you past your limits. Sure, it was intended as a punishment, and your father did make it known that it would be way worse when home, but you can’t help but feel sad that you only have a month left with Mr. Styles and didn’t want to leave it to just this.

“Father?” You say loud enough for the two men in the room to hear. He hums acknowledging you as his hands continue to fix your uniform.

“Don’t you think I’ll need a tutor for my summer classes?”

It makes both men's eyebrows perch on top of their foreheads. The teacher sucks in a surprise breath as your father kisses his teeth in frustration at your never ending games still taking place.

“You don’t need a tutor for that, your courses will be easy.”

“But sir… please.” You pout with eyes batting up at him which he only shakes his head at. Your vision rolls concededly before your head is shifting around and looking at the teacher who remains with his eye contact still on you. “Come here.” You gesture for him to make his way over, which he does, and to that you're happy about as you lean your head on his bicep.

“Please father… wouldn’t it be fun to do this again. I love having you both share me… it feels so good.” You continue pleading while your free hand goes to drag up his suited chest and slide up the nape of his neck. “And just imagine, in the abandoned maid quarters, how fun and exciting it’ll be!”

Mr. Malik watches the way your eyes beam with excitement and how your teeth shine at the endless possibilities that could happen this summer if giving the teacher the opportunity to privately tutor you from home. He knows it’ll make you happy, knows it probably top everything he’s ever done for you in the years that you’ve been sneaking around, but he’s unsure if that’s what he wants.

He likes you all to himself, no one else having you - despite this instance - but fuck, he can’t deny how hot it was to see you spread out and so fucked and used in a spam of an hour just between the two of them. He doesn’t want to admit that it turns him on, but it does. And maybe, just maybe, there might be a perfect alliance brewing from this day forward.

Hazel sight connects with green, and as he bows his head in a silent nod of gratitude of going along to his plan his head leans away from the sight of him and back to you, still needy and ready for anything in store that he smiles recklessly at the view.

“We’ll see.” He says, which only makes you pout and tear your hand away from his skin. Arms crossing over your chest as your eyes continue to bat up at him to get what you want like you always do. “Stop doing that. Now hurry to your dorm to fix your hair, we don’t need any questions, now do we?”

“No.” You huff before you're leaning off the teacher's arm and sliding off the desk. Mr. Malik makes space to let you pass him and begin to head towards the door to continue fixing up your appearance.

But, it would be unlike you to not be the tease you are, to not get what you want whenever asked. So as your hand turns the door knob and you twist around to look at the two men who spit roasted you in this room, you smirk at them before dropping your eye into a wink.

“Thank you so much for the fun this evening, I can’t wait to see what this summer will have in store for us.”

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carolmunson · 1 year ago

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orange colored sky (older!modern!eddie)

older!modern!eddie - setlist inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i got to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. manip by my fave @eddiemunsons-missingnipple tw: nothing really, very much a meet cute at a grocery store. eddie is in his early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. lemme know if you guys want this to be a whole thing.

the automatic doors rush cool air into your face, a sweet reprieve from the sticky heat of this summer. a much muggier july than you remember having as a kid. but then again, you don't remember that much about being a kid these days. trader joe's is a little busier than usual, which makes sense with the holiday weekend coming up -- but you hate when it's busy. there's already too many sounds -- some summer 90s playlist and the squeaks of the carts, people in their hawaiian shirts milling around with boxes and box cutters. you just want some snap peas for god sakes.

you grab a basket and adjust your canvas bags on your shoulder, tossing your headphones in them for later. you feel 'running errands ugly' but everyone seeing you in the bike shorts you threw on this morning doesn't think that view is ugly at all. your music drowned it out on the train ride over here. you're already sort of annoyed. people just don't know how to do anything anymore -- why are we just standing in front of produce. get what you need and go! you think hastily. but you wait for people to stop gawking at the produce and make their selection before you grab the romaine, snap peas, and shredded brussel sprouts you need. when you turn you almost walk entirely into someone's cart, eyes flitting up briefly and muttering a 'sorry, s'cuse me'.

can everyone just get off my fucking ass? you huff to yourself internally. you maneurver over to fruits, a few stands in a row -- citrus, apples, berries. all separated by category in large cargo looking boxes. you snag a big box of cherries, the three pound one, knowing you'll go through the small ones too fast. you frown over the lack of watermelon, continuing along while someone turns the corner into your aisle. you look up for a moment, just to scan your surroundings, to see who it is.

you've never seen him before, but you've never seen anyone here before. it's not like there's regulars at the grocery store in a city like this. his hands hang over the handle to his cart by the wrists, knuckles tattooed in shapes you can't make out. you follow the leather banded watch up to a full sleeve of ink, only obscured by the start of a cuffed t-shirt sleeve, a crisp white that blinds against the black of the elvira pin up tattoo on his tricep. horror icons blending into each other seamlessly. you can see more black and color peeking out from the collar of his shirt --vintage judas priest, mint condition, tucked comfortably under a well perserved denim vest covered in patches of bands you've never heard of. you're surprised by the black chino shorts on his bottom half, not expecting someone who was clearly still stuck in their grunge phase to wear those over cut off jeans. the busted up reebok's on his feet make up for it though -- pairing nicely with the tattoos on his calves and thighs, not quite sleeves, but enough to make a statement.

you grab a box of strawberries and pop them into your basket, surveying the mangos on the top shelf at your eye level while he maneuvers behind you. you think he's cute but you don't take too much stock in it -- it's so like you to have a 'train boyfriend' or 'trader joe's boyfriend' for a brief moment in time. someone cute that you spot outside and never speak to. it's one of those days.

he has brown eyes and thick lashes, hair dark wrapped in a bun on the top of his head with streaks of silver poking through, bangs in his face. some curls stick to the heated skin by his neck and jaw. not that you're looking. the scruff on his face is littered with salt and pepper -- maybe that part of him aging more than the rest. he grabs a heap of bananas to his nearly empty cart. he also has a big box of cherries in there. he wears a cologne with spice and suede in the notes, it's familiar, a little smoky. maybe an old boyfriend used to wear it. you shrug it off, grabbing a mango or two and popping it in a produce bag before hocking it in. more veggies for a greek salad. an onion. some pre-packaged turkey slices.

you turn into the first frozen food section, weaving through more people who just stand there and you grit your teeth. you snag some frozen broccoli, the coolness bringing you a moment of calm so that you don't lose your mind inside the store. more like traitor joe's. you grab a few more things, a veggie medley for a tofu scramble, some scallion pancakes that you’ll use as meal replacement because no matter how many times you think you’ll food prep you never do. you see him at the end of the aisle, rifling through bags of frozen shrimp to find one he likes. you notice he has a ring on but it’s on his pointer finger, two more rings on the hand that holds his cart by his hip – a silver chain dangles from what you assume is his wallet in his back pocket. his keys jingle from a carabiner by his front belt loop. slut, you think to yourself. you grab a bag of small frozen salmon filets, not paying much mind to your grocery store boyfriend of the week when you turn the corner to the next frozen food aisle. he’s there not soon after you, grabbing frozen fruit medleys and a few bars of chocolate on the non-frozen shelving above. you aren’t sure if he sees you, but you see him. you can smell the suede and spice of his cologne as his moves past you to the other end. bread is on the back wall of the store, you want to get sourdough but you know you’ll just eat it plain and not make sandwiches so you opt for the tuscan loaf instead. you snag a bag of mini bagels, forgoing the small baguettes this time. you can’t afford the good burrata this week for any special girl dinner you come up with, so it’s best to not have it around if you can’t pair it with anything pretty. further down the back wall you get to snacks and don’t ignore the bag of yogurt covered pretzels – a basket must. seaweed snacks for salmon rice bowls. plantain chips. Your basket feels a little heavy but at least this errand is almost over. you turn down the pasta, beans, and rice aisle and there he is turning down the other end. you both catch each other this time, because this time feels like it’s not a coincidence. you both break eye contact as quickly as you make it, both of you looking down and smiling to yourselves. you feel the heat on your cheeks but you don’t see his blush, both of you too preoccupied with whatever you have to pick up to pay attention to the other. you smell the suede and smoke even after you lose him to the next couple of aisles.

pre-packaged tortellini, lox, shredded cheese. chicken thighs. a six pack of some pretty sounding beer you’ve never tried. your basket overflows but it’s fine. the errand is over, at least here, before you need to run into target which for some reason is far less overstimulating. he’s a few people ahead of you on the opposite line, still leaning over the edge of his cart with his hands hanging, one thumbing a text to someone before he stands up fully to push the cart ahead. he looks over his shoulder and your eyes briefly meet for a moment – heat on your cheeks – before he moves ahead to turn down the long row of cashiers to pay. you don’t see him when it’s your turn and by the time you’re done paying you’ve already forgotten about him, lost in a flirty conversation with the guy ringing you up. target only has half of what you need and that’s fine because nothing else will fit in the big canvas bags you brought with you for your groceries and it’s at least an eight minute walk back to the train. you groan when you get back out into the heat, the boiler room of the subway cooking you as you make it down to the platform. a pleasant sigh passes your lips when you see it’s at least only a four minute wait until your train makes it to you – only a few more minutes of suffering before you’re on your way back to your air conditioned studio apartment. you look across the platform where some old lady’s push cart rattles as it makes it down the stairs on the other side. her little body walking ahead, a voice saying ‘i got it, ma’am don’t worry,’ echos down into the chamber of the subway.

there he is. a canvas bag on each arm filled to the brim and the push cart lifted in front of him. while you can’t see from this distance, you have a feeling you’d like how his arms looked at full capacity like this. the cart’s metallic jingle continues when he places it on the concrete ground, pushing it over to the woman who now sits pleasantly on the bench. you watch their conversation while they say quiet ‘thank yous’ and ‘your welcomes’ to each other and he checks his phone while he finds a spot to stand, waiting for his train on the opposite side.

you check your phone just the same and look up again as he puts his phone in the pocket of his vest. his attention catches on you from across the way.

he gives you a small wave and smiles. he has a nice smile, infectious.

“hi.”

you wave back with two fingers, a small salute, “hey.”

“i’m eddie,” he starts as the red glow of the light on your train starts to pull in.

the chug, chug, chug starting to drown him out. he raises his voice with a boyish grin, you hear him just before the train obscures him from view – whooshing past you as it pulls into the station. “i normally go to trader’s on wednesdays!”

you get on the train when the doors open, seeing him still on the platform, searching for you in the windows. you put your hand up again in an awkward wave and he grins when he finds you. ‘stand clear of the closing doors, please!’ he puts a hand back up with two fingers, mouthing out a message. ‘wednesdays around two.’

you give him the okay symbol with your fingers and nod at him, chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation, he chuckles too. his smile is pretty, lips are full. his two fingers point to his eyes and then at you – ‘see you then’.

the train pulls away before you get a chance to reply.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie munson #old!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #stranger things #stranger things fan fiction

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zombieplaygrounds · 3 months ago

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cw: hybrids, hare hybrid König afab! reader

summary: hare hybrid könig, anyone? mostly a joke fic that's been spinning in my head for a few months

So you're the picture perfect cottage core, forest living gal. Real off the grid - well, sort of, everyone needs their WiFi, right? Anyways you're up there with your little vegetable garden, spending most of your days roaming the forest and foraging. If you're not doing that, you're gardening. Little did you know..there's a hare in the woods. A big one too. You've heard the rumors from passing travelers - rumors that were big hybrids up in these woods. Horror stories too, sounds at night and the typical scary stuff that makes you sleep with your head under a blanket and a knife tucked under your pillow.

You weren't stupid - not to your own terms, anyways - but you were maybe a bit naïve. Especially when one early morning you wake up to the noise of something scritching at your door. So you tip toe your way to the door, knife tucked behind your leg and your bare feet quietly stepping on the planks that didn't creak. You check the peep hole...and nothing? Clearly, you've never watched a horror movie either. Because you open the got damn door and are met with the wide-eyed sight of a man sitting his ass down before the door. He was cute, maybe even a little disturbing. Wide uncanny eyes, freakishly fucking long. At first, you really did thing you had finally come across one of those cryptids you heard about online. And then he snuffled, nuzzling his face into your hip.

And like any living being with a soul, you took him in. Apparently, his name was König. He was very clearly a hare hybrid from hell. Ate whatever you fed him and ten times more. Also practically lived in your warmth. Occasionally tried to piss places he shouldn't, which met the wrath of your flying shoe. "Are you gonna let go?" You ask one day while you're gardening. He had been hugging you from behind for three hours now. It was cute at first..but it was getting a bit ridiculous.

"No." König rasped. His voice boyish and a bit raspy. But his words were enough to quickly end the conversation.

You also did try to kick him out in the past, gently, of course. Mostly little shoves about how it was spring and there were probably lots of yummy berries and vegetables sprouting up already. But he just kinda grunted and continued to nibble at the fucking rib-eye steak you made for yourself. Greedy bastard. It wasn't all bad though. Occasionally at night König would tuck you in real close to his chest, and he smelt pretty nice! His heart was always pounding rapidly. He'd nuzzle and sniff at you gently, which honestly was kinda nice when you were having trouble falling asleep.

"You smell good." You mumble, staring up at his wide eyed expression. König would chuff back at you, nibbling your flesh gently. "Because you are my girlfriend" "Oh! Yeah. That makes a lot of sense." "Wait..what?"

this was a not a joke fic please write more hare hybrid konig

#cw: hybrids #könig #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig x reader #könig call of duty #könig cod #könig mw2 #zombieplayground #zombieplaygrounds #könig x reader #cod mw2 #hare!König #hare hybrids

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captainsophiestark · 1 month ago

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Don't Mess With Demeter

Luke Castellan x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Day One Prompt: "That was good work."

Summary: Travis and Connor Stoll like to cause problems. Fortunately, having Luke Castellan for a boyfriend can help take the sting out of dealing with those problems.

Word Count: 1,802

Category: Fluff, Humor

A/N: Happy spooky season everyone!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU TWO!"

My eyes snapped open at the screeching sound coming from just outside my cabin. I rolled out of bed quickly, hustling to the front door in my pajamas, to find Katie Gardner absolutley fuming in the front doorway. Her fists were clenched as she started at someone beyond the cabin door, the early morning light giving her silhouette a rosy glow.

I hadn't had a chance to look at the clock, but clearly it was much too early on a Saturday for me to be dealing with this. Unfortunately for me, as the head counselor for the Demeter cabin, I didn't actually have a choice.

I followed Katie as she stormed outside, in hot pursuit of whoever had gotten on her bad side. As she stepped further into the light, I realized she was absolutley dripping wet, and the most likely series of events clicked into my head at the exact same time I heard the Stolls cackle.

Damned Hermes kids. I knew better than to expect them to ever stop pranking us completely, especially since Travis seemed to use it as a way to flirt with Katie, but did they have to do it so early in the morning?

By the time I cleared the Demeter cabin's front steps, Katie had already chased the Stolls halfway across the lawn full of cabins, shouting and hurling seed packets at them as she went. With a little Demeter magic, she made the packets explode as soon as they got close enough to the Stolls. For the sake of every single camper still asleep, I needed to put a stop to this sooner than later.

I snatched up my own handful of seeds that had been sitting outside the cabin, then took off after Katie, Connor, and Travis. The Stolls kept cutting back and forth across the grass, Katie always a few steps behind them, which made it much easier for me to catch up to the trio by skipping the zig zags. Connor made it almost to the treeline of the forest before apparently remembering he might not want to take a fight with a Demeter kid into the woods, so he came to a screeching halt. Travis, who'd had his head turned to grin at Katie, ran right into his back. The two went toppling to the ground, and when I finally reached them, Katie had her arm pulled back to annihilate the brothers with whatever she managed to grow out of all the seeds she'd grabbed.

"Nope!" I cried, using one hand to stop Katie from following through on her throw while I scattered my own seeds with the other. A little concentration and a wave of my hand later, some flowers had sprouted and wrapped lightly around the Stolls' legs, keeping them in place at least for the moment. I turned my attention fully to Katie again.

She scolwed me, her half-dry hair and near-growling tone giving her quite a wild look.

"What are you doing? I had them!"

"Katie, as much as I get where you're coming from, I can't let you make the Stolls into living tress."

"Why not? They deserve it! It'd finally stop them from showing up at our cabin at five in the morning on a Saturday just to mess with us!" I grimaced. I knew it was early, but 5am... oof. "See! You know I'm right."

I sighed. "While my regular camper heart might agree with you, since my alarm was you screaming thanks to their prank... my senior counselor brain is reminding me we don't get to kill the other campers, even when they might deserve it. Sorry, Katie."

"So what, they just get away with it? Like nothing ever happened?"

"No, definitley not." I turned to the Stolls again, hands on my hips. They'd both managed to get about halfway out of my flower trap, but they froze on the spot when they noticed my attention on them. "What do you think, boys? You drove a daughter of Demeter to a murderous rage. I think that's gonna take quite a bit to make up for it."

They both sighed, relaxing back against the ground as they shared a look. They communicated silently for a few moments, Travis opening his mouth to say something before Connor held up a hand. Finally, Connor turned back to me.

"We'll take her stable cleaning chores for the week," he said. Katie and I scoffed in sync.

"Nice try, Connor. How about this? Both of you take all of Katie's chore spots for the next week, and I'll schedule you a few extra rotations in the stables, since you seemed so willing to take over there. And if you wake me up this early in the morning by going after one of my siblings again, I might just roll over and go back to sleep while Katie takes care of the problem for me."

Travis huffed, flopping onto his back on the ground, and Connor narrowed his eyes at me.

"That seems a little harsh."

"Oh, by all means. Let me wake you up at five tomorrow with screaming and a run and see how you feel about it."

"Fine. Message recieved," he huffed, rolling his eyes. I waved my hand to free them both from the flower trap and they stood. They made it all the way to the door of the Hermes cabin, Travis shooting a wink at Katie as he went, before Connor paused and turned back to me. "We'll make sure to schedule our pranks in the late morning from now on."

The grin those two gave me before ducking through the door was mischief incranate, but I just sighed. Now that the crisis had been dealt with, all I wanted was to go back to sleep.

"I'm going to kill them," Katie huffed from beside me. I turned to her with a lopsided smile.

"Even Travis?"

"Of course Travis! Why would you even ask me that?" I raised an eyebrow at her, and despite her scowl, she blushed furiously. "Oh, shut up! A traitor in my own house..."

She shook her head, grumbling as she headed back to our cabin without looking back at me. I just grinned as I watched her go. As much as she liked to complain about the Stolls, I'd seen her shoulder to shoulder having the time of her life with them too many times to believe she really hated them. Travis especially.

The sound of a door opening and closing drew my attention away from Katie and back to the Hermes cabin. I got ready to hurl another handful of seeds if the Stolls had decided to pick possibly the worst time ever to show their faces again, but instead, I got a much nicer surprise. Luke, my boyfriend and the head counselor of the Hermes cabin, wandered out in a camp t-shirt and his pajama pants, his hair a delightfully ruffled mess.

"Hey," he called as he walked towards me. "Any idea why the Stolls just came running into my cabin muttering and plotting?"

"Is that not just the base state of Hermes kids?"

"Very funny," he huffed, and I grinned.

"They dumped a bucket of water on Katie's head this morning. I woke up to her screaming bloody vengance, and just managed to catch them before she got her revenge. In the interest of keeping the peace, I gave them all her chore spots in exchange for Katie not attacking them. Then I made sure they knew I wasn't going to get up to save them next time if something happened before nine am."

Luke laughed, pulling me in close for a hug as he finally reached me. I let him, leaning into his chest and sighing in the now-peaceful morning.

"You know they're just going to wait until about five minutes after nine now, right?"

"Yeah."

"As long as you're prepared. Still. That was good work." He pulled back with a smile, then leaned in as if to kiss me. I leaned back, putting a hand on his chest to stop him, and he frowned.

"Kisses are for boyfriends who don't abandon me to deal with his problem-children on my own. At five in the morning."

Luke huffed a laugh before pulling me back into his chest. I let him, although I put up a little resistance just to make my point.

"Hm. I don't suppose there's anything I can do to make it up to you? Get back in your good graces?"

"I don't know, Castellan. Connor and Travis made me run at five in the morning."

"Oh, it's Castellan now, is it?"

"Mhm."

"Alright. What if... I put together an extra-special date for us tonight? Something romantic, relaxing, and maybe even a little magical. Would that get me back in your good graces?"

I hummed pretending to think about it. Luke kissed the top of my head, then pulled back again enough to look me in the eye. He raised an eyebrow.

"Well?"

"I guess that might work. Depending on just how relaxing and romantic said date is."

"Oh, I can promise you right now, it'll be the most romantic and the most relaxing. And even better, I'll make sure nobody can interrupt us with camp problems, pranks, or anything else for the rest of the night."

"You really think you can make that happen?" I asked, letting the skepticism creep into my voice. By virtue of being two of the oldest campers who'd also been here close to the longest, we got roped into everything. Luke just grinned back at me, a little bit of his family resemblance to the Stolls creeping through via the glint in his eyes.

"I really think I can."

I grinned, dropping the huffy act and leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

"Well, good. Because after this morning, I need a night like that with my favorite person."

"So I take it I'm at least mostly off the hook?"

"Mostly. All the way if and when we get our peaceful night tonight."

"Can't wait."

We shared a smile, then Luke leaned in to kiss me, and this time I let him. Despite the early hour, the moment alone with the camp so quiet as the sun rose over Long Island Sound was actually pretty nice. After a moment, though, I pulled back, and Luke and I shared a sigh.

"You wanna head to breakfast while we can still get away with sitting at the same table? Before the rest of the campers show up?"

"Always," he said, smiling again and taking my hand in his. The two of us headed off to the dining pavilion together, taking the rare opportunity to enjoy a peaceful morning together. Would I have preferred to still be asleep right now? Sure. But if I couldn't get that, then a nice, quiet morning with Luke wasn't a bad second option.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

Riordanverse: @valkyriepirate

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tritoch · 9 months ago

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one thing i like to do when i'm feeling too unbothered and chill and normal is read venat discourse on twitter. makes me insane every single time it comes up. "she placed herself as a god above the ancients and judged that they had no right to live" "she was taking the only path available to her to stop meteion and defeat the final days because it needed to be a race that could handle dynamis" wrong wrong wrong! learn to read!

venat was stopping a planned mass sacrifice of non-ancient life by the only means available to her. that is the primary motivation for the sundering. shadowbringers says this to you, very very clearly. hythlodaeus in "a greater purpose," 5.0 (this is when you're chilling at the DMV together):

The Convocation of Fourteen─well, it was Thirteen at the time─endeavored to create a will for our star. They would repair the fundamental laws of order and halt the spread of destruction. But creation on such a scale required an immense source of power... Of those of us who still lived, nearly half offered up their lives in the name of salvation. And from their sacrifice, Zodiark was born. Just as we had hoped, He reached forth and halted the march of oblivion. ...Yet oh how the star had suffered. So many species lost. The land was blighted, the waters poisoned, and even the wind had ceased to blow. Once more did our people give of themselves to Zodiark. Another half of our race sacrificed to cleanse the world; to ensure that trees and grasses and myriad tiny lives would sprout and grow and flourish. The cycle of life had begun anew, and we reconsidered the means by which we might protect it. The Convocation decided thus: we would nurture our world until it was bursting with vitality. Then, when the time was right, we would offer some portion of its living energy to Zodiark... In return, He would restore to us those brethren whose souls had fed His strength, and together we would resume our role as stewards. There were, however, those who disagreed with this plan. They argued that enough had been sacrificed to Zodiark─that this new world should belong to the lives newly born. These dissidents surrendered their life energies in the creation of Hydaelyn, an incarnation of their opposing belief. And for the first time in history, our people stood divided... Know you, then, how this conflict ended?

Hythlodaeus is very clear: Following the first 50% sacrifice to Zodiark, the land was dying and there had been a mass die-off. A second 50% sacrifice (so 25% of the pre-Zodiark Ancient population) resolved that, cleansing the world and restoring nature and non-Ancient life. Afterwards, the Convocation planned a third sacrifice: they would "nurture [the] world until it was bursting with vitality," the "trees and grasses and myriad tiny lives" he describes earlier, and then sacrifice some considerable amount of that life to restore the Ancients comprising Zodiark.

People pretend that there's a lot more ambiguity on this point than there is, but it's quite clear that when he says "myriad tiny lives," he is saying something that encompasses the modern peoples of Eorzea or their very near ancestors (it's only been about 12,000 years since the Sundering. For comparison early modern humans emerged about 300,000 years ago, and there's no suggestion I'm aware of that evolution even exists on Etheirys anyhow). There's a couple very strong pieces of evidence for this:

First, anything that exists on multiple shards must have existed pre-Sundering, since there's close to no multidimensional travel (barring Ascians and the Exarch). Thus, all the player races, which we know exist on each shard so far, as well as, say, the Amalj'aa, the Kobolds, the Sahagin, and the Qiqirn, all must have existed before the Sundering since we also see them on the First.

Second, the phrasing of "trees and grasses and myriad tiny lives" positions "lives" as a category that encompasses everything that isn't trees and grasses. We can surmise that when he describes the Hydaelyn faction standing for "lives newly born" he's again describing basically everything that isn't plants. this again includes the spoken races of the current game or their ancestors; they are a clear part of what was at stake in the sacrifice.

Third, if that doesn't persuade you that Hythlodaeus is talking about lives like yours, consider that you've just spent the last few quests exploring the city full of giant ancient magic people going "wow! you're so small and childlike! what a miniscule living being you are!" When Hythlodaeus gives this speech about "myriad tiny lives," he is a literal enormous giant sitting next to you, a very tiny living being from his perspective.

This sacrifice, which Hythlodaeus explains to you in the DMV, is the crux of the matter and the root of Venat's choice. The time loop, her knowledge of Meteion, the debate over the right solution to the final days—all of that is secondary. She explicitly is unsure up until you meet her in the Aitiascope whether the time loop is stable and real and applies to you.

The essential issue is the fact that the Ancients are supposed to be stewards of the star, and now they are going to engage in mass sacrifice of lives that Venat knows are people like her and her peers (mostly this is thanks to being a humanist who believes in the sanctity and dignity of life but she also has the confirmation of your post-sundering, totally humanlike existence). Just a quarter of the Ancients' original number remain, their society is in tatters, and what's left is in the process of actively betraying every ideal they ever claimed to hold by slaughtering the life they allegedly guide and care for (which they know to be ensouled!) to undo the great and noble sacrifice of their loved ones.

but venat's faction is weak. it's her and like 13 sorta-important people she knows plus maybe some unnamed others. they lack the numbers or the raw ability to make something that can defeat zodiark, and will need instead to lean on venat's abilities.

her morals do not allow her to stand by as the convocation plans a mass sacrifice of "lesser" life. her circumstances do not give her the time or ability to win them over through rhetoric or decisively defeat them with force. nor can she actually destroy zodiark, because then the final days would simply resume. nor, I assume, is she interested in straight up slaughtering what remains of the ancients until the convocation's plan becomes impractical, assuming she is even strong enough to do so with just the twelve and the watcher's ancient selves for backup. there is no longer an option on the table which does not involve great pain. left to choose between unacceptable options, she chooses the one route which seems able to protect the vitality of the world and uphold the ancients' mission of shepherding all life upon the star towards flourishing: the sundering.

#venat #ffxiv #endwalker spoilers #the sundering #meta: durai report

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bookshelf-dust · 2 years ago

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love and mandrakes

sirius black x gn!reader

word count: 5,220

warnings: swearing, fluff, i think that's literally it, but let me know if it's not

a/n: hi! so this is new!!! a new character!! sirius black is the loml, and i've been working on this for what feels like forever. i'm really proud of it, and i hope that maybe some of you will like it. it's been very fun to explore a new universe and the marauders as a whole. i hope you enjoy this!! love you 3000 <333

————

The greenhouse windows are frosty this morning, and you can feel the chill seeping in through the thin glass panes. You fight the urge to lift your finger, using the tip to draw a face in the condensation gathering on the one nearest you.

You’re stood at the back of the greenhouse, like always. You’ve never liked to be very close to Professor Sprout–certainly not because of any disdain towards the woman–but for the fear that she’d have something negative to say about your work. This is despite the fact that she’s been nothing but kind to you regarding every plant that’s ever been in your care.

Really it’s just that you’d beat yourself up if you killed a plant that makes you so determined to do well.

You’re twenty minutes early for class today. Early enough that it’s just you and Professor Sprout in the greenhouse. Everyone else likes to stumble in within the five minutes before class begins.

But clearly, that’s not quite the case this morning. The greenhouse doors open, both rather than just one, and Professor Sprout turns to greet whoever it is.

“Good morning, Mr. Black.”

You look up. Sirius Black is never early to class. If anything, he’s usually either not there at all, or the absolute last one to find his way in, perhaps a half hour late, if not more. He sidles up to Remus Lupin, and suddenly they've got a lovely little group project on their hands.

“Remus won’t be in today, Professor.” Sirius gives her a look that you assume is supposed to induce sympathy on her part. “Seems he’s got a cold.”

Pomona has never found it in herself to be frustrated with the boy, unlike the majority of her colleagues. She’s one of the few professors at the school to not harbor particularly malicious feelings towards the boy. He might be a troublemaker, but who isn’t at that age?

She’s been briefed on what his home life is like, too, and who he has to put up with. And since she was a young girl, Pomona has been determined to give everyone a fair chance.

"Thank you for letting me know," she tells him.

You watch as Professor Sprout heads to a supply closet and begins to pull out heaps of gloves and what look to be earmuffs, messily tossing away the things she doesn’t need. You're lost in observing her, so consequently the voice sounding a few inches from your ear startles you.

"You always in this early?" Sirius has materialized next to you, the beginnings of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

You glance at his hand where it lingers over the stem of a plant you’re not sure he should dare to touch. He’s got a ring on every finger excepting his thumb.

“Usually,” you say. It occurs to you that these are some of the first words you've ever spoken to the boy, if you don’t count bare minimum exchanges in the odd class. “I like it back here.”

You like it back there because less people can look at you. Because having to sit somewhere else stresses you out, not to mention throws you off. You feel safe in your little corner.

Sirius withdraws his hand from the questionable plant and raises his head. His eyes bore into yours. They’re the strangest shade of blue. It seems to shift in the light, and sometimes they look almost gray. He grins, and then begins to scan the area around the both of you.

“Suppose it is nice. Maybe I’ll stay back here with you. Wouldn’t want you to be lonely, you know.”

You snort at that and he quirks a brow at your amusement. Sirius pushes his hair behind his ear and you realize he’s got a silver industrial piercing.

“That hurt too bad?” You ask, gesturing towards the jewelry and hoping he knows what you mean. He does.

His thumb skips over the metal ball at one end, coming back to fiddle with a section of his robes. He leans forward, grinning at you. His smile is wide. The corners of his mouth tick up mischievously, smile lines conveying layers of mischief you know he must have hidden in that mind of his.

“Probably wouldn’t have as much if I’d gone to a shop.”

You gasp lightly, thinking about it getting infected and Sirius having a bloody mess on his hands.

“You did it yourself?” You ask, eyes wide and full of concern.

He laughs. It’s a gorgeous sound, deep and friendly. Warm.

“I was prohibited,” he says, pressing a scandalized hand to his chest. “Remus did it for me over break, while my brother played nurse.”

“Well it looks nice,” you tell him, palms beginning to sweat. You find his presence to be slightly overwhelming. “I mean I think so.”

“Thank you, sweets.” He bends slightly at the waist, hand over his stomach, and it’s a gesture you might take as being that of an asshole, if it weren’t for his voice being so kind.

You hum in place of a you’re welcome, trying to will away the swarm of butterflies in your tummy. They’re being rather aggressive.

“And for the record,” he adds, “Remus was very strict with my cleaning regimen, so I did not get any infections if that’s what you’ve been contemplating.”

“That’s good.” You smile. You’re not sure it’s anywhere near as pretty as his.

Professor Sprout claps her hands, startling you. Today is really not your day. Sirius snorts at your jolt, but when you glance at him he’s pretending to be intensely focused on your instructor.

“Morning, everyone!” she begins. “Today, as you may have guessed, we will start our lessons on Mandrakes. This particular lesson will focus on basic knowledge, as well as care, but come next class, your actual project will begin.”

“You’re going to need a partner, so I’ll give you a few minutes now to choose, that way you can prepare with one another prior to the main exercise.”

All at once, everyone turns to this person and that, chattering and deliberating. It seems everyone has someone.

Your heart starts to pound, and you wonder if maybe Professor Sprout might let you work independently. Pairs are forming, and you can feel yourself being left out, pushed to the edges of society. Maybe that’s dramatic, but it’s how you feel.

You lean against the table behind you, hoping that she won’t call you out for not having a partner. That is until there’s a figure in front of you.

“What’d you think, huh? Shall we work together?” Sirius stands so that you have no other choice but to look back at him. It’d come off rude to not maintain eye contact at this distance.

You feel yourself burn and can’t help but wonder if this is some sort of cruel joke.

“Wouldn’t you rather wait and join Remus?” You ask, fingernails picking at the wooden underside of the table.

“You think I’m using you as a fill-in?”

You shrug, rubbing your nose. “We’ve quite literally never spoken an actual conversation before today. I just thought you’d want to work with your friend and not some stranger.”

“Well there’s a first for everything, isn’t there? And you’re not a stranger. I see you all the time.”

You sigh. He grins, ever pleased with himself.

“You don’t want to be friends with me?” He teases.

“I—”

“No, it’s quite alright. I’ll see if good ‘ol Mona will help me out.” He turns like he’s going to march away, though his feet barely move. He’s not going anywhere and you both know it.

“Holy shit,” you start. “Just shut up. Go and get the gloves then.”

Sirius grins. “Demanding, aren’t we?”

He does go and get them though, returning with two sets of gloves and a pair of shears, as Professor Sprout had instructed.

“Today, we will focus on tending to your Mandrakes. I want you, in your pairs, to check the soil and water as needed. I also want you to trim the leaves, as these have been left to run amok for a while. To work!”

Chatter erupts around you, bouncing against the glass walls of the greenhouse.

You fetch a watering can while the area is still free, and Sirius fills it up for you. You notice that your Mandrake is severely lacking the soil it needs. It’s not very well off at all.

“Do you see this?” You ask him, gesturing towards where the roots are showing, clearly dehydrated and with nowhere to sprawl out and grow. “She’s got us treating the wounded.”

Sirius crosses his arms. “That’s a damn shame now, isn’t it? Guess we better heal this thing then.”

“Are you fucking with me?” You ask, eyes darting up to meet his.

“No, I swear. I can tell you’re into this. It’s not my best subject.”

“Well you know what they say.”

“What do they say?” His eyes are gleaming. That’s the best word you can think to use for it.

“Teamwork makes the dream work.”

He rolls the very same eyes. “I’d like a new partner after that one.”

You laugh, and Sirius feels a pang in his chest. Like he’s taken a blade to the heart, and he can’t do anything but let it happen. Your laugh is such a sweet sound and he worries it might be the death of him.

You slip your gloves on and start trimming the leaves that have to go. There’s quite a few of them, but luckily they seem to be towards the bottom of the stem, and you think once you’re able to water it, the Mandrake might have a chance.

You finish with the shears, and set them down. You look up at Sirius, and your eyes catch a group of buttons on the shoulder of his robes. His hair had been covering them before. You find yourself feeling warm inside, as one in particular tickles your fancy.

“I like your pin,” you say.

His brows shoot up, “Which?”

You use your pinky and tap the glossy finish. He watches. “That one.”

“The Queen one?”

You nod, shoving some more soil into your pot to try and save the roots.

“You listen to them?” Sirius leans down so that his face is next to the Mandrake and in your line of sight. He’s got this brilliant grin. It’s worrying you. For a moment you think he might say something cruel, but the look in his eye is almost boyish.

“Yeah,” you say. “My mom is a muggle. Fell for a dorky wizard boy. So she’s raised me on loads of good stuff.”

“Lucky duck, you.”

You snort and then look up at him, though he's already been looking at you. His eyes haven't left you the whole time you've been working. He finds the way you treat the plant as if it has feelings to be charming. He wonders if you take care of everyone like that. Or maybe even yourself.

You move the soil pouch towards him. "You gonna help me?"

He slips his gloves back on. They really don't match anything he's wearing, and frankly it bothers him a bit. "Of course, of course."

He starts tending to the plant and you watch, noticing the bumps left in the gloves where his rings are hiding underneath.

"Feed her, Seymour," you say, and Sirius whips his head towards you.

"Who the fuck is Seymour?"

"Muggle film. Musical actually. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry for exposing your nerdiness. What's the film about? Talk to me," he proclaims, wincing at the state of his soil work.

“This guy, Seymour, finds a plant, and he tries to take care of it, you know, as you do, but he figures out it only wants blood and meat to eat and that’s what he feeds it, so it keeps growing and growing until it’s big enough that it starts eating people.”

Sirius looks at you with wonder in his eyes, and starts to laugh. "Are you fucking with me, love?"

You start to smile, one that you at first try to suppress, but it ends up spreading across your face, softening your features. Sirius thinks maybe it's the prettiest smile he's ever seen. He can't get over the way the lines around your mouth form, or the way your cheeks bunch and your eyes light up.

"No, I promise."

The boy tugs his gloves off, having finished salvaging the soil for your plant. "Killer plants, huh?"

"Indeed," you say. "You know Mandrakes are killer too, right?"

"Stop."

You start to water the plant, trying your best not to drown the damn thing. "What do you think the earmuffs are for, dumbass?"

You immediately regret calling him a dumbass, thinking you may have crossed a line--it's not like you know him all that well, you've only been speaking for this one class period--but he only smiles at you.

For some reason, you find him easy to be around. He doesn't scare you.

"It's cold."

"Because it's cold? No. After we save the plants we have to re-pot them, and when we take them out they're going to scream. Their cries are fatal, Sirius."

He stares at you. Remus did not tell him this. Technically he could've read his textbook, but clearly he didn't.

"That seems highly uncalled for."

You chuckle and he grins again.

"I agree,” you say. “Have you got the time?”

Sirius pushes his sleeve up, glancing at the watch tight around his left wrist. “We’ve got five minutes left.”

You look up, and notice Professor Sprout removing her gloves. If you’d waited to ask for just a moment longer, she would’ve begun her everyone-get-your-shit-together-and-get-out-of-here speech.

“Students, your attention please!” Professor Sprout’s cheeks are rosy, tufts of curls sticking out from under the brim of her hat.

“Next class we’ll try and get the Mandrakes repotted, so that they may grow to their full potential and can then be used as needed for Madam Pomphrey. You’ll need to come and water your plants periodically throughout the week, as these tend to drink rather quickly, so I suggest you alternate days with your companion.”

When you’ve finished and you’re outside once again, it’s misty, your skin dampening with each step you take.

You feel a hand on your elbow, and Sirius has appeared next to you. Frankly, you hadn’t expected him to continue contact with you.

The both of you had discussed what days you’d water you plant, and you assumed that was that.

“I’ve realized we’re co-parenting a Mandrake,” he starts, “and I feel as though I should at least know a little something about the mother of my child.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “You know, to ensure that they don’t grow up lacking proper guardianship.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, hopping over a puddle.

He tosses his head back, laughing, and you feel your insides go all warm and gooey at how his hair moves with the motion. You can’t help but wonder what it feels like.

“First, you don’t want to be friends, and now, you want our child to be one of divorce.”

You stop, resting your forehead against the cool stone of one of the courtyard walls.

“Sirius, we haven’t even been married.”

He presses his forehead against the stone next to you, and you turn to look at him. “I’m pretty sure there are a good bit of people who’ve been married and know less about each other than we do,” he says.

You smile at the wall and he catches it.

“Besides, we’ve got the same music taste, and that means I’ve got to keep you around.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s how this works. Didn’t you know?”

You brush at the side of your robes where you’ve now gotten moss remains on them. “I was not aware, no.”

“Haven’t you got class or something?” You ask him. His cheeks are pink from the cold, a stark contrast from the chill of his eyes, the sharp black of his hair.

“Not for another hour. You?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“So tell me something quick.” He spins a ring around his finger, a chunky silver one with something set into the center. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Seriously?”

He smiles. It’s gorgeous and full-fledged. You can’t believe he’s looking at you like that. It feels like some big error.

“Sorry I set myself up for that one,” you say. “Um, it’s green.”

“Lovely. Now what shade of green are we talking?”

“Sirius.” You pout.

“Come on now, chop chop.” He snaps his fingers. “Thought you had an excuse to ditch me or something?”

You roll your eyes. It seems that cocky ass grin never leaves his face. “Like a forest green. Trees and such.”

Sirius claps his hands together, metal clinking. “That’s fantastic. I’ll be sure to remember it. Mine’s purple, by the way, thank you for asking.”

“I bet you look stunning in purple, Sirius.”

He blushes. He actually blushes. You grab for his wrist and push his sleeve up to peer at his watch.

“I’ll see you around, okay?”

For the first time in a long time, Sirius Black hasn’t got shit to say. No one ever makes him blush.

————

“I don’t come to class one day, and you’ve made a new friend? Why couldn’t you have made a new one any other day? I think I need some time off. Maybe even early retirement.”

Sirius smacks Remus on the shoulder where the latter lays stretched out in bed. The curtains are drawn one one side so that the only person they’re visible to is James, who is half asleep in the neighboring bed, glasses askew and tie on the brink of choking him.

“It’s rude to abuse the wounded.”

“You’re off your rocker, Lupin.”

Remus rubs his face, though he winces, his arms much too sore for any sort of activity. “Tell me about it.”

“Feeling any better today?”

“Yes, Sirius. I’m feeling fucking wonderful.”

“He’s being sarcastic.” James’ voice is muffled by the pillow he’s collapsed into.

Sirius turns to look at his friend. “Yeah, no shit, Prongs. Thank you so much for enlightening me.”

James raises a weak arm, flipping him off. “Eat me.”

“You say that as if I won’t do it.”

James sits up, but only enough so that he may rearrange himself into a poorly structured child’s pose. “Stop being such fucking tease and do it then, babe.”

Remus rubs his eyes aggressively, like it might somehow rid him of his ever permanent longing for sleep. “Shove it, you two.” He peeks out from between his fingers at Sirius. “I thought you were saying how you’ve made someone else miserable with the joys of your friendship.”

“Fuck you,” Sirius says.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I did make a new friend. In herbology, since you decided to have a go with the moon and left me to perish.” Remus rolls his eyes. “They’re very kind, if you must know. We are co-parenting a Mandrake.”

James snorts into the mattress.

“Is it really co-parenting if you’ll make them do all of the work?” Remus asks.

James snorts again and Sirius leans over to smack him against the back. He lets out a pathetic cry that both of the other boys ignore.

“I’m helping, asshole,” Sirius begins. “I’m supposed to go water the fucking thing in a bit if either of you need proof of life.”

“Of your friend or of your child?” Remus reaches his arm out to grab hold of one of the bedposts and heave himself up.

“Both.”

James slides off of his bed and starts to stretch, and a cacophony of cracking sounds follows, which is slightly concerning considering his age. “Sorry. I’m supposed to go and see Lils. But I expect a full report back, Moons.” He strips off his tie and pulls on a coat. The other two boys watch him bound across the room like they’re at a tennis match.

James is gone so quickly you’d be amazed that he was half-asleep minutes before.

“What a prick,” Sirius says from where he sits at the foot of Remus’ bed. He looks away from the door and at his friend.

Sirius sets his hand on Remus’ knee. “You get any sleep this morning?”

“Some. Not enough. Though it’s never enough, or whatever.” Sirius gets a pang in his chest. He wishes he could make it all better.

“You want to get some fresh air? You can come with me to the greenhouses if you want, but you can stay here too. I’ll sneak down to the kitchens and get you something.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll go with you. Sun’s not out, is it? It’ll kill my head.”

Sirius stands and peers beneath the drawn curtains. It’s cloudy, like it might storm, a thick layer of cloud lying over the grounds. “Nope. She’s hiding from you today.”

Remus nods and his friend walks back over to his bedside. “Come on, Rem.”

He removes the blankets from over his lap and scoots to the edge of his mattress. Sirius holds out his hands for Remus to take. Sometimes he gets really woozy when he has to stand after nights like the last. His knees shake, but he’s steady once he’s up. Sirius keeps an arm around his back when there isn’t anyone in the halls to question Remus’ condition, but has to settle for watching his friends footing otherwise.

Sirius gets Remus on a bench and makes a stop by Madam Pomphrey on the way, feigning a headache. She gives him a little bottle of these chewable tablets with instructions on how often to take them and tells him to come back if the ache persists.

He hands the bottle to Remus when he’s finished, and the boy’s had the medicine for an entire four seconds before he’s chewing. It’s one of those headaches that stays dull, but any sudden movement and your entire skull is throbbing and he thinks he might just die. Remus thinks this every full moon. He is not dead.

The trip to the greenhouse takes longer than usual, mainly because of Sirius’ tendency to baby Remus during his moon hangovers. He claims it’s because he doesn’t want a death on his hands, something about living up to the Black name, but Remus knows it’s really because Sirius is much more caring than he’d ever admit.

“See? Look at this fucker. My child.” Sirius gestures dramatically at the potted plant. Remus leans up against one of the tables, only slightly amused, much more out of breath.

He’s only just gone digging for a watering can when he hears the door open and glances up, assuming it’s another student having to monitor their own dirt ball.

But it’s you.

“What’s up, love?”

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up. He hadn’t realized when Sirius said he made a friend he actually meant friend. He’s never really seen Sirius look at someone that way.

You stand by the doors, kicking the one you came through shut behind you. Sirius pretends like he’s not attracted to the movement.

“Hi,” you say. You step a little further into the room. “I know it’s not my day to water, but frankly I was kind of worried you’d forget to do it.”

Remus turns to face you and laughs, full on. You grin at him. He’s never really looked at you before, but there’s no denying how sweet you look. He bets you could kick Sirius’ ass if you wanted. He also thinks Sirius might let you do it.

Sirius straightens and flips his hair back as he does so. “You wound me.”

You shrug. “I was also slightly panicked you’d drown the thing, so there’s that.”

Sirius walks over to the sinks, filling up his watering can, though you both know he could easily use a spell to do it instead. “So you came to supervise?”

“‘Fraid so.” You chew on the inside of your lip.

“I don’t blame you,” Remus says. “He’s kind of a flake.”

“Fuck you, Rem.”

“Yeah, sure.” Remus pushes off of the table, moving in the direction of you and the doors. His head is starting to feel better. He leans in next to you, though his voice is anything but a whisper. “I don’t know why you’re putting up with him. Would’ve asked for a different partner myself.”

“She picked me!” You laugh, seeing Sirius put his hands on his hips out of the corner of your eye.

Remus raises a brow at you. “Oh yeah?” He smiles at you. It’s a knowing expression, an understanding one. He keeps his eyes on you, but speaks to Sirius. “I’m gonna go for a walk, Pads. Come and retrieve me when you’re finished.”

The squeeze Remus gives to your shoulder is kind. It tells you you’re safe with Sirius. With him. That you’re welcome. The glass door rattles as it shuts.

“You really have no faith in me?” Sirius asks, spritzing the Mandrakes leaves. You peer into the pot, noticing he’s watered it just right. It’s not going to drown after all.

“No, I’ve got plenty. Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”

Sirius sets the bottle he’s holding down. “No shit.”

“Well you see, last time you asked me a question, and I didn’t get to ask you one of my own, and I figured I’d better do that if I want to keep the friendship alive, you know?”

Sirius is smiling at you. He can’t believe this–your teasing.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone. “So what’s the question?”

“Do you like pie?” you question.

“I do.”

“That’s good. Because I feel the same way, and rumor has it you can get into the kitchens, so I thought we could work together on this...and get pie. It’s like a reward. I put up with you and you put up with me kind of thing, so we get something to eat.”

Sirius tosses his head back, letting out a bark of a laugh. Your eyes linger on his neck for a second longer than they should.

“Well the rumors are indeed true,” he says. “Guess we’ll have to ditch Remus, then. Make it a proper date and whatnot.”

“That seems unkind,” you chuckle.

“He’ll live.”

————

“What’s happening here?” Sirius throws himself into one of the chairs on the other side of the table where you and Remus sit.

“We’re reading,” Remus tells him. “Go away.”

Remus had shown you to this table. Said it was his favorite. There are a small group of them in the very back of the library, behind one of the last rows of shelves. You wouldn’t know they were there unless you went looking.

He said it’s where he goes to hide when James and Sirius won’t shut up and let him work, which is more often than not.

“You whined about me making new friends,” Sirius says, “so that I’d leave you alone, and now you’ve taken it upon yourself to steal said friend from me?”

You cover your face with your book, sliding deeper into your chair and trying your very best to fight off a giggle.

Sirius reaches across the table and snatches the book from your hands. He wants to see the shit-eating grin you’re hiding. He stands and moves in front of you just when you bury your face in your sleeve.

He tugs on the fabric of your shirt. “Traded me out then, have you?”

You snort into your sweater, and Sirius watched the way your shoulders shake. Remus eyes his friend’s hand, trying to make sure he didn’t lose your page with his frenzied antics. He didn’t though, pale thumb tucked into the paper.

Remus sets his own book down, stretching over the back of the chair. He’s thinking about going to bed.

Instead of looking at Sirius like you know he wants, you turn to Remus.

“Leavin’ me, Rem?”

Sirius scoffs. Rem his ass.

Remus lowers his head so that it’s level with yours. “Sleepy,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. You look at the scar that runs through his brow and across his eyelid. There’s another by his ear. You wonder if he’ll tell you about them someday.

He bumps his forehead—the gentlest of taps—with yours, and then he’s standing. Sometimes you forget how lanky he is when he’s always so hunched over.

“Goodnight, Lupin,” you say.

“Goodnight, you two. Don’t get too wild. This is still a library.”

Sirius takes the chair Remus had been occupying. You look at him, and reach for his hand. He wouldn’t even think about denying you taking it, even if he is being a grump.

“I have not traded you out, Sirius.” He glares at you, though his eyes are still much too soft for it to be anything malicious. He’s not sure he could ever look at you in a hateful way.

“You could’ve read with me,” he argues, tickling your palm. You try and wriggle your hand away, but he only presses his fingers firmly into your skin, keeping you there.

“Come on.”

“No, you could have,” he continues. “I can be very well behaved, if need be.”

“Oh yeah?” You’re the one smirking now. Sirius is afraid he might never get this image of you out of his head.

“Yeah.” He leans in, nuzzling his nose against your temple. When he pulls away, you realize he has a smattering of freckles under one eye. You have the urge to touch them, and so you do.

He relaxes against your hand. “You’re very pretty, Sirius.”

“Thank you.” He kisses your knuckle. “You’re very pretty, too, sweets.”

“Thank you.”

In the weeks since your Mandrake project has finished—and the plant did indeed survive—Sirius has grown increasingly attached to you. Frankly he finds himself shocked that you’re willing to deal with him at all, let alone that his friends like you so much. He wasn’t even a little upset that you’re spending time with Remus. You have a lot in common, actually.

He just likes to tease you. And he’s very good at it.

“So you come looking for me because you need something? Or are you perhaps attention starved?” You question, taking your hand away from his face, though your other is still within his grasp.

“Most definitely the latter.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

He speaks close to your ear as if he’s about to spill the world’s most confidential information. “Is this a safe space?”

“Absolutely,” you assure him.

“I want you to play with my hair,” Sirius says.

You gasp, clutching at your nonexistent pearls.

Your moment's pause makes him a little nervous. “Well let’s get on with it then,” you tell him.

You take Sirius up to your common room, it being much too late for anyone to be up. You slip your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp until he’s falling asleep and you’ve made promises of braiding it sooner or later. Eventually, you have to wake him, send him off to bed.

And he pouts. God, does he pout. But it’s okay. He’ll get you to do it again tomorrow.

————

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