#lie a meadow of red

[hozaloza]

Ashlyn is a host/sub zero of this "virus" and the only way to stop it is to kill off the host of the infection.

....

Fire.

[edenspoem]

thinking about painslut!ellie who likes getting scratched up by long nails.. ✮

nothing— and i punctuate nothing, compares to the painful bliss of feeling nails as whetted as a great white's jaw of knives tear red valleys into her shoulder blades. hell, ellie encourages you to mark up her back. not necessarily by words, though. a sort of fucking frenzy will kick in, and she'll embolden those claws to bite with her hips, rolling on yours, dragging her soppy folds all over your cunt. ellie angles herself in various ways; draws her groin under yours to hump your clit directly, positions and splays her pretty bush as she bounces on your bud, plasters her pussy full–on and circles the skin 'round. an unorthodox aim to get you wailing, "yyesss ellie!" as you cum against her puffy pussy and straightaway, without hesitation tracing your fingertips up her supple, dry–scored skin, you dip pressure beneath the jut of her shoulder blades and shred the flesh. "fuck! fuuck!" els' winces to your ear, growlish on the lobe as she nips it, "yeah, make me fucking bleed baby, fuckin' bleed." almost knurling her back into your clawing palms, seizing and clenching up her rump on your cunt as her cum spills lubricous and frothy inside your pussy lips, hiking herself up just so you could visual the honeyed webs keeping you two connected. "hurts so good, mhmm, so fucking.." but she is nay of breath and hazy of her heart and eye, the added zap to her climaxing core and the throbbing affliction of fresh crimson dashes oozing tiny beads of blood, sanguineous delight, offering of the pale mistress moon— has her merry to pass out. collapsing, her orangey sweat breasts fall to yours and squish like two pancakes, damp waist laying next, and lastly her chin hooking a home upon the nook of your neck, parting breaths she longs to not be livened of soon enough. "thank you.. thank y' thank— mhh, thank you." ellie recites a push of praises through your collarbone, her hand draped limp on your bicep wiping it's thumb so gentle with care, the ghostly graze dithers your brain a second— a moment you skip and fuzz the realization of a warm drip streaming on your rib during, the grasp of what that dribble was hitting you like a brick. "ellie, ur' back— y'need to.. huhh.. band-aid.." exhausted, little heaves clog your throat through the words, but ellie slacks her head up and renders them useless regardless, "mh–mm, it's fine. don't need 'em tonight." she gauzes your light worries in a tone that sifts through you, relaxes you, crafts you a reason to wonder 'why bother', and lie there lackadaisical as her kisses pepper cold on searing skin, a dozing meadow under the twilight sky of her sleepy gaze and in her arms like earth crust and soil fertile. sprouting in you a drug–like miasma that eats your thoughts and lulls your physical senses into a numb horizon, the last thing perceptible is the wash of air above you and a weighted thump beside you, leading you to believe ellie had bet on falling asleep as well, happy as a parakeet with liquid–iron proof of her bloody lovemaking flowing like a waterfall of bitterness down her back.

however, that proof had leaked and dotted the bedsheet come virgin daylight, adding one more thing to the laundry basket. ౨ৎ

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part two

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: As May Day approaches, you find yourself running into Eddie, and succumbing to his charms, more and more.

cw: smut, heavy petting, fingering, frottage, denied orgasm, public sex, getting caught, alcohol consumption (both eddie and reader), a bit of humiliation, teasing, tons of flirting, eddie munson's Big Meaty Claws, jealousy (by reader), eddie being a flirtatious shit all around, slight enemies to lovers beat here, some kind of historical fantasy period, fairytale au, descriptions of scars, mentions of abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master

a/n: Happy May! I wrote this in a complete stupor and woke up and it was almost 8.0k words, so there will be a part three. I also wanted to get this done yesterday, but that's not how the cookie crumbles. Alas.

The lyrics that Eddie sings in this are from a traditional English folk song, commonly called "As I Walked Through the Meadow." There are variations on the lyrics, but this is the version I used here.

MY WORKS ARE ALL 18+ MINORS DNI

The man from the creek is being thrown out of the tavern in the center of town.

You know because you’ve been watching since he went inside. Except, if anyone were to ask, you’d say you’re simply watching the ripples on the mud puddles on the dirt road in front of the building. They’re fascinating, you’d insist. They say you can see your future in them.

You’d noticed him going in as you were stepping out of the haberdashers. You knew it was him from the wine red of his blouse– it’s a rich color, like you’ve never seen on a garment worn by anyone in town, and certainly not by someone claiming to come from the woods. The last time you saw him, nearly a month ago now, you forgot to ask him where he got something so richly woven and colored, in such seemingly good repair. You contented yourself with a single lie: you didn’t want to know. 

You also figured that you would likely never see him again. That this so-called Eddie Munson was probably better off disappearing back into the woods and staying there. You’d never seen him in town before, and you certainly didn’t expect to see him there any time soon. He doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the townsfolk; people who work the land, who own it, who sow it. His rich red wine doesn’t fit into the bland suedes and dull grays of your neighbors. 

No– no, with his wild, curly hair and bright, rosy cheeks, he definitely doesn’t look like anyone who belongs in Havensfield. He belongs in a storybook. He belongs in a fairytale you tell to little children, to send them to sleep with something larger than life in their minds. Just like you haven’t been able to sleep a wink without thinking about him and his troublesome smile and sparkling eyes first. 

It’s as if he has you under some sort of spell, unable to move on but remaining steadfastly in place with your mind only revolving around him. You figured it was probably best to spend the coin he gave you and get it out of your system, so maybe you can get rid of the one physical thing that reminded you of his existence.

But here he is, in the flesh and very alive, and being tossed into the mud puddle you had been gazing into, spraying droplets of dirty water off in every direction. A cacophony of laughter rings out from the open door of the tavern– a barkeep angrily wipes his hands on his apron, snarls something at Eddie, and disappears back into the building, the door slamming shut behind him.

The town has erected a maypole in the square for the May Day celebration in just a few days. The marketplace is normally hectic during the festival. Shopkeepers will set up their stalls, the place will be decorated with garlands of flowers, and for days at a stretch one can hardly get their errands done for the amount of chaos going on in the place. That’s why you did your shopping today, rather than waiting for the festivities to begin.

You didn’t expect this.

You haven’t moved from your spot in front of the haberdasher’s. You don’t know if you should– you look this way and that, wondering if anyone is going to approach him, or if everyone else instinctively gives him a wide berth. The people on the street continue about their business like they haven’t seen him, like he isn’t there. You wonder if it’s some unseen force of nature that keeps them away. Does some magic spell exist to make him undetectable to anyone but you? Or are you just the only one stupid enough to get close?

He just sort of lays there in the mud, staring up at the sky. You assume he’s drunk. Why else would he have been thrown out of the tavern? Drinking them dry, getting unruly, starting fights… Yes, you should go on about your business. 

Your hand fists in your skirt, the color of barleycorn. Such a drab color when compared to his deep red, like the flow of blood from a wound. Just as you had feared, it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You lift your skirts and step carefully across the muddy town square, until your feet toe the edge of the puddle he lays in. 

“Do you… need help?” you ask when you peer down at him. From this angle, his eyelashes fan across his cheekbones in long arches, fluttering like fairy wings. 

“My Lovely Lady of the Creek!” He croons wistfully up at you when you pass into his field of vision. “We must stop meeting this way.” 

“Which way is that?”

“With me on my back in a bunch of water.” He smiles at you treacherously, in that way he does. Like he’s privy to a joke that you’re completely unaware of.

“Well, are you just going to lay there like a dead man in the road? Or would you like help?” Your hands are on your hips, the small basket for your purchases wiggling precariously on your wrist. 

“You really should be more discerning about who you offer to help,” he lectures as he heaves himself up to sit. Muddy water sloshes up towards your shoes, and you scamper back before they can get wet. “Lest I begin to get the wrong impression.” 

“I don’t recall ever offering you help before,” you point out. 

“Right,” Eddie says after a moment, his eyes sweeping along the road. He looks unsure, as if he doesn’t know what to ask for, if he wants anything at all. “You… could help me over to the well?” 

Your eyes follow his to the well in the center of the square. You shrug, and then brandish your hand at him. 

Eddie looks at it thoughtfully for a moment before placing his hand into yours. His hand engulfs yours in warmth, his long fingers stretching up and around your wrist. A flush bursts beneath your skin from where his touch hits, spreading up your arm and into your chest.

You’re going to catch fire, you’re sure of it.

Instead, you just help him to his feet, trying not to slip in the mud, yourself. Eddie staggers, sways back towards the porch of the tavern. You lunge forward to catch him before he can fall over again, and you snatch him around the waist without much thought. His arm plops down onto your shoulder, and your basket bats against his hip, the contents shifting inside.

You’re so close now. He smells like pine and whiskey, and his body is warm. So warm that you’re surprised he isn’t sick in bed. 

“How much did you drink?” you ask him, your voice choked as you heave him towards the well. You don’t want to think about his body pressed against yours, his arm hot around your shoulders. He’s looking down at you with an impassioned gaze that you don’t want to match. You fear that if you look up into his face, you will. 

“No more than usual,” he murmurs. His hand reaches out and grabs the stone ring of the well once you get him to it. He kneels on the step of it, starting to look a little green in the face. 

“You smell like the tavern floor,” you tell him frankly, raising your hand to push his hair away from his face. 

“Well, I was just laying in a bunch of piss and shit, so.” Eddie raises his head and gazes up at you, wide-eyed, when you press your hand to his forehead. 

“And you’re much too hot,” you assess, watching his eyes flutter at your appraisal. “Don’t you dare get sick in the well. I have to drink out of that.”

“I need water,” he grumbles, and pulls away from your hand. He tries to stand, and fails.

“Stay,” you tell him firmly, planting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie pouts, watching as you place your basket beside him and step up to the well to fetch him the bucket yourself. 

Like a child who’s just been given a present, Eddie’s eyes fall to your basket. “What’s this?”

“My shopping,” you grunt with the effort of cranking the wheel to lift the bucket from the well. 

“Ooh– stockings?” 

You turn to glance at him, and see that he’s lifted the cloth from the basket to peek at the contents inside. He’s pinching your new stockings between his two fingers, pulling them out with a gleeful expression on his face.

You could kill him. “Put those back,” you hiss, letting go of the handle of the wheel. The crank spins backward, and down in the well, the bucket hits the water again with a loud, wet splash.

“Silk stockings, no less,” Eddie continues, ducking away from your swiping hand as he begins running the smooth hosiery over his knuckles. He seems to have gotten his second wind– no longer staggering, nor looking green in the face, he scampers around the well while you chase him. “Now how could a milkmaid afford such finery? It couldn’t be… no, I shant say–” 

“Give it to me now,” you snarl at him, rounding the well after him. You hadn’t wanted him to see them– hadn’t wanted anyone to see them. It’s not something that you could have gotten yourself, on your own pay. The Master or Mistress would assume that you’d stolen the money, and punish you for it. Obviously, any stranger seeing them would be improper.

And Eddie… Well, he knows exactly how you got your hands on them.

“Could it be… a silver coin?” He giggles like an impish little sprite, his feet working faster than his mind. “Given to you by a handsome, charming, mysterious stranger?” 

Eddie turns to look at you, holding the silken fabric up to his cheek to feel its softness. The sight of the gesture, him pressing his cheek against your undergarment, makes you see red. 

“You little demon–” You lunge for him, but he jerks away, barrel rolling across the opening of the well somehow without managing to fall in. He lands on the other side with a noisy plop, laughing hysterically, and you continue rounding the well to get to him. “Your hair is unsightly and you smell like dirt and you’re as vain as you are vexing and I would rather try to climb the maypole than call you charming!” 

“Well, you’re correct on most accounts,” he tells you, still trying to slow his laughter. Eddie lifts the cloth on your basket, still containing a bread roll and a new wooden comb, and begins carefully folding the silk stockings into a neat bundle. He tucks them back into the basket primly, while continuing, “But I would love to see you try to climb a maypole. Mine has been known to be good for such uses–”

“You’re despicable.” You snatch the basket away from him and step away from the well, turning your back to him without a goodbye. 

“Maybe so,” Eddie replies from behind you. “But you’re still curious, aren’t you?”

You stop. You shouldn’t, but you do, and you know it’s a mistake the minute you turn and see him already standing, not swaying in the slightest, and beginning to crank the wheel of the well to fetch his own water. 

With a scowl, you watch his arm work the wheel until the bucket rears up over the lip of the well, and he lifts it onto the edge. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he expected you to have walked away, and he smirks. “Ohhhh, she’s curious. You know what they say about curiosity.” 

Your skin prickles as you’re uncomfortably reminded of your last meeting with Eddie. “You’re much too fond of your idioms.”

“They’re idioms for a reason,” he replies frankly. With the water bucket steady on the edge of the well, he pinchest the front of his blouse and begins untucking the tails from his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” you snap, appalled, as he lifts the hem of his blouse to expose his belly.

He pauses, looking at you dubiously. “I have to wash my shirt.”

You bluster, “In front of the whole town?”

“Who’s looking?”

Who, indeed? You finally think to take in your surroundings, and you notice that the town square has cleared since Eddie was thrown out of the tavern. Aside from the occasional passerby, no one is lingering, and certainly no one is watching Eddie as he peels the muddy fabric from his skin. 

“You’re the only person in this town who deigns to speak to me. I thank you for that,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “But you should know that it makes you a rose among thorns. That isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“How is that not a good thing?” you ask, feeling his eyes rake over you just before he pulls his shirt over his head. You see a flash of pale skin, and avert your eyes so swiftly it nearly makes you dizzy.

“Roses tend to be picked,” he tells you simply, as if it’s obvious. “Careful who you show your colors to.”

Your face heats against your will, while your eyes remain locked on the building across the way and not on him. At least, not until your curiosity wins out, and you steal a glance at him. 

Eddie dunks his dirty blouse in the bucket, splashing water down onto the stone step at the base of the well. The muscles of his arms flex with the work, and his hair spills over pale shoulders, rosy at the collarbones. He has pictures drawn on his skin with black ink– mythical creatures you learned about as a child, which denote power and magic. Surrounding the images on his skin are scars, old enough that they’ve gone pale, but their raised appearance indicates that he’s seen his fair share of danger. Hair trails down his chest and to  the curve of his stomach, then disappears beneath the line of his trousers. Your eyes trace the trail of it, lingering on his waistband as you wonder how far down it goes. 

He must feel your eyes on him, because he glances up at you. You immediately rip your eyes away, but it’s too late. He’s already seen you looking– seen you staring. 

Eddie grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If it pleases you to look, then look.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking,” you say, with more than a hint of pride, turning your nose up a bit for good measure. 

“Of course,” Eddie muses, a wicked smirk still on his face. “And neither was I.” 

He meets your eye with a heated gaze that makes goosebumps break out across your skin. His eyes are two black coals, burning at you from just a few feet away. They slowly move up and down your body, until he sets his jaw and turns back to the bucket. He lifts the red blouse from the water and wrings it out, casting droplets of water down his forearms.

You watch them travel along his pale skin, your eyes tracing the blue veins and sinewy muscles of his arms. And that’s when you notice it– the cloth tied around his wrist.

It’s pale pink. It has a slight brocade pattern to the weave. It’s one that your Mistress had no use of, and when she decided she didn’t want the cloth for anything, you took and dyed it yourself with rose petals, and turned it into a blanket for your bed.

It’s the same cloth that you tied to the injured leg of the wolf in your dream, all those weeks ago. But it wasn’t a dream, or it couldn’t have been– the end of that very same pink blanket is still frayed from the tear of the fabric.

“Where did you get that?” you ask him sharply, marching forward. He startles, drawing back just a bit, his eyes glancing you up and down in alarm.

“Get what?” he says coolly, though his manner doesn’t reflect his tone. He’s backing away from you, holding up his hands like you mean to attack.

“This.” Far too bold for your own good, you snatch his wrist in your hand. Eddie gazes down his nose at you as you yank his wrist up near your face, twisting until the pink brocade glints in the overcast light of late April. “Where did you get this cloth?” 

“In the woods,” he says simply. 

“This is from my bed,” you hiss at him, your eyes narrowing as your hand tightens on his arm. Beneath his overheated skin, his pulse pounds against your fingers. You feel it like the beating of a thousand drums. “I don’t believe you. Where did you get it?” 

“I told you,” Eddie repeats slowly. “I found it hanging from a tree. Thought it was pretty, so I kept it.” His face betrays no emotion now, almost strategically so. Where alarm once was, there is nothing. No hint of hesitance, or mischief, or cunning. Just a blank slate that you have no way of reading. 

Your eyes flick between his face and his arm, trying to connect the dots. That’s when you notice the mark as well– among the otherwise pale, older scars that riddle his torso and arms is a long, jagged gash on his bicep. It arcs across his skin and appears to have been from a deep wound. It’s raised over and scarred, but still bright in color. New.

You’re wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s improbable that the scar on his arm is the one you patched on the wolf a month ago. You refuse to believe such things; you don’t believe in wolf-men, in fairytales, in silly superstitions.

You release his arm. You still don’t believe him– not when he so quickly went from being startled, to suddenly showing no emotion at all. You don’t trust him in the slightest. It seems to you like he’s hiding something, but you don’t know what. You don’t believe he’s anything other than a man. You can’t honestly say that you believe he’s evil, or that he means you harm, but you still wouldn’t lay your life down to fend for his honor.

And that cloth. You would bet your life that the fabric wrapped around his wrist came from your bed, dyed by your own hand, tied around the wounded leg of a wolf on the last full moon. But you can’t dispute that what he says is true. So you step back, and you fix him with a steely-eyed gaze that you know would make even the roughest of men shake in their boots.

“Good day, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he looks surprised that you even remembered his name. “I hope that I never see you again.”

“Making a wish like that is unwise,” he replies mildly, turning back to the bucket that he has perched on the rim of the well. “Unless you have a coin to toss in the well for it. Silver, maybe?” 

Your cheeks burn hot, and you turn away from him. He infuriates you so much. You can’t recall a time when a man affected you so badly. 

“Right. Because you spent it,” he observes, taking your silence as a quiet relent. “I’ll sleep well knowing that my coin was spent on a pair of beautiful stockings. Excellent craftsmanship, by the way. The weave is immaculate. Feels like spun gold.”

“Go to Hell,” you mutter, finally turning away from him, for good this time. 

“As long as I know you’ll think of me when you wear them,” he tells you as you walk away, “I’ll die a happy man.”

You pause. For a moment, you think of turning back to him, telling him to shove that exact thought down his stupidly pretty gullet. But you don’t. Thankfully, you have the reserve and the self respect to set your shoulders and leave him there, rinsing his soiled blouse there on the edge of the well.

You still didn’t ask him how he got a blouse so fine. You doubt that he would tell you the truth even if you did. All you know is that he stays with you, haunting you, rolling through your mind the way he rolled across the mouth of the well, until your hand lands on the gate to your Master’s property.

You can’t afford to have him occupying your thoughts. You can’t afford to be so distracted– you don’t even want to think about what may happen if the Master learns that you’re on your way to being smitten with someone. Someone young and beautiful and, from what you can tell, not running a farm with indentured servants on it.

And when exactly did you go from wanting him to disappear into the woods, to being smitten with him?

On May Eve, you get just enough of your chores done for the Mistress to not find any excuse for you not to attend the festivities. With your hands tight on a woven basket, you set off with a group of young milkmaids from down the lane, bearing torches, to collect flowers from the meadows and woods. 

Bringing in the May is one of your favorite customs, mostly because it’s practiced by the young people of the town. You don’t have to worry about being watched by the town elders. There’s an air of being chosen by someone; the more popular girls in town get flowers laid on their doorsteps in abundance. You’ve never been left flowers, but each year you hold out hope that someone, anyone, will leave them for you. A gesture– you’re wanted. 

There’s music in the air. Groups of young men and women laugh and dance, and the meadows are dotted with the little blooms of fire at the ends of torches as flowers are gathered. You’ve already indulged in a certain amount of floral spring wine and honey cakes, lulling you into a sweetly tipsy, giggly mood. There’s magic in the air– you can taste it in the humidity, the moonshine, the salt of sweat and earth.

“There aren’t enough flowers in the meadow this year,” one of the girls in your group complains, tromping through the high grass. 

“This isn’t the only meadow in Havensfield, Victoria,” says another. 

“I’ve seen more growing by the trees,” you offer, holding out your basket for one girl to toss a few measly primrose blooms in.

The other girls stop. You look around in the low torchlight at the appalled expressions on their faces. 

“You can’t just… go into the woods,” the one named Victoria objects. “There’s… there’s fairies. And wolf-men.” 

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes while the other girls balk. “You can’t honestly tell me that you believe those old wive’s tales. You know the elders only tell those stories to keep us from going into the woods to fuck.” 

A few snickers rise up with the smoke from the torch. “It’s true, I saw Katherine Plack sneaking through the woods with Scotty Raker two nights ago,” says a short girl beside Victoria, nodding sagely.

“And what were you doing in the woods, Hyacinth?” the girl holding the torch says, slugging Hyacinth on the shoulder. 

The girls dissolve into laughter, while you suck on your lower lip and gaze toward the trees. It can’t be that dangerous, if Eddie claims to come from in there… somewhere. You imagine a cozy little cottage in the woods with a well beside it, tucked away, hidden from town. You imagine him chopping the wood to make it, himself. You imagine his lean frame and strong hands holding an ax, the drawings on his skin highlighted in the filtered sun through the trees as he swings the blade–

“I’m going to go see,” you announce abruptly, your voice nearly cracking. You’re nodding to yourself, looking like an idiot while you fumble to pick the basket up and set it on your hip. “Yep. That’s what I'm going to do. You all can stay here if you want.” 

“But, there’s no light,” Victoria insists, pulling her hair back away from her face with a condescending expression.

“Moon’s almost full, I can see just fine,” you snap back. Honestly, what does it matter to her if you go into the woods? “I’ll be back.”

Hyacinth calls something about “girding your loins” after you, but you’re too far away to really pay it any mind. The grass grows taller by the trees, and you hop over the creek into a wide bed of bright yellow marigolds. They wiggle in the slight spring breeze, lit with just enough moonshine for their color to show even in the dark.

“Beat that, Victoria,” you mumble as you set the basket on the ground. Methodically, you begin picking them, choosing the biggest blooms, the ones with the most immaculate petals. You’ll decorate your small cabin with them, and fashion garlands for the town square with the rest. 

As you wander over to another bed to collect some more blooms, you hear singing, following the tune being played by the pan flute across the meadow. It’s an old folk song that most of the people in town would know, and you hum along mindlessly as you pick the flowers at your knees. 

“As I was a-walking to take the fresh air, The flowers all blooming and gay, I heard a young damsel so sweetly a-singing, Her cheeks like the flowers in May.” 

It’s a young man’s voice, coming from somewhere in the trees, low and rich, and quiet enough that you don’t think it’s meant to be heard by anyone else across the meadow. Tipsy, you smile to yourself, not thinking to look for the source of the voice, but just appreciating the sound as it travels on the breeze.

“Said I, ‘Pretty maiden, and how came you here, In the meadows this morning, so soon?’ The maid she replied, ‘Why, to gather some May, For the trees they are all in full bloom.’”

As your fingers stroke along soft flower petals, humming along under your breath, you glance over your shoulder towards the meadow, where flaming torches dance like woodland spirits in the night. Laughter follows the music and the raucous cheering of the other groups of May-goers, dancing and collecting their own greenery and flowers.

The rich, velvety voice filters through the trees, ever quieter, but even closer than before. You look up just in time to see the source of the voice move just beyond the treeline, and then he appears, leaning against the trunk of a great pine, close enough that you can see the deep wine red of his blouse, and the wicked smirk on his lips.

“I said, ‘Pretty maiden, shall I go with you Through the meadows to gather some May?’ ‘Oh no, sir,’ she said, ‘I would rather refuse, For I fear you would lead me astray.’”

You could swear that Eddie’s eyes glow nearly red at you in the moonlight, his teeth sharper than you’ve ever seen them as he grins at you. The lace at his collar is untied, disheveled, falling open to reveal one of the inked pictures on his skin and his dark chest hair. 

“Climb any maypoles today, princess?” he asks you after a moment of your staring at him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

The question sets your skin aflame. You sit back on your heels, giving him a caustic expression, despite the way your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s the eve of May, your lurid mind thinks, tracing his outline among the trees. Anything could happen. 

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again, Mr. Munson,” you retort, imagining that he won’t be affected by your words in the slightest.

He isn’t. “Ah-ah, you said you hoped that you wouldn’t. But you didn’t toss a coin in the well, therefore, your wish was never going to be granted. Rules of nature, sweetheart.” He wags a finger at you. “And enough with that ‘Mr. Munson’ business. You remember my name, don’t you?” 

“Eddie,” you say quietly, not sure why you feel so shy when you do. Probably because, up until now, you’ve been firm in your false belief that you’d never give him the time of day. It seems it all depends on whether or not you’ve seen him shirtless, first.

“Good girl. I knew you were paying attention.” Eddie smirks at you then, sowing the seeds of your detriment right there. He stands poised, and then bows low as he says, “So, pretty maiden, shall I go with you through the meadows to gather some May?”

You consider quoting the song right back to him, but you figure that it’s probably what he expects you to do. So instead, you sigh and shrug your shoulder at him. “As long as you promise not to crush them in your big meaty hands.” 

Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock, an impressed smile curling his mouth up at the corners. He barks a laugh. “That’s not how the song goes.” 

“Well, the song ends with them kissing and then getting married in the morning,” you point out, with a roll of your eyes. “So, forgive me for not adhering to the lyrics.”

“Also, my hands are not meaty.” He smirks at you ruefully, his face half bathed in moonlight. He leans towards you, “I’ll tell you what is, though–”

“If you’re about to mention your maypole again, I’m leaving,” you snap, glaring at him in the dark. He snickers, but says nothing, instead preferring to start gathering marigolds. “Just how did you manage to find me again, anyways? There are hundreds of people wandering the meadows tonight. How is it that you keep managing to run into me and no one else?”

“Oh, I can sniff you out in a heartbeat, princess. It’s one of my many talents.” The flowers are dwarfed by his hands– his long fingers pinch the stems delicately, offset by the size of the silver rings he wears on them. You admire them, watching them glint in the moonlight, the tendons in his wrist flexing and his skin pulling tight over veins and knuckles. The heavy metal clicks as he works. You’re about to comment on them, when you watch what said fingers are doing with the flowers.

He takes one, and loops the stem around another, creating a loose knot that lets the tails sit alongside each other. He repeats the process slowly, building a chain of bright marigold blooms, while he hums idly and shoots you a heavy look from beneath his lashes. “Ah. So you’re not afraid to look, now. That’s good to know.” 

You tear your eyes away. The tips of your ears burn with embarrassment at having been caught staring, yet again. “Have you any shame?” 

“Not a hair of it.” 

Eddie holds up a finished crown of flowers, grinning at you. He places the circlet of blooms on your head, and as he draws back, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“And I crowned her my Queen of sweet May,” he sings at you, more of a coo than truly carrying a tune. “The most beautiful one in all the land, of course.”

“From princess to queen,” you muse, trying not to show how quickly your heart is melting. “I’m sure you must think that endears you to me.”

“I’d like to think so,” Eddie admits, leaning ever closer to you. You can see the reflection of the moon in his eyes, glinting vaguely red– you can smell honeyed wine on his breath. His voice drops even lower in register, until it’s just barely above a whisper. “I hope so. Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart.” 

“I think,” you murmur just as quietly, letting your eyes drop indulgently to his parted lips. They’re so plush and inviting, they’re right there. You need only let yourself bend an inch and you could kiss him. You breathe in, “I think…”

Your hand falls softly to the basket of flowers beside you.

“I think your hands are egregiously meaty.”

You lift a handful of marigolds and smash them into his mouth, making him splutter and fall backwards. You cackle, flinging yourself in the opposite direction, scrambling up to run away. You swear you got some of them in his mouth; you can hear him coughing and spitting them at the same time as he laughs.

“I’ll get you for that!” You can hear him leaping up to chase you, and the prospect makes your heart pound in your chest, your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. You’re sure that it will be easy for him to catch you– you’re hoping for it, really.

You duck between the pines and into the trees. “Come sniff me out then, if you must!” 

You hear his laugh from behind you, almost sounding dark and menacing. Your hair stands on end, but your feet carry you through the trees, running even though you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightning. 

His feet pound the earth behind you, his laughter dancing on the breeze and combining with the music from the meadow. Beyond the trees, your contemporaries dance and make merry with the coming of summer. Here, in the woods, you run from some indeterminate end– one that you have an inkling of, like the barest traces of a memory, but you can’t quite make it out yet. 

Eddie’s hands snatch you by the waist, and you yelp. Heat bursts beneath your skin where he touches you through your bodice, whirling you around until your back hits the trunk of a tree. 

Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding, chest heaving. Eddie is so close, and the air around you buzzes with energy and magic, as if the very trees themselves were singing. 

“You little minx,” Eddie muses, his voice rumbling low like thunder. “Just need me to chase you, is that it?” His eyes truly do shine red, you don’t think you’re imagining it– each time they catch the light of the moon, or a torch burning far off in the meadow, you see a glimpse of that subtle iridescent red of a forest creature in the dark glinting back at you. 

“I think you’re a spirit,” you whisper, the words light and airy in your throat as you try to regain your breath. “I think you’re one of the Fey. You can’t be real.”

Eddie has you caged in against the tree– one hand on the trunk beside your head, one on your hip. You don’t want to be anywhere else. “Oh, I’m very real, sweetheart. Shall I show you how much?”

His forefinger traces the line of your cheekbone, down the side of your face, to your jaw. You want it bad. You want him and anything he’ll give you– throw you to the ground, take you as prey, the lot of it. You won’t be married in the morning, but tonight all things are possible. 

You turn your face and drag your lips across his knuckles, half-gone in your desire. You barely even register the look on his face; eyes wide, lips parted in awe, like he’s never seen anything like you before. Like you confound him as much as he confounds you. A match made in heaven. 

Eddie catches your jaw in his fingertips, holding you like you’re made of glass, and he crashes down into you. He tastes of cherry wine, as rich and deep as the color of his blouse, which you fist in your hand to tug him closer. 

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. It falls like a sigh into his mouth, and his hand tightens on your hip momentarily before gathering your skirts. The fabric flutters as he pulls at them, tugging them up just enough to disappear beneath the hem. 

Your breath quickens. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you think, Oh fuck, this is really happening. 

Eddie’s finger’s pause on the breadth of your thigh, just above your knee. His forefinger strokes downward, passing over your garter strip and feeling the weave of the silk before he cracks a self-satisfied smirk at you. 

“Nice stockings. Get them recently?”

Your eyes narrow with false gravity, your nose scrunching. “I’ll kill you.”

His smirk stretches into a grin, and he scoffs a little laugh that flutters across your lips. It feels like a kiss. “Dying between the legs of my beautiful Queen of May sounds like a good way to go, actually.”

His hand drags hotly up your outer thigh, and the touch nearly burns you to your core. Eddie’s thumb presses against the skin just at the juncture of your leg, and you press your lips together to bite back a moan from coming out. Everything between your legs is tense, and pulsing, and turning feverish the longer he just pets at your skin and tugs your leg up to rest against his hip. 

His fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and the moan escapes you; high pitched, needy, embarrassing. You’re hot all over and you feel like you might die if he doesn’t touch you– you have a mind to tell him so, too, when Eddie dips his head and bites at your earlobe. 

He dips his finger between your folds, tracing one forefinger up the seam of your cunt, and you swear you could nearly scream. Flesh that is too hot and too sensitive bursts alive with feeling. His finger is drenched, your legs shake just from one touch. Is this what it always feels like?

“Oh, baby,” he coos as you whimper into his neck. His lips move slowly along your skin. Each move of his finger, just teasing you gently, dragging so slowly over your clit that your back arches and you keen long and high. “That’s it. This is what you needed, isn’t it?” 

You let out a pitiful squeak, nodding your head like you may explode rather than answer. He strokes you firmly and then gently, watching your face, studying your expressions. It’s so much and it’s not enough, not nearly enough to settle the throbbing in your core. 

“Please…” It’s the only thing you can come up with, the word bubbling up out of your throat before you can make it make sense. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” Eddie tilts his head. His pale skin nearly glows in the moonlight, the red in his eyes shining for a split second. “Please… here?”

His finger circles your entrance, prodding but never quite dipping in all the way. It’s just enough to make you see stars, just enough to turn you nearly insane. 

“Oh my God,” you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders and gripping at his neck. 

Eddie hums, letting you feel the gentle touch for a few more seconds before it’s gone. You could cry. There are tears in your eyes– you could sob, throw a tantrum. You don’t think it would make him change his mind either way.

“My hands are too big, though, aren’t they?” Eddie shakes his head, mirroring your pout in a condescending manner that makes you want to smack him. Then he cracks a smirk, and you know he’s just being mean. “Mhm. Big and meaty. Too much for a sweet little thing like you. I wouldn’t want to break–”

You snatch his wrist through your skirts and bring his hand back between your legs. No preamble, no begging– this time he hisses, and you sigh with relief as you grind down onto not just his fingers, but his entire hand. 

“You’re not disappearing on me this time, Munson,” you nearly growl at him. Your tongue lavishes his skin, his long neck providing just the right amount of area for you to indulge in. 

“I would have stayed,” he gasps out when your teeth find a particularly tender spot under his jaw. “I’d have stayed if I knew you wanted me to.”

“I want you to,” you say, and you wonder if you’ll regret it in the morning. But the morning seems so far away right now, and his hand feels so good between your legs, and you don’t quite understand how you could regret anything that makes him look at you like that.

“Don’t– You can’t talk to me like that,” he whispers, and his eyes shine like rubies in the night as he gazes at you in awe. “You should know better than that.”

You do know better. But still, you tell him, “Stay,” and it’s like a dam has been broken. You know that you’ll never get rid of him now, and you don’t really want to. You want him to make a home in your chest, right against your heart. You want him to always touch you like this. You want him to always look at you with that same reverent gaze, like he’s just looked upon divinity.

Eddie crowds between your legs and his hand leaves you, but his thigh remains in its place. His leg presses tight to your core, the rough fabric of his trousers not nearly as warm as the touch of his hand, but just as erotic. You rock forward mindlessly against his thigh as he takes your face in his hands– one wet with your arousal– and kisses you breathless. His lips move over yours softly, and then passionately, until you take all that passion and feed it back into him twice over.

You lose track of time. The stroke of his tongue against yours, your hands in his hair, his firm thigh between your legs, all brings you to the edge of oblivion. You squirm against him and he chuckles against your lips. He knows what you want. He’ll give it to you, you know it, you know that he will–

And then a twig snaps. Someone calls your name just through the trees, and then, fucking Victoria breaks through the bushes just in time to see you jump and squeal, having to clutch at Eddie’s shoulders to keep from falling over when he spins around to see who intruded on your precious moment.

“OH! I’m so sorry– I thought–” Victoria fiddles with a long lock of her hair, twisting it idly before tossing it over her shoulder. You’re sure you look disheveled, with Eddie’s crown of marigolds slowly unweaving itself in your hair. It’s obvious to her what you’d been doing– Her eyes rake up and down Eddie’s frame, standing halfway in front of you like a shield, his chest heaving, a dark spot on his trousers where his thigh had been pressed between your legs. “Well, you said you were going to be back, and we thought you’d gone missing…”

“I was in the middle of doing something,” you tell her bluntly.

“Understatement,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you knock your elbow against his back.

You ignore him. “I thought you didn’t want to go into the woods?”

“Well, that was before we thought you… disappeared.” Victoria looks from you to Eddie. “Who’s this?”

“Something.” Eddie grins at her, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight breaking through the trees. “Sorry I stole her away from you. We were actually just having a fascinating conversation about when it’s appropriate to disappear– you could join us if you want?” 

Eddie glances over his shoulder at you, and smirks a bit at the expression of complete and utter envy on your face. You don’t want anyone to join. You don’t want to share him. You want him all to yourself. You want to grow on him like ivy until no one can see him but you. You want to hold him close to your chest and keep him there for eternity, and then some. 

“Oh, no, I–” Victoria blushes. She half-turns, like she wants to run away from the conversation entirely. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve collected all the flowers we need, so… we’re going back to town. You can stay… if you want.”

You want to throw a fit.

She ducks back into the bushes quickly. Eddie is quiet for a moment, listening to her footsteps through the grass, before he turns to you. 

“You were jealous,” he teases, leaning towards you with that stupid self-aggrandizing grin.

Your face grows hot with anger and embarrassment. “You did that on purpose.” You shove him bodily, so that he stumbles a bit to the side, and he snickers. “I can’t believe you. She could have said yes to that.”

“Nah, she was too bashful. I knew she wasn’t gonna take me up on the offer. She wandered into something she wasn’t ready for.” Eddie leans up against a tree, smiling at you with a more resigned expression now. He looks you over, like he wants to burn the image of your kiss-bitten lips and rumpled dress into his memory. After a moment, he meets your eye again. “You should go. Get some sleep before the festival tomorrow.”

“But I–” You flounder. You just made so much progress, and now you’re just back where you began. You shouldn’t be proud about it now– not after he nearly took you to pieces with a single touch. Not when you can still feel the sharp edge of an orgasm pressing at your core, wanting to force its way out but with no way to get there now, and every look at him makes it press that much harder. “You know what– I don’t even know what I expected.” 

You march off towards the tree line. You have to find your fucking flower basket. You have to go and make garlands and slap together some bouquets for the festival tomorrow. You have to pretend like you aren’t dying inside from the disappointment.

“Princess.” You turn to him. He isn’t smiling anymore, he just looks disappointed as well. He glances up at the moon, and then back to you. “It’s a full moon tomorrow. Best not to go near the woods, okay?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid wolf-man stories, too,” you snap, beyond aggravated.

“Just promise me,” Eddie bites back, his eyes shining dangerously in the moonlight. “Promise me that you’ll stay in town. Don’t come near the woods. Drink, be merry, have a good time.”

“And you?” You feel a bit humiliated and desperate, vying for his time and attention– but you want it. You want it, you want him, more than anything, but you have a feeling you won’t be getting what you want, yet again. “What about you?” 

“I’ll find you,” he says firmly, and then lowers his eyes. Softly, he amends, “I’ll always come back to you.”

[smuttyaf]

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.”

[bright-side20]

A little Elriel scene inspired by the song 'Each Time' by Tamino. And by the way, if you're still wondering what Azriel's voice might sound like, go listen to this man.

The meadow spread wide beneath the pale light of the stars, a world painted in silver and red. Dark crimson flowers blanketed the earth, their petals glistening with dew. The air hummed with stillness, broken only by the soft rustle of the breeze through the grass.

And there she was, stretched out among the blooms, as if she were a part of the earth itself, born from its sweetest dreams. Elain’s hair spilled over the flowers, her golden waves shimmering like liquid sunlight against the dark. Her dress, soft and flowing, perfectly tracing the curves of her body, the color of deep cobalt, seemed to drink in the faint starlight, its rich hue contrasting beautifully against the dark crimson blooms. She looked like a vision born of twilight, her eyes closed, her lips faintly curved in a smile so serene it made his chest ache.

Azriel stood a few paces away, his boots rooted to the ground as if moving closer would shatter the fragile perfection of this moment. He’d spent centuries yearning for peace, for stillness...but now, in her presence, he knew this was what he’d been searching for.

Her.

“Azriel.” Her voice broke through the quiet, soft. She opened her eyes, and he froze at the sound of his name on her lips...soft, intimate, as if she had reached deep inside him and touched something only she could awaken. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said.

She smiled “You’re not.” She patted the space beside her, an invitation as natural as the way the flowers leaned toward her, as if she were the sun.

He hesitated only a moment before joining her, stretching out on the soft grass. The scent of the flowers rich mingled with hers, wrapping around him in a way that made it impossible to think of anything but her.

They layed there for a moment in silent peace and He hadn’t spoken, afraid to shatter the moment.

It suits her, he thought, this place, this stillness. It suits us.

Yet beneath that peace, something restless burned in his chest. It wasn’t enough to simply lie here beside her. He wanted to reach out, to touch her , to feel the warmth of her skin against his. He wanted to tell her that this...this stillness, this closeness...was his idea of eternity. That no court, no battle, no crown could ever compare to this. That he could spend a thousand years lying here, beside her, and still crave more.

Elain gazed up at the stars, her expression soft. But Azriel couldn’t look away from her. The starlight painted her skin with an ethereal glow, kissed the curve of her lips, and made her seem more like a dream.Her sweet combination of jasmine and honey had woven itself into his senses. He wanted to drown in it, to seal this beauty in his mind forever. Each time again, and again, he thought, desperate to savor this moment.

“It’s beautiful, almost surreal,” she murmured.

He inclined his head in agreement as he replied, “It is.” But he wasn’t talking about Rosehall or the stars. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her, couldn’t stop the tide of longing surging within him.“But nothing this perfect can last,” he continued, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Elain tilted her head, studying him. “Maybe it doesn’t need to last forever,” she said. “Maybe it’s enough to feel it. Even for a moment.”

Her words sliced through his defenses. “It’s always worth it,” he responded.

Her gaze briefly drifted to his lips before meeting his eyes again, and he didn’t know why it thrilled him. “Do you ever wish you could stop time?” she asked.

"Every day," he responded, hating how easily she seemed to see through him.

Her hand moved then, her fingers brushing against his with a touch so light it sent a shiver through him. He barely dared to breathe as her small hand slid to fit perfectly against his scarred one.

“I think I’d stop it here. Right now. If I could,” she said.

“Elain,” he said, her name breaking from him like a prayer...desperate and raw.

She turned fully toward him, her hair spilling across her shoulder . “Yes?”

He stared at her, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it. He wanted to tell her everything...that she was the light in his darkness. That he thought of her every waking moment. That he dreamed of her every night. That he would give anything...anything...to be the one she chose. That every moment without her felt like a lifetime lost.

But all he could manage was a broken, “You deserve more than this.”

Her brows knit together, confusion in her gaze. “More than what?”

“More than I can give you,” he said, his voice cracking on the words.

“You’re wrong,” she said softly.

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I’m not.”

She didn’t pull away. Instead, he felt her fingers tighten more around his. “Maybe you don’t see it,” she said, “but I do.”

Azriel’s breath hitched. He wanted to believe her. Gods, he wanted to believe her more than anything.

“Elain,” he murmured, her name once more a plea. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” she asked, her voice calm yet insistent.

“Because I’ll believe you,” he confessed. “And that’s dangerous. I can’t...”

Azriel closed his eyes, unable to bear the weight of her gaze any longer. It was too much...the hope in her expression. He let out a shuddering breath, his head tilting back toward the stars.

But then, the air between them shifted.

It wasn’t just the soft sound of her moving closer, the gentle rustle of her dress brushing against the roses beneath them. It was the way her warmth seemed to bloom, creeping over him like the first rays of the sun at dawn. It was the kind of warmth that promised a new beginning, the kind that reminded him what it felt like to truly be alive.

He inhaled deeply in her scent...And then he felt it,the faintest brush of her breath against his lips.

He opened his eyes.

She was so close, her face just inches from his, her eyes searching his. Her breath mingled with his, warm and soft. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat screaming at him to move, to act, to close that impossible gap between them. But he couldn’t. He was overwhelmed by the reality of her, by the weight of his longing.

"Elain…" he whispered her name again, she kissed him, and he knew, in that moment, he was utterly undone.

It was soft at first, tentative, like the brush of a rose petal against his lips. But as she deepened the kiss, her hand pressing gently against his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart beneath her palm, Azriel kissed her back, pouring all of his desperate, hopeless longing into that moment. She opened for him, softly moaning as his tongue slid to meet hers, and it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. Her taste ,sweet like honey lingered on his lips, the most intoxicating flavor he'd ever known. His fingers found her waist, gripping it with a mixture of need and disbelief, as though anchoring himself to the reality of her. She was here, she was real, and even if only in this perfect circle, she was his.

For the first time, he felt alive.

But just as he began to surrender to the moment, the world around him started to fade. The roses danced like ghosts in the wind, the stars flickering and dimming, and the warmth of her touch slipping through his fingers .

“No,” he choked out, a deep, gnawing panic clawing at his chest.

And then, with a jolt, Azriel awoke. His breath was sharp and ragged, the weight of the dream still heavy on him. The cold darkness of his room swallowed him, and with it, the warmth of her vanished entirely.

"Elain," he murmured into the emptiness, and the ache of it...her absence...was enough to break him all over again.

But the memory of her lingered...etched into his soul, a cruel reminder of what he could never have. He felt a shadow stroking his bare shoulder as if consoling him.

His hand moved to his head, fingers threading through his hair as he tried to calm the storm inside him. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back, letting the motion soothe the tension in his neck. His gaze fell to the nightstand, where the headache powder and earplugs sat quietly, a reminder of her care. How much longer could he stay away from her? How much longer could he pretend that the cold distance between them wasn’t slowly tearing him apart?

[tobbesdiscordkitten]

Guns N’ Roses Fic: Ain’t No Saint

Summary: A reimagining of what (pre-fame Axl Rose) Bill Bailey’s life would’ve looked like had his step-father not been present in his family’s life, making Bill the man of the household to support his mother and sister.

Characters: Bill Bailey, OC: Emily, Amy Bailey, police officers, Mother (Bill and Amy’s mom), and OC: Mrs. Clarice (Emily’s mom).

Pairing(s): Bill Bailey/Emily, Bill Bailey/original female character, Bill Bailey/female reader.

Rating: Explicit, 21+

Word Count: 6,350

Warnings: Smut, loss of virginity, p in v penetration, fluff, angst, mild degradation, mentions of masturbation, hurt/comfort, poverty, bullying, and harassment.

A/N: My longest and most-detailed fic. I have put my blood and soul into this lol. This work is slightly inspired by GNR’s song, You’re Crazy. I hope you enjoy!

Mice scattered across the barn where two nude figures laid in the hayloft. It was dusk outside. The street lamps in the suburban neighborhoods were gonna flicker on soon. Bill Bailey needed to get back before curfew.

But here he was, laying down inside a barn with a pretty brunette attached to his side, suckling on his right nipple. He had soiled his virginity with her. It was decent for his first time, not bad, maybe a little overwhelming, but he managed to pull through and made sure, at her request, to pull out. He wouldn’t dare tell her that, because of his adrenaline from the excitement and electrifying spark between them, he accidentally squirted a few shots of cum into her cunt.

He could still smell the fresh aroma from their heated mess and taste the bland, dry strands of straw from the hay.

Bill laid there in a daze, watching dusk particles dance in the air as the orange and red sun beams trickled into the barn’s old, wooden interior. He eventually looked down and ruffled the girl’s hair, almost mistaking her golden highlights for the hay they were laying on. “Psst, hey.” He whispered, not wanting to ruin the peaceful moments of silence with his loud baritone voice. However, at the same time, he had no choice. “We gotta head back.”

Bill could feel her lips morph into a frown against his nipple. “I wish we could stay here forever…”

“Me too, sweetie. Me too. But I told you…if we don’t make it back, my mom’s gonna wreck havoc,” he reminded.

Since his mother was divorced he was now the man of the house, helping out with the chores, making ends meet, and taking care of his little sister, Amy. He couldn’t delay his absence a second longer. It was bullshit how hard his mother worked in order to keep a roof over her children’s heads. At least it made Bill feel a little at ease whenever he could try to lessen the burden on her.

Releasing her lips from his peck, the girl begrudgingly got up. Bill did the same thing, wiping off his body, and putting on his clothes.

“Can we do it again?” She asked, biting her lower lip as uncertainty overlapped her tone.

Bill knew she experienced a phenomenal orgasm and craved another one. He didn’t want to lie and tell her they could come back to the barn again tomorrow. In all honesty, even he wasn’t sure when they could share another moment like this together.

He stepped forward, cradling the back of her head with his hand. “Another time.” He promised, pressing a tight kiss to her lips. Emily’s lips. They were always pink and plump like cherries in the Spring. He’d take a bite and mangle them, smudging the red lipstick onto her skin. But Emily didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it drove her crazy. She could never get enough of Bill Bailey.

𓍼ֶָ֢𓂃𓍯𓂃

7:15 a.m.

A whole day before the barn occurred, Bill and Emily were being intimate for the first time by lying down on the soft grass in the meadow, 20 minutes away from where their high school was located. Mist filtered through the air as dewdrops occupied the morning land. Emily was by his side again, biting his neck, and soothing the hickeys with her tongue. Per usual, she was in her school uniform which consisted of a white buttoned up blouse, a red plaid skirt, and black penny loafers.

Bill dug his fingers into the grass, feeling his penis strain against his jeans. He never felt pleasure this intense, or knew how powerful, and sudden, the urges became whenever he looked at Emily, begging for a release. He blamed himself for not venturing into a pornographic store and shoplifting bootleg copies of couples fucking in various positions. He thought if he did, he’d understand his body, and know how to react, given the opportunity of escalation. It was all so mesmerizing for his untouched, starved mind.

Emily wrapped her right leg over Bill’s left one, rubbing her crotch against his hardness, making both their bodies move up and down.

Bill couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. He knew if he moved too fast a dam would burst in his pants. He concentrated and inhaled deeply, slowly moving his own hips to grind against Emily’s. “Oh, fuck…”

“I need you, Bill. I need you, Bill.” She moaned, increasing her pace.

“T-take…take off your…p-panties.” He insisted, panting. He was desperate to slide himself inside of her right now.

Emily hid her face into the crook of his neck, her breathing coming out in short, ragged breaths. “No, Bill. I’m so close…” she whined.

He huffed and allowed her to finish with a squeal of delight. He felt a wet stain on his pants, not knowing if it was because of him or Emily. It didn’t matter. He was glad he wasn’t wearing his school uniform, he wore an extra set of clothes, knowing full well how sex-crazed Emily was for him.

She collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily. Bill pushed her chin up, seeing her flushed cheeks, and expanded pupils. “You okay?” He questioned, brushing a wavy clump of hair behind her ear.

She nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“Wanna go somewhere after school? Get down n’ dirty,” he suggested.

She smirked. “I like the sound of that.” Then she realized…”Wait, didn’t you cum?!”

He was taken aback by the sudden question. Did he cum? He wasn’t sure. He must’ve if his crotch felt damp.

Emily lifted herself from him and noticed the saturated mark on his jeans, belonging to her own arousal. She immediately felt guilty. She didn’t mean to ruin a brand new pair of his pants. That was part of the reason why she kept her panties on but it didn’t seem to work this time. “Oh, gosh, Bill…”

“It’s fine. I knew it would happen.”

“You did…?”

“Yeah. I have another pair at home. Don’t sweat it.”

“But…you can’t afford an early wash at the laundromat this week.”

She was right. Every two weeks he managed to save money for washing, not only his clothes, but his mother’s and sister’s. If money was too scarce with the groceries and house payment, his mother would hand wash each set of outfits and hang dry them, even in frigid temperatures during the winter.

He hated seeing his mother use her own calloused bare hands to scrub his clothes on a washboard. It was unfair. He strived to make enough money by working in the school cafeteria, working at his local pizzeria, or volunteering at a library. Whatever he could make, he’d put that money towards the laundromat.

“It’s fine,” he reassured, not wanting Emily to get worked up over his home life. It was embarrassing. “I can manage. Don’t need you to worry about my allowance.” He muttered, unzipping his pants to locate any semen. To his surprise, none.

“I care.”

He zipped himself back up. “I know you do, sugar. But it’s my concern. Not yours. Everything will be fine.”

“I can make it up to you.” She hinted, a wicked gleam glowing in her eyes.

Bill caught on and looked amused. “How so?”

Within a blink of an eye, Emily slipped off her panties and got on all fours.

“Oh? Want me to fuck you here instead? From behind?”

“Sorta. Unzip yourself but don’t stick it in.”

“No need to tell me twice.” He did as he was told, coming up behind her, and placing his cock near her pussy.

She looked down and leaned back, opening her folds to place her opened cunt on the length of his hard cock, nestling it there.

Bill groaned at the contact.

“Wait for it.” She moved her hips back and forth, causing his shaft to open and close. She wanted to get his whistle wet and have him experience a little taste of her to excite his nerves and to test his patience for later.

“Fuck. Jesus…”

“Bill!” Emily gasped in mock surprise. “Don’t say the Lord’s name in vain,” she scolded playfully.

“Sorry, sorry. You just-you feel amazing.”

“Wait until you’re inside of me, cowboy.”

He couldn’t wait. He needed to feel her walls clench around his dick. Heck, he wanted to be welcomed inside of her. Some of his peers mentioned that being inside of a girl was like dipping into a hot tub and being hugged at the same time. He needed to lose his virginity. He continued pumping his dick along her folds, his balls smacking near the middle of her cunt. He thrusted until he shot his seed all over the grass.

“There you go,” Emily cheered.

Bill pulled his throbbing cock away, stuffing himself back in his pants.

Emily stood up and faced him. “How’d it feel?”

“Great, baby.”

“Have you ever touched yourself?” She queried.

Bill paused. “It’s not encouraged in my household.” Even if it was encouraged he wouldn’t waste his sperm on nothing. He figured Emily locked herself in a room and masturbated to his senior picture everyday. Hell, she probably masturbated to all his school photos, and kissed them each night while staring idly at them on her nightstand before falling asleep.

The two walked back to school, holding hands. They both couldn’t wait to be intimate again in a new location once classes were over.

𓍼ֶָ֢𓂃𓍯𓂃

3:30 p.m.

As soon as the bell rang Bill and Emily sprinted down the hallway, with their books in hand, near the doubled exit doors, leading outside.

“There’s an abandoned barn a few miles North.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “You want to do it inside a barn?!”

“Yeah. Why not? It’s nice and cozy. I’m sure all the termites died last winter.”

“Oh, Bill…” She rolled her eyes, giggling in amusement. He was always the adventurous type.

𓍼ֶָ֢𓂃𓍯𓂃

4:15 p.m.

“Isn’t it romantic?” Bill asked.

Emily scanned her eyes over the interior. No graffiti covered the walls and no insects were buried underneath the hay or flew in the air. She was impressed. The barn didn’t harbor a stench either. It was clean, maybe a little musty, but it was kept in pristine condition. “Thank goodness we have the whole place to ourselves.”

“I know, right? You can be as loud as you want to be up here,” Bill teased.

Emily blushed at the scenario and hit his arm playfully. “Oh, stop!”

“What do you say, sugar? Would you let me go all the way?”

The two laid on either side, staring into each other’s eyes. There was trust between them. It was difficult for Bill to lower his guard down but whenever he was with Emily he would dismantle it for her and allow her to see the soft side of him nobody at school knew about, or had an inkling.

For Emily, she had her guard lowered all the time and couldn’t seem to uphold it, and shield herself away from dangerous people. She told herself she loved the thrill of it. But the scars always came back to haunt her. She didn’t want to live a life where she continued to flaunt her personality around, she wanted to settle down, preferably with Bill, and live a calming lifestyle. She needed someone to keep her in her place and not wander off. She needed Bill.

“I trust you…” she muttered. “Give me 100%.”

Pulling Emily on top of him, she slipped off her panties and unzipped his pants, revealing his eager erection. Bill kept his hands on her hips to hold her steady and dig his fingers into her soft flesh.

She lifted herself up and teased the head of his penis against her slit. She took him one inch at a time by sliding down then pulling up, she slid down again, taking two inches of him before sliding back up again.

Bill exhaled through his nose, tightening his hold on her hips. “You’re gonna drive me crazy, babygirl.”

“That’s the plan,” she teased, pressing down, taking half his cock into her pussy, and sliding upward. “Gonna make you cum more than once.”

Bill tried hard to contain himself and not release his load from her words. She could be so cruel and unforgiving sometimes. He bit down on his tongue, savoring the sensation, and paced his buildup.

Emily pressed down on him again, almost engulfing his entire length this time.

“All the way,” he begged, becoming impatient.

“Easy.” She pulled up, her cunt hugging onto his length, as she slipped out of him. “Think you can handle me, Bill?”

He scoffed. “Honey, the question is, will you be able to handle me?”

Emily bit the tip of her index finger like a small child. “I’m losing my mind over you.”

Bill felt a surge of pride wash over him. He had her wrapped around his finger. “Good girl.” He helped her slide all the way down on his shaft, remaining there for a moment as his dick hardened and grew inside of her. Emily gasped at his size. Her hips started rocking back and forth against his, finding a steady pace between them. Bill bucked his hips upward, hitting Emily’s G-spot.

“Oh, fuck!” She stared deep into his eyes and saw the hungry lust that bore into his pupils, the same way how her pupils expanded for him.

The two continued, gradually increasing the pace. The sounds of wet skin slapping against each other echoed off the walls. “That’s right. You’re so fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t you? Fuckin’ slut…” Bill degraded in the heat of the moment.

Emily increased the pace again, moaning uncontrollably as she did so. Bill gripped her hips hard enough to where he’d leave his handprints branded on her skin. Bill managed to flip themselves over and be on top of Emily as he hovered above.

“Bill!” She gasped, not expecting him to do that.

“Hang on, baby.” Bill pistoled his dick into her cunt repeatedly, hitting her where she needed him most.

Emily wrapped her legs around his lower back and bounced on his shaft. She was nearing the edge of her peak.

“Fuck, baby. I’m gonna-I’m gonna-“

Emily knew what he meant. “Pull out, Bill! Pull out!” Although she wanted him to cum inside her, she didn’t have access to birth control. But even if she did she couldn’t go back on them since it made her hormones become imbalanced. She wanted to have children some day, but she had to wait until she graduated high school to start her own family. The pull out method would have to do for them.

Bill groaned, taking his dick out of her cunt, and cumming on her stomach.

Emily felt his hot seed land on her belly, creating a puddle of semen on her small frame. She was relieved that he got a release, specially from fucking her. It felt glorious.

Before her own buildup could ebb away, she took Bill’s hand and placed it on her red, swollen clit. “Right there. Rub. Fast!” She instructed frantically.

Bill used his fingers the way she told him and helped her come undone in a matter of seconds. She panted, thanking him, as she pulled him close and basked in the afterglow with him. Out of all the men she fucked, Bill Bailey was by far the best lay.

𓍼ֶָ֢𓂃𓍯𓂃

6:35 p.m.

After the barn, Bill and Emily drifted into their separate paths. Emily lived on the opposite side of town while Bill resided on the East side. It was a shithole compared to Emily’s wealthy cookie-cutter neighborhood. His family was so dirt poor they had to survive on food stamps and buy milk, eggs, and bread every other week. It was unfair. Life was unfair.

Bill barged into the doorway, taking off his boots, and shrugging his backpack off onto the couch. He wandered into the kitchen where his mother was stirring a pot of tomato soup. “How was school?” She greeted.

“Fine.”

His mother stopped stirring and added a few pinches of salt into the pot. “Well, your sister didn’t have a fine day.”

This set Bill on edge. “What do you mean?” He knew he couldn’t protect his sister all the time but, damn, he wished she would run to him at school if a bully was picking on her. He knew she was capable of handling herself, but not when it spiraled out of control, and it resulted in her having a shittier day than usual.

“Why don’t you go and talk to her?” His mother suggested. “She could use a male ear.”

Bill agreed and made his way towards his sister’s bedroom. He knocked on the door three times, giving her enough time to make herself ready for him to enter.

“Come in.”

Turning the knob, Bill swung the door open and saw his sister sitting on the bed, knees curled against her chest. “Sup, pumpkin spice? Mom said you had a bad day at school?” He sat down next to her.

“Everyone’s been saying I stink.”

“Last I heard the entire school doesn’t know.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Amy wasn’t in the mood to indulge in his wit. “My class, dumbass. Everyone says I smell like trash. I hate this! I hate how we can’t afford a normal life!” She wailed.

Bill put his hand on her knee to comfort her. “Amy, shh-“

“Don’t tell me to shush! You know it’s true. I can’t stand living like this any longer! I hate it! I hate our life, I hate everything about it, I-“ Amy wasn’t able to sputter another word. She was sobbing into her hands, regretting what she said, but feeling relieved at the same time that she got it off her chest.

“Amy, Amy. Look at me,” he urged.

She shook her head, mumbling incoherent nonsense when Bill cupped both her cheeks with his hands, forcing her to make eye contact.

He saw the pain in her eyes and it tore his soul apart. “C’mere. I got you.” He pressed her against him in an embrace as her knees uncurled and wrapped around his sides while she sobbed into his neck, drenching his skin with her hot tears. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, sweetie,” he cooed, rubbing her back in a soothing manner to stop her body from quaking.

“I hate it, Bill…” She whimpered, sniffling.

“You’re not the only one, cupcake.”

“I wish dad hadn’t left…”

“Dad’s a piece of shit,” Bill stated unforgivingly. “He didn’t care about us. If he did, he would’ve scooped us out of this mess. He hasn’t called mom all these years to check up on you, to check up on me-“

Amy lifted her head up to look at her brother with pleading eyes. “I know, but-“

“But nothing, Amy! Dad’s never coming back! You shouldn’t even be grieving over his loss,” he rebuked. Bill felt offended, and threatened, how Amy still missed their step-father. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. He understood she was too young to remember him, but what infuriated him the most was her own ideal image of their dad. She was playing a dangerous game by living in her head and was only subjecting herself to more emotional turmoil. She really believed that if dad hadn’t left their lives would’ve been a thousand times better. He sighed and tried to soften his tone again. “Amy, listen. Dad isn’t here anymore, but I am, okay? If you need anything, have any problems, you talk to me, yeah?”

She nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry…”

“No,” he corrected. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Amy wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging onto him like a koala. “In an odd way, you’re kinda like my own dad...”

“Better me than him.” Bill wrapped his arms around her back, tightening the hug.

“I know. You’re better than him in a lot of ways. That’s what mom always says, anyway.”

“Damn straight. I’d never leave you or mom.”

After a few moments of silence, Amy spoke up. “Bill?”

“Hm?”

Amy pulled away again but kept her arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders. “Would it be okay if I borrowed some of your clothes for tomorrow?”

He used his hand to cup her cheek and swipe away a tear with his thumb. Because he was the oldest sibling he had a bigger stash of clothing compared to his sister. He often shared his clean clothes with her and didn’t mind. They were pretty much the same size. Since the school knew about their situation at home, they allowed the dress code for the uniforms bypass with Amy. As long as it kept her from not getting bullied at school, he was more than alright with it. “You know you don’t have to ask. You can just take what you need and carry on with your day, right?”

A faint smile appeared across her face. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna go see how mom’s doing with dinner.” Before Bill could unwrap himself around Amy, she attached herself to him again, not wanting him to leave her yet. His body stiffened at her reluctancy to let go. “Need daddy to hold you for a little longer?” He mocked, but deep down he meant it, and Amy knew he meant it. If there was ever going to be an official father-figure in her life, it’d be Bill.

“Please…?”

He sighed, giving into her needy nature. “Fine.” A few more seconds of silence passed. “Remember what I said. Don’t hesitate to come talk to me if something’s wrong.”

“Yes, dad,” she mocked back.

“Atta girl.”

𓍼ֶָ֢𓂃𓍯𓂃

7:00 p.m.

At the dinner table Bill, Amy, and their mother sat in their respected seats with a bowl of tomato soup and 1/4 slice of toast laid out in front of them. They had to ration the bread by slicing it in fours to make it last for two weeks. Since Amy was the youngest she got two 1/4s while Bill and his mother had the single 1/4 slices.

Like all the previous nights, Bill sacrificed his slice of toast, and passed it to Amy underneath the table. Tonight was no different and Amy hesitated before taking the slice. She loathed it whenever Bill did that. He needed to eat, too. She couldn’t stand seeing him waste away while he tried to keep some meat on her bones. But she would do the same thing for him in a heartbeat, only if he allowed her to do so.

7:15 p.m.

After dinner, everybody helped clean up the dishes before retiring to the bathroom to brush their teeth, and get ready for bed. Bill waited in his bedroom as his mother was tucking in Amy. He was too old to be tucked in. He granted his mother permission to wish him a good night, and maybe sweet dreams, before turning off his lamp on the nightstand, and going to sleep. Amy, on the other hand, insisted on being tucked in since she found the gesture to be precious. His mother didn’t seem to mind doing it either. She knew there would come a day when both her children would have to leave the house to scout for their own futures. So, she tried to cherish every moment with them, no matter how big or small it was. It mattered to her.

Bill heard his sister’s door shut and saw his mother appear around the corner. “Goodnight, Bill.”

“Night, mom.”

“Do you need a glass of water or anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine, mom.”

She nodded and flicked off his lamp, closing the door.

Bill laid there in the darkness for quite some time. His mind wandered to Emily. He wondered what she ate for dinner tonight. Probably a steak, medium-rare, with green beans, and mashed potatoes and gravy on the side. His stomach growled at the imagery as his mouth watered.

He visualized Emily’s elegant dinner table adorned with red and white candles, roses, champagne glasses, beautifully crafted ceramic plates, and silverware. He snapped out of his thoughts, rubbing his aching belly. He’d be going to bed hungry again while Emily would be sleeping on a full stomach. He resented it but had himself to blame for tricking his mind into thinking he’d be eating a steak off a piece of fine China. Bill closed his eyes and waited for dreamland to succumb him.

𓍼ֶָ֢𓂃𓍯𓂃

The next morning Bill walked to school with Amy. He made sure to keep an eye on her during lunch break and to watch for students making snide remarks behind her back. The only component that was missing today was Emily. She wasn’t in first period (Lang & Lit) or third period (Biology), and she wasn’t seen sitting at a table for lunch. It surprised Bill. Maybe she decided to ditch school or call in sick? He questioned. Study Hall was gonna be lonely without her - and sure enough…it was.

After school, Amy walked home with two of her classmates while Bill trekked to Emily’s neighborhood. It was odd that she wasn’t present today. It made him worry. Perhaps he was overthinking? She might’ve just caught the flu or a cold. Or maybe she had an appointment and decided to skip the rest of the school day. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter to him, all he wanted to know was if Emily was okay, and that she wasn’t in any sort of danger.

As Bill walked along the sidewalk of Emily’s pristine neighborhood, older folks (who were sitting in their lawn chairs on the patio) eyed him suspiciously. They could tell Bill was an outsider, not just by his cheap clothing, but also because they haven’t seen him, or others like him, wander around this area. He ignored the glances and picked up his pace. He felt their stares were burning holes into his backside similar to how a cigarette is pressed against human flesh.

Unbeknownst to Bill, two cops were standing outside of their vehicles, chatting near a cul-de-sac. Emily’s house was located right behind them. The two officers noticed Bill walking towards them with both his hands in his pockets, and head lowered, his long hair covering his face.

“Hey, man, who’s that boy?” One of the officers asked, squinting his eyes in the distance.

The other officer studied the boy for a moment before coming to the realization. “Him? That’s Bill Bailey - Lafayette’s troublemaker. Not sure what he’s doing on this side of town,” he remarked.

“It’s the wrong side,” the other officer noted. “Bill Bailey, huh?” Unlike his partner, this officer didn’t know who Bill was, but he’s heard rumors, from time to time, about a young boy wrecking havoc every week. This must be the kid everyone’s up in arms about, he mused. “Is his father George Bailey?” He questioned, cracking a joke as he was referencing Jimmy Stewart’s classic Christmas film, It’s A Wonderful Life.

“Nah. Bill ain’t no saint like George Bailey. George did his whole town a favor, Bill does this whole State a disservice.” He said, malice creeping in his tone. He’s dealt with Bill in the past on multiple occasions and he sure as Hell didn’t want to see him now.

“What should we do? Tie him up?” The officer suggested.

His partner shook his head. “He’ll be spending the night where he belongs. In a cell.” He motioned his partner to follow him and the two walked up to Bill. “Hey, Billy,” the officer greeted. “Miss me?”

Bill looked up, his eyes widening in disbelief. What the fuck were they doing here?! He came to a halt, standing his own ground.

“Relax, Bill.” The same officer spoke. “Just wanted to have a little chat.” The officer circled him, eyeing Bill up and down, studying his long, shaggy hairstyle. “I see you grew your hair out.”

“Ain’t that a faggot thing?” The other officer chimed in.

Bill huffed a little, disregarding the stupid comment.

The officer who was circling him noticed. “Careful, man. He might punch your lights out,” he cautioned.

Bill rolled his eyes and continued to walk. They were purposely trying to piss him off and Bill wasn’t gonna waste his time with them, he had other (more important) matters to attend to.

“Hey! I didn’t say you could leave yet, boy!” The officer yelled, putting his hand on his shoulder, and spinning him around.

Within a second, Bill tried defending himself by swatting the officer’s hand away, only to be embraced from behind by the other officer who held both his arms down. “Let go of me!” Bill yelled, trying to jerk the officer off him.

When the other guy stepped closer to him Bill lifted both his legs up to kick him in the shins, but the officer acted fast and caught both his ankles, holding his squirming legs together. “You think I forgot about your old tricks, kid?” He taunted. “Handcuff his ass.”

His partner obliged and handcuffed Bill’s wrists. They carried him away and threw him in the backseat of the car, driving to the county jail.

𓍼ֶָ֢𓂃𓍯𓂃

Bill received another worthless mugshot and was locked in a random cell for the night. He laid down on the bench and stared at the ceiling, not knowing what else to do. He was used to getting mistreated like this by the officers. He had a reputation and it got him in a lot of trouble, even when he didn’t do anything wrong.

The hours slowly passed and an officer made several rounds to check on each of the cells, including his, to make sure everything was in order. Bill could tell he was gonna miss his curfew tonight. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last.

At 10:00 p.m., the officer who was checking the cells came to Bill’s. “Psst. Hey, kid. Wake up!”

Bill opened his eyes and sat up on the bench.

“You’re gonna make a phone call to have someone bail your ass out. This cell needs to be occupied by other shitheads like you.”

“I’m not sharing this cell?” Bill asked, a little surprised. But knowing what happened when he was locked up with other men last time, he preferred to go home instead.

The officer led him towards a phone booth and gave him a quarter to use. “Make it count. It’s my last quarter,” he warned.

Bill contemplated on who to call. He could call his mother and inform her of his whereabouts, but he’s done that countless of times, it shattered him to see his mom look so heartbroken that her son had been abused by the law again. He couldn’t stand to see that look on her face.

Suddenly, another idea popped into his head. He’d call Emily to pick him up. Slotting the quarter into the booth, Bill dialed Emily’s home number, and waited for somebody to answer.

“Hello?” A groggy, female voice addressed. It was Emily’s mother.

Shit. He lost track of time and remembered Emily’s household went to bed early, too.

“Hi, Mrs. Clarice?” Bill tried to fake his best impression.

“Bill?” She questioned, sounding more alert. “Honey, it’s late. Everything alright? Is your mom okay? Your sister?”

“They’re fine. I just…I need to talk to Emily. It’s about the t-test for…tomorrow.” He needed to strengthen his lying skills someday and diminish the stuttering. It was a poor habit of his whenever he felt nervous.

“Aww, sweetie. Can’t it wait ‘til morning? She’s sleeping.”

“I realize she’s sleeping but it’s rather u-urgent.” He heard Clarice set the phone down on her nightstand.

There was silence for a few moments before he heard Emily’s voice on the other line. “Bill?”

“Emily,” he sounded relieved. “I need your help.”

“Uhm…what test are you referring to?” She queried, not having recollection about a test in any of her classes. How ironic would it be if she missed a test’s announcement on the same day she wasn’t in school?

“Listen carefully,” Bill spoke in a lower tone. “I need you to bail me out of jail tonight. It’s the one closest to your house.”

Emily paused, catching on to his plea. “Ohh, that test! Yes, our teacher wanted us to type the final draft for tomorrow and read it to the class.”

“Just sneak out of the house, through your bedroom window, and haul ass.” He advised.

“I’m sure I can help you finish it in Study Hall.”

“Thanks, babe. You’re a real one.”

“Don’t worry about it. You have plenty of time to get it done. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you.”

Another wave of silence passed. “Alright, Bill.” It was her mother again. “You get some sleep now, got it?”

“Yes, Mrs. Clarice.”

“Alright. Take care, honey.”

“Goodnight.” Bill hung up the phone and waited for Emily’s arrival.

𓍼ֶָ֢𓂃𓍯𓂃

It took Emily 30 minutes to run to the county jail, be she eventually made it. She told the officer she was here to pick up Bill, since they needed proof for a bailout, and released him out of custody.

“You kids have a safe night. Stay out of trouble!” The officer told them on a parting note.

Bill and Emily walked side by side, holding hands.

“Did they beat you?”

“No.”

Emily squeezed his hand tighter. “I’m sorry for missing school today. I should’ve been there…” She sounded guilty. If she would’ve been by his side, none of this would’ve happened to him. She blamed herself for this mess.

“It’s okay. Why weren’t you there?” He asked, the curiosity still lingering.

Emily stopped in her tracks and released his hand, causing Bill to turn around and face her.

“It’s situations like these, Bill.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…I skip a day, I don’t know, because I felt like it, and wham! You’re gone! I don’t know how long I can keep doing this!” She yelled, sounding hysterical. “How long I can keep pretending everything is fine when it’s not. Maybe that’s why I needed to skip today. To clear my head about us.”

“Baby, baby-“

“Life keeps throwing rocks at you and I won’t be able to help, or be there for you. I won’t always be here!” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Just like how you’re not always here! You disappear because those bastards catch you. Fuck, Bill, I can’t even help you with your home life!”

Bill moved closer, placing his hands on her hips. “Baby, I know. This will be a one time thing. I have other options.” Maybe he should’ve utilized those other options and not her. Emily didn’t deserve to be involved in his chaotic life. She seemed too sweet and innocent for her own good, and Bill wanted to uphold that facade, not destroy it. She didn’t deserve to be corrupted and live on the edge like him on a daily basis. She’s been through enough trouble in her own life, she didn’t need to carry his burdens, too.

“I need you, Bill…” she whined, a tear streaming down her cheek.

“I need you too, honey. You know I’ll always wait for you, right? I’d never leave you.”

Emily’s face contorted from the pain she felt inside her heart. “I…might.”

“Huh? Explain.” He wasn’t understanding what Emily was throwing at him. He didn’t have the patience for games and he wished she would just come clean.

“I need a guy to always be here - by my side. If you go to jail, I have to be there with you.”

“Baby, we don’t even share the same bed.” He reminded. “I can’t be your lifeline when you need me most.”

“That’s the thing…I’m realizing it now. I don’t think I can carry on with our relationship. It’s too much.”

Now Bill was the one who felt heartbroken by her statement. “What?”

“Face it, Bill. You need a stronger girlfriend. Someone who is more resilient than me.”

“Don’t say that. We can work on this together. I’m still figuring this shit out,” he confessed.

Emily sighed, sniffling. She was uncertain about the whole thing.

Bill saw the confliction behind her eyes and spoke again, “I chose you because you’re perfect. If you weren’t right for me, I would’ve released you into the sea long ago.” That was the truth. Bill would never admit it, but Emily meant more to him than he ever imagined. He lost his virginity to her and she was always loyal to him from day one, she never judged him, or feared him like the other students did. She was different and he liked that.

Emily’s heart swelled at his words. But she had trouble believing in her own self that she could stay committed to Bill, Lafayette’s troublemaker.

“C’mon. Let’s continue our walk,” he encouraged. “You can think about it on the way.”

Rampant thoughts went through Emily’s head, landing on the same conclusion over and over again - stay with Bill. Maybe she could conquer through? Maybe this was another rough patch she had to hurdle over? She wanted to be on the other side of the patch where the grass was greener and not so frail. She knew she had to be patient. The process would be worth her while once Bill was free and hers again like tonight. It was a continuous cycle she’d need to grow accustomed to.

The two arrived outside her home and they looked at each other.

“See you tomorrow…?”

Bill nodded, confirming it. “Tomorrow.”

A small smile crept across her lips.

“One more thing.” Bill hoisted her up, having her legs wrap around his waist as his hands travelled up her skirt. “You bare for me?” He asked, feeling pleased that she wasn’t wearing any panties this time. His palms ran circles over her ass, gripping her soft flesh.

“Of course I am.” She giggled. “Easy access, right?”

Using one hand to hold her in place, Bill used his other hand to unzip his pants, and slide himself inside of her drenched cunt.

She whimpered at the contact, her walls clenching around his length ecstatically.

“Remember how I feel inside.” He reminded. “Nobody can make you feel this good.”

Emily rested her head on his shoulder, keeping her quivering legs at his side. “Nobody,” she whispered.

“You’re mine, baby. All mine.” He nipped at her neck, using his tongue to lick behind her earlobe, causing her to squirm in his embrace, but whenever she did her cunt clenched around him again, making her clit pulsate with desire. Bill always had a way of making her feel full, loved, and wanted. It went beyond just needing satisfaction. Their bodies were intertwined, as one, and they couldn’t stand letting each other go. They needed to save each other. Together, they were the key to escaping their old lives in Indiana.

Taglist: @hollywoodroses, @axlsyndrome, and @nenynra!

Side-note: if anybody else wants to be added on my taglist for certain eras/characters, let me know!

[beaconfeels]

Everything is red. Red like rage, like pain, like the howls of his pack as they burned. Peter drenches the world in red, and he feels nothing but anger.

Then, “I’m not afraid of you!” 

It’s not exactly true, but it’s also not exactly a lie. For the first time in months, Peter feels something else. Curious. Intrigued. 

Then everything goes red again. 

—

The boy is defiant. Still refusing to back down, just like the first time Peter met him. He’s terrified but he doesn’t cower. 

As a reward, Peter offers him the best gift he can think of: the bite. 

It’s hugely disappointing when the boy pulls his arm away at the last second. 

“I don’t want to be like you,” the boy says.

It’s a lie, but Peter lets him go anyway. For the first time since he awoke, he wants something more than to be feared. He’ll wait for the boy to come to him. 

—

”I know why you did it,” Stiles says. He’s curled up against a tree, clutching his bruised ribs. This time, he really isn’t afraid.

That knowledge soothes Peter, cools down the red enough for him to focus on pale skin and brown eyes. 

“They killed your family,” Stiles says, “I would have done the same.” 

That is also not a lie, and Peter leans in, tilting his head to the side as he inspects the boy. “You don’t hate me anymore,” he realizes out loud.

”Maybe not,” Stiles says, “But that doesn’t mean we’re on the same side.” 

Fair enough, Peter thinks, slinking back through the trees before the rest of the pack catches up with them. 

—

Being alive again is strange. Death did not become him, but he’s not so sure life does anymore either. He misses the red haze sometimes. Everything is so colorful, so vivid now. For the first time in his life, there are moments when he wishes his senses were as dull as a human’s. Six months in, and he still hasn’t gotten used to it. 

He goes deep into the forest, the only place where he doesn’t feel assaulted by sensory overload. There, he finds the one intrusion he doesn’t mind. It’s his boy, curled over something in his hands in a grassy meadow. 

Stiles’s lips move, and Peter can’t quite make out the words, something in Latin, he thinks. 

Peter creeps closer and sees that a dead leaf in Stiles’s hand is slowly unfurling into green. 

“Yes!” Stiles says, pumping his fist, and then nearly falls over when he realizes Peter is standing not ten feet in front of him. 

���Clever boy,” Peter purrs.

”Yeah yeah,” Stiles says with an eye roll, but his cheeks blush rosy pink. 

—

”Stay,” Stiles says, reaching out to snag Peter’s hand. He’s curled up on his bed, blanket pulled hastily over himself because Peter had commanded him to get some sleep. 

This is what Peter had wanted back in that parking garage. To be wanted. To be chosen. It’s not all he wants, but it’s plenty for now, Peter decides as he lies down beside his boy. 

Stiles curls against his body, and Peter puts an arm around him and holds him tight, planting a soft kiss in his hair as the boy falls asleep.

Yes, it’s quite enough for now. 

—

”You want me, right?” Stiles asks. He sounds sure and steady, even though his heart is pounding in his chest. 

“Yes,” Peter answers.

”In all the ways?”

”In all the ways.” 

Stiles nods, a little smile curling up the corner of his lips. “Okay, you can have me,” he says. 

The touch of his boy’s hands is nothing like the red that burned through Peter for so long. It feels like a cool breeze on a warm day, soothing and refreshing. 

Their lips touch and part, touch and part. Everything is Stiles’s smile and Stiles’s sparkling eyes, and Stiles’s fingers in his hair. Gold, like the last light of evening, flooding everything in its soft glow. 

[fuzybby]

My Raven

Astarion x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Nothing wrong with some good ol' love making with Astarion, now is there?

CW: LOVEY LOVE LOVE ITS SO LOVEY IT'S GROSS, cumming inside, reader has a hole and it's being used but not specified which hole.

And while the night seemed quiet and slow, the leaves on the nearby trees swaying in the short wind, the cries from two lovers demanded the moon's and stars' attention. All eyes were on them as the love they shared was on display.

You and Astarion, Astarion and you. Two perfect lovers, fitting together like a puzzle piece, sitting atop his waist, moving your hips in time with his pleas. He gripped your hips like a vice, his fingernails making half-moon crescents develop into your skin.

You call his name, he calls yours. How quaint.

The dark light from the full moon shines on your back, and the scene unfolding in Astarion’s eyes is like watching a god conquer a city, or create life in a meadow.

You huff, moan, and whine as his cock hits the deepest parts of you. It’s like he wants to bury himself in your guts and never leave.

And maybe, that’s exactly what Astarion wants. He wants to own you, but not in a possessive way like he’s so used to thinking. He wants to own your heart and your body only a sweet lover would want.

For the first time in a long time, he’s not climbing out of his mind to have sex. He’s staying in the moment, committing your scent to memory, how your hands feel as they skim his nipples and down to his stomach. He commits the memory of you bouncing on his cock like such a sweet little thing. His thoughts race as he imagines you in other positions he could put you in. Bending you over a bed in a small home, presumably yours, on your back where he can touch and bite wherever he wants, holding you close in a chair as you stuff yourself full of him.

Your body races, and tingles. You can feel your toes curling as Astarion continues to hit that sweet spot inside of you. You can feel everything around you. The sweat from your skin falls from the tip of your nose onto Astarions stomach, and the short wind blows your hair into your face, causing you to have to pull it out of your vision with a giggle.

You’re aware of the way Astarion is looking at you. His pupils are wide and his teeth are clenched, he looks in pain. You go to ask him what’s wrong before he quickly shifts positions. He grips your waist and flips you onto your back in the cold dirt, settling in between your thighs and sinking into you once more. Being filled again and again relentlessly.

Your hand fumbles around his body, looking for his own. He leans down over your own beautiful body to grab your hand. Pushing it into the dirt as his eyes lock onto yours. Never has the color red looked so mesmerizing to you as it does now.

He calls your name again, softer. Like a real lover would do when they ask for a favor.

You can tell Astarion is close by the way his mouth hangs open and no noises come from him, and you feel as if you are going to cum too. Your whole body is alight, everywhere he touches prickles against your skin.

You hold one another close as you both climax. Screaming for one another into the air above, praying that your companions haven’t heard your extravagant cries for one another.

Astarion looks exhausted above you, and you pull him closer to your chest to lie on.

“Lay with me for a bit, please,” You whisper.

“Of course, my raven.” He murmured.

And in that moment, the world had stopped. There were no mind flayers, and no bloody messes with strangers, It was you and Astarion, Astarion and you. Forever as one.

[deswhomst]

who r ur top ten marauders characters (niche, marauders and skittles) and who r ur fav fancast/vibes for them/moodboard type things

anon this is So hard but seems like it could be fun. my number one spot will be fixed but the rest vary according to my mood. these are my top ten rn but honestly i love them all. even with this ranking, it’s not as if there’s a major gap between my love for number 1 and number 10.

i also don’t have set fancasts for them or if i do they’re the popular ones so it’s not worth mentioning.

1. regulus black. always and forever my number One boy. been a fan for the past eight years and i probably will never stop. his vibes to me are loving/cheerful baby turned bitter hateful teenager. shades of grey with some dark green in there. my chemical romance is his fav.

2. andromeda black. she’s so interesting to me. she has done it All. black family member -> disowned -> married happily and had a kid -> lost husband -> lost kid -> made it out of both wars (at what cost?). her aesthetic is GREEN. very green. she’s scary and welcoming both.

3. james potter. he means so much to me actually. he’s privileged and doesn’t necessarily recognize it and thinks he’s very Good but is also flawed like everyone else. the difference was that he worked on it and i admire that a lot. he’s red and gold, reasons are obvious but they just Fit. hero and villain aesthetic grouped into one.

4. remus lupin. he’s literally tragedy incarnate?? not a moment of peace in his life. he’s very … just human at times, if that makes sense. and for all his faults, he’s kind and helpful instead of being an asshole. i love him. tortured poet kinda vibes. diff shades of brown aesthetic.

5. lily evans. so much to explore here it’s insane. this seemingly ordinary little girl who went on to learn that she’s a witch and discover this whole other world that she saved but got pain and death at 21 in return. her story fucks me Up i love her so much. her aesthetic is also green (emerald green precisely). also!! this one quote needs to be there in any lily evans moodboard -> “you save everyone but who saves you?”

6. sirius black. ah why is he at six 😭 i love him so much he needs to be higher but ranking them is harddd. sirius is legit one of the most complex characters on the list, if not the most. i’ll be honest when i was younger i might have held some things he said against him but i genuinely adore his unhinged side now!! it honestly makes him much more interesting than he already is (which is a lot). he was cruel when he wanted to be but he was also insanely empathetic!! i think people usually forget those details but sirius was not just this mean rebel guy, he was also able to sympathize with others and be good to them. i also mourn the loss of what could’ve been the BEST duo (harry and sirius). as for his vibes, black!! to me it symbolizes that wherever he goes he cannot escape the curse of his family.

7. dorcas meadowes. i won’t even lie i put dorcas on a pedestal. i mean, yes, it’s imp for characters to have flaws and all that but not her !!! she’s perfect. her wrongs are right and if they’re not, then right is wrong. she got one line in canon and made sure it was the most badass one?? voldemort had to personally kill her?? and she was one of few?? slytherin dorcas adds a whole new layer to her too!! it just would never hit the same with any other house. royal purple aesthetic.

8. narcissa black. it should be clear by now that i am a black family dick rider actually. okay but see all the rest of them are losers to some degree but not narcissa. she’s a bitch and a winner and i LOVE her for it. i love nobleflower too but i am a firm believer that narcissa was not forced to do anything. she made the choices that served her well because that’s who she is and she always won in the end. you can hate her for it but she won’t care because she’s too busy being fucking amazing. WHITE aesthetic (flower amongst stars and white amongst blacks (pls this sounds so bad but you get what i mean)).

9. pandora lovegood. we all know she would be a mad scientist if she was a muggle and as an (almost) engineer, i just know we would geek tf out over equations and shit (chemistry was literally my fav subject and i was Sad when i couldn’t find a career path that i wanted to pursue with it lol). her aesthetic is blue, white, and pink.

10. barty crouch jr. don’t condone what he did but his character is legit so cool (not from a moral standpoint ofc). when i read GoF i was genuinely so surprised at his reveal and reading back, the way he acted while impersonating moody was so fun to witness. turning draco into an actual ferret?? mentoring harry while plotting his doom? murdering his father and looking to voldemort for approval instead 😭 barty is blue!! very blue. his music aesthetic is that one band I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Stranger 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Summary: A stranger buys the farmstead nearby and disturbs your sleepy village life.

Part of the Backwoods AU

Note: My first time writing this character!

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your nails are crusted in dirt as you kneel in the garden. You grunt as you wrestle the roots of weed from the soil and toss it aside. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove as you hear the screen door snap shut. Your grandmother stands on the stoop, her hand on her achy hip.

“Did you hear, dearie?” She calls in her creaky voice. “Someone’s moved into Clyde’s old house.”

“Huh?” You catch your breath as you gather up the broken weeds, “it’s half ash.”

“Suppose they’ll fix it up,” she mutters as she leans on the narrow iron rail along the side of the backsteps.

“Suppose,” you agree as you stuff the green and brown foliage into the paper bag for the compost. “Who told you that?”

“I was just talking to Lynette on the phone. She also said Molly’s having her fifth.”

Five kids? You hide your chagrin at the thought. You don’t mind kids but that’s a lot to handle, let alone the pregnancies. Molly balloon’s up so big she can hardly move. Her last shower, she sat the whole time. Not much different than you, you guess. You sat in the corner and watched the silly games

“That’s exciting,” you say as you stand and dust off your knees, crumpling the top of the bag in your other hand.

“Ah, I’m sure you woulda loved to have four sisters? Maybe brothers? It’s a pity your mother never gave me any more grandchildren.”

“Mmm,” you suppress a frown, “yeah, well…”

“Anyhow, enough talk of spoiled milk,” she waves off, “I got a pie in the oven. You can take it over the Clyde’s once it cools.”

“I… why would I do that?”

“Oh my, don’t be ridiculous. We have a new neighbour, we have to be polite and welcome them to the village. It’s probably a nice family, or maybe someone your age. A friend?” She suggests, “I’d do it myself but I don’t think I’d make the walk…” she looks down at her hip, theatrically rubbing it. 

“Right,” you agree, the prospect of strangers making your tummy lurch. “Well, that pie will take some time.”

“Long enough for you to put on something clean,” she tuts as she looks down at your dirty jeans, “my lord, what would they think?”

“Yes, gramma, I’ll change, once I get this in the compost.”

“Good,” she smirks triumphantly and turns to swing open the screen door, the hinges whining shrilly.

You sniff and cross the yard. It’s not often there’s new faces in Hammer Ford. The village is a tourist trap at best and not a very lively one. Everyone calls each other by name and it’s second nature to stop and say hi. But that’s because you know each other; you have for years.

You lift the lid on the large bin and empty the bag into it. You could always lie and hide the pie in some bushes. Your deceit wouldn’t be hidden for long. Even in this sleepy place, word travels fast and someone always seems to be watching and waiting to pass it on.

🥧

You head out with the pie in a basket like some fairytale. You’re only short a red hood and a big bad wolf. You set off down the country roads, following the lazy curves towards the horizon. It’s after noon and the sun’s turning mild as it drifts across its pale canvas.

The old homestead is the second closest to your grandmother’s. The homes around Hammer Ford or sprawled out amid the plowed fields and green meadows. The cluster of old pines loom over you as you pass in there shadow and crest the hill that marks the edge of the property. Clyde’s tractor used to sit there, just by the broken down fence.

Ahead, down another stretch of road, this path unpaved, stands the decrepit house. The tragedy still singes the memories of the villagers. That night comes back to you in a blaze of orange and the smell of cinder. Poor old Clyde was buried behind Sacred Stave church.

You search the overgrown grass for a sign of life. There’s a black truck by the caved in garage but that’s about it. It might not be a family. It’s a lot of work to do with little ones around. If anything, it would only be the parents as they rebuild. Your mind wanders, wondering who would buy the old farm and why.

You come down the path, just along the ditch that dips behind a cluster of brambles. There’s a snap and a crack and you skid to a halt on the stones. You spin and look around, a heavy breath pluming into the air. Like the fire reawakened.

“Can I help you?” The deep timbre rolls through you and you step back on your heel as you face the man down in the ditch. He peers up at you above the scraggly top of the brambles.

“Uh,” you gulp and stare at him dumbly. He might think you’re lost. Or worse, trespassing.

His hair is short, only an inch on top and shaved even shorter around the sides. His beard is thick around his mouth, growing sparse across his cheeks, and two vibrant blue eyes beam back at you. The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink away. You can sense the city radiating off of him. He scares you.

“Hello? What’s up?” He waves as if trying to wake you up.

“Um, pie?” You say, cringing at your own speechlessness.

“Pie,” he repeats flatly.

You hold up the basket and blink. You never were very good at introductions. You were the only girl at school without friends. You were just sort of there.

“Pie,” you echo once more and hold out the basket.

He tilts his head, curiously, and huffs. He juts out his jaw and grunts as he pushes the brambles apart and climbs out of the ditchy. His denim jacket is streaked in dirty and pollen.

He takes the basket by the handle, his rough finger brushing yours. He peels back the cloth and to peek inside, “pie.” He utters the syllable a fourth time between you.

“Yeah,” your voice is wispy and small. “Bye.”

You let out a strained breath and spin, keeping yourself from breaking into a sprint. You stomp away frantically, smacking yourself internally for being so awkward. Well, maybe that’s a good thing. He’ll have no reason to talk to you ever again.

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

Asher and I sit in the living room of his apartment. I’ve been here a few times before to hang out with Lex and watch a movie or two, so I know this cluttered space well. Today, I sit on the worn rug with my back against her old couch. She was dragging me to the flea market one Saturday when she spotted it on the curb outside a tall brownstone apartment building. She likes patterns and bright colors, and this couch has both. Though, you wouldn’t have known it when we first looked at it. It wasn’t until she spent the entire afternoon and evening cleaning it with a determination and vigor that only Lex possesses for vintage furniture that the bright yellow color really shone. To me, it looks like something out of a basement room in 1995, but to her it is complete perfection, and it’s cozy, which is what matters most to her.

When I insist that I’m fine on the floor, Asher makes a point to lie down and stretch his body across the sofa behind me, as if to imply I’ll regret it, but I can’t change my mind. But, what he doesn't know, is my reason for choosing to sit on the floor rather than Lex’s famous yellow couch: The sketchbook I caught sight of poking out from the edge of the red-painted pallet-turned-coffee-table.

“Is this yours?” I ask as I pick it up and start flipping through it.

“Yeah, just something I was trying out,” he says nonchalantly, though I feel him sit up, watching me curiously.

The pages are full of different types of grasses and wildflowers, mostly individual ones where he practiced different species from different angles and different stages of life, some with color, some not, some have bugs or grasshoppers on them or bees buzzing around. Then, there are a couple pages with vibrant meadows. There’s one with a lone tree blowing in the breeze, with leaves being carried away. Another with a dog running through, a butterfly on his nose. They’re so intricate and detailed that I feel the need to sneeze just looking at them.

“Ash, these are amazing.”

“Thank you.”

He leans over my shoulder, and I feel my entire left side register his sudden closeness. Pointing to the page he says, “That’s my dog, Jasper. There’s at least one of him in every book I’ve had since I got him.”

“How long have you had him?”

“Uhm,” he pauses to mentally calculate, “almost eight years.”

“Oh wow. Must be tons of them.”

“Hundreds. I have a few books dedicated just to him. When I first got him, I would study him, drawing different parts over and over, his nose, ears, the different expressions of his eyes. For a while, I became completely obsessed with drawing his paws.” He stops to laugh at the memory, “It wasn’t easy either. He’s so energetic, it’s impossible for him to keep still unless he’s sleeping. Even if I do catch him sitting still, he’ll run to me the second he sees me looking at him.”

I just give a quiet chuckle in response. I don’t know anything about dogs. Or art. But I like the way Asher looks when he talks about both. He always lights up, whether he’s animated and excited, or casual and relaxed, the same spark is still there lighting up his face. 

When I don’t say anything, he smiles, lies back on the sofa, “Y’know, I was watching you today.”

I set the sketchbook aside and turn to face him, resting my elbow on the sofa seat, careful not to get close enough to touch him. “You were, huh?”

“Did you know that when you concentrate, you do this thing where you pucker your lips?” He attempts to imitate this thing I supposedly do, but fails when he starts laughing at himself, or at me, probably both.

“I do not.”

“You do,” he lets out a sound that can only be described as a choked giggle, and it makes me spit a laugh.

“So, what, you just stand there and stare at my lips like a creep, or something?”

“It’s hard not to. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. Not like that anyway.” He tries to imitate it again, only to devolve into giggles.

“You do the opposite, y’know.”

“What do you mean, the opposite?”

“When you’re really focused, you suck in your bottom lip and like, hold it between your teeth.”

He takes a moment to try it out and then nods his head when the action feels familiar, “Oh shit, yeah, I do do that, don’t I? Here you are, giving me shit, and it turns out you’re the one staring at my lips.”

“It’s hard not to.” I stop and let the words hang in the air, mostly to see how he’d react, but also because it’s not a lie. Catching him biting his lower lip at work sometimes can be mildly distracting. He nudges my shoulder gently with his leg and says with a grin, “Creep.”

Then, with a raised voice and a wave of his arm he says, “Okay, but the best,” as if it’s now some kind of competition that he’s clearly about to win, “is the singing! The way you like, sing to yourself when you’re working.”

“What about it?”

“Well, for one, it’s cute as hell, but also, if I did that, everyone would be so annoyed with me and tell me to shut up. I don’t know how you get away with it over there.”

I scoff, “No one is gonna tell me to shut up. For one, I’m cute as hell,” I say with a smile, and continue before he can interrupt, “but I don’t know, I can’t help it. I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time. But I think I’m quiet enough that most of them just tune me out by now, and besides, I have an amazing voice.”

“You’re awfully confident about that.”

“I should be. I’m professionally trained.”

“Are you really?”

“Yeah, our parents were very strict about the skills we had to learn growing up, and singing was one of them.”

“Well, shit, now I want to hear you sing for real.”

“I’m not just gonna perform for you, but I’m sure if you hang around me long enough, you will eventually.”

Unsatisfied with that answer, he says, “Hm. Do you ever do karaoke?”

“Yeah, karaoke’s fun. But you can’t just watch me. If we do that, I will make you sing at least one song with me.”

“That’s fair, I’d do that. As long as you promise not to make fun of me if I’m terrible.”

“I’d never.”

“Okay, but now I’m curious, what other secret skills do you have?”

“Uhh, let’s see, there was the singing, and then we had to learn to speak French, fluently—”

“And who’s ‘we’?”

“Oh, me and Dawn, my twin sister.”

“I didn’t know you were twins. I’m going to have follow-up questions, but okay so singing and French, what else?”

I can’t help but smile as his eyes shine with genuine enthusiasm. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone be this excited to know about me. I have to admit, it’s really flattering. I’ve never considered myself to be a very interesting person, especially to someone as charismatic and creative as he is. Somehow, he makes me feel like I am, though, so I continue, “The last one was piano, which was the worst of all of them.”

“Oh my god, right?!” He slams his hand down on the couch so hard that he practically sits up and it makes me jump. “I had to take piano lessons too, and I fucking hated it. Can you still play?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure I could figure it out, but why would I?”

“Good point,” he laughs, “I definitely can’t. Honestly, I don’t even remember how to read music, but don’t tell my dad that.”

“Why would your dad care if you can’t read music?”

“Because he’s a fucking composer!” he announces, with a wave of his arms. “Oh my god, the poor man, though, he really wanted Iris and me to share his love of music. Iris is my sister, by the way, but not a twin, she’s two years older than me. Anyway, neither of us took to it, and we both ended up doing visual arts. She’s a graphic designer, and I make fucking trees for video games.”

“Hey, you do way more than trees! You also make grass and weeds!” I say this with a hint of sarcasm, obviously he’ll do far more than that as the project progresses.

“Right, I fucking love weeds,” it comes out almost aggressive, he clearly means it, and I start to wonder if his casualness about the wildflowers was more of an act that I initially thought. “I tried a bunch of instruments though. He bought me a guitar when I was twelve, ‘cause like, who doesn’t want to learn guitar, right? Me. That’s who. I gave up after a week because my fingers hurt,” he stops for a moment to laugh at himself and I marvel at his smile as it stretches from ear-to-ear, his gray eyes bright and intense, “and THEN,” his words coming out quicker and more animated as he goes on, “he was like ‘alright well the kid’s got rhythm at least, how about the drums?’ And like, okay, the drums were fun and all, but I just couldn’t care less. I’d fuck around on them, but I had no interest in learning to be a good drummer. The best he was ever going to get out of me was dancing. Otherwise, I just want to put my headphones on and draw.”

“Well, I’m glad you pursued your passion in the end because you really are talented. The detail you put into your work, it’s the best I’ve seen.”

“Aw, well, shit, thank you,” he extends his hand out, but it comes just short of my arm, so he tugs the sleeve of my cardigan gently with his fingers and holds onto it. I think my compliment caught him off guard because he’s no longer laughing and his voice is softer now, “and, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. My dad is the sweetest, most supportive man in the world. If anything, I think I was a bit spoiled. I feel a little guilty that he kept investing in these instruments that I would just toss aside. There’s no way I can disappoint him further by admitting I don’t even know how to read music anymore.”

“Don’t worry,” I assure him, “your secret is safe with me.”

I’m acutely aware that his leg is resting against me now, and he’s rolling the fabric of my sleeve between his thumb and middle finger. Normally, I would have already scooted away from the sofa. Pivoted my body so the conversation could continue, but so that I could not be touched. But I don’t feel any need to do that. Not with him. His affection is so subtle and absent-minded; I can tell he’s just feeling comfortable with me. Something about that makes me feel comfortable with him too.

What really takes me by surprise, though, is that I want more. I want to lie next to him on the couch, to rest my head on his chest, to feel him run his fingers through my hair while he watches tv and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat keeps my own calm and quiet. Somewhere deep inside, I know exactly how it would feel, and I ache for it.

“Hey,” he tugs on my sleeve, pulling me out of my thoughts, “where did you go?”

“I’m right here,” I tell him.

“You left for a minute there. What were you thinking about?”

I’m not really sure how to answer the question. I try, but I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound ridiculous, so no words come out.

He cocks his head to the side a bit, looking curious, and says, “I can’t read you. It’s like your thoughts and feelings are written all over your face, but I don’t speak the language, so I can’t decipher your expressions.”

“Ahh,” he sits up with a groan and covers his face with his hands, “fuck, I’m sorry. That sounded really lame, and I regretted it as soon as it came out. Please, just tell me what you were thinking about, distract me from my embarrassment.”

I chuckle quietly. I don’t think what he said was that lame. I know what he meant. But his current state of vulnerability gives me just enough courage to attempt to answer his question, so I give it my best shot.

“I was just thinking that it feels like I’ve known you for years. Not that I’m feeding you some line about how it feels like we’ve known each other forever or something. But you just feel… familiar? I guess. Like, you know when you watch a movie that you haven’t seen in years. You don’t remember it, and you don’t know what happens, but you remember what's happening as it’s happening. Like déjà vu but not. I don’t know. I’m not making sense.” I give up and let my head fall forward onto the couch to hide my face, “maybe I should go before we continue to embarrass ourselves more.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he moves his hand to the top of my head and runs his fingers through my hair. It feels exactly the way I knew it would. The way his long fingers run across my scalp, then curl and pull on the strands gently toward the ends, letting them fall little by little. Somehow, I know the feel of his hands as well as my own. I freeze, trying not to move or make a sound. It’s almost as though, if I don’t acknowledge the act, I can ensure he doesn’t stop. And I don’t want him to.

But he does. The sudden tension in my body makes him pull away, “I’m sorry. Was that okay?”

I lift my head up and soften, “Yeah, it was okay. Unexpected, but it was nice.”

“Okay, good. I know I can be a bit touchy-feely sometimes, so if I ever make you uncomfortable, you can tell me. But I’ll be better about asking you first.”

“Thank you,” I say with a nod.

“Of course,” the words come out so gentle and quiet, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a such a sweet half smile that it makes me melt a little. And then he adds, “I really like hanging out with you, Atlas.”

I am officially a puddle on the floor. “Me too.”

Prev // Next

✨I wanna give a HUGE shoutout to @madebycoffee for creating the poses for this scene!! They are so perfect, I literally sobbed when I put them in my game 😭 It means so much to me to be able to bring this scene to life the way I imagined it. I absolutely adore you, Coffee, and I am forever grateful to have met you and to have the opportunity to share this love of writing and sims with you!! Thank you for loving my boys and for making this moment possible for them! 💖

[moonlight-tmd]

I have a (late) valentine contribution.

Bee is many things, most of which others deep annoying but under all that confidence and cockyness lies a yearning spark. Bee was always drawn to the idea of having a mate. He'd sit and daydream about his loved one spending time together somewhere cozy, talking in that soft voice reserved only for lovers. He wanted to have what couples of the streets and in cafes had. But he was too shy, wanting but never doing anything. A hopeless romantic at its finest.

When Bee learned about Valentines Day he always imagined confessing to someone his feelings on an old fashioned date. One mech in particular was an object of such fantasies,... Bee never thought Prowl would accept so he kept quiet, not wanting to ruin what they already had. That is until one night...

Bee has seen preparation on the streets for days before valentines and something in him wanted to join. He bought some flowers, took what he needed and under a lie on being busy went somewhere quiet, a place it would be unlikely for someone to find him.

It was late afternoon, stars shining up above as the distant city lights barely disturbed the forest. Prowl had decided to head out for a walk. He didn't know why really, something in him felt drawn to the forest as soon as the sun began to set. He didn't mind, although in the back of his processor he wished he could spend this day differently.

His audials picked up music, strumming of a guitar. Curiosity led him away from the path as he pushed thru dense bushes. He saw a light, dim and warm, the music became louder as he approached. There was a small meadow surrounding a grand willow whose tips of branches dipped in the river nearby. There was a picnic set up right by it, a small but neat table with pillows as seats and string lights hung above on the willow. He heard a song he's been following and dared to step closer to look.

Right by the roots sat Bumblebee, his outline peeking from behind the tree as he sung away to the river in front. His voice was soft, full of emotions Prowl never heard from him before. It was as if his very spark yearned to leave his frame and the only way it found was his derma. He recognized the song as it played many times in the radio lately. (link here)

Prowl listened, his own spark fluttering in his chest. As the lyrics went on he took s step closer. On the picnic table, besides a fake candle, were two fancy glasses with what Prowl could assume was high grade; one clean and empty, one half drank. Right next to the empty one he spotted an item; a shuriken from his set he got from Jazz so long ago. Little throwing star with engravings to match Prowl's appearance, he thought he lost it but somehow it ended up in Bee's servos. But that wasn't important, there was a red rose laid right next to it; not a simple one but one of the special ones that were only sold in shops on Valentines. Suddenly it all became clear to him, he couldn't help but smile as he heard him sing more...

Unknown to anyone, Prowl had began developing feelings for a certain scout. His positive and childish nature, the laugh and jokes, care and kindness he gave to others, his cute face and chibi appearance,.. all that had gained a special place in Prowl's spark. He doubted Bee would reciprocate, they were completely different after all. Yet here was Bee, singing his spark away, for Prowl's love nonetheless.

He smiled and took the rose from its spot, as the lyrics came around once more he took slow steps closer, as the lyrics instructed. He stood nor far behind Bumblebee as his voice went quieter, softer, vulnerable as he repeated the chorus of the song and along with him Prowl silently but not less genuinely mouthed it.

The song ended and with it Bee gave a quiet sigh. He looked on the horizon where water of the lake met the view of the city. Suddenly there was something red on the upper corner of his vision. He looked up before throwing his helm back to see the person holding the rose. He looked wide-optic at Prowl who stood above him, a warm and loving expression meeting the shocked one.

"You didn't tell me we had a date today." Prowl said softly before sitting down on the grass next to him. Bee watched him the whole time even when Prowl tucked the rose behind Bee's wiper. He couldn't believe if he was seeing it right. "Are those for me?" Bee broke out of his trance and noticed Prowl leaning to the side, most likely catching a glance of what was beside him. "Ah- yes!-- Here!" Bee quickly reached for the bouquet of flowers, giving it a brief adjustment before presenting it to Prowl. They were beautiful arrangement of red, pink and white roses, adorned by golden mesh and tied with same color ribbon. Prowl loved them.

It was brief silence before Bee perked up "Hey, uh, you hungry? I have some snacks for us." He gestured to the picnic table. "Sure." With that Bee swiftly put aside his guitar, stood up and like a gentlemech offered his servo to Prowl to lead him to the seat. When he was seated comfortably Bee quickly got to work preparing the table, Prowl didn't notice earlier the trailer parked not far from the picnic, Bee brought all sorts of stuff from cookies and rust sticks to a fancy buns filled with cream, even a small cake.

"Are you sure those are snacks and not a full dinner date?" Prowl joked, this was quite a lot and combined with the bottle of high grade it seemed a bit suspicious for it to be just snacks. "Well uh, we're gonna eat them either way so.." Bee didn't admit but he didn't deny that it was a dinner date.

It was a bit awkward at first, Prowl noticed Bee looked a bit different; he was shiny, clean and polished to near-perfection. He could even smell the faint aroma from the refresher. He pointed it out and offhandedly mentioned that he could've went to the car wash to look a little bit better for this. "No need, you always look good." Just a second later his voice stuttered as he tried to play it cool like he didn't just accidentally complimented Prowl. The fact that Prowl was terrible at taking compliments which made it more awkward. Eventually though they relaxed, they chatted and joked, the tension between them faded and they fell into the near-natural rythm.

Prowl couldn't ask for better. Bee naturally fell into the date mindset and didn't once question how they ended up here. Well, he did ask one question. "How did you know I was gonna be here anyway?" "I just felt like I should be in a specific place on a specific time." Prowl simply answered. Bee hummed, seemingly thinking about something before his derma pulled into a knowing smile. "You were spying on me again, weren't you?" "No, I wasn't!--- Okay, I did saw you buying flowers but that's it." He defended himself, it was true that Prowl's curiosity often led him to spy on various individuals but he never meant it. It was accidental. His original day plan was to stick with Bee in whatever he was doing but it got blown away when he heard Bee wasn't gonna be home nearly all day. Then he saw him buying flowers in the town square, he decided to follow but lost him on the crossroads. Bee only hummed a took a sip of his drink. "Doesn't sound too convincing." "Bee!" Bee only bursted out laughing at Prowl's offence. Even if he was all classy and romantic now it was still Bee.

They stayed for a long while, only after Bee checked his clock and saw it was near-midnight did they pack up and leave. Everyone was fast asleep when they returned, Bee opted to unpacking tomorrow (not like the chemical food was gonna spoil) and the two headed to recharge themselves. Right before they parted Prowl mentioned how great today was. Bee chatted, also happy with the event and mentioned that they could do that again. The shyness when Bee asked that was amusing to Prowl, especially when he stuttered to explain that they don't have to unless Prowl really wanted. Prowl just simply leaned in and placed a kiss on Bee's cheek, agreeing to go out on a date later. He headed back to his room, leaving Bee stunned in the hallway.

Only after he disappeared form sight Bee unfroze, reached to where Prowl kissed him and quietly squealed in joy. Prowl tired to hard to not giggle as he hid just behind the corner to hear the reaction, he could hear the happy skip as Bee walked to his own room. Only then did he truly head to recharge.

Only two days after that Bee popped into Prowl room to invite him to a zoo date. Obviously Prowl accepted and it was amazing. They got to walk around for hours, see all the exhibits and even feed the penguins. Prowl talked so much about different animals and explained fun facts about them, Bee was more than happy to hear him out. It was rare that the quiet and reserved person like Prowl turned into such a radio.

And that's all, thank you for reading and happy Valentines <3

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

Summary:

Inej decides to teach Kaz a thing or two about work ethic

Or: Kaz is abhorrently Kerch and Inej won't have it

read on ao3

To her great displeasure but no surprise whatsoever, Inej wakes up alone.

In a vast expanse of the bed, she sleepily pries her eyes open, squinting at the harsh sunlight, only to find no trace of her husband. The other side of the mattress is cold to the touch, the pillow nice and fluffed, the edges of the comforter tucked underneath the bed frame to keep it flat. While she is tangled in messed-up sheets, cotton smooth and warm against her bare legs and stray hairs clinging to her cheeks.

She would very much like to linger some more. Maybe do more than just linger - the bed is very nice and she is feeling very indulgent and lazy. But apparently, Kaz decided to be annoyingly Kerch this morning.

With a grumble, she slips from underneath the covers, sliding onto the floor and reaching for her dressing robe. In the mirror, her reflection blinks at her; she spares it just a glance, busy with undoing her braid but then her eyes come back for a double take. There is a dark bruise of a love bite blooming on her neck, right underneath her ear. It makes her feel hot and clammy in her own skin, to look at it.

She traces it lightly, with her very fingertips, and the smallest of shivers runs down her spine.

Some sounds are coming from the parlor adjacent to the bedroom and she pays a bit more attention to them now, cataloging them one by one. A faint scratch of a pen nib against the paper. A slight clatter of porcelain. A muffled cough. She thought Kaz went out on business, or to his office possibly - but, evidently, he's still right here, behind the door. Left her to have a lie-in while he's doing his work, because duty before pleasure, always.

She smiles at the thought. But aren't marital duties the most important ones of all?

She decides to stay in her nightgown. Decides not to tie her robe at the waist either; it is pretty blue, like the sky in the countryside, like little meadow flowers that Kaz, in an uncharacteristic bout of sentimentalism, once sent her pressed between the pages of his letter. She tilts her head just slightly and the garment slips, silk sliding down her skin like water and exposing the curve of her shoulder.

She lets it be as well.

The carpet is rich, thick underneath her bare feet; the air smells of flowers and wood polish. Not home, but nice. Very nice. She dares even say fancy. A fancy, upscale hotel room in a fancy part of Ketterdam where they had dinner the night before and then decided to book a room.

Just another of these little luxuries Kaz showers her with when she's back from the sea, hoping, possibly, to entice her to stay longer and longer. He thinks he's being sneaky when he's transparent like glass and she indulges him in his efforts. But it's all so silly, really. There is only one luxury that can manage to keep Inej ashore and it is right behind the door - the door that she opens soundlessly into another sunny room wallpapered in cream and filled with elegant furniture of cherry oak. There is a chaise lounge, a small table with a vase of red tulips on it. An armchair with some strategically placed fluffy pillows.

And, of course, a round breakfast table, set with two plates, two porcelain cups. Two platters of food, one empty save for some crumbs and one hidden underneath a metal cover, to keep it warm. And there’s her husband, already dressed sharp in his suit and tie and with his hair neatly slicked back at eight in the morning, writing something on pages neatly laid out in front of him, a cup of steaming coffee in his free hand.

His eyes find her seconds after she steps into the room, sliding over her body absent-mindedly before they lock with hers.

“Did you sleep well?” He asks, one corner of his mouth rising just slightly when she crosses the floor towards him.

He's already clean shaved and she tries not to make a face at that. She decides to make her displeasure known through not leaning down to kiss him. Instead, she drops on her chair and reaches for the teapot.

“Yes,” she pours in the tea, then adds some milk from a charming porcelain creamer. Swirls the spoon inside the cup and then licks it clean. “Did you?”

Kaz taps his pen against the wood. “Yes.”

“Good,” she smiles. Stretches her legs out underneath the table, feeling how her nightgown slips up. The table is small: he must feel the warmth of her, the proximity of her, like a phantom touch. “What are you writing?”

***read more on ao3***

[slaymitchabernathy]

Deep in the Meadow

| “a bed of grass, a soft green pillow” |

The tall grass tickles his face as a light breeze drifts through the valley.

Coriolanus stares up at the sky, the same color as his eyes nearly, cerulean, or sky blue as she likes to call them. It’s moments like this, when the grass tickles his face, and his heels dig into the cold earth that he feels the calmest he’s ever felt.

It must be magic.

Soarynn’s giggles remind him that not everyone grew up in the Capitol, without trees or grass aside from the park, lined with iron fences that surround every tree and statues of people who fought in valiant battles.

The irons rots though, on both the trees and the statues. Makes him wonder if it’s really worth fighting for something if in the end, it all goes to rot.

It all goes back to the earth.

“Whatcha’ got goin’ on in that handsome head of yours?” She asks sweetly, he doesn’t really mind her questions, he doesn’t mind her at all.

Soarynn has been the one good thing about getting banished to District Twelve, arguably the least desirable District to be sent to when it comes to serving as a Peacekeeper for twenty years.

But at the same time, he doesn’t mind it as much as he used to in the beginning. It’s quiet here, calm. Locals are too poor and tired to start up much of anything and he likes the girls just fine, or well, he likes his girl just fine.

It’s nothing official since he could be whisked away to another District at the drop of a hat, but it’s something and he has someone.

Coriolanus hasn’t had someone in a very long time.

“Nothing,” he mumbles, shifting so he can be closer to her. They lie on the grass under a willow tree, just like the song Soarynn always likes to sing. Coriolanus hasn’t always been a big fan of singing, not since his mother died but Soarynn has the voice of an angel.

The voice of a nightingale really, so it’s fitting for it to be her last name.

Soarynn Nightingale is a gem beneath the coal. She’s beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful with her tan skin and freckles dotted across her face from being outside all the time.

She says each freckle is a kiss from the sun.

He wants to kiss them all and keep her in his pocket.

Her long blonde hair might be his favorite thing about her physical appearance, allowing her to stand out in the crowd of ravens and brunettes.

Her hair is soft like the rest of her, almost always in a braid of some kind since she never cuts it. She says it’s bad luck. The people here are very superstitious.

Soarynn gives a toothy grin, reaching out to brush a blade of grass from his face, “Liar.”

His porcelain cheeks turn the same shade of a red rose, and it’s been so long since he’s held one in his hands.

“Just, just thinking about how nice it is out here,” he admits, “with the breeze and the trees. It’s nice.”

Soarynn goes to sit up, her braid falls down her back and he reaches for it, feeling the ends of it between his fingers. It almost looks like the bristles of a paint brush, ready to paint him the most beautiful piece of art.

“Y’all don’t have any of this in the Capitol?”

Coriolanus goes to sit up too, feeling his pistol fall out from his waistband. He eyes it but leaves it where it fell. Soarynn would never hurt him.

“We have a park,” he offers, almost laughing at how small it seems in comparison to these rolling hills and fresh air. You can’t even see the stars back at home, too much air pollution.

One night, he snuck out of the base and met Soarynn out here, lying under the stars while she pointed out the different constellations. He had stars in his eyes that night and they weren’t from the night sky.

They were from her.

Soarynn shakes her head, placing her hand on top of his, “Seems like such a shame to live that way. Little kids growin’ up without all of this, can’t imagine bein’ cooped up like that.”

He furrows his brows, she makes it sound as if they’re living in some cage, in a zoo. That simply is not the case, the Capitol is the best place to live, everyone knows that. There you can say what you want, within reason, of course.

He doesn’t say any of that to Soarynn though.

“Well, we have other things,” he offers, “we have cars, air conditioning, department stores, television…”

Soarynn cuts him off with a swift kiss that takes his breath away. They certainly don’t have girls like her in the Capitol, bold and confident. She’s got a lot over the girls back at home.

A sweeter smile sits on her lips now, as if she knows something he doesn’t.

“It’s still a shame,” she sighs, resting her head on his shoulder.

Coriolanus gazes across the vast field, they’ll have to head back soon, dinner will be calling his and her father will be calling hers.

“I don’t see it that way,” he counters, “in the Capitol we have so much technology, we’re so advanced, it’s a different way of living really. People can bathe in their riches.”

Not him though but again, he says nothing else.

Soarynn hums as a pair of mockingjays flutter by, chirping to one another. Maybe she sees the two of them in those little birds.

“Then that’s a real shame. Some people are so rich that all they have is money.”

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @lovelylove268 @kickmybark @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @erensrealgf @evilmenarehot @cervvsq @snowgirl12 @matcha-muses |

[heckyeahponyscans]

I've mentioned the fairy tale of "Snow White and Rose Red" before, which has seemingly a different character from the "evil queen jealous of her beauty" Snow White , so I thought I'd share it here. (I found the text here.)

There was once a poor widow who lived in a lonely cottage. In front of the cottage was a garden wherein stood two rose-trees, one of which bore white and the other red roses. She had two children who were like the two rose-trees, and one was called Snow-white, and the other Rose-red. They were as good and happy, as busy and cheerful as ever two children in the world were, only Snow-white was more quiet and gentle than Rose-red. Rose-red liked better to run about in the meadows and fields seeking flowers and catching butterflies; but Snow-white sat at home with her mother, and helped her with her house-work, or read to her when there was nothing to do.

The two children were so fond of each another that they always held each other by the hand when they went out together, and when Snow-white said, "We will not leave each other," Rose-red answered, "Never so long as we live," and their mother would add, "What one has she must share with the other."

They often ran about the forest alone and gathered red berries, and no beasts did them any harm, but came close to them trustfully. The little hare would eat a cabbage-leaf out of their hands, the roe grazed by their side, the stag leapt merrily by them, and the birds sat still upon the boughs, and sang whatever they knew.

No mishap overtook them; if they had stayed too late in the forest, and night came on, they laid themselves down near one another upon the moss, and slept until morning came, and their mother knew this and had no distress on their account.

Once when they had spent the night in the wood and the dawn had roused them, they saw a beautiful child in a shining white dress sitting near their bed. He got up and looked quite kindly at them, but said nothing and went away into the forest. And when they looked round they found that they had been sleeping quite close to a precipice, and would certainly have fallen into it in the darkness if they had gone only a few paces further. And their mother told them that it must have been the angel who watches over good children.

Snow-white and Rose-red kept their mother's little cottage so neat that it was a pleasure to look inside it. In the summer Rose-red took care of the house, and every morning laid a wreath of flowers by her mother's bed before she awoke, in which was a rose from each tree. In the winter Snow-white lit the fire and hung the kettle on the wrekin. The kettle was of copper and shone like gold, so brightly was it polished. In the evening, when the snowflakes fell, the mother said, "Go, Snow-white, and bolt the door," and then they sat round the hearth, and the mother took her spectacles and read aloud out of a large book, and the two girls listened as they sat and span. And close by them lay a lamb upon the floor, and behind them upon a perch sat a white dove with its head hidden beneath its wings.

One evening, as they were thus sitting comfortably together, some one knocked at the door as if he wished to be let in. The mother said, "Quick, Rose-red, open the door, it must be a traveller who is seeking shelter." Rose-red went and pushed back the bolt, thinking that it was a poor man, but it was not; it was a bear that stretched his broad, black head within the door.

Rose-red screamed and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered, and Snow-white hid herself behind her mother's bed. But the bear began to speak and said, "Do not be afraid, I will do you no harm! I am half-frozen, and only want to warm myself a little beside you."

"Poor bear," said the mother, "lie down by the fire, only take care that you do not burn your coat." Then she cried, "Snow-white, Rose-red, come out, the bear will do you no harm, he means well." So they both came out, and by-and-by the lamb and dove came nearer, and were not afraid of him. The bear said, "Here, children, knock the snow out of my coat a little;" so they brought the broom and swept the bear's hide clean; and he stretched himself by the fire and growled contentedly and comfortably. It was not long before they grew quite at home, and played tricks with their clumsy guest. They tugged his hair with their hands, put their feet upon his back and rolled him about, or they took a hazel-switch and beat him, and when he growled they laughed. But the bear took it all in good part, only when they were too rough he called out, "Leave me alive, children,

"Snowy-white, Rosy-red, Will you beat your lover dead?"

When it was bed-time, and the others went to bed, the mother said to the bear, "You can lie there by the hearth, and then you will be safe from the cold and the bad weather." As soon as day dawned the two children let him out, and he trotted across the snow into the forest. Henceforth the bear came every evening at the same time, laid himself down by the hearth, and let the children amuse themselves with him as much as they liked; and they got so used to him that the doors were never fastened until their black friend had arrived.

When spring had come and all outside was green, the bear said one morning to Snow-white, "Now I must go away, and cannot come back for the whole summer."

"Where are you going, then, dear bear?" asked Snow-white. "I must go into the forest and guard my treasures from the wicked dwarfs. In the winter, when the earth is frozen hard, they are obliged to stay below and cannot work their way through; but now, when the sun has thawed and warmed the earth, they break through it, and come out to pry and steal; and what once gets into their hands, and in their caves, does not easily see daylight again."

Snow-white was quite sorry for his going away, and as she unbolted the door for him, and the bear was hurrying out, he caught against the bolt and a piece of his hairy coat was torn off, and it seemed to Snow-white as if she had seen gold shining through it, but she was not sure about it. The bear ran away quickly, and was soon out of sight behind the trees.

A short time afterwards the mother sent her children into the forest to get fire-wood. There they found a big tree which lay felled on the ground, and close by the trunk something was jumping backwards and forwards in the grass, but they could not make out what it was. When they came nearer they saw a dwarf with an old withered face and a snow-white beard a yard long. The end of the beard was caught in a crevice of the tree, and the little fellow was jumping backwards and forwards like a dog tied to a rope, and did not know what to do.

He glared at the girls with his fiery red eyes and cried, "Why do you stand there? Can you not come here and help me?"

"What are you about there, little man?" asked Rose-red.

"You stupid, prying goose!" answered the dwarf; "I was going to split the tree to get a little wood for cooking. The little bit of food that one of us wants gets burnt up directly with thick logs; we do not swallow so much as you coarse, greedy folk. I had just driven the wedge safely in, and everything was going as I wished; but the wretched wood was too smooth and suddenly sprang asunder, and the tree closed so quickly that I could not pull out my beautiful white beard; so now it is tight in and I cannot get away, and the silly, sleek, milk-faced things laugh! Ugh! how odious you are!"

The children tried very hard, but they could not pull the beard out, it was caught too fast. "I will run and fetch some one," said Rose-red.

"You senseless goose!" snarled the dwarf; why should you fetch some one? You are already two too many for me; can you not think of something better?"

"Don't be impatient," said Snow-white, "I will help you," and she pulled her scissors out of her pocket, and cut off the end of the beard.

As soon as the dwarf felt himself free he laid hold of a bag which lay amongst the roots of the tree, and which was full of gold, and lifted it up, grumbling to himself, "Uncouth people, to cut off a piece of my fine beard. Bad luck to you!" and then he swung the bag upon his back, and went off without even once looking at the children.

Some time after that Snow-white and Rose-red went to catch a dish of fish. As they came near the brook they saw something like a large grasshopper jumping towards the water, as if it were going to leap in. They ran to it and found it was the dwarf.

"Where are you going?" said Rose-red; "you surely don't want to go into the water?"

"I am not such a fool!" cried the dwarf; don't you see that the accursed fish wants to pull me in?" The little man had been sitting there fishing, and unluckily the wind had twisted his beard with the fishing-line; just then a big fish bit, and the feeble creature had not strength to pull it out; the fish kept the upper hand and pulled the dwarf towards him. He held on to all the reeds and rushes, but it was of little good, he was forced to follow the movements of the fish, and was in urgent danger of being dragged into the water.

The girls came just in time; they held him fast and tried to free his beard from the line, but all in vain, beard and line were entangled fast together. Nothing was left but to bring out the scissors and cut the beard, whereby a small part of it was lost. When the dwarf saw that he screamed out, "Is that civil, you toad-stool, to disfigure one's face? Was it not enough to clip off the end of my beard? Now you have cut off the best part of it. I cannot let myself be seen by my people. I wish you had been made to run the soles off your shoes!" Then he took out a sack of pearls which lay in the rushes, and without saying a word more he dragged it away and disappeared behind a stone.

It happened that soon afterwards the mother sent the two children to the town to buy needles and thread, and laces and ribbons. The road led them across a heath upon which huge pieces of rock lay strewn here and there. Now they noticed a large bird hovering in the air, flying slowly round and round above them; it sank lower and lower, and at last settled near a rock not far off. Directly afterwards they heard a loud, piteous cry. They ran up and saw with horror that the eagle had seized their old acquaintance the dwarf, and was going to carry him off.

The children, full of pity, at once took tight hold of the little man, and pulled against the eagle so long that at last he let his booty go. As soon as the dwarf had recovered from his first fright he cried with his shrill voice, "Could you not have done it more carefully! You dragged at my brown coat so that it is all torn and full of holes, you helpless clumsy creatures!" Then he took up a sack full of precious stones, and slipped away again under the rock into his hole. The girls, who by this time were used to his thanklessness, went on their way and did their business in the town.

As they crossed the heath again on their way home they surprised the dwarf, who had emptied out his bag of precious stones in a clean spot, and had not thought that anyone would come there so late. The evening sun shone upon the brilliant stones; they glittered and sparkled with all colors so beautifully that the children stood still and looked at them.

"Why do you stand gaping there?" cried the dwarf, and his ashen-gray face became copper-red with rage. He was going on with his bad words when a loud growling was heard, and a black bear came trotting towards them out of the forest. The dwarf sprang up in a fright, but he could not get to his cave, for the bear was already close.

Then in the dread of his heart he cried, "Dear Mr. Bear, spare me, I will give you all my treasures; look, the beautiful jewels lying there! Grant me my life; what do you want with such a slender little fellow as I? you would not feel me between your teeth. Come, take these two wicked girls, they are tender morsels for you, fat as young quails; for mercy's sake eat them!" The bear took no heed of his words, but gave the wicked creature a single blow with his paw, and he did not move again.

The girls had run away, but the bear called to them, "Snow-white and Rose-red, do not be afraid; wait, I will come with you." Then they knew his voice and waited, and when he came up to them suddenly his bearskin fell off, and he stood there, a handsome man, clothed all in gold. "I am a King's son," he said, "and I was bewitched by that wicked dwarf, who had stolen my treasures; I have had to run about the forest as a savage bear until I was freed by his death. Now he has got his well-deserved punishment."

Snow-white was married to him, and Rose-red to his brother, and they divided between them the great treasure which the dwarf had gathered together in his cave. The old mother lived peacefully and happily with her children for many years. She took the two rose-trees with her, and they stood before her window, and every year bore the most beautiful roses, white and red.

[lupiinist]

i've been on a bit of a dc brainrot for a while, but i also have the non-binary urge to make everything about the marauders, so here i'll be leaving my marauders x dc headcanons

regulus is batman. no, i won't hear anything about it. he didn't lose his parents tho, he lost his brother (sirius' alive, he just doesn't know it yet, lazarus pit, yada yada yada), he grew up with his buttler (not sure if it would be kreacher?) and ends up becoming the dark knight (rich, moved by vengeance, out for blood, but no killing)

james is superman, and i doubt anyone can argue with this one. (look at that man's big brown doe eyes and tell he wouldn't be the biggest superman fan). he was raised by effie and monty, but is the same old kryptonian we know. he rescues kittens on threes, shoots lasers from his eyes and is a big old softie

lily is lois lane. this woman has pulitzers and can change an entire country's point of view about something with 1 (one) column on the planet. she could be the president. she's beautiful. she's smart.

(also, this could be both a clois or superbat situation, doesn't really matter)

remus is jimmy olsen! tired alien bestie, likes to take pictures, wonders how no one else caught on that james is superman because that man can't lie to save his life??? he doesn't even look that different without his glasses??????

back to gotham, narcissa would be batwoman (reg's cousin, full of rage, wearing a bat mask to punch people on the streets? besides, BUFF NARCISSA? yes, please), dating her lovely future wife detective fortescue (alice is montoya, yes), i think she would still be married as narcissa for a while (she Will dump lucius' ass) and go out with alice as batwoman

on the other hand, bellatrix is absolutely harley, i don't think there's even another option? and yes, tom riddle is the joker (ironic for someone called riddle, i know), but who cares about him, honestly?

anyway, rita skeeter is poison ivy!

barty is catwoman, this man steals from the rich people, pisses off his father (crouch sr. would be gordon in this), and gets to flirt with big scary batman (he finds regulus so hot it's a bit pathetic)

pandora is babs, batgirl and future oracle, and i don't know if evan would be the first robin? the timeline in my head couldn't find a kid to be the first robin besides like, nymphadora, but i think circus evan and pandora who lost their parents, and one joined batman while the other became a cop is sort of nice?

on the robin situation, draco is jason todd (it gets progressively more angst the more you think about it), future red hood, and harry would be conner (yes, i know, 'why isn't harry jon?' because i don't want him to be :])

luna would be tim drake. she would one hundred percent manipulate regulus into letting her become robin after the previous robin's death, and she has what it takes to be both a genius and the next ceo of reggie's company. she's just that good.

and last but not least, my favorite ladies:

marlene mckinnon as supergirl, and dorcas meadowes as lena luthor. they hate each other. they find each other hot af. they pin after each other. why aren't they together yet???????