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choerypetal · 2 months ago

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A promise / Billy Hargrove

summary: From the moment Billy arrived at Hawkins, he couldn't help but be drawn to you. What started as a simple interest soon spiraled into a full-blown fixation. Eventually, he worked up the courage to ask you out on a date, but with all the rumors and suspicions swirling around him, the question remains: is it really worth the risk?

ps: english isn't my first language so i apologize for any smol errors. also this a billy x reader!fem enjoy!

Billy’s gaze lingered as you strode out of the parking lot, books pressed tightly against your chest. The rhythmic click of your heels echoed against the concrete, mingling with the crisp whispers of an autumn breeze. Strands of your hair danced with the wind, and your lips, painted in a precise cherry-red hue, seemed to command attention. In that moment, Billy truly saw you—for him, you were no longer just a passing figure but a captivating new distraction.

In fact, there were times when, as soon as the bell rang, Billy would slip out early just for a fleeting glimpse of you in the crowd. The way your figure seemed to stand out among the other students, the effortless charm of your smile as you bid your friends goodbye—it all set his stomach into an uneasy churn. He knew it was only a matter of time before Max noticed her brother’s sudden change in behavior. Yet, deep down, a part of him didn’t care. Maybe he even wanted to be caught.

Every graduate received an invitation to a party, and Tina had taken it upon herself to throw a Halloween Bash. It surprised you, at first, that everyone—including the new kid—was invited. Then again, it didn’t. He was, after all, the talk of the town. It wasn’t long before you finally caught his name: Billy. Billy Hargrove.

You arrived at Tina’s house that evening, a few hours before the party officially began. She had insisted on helping you get ready, carefully setting your hair in rollers before cooling the curls. Offering her lipstick with a grin, she declared it the perfect shade to complement your look. As the finishing touch, she dusted a bit of powdered blush across your cheeks. When the rollers were removed, the volume from the mousse delivered its promise, your curls falling in perfect waves.

Tina gasped dramatically, her eyes lighting up. “You are definitely the bombshell of the night, Y/N.” Pulling you into a tight embrace, she let out a playful chuckle before pressing a kiss to your cheek, leaving behind an unmistakable smudge of her lipstick.

“Tina!” you protested, your lips forming a pout as you tried to assess the damage. “My makeup! Now I’ll have to rush to the bathroom to fix it.”

Tina rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Oh, admit it—you wish it was Billy. Don’t lie, sweetheart.” Your brows knit together in confusion at her teasing remark. “What are you talking about? Please, Tina,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “He doesn’t exactly hide it, you know. I’ve noticed him watching me after class. His sister filled in the blanks for me.”

Tina let out a knowing chuckle, her fingers reaching out to playfully pinch your lipstick-tinted cheek. “Well, then,” she said, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “I hope you’re ready for tonight’s party—because he sure will be.”

“More than ever.”

The party unfolded just as expected. Students from all different classes filtered in, the buzz of laughter and music filling the air. You exchanged greetings with a few familiar faces, including Nancy and Steve, who seemed genuinely delighted to see you. But amidst the crowd, your attention kept drifting to one person in particular—Billy.

Billy had chosen a costume that was simple yet unmistakably bold, one that made him stand out effortlessly—a deliberate move, knowing you would be there. He basked in the attention, especially during his last show-off, drawing gazes from classmates and, more importantly, from you. Just as the crowd crowned him the new king of the party, your eyes met his, moments before Steve’s glare joined the mix.

“There’s a new king, Harrington!” someone shouted, the taunt hanging in the air. Steve’s protective stance shifted subtly, his arm brushing closer to yours, a motion that did not go unnoticed by Billy. His jaw tightened, his blood simmering at the sight. You could feel Billy’s intense gaze boring into you, his bottom lip catching between his teeth as he closed the distance, his shadow falling over you like a storm cloud.

“Chill, Hargrove,” Steve said, his tone edged with concern as he caught the subtle gulp you tried to hide. Your fingers toyed nervously with the ends of your hair, your cheeks burning beneath the dramatic blush Tina had so generously applied. You prayed it masked the heat of your reaction. Billy smirked, his voice low and biting as his eyes flicked to Steve. “Don’t worry, Harrington,” he drawled. “I won’t touch the pretty bird. Right?” His words dripped with challenge as his attention snapped back to you, daring a response you weren’t ready to give.

The pretty bird—a nickname he’d just bestowed upon you, dripping with both charm and dominance. “Right,” you murmured, echoing his words in the same low, uncertain tone. You could’ve sworn you saw the corners of his lips twitch into a smug smirk, as if he’d won some unspoken game.

A single, satisfied nod was all he gave before turning and venturing off into the party, leaving a trail of intrigue in his wake. From that night forward, you weren’t just another face in the crowd. To Billy Hargrove, you were his pretty prey.

A few weeks had passed since the party when Billy finally had the courage to speak to you. By then, the two of you had developed an unexpectedly close friendship, something that continued to baffle both Steve and Nancy. Despite his unrelenting attitude toward them—and even Max—there was something different about the way he acted around you. His sharp edges seemed to soften; his piercing gaze grew warmer, and his voice carried a calmness that seemed out of character.

The Billy everyone else knew was almost unrecognizable when he was with you. It was as if you’d uncovered a side of him that no one else had seen. But then came the night of the date, a night that would change everything.

Max was out of the house, giving Billy some rare peace. Music blasted from his room as he paced, running through a mental checklist to make sure everything was perfect. All he could think about was you—how you’d said yes without a moment’s hesitation, your smile igniting a spark he hadn’t felt in years. The rush of excitement coursed through him as he glanced at the clock. Then came the knock at his bedroom door, sharp and abrupt. “Billy!” The voice on the other side wasn’t Max’s. It carried a weight that sent a chill down his spine, breaking through the haze of his thoughts.

“Yeah I am a little bit busy here Susan!”

“Open the door!” his father urged. “Right now!”

A sigh escaped from Billy’s lips as he took a final puff from his cigarette, his eyes briefly flicking to the clock. There was hesitation in the air before he finally opened the door. Standing before him were his father and Susan, their faces etched with obvious concern. He could feel the tension in his chest, the weight of the moment pressing down. He couldn’t afford to be late—not tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Billy asked, his voice strained as he tried his best to hide the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. This last-minute checkup was the last thing he needed right now, especially with you waiting.

“What don’t you tell us?” his father shot back, matching Billy's tone.

Billy’s jaw clenched, his patience thinning. “Because I don’t know,” he snapped, his hands instinctively balling into fists at his sides. He couldn’t keep his frustration hidden, not with this constant interference. But in the back of his mind, all he could focus on was the ticking clock and the promise of the night ahead.

“We can’t find Maxine,” Susan said, her voice tinged with growing worry. The poor woman only wanted answers about her daughter. “And her window’s open,” Billy’s father added, his tone sharp.

“Where is she?” Billy’s father demanded, his impatience creeping through.

Billy glanced to the side, his mind racing for an answer. He hadn’t seen Maxine since school let out. He assumed she was in her room. "I don’t know," he muttered, uncertainty in his voice.

“You don’t know?” His father scoffed, disbelief lacing his words. ��How could you not know where your sister is?”

“Look, I’m sure she went to… I don’t know, the arcade or something?” Billy muttered, trying to brush off the situation as he walked over to grab his coat. His mind, however, was elsewhere—on you. He couldn’t shake the thought of you waiting for him, and the frustration of being dragged into this mess was beginning to boil over. Why was it always him who had to be the one punished for things he didn’t even know about?

“You were supposed to watch her,” his father’s voice cut through the air, stern and accusing, as he watched Billy put on his coat.

Billy paused, exhaling sharply. “I know, Dad, I was. It’s just... you guys were three hours late, and... well, I have a date tonight,” he muttered, his voice tight with irritation. He turned to face his father, the frustration finally boiling over. “I’m sorry, okay?”

The look on his father’s face remained cold, his silence only intensifying the tension in the room. He stood there, inconvenienced, before finally speaking. “I’ve been looking after her all week. If she wants to run off, that’s her problem. She’s not my sister—!”

Billy’s words were cut off as his back hit the wall, his father’s fist striking his cheek with a force that left him stunned. “What did we talk about?” his father growled, his grip tightening on Billy’s collar, pulling him forward. “Respect. And responsibility.”

Billy’s pulse raced, his face burning from the impact and the anger building in his chest. His father’s voice was low but unforgiving. “That’s right. Now apologize to Susan.”

Billy fought the urge to cry, the sting of the slap still fresh against his skin, but the sound of his father's footsteps fading away gave him some space to breathe. He knew, deep down, no matter what happened, his mind was already set. Your house was the next place he would go. He drove faster than he meant to, forgetting just how close your place was. Hours had passed since his original plans, and while he was certain you’d probably given up on the date, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to see you.

Inside your room, you sighed as you began removing your makeup. Steve’s words echoed in your mind—Billy was nothing but trouble. You were starting to see the truth in his warning.

But then, a soft rustle from the window made you turn. You froze, eyes wide, as the window creaked open. A quiet groan reached your ears, followed by the unmistakable figure of Billy struggling to climb through, despite the risk of being caught by your parents.

“Billy!” You whispered urgently, your heart pounding in your chest. Panic and disbelief filled your voice. You rushed over to help him down, your hands instinctively reaching for him. When he finally landed on his feet, you couldn’t help but notice the bloodshot look in his eyes—a raw, exhausted intensity that seemed so out of place. It was clear he’d lost control somewhere along the way, a little too much for him to handle.

"Are you okay?" You whispered, the concern slipping through despite everything you had begun to doubt about him.

“Hey… what’s wrong?” Your fingers gently cupped his face, your touch tender as you tried to get a better look at him. Billy had always dreamed of this moment—the way your hand felt on his cheek, the softness in your eyes. He closed his eyes slowly, leaning into your touch as if it was the only thing grounding him in that moment.

“Did something happen? For our date to…” You paused, hesitant to place the blame entirely on him. “...be canceled? I wanted to call to make sure you were on your way… but I was suspicious you were ditching me for someone else.”

Ditching? Billy’s eyes snapped open, his expression caught between surprise and offense. “Never, sweetheart,” he said quickly, his voice rougher than usual, hoarse from something deeper. “It’s just…” He trailed off, his words strained, tired. Then you noticed something else—on the edge of his jaw, a bruise barely hidden by the shadow of his stubble.

“Did… did you get hurt?” Your concern washed over him, a mix of worry and care that made him feel worse, like a knot tightening in his chest. The thought of letting you down, of your date being postponed, only made it more difficult to face you.

Billy shook his head, his eyes briefly avoiding yours, a flicker of shame flashing across his features. “No… just my dad,” he muttered, trying to brush it off. It wasn’t annoyance that made him look away, but something far deeper—guilt. A part of him wanted to tell you, but the words stuck in his throat, heavy with the weight of his own turmoil.

A thought crept into your mind, an unsettling one you couldn’t shake. “Did your…?” The question hung in the air, but Billy’s silence was all the answer you needed. The weight of it made something inside you stir, a wave of emotion that urged you to pull him close, to hold him and let him release whatever he’d been bottling up. You wanted to be the one to let him break down, to let him know he didn’t have to keep it all in anymore.

Billy hesitated, his body tense with the internal battle, but the sigh he let out spoke volumes—words he couldn’t say, but emotions that bled through his every movement. As your arms wrapped around his waist, your head resting against his chest, Billy froze. His breath hitched for a moment, and your heart ached at the vulnerability he was showing.

He shifted, unsure at first, but then his arms pulled you tighter into his embrace, the weight of his grief sinking into you. His body rocked you gently, a rhythm of unspoken sorrow, until the quiet sobs began to break through. Billy Hargrove, the walls he built so high, was finally letting go. And for the first time, he felt safe enough to cry.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he murmured through his tears, his voice barely audible but full of raw sincerity. “Promise me tomorrow… we’ll have a date together.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze, your fingers reaching up to wipe away a tear that slipped down his cheek. “I love you too, Billy Hargrove,” you whispered, your voice soft but certain. “I promise.”

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keyaho · 24 days ago

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Hematology

The request: @nayaesworld psycho!surgeon terry richmond x surgeon!black oc

To Terry, blood had a particular hold on him. The warmth, the metallic scent, the sticky texture as it begins to oxidize and harden as he fisted his dick with a bloody hand soothed a beast in him he let free on Saturday nights. Another successful night out and he was back in his penthouse apartment, jacking off to a photo of a recent hire in the hospital. The laminated photo was stuck to his shower wall, a hour glass figure in a white sting bikini taunted him. Long lean legs, tits he knew would fit in his palms perfectly, and a smile that reeled him in. He walked the halls when he wasn't scrubbed in for the chance to see it in person.

He got lucky this morning, the young anesthesiologist in training was doing her clinicals and had been assigned to his OR team, by a stroke of luck and a few long deep strokes to the head of human resources. She was an easy fuck but not one he enjoyed. A part of him had been craving for more lately.

"Shit,' he hissed, his cum spurting out his tip and mingled with the blood on his hand before disappearing down the drain. He had a much better place in mind to dump his load.

The rest of the red liquid of life had been rubbed into his chest and abs though washed away by the steaming hot shower. He damn near wanted to taste it but that would not be very smart of him. This particular strain of neanderthal DNA had crossed him and his decision to remove it from existence was instant. It dared to touch Yara in the club. She had been too shy to deny his advances, but he could see she wasn't interested. Good. For him at least. Not so much for the man who had pleaded for his life before Terry severed his trachea with a scalpel in size ten. The cut came swift, the manish screams barely registered in the night. He followed the cut vertically and grinned as crimson stained the concrete where he had left the body. Terry carefully collected blood in a specimen cup and placed it in a yellow hazard bag, alone with the scalpel.

He'd seen the reports, saw the bodies as they passed through morgue. He even harvest a few organs from his victims, further enjoying how their blood pooled in their supine state. He spoke with Detectives from the Seattle PD, encouraged them to look into someone with military training as the cuts were not typical of medical personnel. He only gave that information because he slipped up once seven months ago and left behind the blade of a scalpel in a victims neck. Terry was fucked up in the head, but he wasn't that fucked up to make that mistake again.

Terry's walk down memory lane was interrupted by his alarm. He stuck his head under the shower, cleansing himself with antibacterial soap he swiped from the hospitals inventory. Like always he poured the remaining blood down the toilet, careful not to splash it. He'd dispose of the container as he always did. At the hospital. The scalpel joined the others, labeled with the date and name of who he killed only to be locked in a safe he kept behind a large oil painting in his bedroom above his bed. Trophies he once jacked off too. Now, his nights of staining his bed with cum was because of Yara.

He gathered himself soon after, scrubs, phone, keys. All lined up in his closet as usual. He was trying to pace himself, there was no need to rush. Yara, work, would be there when he got there.

"Dr. Richmond has been looking at you since you clocked in."

Yara looked up from her charts behind the nurses station. As an intern she had limitations on what she could and couldn't do, so she was doing menial tasks until she was able to scrub in and observe Dr. Richmond in a routine appendectomy. She had been excited to see it on her rotation and once it was complete she was free to leave for the day.

"He's not." Yara replied. "I'm just a new face and I'll be in his OR today, he's probably just wanting to put a face to the name."

Honey. Sweet, thick, and antiseptic. Terry sipped from a black mug of earl grey tea with a large dollop of honey in his office. He had a view of the nurses station and Yara, whom he kept his eyes on as much as he could. Until another nurse noticed. They were important, sure, however, right now, Nurse Carmen was a nuisance. An observant nuisance.

"Whatever you say,' she hums, picking up her charts and signing out her COW to begin her shift. "He's fine as hell though. If you hit that let me know,' she winks and Yara tosses a pen her way, trying not to look scandalized.

She turned back to her charts, inputting information into the patients portals for their viewing. A moment passed when she needed to look at something other than the computer and her eyes locked with Dr. Richmond's. He was standing outside his office, staring directly at her. A second later he tilted his head towards his office.

"Dr. Matthews,' he called, 'we need to discuss the appendectomy."

She nodded and shut down the portal, logging out to keep the information secure. Wiping her hands on her marron scrubs, she pushed chair back and stood, his eyes watching her as she walked around the station. He took another sip from his cup as she stepped into his office, the door clicked shut behind them afterwards.

"Have a seat,' he says from behind her.

Vanilla. Something in him softened as his dick hardened and strained against the two pairs of briefs he wore to hide it.

"Tea?" He asks, his back to her as he walks to his small kitchenette.

"Oh, no, no thank you. I just finished a cup of coffee and the last thing I need is more caffeine." She replied, a smile spreading across her lips.

Terry refilled his own cup, honey followed, but what surprised her was the flick of vanilla he added. She watched him take a sip, the steaming liquid seemingly not bothering him. Yara's eyes roamed over his tall figure in the standard teal colored scrubs. His badge was clipped to the pocket on his shirt, his face plastered over it.

"You'll be scrubbing in with me and my team in a few hours." He walked to the desk with the cup in one had and the patients thick file in another. "This particular patient is young, no previous health concerns. The procedure is routine and in this case preventative. They are an athlete and well, a burst appendix is worse than just removing it."

"I didn't think people could just remove body parts,' Yara said, though she knew they could. Medical studies had proven that.

Terry smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges. "Money talks, sweetheart."

He opened the chart and pushed it towards her. Terry slide a notepad across he desk to her and she looked up at him confused.

"I won't be putting him,' Yara stuttered, she was not prepared to actually perform the anesthesia.

"No, no, no, but at the bottom are the supplies I will need. Can you gather them? About an hour before the schedule scrub in time I like my OR set and ready. Minus, taking the materials out of their packaging."

"Of course, Dr. Richmond."

He noted her bubbly handwriting. The way it looped as she scribble in cursive short hand. A bright one she was.

"Why Anesthesiology?" He shook his head. "Please, Terry is fine. Dr. Richmond is a formality I tend to not adhere to."

"I mean, you've earned that title. I'd use it all the time." She thought about his question while he thanked her for the slight compliment. "Um, other fields didn't grab my attention. I wanted a challenge and for some reason anesthesiology just stuck out to me."

"I used to think that as a surgeon I held life in my hands,' he spoke casually, "until Dr. Ramos kicked my ass and reminded me that she and you are keeping that patient alive and sedated."

"You still do life saving work."

Terry mused over her words while taking another sip of his cooling tea.

Inventory was checked bi-nightly, and Yara was thankful the restock had been complete prior to gathering supplies for surgery. Gloves, scalpels, gauze, among other items necessary fill her hand basket. She'd pass it over to the surgical technician for set up while she would be scrubbing in. Yara could hardly contain her excitement and as soon as she passed over the equipment, she went to the staff shower and 'dorm' area to switch into different scrubs. She always kept a pair of the rough standard issue scrubs in her locker along with shoe covers and a head wrap she'd have on under the surgical cap and face shield. Seeing it was empty, she pulled out scrubs and kicked of her shoes, shimmying out of the scrub pants she had on, completely unaware of the eyes trained on her.

He'd already been in the showers, hands full of his dick, when he heard her come in. Terry showered briefly before each operation, not wanting to carry the previous hours of filth into the OR. He'd already cum once and th thick ropes of his semen had coated the drain at his feet before sliding down into the pipe system. He thought that would have been enough, but Yara's voice as she talked to herself stiffened his dick in seconds.

Terry rolled his tongue around his mouth, the vanilla from his tea lingered and he swallowed, imagining this was what she tasted like. He was in the farb ack shower, hidden by the stall's silver wall, but able to peek around it just enough to see her bent over at the waist as she stepped into her pants. Black thong on display, he couldn't help but notice the way her pussy swallowed the fabric.

His hand slipped and rubbed harshly against the tip of his dick and he grunted. He wanted to taste that. Vanilla in his coffee wasn't enough. He needed her on his face in his bed and beneath the shrine of scalpels dedicated to keeping her safe. That white boy wasn't the first and until he had Yara, it wouldn't be the last person.

B cup. At least. Her slim fingers smoothed over her breast as she adjusted her sports bra, the racer back hid a moon phases tattoo he wanted to lick. The curve of her back and the plumpness of her backside made his hand move faster, the water just enough slip he didn't give himself a friction burn. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he came, busting a strong nut on the shower stall. He had to angle the shower to clean it up and missed Yara leaving for his OR.

He joined them later, just outside the OR where they began washing their hands and forearms. Dr. Ramos was showing Yara how to prepare the IV for intravenous induction.

"You'll be right beside me. I'll have you monitor vitals and assess accordingly." She explained, her eyes flirting over to Terry who was being helped into his smocks and gloves.

Another nurse had already placed on his surgical cap and face shield. He said nothing as he walked backwards into the OR, hands up as he greeted the patient warmly.

"I love watching that man work,' she mumbled, though her eyes were downcast on his ass. She looked to Yara with a half smiled. "You're in for a treat."

And a treat it was. Yara had noticed, twenty minutes into the procedure, there was a rupture in the colon. She tried to motion towards it when Terry's snapped his head up to her. His eyes were wide, then narrowed slightly.

"Is there a reason you're about to reach over, Dr. Matthews?" His voice smooth and inviting, but she knew not to lie.

"I…I just saw a,'

"She's an intern, you know they get ahead of themselves." Dr. Ramos interjected. "Come back over here and watch his vitals."

Yara looked down at the open body on the table. Terry's eyes followed and he let out a laugh.

"You just save this patient another trip to my OR, Dr. Matthews."

"What,' Dr. Ramos flustered her next words, "what are you talking about?"

"Our patient has a tear in his colon. About half an inch, but a tear nonetheless." Terry looked up to Yara as she stepped back. "Good eyes, you can see that through all the blood. Come, suction it away, repair the tear."

"Shes not,' Dr. Ramos began, but Terry silenced her with a look.

"My OR, my rules. She caught it so she will repair it."

Yara stepped up to the operating table on the other side of Terry. He instructed the surgical tools to be pushed to her side and she stared down at them.

"Ridiculous!"

Terry ignored her and shifted his focus to Yara. To him they were the only two people in the room.

"This is medical school 101, over and over continuous stitch. You can't mess it up."

"Okay,' she exhaled and reached into the body cavity after watching the suction remove the blood blocking her vision.

"Easy,' he whispers, "take your time."

"You what!" Carmen said, pulling Yara into the staff lounge just behind the nurses station.

"I repaired a tear in a colon. Dr. Ramos hates me now."

Carmen rolled her eyes. "She's been sniffing behind Terry for months now, long before you got here and he turned her down."

"Yeah, she's still trying her luck with him. Some of the things she said about him were down right, gross."

"We can talk about it over drinks,' Terry stepped into the lounge with a smile on his face. "Carmen." He nodded. "Are you okay, Yara?" He tilted his head towards the door. "I overheard Dr. Ramos speaking to you. Is everything okay? Should I handle her?"

If only she knew what he meant. Yara was lucky he kept his thrills from work property and employees. However, he'd make an exception if Yara even felt discomfort with Dr. Ramos.

"Oh no, I mean, she's not a issue. I just brushed it off,' Yara folded her arms over her chest. "I was called up to pediatrics and I don't know how long I will be there."

Carmen gave Yara a squint before leaving the two in the lounge. "Call me later, girl,' she says, pursing her lips in jest. As the door shut, Terry dropped his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You did good in there. I haven't seen a stitch that clean in a long time. You sure you don't want to be a surgeon?"

Smiling, Yara shook her head. "That was stressful. I've practiced on cadavers, but having my hands inside of a live body is different. I think I will stick to putting them to sleep."

Bergamot.

She liked to layer her scents he noted and his mouth water. He moved closer, under the guise of grabbing an apple from the counter, and their arms brushed as he passed. This close he could smell all of her. Honey. Vanilla. Bergamot. A peculiar combination, but one he'd gladly stick his nose into inhale.

"So that's a no to the drinks?" He asks. "Your first surgery deserves a celebration."

"I'm not sure if that's appropriate Dr. Richmond."

Terry squeezes the apple in hand as he brings it to his mouth. It's unnoticed by her as his face doesn't give away his budding frustration at her refusal. He chews and swallows, then smiles.

"It was just an offer for drinks, but I understand."

Said offer had been on her mind through her two hours in pediatrics. The small babies she got to met didn't distract her from how Terry had offered to take her out. It was clear her was flirting; his sly smile when they were in his office, how he looked at her while she stitched up the colon, even back in the lounge as he ate the apple. Fraternizing with a surgeon was the last thing she needed to be doing, but he drew her in. She wanted to know more and it didn't help that Carmen was urging her to go. It if sucked she could just request a department change to avoid the awkwardness.

Dr. Ramos was heading to her car. She tapped her unlock button on the keyfob and timed perfectly, her scream was cut off by the sound of the car unlocking and the engine starting. Tossed into the hood of the car, Dr. Ramos scrambled to her feet, shouting for help.

She knew she was done when she felt the prick of a needle in the side of her neck. Not that he was delicate with his female victims, but he liked to watch the life leave their eyes as he cut open their necks. In disguise, Terry, laid her on the ground behind her car. His multi-gloved hand and arms had been secured as if he was headed into surgery. Done from the confines of his car, placed in a camera blind spot, he stepped into the elevator as normal. Only to come out masked, and unrecognizable.

Dr. Ramos laid there, paralyzed and and scared. Unable to speak her eyes only watered as they pleaded for her life. The scalpel pressed to her neck, the tip cutting into her neck with ease. Yara didn't want him to do anything, but he couldn't help himself. He needed to. No one slighted his girl.

"You knew I didn't want you."

Dr. Ramos's mouth dropped open as he pressed the scalpel into her neck, he twisted once and used her coat to block the blood from splattering against his clothes. He did watch the light leave her eyes and the last breath as it left her lungs. She'd be found in the morning and by then, she'd be another scalpel in his bedroom.

"You blood isn't even worth jacking off with."

She found him packing up in his office. His back was to her, but she could see him gathering his things like they all were. With her shift finally over, Yara had talked herself into going for those drinks. She knocked on his open door.

"Dr…I mean, Terry?"

He looked up, surprised on his face, the specimen cup slipped down into his bag with practice ease.

"You changed your mind?"

Nodding, Yara fiddled with her hands. "Yeah, I mean, it's just drinks right?"

It should have been just drinks. She ended up at his apartment beneath him in his bed. His hands were wandering beneath her shirt, hands tugging at her bra. Alcohol was on his breath, but the surgeon was sober and planning to get intoxicated on her pussy.

"You smell so fucking good, baby," he moaned, his mouth traveling from her mouth to her neck and down her shoulder. "So fucking beautiful,' he hummed.

His hands tugged down the cup of her bra and she arched her back as his thumb swiped across her nipple. Yara braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed.

"Wait, Terry,' she whimpered, eyes clenching as his mouth wrapped around her nipple and sucked.

His tongue was cold and wet, creating a matching wetness in her panties. His hand was so close to sliding into the black thong that had teased him earlier. She pushed against and he lifted his head, concern etched in his forehead.

"I'm not hurting you am I?" He asked.

He knew he was being rougher than he intended to, but he didn't think it was painful. Terry didn't want to hurt her but he was so excited to have her. He glanced up at the oil painting. All his hard work.

"No, I'm not, it's just,' she flustered, tugging her shirt down after fixing her bra. "It's embarrassing,' she admitted, reaching over the side of his large bed for her shoes.

He reached out and grabbed her arm. "What's wrong I thought you were into it?"

"I am…I mean I want to be,' she stood up with her shoes in her hands, hot cheeks, and embarrassment creeping up her chest. "I've….neverhadsexbefore…"

That truth slammed into his chest hard. A part of him growled in appreciation for the information. The fun he had planned for her was magnified.

"I wasn't expecting that." He admitted.

"It's nothing against you Terry, I just wanted my first time to be more….special."

Special. She was already special. Yara was the object of his desires and if she wanted to feel special then he'd do just that. Terry crawled off the bed and stood in front of her.

"I'm sorry,' she said, "I should have said no to coming to your apartment."

Terry shook his head. "I invited you here. I wanted you here. Had I known I wouldn't have been so eager." Her took her shoes and dropped them on the floor by his closet. "You want something to eat? I know a few places that are open this late."

Yara knew she should leave. "You want me to stay? Even if we don't have sex?"

"I'm not some horny teenage boy, Yara." He reaches around her for his phone off the dresser. "Think of it as our first of many dates."

"Dates,' she repeated, more to herself.

"Don't worry, I'm going to make you feel more than special, sweetheart."

@nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @eilujion @heytaewrites @insidefeelingofanadult @captainwithoutmakingitlove @kindofaintrovert @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo @virgomess @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz

@wabi-sabi1090 @iterum-incipi @liquorlaughslove @eilujion @taureanstargirl @mzv11@Disc0fair @prettyfilmz @simplyzeeka @heytaewrites vivaalenaa theogbadbitch

@insertcatchynamerighthere @writingsbytee @pocketsizedpanther

#terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black reader

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icarusredwings · 5 months ago

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What things smell like according to Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine. A series of smell based headcanons. Do with these whatever you want :)

People:

Ororo: burnt marshmellows, rain, chunky chocolate chip cookies, protien shakes, spansih rice, chillies, and cocoa butter. She always smells great.

Scott: cucumber shampoo, the remaints of a bonfire the next day, fresh dry cleaning, axe shower gel, lavender sheets

Jean: caramel latte, lavender sheets, vanilla spiced chai, books, mint ice cream, fruit smoothies, stinky hair product, lemon poppy seed muffins, sassafras

Hank: Books, sanatizer, various chemicals, a very specifc fur dander, kinda musky but in a 'im covered in fur and sweaty' kind of way.

Rouge: "Dolly Parton", brick and concrete dust, cherry blossoms body spray, freshly engraved wood, strawberries and milk conditioner, spicy gaucamole and freshly sizzled sausages.

Gambit: tv static, a fresh deck of cards at the casino, spicy jumbo, gin, lime jello, hair gel, "suprisingly good actually"

Kurt: brimstone, smoke from franckinsense, myrrh, a less smelling dander then hank, Holy chrism oil (olive oil and Balsam made by catholic priests), metal, and blue raspberry. Fur/ beard pomade sometimes for special ocassions.

Morph: even when changed he can smell is sandlewood shampoo, he smells like how "Jack Outta smell", latex, pine and cedar, clear nail polish, "that ugly quilt that your grandma kept on the back of her couch that was the warmest, softest thing you've ever slept with."

Charles: Old man fart, metal, chalk, shoe polish, nutmeg, wool, "a trusting hug", books, mahogany, expensive champagne.

Laura: "teen spirit", a shitty cheap "girl power" deodorant that doesn't do well hiding the sweat, apples and peaches, kinda woodsy.

Wade: Cancer, gun smoke, citrus dish soap, blood, oranges, taco sauce, infected skin once in awhile, red dye 40, slight over cooked and crispy apple pie, sugary cereal

Puppins: wet dog, dog dander, oatmeal senstive skin puppy shampoo, chicken, "the dirtest trash she can find to roll in on her walk"

Althea: Old lady, way too strong perfumes, butter biscuits, tea, peppermint candies, more cocaine, "baby powder", lanvender linens, cotton and daisy's Landry detergent.

Feelings/emotions:

Big/serious lies: smell like Gasoline and salty sand near the sea.

Small fibs/playful/ teasing lies: smell like Anise

Lies with decent intentions/are bent truths: smell like honey

Those two are easily mixed up.

Innocent (the person truly believes it. Ex. A child saying dinos are real) truth: smells like thick vanilla creamer.

Filling, whole truths (the person knows for a fact its a truth) smells: like fresh baked rolls/buns

Cancer smells vary like: urine, nail polish remover, some people have a pungent semi sweet smell like rotting fruit, and tar is another smell, depending on which part of the body. If already in late stages, one can smell like cadavers. Even spicy almost.

Pregnant people vary in scent but he can smell the rise of different hormones: Some hormones sweeter then other. If you asked him he would say cinnamon or dying roses. If you're later in your term the scents are more soft like lotion or custard. Lemon ussually.

Serotonin; cheese, lemon cakes, fruity, a bit light, and flakey like a pastry. Marshmellow fluff.

Dopamine; sweet fresh coffee, doritos(?), cocaine. Don't ask why he knows what cocaine smells like. He was alive during coke cocaine.

Endorphins; Sweaty Sex, mint, dark chocolate, violets, chemicals, varies by persons pheromones

Oxytocin; "playful cherries", freshly washed cotton pillows, the warmth of a bath, skin on skin hugs, strawberries

Joy/relaxation/relief: Jasmine, vanilla sugar cookies, fresh soup.

Anger/disapproval/hurt: smoke, the back end of a cigarette, spicy curry, iron, blood, "spoiled raw chicken left out too long"

Fear/excitment/anxiousness: Adrenaline smells like oil, paint, salty pretzels almost.

Tears: Oceans, lillies, fresh water lakes

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ahhhwomen · 11 months ago

Text

Mom, I'm tired.

Vampire Empire

Part 2

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: Alright, so this writing style is not what I am used to, so feedback is definitely welcome. Due to me being unsure of this style I wanted to take a little longer to write part 2, but since yall liked part 1 so much I decided a shorter chapter was in order, I am already working on part 3, but yall gotta tell me how you feel about this one. Oh... and don't hate me for what i am about to do...

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death Minors DNI 18+

Summary: You just want to rest.

Word Count: 1.4k

You don’t know what is happening, why- you try to pull in a desperate breath, but still, nothing. Why- why was this happening? What is happening?

Why can’t you move?!

The lesser scary of the two redheads secures herself tighter against you, now supporting your full weight. She has to shift from a crouched-down position to sitting completely in your little enclosure. Her ankle awkwardly bends beneath her thigh. The rough ground fraying her expensive dress pants.

There is a sensation like concrete pouring through your veins, you can hear your heartbeat slow, and immense pressure start building behind your eyes, but you are desperate for control over something, anything. So, as much as it pains you, you tiredly let your eyes roam around the room while trying to avoid the blank stare from the taller redhead.

Your vision takes in the scenery that has unfolded in your space, you drape your eyes over the walls, the horror of your evening with Master painted like a masterpiece, you then take a risk and slowly run your eyes over the lower half of the woman in front of you.

Wanda is standing like a woman in power, her feet spaced apart hip to hip, spreading her weight perfectly between the pair of high, amber, heels. There was a slight scuff to one of them, a chip in the plastic, whatever fell earlier must have fallen on that heel, you doubt she would walk around with an imperfect pair if not. You swirl your eyes to the ground beside her, a tusk of brown hair having caught your attention.

That’s when you see it. Staring right back at you are the lifeless eyes of the seller. Or at least that is the only name you have for him.

It’s at that moment that the reality of the situation finally sets in.

You go to let out a high-pitched whine, but no sound is made, and for the first time in a long time, you have this desperate need to cry.

You can’t even do that.

You don’t want to die.

Not like this.

You want to smell the fresh air in the cold mornings, you want to feel the sand beneath your toes, you want to taste the richness of vanilla inside a simple frozen dish, and you want to live. If only for a moment longer.

But-

There is nothing you can do.

Your body loses all will to fight, and you give up.

Wanda keeps track of your vitals while under her control, she doesn't want to hurt you, but you are out of line, and frankly, your behavior unsettles the redhead.

When she can see the fight drain from your eyes, she releases you.

She sighs as the strain in her muscles loosens, and she moves her neck from left to right, removing the remaining tenseness. A prickle in her spine begs her to stretch out her entire body, but this was neither the time nor place, though she does put a pin in it, maybe she should order a massage sometime soon.

As for you, there is no sign that you are back in control except for the desperate gasping for air.

You don’t know what to do with this newfound freedom, Romanoff´s hands are keeping you close to her, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear, but suddenly it’s all too much. The only thing you can do is let your ribcage expand and contract at a rapid pace, the pain grounds you as your bruised ribs sting you.

You no longer fight against Natasha’s grip, and there is no chance that you will either.

You are scared, they can both feel it, but it’s not like it was a moment ago. A moment ago you were fighting to stay alive, fighting because it is your instinct to do so, now, you have given up on even that.

Now, you are just scared, plain and simple.

Natasha rubs her hands up and down your back slowly, the fabric of her silken shirt bunches up with her elbows, and the roll of textile slides against your skin rhythmically. Your body tenses and relaxes at strange intervals, there is a mistrust between her motive and your tender flesh, yet you still crave comfort.

That is until you see Wanda shift from one foot to the other and Natasha’s hands move too close to your collar, you strain your body away from her palms.

Natasha huffs in slight annoyance and shifts her attention to her wife, “What was that?”.

She tries to keep her voice quiet enough to not startle you, but it’s a futile attempt and shortly after she has opened her mouth you are crawling out of her arms and back into your corner.

She can tell it pains you to move, the bruises along your arms and legs making it difficult to crawl in a fluid motion, and she sees you struggle your way under the lamp, but you manage. In the end, you swiftly slump back into the position you laid in when they first got here, the only difference being that you are too tired to move the rag back over your body.

Wanda merely shrugs, her perfectly fitted suit ruffling with the movement, “She was becoming aggressive.” To be truthful, your sudden outburst had taken Wanda by surprise, she didn’t even know what she was saying until it was too late.

Natasha sighs before standing and walking up to her wife, her pants now scuffed and dirtied. She brushed herself down, but the filth of this place wasn’t one easily removed. She gets a hold of her bearings and stands straight before she bothers with a disappointed reply.

“She was just scared, “ she shakes her head disapprovingly. They have lived long enough to see all types of people. And Natasha knows you're type, scared, abused, and skittish. A dog in the fighting ring, or a cat in this case.

Anything can make you snap and bare your teeth.

However, she also knows that taking your right to do so away, will only worsen your behavior in the long run. It never helps to use fear against someone who is already terrified.

Again, Wanda does nothing but shrugs and lifts her jacket to glance at her watch.

Playtime is over, they have places to be, and it saddens Wanda, but she knows they won’t be leaving here with a pretty girl like she had hoped.

It´s best for Natasha that she rips the band-aid off fast.

Wanda points over at your shaking body, “It’s clear Carol has her eyes on her. You know we can’t keep her.”

Wanda slumps in on herself while saying it, her shoulders lower and her back bows unnaturally, the seams of her suit stretching and pulling against the tight movement. After the words have been put out there, Natasha's face shifts and morphs until she settles for a relatively neutral, but rather grim expression. The right side of her lip lifted into a slight sneer; this was an unfortunate situation.

Natasha looks down at her hands, hands she had just held you in, there are specs of dried blood and dirt covering the expanse of her palms, she tightens her fist and takes a slow breath.

Carol is already enough of a handful. Taking her punching bag away from her will only make matters worse.

Leased pet or not, Carol owns you.

So, Natasha nods curtly, the back of her shirt rubbing uneasily against the nape of her neck.

“Well, let’s go then.” With no regard to the body at her heels she steps over the man and continues to strut down the hall with her wife following shortly behind. Someone will be by to clean him up and replace him with another pawn, it’s the way these places work.

And if she took a moment to listen in on your heartbeat one last time before they left, it wouldn’t hurt anyone that she kept that to herself.

It sounded wrong.

Whatever sympathy Natasha felt for you was quickly squashed down and ignored as she and Wanda returned to business as usual.

It’s for the best, a pet would only make them weak.

After the two mysterious women leave, you curl into yourself and a sob breaks through you before you can stop it.

Mom, I'm tired.

#wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #wandanat x reader #vampire!natasha romanoff #vampire!wanda maximoff #dark!wandanat

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 11 months ago

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new hs history teacher(/basketball coach ofc) steve who is being shown around the school by gym teacher chrissy.

she takes him around the building to show him where the teacher's lounge is, the cafeteria, what bathrooms to avoid at all costs, and to where her office is if he ever needs anything.

"If I'm not here, I'm probably in Robbie's class over in the language department."

"Robbie?"

"Robin, my partner. She officially teaches ASL, but she likes to join in on the others' lessons whenever she has downtime."

Finally, once they've covered the whole length of the school, she brings him to his room. "So this is you, and right next door is Eddie, our Criminalistics teacher." gesturing to the still-dark window of the door directly across from his in the alcove.

There's polaroids covering nearly every inch of the outside of the door, pictures of what he can only assume are students with the same dark-haired man.

"Criminalistics?"

"It's a science elective," she explains, "It focuses on the basics of forensic science!"

"Wow that’s…really?"

She nods enthusiastically, "It’s super interesting,” she nods, moving to unlock the empty what-will-be history classroom. “Eddie’s here on even days, and in the music room on odd days for the guitar elective classes."

"Anything I should know about my wall neighbor?" he asks as she pushes the door open.

It looks like she's going to say no, but something flickers across her face and she winces minutely.

"Oh god, what is it?"

She looks at him sheepishly, "How do you feel about metal music?"

Since his tour in mid June, Steve's completely overhauled his classroom.

The only room available to him was the one down here in the science hall, but he made do, plastering removable whiteboard contact paper to the tops of the lab tables and a little reminder at each spot for the students about his less-than-stellar hearing, to make sure they speak up when answering a question from the back of the room.

And ever since he got his room, he'd been waiting for the day he finally meets his neighbor.

He met Chrissy's Robbie the same day he had the tour, and they clicked instantly (No seriously, how did he ever function before Robin?). Chrissy had made the comment about them being platonic soulmates one night in August when they'd gone out for one too many drinks, and it's stuck ever since.

Speaking of: "What are you still doing here, dingus? It's almost five."

"Yeah, I know, I know," he says, waving her off.

Robin comes in from the hall and plops herself down on one of the table tops instead of helping him hang a map behind his desk. "You're still adding stuff to your walls?"

"Well, I haven't been here for a couple years already, Bobs," he grits out as he stretches up on his toes to hang the far corner of his map. Finally, the eyelet hooks over the many-times-painted-over hook embedded in the concrete wall. "So yes."

"Well you can finish up tomorrow, we," she emphasizes the word by dramatically waving the same sign with her hand between them, "Have a burger date to get to."

The following day, the day before the school year officially starts, Steve arrives early to his classroom, only to find his neighbor's classroom lit up as well.

The be-polaroided door is propped open all the way, the sound of heavy drums and guitar streaming out the door along with the faint smell of moth balls and a spicy incense.

His own room forgotten, Steve steps through Mr. Munson's doorway.

Eddie is standing behind his desk at the front of the room, but hunched over it scribbling onto something.

When Steve's shoe squeaks against the tile floor, Eddie says "Hey, what do you think, identifying skeletal remains, or blood spatter first?" without looking up at him.

"Skeletons, of course." Eddie's head snaps up to look at him. His huge dark eyes are much more striking in person than in a photo. "Much more interesting, yeah?"

Eddie blinks at him. "You're not Chrissy."

"You're correct."

Eddie blinks again, "Who're you?"

"Oh, sorry, hi. I'm Steve. I'm your new neighbor." he gives the other man an awkward wave when he still doesn't move. "Sorry, should I--" he says, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb.

"No!" Eddie interrupts, standing straight and hurrying out from around his desk.

He extends a hand and jogs lightly up to Steve. His pen is still laced into his fingers, the end of it chewed flat. "Oh shit, sorry, sorry," he tucks the pen behind his ear, "I'm Eddie. Munson."

"I know," Steve smirks, taking Eddie's hand. "I've been waiting to meet you."

"Oh have you?" he smirks.

"Yeah, Chrissy told me you're her best friend and I wanted your advice on maybe asking her out."

Eddie's face hardens immediately, the warm milk chocolate of his eyes curing into a solid dark, the easy smirk morphing into a cringe as he looks Steve up and down.

He opens his mouth to say something particularly scathing, Steve's sure, but he cuts him off before he can. "I'm kidding, man, I know she's with Robin."

His expression softens just a bit.

"Plus, she's not really my type anyway, even if I were hers."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I'm more into brunettes." Steve winks, finally releasing Eddie's hand. "I still have a bit more to get done, but I'll check in with you later?"

"Oh--yeah, for sure, I'll be here." Eddie stammers out, his cheeks tinged pink.

Steve fist pumps in his head as he heads to his door, You still got it, Harrington.

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yeonzzzn · 7 months ago

Note

Ghostface jake when you ask him to kill someone for you? And he does with passion because he has a burning hatred for anyone who has done his precious girlfriend wrong.

no because ghostface!jake would so be down to destroy anyone you hate. man would not hesitate to stand from where he’s sitting and gather up his things at just the words, “I want you to kill __ for me.” that would literally be music to his ears because what you mean you want him to kill someone for you? it would be such a turn on for him. cock hard instantly at just you telling him those few words. jake would already kill for you as it is, but you asking him to do it? got him seeing stars.

and it would indeed be a murder of passion too. he would make it so perfect that it would belong in a museum. jake would also so take his time with it, making sure the cunt who did you wrong would suffer slowly. because why would he give them the satisfaction of having a quick death? nah.

jake would take his time slashing his knife into their skin, a wicked smile plastered on his face the entire time and laugh at each scream they would let out, “oh? you think you could just do my girl wrong and get away with it? get by with a few scratches? nah! don’t you know i’m fucking insane? i’ll make you fucking suffer,” and suffer he would make them. spilling their blood onto the concrete of the alleyway and splattering it all over his clothes and mask. jake would eventually remove the mask to get a crystal clear view of them slowly dying, staring into their eyes so he’s the last thing they see before going to hell, their blood painting his face with the final strike of his knife.

with satisfaction, jake would return home to you, presenting himself with the blood of your enemy coating him and pulling you to his chest and not hesitating for a second to slide his tongue into your mouth and roaming his hands all over your body, ready to fuck you right here right now on the floor. and so he does. pinning you to the cool tile floor with your legs slumped over his shoulders as he pistons into you, “no one will ever do you wrong, you hear me?” he’ll pant, “I’ll kill them all before they could hurt you.”

#yeonzzzn asks #ghostface!jake #jake bby #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours

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dingus11111 · 1 year ago

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‼️HOTTIE ALERT‼️

BORO SMUT <3

Includes: Sub!Bottom!Male reader, Dom!Top!Boro, Sadist!Boro, Masochist!Reader, CIA!Reader, bondage, sexual torture, nipple play, edging, BLOOD, choking, videotaping, butt plugs, impact play, CBT, subspace, biting, knife play, use of “sir” for Boro, and probably more shit.

DUB-CON/NON-CON

FEM/FEM ALIGNED DNI!!!!

VERY FUCKING LONG FIC BTW!!!

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

SMACK!

A loud slap echoed the darkly lit, dingy, concrete room.

Your face was red and slightly swollen. You were half naked with your shirt off, but your pants and boxers were still on. You had a blindfold on, and couldn’t see anything.

Your breath hitched as a large hand grasped your cheeks and forced your face to lift up to face the man doing this to you.

“I’ll ask you again… What is your real name, and who are you working with?”

Your mouth wasn’t gagged, so you took this chance to show him that you would never tell him. You gathered as much spit in your mouth as you could manage and spat on his face, hoping you had hit him with it.

Unfortunately, you did hit him.. DIRECTLY in the face. This made him angry. REALLY angry.

He growled in aggravation before stepping back to think about his next move.

After a minute or so, he took off your blindfold. As the blindfold fell to the floor, you looked up at your captor. The well known Boro Polonia had you tied up to a chair and at his mercy.

He quickly grabbed a gag from the table next to him, and put it on you.

“You’re cute for an traitor. Since you didn’t answer my questions, I believe I’ll have to use… harsher… methods.” Boro smirked softly.

You raised a brow, curious as to what he meant. That curiosity was wiped off of your face as he punched your jaw to knock you out. Everything went black and your body went limp.

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

Your eyes flickered open. You felt cold. Too cold. A shiver ran through your body before you really started to take in your surroundings.

Your hands were chained to the ceiling, and you were stripped naked.

You began to feverishly look around and thrash at your confines. A cry for help escaped your lips, but it was muffled due to the gag in your mouth.

After a minute or more of struggling, you heard footsteps. Your eyes darted to the person who had entered the room.

It was Boro.

He approached you agonizingly slow, allowing you to take in the fact that his eyes were on your body.

You began to struggle again, screaming against the gag.

Boro chuckled at your anger and fear. His hand caressed your torso, starting at your sternum and making his way down to your lower abdomen. Your breath hitched as his hand got dangerously close to your flaccid dick.

He looked down and then back up at your face, a smug grin painted on his.

“Now, let’s begin…” He strode over to a table next to where you were confined and grabbed something.

The room was too dimly lit for you to tell what it was. As he leisurely strolled back to his spot before he moved, you noticed multiple objects in his hand. You shook your head in objection and began to wiggle again.

“Shut up!” He yelled as he slapped you across the face hard. A muffled groan fell from your lips. A small amount of what felt like electricity rushed to your penis.

“Good..” Boro continued.

He began to show off the items that were in his hand.

“A whip to pry information out of you… A sounding rod for later, and lastly..” He smiled.

“A knife.” His eyes burned holes into your body, causing the slightest blush to appear on your cheeks.

Your cock was now half hard and Boro liked that. He smirked, enjoying seeing you like this, and even starting to grow hard himself.

After a minute or so of him peering at your body, he stepped back and put two of the three items down on the table. The object remaining in his grasp was none other than the whip.

“I’m going to remove your gag, and you will tell me what you know. If you do not comply, I will hurt you until you do.” Boro announced with a straight face.

He walked up to you and removed your gag. Spit dripped out of your mouth due to being gagged for so long.

You noticed that the whip in his hand was not a normal whip. It was a type that was designed for torture and could even kill you in severe cases. It had metal beads at the end that were followed by some knots as well. You shivered slightly.

“Tell me what you know.” He said coldly.

You glared at him before speaking.

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you anything.”

His brow furrowed.

“So be it.” He muttered.

CRACK!

The first lash of the whip ran diagonally across your torso, leaving a deep-ish gash. Blood trickled from the wound, staining the concrete floor below you. You were paralyzed in shock. Nothing could come out of your mouth. Not a single sound. Tears welled up in your eyes from the pain.

WUH-PSHH!

Another lash. Another wound across your torso. The pain was immense, and for some reason.. your cock was fully hard. The pain of the whip and the shame of being hard mixed together causing your mind to spiral. You couldn’t tell him what he wanted to know, yet you wanted this to stop. To stop your shame. Your pain. Your pleasure that felt wrong to feel. Tears trickled down your face and your mouth opened.

“Please stop… no more! I- I’ll tell you what you want to know…”

You closed your eyes in guilt. You were betraying the CIA.

Boro paced up to you and looked down and your hard dick.

“Hmm.. It seems that, deep down, you want me to keep going.” He snickered.

You shook your head rapidly, clearly signaling that you didn’t want to be whipped again.

“I’ll tell you what you want to know.. just please no more whipping.” You cried.

Boro smiled at this.

“Go on. Tell me.”

You nodded. ‘I’m sorry everybody.’ You thought.

“My name is M/N L/N.. and I work for the CIA.”

Boro looked extremely pleased as you said this.

“Good boy…” He praised as he brought one of his hands over your whip lashes.

You winced in pain, yet your cock twitched and leaked a bead of precum. He noticed this and chuckled.

“You like the pain, don’t you M/N?” He teased as he brought his finger tips down your dick and lightly touched the tip.

A soft moan escaped your lips as he did so. He grinned and began to stroke you.

“Fuck.. Ngh…” You gasped out.

“I think you deserve a reward for betraying your colleagues.” Boro suggested.

He then stopped stroking your dick and stepped to the left of you. On the wall, there was a lever that caused the chains confining you to suspend you slightly. He pulled the lever and that caused you to fall to the ground. You groaned slightly. He walked over to you and unshackled your hands. He quickly pulled out some handcuffs and cuffed your hands together.

“Good.. Now, time for your reward.” A sweet, but slightly menacing smile appeared on his face.

“Kneel.” Boro ordered.

You obeyed, not wanting to be whipped again. Your eyes widened when you realized what he was doing. He unbuckled his belt and then unzipped his pants. There was a massive bulge in his boxers. Your breathing got faster as you eyed his clothed cock.

He pulled over a chair that was close to him. He took off his boxers before sitting down. His cock was huge. He was about 8 inches and girthy. He noticed the surprise in your eyes and laughed.

“You know what to do, M/N.”

A smirk was painted on his face as you attempted to crawl to get closer to him. Your hands were cuffed behind your back. You breathed shakily before licking the underside from the base to the tip. You then began to kiss and lick at the tip. A groan escaped Boro’s lips. As you started to bob your head up and down on his length, you brought your hands up to stroke what you couldn’t suck. He didn’t like this and growled. He tapped your cheek a few times and you stopped sucking. Once he had your attention, he spoke.

“Ah ah ah.. No hands.” He nodded in acceptance as you continued to suck him off, this time with no hands.

Eventually, he wanted to feel more of your throat, but you wouldn’t go any further. He tangled a hand into your hair, and gripped it. He pushed down on your head so that you took him all the way to the base. Your nose was shoved into his trimmed pubic hair. You moaned softly. Boro smirked and continued to face fuck you. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you gagged here and there. After a few minutes, you learned to relax your throat and breathe through your nose. A loud groan left Boro’s mouth as he had came into your mouth. He didn’t pull his dick out of your throat.

“Swallow all of it. You will take what I give you with appreciation for it.”

You swallowed all of his cum. The salty and bitter taste staying on your tongue, but for some reason, you wanted more.

Once he was satisfied, he pulled his cock out of your mouth. He was still half hard. You looked up at him, waiting for his next move.

He got up and stripped himself of his remaining clothes; that being his shirt. You blushed hard as you saw his defined biceps and toned abs.

“Get up.”

You obeyed. Once you were up, he nudged you over to the table that had numerous…devices… on it. He pushed them away and laid you on it. After he made sure that you were secure on the table, he grabbed a camera he pushed out of the way before. He set it up on a stand behind you so that when your face hung off the table, it would catch your face. And not just that, it would get EVERYTHING.

Boro walked back to his spot beforehand and smiled.

“Hello.” He greeted the camera.

“As you can see, I have one of your agents here.”

As you heard those words, you flushed in embarrassment. He was going to send this video to the CIA. The camera could see your body. Your hard cock. Your blushing face.

“For every minute that you do not rescue him, I will test his limits. I will push past them and ultimately break them.”

As he finished his sentence, you cried out. He had suddenly pushed his dick inside of you without any prep or lube whatsoever. You wanted to cover your mouth and stop the moans spilling from it, but your hands were handcuffed behind your back.

You moaned in both pain and pleasure as he began to thrust in and out.

“I don’t know.. I don’t think you should rescue him. He seems to be enjoying this.” Boro snickered.

His hands held your thighs apart and pushed them back as he fucked you in a standing missionary position.

“Aaahh… fuck.. Boro!~” You couldn’t help but moan his name.

He smirked at this.

“He’s really enjoying this.” He said to the camera.

Suddenly, he pulled out, and flipped you so that you were bent over the table. You looked confused as he did this.

“Wha-“ You were cut off as he thrusted back inside of you harshly.

He pounded into you, and the camera caught all of your faces of ecstasy. Your eyes rolled back as he hit your prostate.

It felt so fucking good for being so fucking wrong.

You started to go into subspace. Only being able to focus on the pleasure. His large dick and the way it felt inside of you. Drool seeped from your open mouth.

SMACK

He spanked you hard. This immediately woke you up from your trance. Your cock twitched from the pain.

“We’re going try something fun, okay?” He chuckled.

You couldn’t see behind you as he picked up a knife that was moved to the side and a sounding rod. He was nice enough to lube up the sounding rod before putting it against your tip. Your eyes widened as you realized what it was.

“W-wait!!” You begged.

He disregarded your please for mercy as he shoved it into your urethra in one go. You screamed in pain, only the slightest bit of pleasure filling the back of your head.

You breathed heavily, thinking it was over as he began to fuck you again. Boy, were you wrong…

Remember the knife he picked up? Well, he’s gonna use it.

As he continued to plow into your tight ass, he brought the knife up to your lower back.

“Want me to make you mine, baby?” He asked quietly so that the camera wouldn’t pick up the noise.

You nodded, thinking he would cum inside of your or something among the lines.

He grinned maliciously as he slowly began to carve the name “Boro,” into your lower back.

“FUCK!” You screamed in agony.

Tears of pure pain streamed down your face. It hurt so fucking bad, but something about it had you feeling just a smidge closer to your orgasm.

You breathed heavily with occasional whimpers and moans echoing from your exhausted body.

Boro felt himself getting close as well. The knot in your stomach grew as you realized that you had a sounding rod in your dick. You took it upon yourself to beg.

“Please, sir.. Please let me cum!” You begged him.

“You may cum once I have finished.” He responded.

A small gasp left his lips, signaling his upcoming orgasm.

After a few more thrusts, he pushed as deep as he could inside of you and came.

“Fuck..” He groaned as he continued to fuck you through his orgasm.

You felt his hand creep towards your dick and start to teasingly tug on the sounding rod. He repeatedly pulled it halfway out and then quickly pushed it back in causing your hole to clench around his cock tightly. Eventually, he pulled it out and you came hard. Cum spurted out of your twitching dick as your back arched. You screamed out his name in doing so. A pleased smile spread across his face.

You breathed heavily once your orgasm was over.

“You think we’re done?” He asked, rasing a brow.

You gasped as he pulled out and quickly shoved a butt plug inside of you to keep his cum from spilling out. He then lifted you up onto the table so that you faced the camera. His hands then snaked around your torso towards their target.

Your nipples.

He began to pinch, tug, flick, and roll them.

It felt so odd, but so good at the same time. Your cock started to harden again. You wished you could hide your face from the camera.

Boro saw this pinched your nipples particularly hard and choked you, causing you to moan loudly.

He addressed the camera.

“Is this the type of employees you hire for the CIA? Sluts who can’t get enough of what they are given?”

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

FINALLY!! THAT WAS SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR A MONTH AND A HALF.

ANYWAYS, THANK YOU FOR READING!! HAVE A GREAT DAY AND DON’T HESITATE TO REQUEST THINGS!!

-Charlie <3

#bottom male reader #fanfiction #male reader smut #gay smut #smut #fubar #gabriel luna #boro #boro polonia #gay #sub male reader #top character #dom character #please request #please read

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brain-usurped-by-bug · 5 months ago

Text

Sugar and Smoke

King Candy takes advantage of the luxuries of his new life, while still longing for the simple pleasures of his old.

Characters: King Candy/Turbo, Sour Bill, Turbo Twins (mentioned)

Tags: Smoking, bubble bath, eating lots of sweets, angst

Completed on September 15th, 2024. 1476 words.

...

The new skin felt strange. It was softer than he was used to, higher definition. The flesh was unscared, the eyes bright, the cheeks jolly. The cadaverous pallor, the sunken eyes, the body he had carried his entire life was gone, phased out, banished into electric aether.

It wasn’t what he had before. He could smile again, but it wasn’t the same smile. He had a car again, but it wasn’t his red rocket. He didn’t have the simple pleasures of his home world; the gentle wave of the pixelated green grass, the earthy scent of the simple dirt loop, the reliable company of the twin racers…

Whatever. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need any of it. It was old software; untextured, primitive. The players had outgrown it, he had outgrown it. It didn’t deserve him. What he deserved was this! A castle, hundreds of subjects hanging off his every word, glitter graphics, high definition, a spotlight, a crown! It was the least fate could repay him for his suffering, rotting unknown in crawl spaces for ten years.

His honey brown eyes bounded over the walls of his new domain, cataloged it, let his mouth water. Pink cookie walls, rainbow sugar glass, sparkling white icing. It had been a long, long time since he’d had a taste of something sweet.

At the urging of his tongue he dove in, flew through his castle, eager to see every room, sample every flavor. Devour it, all of it, literally and metaphorically. It was his, all of it, all of it!

He admired the paintings of ice cream landscapes, chewed the corners off the nightstand in the cheesecake guest room, let the swirl of the lollipops hypnotize him, Let chocolate doorknobs melt in his mouth, ran his palms up the twisting licorice banister, broke peppermint decorations off the walls and sucked them to points.

He was in the middle of licking the icing off a gingerbread headboard when he caught the movement of a stranger behind him. He leapt off the bed and hurried to make himself presentable. The stranger stared back, licking his lips, adjusting the cuffs of his purple suit. The stranger had that look on his face, the look of being caught in the act.

He approached, cautiously. The stranger approached, cautiously. They lifted their hands, fingers meeting on the mirror’s glass. The strange reflection turned its head, ran it’s peach fingers over the wisps of gray hair above its ears, squished the soft cheek, pulled at the corner of the lip, ran a red tongue over white teeth. It stood back a bit, dusted itself off. The reflection wore a purple tailcoat, gold puff pants, caramel leggings, a lace collar, a gold crown and a shimmering red candy wrapper bow tie.

Not a single color carried over, no textures, not a sliver of his old face. This was good. It was. No one would ever recognise him. Even he didn't recognise him. He left the room. The stranger moved to follow, then vanished as he shut the door.

…

His room…. His room…. Ooh… he couldn't make a decision on it. It was different. Very different from what he was accustomed to. There was a rug, a clean one. Gingerbread armoires, rock candy lamps, footstools, a fainting couch, a make-up desk, wallpaper, a four poster bed with satin curtains! All white and pink. There was no black plastic, no exposed wires, no oil, no rubber, no concrete, no trophy shelf. Just sugar.

He wanted to fix it. Bring in the scent of tools and grease, rust, motor oil and gasoline, antifreeze, real dirt, real grime. Was there anything real in this world?

He reached for the pocket of his jumpsuit. His fingers grazed gold silk. He chuckled nervously and moved a hand to the new pocket within the interior breast of his tailcoat. He removed the contents and laid them on the bed. His last cigarette. A nondescript lighter. The password to the code room written on the corner of a Tapper’s napkin. These three things were the only possessions he had deemed essential enough to take with him. His homemade beer bottle string lights, portable radio, cassette tapes, checkered flag pillow, the steering wheel of his old car, all had to be left in the bowls of GCS. They were too big. Too tied to his old name. They were useless anyway, he didn't need old junk dragging him down.

He took the cigarette between his teeth, lit the end, and let the smoke ease his rattled code. Tabaco lifted his insides, wafted from his lips, overpowered the smell of sugar. He breathed, out and in, tapped the ash off and kicked it under the bed. His softened gaze fell on the door to the bathroom. His personal, private bathroom. A luxury the greatest racer ever had yet to experience. A smile pinched the corners of his mouth. He slipped his possessions back into his tailcoat and locked himself in the new room.

The bathroom was pink and white, same as the bedroom, but it had more of the later color than the former. The floor was tiled with sugar cubes and the windows were made from frosted sugar glass, but the pink clawfoot tub was remarkably normal looking. Finally. He turned the wheel atop the gold faucet and watched crystal water flow. He frowned. This wasn't some strange candy water was it? He wasn't going to bathe in soda. He parked his cigarette between his first two fingers and leaned over the edge of the tub for a taste. Alright, it was just sparkling water. He could deal with that. He put the cigarette back between his lips, tossed in a bit of soap that promised a perfect bubble bath and stood aside to remove his clothes.

He found something to recognise once his model was striped to its base. The skin may be different, but he still had the same bones, the same basic shape. The oversized head, short limbs, long feet, pudgy belly. He shifted the cigarette from the right corner of his mouth to the left and stuck a familiar pose; chest lifted, right hand gripping a (nonexistent) trophy, left hand giving the thumbs up.

‘Turbotastic!’

He almost said, catching the phrase before it left his mouth. His arms fell to his sides. The cigarette drooped on his lip.

Careful, careful. You can’t keep anything from your old life. It’s gone. You're not getting any of it back. You're above it anyway, you've grown beyond. Throw off the old rags.

He breathed smoke from his nose, shaking his head and muttering nonsense. He tapped cigarette ash into the sink, turned the faucet off and eased into his bubble bath. The soap’s label had been honest, some of the bubbles were nearly the size of his head. It was probably scented like something sweet, but he couldn't smell it through the tobacco. The water was what he expected; warm, fresh. Cleaner than him, almost certainly.

He lay back. Soaking. Smoking his cigarette down to its filter. He started to hum to himself.

“Hmm… hm hm hm hm, hm hm hm hm, hm hm h-”

The trumpets of the Turbotime overture played between his ears. The cheer of the plywood crowd. The way his fingers gripped the wheel, the way he’d turn it at the south bend, the dust he’d kick up, the way the twins would curse him when it got in their mouths, the way he’d laugh. They would beat him up after the race sometimes, when he t-boned them or made them spin out, but they always forgave him in time. If they had lived, would they have forgiven him for-

No, no no no stop stop STOP. He had to stop thinking about it, it had to disappear, he had to forget. He needed a distraction. He should have brought his casetes, more cigarettes. He threw a bar of soap at the service button beside the door. He missed, badly. He threw a larger bar and hit it this time. A dreary voice crackled over the intercom.

“King Candy?”

“Sour Bill! I need music brought to my bathroom!”

A long pause. “Like… a band?”

“No no! A radio, a walkman, something along those lines!”

“Mmmm… we have a record player.”

“That will do. Bring it in.”

“Yes sir. What kind of music do you want?”

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anything, something… something energetic. I need cheering up.”

“Yes sir. Is there anything else you need?”

He took a final drag, kept the smoke in his body as long as he dared, then let it escape. A ghostly tower, part of his soul fading into the air. He sighed.

“No, that will be all.”

End

Author's notes: this was my first time writing fanfiction since like, 2019. It was fun to write something short and in a very different setting than what I normally write in. :)

#my contribution #my writing #wreck it ralph #wreck it ralph turbo #turbo #turbotastic #king candy #fanfic #smoking #turbo twins

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honorarysimp · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 2: None the Wiser

series masterlist

You navigate your motorcycle down a quiet suburban street, the sun beginning its descent towards the horizon.

The houses lining the street all have a sense of tranquility about them, each one seemingly occupied by a picture-perfect family.

Eventually, you come to the correct address, the number nailed to the mailbox in front of the home. You kill the engine of your motorcycle, the silence that envelopes you as it dies almost soothing.

A frown tugs at your lips as you remove your helmet, your fingers running idly through your hair.

The sight of the house Lorraine calls home surprises you, the image of the "American Dream" lifestyle seeming at odds with the person you knew her to be. The white picket fence, meticulously kept lawn, and cozy abode all seem too perfect, too generic.

But then again, five years can change a lot.

You kick down the kickstand, the sound of the metal connecting with the concrete almost too loud in the still air. You swing your leg over and slip off the bike, the metal still warm from the overbearing sun of the afternoon.

With your helmet still in your hand, you nervously fidget with it, the metal of the strap cool against your fingers.

Taking a deep breath, then hooking your helmet on your handlebar, you approach the fence surrounding the home with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

You reach the gate, its white paint unblemished and gleaming beneath the fading sunlight. Hesitantly, you grip the latch and pushes open the gate, the hinges creaking slightly. You carefully step through just as a shrill caw cuts through the air, boots thumping against the manicured lawn.

The house stands in front of you, its pristine exterior almost unnaturally perfect. The windows sparkle, the white paint of the siding gleams, and there's a manicured rosebush that borders the front walkway that has been neatly trimmed into a small ball. A stone walkway leads to the front door, its brass knocker polished and gleaming.

You raise your fist, ready to knock, when a sense of wrongness suddenly washes over you. Something about this house doesn’t sit right with you, though you can’t quite place your finger on what it is.

Just as you’re about to shake off the feeling and knock, the door suddenly swings open.

Your brain processes the sight in front of you in an instant. The perfectly styled blonde hair, the picture-perfect smile, the air of false politeness.

Oh, no now this makes more sense.

You feel none the wiser with exactly who would greet you at the door, and you should’ve known better than to think this was Lorraine’s residency.

Bobby-Lynn, prior captain of the cheer squad back when you were all in high school, stands before you. Her blue eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

You barely manage to mutter a disbelieving "you've gotta be fucking kidding me" before she envelopes you in a fierce hug.

The scent of her perfume fills your nostrils, the sickly-sweet scent almost suffocating. You stand there awkwardly, your arms remaining stiff at your sides as she grips you tightly.

“Oh my gosh! Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Lorraine said you were comin’ but to be honest, I didn’t believe her-“

Lorraine? Oh. Oh, that little shit. She’s got some explaining to do.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally releases you, her perfectly manicured hands remaining on your arms as she steps back, her smile still plastered on her face. "I haven't seen you in years!" she exclaims, her voice dripping with false enthusiasm.

You forcing a smile, the gesture feeling more like a grimace than anything else. You take a step back, putting distance between yourself and her sticky sweetness. With a bluntness that masks your discomfort, you reply, "that was sorta the point”.

Her smile falters for a brief moment, not expecting your blunt response. Her gaze flickers for a moment, her eyes studying you closely, before that false smile returns, wider than before. "You never change, do you?" she quips, her voice dripping with artificial affection.

You ignore her question, the memories of high school and her presence causing your stomach to twist with unease. You glance over her shoulder, scanning the interior of the tidy living room for any sign of Lorraine. "Is Lorraine here or not?" you ask, your tone bordering on curt.

Bobby-Lynn’s false smile dips once more, but she quickly recovers, maintaining her sweet demeanor. "She’s in the kitchen, helping cook dinner as usual," she replies, her voice annoyingly cheerful.

You can’t help but make a face, your thoughts racing as you prepare to ask about Lorraine. You're about to speak, but before you can even ask, she links her arm through yours, the action nearly making you stumble.

“A lot has changed since high school, Rooks. Wipe that look off your face,” she says with a faux-chiding tone, her voice grating on your nerves.

You find yourself being pulled into the house, the door shutting behind you with an ominous finality. You cast a glance over your shoulder at the closed door, a frown tugging at your lips.

But before you can dwell on it, Bobby-Lynn guides you into the living room, her arm still linked through yours. As you look around, the space feels more like a lion's den than a comfortable living area. Every inch is meticulously arranged, the decor designed for maximum aesthetic appeal, yet everything feels cold and sterile.

Before you can even process your surroundings, the sight of Jackson — the once-star quarterback and now serving your country last you’d heard — standing to greet you catches you off guard.

His broad frame stands tall, his face a bit more weathered than when you last saw him in high school. But his greeting is what's most surprising, his face lit with an enthusiasm you've never witnessed him direct at you before.

“Rooks! You came!”

Jackson steps forward, his arms outstretched, and pulls you into a firm hug. You can smell a hint of his aftershave as he clasps you tightly, his broad chest pressing against yours. He pulls back slightly just as you register what’s going on, his hands remaining on your shoulders, and offers his condolences for your Pop.

"I'm real sorry for your loss," he says, his voice sincere as he gives your back a firm pat, your frame going rigid under his touch “best goddamn Mayor this town ever had”.

You remain still, your body taut as a bowstring, the forced embrace and pat on the back causing your skin to prickle with discomfort. You offer a nod of acknowledgment, but your expression remains stoic beneath his gaze.

Just as Jackson releases you fully, another voice intercedes, a familiar tone that causes your stomach to sink further. "Is that Rooks? Well, I'll be goddamn," the voice echoes, their tone filled with a mixture of surprise and a hint of mockery.

You turn, eyes landing on the source of the voice, and nearly laugh aloud at the sight of the man who stands before you. It's Wayne, his familiar face now sporting a hint of stubble and a few new lines around his eyes. But it's the woman who stands behind him that shocks you even more—Maxine, her red hair still as vibrant as your memories serve you.

Wayne continues speaking, his smooth voice layered with sarcasm and wit. "Well, look who decided to grace us with their presence again. Rooks, back from the dead. Never thought I'd see the day," he quips, a smirk on his lips.

Meanwhile, Maxine stands silently beside him, her gaze fixed on you. Her eyes study you intently, that vixen look you remember from high school still present beneath her lashes.

Bobby-Lynn's voice cuts in, admonishing Wayne. "Wayne, that's not funny. The poor thing’s Pop just passed. Show some respect," she says, her words laced with a hint of irritation.

Wayne's smirk falters slightly, and he offers a half-hearted apology, "sorry, Rooks. Didn’t mean to ruffle feathers”.

Your irritation mounts at Wayne's sly remark, and you respond curtly, your eyes narrowing.

"Clever," you mutter dryly, voice dripping with sarcasm. The sound of them using your old nickname only further adds to your annoyance.

You’ve never been fond of it, the name representing a part of your past you've been trying to leave behind.

Which gets brought to attention as Wayne sidles up to you, slinging his arm around your shoulders with a familiarity that sets your teeth on edge. He grins as he says, "I gotta ask, do you still see ‘em? Or did you finally grow out of that?"

His words sting, reminding you of the countless times he teased and belittle you for your ‘hallucinations’ way back when. A part of you wants to shrug off his arm, but you remain still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

You push past your discomfort, your words filled with bitterness and sharp with anger. "I haven't been 'seeing things,' Wayne. That was just your and everyone else's bullshit way of making my life a living hell" you snap, your voice dripping with venom.

His arm drops from your shoulders as you step away, creating distance between you and the unwelcome touch.

Wayne raises his hands in a mock surrender, a smirk still on his lips “whoa, relax, Rooks. I was just messing around," he says, his voice dripping with false innocence. His apology is insincere, the sarcastic tone he uses making it clear he hasn't changed one bit.

Just as you're about to lose your temper, the front door opens and Lorraine appears from around the corner, her presence making you feel even more on edge.

Your eyes flicker to Bobby-Lynn, a sense of betrayal washing over you as you realize she lied to you. You shoot her an accusatory look, your expression giving away your anger.

Lorraine steps into the room, her sweet and timid demeanor immediately defusing the tension in the air. Her voice echoes through the room, asking with gentle concern, "everythin’ alright?"

The sound of her voice instantly has a calming effect on you, even though you're still seething on the inside.

Maxine, whose gaze has been studying you almost hungrily, finally pipes in, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Oh, we was just catchin’ up," she says, her gaze unabashedly raking over your form.

Yeah, definitely still the same manipulative snake she was in high school.

You turn your gaze to Lorraine, preparing to ask her about why she made you come here, only for your words to die in your throat as you spot another familiar figure behind her. Your heart drops as you recognize the face of the man you thought would rather be caught dead than be around this crowd.

It's RJ, a scrawny band geek from high school. He was the epitome of ‘weird’ back then, always lingering on the outskirts of social groups. Oddly enough, he stands right behind Lorraine now, his presence here seeming completely out of place.

As your eyes roam over his figure, the last person you would've expected to see in this gathering, you can't help but feel a mix of surprise and old memories resurfacing. After all, you were just as much a ‘freak’ to everyone in the room at one point in time.

The sudden appearance of RJ toting up and showing off two bottles of wine awkwardly, stuns you into silence, your mind struggling to catch up with the unfolding situation. Everyone else, seemingly used to RJ's odd behavior, voices their approval with enthusiasm.

Everyone except Lorraine, who remains unnervingly silent, observing you intently as her eyes studying your every reaction.

You're still trying to wrap your head around RJ's appearance at this gathering when Wayne pipes up from beside you, putting his hand on your shoulder once again, this time his touch slightly less mocking. He speaks with a more sincere tone, his voice lacking the previous sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, Rooks. I was just tryna cut the tension a bit. I didn't mean to come off so harsh," he offers apologetically, his eyes locking onto yours.

You take a moment, trying to sort through the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings swirling in your mind. As you stand there, RJ leads the others with a surprising confidence into the kitchen, leaving you feeling lost in a sea of unexpected emotions.

You remain frozen, your mind struggling to process the flood of emotions coursing through you. Wayne's hand drops from your shoulder as he follows the rest of the group into the kitchen, leaving you standing alone in the living room.

Too much. Too much. Where do you even start?

Lorraine silently approaches, her gentle presence having an unexpected calming effect on your tumultuous emotions. She looks at you intently, observing your expression and demeanor with a careful eye. For a brief moment, the two of you simply stand there, the silence filling the air as she waits for you to speak.

Your voice is tight, almost strained, as you whisper to Lorraine, "are you fucking kidding me? Them? Of all people?" Your body is tense, your chest feeling like a coiled spring as you take in the situation at hand.

The sight of all those who tormented you both from your past all gathered in one place, is overwhelming, and you're struggling to keep your composure.

Lorraine's voice is soft and earnest as she whispers to you, her gaze never leaving yours. "I'm sorry," she says quietly, her tone conveying a sense of understanding. "I know it must be overwhelming seeing them all here, but they've changed. You'll see”.

Her words cause a ripple of uncertainty to cross your features, but she adds a final thought, her tone gentle “you need people right now, and you wouldn't have agreed otherwise."

You clench your jaw, struggling to keep your emotions in check. A mixture of anger and disbelief washes over you as you glance towards the kitchen, where the sounds of boisterous laughter and conversation fill the air.

It's almost surreal to think that these people, who use to verbally crucify you on the daily, are now considered Lorraine's friends. Your anger and frustration bubble just beneath the surface, a bitter taste settling in your mouth.

Lorraine's gentle voice breaks through your thoughts, her soft "hey" drawing your attention back to her. Her eyes, wide and innocent, bring an unexpected sense of reassurance, grounding you for a moment.

"I'd never lead you astray," she says, her words filled with conviction. Looking into her earnest eyes, you can't help but believe her.

Your heart is racing, torn between anger, disbelief, and the unexpected comfort Lorraine manages to bring. You stand there, feeling the inner turmoil that threatens to spill over.

As Lorraine walks past you, her eyes never leaving yours until the last second, she offers a knowing look, as if she understands the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

With that, she continues on towards the kitchen, joining the others, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You stand there for a moment, undecided. This is the point where you'd normally leave, walking away from the people who caused you so much pain. You don't owe them anything, including Lorraine.

The words echo in your mind as you think about the decision you're facing. Why on earth would you stay in this situation, surrounded by people who had made your life miserable in the past? But then you think of her.

It's Lorraine, for Christ sake.

She has never been anything but kind and true to you. She's the only one you consider anywhere close to a friend, the only one you could ever… is trust the right word?

You feel a strange pull, as if some invisible force is urging you to stay, to give it a chance. Your mind races, trying to evaluate the situation and reason with yourself. Despite your reservations, you can't help but wonder — what exactly do you have to lose?

You take a deep breath, running your tongue along your teeth and clicking it against the roof of your mouth. You shake your head, sighing in frustration.

But Lorraine's words echo in your head, and as much as you hate to admit it, you can't deny that you do need people right now.

You may have despised your Pop, but he was still your father. Besides, it’s either this or return to that goddamn house of horrors.

With a clenched jaw and stiff movements, you slowly pivot on your heels, forcing yourself to move forward towards the kitchen.

Your reluctance and trepidation are evident in every step, but you push yourself onward, accepting the reality of your situation.

As you get closer to the kitchen, laughter and chatter grow louder in your ears, and you mentally brace yourself for what lies ahead.

You must be out of your goddamn mind, that has to be the explanation. This town, this fucking town.

Internally, you pray this won’t be a mistake.

____________________________________________

Over the past two hours, you've silently observed and taken mental notes on this odd group of friends, your inner investigator at work. You've noticed the subtle changes in their personalities, the unexpected friendships, and the hints of something lurking beneath the surface.

It's clear that time and circumstances have altered these people, and they're not the same ones you remember from high school.

But then again, they are. It’s strange.

Through your observations, you've noticed that Bobby-Lynn and Jackson are a couple, which isn't surprising given their past. However, the revelation that Wayne and Maxine are together comes as a surprise.

But what truly shocks you is the revelation that RJ and Lorraine are a couple now. You never saw that one coming.

You've noticed how RJ tries so hard, but it seems like an uphill battle. His overzealous and awkward enthusiasm clashes with Lorraine's quiet and soft-spoken nature. It's like watching a fish and a bird try to dance together, it just doesn't quite fit.

You observe the group from the sidelines, sipping on the same half-filled glass of red wine you've been nursing for what feels like days, always the outsider looking in.

Your eyes roam over the scene in front of you — the raucous laughter and the growing tipsiness of your old classmates. The familiar feeling of being the quiet onlooker takes hold, keeping you firmly on the fringes.

While observing the group, you’ve noticed the subtle glances exchanged between Bobby-Lynn and Maxine, each silently communicating something unknown.

It disturbs you, how its sole focus seems to consistently shift to Lorraine, who has also been sipping the same glass of wine since the first bottle was opened. There's a strange energy in the air between all three women, and you almost want to assume there's something deeper going on beneath the surface.

You don’t trust Maxine nor Bobby-Lynn as far as you could throw them, and that’s not saying much considering you don’t even trust them at arms length.

Lorraine's fingers toy with the stem of her glass, her eyes darting between Bobby-Lynn and Maxine. The air is thick with something, and you can almost feel the undercurrents of unspoken words that linger in the air.

The way Lorraine glances back and forth between the two women, her gaze never quite settling, leaves you with a sense of unease. There's something going on here, but you can't quite figure out what it is.

You’ve also been observing RJ's behavior with Lorraine; he's being more touchy than necessary, and every time Lorraine responds with a forced smile, one you recognize as her plastering on a facade.

It makes you uncomfortable, you don’t like it.

Suddenly, your eyes inadvertently meet hers, gazes locking for a moment almost as if she’s finally begun to feel the weight of your attention.

You quickly look away, feeling like you've stumbled into something you weren't supposed to see, something more complicated and strained than it should be.

You find yourself looking back at Lorraine, your eyes drawn to her against your will, like a magnet pull. To your surprise, she's still looking at you.

When your eyes meet, she shakes her head subtly. A clear message telling you to drop it, then looks away herself. But for some reason, you can't seem to break the magnetic pull, your gaze remaining locked on her for a moment longer than it should.

You mindlessly fidget with the stem of your wine glass, your eyes darting around the room. Finally, they land on Maxine, who is watching you with a calculating gaze.

As soon as your eyes meet hers, she takes a sip from her own glass, her knowing look making you feel like she can read your thoughts. You quickly look away, trying to seem casual, as conversation continues around you.

You excuse yourself, citing the need to use the bathroom. Bobby-Lynn motions down the hall, informing you where it’s located before leaning back against Jackson, who’s engaged in a boisterous banter with Wayne.

You refuse to look at Lorraine and RJ, avoiding the sight of his possessive hold on her. You tell yourself that it’s their business, not yours, and yet the fact that it’s continuing to bother you makes you angrier than ever.

It’s maddening, this irrational sense of anger and protectiveness towards Lorraine, over a relationship that should mean nothing to you.

As you make your way down the hallway, you involuntarily stop just short of passing a bedroom. A strange feeling, almost like a tug on your awareness, makes you pause, as if something is drawing your attention.

Something about the room beyond the half-open door tugs at the back of your mind, an ominous undercurrent that raises the hairs on your arms. You stand there, staring at the door, feeling an intense sense of unease. Your heart races, the air almost heavy with a feeling of foreboding.

Something feels amiss, something that fills you with a sense of impending danger or revelation. Every instinct screams at you to turn away and keep walking, but you can’t, your feet rooted to the spot.

Against your own better judgment, you find yourself moving towards the room like a puppet on strings, your body acting on its own accord despite your logical mind protesting.

This unnerving sensation, the feeling of being tugged by something other than your own volition, is becoming a disturbingly familiar occurrence for you more and more these days.

You slowly step inside the dimly lit room, your eyes darting around the surroundings. There's a faint hint of burning sage in the air, mixed with the scent of herbs. As you tentatively walk around, your gaze lands on a small, worn velvet pouch resting on the bedside table.

It looks innocuous, but there's something about it that catches your attention. You walk over to it, almost in a trance, and pick it up. Feeling the weight of the contents shifting around inside.

Your eyes flit towards the open door, a brief moment of indecision passing over your face. Every instinct tells you that you shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s wrong, but your curiosity and strange compulsion propel you forward. With a sense of both trepidation and determination, you ignore the nagging guilt and pour the content of the pouch out and into your free hand.

As the contents of the pouch spill out into your palm, you're taken aback for a moment.

The first thing you notice are several strands of hair, clearly someone's locks collected and tied together with a thin strip of leather.

Then there's a collection of small bones, which range in size and shape, some from small animals and some human-looking, like phalanges. There are also a few dried and crushed herbs mixed in, the unmistakable scent of sage among them.

Your eyebrows furrow and your mind whirls, searching for a reasonable explanation.

What on earth would snooty, picture-perfect Bobby-Lynn have an assortment of witchcraft material on her nightstand for?

It doesn’t make sense, it all clashes with the image you have of her in your mind. Sure, she’s a snobby bitch, but this?

You hastily put the components back into the velvet pouch, taking care to place it back exactly as you had found it.

Your mind is a tangle of thoughts and conclusions, but you shake your head, refusing to let your thoughts jump to conclusions based on such limited evidence.

You take a deep breath and exit the room, cracking the door just a hair behind you, being mindful to leave everything as undisturbed as possible.

Yeah, no, fuck this. Time to go.

You feign nonchalance, forcing a yawn as you reenter the room. Upon rejoining them, you quickly offer up an excuse to leave, "I think I'm gonna head out," you announce, avoiding eye contact with no one in particular.

Liar.

The protests come all at once, a chorus of voices blending together as everyone tries to persuade you to stay. Amidst it all, the sound of RJ’s drunken voice stands out, loud and slurred. Your gaze drifts to Lorraine, who looks obviously disappointed.

Your better judgment tells you to stay silent and mind your own business, but you find yourself gesturing towards RJ and locking eyes with Lorraine. In a soft but resolute tone, you ask her, "did he drive you here?"

RJ, already a bit disheveled, attempts to defend himself, but he’s clearly inebriated. "I’m not that drunk-" he slurs, attempting to justify himself.

However, you cut him off and shut him down. "You're not driving anywhere tonight," you say resolutely, your tone brooking no argument.

A tension fills the air as Lorraine begins to speak, her voice soft and resigned. "It's fine, I'll drive us home," she says, attempting to brush off the situation.

It’s logical, because she’s a grown woman who can handle herself. Yet, it doesn’t sit right with you, the image of her driving home with a clearly intoxicated RJ in tow sends a jolt of unease through you.

You can’t help but blurt out a reason why it’s a bad idea, your concern for Lorraine’s safety overriding your usual reserve. "That’s not a good idea," you say, your voice firm “RJ’s in no condition to be a reasonable passenger, considering how he can’t keep his fucking hands to himself. It’s not safe for either of you or the people on the road”.

Your own outburst catches you off guard, and a wave of embarrassment should wash over you. But you find yourself surprisingly unbothered, too invested in the situation at hand to care about your lack of filter. The room goes silent as everyone looks at you, a bit taken aback by your vehemence.

Maxine mutters under her breath, just barely loud enough for you to hear, "loose cannon”.

Bobby-Lynn gives her a disapproving shush, which only has her roll her eyes. Wayne then speaks up, a sensible solution in his voice, "hows about I drive RJ home? It's on my way anyhow”.

The tension in the room rises as RJ puffs up his chest in protest, his inebriated state making him more volatile. But before even he can respond, Lorraine steps away from him and starts gathering her belongings with a steady and firm resolve.

RJ, still puffed up and tipsy, begins to ask "what are you—“ only for Lorraine to cut him off with a firm "stop, don’t even with me right now."

Her gaze then flicks to you, her expression unreadable, almost guarded. Without another word, she swiftly exits the kitchen, shaking her head in what appears to be frustration or disappointment.

RJ, still agitated, tries to follow Lorraine — shouting her name in anger. However, your actions are almost instinctively protective. You step in his path, creating a barrier between him and Lorraine as she exits the kitchen.

In his inebriated state, RJ becomes brutally honest, spitting the words in your face as he says "you don't get to just show up back here and think you have a place with us."

His words are harsh, fueled by a combination of alcohol and resentment. The sting of his words momentarily catches you off guard, but you recover quickly, hitting back with a truth of your own.

"That's rich coming from you," you reply, "considering I watched Wayne shove you into a locker Sophomore year”, your blunt response is delivered with a hint of bitterness, a reminder of old grievances and past tensions.

The others in the room murmur, no one is surprised by this revelation, simply watching with growing intrigue. RJ’s face colors with embarrassment, clearly not expecting his own past to be brought up like this. Wayne, uncharacteristically avoids your gaze, a flicker of guilt on his face.

As the tension in the room continues to mount, a soft touch on your arm brings a moment of clarity. Your head turns, and your gaze meets Lorraine's dark brown eyes. Her steady presence instantly has a calming effect on you, making you feel grounded and less on edge.

Her eyes remain locked with yours, a silent understanding passing between you. Lorraine’s gentle tug on your sleeve, accompanied by her simple request, "take me home?", is enough to make you snap out of the tense exchange.

You quickly nod your agreement, the thought of leaving Lorraine alone with RJ in his current state and driving off with him not the ideal situation. You know she needs a safe ride home. Without another word, you turn away from RJ and the others in the room, guiding Lorraine towards the exit.

As Lorraine and you make your way towards the front door, RJ clumsily tries to follow, stumbling and calling after Lorraine in his drunken state.

However, Jackson steps in this time, stopping him from tagging along. Sensing RJ’s aggression, you cast a sharp glare their way, not keen on having any further confrontations.

You and Lorraine silently descend into the front yard, the sound of the gate creaking quietly as you pass through it. The night air is crisp and quiet, a stark contrast to the tension and noise of the house you've just left behind.

Before you can mount your motorcycle, Lorraine gently catches your arm, drawing your attention back to her. You turn completely to face her, your motorbike momentarily forgotten.

The streetlamp across the road casts a soft, warm glow on Lorraine, illuminating her delicate features. Her usually stoic eyes are softened, and in the dim twilight, they almost seem to sparkle.

In this moment, with the gentle light playing across her face, she looks truly beautiful. Your thoughts are momentarily muddled, caught in the spell her gaze seems to cast on you.

With a hint of frustration and genuine curiosity, Lorraine asks, "what the hell was that? Huh? It's been five years, haven't you changed any? Or did you just leave for nothin’?" Her voice is firm, a hint of irritation behind her words. She's not looking for a fight, but she wants to know what drove you to such a display back there.

You find yourself opening your mouth to provide an explanation, but the words get stuck in your throat. You feel like a teenager again, flustered and unsure how to articulate your thoughts.

Your mind races, but nothing coherent comes out, leaving you just staring at her, your mouth hanging open uselessly.

Lorraine's expression softens, her doe eyes studying yours intensely. A sigh escapes her lips, and she turns away from you, but casts a look over her shoulder at you.

She then murmurs a soft request, "I don't live far, could you walk me?" her voice is quieter now, the annoyance replaced by a hint of vulnerability.

There's a sense of frustration and confusion swirling through you as you struggle to make sense of your emotions and actions. You feel unsteady, off-balanced, as if walking on shifting sand.

It would mean walking there and then all the way back here for your bike.

Yet, at Lorraine’s request, you step up next to her without hesitation, falling into familiar steps beside her, just as you used to. The silence between you is both comfortable and strangely tense.

You walk together, the only sounds being the soft crunch of gravel under your feet and the occasional bird call in the distance.

But you ignore it, you always ignore it when they call to you.

After a few more minutes of silence, Lorraine finally breaks it, clearing her throat and adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She looks at you with a sincere expression, her voice soft and slightly apologetic. "I'm... real sorry about that," she says, her voice sincere.

"I do mean it when I say they've changed. They're good people, y’know?” she speaks genuinely, trying to reassure you that the people you just left behind are decent, despite tonight's display saying otherwise.

Your mind drifts back to the odd bag you discovered in Bobby-Lynn's bedroom, filled with items that made your hairs stand on end. You haven’t had much a chance to process it, what it could be, what it means.

These thoughts spark a question to your tongue, which leads you to ask Lorraine, "how long have you been hangin’ around with them now?" your voice lacks accusation, yet hints at curiosity and maybe even a slightly protective tone.

Lorraine lets out a soft laugh, the sound echoing down the dark street. Her laughter prompts a reluctant smile to tug at the corners of your lips.

With a knowing look in her eyes, she replies, "long enough now that you ain't got nothin' to get your ass in a twist over” her response is playful yet resolute, asserting that she can take care of herself.

You hum and nod, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying to appear nonchalant.

Then in a feigned casual tone that doesn't quite hide your curiosity, "and RJ?" you question, laced with subtle care as it falls from your lips despite knowing it's none of your business.

Perhaps you ask because despite the fact it’s been five years, you do care, more than you're willing to admit.

Dare you say, you always did care? Never.

Lorraine gives you a playfully chastising look before turning her gaze forward along with you. Her response, typical of her, is short and to the point.

She simply shrugs and says, "it’s good," her voice carrying a hint of resignation and perhaps a bit of frustration.

The ambiguity of her answer leaves you wondering if she really means it's ‘good’ or if she's just trying to downplay any issues.

Seeking to bring a bit of humor to the moment, you give her a lighthearted tease. "Good? Lorraine, that's about as vague as a politician's promise. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're holdin’ back on me," you say, your voice filled with a touch of playful banter.

Your words seem to hit the mark, as Lorraine lets out a soft, amused scoff, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Oh, shut up," she responds, but her tone is lighter now, less guarded. There's a sliver of familiarity in her reaction, a flicker of the old spark between you.

Maybe your friendship did somewhat survive the wreckage you left in your wake before you abandoned the ship that is this sinking town five years ago.

As you continue walking side by side, a comfortable silence envelops the two of you. After a moment, conversation begins to flow effortlessly. It feels natural.

You catch up on the past five years, sharing stories, news, and everything in between. The conversation is light, filled with laughter and genuine connection. Despite the years of separation, it's as if no time has passed at all.

The easy banter and familiarity between you make it clear that some things, like your bond, never change. It was rare for you two to talk like this back then, but now?

It’s nice.

As the conversation continues, you realize that you've reached the heart of the town, having slowed your pace without realizing it. You look around, taking in the familiar surroundings, trying to figure out your exact location. The realization hits that you must have arrived at Lorraine's place.

Your curiosity prompts you to ask, "you live around here? In town?”

Lorraine nods her head in affirmation, gesturing upward towards the upper part of the small town library.

"Yeah, I got the loft up there, all to myself," she replies. The revelation gives you a mix of surprise and a sense of familiarity. It feels strange yet fitting that Lorraine would live above the library.

As Lorraine reveals her living situation, you let a playful smile tug at your lips, unable to resist a little teasing. "Livin’ in the library, huh? It's like you were meant to be a resident bibliophile," you jest, a hint of friendly mockery in your voice.

Lorraine instinctively swats at your arm, a gesture that is unexpected but also far too familiar, making the both of you laugh.

As the laughter slowly dies down, you find yourself taking in Lorraine's smile, watching how her brown eyes glimmer in the soft light. In this moment, you realize that you've never fully noticed just how pretty she is.

Has she always been, and you just never noticed?

The realization catches you off-guard, and you question why this thought is suddenly so prominent in your mind. Confused, you wonder what's wrong with you, why you're suddenly so focused on her beauty.

“Thank you,” her voice softer now as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Before you can respond, she continues, her voice filled with gratitude.

"It's nice havin’ someone around that makes me feel normal again," she says, her words carrying a hint of vulnerability "I… feel like I can breathe”.

The honesty in her confession reaches you, and you can't help but feel a pang of guilt for the years you've been away. The implication that she hasn't felt normal all this time sits heavily on your shoulders.

You recall her isolation on her family farm, the strained relationship between her parents, and the weight of the unreachable expectations she faced from them both.

The realization hits you how deeply this town has affected her too, how it's left a lasting impact on her psyche as much as it did you.

That wasn’t your fault, you were drowning, you did what you had to do.

But this is Lorraine, you may not have been close but… maybe you were. More than you want to admit, and to admit that to yourself? That might shatter you.

You meet her eyes, your heart heavy with remorse "I'm sorry, Lorraine," you say, your voice sincere and filled with empathy. "I never meant to leave you here alone, dealin’ with all of... this... on your own” your words hang between you, the weight of your absence evident in the air.

There's a moment of silence as Lorraine looks away, her gaze drifting to the side as her thoughts race. The energy between you feels off, strained and awkward. You can't quite put your finger on what's causing this sudden shift, but the tension is palpable.

The words escape your lips before you can even think about it, “you should come by the manor whenever” you blurt out, the words leaving you like they have a mind of their own.

"I'll be there, gettin’ things together the next couple days. I wouldn't mind your company” you stumble over the words as they leave your mouth, surprised by your own impulsiveness.

Surprise flashes across Lorraine's face, but she quickly softens her expression into a small smile.

Concern fills her voice as she asks you, "are you doing okay? Bein’ there after everything?" Her eyes search yours, looking for some kind of confirmation that you're truly alright.

You start to open your mouth, intending to reassure her that you're fine. You're about to brush off her concern, even though you spent the night sleeping on a park bench with your backpack as a makeshift pillow. But something stops you. Instead of speaking, you remain silent, closing your mouth without a word.

Old habits die hard, you suppose.

After a moment of studying you, Lorraine gives you a small smile and reassures you, “I’ll stop by” her voice is gentle and sincere. She then follows it up with another “thank you”.

The weight of her words hangs in the air, and her gratitude seems to go beyond this conversation. It feels deeper somehow, as if there’s a hidden understanding between you.

As Lorraine turns to head up the stairs to the library, you find yourself lost in thought. The understanding you have between the two of you has always been there, but you never quite had the words to define it.

Perhaps it was a connection born from shared experiences, a bond that defied explanation.

As you consider this, you realize that even now after all this time, you still can't find the words to describe it.

And when she turns to give you one small departing wave before slipping inside, you find yourself forgetting what you were worried about in the first place.

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#lorraine day x y/n #lorraine day x you #lorraine day x reader #lorraine day

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milesmolasses · 2 years ago

Text

SKATER BOI (e-1610 miles x blk! reader)

— miles is a skater boy and u can’t tell me i’m wrong

— felt bad cause the beach fic was supposed to be up today, but instead y’all can have this

— alexa, play feels like summer by childish gambino

— ⚠️: fluff, gn black reader, miles + reader being cute, cursing

standing outside of your door, miles stood with his duffel bag over his right shoulder, and his board wedged between his right arm and torso. ever since you agreed to skate with him, even going as far as to buy your own board, he wanted to surprise you with a little date/gift he had prepared.

you opened your door to the sight of a bubbly presence and a big smile on miles face. "whatchu smiling for?" you questioned with a confused smile on your face.

"get ready, i’m taking you out. oh, and grab your board too," he stated quite matter of factly. before you could even open your mouth, he was already booking it towards the stairs to wait for you at the front of your building.

"damn… now I don’t gotta choice," you mumbled to yourself in the now empty hallway.

closing the door to your house, you changed into more appropriate clothing than the ones you had on now. that clothing consisted of a pair of baggy jeans and an even baggier t-shirt, as well as a beanie to keep your locs from flying into your face. grabbing your board along with the wallet you stuffed in your jeans, you were off downstairs to meet miles.

walking out of the building and on to the street, you turned to look at miles and asked, "so you gonna tell me what’s in the bag?"

rolling his eyes he told you that telling you what was in the bag would ruin the surprise, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

miles had a tendency for surprising you with little things. it wasn’t like he was loaded, but he figured that the little things he gave you were much more personal and meaningful than any expensive gift he could have ever given you; like his art. small photos of you along with other drawings were plastered all over your wall, curtesy of your boyfriend.

after about fifteen minutes of walking, you reached the skate park. you were met with a bunch of brooklyn kids from around your neighborhood either smoking weed, hanging out and skating with their friends, or both simultaneously.

following miles to a set of stairs with a bunch of skid marks on the rail, he set down his bag and his board and motioned for you to hand him yours.

"c’mon it’s part of the surprise," he laughed as he shook his hand out asking for the skate board.

giving him the board, you watched as he set it down wheels facing up, and he opened the duffel bag he brought with him. "of course," you thought.

in the bag was a solar system of different spray paints and paint markers to choose from. you should have known that this would be something miles would do. "you wanna paint my board?"

"I mean, kinda?" he flipped his board so the wheels were facing up alongside with mine. what you didn’t expect was a clean slate. miles board wasn’t painted like it was before, no, this was an entirely new, clean skate board.

"I want to paint your board, while you paint mine," he stated looking up at you and smiling.

"you bought a clean board for me?" you said in a high pitch voice in disbelief.

"don’t flatter yourself now, if it turns out trash i’m goin' back to the old one," he joked. you knew he was joking— miles was in love with everything you made, it was all beautiful to him.

your knees bent down next to miles, squatting with him on the concrete. you grabbed his board and rolled your eyes at his previous statement.

grabbing the screw driver, miles removed the trucks on both of your boards in preparation of painting. once he was finished, you got to work with grabbing the board and going to the other end of the stairs. when he asked why you were "leaving him all lonely" you simply replied with, "you seeing my work of art would ruin the surprise, duh.”

you grabbed the few colors you wanted to use on the board and went back to your side of the stairs. getting to work with spray painting his entire board light green, an image flooded your mind on what you wanted to do with his board.

after thirty minutes (give or take) of working, miles glanced to your side and spoke loudly, "yo, you almost done over there?"

"uh nooo— wait are you already done??" you questioned in disbelief, seeing miles dust himself off and stand up.

"yeah, all I gotta do is shine it," he shrugged his shoulder back and stretched out his arms. you sighed in disbelief at how quickly he was able to finish his freestyle painting. you could practically hear him saying, "i’m just that good" with a goofy smug look in his face.

turning back to your- or his board, you were able to get it done about 10 minutes after miles had finished spraying a clear coat on your board.

adding some finishing touches, his board was finally done. you walked back over to miles with the board flesh behind your back, with the painted side facing away from miles view.

"you ready to see my masterpiece morales?"

"your masterpiece huh?" he questioned feigning an impressed look on his face.

"mmhm, i’m pretty sure I seen this in a renaissance painting before," you said with a nonchalant shrug. miles raised an eyebrow at you.

“sooo you copied a renaissance paining?”

"nah," you whispered, leaning in closer to miles to tell him your big secret. "them renaissance niggas copied me," you said proudly pointing to your chest.

miles rolled his eyes as he backed away from you. “shut the hell up and show me the board,” he laughed.

you huffed as you brought the board into his view from behind your back. it was spray painted light green as it’s base, and what decorated the shade was a large yellow sunflower with the word "MILES" painted dark green and growing out of the sunflower like a stem. surrounding the sun flower were doodles of even more multi colored flowers and hearts.

miles nose flared as he laughed through this nose. he couldn’t help the loving smile that creeped onto his lips as he walked closer to you and grabbed the board out of your hands. he placed a chaste kiss to you lips as he mumbled, "I love it baby, thank you."

you smiled as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you, placing kisses all over his face. you pulled back suddenly and asked, "hmm so where’s MY board morales?"

"don’t worry I gotchu," he said as he pulled away. he walked a couple steps backwards and grabbed the board showing you the absolute masterpiece he made with nothing but his hands and his amazing brain.

it was a horizontal painting of you facing a wall, and on that wall was a collection of graffiti you had painted across brooklyn with miles throughout the years you knew each other. it looked like water color art with the way all of the light colors dripped down together at the bottom of the board.

"okay… so maybe I am a little blown away," you admitted as you looked at the board shocked. turning your head to look at miles, you gently placed the board down on the ground and you ran up to miles with the biggest smile on your face.

you basically threw yourself at him as you buried your face into his neck, mumbling a small "thank you" and "I love you."

as he squeezed you back, he mumbled into your beanie with a smirk, “so am I the best boyfriend ever or what?”

— made this super quick

— bought a skateboard last summer and barely used it

— but TRUST, this year it will be in use

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