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ahhhwomen · 9 months ago

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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 · 9 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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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 2 years ago

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Trust (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Summary: You and Ghost have been captured for questioning. Loyal to a fault, you'll do anything to avoid seeing his face before he's ready to show you.

AN: I'm not immune to military propaganda. Nor am I immune to the babygirlification. In a slump writing wise so I gave this a go. I might try one with Soap next but no promises since it'll probably end up on the never-ending pile of unfinished fics.

Content warnings: Descriptions of torture, injuries as a result of torture, moments of vulnerability (aka 141 care for each other).

Reader uses they/them pronouns and is part of 141. Fic can be read as platonic or romantic.

Masterlist // AO3

A palm smacked across your cheek; the sting brought you back to consciousness. Screwing your eyes up, you tried to settle them in your skull so that you could take in your surroundings. Your hands and legs tied to a chair was what you noticed first. A fold-out table was a few feet out of reach in front of you.

Then, beyond that, a sliver of light in the roof – a hole, not a light bulb – dropped onto a body, bound like yourself and twenty feet away. The carved mask hiding the face was illuminated.

Your body wrenched against your restraints, “Hey!”

Another slap silenced you. You looked up at the offender you had somehow looked over. A lackey. No one you recognised from any intel or manilla folder or briefing, so you surveyed their appearance for just how much this soldier was trusted with.

Single gun on one hip.

KA-BAR on the other.

Kevlar vest that was more slack on the right shoulder.

More weapons that you had, now that your arsenal had been torn from you.

With the clanging of metal, a rectangle of light broke into the room. Room felt like the wrong word. This was too empty, echoey to be a mere room. A silhouette appeared in that light then vanished as the door closed behind them. Footsteps, slow and steady, approaching you, and the lackey left your side.

Ronin Foster bent at the waist to meet your unwilling gaze. He looked almost identical to the photo you’d been given in your briefing about him. One difference was clear: the burn mark running parallel to the left side of his chin. You couldn’t fathom where or how he’d gotten that injury, nor did you have a lot of time to look at it before Foster turned silently and unrolled a sleeve of weapons onto the table.

You caught Ghost’s eyes, the whites stark against the shadows and black paint. He didn’t avoid your gaze. He held it, and even when Foster stepped in the way, you felt that conflicted comfort you had grown to know in the presence of your Lieutenant and his masks.

The rest of the 141 were possibly being held elsewhere. Or they could’ve made it out. But it would take days to reconvene and organise a rescue mission.

This was your new home.

Your training did not desert you as your captor removed his gloves, tugging at the fingers to free them. One reached behind him and withdrew from his belt a gun.

Following the arc of his arm’s swing, his body wrenched around. A slash of agony struck your forehead against the butt of his gun. Your ears rung around the hollow of your skull like the bells of Notre Dame. The room wobbled as you righted your head. You couldn’t make out the details in Ghost’s mask anymore, not as Foster pulled off the skull plate and tossed it aside. Its clattering on the ground punctuated the air. Your gaze wavered against the dizzying disorientation as Ghost writhed to get away. But Foster was still unrolling the balaclava off his face. The second you saw a hint of Ghost’s chin, your eyes snapped shut.

Boots strode across the concrete. Suddenly your chin was grabbed up, no doubt facing your captor. Ghost’s gruff grunts boomed across the gap between you as he struggled against his restraints – that’s what you presumed, your eyes still closed.

But Foster was ignoring that side of the room blatantly, his grip crushing your cheekbones like he could wrench it off and throw it alongside Ghost’s mask. You narrowed your breaths to control yourself. While you couldn’t see, you couldn’t predict what could happen. But your defiance refused to let this awful man dictate when you saw Ghost’s face for the first time.

“Who told you about this place?” Foster asked quietly.

Nothing was heard from Ghost now, besides his breathing. You tried to match yours to his, pressing your lips together, your nostrils flaring against the throbbing pain.

Sharp pain splintered through your big toe, up your right foot. Your body fought the restraints and channelled your masked yelps into the bindings. Slowly, your chest puffed out all the air before sucking some back in.

“You’ve got at least nine more chances to tell me,” and Foster tapped his weapon – presumably the butt of his gun - against the rest of your toes. “Now tell me, how did you find this place?”

Between internal screams, you prayed that Ghost wouldn’t give up, and that his presence would give you the strength to do the same.

-----------------------------------------------

“Gambit, you still with me?”

You let out a hum, since it was all that your throat would allow. A sigh emitted from your Lieutenant. You couldn’t tell if it was relief or remorse. Sure, Ghost cared for you. You were on his team; it was in his job description to give the bare minimum amount of shits about you. However you could only hope that he gave as many as you did him. Or maybe now you hoped he didn’t, so that the mental barrier holding back the intel didn’t break so soon – or at all.

Your eyebrows raised and scrunched to stretch your face, but your eyes remained shut. Ghost hadn’t said a word about his mask being replaced and you doubted that Foster been kind enough to replace it between sessions.

The sound of the door opening reached you again; you could tell by the pattern of the foot fall that it was Foster. So, you cracked a joke in your head, that you were privileged that a terrorist with a notoriously busy schedule had made way for you and Ghost.

The laughter in your head was cut off when a fist yanked at the roots of your hair, forcing you to face the ceiling. Your eyes winced but still did not-

“Open.”

You waited for Foster’s response to your inaction.

A gloved hand suddenly grappled with your jaw, which was as clenched as your eyelids.

“Your mouth. Open it.”

Eventually, Foster managed to get it open long enough to pour something in. You choked on the first splash but began glugging it down once you realised that it was water and that Foster wasn’t pinching your nose. This wasn’t waterboarding. This was survival – extending your torture to reap its potential benefits. Thus you didn’t savour any of it nor save any to spit back in Foster’s face. Your torturer threw your head aside, strain twinging up your neck. A few seconds later, you could hear similar sounds – Ghost’s turn. That other benefit of not having to see whatever Foster was doing to Ghost. Unfortunately, your shoulders could not reach high enough to shield your ears.

A scrape from the table told you Foster had brought back his tools. Last time he was here, he’d tried to use them on Ghost. However since you weren’t opening your eyes, the effect was not as intended. As a reflex, you attempted to dissociate. One might think the injuries and blood loss might make it easier to fade away from your body. But no, the pain grounded you in your body. So it only made things worse when you found your jaw getting wrenched at again.

“Let them go!” boomed Ghost, causing your heart to ripple against your ribs. Him showing an ounce of care scared you more than Foster did. It meant something worse than before was coming and you were both getting close to breaking.

A bang shattered against your ear drums; the darkness before your eyelids grew a tad bit brighter. Your neck was sharply encircled by Foster’s arm, and your chin struggled against the crook of his elbow. Airway trapped, you were immobilised and drowning on dry land. The grip on you tightened, squeezing your eyes out of their sockets but still you held strong. If this was the last thing you did, you would not betray your friend.

The shouting began, all blended together, overwhelming your fractured mind. It grew and grew into a crescendo of bellows that shrilled with its urgency. Your mind bubbled at the edges a

Then it stopped. A snap. Foster’s weight dropped onto you. Something metal clattered onto the floor. Wet dribbled down your neck.

Thunderous absence of noise surrounded you, your weak attempts to suck in a deep breath barely a prickle in it. You hunched under Foster’s weight. There was no energy left to make a pitiful attempt to dissuade him. You were so encompassed by it that you failed to notice the approaching footsteps right up until you felt the air punctuated into your cheek by this new person’s presence.

A hand wiped at your forehead, lifting gently as it went.

“Gambit, you with me?”

You let out a sigh crossed with a laugh, “Gaz?”

Gaz replied with a chuff of relief, “Let’s get you home.”

The weight on your shoulders was yanked aside; your wrists felt an inch of relief as the plastic bindings were severed. There was din all around again: radio chatter, mumbled remarks about the location, and echoes around the concrete.

You tried raising your head to see “Ghost?”

“I’m here,” and his voice was oh so close now, “I’m here. You’re ok.”

Then you felt the binds on your wrists slacken completely. Your body tipped forwards and your head knocked into someone else’s.

“Gotcha.”

Ghost’s.

“You can open your eyes.”

Your grimy, sweat-stained skin rubbed harshly against his as he instructed you to open your eyes. Your whimper could not be contained as you shook your head:

“No. I don’t want to.”

“You need to open your eyes, Gambit.”

“Your face,” Your arm wavered, preventing you from emphasising your point, “I can’t.” And your body slouched further into him. True darkness took over the edges of your eyelids. The last thing you recalled was being caught by three hands and someone saying your name – not your callsign, but your name.

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Your feet were in bandages, bones reset, though amputation was not out of the questions just yet. Turns out three days with sprains, breaks, and no toenails were not beneficial to you. It was a good thing that you had been carried to the helicopter and not made to walk

Stiff with lack of use, you deduced, and you didn’t try to wiggle them as you opened up your eyes. The bulbs above your bed burnt your sight; you winced away from them. Curtains surrounded your bed. They protected you from the shame you might’ve felt had anyone seen the state you were in. With a sigh, you willed yourself to sink into the mattress a little deeper and return to slumber.

However a set of approaching footsteps caught your ears. Then a gloved hand peeled back one of the curtains to reveal Ghost, his other arm still in a sling that was stark white against his normal gear and the basic black balaclava that was back where it belonged.

“Gambit,” he said, hesitating in the gap between the curtains before drawing them.

You went to say his alias, but you were halted by a sudden coughing fit. Your throat had decided now was a good time to curl up into sandpaper. At your side, Ghost held the cup to your lips. Your weak hands tried to take over holding it; Ghost’s firm ones curled around yours steady. His gloves were worn and rough like the calloused skin beneath, warm against your feeble fingers.

Once the coughing fit had abated, Ghost sat back in the chair adjacent to your bed whilst not quite making eye contact with you. Normally, he had no issues staring you down. Perhaps he had been worried about you.

Sniffing behind his mask, Ghost said, “You did good not giving up that intel.”

A compliment. He must have been really worried about you.

“As did you, sir.”

His eyes wavered towards the passing clogs beneath the dividing curtain as a medic passed by your section. Remaining rigid, he adjusted the inside of his hoodie pocket before speaking again.

“You should’ve opened your eyes. It might’ve helped you with Foster.”

“He’d’ve seen how I reacted to you. Gauged better how to get us to give up.”

How to get me to give up, you thought.

You continued quickly, “It’s better that he just had you. You’re better at controlling yourself than me.”

Ghost was silent for a while, and you were too. It was only a tad uncomfortable; you chalked it up to your injuries, your elbows being the only thing that really felt relief in this hospital bed. Perhaps that was what compelled you to explain him your reasoning further.

“I didn’t want to see you if you didn’t want me to.”

“You’ve seen my face before.”

“Hardly.” That was true for the most part. All you’d allowed yourself to see was one hell of a chin when Ghost lifted his mask up to eat or drink something in a mess hall. You concluded, “Showing your face is your call, Ghost. Not Foster’s or mine or anyone’s.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. Then Ghost grabbed the neck and peeled his mask up in one smooth motion, his chin on his chest. A shock of dirty blond hair – an inch of it pure white at the roots – was flattened against his scalp, until Ghost’s fingers combed through it twice. It matched his dainty eyelashes.

He looked back up at last. Your sight was stuck mainly on his eyes, still surrounded by their superhero mask painted onto his skin where the holes in his mask had been. Then you started making concentric circles around his face. Scars cut from the corners of his lips through his cheeks. Little ones dotted about his prominent nose, eyebrows, forehead, lips. A few bruises highlighted where Foster had gotten him.

You realised that you were staring with your lips parted and eyes wide so that you could commit his face to memory. But you couldn’t help yourself either.

In short, your suspicions were confirmed: he was goddamn gorgeous.

He was just about to hide it away again, his matching skeleton gloves going to pull down his balaclava when you sat up quickly.

“Wait.”

Stilling, Ghost waited for you to speak again.

Your outstretched hand closed into a loose fist, “Just… Can I touch you?”

His reply was staggered with a blink, “Yes.” And he leant forwards with his elbows on his knees.

It struck you then why he was so unlike himself: he wasn’t here as Ghost.

The backs of your knuckles clumsily made contact with his right cheek, dragging down his jaw. Simon closed his eyes. His head tilted a fraction against your touch. Tears sprung free and tracked down your cheeks, contradicted by your smile that was brimming with the delight of being trusted.

“You’re right,” Simon mused when he opened his eyes, “Good thing you kept your eyes closed.”

“Yeah,” You sniffled. “But at least now I can tell Soap you’re not ugly.”

Scoffing, Simon tugged his balaclava back over his face and adjusted it to fit properly, “Fuckin’ hell.”

“How wrong he was,” you almost giggled with glee.

Even as the laughter ceased, your smile remained. And you could tell by the small crinkles at his eyes that Simon was too.

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AN: In my head, Ghost has Marie Antoinette syndrome, but before he had sandy blond hair.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #cod x you #cod mwii fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mwii #cod mwii x reader #r: gn #wc: >2.5k #my writing

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yeonzzzn · 5 months ago

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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 · 10 months 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?”

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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 · 2 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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milesmolasses · 1 year ago

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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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honorarysimp · 3 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.

previous, next

————————————————————————

Tag List: @thatshyboy1998

if you’d like to be added just let me know!

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

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writingquestionsanswered · 6 months ago

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i'm currently trying to write a story with second chance trope. the story is about a friend group since childhood of 2 girls and 4 boys. the female mc and the male mc were developing feelings for each other, then the male mc left the country without telling anyone. after 3 years of no contact, he comes back. naturally, the female mc has a lot of pent up resentment towards him but she still has romantic feelings for him.

so, any tips on writing a second chance romance?

Second Chance Romance

There are five really important keys to writing a good second chance romance:

1 - Create a Sense of What Was - Even if the story starts after that first relationship (or almost relationship) ended, it's important to give the reader a sense of what that relationship was like. What drew them to one another initially? What were their interactions like? What strengthened their bond? You can paint this picture using a combination of flashbacks, memories recalled in exposition, memories recalled in dialogue, having the character look at photos or video, comparing present experiences with past ones, or even through snippets in dreams.

2 - Be Clear About What Went Wrong - The reader can't root for a second chance if they don't understand what went wrong the first time around. Specific to your story, you'll need to address not only why this character suddenly left the country without telling anyone and without contact, but how they rationalized the negative impact it would have on this person they were beginning to develop a relationship with.

3 - Be Clear About What Went Right - Sometimes relationships fail, even if their foundations are good, but that second go round isn't plausible unless there was something worth going back to. So, not only is it important to be clear about what was good about the relationship when you illustrate it in retrospect, you'll also have to show us those things are still there--or have the potential to be.

4 - Illustrate What Changed - The relationship failed for a reason. Whether there was hurt involved, poor timing, wanting different things, or some other obstacle to progress. So, you can't give this couple a plausible shot at a second chance unless you show us how the obstacles were removed or overcome. In the case of your story specifically, not only will you need to address why the character left in the first place, but why they chose to come home, and how they make amends for disappearing without notice or contact.

5 - Rebuild Relationship Upon Old and New - I like to think of it like this: imagine the concrete slab foundation of a house. This is what the couple built together in round one. But when they parted, the foundation was damaged in places (the amount of damage obviously depends on what caused the split.) When they meet up again, the foundation is still there, it's just got the old damaged parts and a lot of erosion from time and weathering. But it's there. So as they work through what went wrong and patch up their friendship, they patch up the damage from their split. Then, as they get to know each other again and the friendship reestablishes itself, the foundation gets cleaned back up and brought back up to pristine. And from there, they can build the walls of their healthy relationship.

Happy writing!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

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what-even-is-thiss · 1 year ago

Text

Gender has always been a shaky and loose ever changing category. People asking for a strict definition of a man or woman are always going to be unsatisfied with any answer you give them because their definition of man or woman is the only one they want to be true.

Usually men have beards. But not always. Usually women have breasts. But not always. Often in many cultures “men” are the ones who do the fighting. But not always. There are cultures where women fight as well or even form their own warrior or soldier groups. There are men who can’t grow beards. There are women without breasts.

Usually men have a penis. But not always. Usually women have a labia. But not always. Such as it is for every other characteristic associated with one gender or another. And the necessity of one characteristic or another for being considered a man or woman varies greatly between time, culture, and place. Not to mention the vast variety in presentation in physical primary and secondary sex characteristics.

It’s not a thing that can have a solid definition with no exceptions. There are trends in what we perceive in the cultural moment as being necessities for being this or that gender but those general groups of characteristics always have exceptions to them and are prone to change with evolving cultural attitudes from within a society and influence from other outside cultures.

And generally the characteristics that people associate being a “good man” or “good woman” with overlap a significant amount. Like if you ask someone to just sit down and list things there will be something like a 90% overlap or more. Characteristics like caring for others, resilience, being a good listener, intelligence, etc. tend to be valued in people of any gender. The line between being a good man and a good woman is often more aesthetic than any concrete set of actions or physical characteristics.

Why am I a non binary man? There’s a thousand small things I could point to in order to explain it. But none of those reasons fit into a neat one sentence definition. But if you ask a cisgender man why he’s a man like really actually make him explain it, he will likely have a similar level of complexity to his answer if he really thinks about it. If you really grill cisgender people about their own opinions on this stuff they are often surprised to find how many thoughts they actually have about gender and how much more complicated those opinions are than they thought.

Transgender, intersex, queer, and gender nonconforming people are often forced to actually look at gender in a way that cishet people aren’t. It’s easier to see all of the tiny puzzle pieces when none of the ones you were assigned fit in your life and you’ve got to find your own. Gender isn’t one solid mass. It’s a mosaic made out of a lot of tiny tiles that can be swapped out or removed and still generally look like something you recognize.

What’s a woman? Well, that’s a question with a million answers but if you step back you can get a general idea. Kind of like with pointillism. If you stand too close to it and try to pick out one bit that makes a woman a woman you won’t see much. Just a singular splotch of paint. But if you back up a ways you’ll see something there you recognize. And what you see will likely still be up to your own interpretation.

#roman said a thing #trans stuff

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billiedeansbitch · 1 year ago

Text

𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐) - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

a/n: sorry this took longer than expected whew (I had a flu) i'm fine now tho. also i had to dump the first two drafts because i didn't like it :>

warning/s: NSFW. SMUT. SMUT. SMUT

<— prequel

What occurred in the Principal’s office stayed in the Principal’s office.

Larissa didn’t dare bring that piece of memory back to the Principal's residence or into her bed. It was wrong enough for her to say a few things she shouldn’t have, that may have suggested frowned upon ideas and acted clearly on a whim. She later blamed that on the Cabernet Sauvignon that she indulged in during late afternoon after an impromptu meeting with the Mayor.

But then as though the Gods above were testing her, you both almost kissed in her study while overseeing a few papers regarding the Academy’s finances from last year. Subconsciously, her body leaned closer to you and you unexpectedly turned, the way she caught your waist to stop the collision of your bodies made your cheeks flushed, your lips were mere inches away from hers, breaths fanning across each other’s faces.

As brief as it was, it was enough to light a fire in her stomach to last her the entire day. If

She then abruptly dismissed you by the afternoon saying she could handle the final papers alone and you didn’t say anything to disagree with her and left as per instructed.

Finally, when you were out of earshot, Larissa let out a big, fat sigh. She then poured herself a fresh glass of wine, the colour almost matching the red on her face. She dropped on a velvet settee with a little less elegance, rubbed her temples as she removed her black rimmed spectacles. After that her hand wandered off to remove her heels.

She was damned as the wetness rubbed in between her thighs further soaking up her underwear. Her cunt ached and she knew, if she were ever to give you the chance, your mouth would serve her well.

It was so wrong to be thinking about your mouth suckling on the skin in between her legs, your tongue teasing her plump, sodden folds and licking her clit. Larissa attempted to drown these filthy thoughts with wine however it seemed like it wasn’t the best of ideas. She didn’t care. She kept going with her imagination while her fingers crawled between her legs, her skirt hiked up around her hips. She kept seeing your eyes from an angle she knew all too well and then she–

The tips of her fingers were soaked, juices smeared all over the thin patch of hair and the insides of her thighs, her nipples rubbed on her blouse and her underwear–where was her underwear? Larissa was displeased to have been interrupted, she sat back and saw her white, cotton underwear a bit further away from the settee.

Then there it was again, the knocking from the other side of her study.

The sky was dark with brooding storm clouds when you stepped out of her threshold. On your way to the parking area, you had your hand in your bag blindly searching for the messy bunch of keys. You stopped, feeling your fingers touched a rubbery surface. When you took it out it was the duck keychain attached to two different keys and they weren’t yours.

Halfway back, rain started to fall painting wet splotches all over the concrete. You made it to her front door, thrusted the spare key in and went inside. It was so quiet that you could hear the thumps of your heart in your ears.

Slowly, you approached her private study knowing she would be there and as you got closer the faint noise from the other side became a lot more audible for you. The door was not completely shut, you noticed.

Larissa had her hand in between her legs just like in your visions. She was whispering your name. Calling your name. She was…she was coming on your mouth. Absentmindedly, your tongue darted to lick the corners of your lips, tasting the imaginary cum of the woman.

You pulled yourself away from the door, panting and sweating.

–

The woman rose to her full, intimidating height, and forgone the notion of wearing the underwear and tucked it in her skirt pocket and went straight to the door and found out it was ajar.

It was you staring back at her with those striking eyes, your lips offering her a small smile, “I forgot to give you these.” your skin was flushed, a coat of sweat on your forehead. Larissa took the sight in.

“I know I should have returned them the other day after you asked me to fetch a couple of documents but I forgot.” hanging from your finger were two of her spare keys, one for the main door and one for her private study dangle together with a little duck keychain. She let you in, opening the door a little wider.

Larissa took the keys and set them on her table.

There had never been so much silence like this one apart from earlier when you both froze with an unwavering gaze for one another, your lips only mere centimetres apart. Then you decided to part, ignoring the glints of longing in your eyes.

“I heard you. I heard you saying my name.” Larissa momentarily closed her eyes, she then turned her head toward you, arching her brow urging you to continue.

You took a step forward, your heart racing in your chest. Something was telling you, you shouldn’t do it. “You want me.” she scoffed, but by no means did anything to counter what you said. It fueled your confidence, you took another step closer. She was trapped in between you and the desk.

“Is that why you told me my visions are safe with you?” it was breathy, your chest was heaving. Your eyes were looking more hopeful. Larissa took in the softness of the blush on your cheeks, how your lips tremble every time you speak to her, your gaze wanting to falter but you held it steady with every ounce of will you had.

What happened before in her office didn’t let you sleep. You kept thinking about it. About her. The things she told you, the way she grabbed your face and made you look straight into her eyes and when you whimpered her name

“Miss Weems”

Then you saw her eyes darkening with desire, the deepest, darkest and most carnal of them all.

“Your nipples are hard and you’re wet.” the gap closed from your bodies, you stood on your toes and your lips brushed against hers but never quite enough. Her lips twitched. Larissa stayed planted in front of you. “You want me.” you mouthed against her. You weren’t guessing. It was true.

There was a flash of mischief in the woman’s eyes and before you knew it, it was Larissa’s turn, her lips hovering over your lips and breathing in the faint smell of rain water and lipstick, “I want you.” she said, looking into your eyes. She sounded dark and vicious although her eyes were warm, enchanting blues persuading you to lean more and taste those lips.

You surged forward meeting her lips at last. Weems’ hand instinctively found purchase on your waist, holding you up against her while the other cupped your cheek before they weaved through your hair and settled on the back of your head.

Her mouth tasted of wine with a hint of toothpaste. Her scent was fascinating, attracting you to roam with your mouth against the skin of her neck, smelling every inch and tasting it as you went. Lavishing each freckle you saw and god there was a lot and you happily showed love to each one of them.

Larissa felt her stomach drop, everything else she expected and imagined was incomparable to this. It was so much better and more.

“I want you, too.” you murmured in between the kiss. Larissa hummed, her chest clenching. “I want you so much.” followed by the most brutally breathtaking liplocking and hands wandering all over each other’s faces, buttons popping out and zipper being undone.

Her desk was cleared in a heartbeat, papers flung around and though this one was smaller compared to the one in her office in the main building it was just as sturdy. Larissa held your face in her hands. “I want to be so gentle with you.” she planted soft, tender pecks on both of your eyelids, and you felt her smiling all the way through until she tucked a piece of hair behind you ear and whispered something filthy, “But we both know your cunt craves a hard fucking right now.”

Larissa didn’t mind how damp she was. This moment was about you and your pussy. Your sweet, and tight, little hole. The woman didn’t wait for you to recover from her words, she lifted you up on the desk, “Lie down, darling.” it was all finally becoming true.

What started out as languid flicks of her tongue turned to sadistic thrusts of her fingers, while her mouth kept wrapped around your clit, stimulating the hard, pink bundle of nerves and it had you fisting her hair, your toes curling from how good it felt.

“More. More, please. Don’t stop.” You begged her as you felt the heat pooling in your lower belly. Her hand cupped you breast and squeezed.

“Don’t stop. Fuck me however you want just please don’t stop. You feel so good inside me. Fuck!”

Larissa was incredibly enjoying it as she smirked while adding the third finger, your walls immediately clenching tight around her fingers.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck.” It burned, it burned so bad like your walls were tearing apart but fuck she felt so good inside you and her fingers weren’t fully inside yet. “Larissa, fuck me.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you I—“

“You won’t. You won’t. It feels so good. You feel amazing.”

Larissa fucked you continuously until you were bent over her desk and she was fucking you from behind, her mouth clamped on your shoulder sucking pretty bruises around your body while her other hand was busy fondling your breasts, loving how firm your nipples were.

“You look so pretty like this. So pretty with my fingers in your cunt.”

Weems was undeniably great and knew how to fuck best because after your third orgasm, you were spent and sore but you asked her to keep her fingers in and she watched as your cum dripped down her wrist. You looked down and saw the mess you made.

When your face relaxed and your cheeks cooled, you looked at her with a wide-eyed gaze, your tears threatening to spill. Larissa kissed your forehead and pulled you toward her body, bringing your face to her chest and cooing at you.

“Did I hurt you?”

You sniffled, shaking your head “No. No, you didn’t. I’m okay. I feel good.”

You pressed your palm on her naked chest, feeling the erratic pounding of her heart. “You made me feel the best.” You assured her, wrapping your arms around her and kissing her shoulder, tasting sweat.

Larissa smiled, feeling better herself.

—

Later, you both ended up on the rag near the fireplace, the rainstorm hadn’t stopped, it kept pouring but neither of you cared. The thunders were loud but it was no match to the pitch of her cries, her legs were splayed and you were in between, lapping her cunt like it was your very last meal.

“Fuck yes, mhmm, yes that’s it—keep doing that, baby.” She was rolling her hips and fucking your face, spreading her legs even wider. You knew what you had to do.

You shifted her leg over your shoulder and extended your tongue deeper into her as much as you could, curling and then sucking until her legs quiver. “I’m coming. Fuck, I’m coming, (y/n).”

You buried your tongue even farther inside, tasting the sweetness of her pussy and feeling her walls contract, her juices leaking straight to your mouth. You suckled on her clit and felt her legs jolt, her hand pushing your shoulder but you didn’t stop, you kept going and fucked her some more with your fingers. The room was filled with wet noises as your knuckles drove deep inside again and again, curling them while your mouth was busy taunting her nipples.

Her cunt was wet, the wettest you’ve ever had, she was plump and pink and very, very alluring, you couldn’t stop yourself. You wanted her. She was fucking delicious.

Larissa chuckled seeing your face smeared with her juices once you pulled away from her, your eyes still fixated on cunt. You frowned at her. “What?” you asked, utterly oblivious to how messy you look.

“Come here, darling.” she beckoned you to come. You obliged, crawling toward her. She propped herself up with her elbow, cleaning your mouth and chin with the back of her hand before kissing you lightly on the lips. Your cheeks warmed at the gesture.

You licked your thumb seeing there was a smudge of mascara just right below her left eye, “You got somethin’ here, too.” Larissa leaned and let you touch her face. “There you’re all pretty again.”

Larissa chuckled her chest vibrating on your ears. “I like it when you laugh.” you were now pressed right on top her, your head on her chest.

“Why?” she asked, staring aimlessly on the ceiling, her fingers combing your hair.

“Because it tickles my brain or something.”

Or something, you thought feeling all explosive things in your chest. Or something…

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #larissa weems imagine #larissa x reader #principal larissa weems #gwendoline christie imagines #gwendoline christie #larissa weems smut #this is so fucking filthy y'all

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exololyunho · 6 months ago

Text

vacation

masterlist

summary: a trip to the beach with your boyfriend and his best friend definitely doesn't go how you thought it would, but boy are you happy the way things turned out

pairing: jeong yunho/reader/song mingi

genre: smut with the barest amount of plot

wc: 4.2k

warnings: m/m/f, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, morning sex, lots of kissing, tipsy sex, definitely not enough kink negotiation, choking, spanking, soft dom!mingi, hardish dom! yunho, bossy yunho, threesome, creampie, double penetration, big dick yungi, finger sucking, voyeurism, bf!mingi

rating: mature

an: I will never stop with my 'yungi have fucked girls together before' agenda. also this is a request I got from @minkysmilk like a year ago I am so sorry it took so long but I hope I did a good job

taglist: @staytinyinmybpack@jeonride@becky4733107-blog@ignoretheskies

join the taglist here

“Babe,” Mingi’s finger poked into your cheek. “We’re here.”

With a yawn, you opened your eyes. The backseat of Yunho’s car was incredibly comfortable and you’d slept all 3 hours it took to get from you and Mingi’s shared apartment to Yunho’s parent’s beach house.

Mingi was smiling at you through the rolled down passenger side window. He reached down to poke you again, but you swatted his hand away, grumbling about how you were up. It took a lot of effort to push yourself up and crawl out the door Mingi opened for you.

Stepping out into the driveway, you couldn’t help but smile at the pastel blue cottage before you. When Yunho had said his parents owned a house at the beach, your brain had conjured pictures of a concrete and steel modern monstrosity. The quaint building before you was nothing like your image. It was small, no more than a 2 bedroom house decorated with seashells and flower bushes and large windows to let in the natural light.

As you stood marveling at the adorable house before you, Mingi was unloading the bags and groceries from the trunk and Yunho was walking out of the little alcove that hid the red front door.

“Welcome to home for the week, sleepy head,” Yunho grinned at you, moving to help Mingi grab bags.

“Yun, this is so cute!” You followed the two men, grabbing the last case of beer out of the trunk and shutting it. Walking inside after them, you gasped, loving the cute interior just as much as the outside. The walls were cream and the seashells of the outside were replaced by paintings of the very same ocean you could see outside the sliding glass doors that led to the back deck.

The cottage was everything you could ever want. The only problem, which Yunho had warned you and Mingi about beforehand, was the issue of the bedrooms. Specifically, the single bedroom. Yunho had volunteered to take the couch while you and Mingi would get the bed.

The rest of the evening was unremarkable, with Yunho ordering a few pizzas, and all of you hitting the sack early, so as to get the most out of the beach the next day.

When the sun was just peaking through the blinds, you felt Mingi nudge you. Rolling to face him, you were greeted with a kiss. It was lazy, slow, and everything you loved about Mingi in the mornings.

His tongue nudged its way into your mouth, tangling with yours in a way that had your thighs pressing together. It wasn’t long before he was gently pushing you onto your back. Mingi moved to lay between your legs, your bodies pressed together while his lips still claimed yours. He was incredibly hard, grinding softly against you and letting out small sighs against your lips.

Growing impatient and increasingly turned on, your hands hurriedly pushed up the oversized shirt he was wearing, and the two of you parted for him to remove it before his lips were crashing back onto yours.

The slow, sensual mood was gone, replaced by eagerness that had you both shrugging off your bottoms as fast as possible. Once they had been kicked away into the abyss of the comforter, you were reaching for Mingi’s dick to line him up.

“Wait, babe,” he panted, pulling back for a moment with a pout on his lips. “I wanted to eat you out.”

“Later,” you pulled his mouth back down to yours. “I want you inside me.”

He groaned, complying. Mingi hitched your thigh up on his hip and pushed inside you. Your back arched as he filled you. Before you started dating Mingi, you had no idea dicks actually came in his size. He was huge, longer and thicker than you thought possible. You’d never fancied yourself a size queen, but the way he practically split you in half every time you had sex was mind blowing.

This time was no different. Even with his hips rolling into you slowly, you could feel every vein and ridge on him. It was all you could do to keep from screaming from pleasure.

Mingi’s lips dropped down to your neck, nibbling and sucking along your pulse point in a way that had you shivering. Your nails were digging into his back, scrambling to get a grip that would help you anchor yourself to reality.

As he picked up the pace and the force behind his thrusts, small noises began to be forced through your open lips. Mingi’s right hand, which had previously been clenched in the sheets by your head, moved to cover your mouth.

“Shhhh, baby,” his lips were pressed to your ear. “We don’t want Yunho to hear.”

You didn’t want that. At least, you thought you didn’t until you felt yourself involuntarily tightening around Mingi at the mention of his best friend’s name.

“Oh?” Clearly, he had caught on. “Do you want him to listen to me fuck you? Want him to hear how well you take me? Or would you rather him see you like this, all needy and clenching on my cock when you hear his name?”

Mingi had your earlobe between his teeth as he whispered filthy things in your ear. His hand over your mouth was quickly becoming not enough to hold back your noises, so he settled for slipping his middle and index fingers between your lips to press down on your tongue.

“Maybe you want him to fuck you,” one thing you knew about Mingi was once he got an idea in his head, there was no getting it out. “Taking us both would probably break you, baby. Maybe I’d let him fuck your pussy while I fuck your mouth. How does that sound, huh?”

He’d moved back to ravishing your neck, no doubt leaving bites and hickeys that you wouldn’t be able to cover up. You wished you could care in the moment, but you were overwhelmed. Every part of you was floating on cloud 9. His lips on your neck, his fingers in your mouth, his filthy words, his hard thrusts inside you, and the weight of him over you was just too much.

With a loud whine, you came. The feeling rocked over you, causing you to spasm tightly around him. He bit down harshly on your shoulder at the feeling, giving a few more harsh thrusts that had you moaning around his fingers before he came as well, filling you up.

Mingi removed his fingers and the two of you laid in silence for a moment, panting and holding onto each other. You couldn't speak for Mingi, but your mind was racing with so many new thoughts. You’d always thought Yunho was attractive, but it had never crossed your mind that sex with him was even an option before Mingi planted the seed in your head. You also knew that this had to be something Mingi was thinking about before and you definitely needed to talk about it.

Before you could, though, there was a knock at the door. Both you and Mingi jolted up. Yunho was on the other side. He cleared his throat before announcing “breakfast’s ready!” and hurriedly walking away.

You and Mingi just stared at each other before scurrying out of bed to clean up.

Throughout the rest of the day, you and Mingi just couldn’t seem to find the right time to talk about the Yunho thing. Something as simple as a morning quickie had completely changed the way you saw your boyfriend’s best friend. You didn’t just see Yunho anymore, now you saw his towering height, the curve of his neck, his long and slim fingers, his lean and powerful thighs, that bulge between his legs that made you wonder-

No. no. no.

Fucking Song Mingi had made it impossible for you to act normal, all because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

You kept finding your eyes drifting to Yunho. Sure you were also ogling your boyfriend, but when it came time to head down to the beach and both men removed their shirts to pass a football around, your eyes lingered on Yunho.

These new feelings were incredibly confusing. It took you almost three hours of blankly staring at the pages of your book while lounging in the sand to come to a conclusion.

No, you did not want to leave Mingi for Yunho.

Yes, you wanted to have sex with Yunho.

No, this did not mean you were a terrible girlfriend.

And yes, you really did need to talk to Mingi about this.

Unfortunately, you never got a chance before shit hit the fan.

Between everyone taking their turns to shower, and the three of you deciding on a restaurant for dinner that evening, you never found yourself alone with Mingi for more than a few minutes.

You did, however, find yourself alone with Yunho while Mingi showered. Standing in the kitchen, you sipping a pre-dinner beer while scrolling through your phone. When you heard footsteps approaching, you assumed it was your boyfriend, only to choke on the mouthful of fizzy liquid when Yunho strode in instead.

He gave you a quizzical look. “You ok, Y/n?”

“Yeah,” you coughed out, setting down the bottle and patting your chest.

Yunho grabbed his own beer, settling against the kitchen island and across from you. As his lips met the opening, taking a swig before his eyes scanned you. You’d chosen a simple pair of denim shorts and an oversized, cropped t-shirt. The night was warm and the restaurant you were going to was casual. Yunho had chosen a similar outfit. His jeans were wonderfully fitted and emphasized his wonderfully toned legs and his wonderfully outlined bulge that you were fleetingly glancing over, making sure to keep your eyes from lingering. His black shirt outlined his broad shoulders and created perfect contrast with his brown mullet.

As your eyes met his again, there was something in them that you couldn’t quite place. His gaze was striking, almost hungry. It stoked a fire in you that made something in you burn. You couldn’t figure out if the fire was in your cheeks, your chest, or between your thighs.

Yunho opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Mingi sauntered in, shaking his wet hair dressed in a button down and loose fitting jeans. He came to a stop next to Yunho. The two of them made a gorgeous pair. The contrast of their similar but very different outfits, and of Yunho’s brown mullet and Mingi’s shaggy black hair.

One thing about them was scarily similar, and that was how they looked at you. Yunho’s gaze was the same as it had been before Mingi walked in but now Mingi’s matched. You’d seen that look in his eyes many times when you were supposed to go out to dinner. Usually, though, that look meant you wouldn’t make it out of the front door.

Your throat was dry and you downed what was left of your beer.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, setting the empty bottle on the counter behind you. “Let’s get going.”

The restaurant was open air with beautiful views of the fading sun and the ocean. The three of you were sitting at a high top table on the edge of the patio. Within the hour, the three of you were laughing, the guys telling stories about each other growing up, glasses and plates littering the table. The air was jovial, other occupied tables also laughing and conversing among each other and the waiters carrying cups and bottles.

“And then,” Mingi was gasping with laughter. “And then Yunho ate absolute shit falling off the bench. He fell face first into the sand. I swear to god he was picking sand out of his nose for weeks!”

The table exploded in laughter, Yunho was chuckling through his hands that were covering his burning face.

“God, that was awful,” Yunho reached over the table to shove Mingi, who was busy wiping his tears away with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around your waist.

More stories followed, accompanied by more drinks. Before long, it was late and the three of you were paying and then making your way back to the beach house.

You made it back to the beach house just after 10pm, but none of you were ready for bed. So, with all three of you desiring to continue the fun, Mingi grabbed three beers and the three of you settled in the living room.

Before long, with just enough alcohol to loosen tongues to the point of no return, the topic of sex was brought up. Specifically, a part of Yunho and Mingi’s sexual history you weren’t aware of previously.

“So, that’s how we ended up tag teaming a girl for the first time,” Yunho shrugged as if the story of how the best friends picked up a girl at a drunken house party and then took her home to rock her world wasn’t information that had you practically soaking your shorts.

Your eyes met Mingi’s and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, or if you could actually read each other's thoughts. All that was coursing through your mind was the sex you had with Mingi this morning. The way he had asked if you wanted Yunho to watch you, to touch you, to fuck you.

“Speaking of our… old activities,” Mingi turned to face Yunho. “One more time?”

You couldn’t see Mingi’s face with how intently you were staring at Yunho’s, but you could tell from his voice that his eyebrow was raised and he had that dangerous smirk pulling at his lips.

“I’m not opposed,” Yunho’s eyes were raking over you with an intensity that made you shudder. “I’d love a taste.”

“I’m sure she would, too,” Mingi turned back to face you, his hand slipping to your inner thigh.

Both men looked to you expectantly. You were quivering under the intense gazes of your boyfriend and the new object of your affection. It took you a moment to realize they were waiting for an answer to their proposition.

“Yeah,” your voice was weak on the first try. “Yes. Yes I want you to…”

“Want us to do what?” Yunho’s voice was deeper than before, his eyes dark, and his tongue wetting his lips in anticipation.

Your mouth was dry, unlike between your thighs. “I want both of you to… to fuck me.”

Matching evil grins spread across both of their faces. Mingi dragged you from his side to sit between him and Yunho. Your back was to Mingi’s chest as you sat between his legs, his left hand on your stomach and his right hand holding your thighs open to Yunho. You were still dressed, but with the way Yunho was staring at you intently, you were sure that would change very quickly.

One of his hands gently slid up your calf, coming to a stop at your knee to gauge your reaction. You could only watch his hand with bated breath, both of yours clutching at Mingi’s pants.

Seeing no resistance, Yunho’s hands moved higher up your thighs until they landed on the waistband of your shorts. To match Yunho’s movements, Mingi’s hands moved to the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it over your head as Yunho popped the button and slowly slid down the zipper. Mingi gently guided you to lift your hips, allowing Yunho to slide the shorts down over your legs.

You were left in your bra and underwear, chest already heaving as Yunho scanned you from top to bottom all over again. His hands rested on your thighs, his very large hands that were nearly spanning across them entirely. Even as you watched Yunho, you found yourself still surprised when his grip on your legs tightened and he was jerking you down. Your head now rested between Mingi’s legs, with your own thrown over Yunho’s legs.

Without hesitation, Yunho was over you, his face inches from yours. Your mouth was agape with shock, the pressure of his body, more specifically his erection was leaving you speechless.

He was grinning, letting you just lay underneath him for a moment longer. Until Yunho’s lips came crashing down onto yours. Unlike the slow way Mingi would build up to intense kisses, Yunho offered you no such mercy. His kisses were intense from the get-go, his lips harshly claiming yours, his tongue stroking out to caress yours, his hands digging to whatever skin he could reach. Before you knew it you were arching up into Yunho, grasping at his shoulders as soft whines escaped you.

Just when you were ready for more, Yunho pulled away. You were panting, staring up at him when Mingi’s hand slipped beneath you, quickly unclasping your bra, before pulling it off, revealing even more of you to Yunho’s wandering eyes. Those eyes didn’t move from your breasts as he reached down to remove your underwear.

It was exhilarating to find yourself completely naked between two of the sexiest men you’ve ever seen, who are also fully clothed.

“Let’s move to the bedroom, baby,” Mingi’s hands moved beneath your shoulder blades to lift you up into a sitting position. From there, he took your hand, helping you up as Yunho watched, hungrily.

As Mingi led you into the hallway you glanced over your shoulder at Yunho, only to find his hand swinging toward your ass. You heard the slap before you felt it, the sharp sting shooting though you right to between your legs.

A squeak left your lips followed by a gasp followed by a moan when Yunho dragged you back against him, one hand coming up to grasp your breast, tweaking your nipple. Your eyes slipped shut as Yunho’s hand on your breast moved down to circle your clit as his other hand grasped your throat.

“Fuck,” Mingi muttered under his breath. His voice drew your eyes open. You found him palming himself through his pants, his lip between his teeth as he watched his best friend holding your bare body tight against his.

Yunho continued his ministrations while you made eye contact with Mingi. Soon, you were shaking and whining, so close to cumming. But then his hands left you.

“Wha-”

You were interrupted by Yunho stepping back and slapping your ass once again. You jolted forward, reaching out to grab on to Mingi to stop yourself from falling. He caught you, turning you to face Yunho.

“Go get on the bed,” Yunho’s voice was incredibly deep. You would have been pissed at the way he was ordering around if you weren’t so turned on and close to cumming you’d trade your first born for an orgasm. “Hands and knees.”

When you hesitated for a moment, he quirked an eyebrow at you. “Or we can just go to bed if that’s what you’d prefer?”

Shaking your head you turned, moving past Mingi into the open bedroom door. Once inside, you took a shaky breath, readying yourself for the absolute experience you were about to have.

As you moved into the position Yunho ordered, you heard the muffled voices of Mingi and Yunho whispering in the hallway. It abruptly ended and both men entered the room. You were facing the head of the bed, facing away from the door, but that just meant that your exposed pussy was directly in front of the door.

You didn’t dare look behind you as both men walked in, keeping your eyes focused ahead, strictly on the headboard. The door shut and you waited with bated breath to see what they would do. A few moments passed before the bed shifted behind you and lips landed on your ass cheek. They left a few kisses before biting into the reddened flesh. You gasped at the pain but before you could process it, the teeth were gone, replaced by a tongue that was poking into your folds. The feeling was incredible and you released a moan of relief.

The tongue alternated between circling your clit and thrusting inside of you. It was bringing you nonstop pleasure, but just being inconsistent enough to keep you on the edge. Within a few moments of the mystery man starting, you were whimpering, begging for more.

“Please, please,” your eyes were shut tight, your head hanging.

A hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back up.

“Please what, baby?” Mingi was on the bed before you, and he was naked. That meant Yunho was the one eating you out.

“Please let me cum.”

Mingi smiled, guiding his hard dick to your mouth as Yunho moved his tongue to solely focus on your clit, two of his fingers sliding deep inside you and curling down into your g-spot. You managed to cum nearly immediately when Yunho applied consistent pressure to your clit.

Your eyes rolled shut as your orgasm washed over you. The feeling was intense, everything you had been hoping for. It felt like you were drowning. The combination of Mingi’s length in your mouth certainly helped extend it. It was so hot, to be kneeling on the bed, your boyfriend’s dick in your mouth while another man ate you out.

Mingi’s hooded eyes were on you, his hand still in your hair as you came down. With your senses returning, you were able to really focus on blowing him. Your tongue circled around the tip before you took as much of him down as you could, only managing about three quarters before your throat spasmed in protest.

With your attention on Mingi, you nearly forgot Yunho was there. Until you felt the head of his cock pressing against your folds. Your eyes went wide as he pushed in. Of course he was just as big as Mingi. It felt like you were being split open by his dick. If someone asked you to guess how long his dick was based on feel alone, you’d guess two feet long.

It took your breath away as Yunho bottomed out. Your watering eyes were still on Mingi as you did your best to blow him the way you knew he liked.

However, once Yunho started thrusting, it was game over. As he slowly drew out of you for the first time, you really felt every ridge and vein. If you thought Yunho was going to go easy on you at first, you were wrong.

He harshly thrust back into you, forcing a decidedly unsexy noise from your throat as the head of his dick just barely hit your cervix. He started moving faster but still just as powerful, playing with the angle until he directly hit your g-spot. You nearly collapsed, your eyes rolling back.

“That’s the spot,” you could practically hear the wicked smirk on Yunho’s face as he adjusted to hit that spot on every thrust.

With you being lost in the pleasure, unable to continue effectively sucking Mingi’s dick, he took over, thrusting into your mouth. That left both men on either end of you, simply using your body for their own pleasure, and subsequently pushing your own pleasure higher and higher.

The sound of Yunho’s grunts and Mingi’s soft moans and muttered curses were music to your ears. It was incredible to hear the effect you were having on them.

You were jerked back to reality when Yunho’s sweaty chest pressed against your back, his lips pressing to your ear and one hand wrapping around your throat again.

“I heard you two this morning,” he nipped at your earlobe. “Mingi asking you if you wanted me to fuck you, and all you can do is moan and cum.”

You were clenching up at his words.

“You wanted me that badly, huh? Well now you’ve got me. How does my dick feel, darling?” His hips jerked brutally into you, and you spasmed around him, moaning lewdly onto Mingi.

“That’s what I thought,” Yunho leaned back, his hand leaving your throat and moving down to your clit. “Now, be good and cum while we fill you up.”

Both him and Mingi picked up the pace, panting and pushing hard into you to chase their own pleasure. You were chasing your own, moving back against Yunho’s thrusting while he mapped out tight circles on your clit.

The pressure in your stomach was mounting as each rotation brought you closer and closer until, finally, you came once more. The feeling washed over you, even more intense than your previous orgasm. Fireworks were shooting behind your closed lids as your high kept cresting. With Yunho not slowing his thrusting or rubbing your clit and Mingi still using your mouth, it seemed like you never stopped cumming. Your arms were shaking as the feeling overwhelmed you.

Your spasming and moaning around both of the men had pushed them to the brink as well. Mingi came first, his final stuttering moan accompanying one last thrust into your mouth before he came. You swallowed his release, your body moving before your mind could catch up.

Yunho followed close behind, encouraged by how you rhythmically clenched around him and the noises Mingi made as you swallowed around him. His thrusts were sporadic as he came inside of you, gripping your hips tightly, holding you against him.

As all three of you came down, both of the men slowly pulled out of you, their hands careful to keep you from just collapsing. They let you lay down, Mingi brushing your hair out of your face as he laid on your right, Yunho on your left.

“Fuck,” was all you could say.

“Yeah, fuck.”

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