neontheweenie

[neontheweenie]

[this freedom isn’t free]

[neontheweenie]

[neontheweenie]

anything atp

Original template cr: @mhuyo from Twitter

[neontheweenie]

the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice kills me every time I think about it.

Orpheus cared about Eurydice so much that he traveled where no mortal had come back from and actually convinced hades himself to let him take her back on the one condition that he couldn’t look at her until they were both past the threshold.

He loved her so much that he couldn’t help but look back at her, he wanted to see her so bad. He got so far just for him inadvertently condemned himself to a life of solitude in the forest.

The version where Eurydice trips is even worse, he went to help her but he sent her back. They are one of the most tragic love stories to me, and from the moment I heard it I knew that was true love. I knew that it spoke more about how much he loved her that he looked back at her

[neontheweenie]

it just be like that I guess

[neontheweenie]

The Tragedy of Orpheus

Hi! This is a spin on the Greek tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice, so let me know what you think! I basically trashed how Orpheus loved Eurydice and made it an enemies thing, so I hope it doesn't suck!

---

I watched my father come down to this earth from his high stoop on Olympus. He looked presumptuously confident and stupid, with his golden hair and horse-drawn chariot floating gracefully from the sky. If I were with my friends from the village, they would fall to their knees and pray to the God Apollo for being so kind as to visit them. They couldn't have been more stupid. 

When his chariot touched the ground, it was as if the air stilled, all of the bees buzzing, the saccharine smell of the flowers, and the light breeze brushing my cheeks refused to move. Warmth clung to my skin, and the wind carried the salty smell of the sea. 

     "My son! I have brought a gift for you!" He ran a hand through my hair, the other hidden behind his large torso. Red cloth was hidden under bronze armor, a symbol of the sun plated on his chest. He was sinewy in a way no mortal could ever achieve as if his every muscle was carved from the finest marble.  

     "Patér, you did not have to get me anything. It is nice enough to see you after you have been in Olympus for so long." 

     "Nonsense, my boy, you deserve such a gift, for you are the son of Apollo! My Orpheus, with all my best qualities and, hopefully, my good musical skill." His voice was gruff as it spewed compliments, which I was sure I did not deserve. The moment's suspense vanished as he revealed an intricate instrument with strings pulled tight between its tan frame. "It is a lyre, my son; sit, and I will show you how to play it." The log scratched against the back of my thighs, the sweet sap clinging greedily to my tunic.

Patér's hands moved over my own gently as he directed the fundamental teachings. It was as if his hands were the only mechanism designed to play this instrument, to coax such a sweet sound out of something so tense. My fingers strummed along with his, never entirely placing them right to copy the charming sound. The way mine fiddled made the strings crack.  

Patér did not seem impressed with how I did my best to mimic him, with how I puffed out my chest to attempt to stand as tall as him. No matter how much I breathe in and provide air to my stomach, I can never fully encompass everything as he does. 

He enraptured anything and everything; the healthy, yellowish ochre that subdued his skin made him shine so much more than me in every sense. Being a God meant he was more significant than any life in Greece, and his reluctant neglect always reminded me of that. He was here when he wanted to be but never when I needed him. 

"Good, my son. Not great, but good. Much better than the other mortals." His dark skin, tanned to a deep bronze from his many hours coaching the sun through cerulean skies, looked strange against mine. Not because the colors were so similar but because his touch was too foreign to feel normal. 

"Thank you, Patér." For a god of the thing that heats all of Greece, he certainly does not enjoy giving the same attention to me. 

"Take care of your mother, Orpheus. She is a good woman." My mother has always waited for him, no matter how long he has avoided her. In her eyes, if he meets with me, he still loves her. How stupid is she? He doesn't even love his son. He loves the attention and mimicking because it feeds his godly ego. 

With that, he leaves me on the log, with the lyre in my hand, and descends to the sky on his chariot. I've always wanted to be close enough to him to see how he moves the sun in such patient increments, but instead of being able to see him, the sun's iridescent yellow streaks block my vision. 

Against my bare feet, the road leading home is chalky and dry dirt, jamming into the cracks on my heels that have taken form over the long summers. The road's ruts, designed for the merchant's carts, make me feel like a bobbing line trying to draw fish in. 

The market is closing for the day, and people are going home to their families and lives that I envy. One's with fathers who do not direct the bright sun to shadow me as his shame and mothers who refuse to see the earth and its gods for what they truly are.

I blend into the hordes rushing home, snagging a ripe fig from the first street stall I see. Money is not one of all the gifts my father has given me. It's too much of an earthly concern. 

My teeth sink into the plush fruit, and warm, sticky juice cascades down my chin. The skin is bitter, a direct contrast to the obscenely sweet inside, and when it touches my tongue, my jaw twinges. 

I follow the crowd, my chest surging with the need for something distracting and not wanting to return home to my mother and her questions about my father. She is obsessed with the fact that Apollo had chosen her once upon a time and naively forgets that he continuously treats us as nothing but his mortal play toys. 

The hordes of people are not migrating to the cottages, though. They are trickling into the amphitheater, sitting on the rising seats one by one, making the oval shape appear more rounded as their bodies buzz excitedly. My fig is only one bite in, and a show is forming. 

Mystical colors draped over men's bodies infiltrate the monochrome gray of the stage, and the people in the crowd watch in amazement. The actors on the stage converse with each other in hushed tones, their muscular builds bumping into one another as they huddle. 

My seat is at the theater's very back and upper part, the setting sun's last embers striving to reach my shoulders. The atmosphere is hot, the air between everyone doused with an electric crackle of anticipation. 

The very minute the men begin performing in all their draperies and thunderous tones is when the crowd silences, not even a whisper being muttered on their lips. The play is fine, the music good, but something is amiss. No one seems to care about their craft, about toning it to perfection. I almost wish to laugh at them, but everyone else seems too enthralled with the menial performance to pay that much attention to me. 

My attention is drawn from the stage when a melodic laugh rings out, sounding more in tune than my father's fingers on the lyre. The fig falls from my hand, smattering on the top of my feet with a wet smack and coating them in the sticky juice. 

Her hair is black like a night sky, but her velvety skin is subdued with a pale pink underwash. Her body flows into soft folds and rounded features, everything about her intricately placed as if designed by Aphrodite. I know of her vaguely, as the town's matrons talk about her and how none of them know where she comes from, but they do know her name. Eurydice.  

For the remainder of this part, my eyes never left her. Even when the acting improved, she was the show's star with her effortless beauty and… very full coin byrsa. It was a pretty little thing, made of leather and folded into her robes' soft, deep purple linen. It would be degradingly easy to snatch off her hip if I was able to get close enough. 

Money fuels people, even if how they get it taints their souls and drags on their minds. I don't want to rob her of something so familiar as money, but it is the one thing I need to survive on this earth. 

The lyre was heavy in my hand, and the splattered fig juice stained the skin of my feet to a reddish-brown color. It forced the dirt kicked up by the audience to stick and collect in clusters of irritating grains.  

Infiltrating the orchestra is the easiest part, sitting amongst the other lyres and ducking my head from the beautiful woman's view. It looked like I was just late to the performance, scuffling amongst the other boys with instruments and finding an empty sack full of straw to rest on. Bony knees and elbows collide a sign of youth and a reminder that we are much lesser, physically than the fathers we have adored. 

My father infiltrates everything, even the beautiful woman. The laurel leaves on her head are a potent reminder of how he is embedded in the stories of Greece and praised as giving life to us in the form of the sun. 

Once the music begins, it's the only thing my ears will allow me to hear and mimic. Each musical note seems to come alive, ascend to my ears, and fill my chest with adrenaline. A block of too-thick air stopped me from breathing too profoundly, slowly morphing the adrenaline into intense anxiety. 

My fingers ache from the strings of the lyre, each bound wire digging into my fingertips when I pull at them. My forearms burn from the constant traction of plucking and pushing, and I am drowning in the music and striving to create my best work. 

My efforts feel like they are for naught when I realize the other boys have put their instruments in the cradles of their laps, their necks craning to look at how I play. The actors stopped acting, the crowds stopped jeering, and even the woman stopped laughing. 

For once in my life, I am not overshadowed by my father. I am bathed in the night, away from his eyes and his sun, basking in their attention for something I could do instead of feeling like I was merely a dented trophy of my father's.  

The song tapered off, my arms and fingers not feeling the intense need to keep creating beautiful noise. My body feels hot, sweat trickling down into my toga's neck and staining it to a deep white. Embarrassment unblocks the air in my throat, all of the oxygen I had missed in the throes of needy passion suddenly invading my lungs. The show feels disrupted, the comedic flow of the night trickling away as the extended silence ebbs through the amphitheater. 

I was standing, a nervous ball of too-thin knees and knobby elbows. I mumbled my apologies, the curve of the lyre's wood coarse against the veins of my wrist as I wrenched a handout and ripped the coin purse from the woman's belt. It was a violent motion that not even the stupidest of people could mistake my actions for anything less than malicious. 

I rush out of the amphitheater under the main awning, a hot ball of guilt forming in my stomach and my fingers clenching the bag so tightly that my nails create crescent moons in my palms. I can hear her yell to come back, to give her the coin purse like a siren when it drags the men to the depths. She wasn't just pretty. She was vaguely threatening as she chased me. 

It's hot in the way that spilled wine sticks to a table, invading the splinters with its stickiness. The heat clings to the crevices of your skin in a way that one will never get clean, and sweat cascades down every inch of my body, making me feel slimy. 

Small pebbles cut into my feet and kicked-up dirt plumes made my legs' skin dry. Looking over my shoulder, the fabric of her skirt was bunched around her hands in thick whorls, revealing thick leather sandals that pounded the ground as she chased me. 

She wanted this back, and I couldn't let her have it. I needed it. 

The distance between us lessened as every muscle in my body tired, the lyre and coin bag dragging my arms down. I could only think selfishly of myself and my mother and how this much money would fix so many problems instead of thinking about what would happen to this young woman if she lost it. 

Rounding a corner, my heart beat inside my chest faster than my feet hit the ground. The streets were getting more corrugated as we delved into the dingier parts of town, the extravagant temples and amphitheaters turning into dirty cottages and starving children playing with sticks on the side of the road. 

In my sweat-polluted toga and rawboned body, I looked as if I belonged. Looking like she was Greek royalty, Eurydice seemed out of place, her angered face and potent emotions rolling off her in waves. The people in this part of the city don't care, for they have figured that the Gods have already given up on them, so her ardor only adds to her transcending from the crowd.   

My chest concaves with every breath, allowing every sharp intake to dig deep into my lungs. My calves and fingers ache, but she is so close to me. If she reached a hand out, she could rip me back and get what she wanted badly. 

My legs quake underneath me, threatening to snap like toothpicks, and I don't dare take another step. I am overexerted, yet as she stops, she seems as if it is rejuvenating for her. She stands tall, the bundles of her skirt falling from her hands and looping around her feet in plum waterfalls. I somehow ended up on the ground, cradling my arms to my chest and leaving the bag and the lyre in the dirt. There is an uncomfortable pinch on my dry knees, but I am unsure if it is internal or external. 

She looks warm, with the glow from the moonlight making her skin shine over the rosy hue that covers every inch of her body. She shines like my father, almost in a Godly way, and something about her makes me feel less than. She gives off this feeling of exuberance that encompasses not only her but the very air and grass under her feet. 

"Give it back." She demanded, her tone cold and entirely different from how she had been in the amphitheater. "Now, young man. You can make your living with that lyre. You don't need to steal from me." 

The more she spoke, the more beautiful I realized she was. Her hand was hoisted down at me expectantly, even though she could lean down to pick it up. 

"Ma'am, I cannot give it back. If I could, I would." 

"You can, and you will. Put it in my hand." I don't know why she is so adamant that I give it back to her; maybe it's some sick sense of a power move. 

"Ma'am, please, I need this money." I feel pathetic, my hands shaking as I wiggle my fingers closer to the bag in a desperate attempt to retrieve it. She could have taken it, but she didn't. She wanted me to serve her like she was some kind of God. 

"I said give it back, small boy. I will not beg you to return what is mine." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her face was smooth as silk. The only indication that she was less than perfect was the tiny pinch of her brow and the scanty frown of her lips.

"And I said I needed it." I am all arrogance and hubris, demanding something of her that I did not deserve to take.

My hand wraps around the bag's opening, feeling smooth leather and cording, and I try to drag it toward me. This action is counteracted by her foot stomping on my hand, crunching down until my fingers make grotesque popping noises. My jaw clenches in absolute pain, but I don't allow myself to cry. That would give her too much power. 

On the dirt path, weaving around rocks, something sleek and scaly bridles up to her ankle, wrapping itself around the foot she was holding herself up with. A snake, its eyes charging into the tiniest of slits, reared its menacing head back. Before I could stop it, sharp teeth were brutally digging into her skin, forcing crimson blood out of two round holes. It was so dark that it almost looked violet. 

Her shrill scream pierced the air, the pain too much for her to bear. Her pain morphed her cold face into one full of heat, with flushed cheeks and a sneer so hideous that it would rival Medusa's. The snake pulled away after draining its venom into her, the leftover clear liquid infusing itself with the free-flowing blood. 

As she fell to the earth, her God-like shine drained away from her face. I couldn't move fast enough to catch her, so dust rose around where her body had fallen in thick plumes. Straggling over her, I brushed dark, thin strands of hair away from her placid face. 

She was dead. She had to be. Her fixed gaze rested on the moon, but the vivid spark of her eyes and easy smile were gone. Nothing was left of the woman I had robbed, and her brightness was taken from the world. 

Guilt forms in my stomach as a ball of a black, hot, stenchy substance, and my eyes water incredulously. I blamed myself for the death of this girl who had been so full of life and had been trying to live the best she could until I obstructed that. My tears soaked into her robes, and my fingers held her skin that was chilling by the second. 

I couldn't manage to stop crying, even when I felt the presence of something otherworldly and heat similar to the sun's basking on my shoulders. Turning from her body, from where her soul had fizzled into the dirt of the earth and the underworld, I saw my father. He didn't touch me or try to provide any comfort. He was standing there while I was at his feet, mourning over a woman I didn't know. I don't know why or where he got the audacity to show up here and now. 

"Patèr?" My voice cracked, my brown eyes red and teary. 

"My son! Get up. Stop mourning her! She was just a wood nymph! I sent the snake to protect you. I thought you'd be happy and running off to pay your mother's debts!" His boisterous laughter filled the air, and even in the night, he shone. Her being a wood nymph explained her attitude and how she absorbed all of my attention, but did she deserve to die for this? 

"She didn't deserve that! I was the one that stole from her!" I stood, my legs still recovering from running and shaking. "You killed her for fighting for what is rightfully hers! You should have killed me!" My father has a very distorted sense of right and wrong, thinking that what is his is the only thing that matters. 

"My son, you are blinded by Eros! She was pretty but not a thing to be blinded over," His voice was calm and collected, his smile never leaving his face. He was so sure that he was right. 

"Father, I do not have to love her to realize she didn't deserve that! Where is your humanity?" He reared back, the smile turning into a sneer, revealing a thin row of his teeth. His hand looked as if it itched to rise, jumping at his side and pinching at his tunic. 

"I am no human! I do not have their insipid values or their mortal beliefs. You are a fool, Orpheus, and you must realize you are my son. You are a demigod! Start acting like one." He went to turn from me, to vanish to Olympus again, but I grabbed his shoulder. Fear spiked in my chest when I saw his clenched jaw and cheeks flushed from anger. 

"Send me down there so I can retrieve her. I know you can." On any mortal, the intense pressure of my nails on their skin would mar them and create blood, but my father stood tall and unflinching. 

"No, my son. I just protected you. I will not send you down there to die," His tone revealed that he did mean his words, even if they were full of anger. I departed from his shoulder to retrieve a coin from the bag to pay Chiron to pass the river Styx and the lyre. It has become comfortable in my hand and is my only notable earthly possession, so I decide to take it. 

"You told me to start acting like a demigod. Allow me to rival Hercules' courage, to brave the monsters like Perseus, or even become great only to die like Achilles!" My father was not satisfied with only me; he wanted me to be great, and the myths told throughout my childhood allowed me to beg to be better and satisfy that need of his. 

"Fine, son. But if you do not come back, I warned you. The underworld is a not so forgiving place." His rage cooled in front of my eyes, and the red tint of his skin was completely gone. He was more ominous than angered. 

His hands flicked, orange sparks of what seemed to be sunshine crawling up his arms and encompassing his shoulders. It breathed a new kind of life into the space around us, charging it with energy and sounding like it was heaving for air. The sparks fan out into hot flames, engulfing both of us until all I could see was orange. I immediately start sweating, but my father appears to be in his element in this heat, the flames cradling him like they are cherishing him. 

A large circle of black appears in front of me, tendrils of cold air curling out from it. I stand on my toes to push just past the edge, my eyes instantly seeing lines of men, women, and children with coins piled in their hands and waiting for their turn to cross the river Styx. Some look as if they are still alive, with flushed cheeks and full bodies, while others look hollow. 

"Go. Hades awaits you." My father whispers, his muscles tensing as the black circle wavers. The obscene roundness started fading as the curves became fuzzy, black bleeding into the orange flames. Whether he was struggling to contain it or struggling to keep it alive, I am not sure. 

It is cold. For some reason, I expected it to be swelteringly hot. The dirt down here flies around heads and curls around limbs as if inspecting everyone before allowing them entry to its home, and the souls of what once were people seem irritated by it. There are no plants or sun, just endless miles of cold desert dirt and gray sky. 

There is no trace of the sun that my father so desperately loves, and the darkness down here is welcoming. 

Traversing the line of souls revealed that they were only a mist that came apart when touched, only to float back together again. I pushed my way to the front, feeling the cold spray of the Styx on my feet. It washed away the dirt, and the fig juice in small splatters, and the water of the shore rippled as a wooden boat approached. 

I look up, chills running along my spine as my eyes connect with his. Chiron is tall but hunched, with a curved nose and blue eyes that resemble the bright Greek oceans. His dark cloak pools around his feet and in the boat, his sleeves falling back to reveal pale skin and hands clenched around a wooden stick that delves into the water. 

He makes the idea that I may die down here real. 

"You are alive. I can smell it on you, and it reeks." His voice is gravelly and deep, coming out of cracked lips. 

"I just need to retrieve someone, and then I will return." His eyes narrow into thin slits of blue. I tuck the lyre into my belt so that I do not have to hold it in my hand and have it drag me down. 

"Hades will not allow you to steal someone back from his realm." 

"I just need passage," I say, handing him the coin. It is warmed by my living hands, not as cold as the ones he usually gets, but he accepts it regardless. Along with some others, I board the small craft, journeying across the black depths. I can't hear anything besides my breathing in the middle of the river. The water seems to be rushing under the boat in fast currents, but it is so quiet. 

On the other side of the river, I am greeted with dry, brown grass crunching under my naked feet. This side is cold as well, a result of being hidden from the sun. It is a comfortable solace to know my father could not see me down here, even if he tried. 

Some houses appear to be made of mud, with straw roofs and souls of women gabbing on the porches. They almost look alive, their heads clustered together and their hands clenched around the stems of kylix drinking cups, but they are transparent and misty. They are conceivable and can touch but appear less solid. 

Looking past them, a long road paved with dark cobbles winds to an imposing temple made of black marble. There is no light to reflect off it, making it all the more imposing. Eurydice, with all of her vengeance and fight, would not be down here with the matrons. She would be up there with Hades, either picking a fight or enjoying the afterlife with all she had. 

Dead trees, charred with a black crust, are dusted with the gray ash falling from the sky. The smell of mold jams into my nose, making my stomach flop like a fish. I could vomit, but something told me it wouldn't make the anxious feeling go away. 

Three small dogs sit at the temple outside the massive arched doorways. I only see one tail wagging away, and all three tongues loll out of their slobbery mouths. I lean on my knees, wishing to absorb their cheery attitude through touch, but they roll onto their back… and there is only one small body. It is lumpy and a dirty tan color, with 4 petite legs, but it is only one. 

I rip my hand back, fear swallowing me whole, while the puppy rolls back onto his stomach. He seems happy to be getting any attention, even if that is born of fear. I tentatively pat his head and stand, pushing all my fear into a box in my chest. 

"Good boy." He may be strange, but he is cute. 

Inside this temple, pillars line the sides, some cut in half to hold dishes of fire, and piles of bones line the floor. The dingy lighting exemplifies the macabre scenery, with dead flowers on the giant stage-like steps like an offering. There is a large, spiky throne directly in the middle of this palace, with men and women so beautiful around it that the poets down here will never lack a muse. 

"Boy," A dark voice booms into the corridor and echoes into my ears, "You are still alive." Looking at the throne, a man more significant than even my father sits. He has inky black hair and pale skin, a long face, and sharp features. He isn't as muscular as my father; he looks lankier and more malnourished, but his spindly legs prove his height. 

I see Eurydice peeking out from behind the throne among the beautiful muses. 

"I came for her. She didn't deserve death." I point at Eurydice, her blank expression morphing into one of disdain. 

"You would even steal death from me?" She asks in a shrieky tone. Hades silences her with a bony finger in the air, the pointy tip of his nail tracing under her chin. I don't feel jealousy as I do not love her but fear for her soul. He can touch them as if they are more than a mist, which makes him terrifying. 

"You cannot take her. She is dead and therefore mine." He eyes her side profile with a malicious grin. 

"I know. But she didn't deserve death. My father killed her for all the wrong reasons; I should be here, not her." I twist my words using my antics, and Hades has that same haughtiness as my father. He is colder, having basked in icy death, while my father was warmer from the hours of sun ingrained in the sun. 

His gaze goes to the lyre I tucked around my leather belt, making the fear trickle out of its box. I untuck it from my belt, wondering if I can trade. 

"I can offer this for her." It would seem acceptable on earth to trade something material for a literal living soul, but Hades changes the rules to serve him in his realm. "It is a gift from Apollo, so it is made better than any earthly one." My voice cracks, feeling smoke curl around my legs. Looking down, my feet are still on the cold stone, but thick smoke covers them. 

"One cannot trade a soul for a lyre. One needs a soul for a soul," He whispers, leaning forward with an outstretched hand. The room around me seems lighter, as if what is wrapping around my legs is the room's shadows. "How far are you willing to go to make things right?" 

I feel the shadows trickling up my thighs, cold and threatening. It travels over my toga, trapping the fabric in an airtight seal. The dust around the line of souls waiting for Chiron wasn't blown dirt; it was his powers keeping track of who traveled here. 

 "If I do this, will you allow her to return with no strings attached?" With the gods, one has to be careful with how they word things. They are more intelligent than many mortals, leading to the myths our parents try to teach us to keep us alive.

"Yes. She will go back to earth, body and soul." His promise is followed by the smoke squeezing my wrists and forcing my hands to go cold. I drop the lyre from the pressure, hearing it clatter onto the floor. Smoke wraps around my bony shoulders and thin neck, menacingly sitting by my face. I gulp for air, but there isn't any left for me to take. No one down here needs it, so maybe I took all of the little amount for myself. 

My heart is pumping. My teeth are grinding into one another. "Send her back. Now." I demand, and I can see his lips tip up. He keeps me in my position, but with a click of his fingers, bright lights flood my vision and blind me. 

The next moments aren't painful. The lights fade away, replaced by comforting black, until I can open them again. My hands jitter, my teeth unclench, and I look down. Everything on me is washed in a bluey-white. 

Hades smiles, his arms opening me as if he accepts my soul. I look around, and the room is dark once again. My body isn't behind me as I expected it to be, but I don't feel the same sensations that I did when I was alive. I don't feel my chest concave with breaths or feel anything physical. 

It's all gone. Everything that I once considered normal was gone. 

"Thank you, Hades." I pick up the lyre and walk over to his stage. It's fitting for a theatrical God to have such a display for him and his prizes. I am now nothing but another trophy for another God, but it is different. He will admit that he doesn't love me and obeyed my will once, unlike my father, who never did it at all. 

"I needed a musician." He muses, and I sit where Eurydice had once stood. I am away from the sun, holding something that I can do, and I am guilt-free. I am not paying for my father's mishaps, and the woman who loved life was back where she needed to be. 

So, I string out a note, Hades smiles, and the other trophies begin a song. 

---

anyway, I know this is a fanfic account but oh well.

See ya in the next whenever!

NeontheWeenie

[neontheweenie]

Bro. I'd sell my soul for half of @houseofripleys talent

HII

Could you write a rhea x fem!reader where they are at a scare house with a bunch of friends and reader is a big scaredy-cat and clings onto rhea the whole time and all of them end up in a maze but rhea and reader get lost and separated from the group and reader is terrified so rhea tried to cheer her up with some make-out time and hugging and reassurance(maybe some smut there or when they get back home🤷‍♀️)

Scared?

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+, Publix Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Mommy Kink

WORD COUNT: 1,613

A/N: I AM ALIVE SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING!!!! im on spring back so hopefully i'll actually have some freetime now

“No wait, I don’t think I can do it,” you jittered, your anxieties shaking through your body as you stood next in line to enter a dingy barn that was quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

After weeks of begging your partner Rhea to be the hugh hefner to your playboy bunny she agreed under one condition; that you’d go to the scare attraction she had been talking about non-stop. At first you were ready to scrap your matching costume idea altogether but after some reassurance from Rhea that your friends would be there you reluctantly agreed. 

“You are not backing out on us now!” Your friends started throwing playful teases at you.

“Don’t be a wimp, it won’t even be that bad,” 

Rhea wrapped her arm around your waist as she added to the taunts, “My little scaredy-cat,”

“I am not a scaredy-cat! I just don’t like having clowns chase me with machetes,” you attempted to defend yourself.

“That’s totally something a scaredy-cat would say,”

The attendant at the entrance signaled for your group to enter the building. You let a few of your friends enter before hesitantly entering, making sure you were in the middle of the group. Stepping inside a thick layer of faux fog clouded your vision while strobe lights beamed through the hazed air. “I wanna go home,” you raised your voice so your group could hear you over the loud ambiance and scream of others further down the path. 

You braced your hands in front of you in self-defense as you made your way through a flashing corridor. Rounding the corner you were immediately jumpscared by a bloodied woman hopping through a curtain, making you back up into Rhea as you let out a scream. 

Rhea let out a laugh as one of her hands took grip of your waist, giving the skin a light squeeze. “I got you,” Rhea chuckled as she spoke just loud enough for you to hear her. 

Your group of friends continued through the scenes of the attraction with plenty of jumpscares and many more screams before eventually being chased out of the building into the second half of the attraction, a haunted corn maze. 

You hesitantly followed your bunch of friends on the paths, your hand clinging to Rhea’s. It wasn’t long until your crowd was deep into the maze. By the time your eyes had hardly adjusted to the darkness you were soon caught off guard by a group of actors emerging from the corn stalks, causing you to dart further into the field.

“Oh my god I can’t see anything,” you yelled, too focused on running away from the bloodied men, you and Rhea wound up split from your group getting lost along the trail.

-

It had been fifteen minutes since the two of you last saw your friends and ten minutes since a scare actor popped up, your nerves were growing by the second knowing it was only a matter of time before another actor would find you. The grip you had on Rhea’s hand had to have been cutting off her circulation at that point. 

“Look at me, pretty girl,” Rhea spoke, her tone of voice was soft, “you’ll always be safe with me, you know that I’d never let anyone touch you,” she assured. You couldn’t help but look up at her with a soft smile, her reassurance sending ease to your foggy mind.

Rhea’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a hug before she dropped her lips against yours. You melted into her embrace as you squeezed your hands around her stiffened biceps. 

“As much as I’d love to kiss you forever, I’d love to get out of this damn maze as soon as possible,” you giggled, pulling back from her lips after a moment before continuing your way through the trails.

-

“We’re never making it out of here alive,” you pouted, throwing your head back realizing you were caught in yet another dead end. You were caught off guard by the feeling of a set of hands grabbing you from behind and pulling you back against their body, causing a shriek to leave your mouth..

“You’re so sexy when you’re scared, all tensed up,” Rhea quietly chuckled into your ear. “plus that little outfit making you all vulnerable isn’t helping your case,” she added, her teeth nipping at your earlobe while her arms pulling your back further against her chest.

“Not funny Rhe’,” you whined. Although your body relaxed knowing you were in the safety of Rhea’s arms, your heartbeat was still stuck in your throat, the thrill of Rhea’s sudden instigating had already begun forming a puddle in between your legs.

Rhea let out a breathy chuckle as she placed a kiss below your ear, “did you really think I’d be able to control myself when you look like that?” she murmured, her hands trailed to the bust of your strapless bodysuit.

“Mm- no but I assumed you’d have enough self control to wait till we got home,” your giggle soon turned into a quiet gasp as Rhea quickly flipped the bust of your outfit down, revealing your chest to the brisk air. Her hands glided to cup your breasts as her lips connected to the crook of your neck. Her fingers took hold of your nipple, rolling the flesh between her digits causing a hitched curse to leave your mouth. 

Rhea soon guided your body face hers, a satisfied smirk painted across her lips as she bent down and took your nipple into her mouth. Her knee found itself separating your legs causing a whimper to escape your mouth as her knee pushed up against your needy heat.

“Rhe’, we might get caught,” you whispered, your hands reaching to grab Rhea’s face, a grin creeping onto her lips as you pulled her face up to yours.

“Oh baby,” Rhea murmured, trailing her hand down the length of your bodysuit, “that’s the fun part,” she added before quickly yanking the fabric covering your core to the side. You sucked in a harsh breath, a shiver running through your body as the bitter autumn air hit your slicked heat.

“No panties? Naughty girl,” Rhea clicked her tongue as her finger slipped across your wetness, gathering your juices on her finger, “look at you, all soaked for Mami,” she hummed before taking her finger into her mouth, sucking your juices from her skin.

Rhea brought herself to her knees before you, her cobalt eyes twinkling in the moonlight as they trailed up your body, silently asking for permission. Although a quickie in a corn maze was definitely not in your Halloween plans, Rhea's mouth was nearly always impossible to resist. Once you nodded your head in approval she began peppering soft kisses to your inner thighs, leaving you whining at the sensation of her warm lips against your chilled flesh.

“Such a brave girl for me,” Rhea quietly praised, tossing one of your legs onto her shoulder, “I think you deserve a treat,” locking eyes with you she flattened her tongue against your cunt. She licked a wide stripe up your wetness, humming at the taste of your arousal. Your hand found itself tangled in her hair, pulling at the jet-black strands as her pierced tongue began rounding your clit. 

You chewed at the insides of your cheeks, hoping to stifle your whines when Rhea’s tongue sank into your heat. Quiet hums of approval escaped from Rhea as her tongue prodded with your entrance, her nose pressed against your clit. 

Rhea’s mouth returned to lapping circles around your bundle of nerves while her pointer finger snuck into your hole. Your abdomen tensed in reaction to her finger rhythmically pumping into your tightness. Faint whines echoed from the back of your throat as Rhea’s tongue worked alongside her finger that toyed with your aching core.

It wasn’t long until a second finger dipped inside of you, resulting in a whined “Fuck,” to escape your throat. Rhea’s tongue stayed focused on tracing shapes over your clit, her eyes still gazing up at you, clearly enjoying the sight of you losing control over her touch.

The adrenaline of knowing there was a possibility of someone rounding the corner and catching the two of you only fueled Rhea’s gestures. Your eyelids squeezed shut at the sensation of her fastened pace, 

“Mami,” you threw your free hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your moans, “oh- fuck Mami,” you whimpered, bucking your hips against Rhea’s face, your climax rapidly approaching.

The curling of Rhea’s digits as they pumped into you initiated your orgasm. Muffled moans left your mouth as your climax washed over you, releasing all the tension that sat inside your stomach onto Rhea’s fingers. 

Rhea assisted you in riding out your peak before retracing her fingers from your insides. She brought herself back to her feet, licking her fingers clean, the remnants of your slick coating her chin. “Better than any Halloween candy I’ve had,” she praised under her breath.

“How sweet, but please get me out of here,” you giggled out of breath, playfully rolling your eyes as you adjusted your costume.

You hopped onto Rhea’s back after gladly accepting a piggyback ride from her. Rhea successfully guided the both of you through the rest of the maze, thankfully making it out with minimal scares.

“Jesus, what took you guys so long?” a friend questioned as Rhea carried you to your group of friends who were sat at a bench waiting for the pair of you to show up.

“It's a maze! We got lost!” you threw your hands up in self defense.

[neontheweenie]

oh absolutely

[neontheweenie]

"The Tattoo Artist Was Trying to Fuck Me!"

Hi again! I hope you like this one, I saw a TikTok video and had to run over here to write this. There isn't as much angst as the last one, which blew up way more than I expected, so I hope this is still good!

{Disclaimer- I own nothing but the characters I create, I do not own any part of the WWE, and am writing this purely for entertainment.}

{Warnings- Public displays of affection (I don't know if this even counts as a warning, but I thought I should put it), oral sex, fingering, praise, jealousy, and mentions of flirting from a third party. The reader is a bit more forward and the tiniest bit more dominant in this one!

"And I'll love you in the only way I know how; with my whole heart, with every fiber of my being, with everything inside of me."

-Vivek Bhardwaj

---

"Look at what I got!" Rhea's voice filled the empty tattoo parlor's entryway. It was sweet, honeyed in a way, but also loud and filled my ears to the brim.

The tattoo parlor was decorated in a 90's grungy vibe with worn leather chairs and pictures of people long forgotten jammed onto its walls. Behind the pictures was a deep crimson that was illuminated by the shop's massive windows.

As she was walking over to me, her face was hoisted to the ceiling revealing her new chin tattoo. It was smaller and intricately done, the fine black lines exemplified amongst her red and puffy skin.

It was of a human skull, but the right side of the jaw and left side of the head melted into a collapsing Greek pillar. Tiny spires of laurel leaves spilled out of the head and up the pillar, yet it all flowed so naturally for a tattoo. Nothing was jarring or misplaced, it was seamless.

It spread over the skin pulled tight directly on the underside of her jaw, but when she put her head down, I couldn't see it anymore. I almost frowned when it went away, but her lips attacking my own fixed that right up.

"Wow. It is gorgeous." I pull away, my hands gently cupping her neck and being careful not to touch directly on her tattoo. I prod her chin back up with gentle fingers, just wanting to look at it a bit more.

The tattoo artist came out the minute Rhea set her hands on my waist, digging into the black shirt I was wearing with needy hands. His presence made me squirm out of her hold and hand her the spare keys.

I only came to deliver those because, with her being her, she locked herself out of her car. I probably shouldn't let her have my set of keys for too long because she will throw them in the alternate dimension which is her purse.

"Ok, love, that will be 234.57. I assume that this is the friend I heard so much about?" Not to sound like a stuck-up ass-hat, but this guy is a stereotypical nerd. His skin is white and pasty, he has thick coke bottle glasses on, and he smells like a corn-cheeto.

His red hair is thinning and his voice, tinged with a Cockney twang, is nasal. He seems to dismiss anyone and anything around him as less-than, like they couldn't possibly equate to him and his nerdiness, but I notice the way he looks at Rhea.

He looks at her like a starving man who just found a snack, adoring the way she could smoosh him like a bug if she wanted to. He doesn't seem to get that I am the only one she will be smooshing anytime soon.

"Girlfriend," Rhea corrects, her tone struck with a small annoyance. How many times has she tried to correct him if she responds like this?

"Oh? I thought you meant... like, a girl who is a friend." The nasality of his voice irks me, but his assumption is what makes the tips of my ears turn red. Who says 'girlfriends' like that unless they are a 45-year-old woman at a bar with her friends?

I think there may have been some wishful thinking on his part. But, to be fair, who wouldn't have wishful thinking after having her to themselves for two hours and getting to know her a little?

She is leaning on the counter and I am standing behind her, watching as she gets defensive over our relationship. She doesn't get jealous often, but when she does it makes me feel all types of things.

As she leaned on the checkout counter, her gray tank top showed off her shoulders and a tad bit of her lower back, all decked out in tattoos. He mumbled his apologies, and I moved behind her until my hips connected with her ass and my hands found her waist.

I pressed my lips to her shoulder, some of my chapstick leaving a slight sheen on her skin. I pawed at her shirt slightly, just enough to get her attention but not enough to make her turn around.

She tensed momentarily, only for her to immediately loosen when the tattoo artist turned away. He turned back again with a frown, giving her her card and receipt back.

He was glaring at me, envious that I was the one who got to touch her like this, and he crossed his arms with a humph. "Thank you, dear," he told her, that Cockney accent doubled as it came back through.

She accepted her card and signed the receipt with a small smile. "Thank you again, I love it." He smiled at her, but his algae-green eyes never left where I was touching her.

I practically dragged her out of that shop without another word. Jealousy was balling in my chest like a gooey slime, attaching itself to my throat and jamming all my senses with pure anger. It didn't chill out until the hot summer air hit my skin, her waist still in my hands as she led the way to her car.

Once we were right by the black jeep, I let my hands jam themselves into the pockets of my jeans.

"I don't know how I felt about that artist." She mumbled, using the spare keys I brought to open her door and retrieve her own. I held my hand out so I could have the spare safely back, and she rolled her eyes as she gave it to me.

"Why?" Probably because he was trying his damndest to weasel his way where he was not wanted. I don't say that though, I want her to have her own opinion of the little nerd.

I am biased because of my possessive jealousy, but I refuse to control her like that. That would just be cruel and fucked up. Plus, I don't think I would be half as ticked off if he didn't assume I was her friend first.

"He is really awkward. Like, his chat is complete shit." That's obvious. "Yeah, he keeps a clean shop and does good work, but he definitely made me feel antsy." She sat in her seat, and I leaned on the door. "I also think he was trying to fuck me so that twists it awkward too."

At least we both noticed how he was eyeballing her.

"Are you sure he got the placement right? I can't see it unless you lift your head up or I squat." I say, prodding her chin up again gently. It's another critique of him as an individual and of his work, but I can't argue with the fact his designs are good.

"Yeah, no, he got that bit right." She said with a smirk and leaned over to me. "And trust me, you are gonna be able to see it a lot more than anyone else." She chuffed, craning her neck towards my lips for a kiss.

I absent-mindedly pecked her lips with mine, pondering what she meant.

Oh.

She means that since I am... below her a lot, I will get prime-time viewing.

"What did you think I asked you for your opinion so much? I had to make sure you liked it," She teased, her hands slipping under my black shirt to play with the skin of my torso. Her fingers dragged over every mark and freckle on my skin, and her acrylic nails scratched lightly.

Her actions made me feel hot with want, desire creeping into my bones and filling my mind with the thought of her and that new tattoo.

"I'll race you home," I mumble breathlessly, pulling her hands out from under my shirt and racing to my car. I struggle to open it, but when I do, I notice she has already taken off.

I follow behind her as much as I can, but god forbid the silver minivan in front of me goes any faster than 30 fucking miles an hour on a 45-mile-per-hour road. We might get damned to all hell if that happens.

My home is a welcome sight, with the dogs playing in the trimmed front yard while Rhea smiles evilly from the front porch. We have a small Cape Cod-style house, only about 1,500 square feet, nestled between two McMansions.

It's our tiny slice of heaven, free from the burdens of the outside world. Right now, though, it is about to be our own little den of sin if I get my way.

I practically lurch the car into its parking space and clamber out, my bag hanging languidly off my shoulder as I race up to the porch. She won our race, and I know her well enough to know that that means not to touch her until she gives me permission.

Luna and Barry chase some poor squirrel up the giant oak tree in our front yard, only pausing to bark at each other. A navy blue Toyota Corolla drives past, and then a silver minivan. I don't think it is the same one as earlier, but if it is I am going to personally kill the driver myself.

Why isn't she saying anything?! More importantly, why isn't she touching me?!

"Come here," I look away from the street to see her pointing to the space right before her. There is an infinite spring to my step as I walk to her. Once I am there, her hands pull at my shirt to bring me closer, stopping once our lips are only millimeters away.

"Tell me, were you jealous?" I thought that much was obvious. She knows I was, that is why she is toying with me.

"Duh." My soft voice is charged with attitude, but I am weak in the knees from her breath on my lips.

"Hey." Her hand pinches my hip in warning. "Fix that attitude or you can kiss what I am planning goodbye."

"Fine." I pause for a dramatic eye roll. "Yes. I will admit that I was very, very jealous." While I am craning my neck towards her lips, striving for any kind of touch other than the one on my hips, she smirks and backs away.

"Luna! Barry! Come on, who wants to go inside?" She went from being menacing to being high-pitched and squeaky at the drop of a hat. "That goes for you too, pretty girl." Her thumbs hook in my belt loops and tug me through the door.

Her foot kicks the door closed with a slam, and I see the dogs jump onto the couch with their respective blankets. She uses my belt loops to shove me to the door, her lips attaching to mine with a bruising force.

With a small squeak, my hands grip the back of her neck and pull her closer. She tastes like the pineapple she packed for a snack when she was getting her tattoo done.

"You are such a needy, jealous little thing." She whispers, a small string of saliva connecting our lips before breaking as she speaks. It ebbs onto the skin of her lip before disappearing into her plush mouth.

"I'll show you how needy I am." It is a simple role reversal. I flip her with my hands on her waist, pushing her to the door instead.

Her eyes widen in awe, a spark of heat in them. Her thumbs have wrenched themselves from my belt loops to scour my waist and hips. I can feel the tips of her acrylic nails over my clothing, distracting me from my plan.

My lips pepper kisses across her neck, kissing the summer sun off her skin and being careful to avoid the raw tattoo. It is less red but still as puffy, and her skin still smells like anti-septic.

"Bedroom. Now." She commands, pushing me off her. We both run to the bedroom, antsy to touch one another again. Our bedroom is pretty, with oak floors and black walls. I let Rhea decorate in here, so it is more gothically done, with black bed sheets and walnut furniture.

I push her onto the bed, peeling off my shirt and straddling her. Her hands reach up my torso, wrapping her hands around the cups of my bra. I suppress a moan by pushing a hand under her shirt, tracing the lines of the tattoos that I know by heart.

I lean down, attaching my lips to her neck again.

"Off," I demand, pulling at her shirt. The gray garment is flung across the room before I know it, and she is pulling me back down with her. Our chests are touching as I suck the skin of her neck harshly, my nipping teeth making her pale skin bloom red.

She tastes even better than she smells.

I snake my hand up her torso, my finger teasing by slipping under the lacy, black cup to smooth over her breast. I migrated from her neck down to her chest, gently nibbling as I went.

She moaned, groaned, and even squirmed. For someone who gets thrown around and touched all the time, she certainly does get squeaky when you nip her collarbone.

I can feel my need swelling in my chest, threatening to consume me unless I get to have her in the way that I want. I find myself glossing over her bra, not stopping to worship as I usually would, but pushing my entire hand under the cup to swirl my fingers around her nipple.

I kiss my way down her stomach, my tongue following her tattoos. I take my hand from her chest, waiting for her to exude that breathy whine that I love so much, before using it to pull down the tops of her pants.

I don't rip them off, even if I want to. I slide them down to her mid-thigh and then do the same with her panties. They are black, like her bra, and I take them all the way off as she begins muttering.

"Such a needy.... such a good girl for me." I notice how she corrects herself when I suck on the soft spot on her thigh. My shoulders hold her thighs open, and as I lean in I use my hands to spread her even further.

I put my face close to her center, my lips forming an 'o' so cold air would cool the slick between her folds. Her hips piston up as I do so, a prolonged moan leaving her mouth.

"Baby, I wouldn't tease." I look up, but the way she positioned her head means that I can only see the bottom of her jaw. The tattoo catches my attention for a moment because it looks strange being there. I never realized how much I actually looked at the bottom of her chin.

"I just wanted to show you how much I need you. How much I need to look at and taste what is mine." I point that bit out. I don't like the feeling of being jealous, I just like the after-effects. (E.g. Rhea fucking my brains out and/or vice versa).

Her giggles ring out, her chest moving with the heavy chortles, and I have a plan. Her underwear and pants are already off, and I am already situated nicely.

As her giggles crescendo, my tongue runs up and down her folds, snagging on her clit in a way that makes her giggles turn into harsh moans.

She tastes salty, and a little tangy, but oh so good. No food could ever compare.

"God damn, baby." She mumbles, her fingers fisting into my scalp. The hair wraps around her nails individually, and a little extra tug follows. "You always know how to do it so good for me."

I slow my tongue down, trying not to get too high from the taste of her, and turn to languidly licking her clit. Her thighs shake around my head with every swipe of my tongue, but her moans aren't quite loud enough for me to do more yet.

I pull away just for one moment, replacing my tongue with my finger. "Your tattoo looks amazing from this angle." I push my tongue back to her clit with gentle precision, but my finger slips down, down, down until it finds itself buried in her.

Her moans are only getting worse, mixed with messy words of appraisal. I can tell she is getting there, slowly but surely by the way her thighs threaten to clench closed. I pull my finger away and slow the rhythm of my tongue.

"Baby, come on. Stop teasing." She commands, her fingers pulling my hair until I swear I will go bald. "Just be a good girl and do what I want."

Well, I have to appreciate the tattoo somehow.

I grip her hips in my hands and pull her down until she is as close to my face as possible. I smooth my thumbs over her hips for one moment, and then I dig in like she is my last meal.

I use my tongue to stimulate her clit while my fingers pump in and out at a bruising pace. Her back arches as she tries to scurry away from the onslaught of pleasure, but she can't get far what with the headboard and literal wall by her head.

The more I suck on her clit and make use of my fingers, the more she moans. It's a sweet sound, accompanied by breathless, exhausted squeaks.

"I- I'm gonna-..." She says, not really asking for permission. My jaw is slightly aching, as well as my forearm, but I can't stop. More importantly, I don't want to.

"Do it," I say like I was daring her to cum.

Her thighs clench around my head tightly, locking my jaw and hand in place for a moment. She is squeezing around my fingers like it would kill her to let go for even a minute.

Moans bounced around the room and jammed themselves down my ears. I don't think I have a hair left on my head from how tight she was pulling.

Once her body came down a little, and her thighs unwound themselves from my head, I sat up with a smile. My jaw was tired, and I suffered temporary fluid build-up in my brain from how tight her thighs clenched, but she was satisfied and happy.

At least, for now. 5 more minutes, and I bet you she will be shoving her hand down my pants.

I lay my cheek on her stomach, watching that orgasmic glow bake into her (face) cheeks before I get up and clean her off with a wet rag.

As I lay on her shoulder, she smiled devilishly. "So, you like the tattoo?"

"Definitely."

---

Ta-da! Let me know if there is anything we hate, or we love, or if I did something weird! This isn't usually how I write Y/N's, so it was a fun experiment!

Fin.

[neontheweenie]

the hardest part of writing fanfiction is NOT the actual fic itself. ITS THE TITLE

[neontheweenie]

Princess

Hello! This is my first story on here and my first time writing smut (for others to see), so please tell me what you think and give me feedback! I try to add a little plot in here to make it interesting! I do not give the MC a name, race, height, or any other defining features other than She/Her pronouns for ambiguity and inclusivity.

{Disclaimer- I own only the characters I create, do not own any part of the WWE, and am merely writing this for entertainment.}

{Warnings- Semi-public sex, use of the 'princess' nickname, praise kink, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, and aftercare.}

"Your heart and my heart are very, very old friends."

-Hafiz

There's blood on my teeth. It's thick, hot, and sticky in a way that reminds me of syrup doused on a stack of pancakes.

When Rhea said she wanted to spar, I thought she meant playful, almost gentle jabs filled with flirty commentary like we usually have. Not... this. For some reason, she is ticked off today and won't tell me why.

You know it's bad when you won't even tell your best friend of the past 20 fucking years.

My fingers smear the hot drip of blood cascading down the front of my lip, the sticky substance shoving itself into my fingerprints. The ring's initial squish has worn off, allowing me to feel all the hard springs press up and into the thin skin of my knees.

"What's got your panties in a fucking bunch today?" My hands shake a little as my fingers wipe the dribbles of blood away. I can feel it, still oozing into my mouth, staining my teeth, and tainting my tongue with the taste of iron.

"Nothin'." What a load of bullshit. Something is up, and she will tell me what it is.

"Uh-huh. And I'm just going to believe you socked me in the face for funsies." Her lips curl into a sneer, her hands on mine to help me up. With one tug, I am on my feet, launched so close to her that I can feel her breath on my lips.

"We are sparring. I am supposed to sock you in the face, princess." Her Australian twang crawls under my skin, her word choice making the hairs of my neck stand.

I won't lie. I love her a lot. I like being called a princess by her a lot. She has always called me that ever since she had to push Ahmed Okonkwo off the swings in the fifth grade for me to get a turn.

"Yeah, but..." I pout a little, anger sparking in my chest. Usually, she treats me like I am special, and refuses to hit me too hard. She treats me like a princess.

But if she wants to be a bitch, she'll be getting the special bitch treatment. "Whatever." I push away from her, missing the crackling tension before putting my legs in a wide stance.

Rhea circles me, her blue eyes trickling over every inch of my sweats with eager interest. She isn't wearing any makeup, but her face's sharp angles shine under the ring's yellowish lights.

Sweat emanates from every surface in here, tainting the air with a gnarly smell and making everything two shades darker than it should be. Even the air seems dimmed from shadows, making it seem like a noir film.

I bounce on the floor, feeling the circular springs press on my socked feet.

"Come on, princess," She entices, getting close to my back until I feel her breath rushing down my neck. Her hands rushed along the curve of my waist, and I found myself wanting to know why she was being all touchy-feely again.

That is when I felt it. Her hands were trying to sneak under my arms so that she could pick me up and slam me down without my knowing it. Why is she being such a bitch today?!

All my life for as long as I can remember, Rhea has been a part of me, and we always got through our moods and stages together. I don't like this bitchy mood. I even preferred her fuckboy stage over this.

Once I can feel her shit-eating grin over my shoulder, indicating that she thought her plan worked, I shove my foot into her shin and spin out of her hold. When I turned, one of her legs was hoisted up to her chest and she was bouncing on the other.

"I can't believe that you were going to try and distract me!" I whine, returning to my wide stance on the other side of the ring. The synthetic material of the ring's ropes scratched against my shoulder and made my skin itch.

Rhea is still bouncing around on one foot, her bottom lip clenched between her sterling white teeth. Something about that view made me go hot under the collar, seeing how the subdued grime of the gym made her shine.

"It was working, wasn't it?" Through the pain, her Australian accent was exemplified. I grimace at her words, watching her put her foot down and stand before me. She doesn't look like she is trying to play offense or defense. She just looks tired.

"Dude, seriously, what the fuck crawled up your ass? Did I do something?" I ask, genuinely concerned that I may have done something to irk her. She usually tells me flat out if she hates something I did, but maybe I did something really bad this time.

"You did do something!" She chuffed, and I have to admit that I was surprised by her answer.

"Is this about the cake pop?" I know I ate her cake pop the other day, but she stole my french fries at lunch before that! It was a cake pop for a french fry, and it was a brutal hostage situation!

"No, this isn't about the goddamned cake pop!" She snips, her hand flying up in the air in pure frustration. "It's you, princess!" Her hand slaps back onto her thigh, the resounding smack echoing in the completely empty gym. The reason that Rhea and I picked this gym, even with its grime and old equipment, is because no one goes here.

"What do you mean me? Did I say something or do something you didn't like?" I get closer to her, not daring to touch her, but just close enough that I can feel her breath on my face. I stare directly into her eyes, the cold blue shards amongst the stormy gray making me realize how intricate she truly is. How human she is.

"No, you just... you are too much for me." Is she calling me a handful?!

"What do you mean too much?" The question comes out too stern like I am demanding a reply instead of requesting one. Our whole lives, Rhea has been fidgety about her emotions and thoughts, never truly coming to terms with how deeply she feels them and tries to hide them away from even herself.

But never, ever, in a bajillion years did I think she would have the nerve to call me 'too much.'

"Sit." She demands, tugging me until we are on the edge of the ring. I can feel the heat coming off her body, and our thighs are almost touching as we sit. Almost. "I need you to take this seriously and not make fun of me for this."

"Yeah, of course." She hasn't been this serious since she lost her match against Charlotte Flair. Anxiety balls in my stomach and jams itself in my throat like a thick ball of sludge, refusing to move but making me feel sweaty and impatient for it to leave.

"You have too much muchness for me. That muchness is what fucked me over here. That muchness is what makes you too good for me in every way." Her fingers trickled onto my sweatpants-covered thigh as her eyes dashed slightly over my head to avoid my gaze. "I love you. I love you and I love your muchness."

I feel that ball of sludge forming even bigger. Rhea motherfucking Ripley loves me? Me?! My 'muchness' is what made her love me like I have been wanting her to for years?

My cheeks are so hot that the bloody residue from earlier has baked onto them, forcing them to be crispy and cracked and annoyingly itchy.

"I have loved you for a really long time but it wasn't until recently that I realized it wasn't the kind of love I thought it was, princess." My eyes are so wide that owls must be jealous of me. She looks so scared to be admitting this, her normal bravado and confidence scrubbed away from her.

Her hand hasn't left my thigh, and the tattoos there have become the object of my attention. That is, until it moves to my jaw and pulls my gaze to her pleading, scared eyes. "Princess, I am admitting the most terrifying thoughts of my entire life right now. I need you to fucking look at me."

Her voice was gravelly and deep and heavenly. It was also really hot, but we don't need to mention that right now.

"I love you too," I whisper, voice shaky as I do so. I always have loved her too. I was just conscious about what kind of love it was and where it came from. Do I love her platonically? A million times yes. Do I love her romantically? A bazillion times yes.

"Really?" I have never seen her so scared. She is so precious.

"Yeah, really." In all honesty, I am just relieved that she wasn't calling me a handful. I think if that happened, I would literally snap her in half right now.

"Oh, thank you." Her head hangs on her shoulders, and the tight grip that was on my thigh loosens. Her fear is seemingly gone, with every ounce of it washed away like it was never there. Her confidence comes back, glowing through her toothy smile.

"I should be thanking you." My voice is soft as I rub my hand over her shoulders until I am draped over her, "You did what I haven't been brave enough to for years."

In one split second, her lips were on mine, her teeth nibbling on the edge of my bottom lip. Her hand forced my head to turn at an uncomfortable angle until she could consistently keep us connected. My neck ached as I strived to keep up with her fast pace and keep my head how she wanted it.

My chest was fizzing with every riotous emotion that I knew kissing her would result in. We have flirted before, (what pair of best friends haven't flirted with each other?), but it never felt as good as this.

We don't have to worry about being ridiculed or gawked at because the old man working the front desk is the only other person in here, and he is fast asleep. His snores are small, almost inaudible amongst the chatter of Audrey Hepburn's voice that is streaming from his small T.V.

"Come here, princess." She pats her lap, and I move so that my legs are on either side of our hips. At this angle, I have to lean down to kiss her, but it lets me dig my fingers into the roots of her black hair.

She tastes like vanilla chapstick and pineapples, but her hair smells like sea salt and feels smooth as silk. Her hands race all over my waist, touching and pulling as much fabric as she could into her greedy hands.

With every push of my lips, she leans farther back into the ring ropes, the tough material digging into her muscular back. Her hands hook on the tops of my sweatpants, igniting a fire deep in my belly from how good this all feels.

Her lips pull away from mine, and I whine from the loss. "Get into the dressing room." Her finger points to the small room as her demand leaves her perfect lips. "Now."

I crawl off her lap, making a proper show of it as I do by allowing my fingers to teasingly run down her thighs, and walk to the dressing room.

The door leading in is black and foreboding of what is to come, but the dressing room itself is nicer than the rest of the gym. It is recently remodeled, with 1 stall on the back wall and green benches amidst the tiny lockers. The floor is clean, white tile, contrasting the dark green of the benches and the navy blue of the lockers, and it reeks of lemon cleaner in here.

Altogether, it's not the most romantic hookup spot in the world but oh-fucking-well.

I hear the lock of the door click solemnly before I feel her lips on the nape of my neck. Her hands find purchase on my hips, digging into the skin with a pinching need.

She is devouring me, absorbing every inch of skin with little nibbles and even tinier kisses. I can't help the breathy moans that escape my lips, or how my hands reach back to hold the loose fabric of her t-shirt.

Her lips touch the rim of my earlobe, leaving behind traces of her chapstick. "Be a good girl and take off those sweatpants for me." She whispers, her body fluidly trickling out from behind me to sit on a bench. She leans against the lockers, using one hand to cover her mouth and the other to support her elbow.

"You want me to do a fucking strip tease for you?" I ask, my tone indicating how incredulous the idea sounds.

My hands are already pulling the material down my thighs. Once they are off, I leave them in a discarded pile on the floor and pull my shirt over my head. I don't feel like I am being sexy enough, but I just want her to see what she wants and make her happy.

I don't take off my bra or panties, though. I leave those on and scuffle back over to her pondering gaze. I reach out to touch her again, but she stops me with a hand on my wrist.

"Do I really have to ask you to take those off too?" Her eyebrow is cocked, daring me to object.

"No. I guess not." Does she care that I like being bossed around? No.

With a slight pout, I unclip the light pink bra, feeling the lace brush my sensitive breasts before it's gone. The undies come off too, and I thank myself for forgetting to do laundry so I couldn't wear my 'comfy' undergarments today.

"Goddamn, you are so fucking pretty, princess." She mumbles, ripping my body down until I am straddling her sitting form. It isn't gentle or calm, but it makes me so wet that I feel like a fucking river down there.

Her lips find mine again, and my hands go back to her hair. She rakes her fingers over my left breast, stopping only momentarily to tease by pulling my pebbled nipple, and then continues down to my stomach.

At this point, I am groaning into her mouth, my hips shuffling above hers as the air in here cools the slick between my thighs. It all feels like too much and not enough all at the same time.

I get bold enough to jam my hands under the bottom of her shirt, feeling the tense muscles of her stomach and the hard bones of her pelvis. It's her turn to groan, even if her hands are still sliding around the lower part of my torso.

"Switch me." She demands, and I clamber to get off of her. She stands, stripping herself of her t-shirt and shorts until she is only left in her sports bra and undies. The more I see the more I want.

She pushes me back so that I am lying down on the bench, splayed in front of her and allowing her to see every inch of me. She looks like some kind of Greek statue, all muscle, and imposing angles.

Her lips smooth over my neck and chest until she is at eye level with my pelvis. She kisses the skin of my stomach, gently sucking to create hickeys only she will see.

Her hand travels up to support my slightly craning back while the other spreads my legs farther apart until her shoulders can fit between them. I am a sweaty, blushing, moaning mess but I can't stop to compose myself.

"Rhea, please?" I breathlessly mutter, the friction between my legs becoming too much to bear. I need her, and I need her quickly.

"Please what, princess? What do you want me to do?" I can feel her hand ghosting over my folds, teasing me and making me whine.

"Don't tease!" I beg, but she doesn't care. She likes this, the little sadist. "Just, p- oh fuck." Halfway through my thought, her fingers jammed themselves up to rub at my clit. They weren't rubbing hard or fast, they were slow and smooth, which made me feel every racket of pleasure even more.

If I could have done anything other than hold my breath, I would have screamed in pleasure. But, instead, I sucked in the air until my chest felt like it would explode and dug my nails into her shoulders. I know that crescent moons formed on her skin from my nails, but I don't think either of us gave a flying shit about it.

She took her fingers away for one moment, wiping the slick that was on them onto the skin of my thigh. All the air I was holding deflated from my chest in a whine.

"Rhea! You are teasing again!" This time, I am lucky enough that she lets me finish my thought before literally fucking me with something.

Just after I finished my whining, her tongue cruised over my wet folds before lightly racing over my swollen clit. I could feel the hot metal of her tongue piercing, and she somehow managed to use the metal ball on the end to add pressure wherever she wanted to.

Spasms of pleasure forced my legs to jitter around her head, and her hands pushed the insides of my thighs as open as they could be.

"You taste just as good as I thought you would princess." Oh.

"Thank you?" I squeak out, moaning when her fingers easily slip inside of me. The intense pressure that has been building in my stomach feels dangerously close to imploding, and I chase it with all my might. My hips buck up to meet the rapid, bruising pace her fingers set, but her shoulders don't let my thighs clench like they want to.

She brings her tongue back to the party, teasing me by lapping at my clit and looking up at me with her sharp blue eyes. She is a sight to see, her determination plastered over her face.

All this playing and toying and teasing got me so close to the edge that I could taste the overwhelming pleasure. Tiny rockets of explosive euphoria alight in my brain, and I just need a little push.

She pulls away, taking away one of the major sensations. I huff, my head leaning up to look at the dressing room's ceiling in pure annoyance and shock that she actually took something away from me.

Rhea, of course, looks mighty satisfied with herself for edging me like that.

"Rhea, please, I was so close." I turn to begging when her fingers set a slow pace and her tongue hasn't come back yet. She almost looks like she is going to cave and give me what I want, but then her evil little smirk comes back.

"OK. I'll give you the princess treatment, but just know that princesses have to deal with a lot all at once." Wait. What does she mean?!

I can't ponder the thought any further as her fingers return to their fast pace and her tongue is doing what her tongue does. How the hell does she make me feel this good?

The metal ball on her tongue ring swivels around my clit in a way that forces my back to fully arch and my hips swivel to accommodate the onslaught of pleasure. Her hand moves from supporting my back to pinning my hips down to the bench.

"Rhea, I'm gonna-" I trail off, feeling my hips shake and the tiny sparklers in my stomach turn into lit fireworks.

She pulls away for one second to mumble, "Fucking do it, princess." Her tone is dipped in desire and double-fried in lust, and it makes me pop my top.

Every muscle, joint, and bone in my body is on fire and tight with too much goodness. I feel like I am suffocating, holding my breath as I frantically moan and try to stop squirming. It's so overstimulating and so much to handle.

Oh. That's what she meant by a lot all at once.

Once the waves of pleasure calm themselves and my body relaxes, she kisses her way back up slowly, stopping at the previous hickeys she placed to make them even darker.

"I love you." She whispers into my ear, both of us sitting up on the bench. I am sticky with sweat, among other things, and looking at her reveals that she is just as much of a blushing mess as I am.

"I love you too," I mumble back. Her shoulders are littered with crescent moons, her chest is rapidly moving with short, deep breaths, and her hair is fluffed up and poofy. I lay my head on her shoulder for a few minutes, simply sitting there and absorbing her.

She stands after a long while, washing her hands and gently maneuvering my thighs to clean me off with a wet paper towel she got from the dispenser. Not only is she still a total smoke show, but now she is taking even better care of me than when we were 'just friends', and it makes me smile.

"I hope you aren't smiling because you think it is over. I still have so many things I have been dying to do to you, princess." She says, throwing her shirt and pants back on.

"I know it's not over, you little dork." I tease, following suit and getting my clothes back on. "And who said you get to have all the fun tonight?"

She laughs, grabbing my hand in hers and carrying both our gym bags.

"Let's go home, princess." We walk out of the gym, not daring to wake the front desk man, but our routine of walking out seems different. Better, in a way.

It might be just because I got my brains fucked out, but goddamn it I love tonight and I love her and she loves me. It's all I have ever wanted, and I finally have it.

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Fin.