#the way she turns into a monument with flowers...

[nereidprinc3ss]

trolley problem

in which fem!reader has been gambling with her life and spencer reid is more than a little concerned

flangst, hurt/comfort warnings/tags: passive suicidal ideation from reader, she keeps risking her life, that really grinds Spencer’s gears, established relationship, existential dread, existential euphoria, lots of stuff about grief and death and self worth, not advocating for this, pretension from the author, blasphemy probably?, reader gets fuzzy from prescribed painkillers, arguing, hospital stuff, mention of sleep paralysis involving spiders, reader gets shot but she’s fineee, I pander to intro to philosophy takers, bau!reader, neurodivergent coded reader, if she’s not exactly like you I’m sorry, bean soup a/n: one day you’re in a writing slump literally the next you are in your notes app for six hours writing whatever the fuck this is but I think I love it even tho it’s weird and I hope u like it too!! btw this was gonna be called cotard's syndrome but then I never once talk abt cotard's but if u care that might be interesting context for the motif of not feeling human/alive, WC 3K

Spencer hasn’t spoken to you since the doctor left the room five minutes ago. 

The air is antiseptic as you take it deep into the hollows of your lungs and trap it there for a moment, trying to optimize oxygen intake without actually having to breathe very often. Hospital smell is as universal as it is suffocating. It reeks of everything but death—flowers, blood, bleach, vomit. A humiliating, desperate scramble to defy the very thing that defines mortality. It’s pathetic. It reminds you of the worst instances of failure and loss and denial in your life. It curdles your blood. Literally rots you from the inside out. 

You’ve had ample time to ponder that smell over the last few months because you keep ending up here, and some time ago you decided the institution of the hospital is inherently absurd. It’s stupid to think you could avoid the one absolute condition on your corporeal form: impermanence. It is the only thing that is promised, and people still waste their lives away running from it. It is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. 

So around the time you acknowledged that hospitals are simply monuments to the self-importance of man, you gave up on trying too hard to preserve yourself. You’ve seen death too much and too often. You’ve tried staving it off with prayer and the miracles of modern medicine, and it never matters in the end because it’s all magical thinking anyway. All the wallowing and the bargaining and pleading never got you anywhere. 

You’ve accepted that from the moment you were born, you were marked for death. 

But you’re not a complete nihilist. You’re not even totally resigned to the abject certainty of death—because you’ve found a loophole.

Everyone has as many chances at escaping death as other people are willing to offer them at the cost of their own lives. Not many people are willing to make that trade—someone else’s life for their own—but you’ve decided you are. Because if not you, then who?

It’s not that you don’t see the value in your own life, as Spencer keeps making it sound. It’s just the opposite. You understand that you’ve got an extremely valuable resource, and you don’t just have to sit on it. There are things you can do. Choices you can make. Ways to defy death. 

Just… not yours. 

Or maybe you’re just in deep denial. 

Either way—this is a philosophy your boyfriend intentionally refuses to understand. He gets mad, or some kind of upset, every time you try to explain it. Usually he ends up leaving the room close to tears. You never feel good about it.

Right now he’s presumably trying to give you the silent treatment and not doing a very good job. 

“Stop holding your breath. Why are you—stop that.”

Spencer’s frowning, skin sallow and milk-blue under fluorescent lighting. Purple seeps from around his eyes like spilled wine on a white table cloth. Your stomach turns. 

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t tell you not to apologize. You don’t expect him to. 

“Why are you doing that? Does something hurt?”

Other than your entire bicep being on fire due to the 9 millimeter Luger it recently came into contact with?

“Not really. I just don’t like the smell of hospitals.”

At that, he gets stony again. Like, Medusa stony. You feel a tightening in your chest that has nothing to do with a lack of air. His arms are crossed. A silk lined blazer drapes over your lap, and you wonder if he’s cold in just that white button up. It’s translucent in this light, like onion skin, or maybe something less organic—the folds and wrinkles look like fabric, but lots of things look like something they aren’t. In the Pietá, Jesus lounges dead on his mother’s lap, his cheek pressed to her arm like either of them have warm flesh, and her skirts drape from her knees and fall to the ground in delicate folds just like Spencer’s jacket and looking at pictures of it you swear you could find comfort there too—but if you wanted to make space for yourself next to Jesus you’d have to do it with a chisel and mallet. You’re starting to think that’s what it’s going to take with Spencer, as well. 

“So stop walking into active gunfire. You’ll spend a lot less time here.”

Every deep sigh (of which there have been several) calcifies you further. Ironically, you never feel less alive than you do in a hospital. 

“I didn’t walk into active g—”

“I’m not debating it with you. It’s not a discussion.”

“So you’re just going to be pissed at me for the rest of forever? I mean, if it’s not a discussion—what are you gonna do? Break up with me?”

You feel yourself dripping poison in the well. Even as you say it. As his head tilts toward you slowly and intently from his spot against the wall, and his warning gaze is cold and unforgiving and weighs 3.35 tons.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Talk?”

“Don’t try and manipulate me by implying that there are no options between permissiveness and dumping you!”

“I’m not manipulating you. And I don’t need your permission to do anything.” 

The first part is an incredulous scoff as well as a blatant lie. You are manipulating him. Chisel and all. At least, you were trying to. It clearly doesn’t work very well. His jaw clenches.  

“Is this worth it to you? Fighting with me like we’re children solely so you don’t have to take accountability?”

“Accountability for what? I made a choice. I don’t regret it. You’re upset because I did my job.”

A beat. 

Silence always makes you feel the gravity of your words. 

“Do you believe that?”

His voice softens so much, so quickly, it splinters down the middle. 

You’ve never been known for your light touch. For someone who sees eviscerated bodies nearly every day, and prides herself on her evolved understanding of mortality, you often forget other people are not, in fact, impenetrable marble—they are flesh and blood and bone, and you’ve splattered yourself in the evidence of that. 

“What?” You murmur. You easily turn timid, when you’re afraid you’ve been too heavy-handed. Spencer’s seen you sob over the birds who hit the windowpane and never reappeared from the shrubbery—their delicate wings, their little beaks—he didn’t mean to, Spencer, and now he’s dead! He’s seen you spend forty minutes catching a spider with a cup and an envelope rather than smush it, even though you have reoccurring episodes of sleep paralysis wherein a giant arachnid is sitting on your chest, hissing and clacking its pincers. He knows you are, at your core, kind and good. 

It’s a little scary for someone to know that about you. It’s a little scary when you see your own vulnerability reflected in their eyes and the way they speak to you, the way you see it in him now. 

“Do you believe that the choices you make regarding your safety don’t concern me at all?”

“They’re… my choices to make,” you whisper, but you’re less sure than you were a minute ago. 

“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about how it feels like you are trying to kill yourself every time we’re in the field.” His voice shakes. You swallow. “You have been hospitalized for four serious injuries sustained on the job in the past five months. Every time I bring it up, you—you talk about life like it’s optional for you. Like you’re not only willing to give it up but are actively looking to throw yourself in harm’s way every chance you get. You think that doesn’t terrify me?”

There’s a small chip in the paint on the wall next to him roughly the shape of Africa. 

“It’s not like that. I’m… I’m just having an unlucky streak.”

He snaps. 

“Luck isn’t going to get between you and a bullet. Ever.”

“It’s my job, Spencer.”

“No. It is a risk of the job. Not a defining feature or requirement. But you keep running toward gunfire like you have a quota to meet.”

“Spencer, I’m not doing it at you. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”

“Well it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to avoid it, either,” he shoots back immediately, and you feel the anguish radiating from him until it lodges in your own chest, like it was always yours. Maybe it was. 

You want to make it better, but you don’t know how, and even if you did, he’s pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” You call, a little too desperately for your liking. 

“You need to eat something.”

Which translates roughly to he’s pissed and upset and he needs to leave the room. You’ve done this song and dance before. 

However, food and an absence of him are contenders for the absolute last two things you want right now. 

“Spencer, please don’t—”

But the door is already whooshing closed. 

You stare at the grey and white checkered floor. Light bounces off the waxen reflection—some sort of parallel universe you can’t reach, perhaps. The whole room is desaturated. A mechanical humming threatens to drive you insane. It doesn’t feel like a place for living humans. You’re not convinced you are one. 

When he comes back, maybe ten minutes later, nothing’s moved at all. In fact you’re not even sure you’ve been breathing. 

The door closes as quietly as it opens. 

This time, wordlessly, Spencer comes to you. You see his shoes first—his serious adult shoes. You wish he was wearing his Converse. 

Then you see the bottle of apple juice he’s cracking open for you. Blue lid. Same kind you always get. 

“You didn’t bring food.”

“You wouldn’t have eaten it.”

Fair enough. 

You take the bottle with your good arm and sip shallowly—all that adrenaline and the subsequent interpersonal strife has left you nauseous. The drink is too sweet. It clashes with the tang of metal in your mouth. 

Still, you drink enough to satisfy him, and then you’re tossing his jacket aside before balancing the bottle between your thighs so you can screw the lid back on. He doesn’t go back to the couch or his spot on the wall. 

Spencer doesn’t pull away when you lean into him, but it does take him a moment to reciprocate. You’re still grateful all the same when he cradles the back of your head to his stomach like you’re made of porcelain. 

“I don’t think you understand how upset I am,” he says quietly. 

Only Spencer Reid could be furious with you and still hold you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“That’s not good enough. You need to stop risking your life like that.”

He doesn’t get it. Your brows flutter as they try to furrow but even holding that expression saps you. Maybe the pain meds are finally kicking in. 

“I just wanna help people.”

“That doesn’t explain to me or justify your urge to do it at the cost of your own life. We all want to help people, angel. The whole team. That’s why we do what we do. But we don’t run into shootouts. We don’t split off and provoke people with guns when we’re unarmed and unprepared.”

“But it worked. She got away.” You feel a spark of fulfillment at the memory of Gloria Sanchez in JJ’s arms just before the ambulance doors had slammed you into your first cage of the night. 

“We don’t know if he was going to kill her. He might not’ve fired at all if you didn’t go running toward him. That wasn’t strategic, it was reckless and irresponsible and you know that. I know you do. So something else is going on.”

The pressure in your nose that usually precipitates tears comes as a surprise. 

“I just—if that’s how I can save someone, why shouldn’t I, you know? Why do they have less of a right to live than I do just because they’ve been deprived of the choice? If I have a choice, and they don’t, I should choose to… to help them. That’s my job.”

For a long moment, you listen to your own breath, muffled by Spencer’s shirt, and the mechanical humming, and something dripping, and the low, buzzy chatter of nurses far down the hallway.

When Spencer next speaks you get the sense he’s holding a lot back. His voice is taut enough it wavers slightly. Taut enough that if he weren’t speaking so quietly he might be yelling. It’s like pinpricks all over your body—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re paying attention. 

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

And yes, in theory, you do. But that doesn’t negate your original point. It only takes one life or death moment for you to utilize the most valuable resource you have. What happens after is no longer your concern. 

“On the psych evals you helped develop it asks if you think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the one to save the many. The answer is supposed to be no. If you say yes you get flagged. The FBI frowns upon… lever-pullers. And that’s exactly what I’m doing if I let one person die when I could’ve potentially saved them.”

“Protecting your own life is not pulling the lever. What you’re doing isn’t smart or morally righteous. You’re just throwing yourself across the tracks, too. If you were to fail a psych eval right now it would be because you’re passively suicidal. And you know what? The FBI also tends to frown upon self-immolative delusions of grandeur and girls who like to play sacrificial lamb.”

“’M not a… sacrificial lamb…”

“No,” Spencer agrees quietly, stroking your hair. “You’re not.”

And you can’t react to the fragility in his voice, or the content of his words, and the fact that when he says it he means something different—you can’t do anything about it. You can only catalogue it. You can only know that he loves you, and feel a little guilty about it.

Some time passes. You don’t know how long he remains standing so you can doze against him. He does not smell like the hospital. He’s the antidote for whatever grief they distill from widows and orphans before aerosolizing it through the whole place. 

“Baby?” He asks eventually. You know the lilt of it. He’s been thinking. 

“Hm?”

He hesitates. 

“Can we talk about you maybe taking some time off of work?”

“You heard the boss,” you mumble. “I can’t come in for at least a week.”

“I mean beyond that.”

You intend to respond, but by the time you open your mouth you’ve lost the prompt in all the brain fog. 

“You’re so comfy,” you murmur dreamily. “Thank you for being mad at me.”

If he responds, you miss it. 

You’re imagining the bed waiting for you at home, once the doctor is done observing you—warm, neatly made. Blankets woven with soft fibers. A mattress that will sink under your weight. You think of Spencer, who’s shaping himself to you, Spencer, who intentionally inhales when you exhale at night to make room for the rise and fall of your chest against his. You think of the imprint of his buttons on your cheek. You are both flesh and blood and bone. 

Strange, pill-induced half dreams and visions and memories take over. You’re in that alleyway again. That man fires. You don’t blink or scream or feel. 

Just before the bullet makes contact you’re standing in front of the Pietá. It’s massive. Spencer is there, too, holding your hand. 

You can’t actually see him, only, you know he’s there. You feel his warmth, his presence, when he leans over to whisper in your ear. The way you know him goes beyond sight. 

The Pietá—meaning the pity, in English—is 6’7” and six feet wide. It weighs 6,700 pounds. Michelangelo had to quarry the block of marble himself. He was only 25 when he finished. The Basilica keeps it behind bulletproof glass. 

Jesus and Mary behind bullet proof glass. 

God. Who’d try to kill Jesus a third time? He’s already dead. 

Besides—they’re both made of stone. Bullets would probably just ping right off of them. Or maybe they’d shatter just like you did. 

Probably not though. You’re not actually made of marble. You’ve no idea what it feels like to be a statue and get shot at. You sure know how it feels as a human, though—and it feels like shit. You don’t really know why you keep doing it. None of your reasons are good enough for Spencer, and he’s, generally speaking, pretty smart about some things. 

Maybe you’re tired of being human.

Maybe you’re tired of sleeping on your arm funny and waking up to a hand in your bed that doesn’t feel like yours and remembering all the hands you’ve held moments before they couldn’t hold yours back. Or tired of those moments where you are being held and it’s so unbelievably perfect and then someone has to let go, or when someone you love hugs you goodbye and you realize that there will always be a final I love you, or simply getting older and watching potential life paths fall away like rotten fruit to the ground. Maybe life is sometimes so good it hurts and you can’t bear it. So you tempt fate. You walk a tightrope because even if you fall and it can’t ever feel good again—at least it can’t hurt either. At least you won’t lose anymore. 

And yet. 

It does feel good, sometimes. Sort of often, actually. Even when it’s awful. 

Dead Jesus and Mary, with their marble skin and their bulletproof glass and their holiness and their virginity and all the other things they have that you don’t. Nobody can hurt them anymore. Not ever. 

Maybe that’s something you envy.

But you doubt they’ve ever been so terribly, wonderfully alive as you’ve been, or as comfortable as you are like this, leaning into Spencer’s warmth and his softness, in the hospital, or the Vatican, or your dreams. Your bicep was ruined but it’s healing. You are capable of ruin and rebirth in the same lifetime. In the same day, in the same hour. 

You doubt that in 520 years, behind bulletproof glass and unyielding, eternally flawless skin, they’ve ever felt as invincible as you do now. 

You doubt they ever could. 

[higher-noon]

Thinking about post-canon with the king being frozen in the House of Change and what happens to him.

Like, he's frozen there. They can't move him without unfreezing him. He's just there presumably forever. In a House. Forever.

Vanguardians seem... a bit too nice, to turn his name into a curse and his image into an omen, so I doubt he will become the next crab, but either way his existence is a monument to the shortcomings of their beliefs and the impossibility of eternal entropy.

Do they just lock the room and keep him hidden away? With kids and travelers being dared to venture inside and touch and/or vandalize the pseudo-corpse of the man who tried to embalm their country? Knick knacks and dust building up around him until someone decides on some spring cleaning and almost reverent wiped the dust from his shoulders?

Does his emporium become another lecture hall for the philosophy students to argue in? Does his form become a good luck charm for housemaidens to pet before their pilgrimage until eventually the tips of his armor are rubbed dull and it is recognized that he too can change and time is only one factor in the process that enough effort and persistence can eventually wear down?

Do refugees who eventually come to recognize their heritage find themselves drawn to the house, looking for whatever hints of home might remain? Do they look into the king's joyous eyes and beg and wish for a glimpse of what he sees? Does his sanctuary become a mass grave for a culture that has no other chance to mourn? Is he all but swallowed by flowers because even in his violence and his fear and his greed, the king was important, too?

And years down the line, when the country has healed and it's citizens at peace, when the saviors are hardly more than a folktale or a history lesson, when Mirabelle is old and tired and she forgets herself one last time, passing as she falls asleep, does the king wake up?

[aggieharkness]

Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 2

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: Avis has plans for the both of you, plans that change drastically when she finds you doing filthy things to yourself. She must punish you for that, mustn't she? Teach her dirty little girl a lesson.

Warnings: smut (+18), affair, swearing, oral (Avis receiving), fingering (Avis receiving), oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), mommy kink, praise kink, orgasm denial, edging, teasing, public sex, car sex, dom/sub, power play, pet names, tit play.

Authors note: you all seemed to like the first chapter, so I came up with this. The plot changed as I was writing, so I started with one idea and finished with this. I hope you all like it, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking on something... I accept constructive criticism because it's very late once again and I don't know if this chapter is any good. If you want more, tell me. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Chp. 1 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.5 Chp.6

Word count: 13K (yes, it's even longer. I don't know what I'm doing)

Skirt up and knickers off

Breakfast seemed like it had been so long ago. The cup of tea that rested next to the turned off lamp, which you had barely touched since arriving at the office since the lights in that hallway seemed to always be on and blinding, had turned cold a while ago due to the fact that the pile of work on your desk was monumental and you needed to get through it before more documents showed up the next morning. With Mr. Amberg in some business trip all the way in Denmark you had to do Miss Kincaid’s work as well as his. Again. Honestly, this had to be a fucking joke. Miss Stinton recovers, comes back and leaves with her boss and half of the fucking studio on a trip in less than a day leaving you in charge when you had just got used to your tiny little office once again, with your tiny potted flowers and the window that you had never been able to open. Good things really didn’t last for you, well, some things did. Lifting you gaze from the contract of a camera man that you had never seen in your entire life, they glued to those big doors that separated your boss’s office from the hallway. What had transpired inside that room a merely few days ago had been marvellous, and the memories of it sent shivers down your entire body, heat rising under the collar of your dress. Who would have thought Avis Amberg was so talented with her tongue in the bedroom as much as she was out of it?

She had worked on you slowly, with a caring touch at first that had surprised you. Her fingertips had traced every curve of your body, they had massaged and pinched and simply caressed you as if you had been made out of gold, her mouth following the same rules, never nibbling, never biting. You had adored it, but after a while you had got needy, and you had begged. With her naked splendid body on top of yours you had begged her to be rough, that you could take it and holy fuck, she had really taken your word for it, slapping you then, a single eyebrow lifted and a smirk on her full lips. It had stung, but the pain had turned quickly into pleasure and even though you had the shape of her hand marked on your cheek, your knickers had been absolutely flooding. Avis had seen a side of you then that she had told you the both of you would explore on another occasion, because the well behaved Ace Studios employee that had just given her three orgasms on a row liked it rough and she was so turned on by the simple thought of leaving the shape of her palms on your body, of leaving you utterly destroyed that it had not been a promise, it had been a fact. She had forgone her caring touch from that instant onward. There had been moments when the pleasure had been so close to the line of agony, when her teeth had bitten down on your neck enough to practically draw out blood, when her nails had racked over your breasts, pinching your nipples to the point where you could not differentiate between what moans where from pleasure and which ones where from pain, that your heart had practically leaped out of your chest with how fucking aroused you had been and  also by how panicked you had found yourself to be once or twice, but like the lady she was, she had never ever crossed the line. But she had offered you a taste of what things might be like when she had pulled you off the desk and instead had bent you over it, your ass up in the air while her right hand pulled your head back by your hair, whispering the filthiest things she could come up with in your ear.

-Look at you, dripping onto the carpet when I have barely touched you. You are such a slut.

It had sent a jolt of pleasure to your core, matching the way her hands had grabbed your ass, massaged it and then proceeded to slap both cheeks on quick succession, because she was in charge, and you were her puppet. Then without warning she had plunged two fingers into you, and you had been lost. Her pace had been even faster than yours, but then again, she was so turned on by her own actions that it was miracle she was not slamming you into the wood of the desk, not that the way her fingers felt as they curled and moved was bad at all. With her mouth she had began to kiss down your naked back, your breasts dangling, nipples brushing over the desk as she pushed you back down to gain better access to the shape of your spine, her hot tongue licking the layer of sweat that had begun to accumulate. Each lap of her tongue as it travelled down had made your walls clench around her fingers and then suddenly, she had pulled them out completely and had let go of your hair, your pants hard against the wooden surface. On shaky legs you had pushed yourself upward watching as she pulled her husband’s chair away from the desk before sitting on it, legs spread and her cunt glistening and dripping as much as yours, her red curls cascading and framing her gorgeous face. Her pupils had taken over her eyes once more as she had signalled for you to approach her, her hands grabbing your hips and sitting you down in between her legs as soon as you had been within range, your back pressed against her chest, her stiff nipples brushing on your skin. Her hands had traced the shape of your thighs as she had opened you up even further, swinging each leg over her own, leaving you completely exposed to the world.

-Look at you, showing your pretty cunt to the entire studio. Imagine it Y/N, everyone standing in this very room with their eyes on your body.

You had indeed imagined it. Mr. Amberg’s face contorted in anger, or perhaps passiveness as you had his wife behind you utterly naked, her salty taste still deep within your mouth. You had imagined everyone in that office staring dumbfounded, losing your train of thought for a moment as Avis squeezed your breasts before moving one hand back to your hair and the other between your legs not wasting a second before she was knuckle deep inside you again. Your head had lulled back of its own accord, eyes rolling to the back of your head as she moved them so expertly, so fast. Her lips latched onto your neck, which was absolutely bruised by then, listening to the squelching sounds that you both made as she fucked you. Your imagination only enhanced the experience, because now you could see your boss red with anger but unmoving, Dick, Richard, Ellen, everyone watching you both, so open, spread wide, and with one flick of her thumb over your clit you came crashing down, Avis’s name leaving your lips in a full-on scream. She had really worked you up; rather embarrassing for you to have cum so quickly when you had tried to prolong her pleasure for as long as you could. Her movements slowed down and you had been rather disappointed that she was not willing to give you the same treatment you had given her, pushing your body off of hers once you had come down from your high but honestly you should have known she was not done, alas your brain was still recovering from your orgasm and it did not click what she had planned next until she had sat you on her husband’s chair, kneeling before you.

Your walk down pornographic memory lane was disturbed, much to your dismay, by the phone ringing. Your eyes unglued themselves from the doors, but when you where about to move your right hand towards the receiver you felt it in between your legs. Looking down you saw your skirt slightly hunched above your thighs, underwear to the side and two of your own fingers knuckle deep inside you. Fuck, you really had been lost in your own filthy mind, but thankfully no one was in that hallway now that Mr. Amberg was on that trip. You had never done this in the office before, but then again you had never fucked Avis Amberg either, so there was definitely a first time for everything.  You contemplated for a second whether you wanted to pull them out, the phone continuing to ring, before you decided that you very much didn’t and took the receiver with your left hand sounding as professional as ever, if only a little bit out of breath. The sound of your boss’s voice bombed on the other side, and you rolled your eyes in exasperation before you began to listen to his rambling. Yes Mr. Amberg, the contracts had arrived, yes Mr. Amberg production for “A kiss at Midnight” has been halted until your return, no Mr. Amberg the studio has not gone over budget on Miss Crandall’s movie. The frustration of his stupid words was mixing with the frustration of your fingers not moving, adding fuel to the possibility of you talking back to him if he didn’t shut up soon and let you finish, but he seemed to be talkative today, and you were too fucking turned on by the memory of his wife to wait until he hanged up.

You slid your fingers out before plunging them back in, curling them so the tips would brush over that sweet spot. You bit back a groan, trying to keep your noises down to a minimum, not that you thought Mr. Amberg would even realise what you were doing, because now you seemed to be like a fucking therapist, listening to all his problems and what not without the chance of getting a single word in. Your pace had been slow, careful at first, but soon you found a rhythm that you enjoyed very much, feeling a slight burn in your arm from the exertion, but you wouldn’t stop now that you could feel your orgasm properly building. Placing the receiver in between your shoulder and your ear you had your left hand doing you the service of rubbing your own clit, brushing and pinching and putting as much pressure on it as you could. Mr. Amberg never suspected anything, he carried on rambling about this and that, soft “yes Mr. Amberg, of course Mr. Amberg” leaving your lips to keep him content. Your movements got more erratic, and the sound of his voice travelled to the back of your head as his wife’s moans and whimpers filled your mind, fuelling your arousal even further. At last, you heard Mr. Samuels call for him and Mr. Amberg was quick to end the conversation and hang up even before you could say goodbye, and thank fucking God for it, because you were far too close to keep the conversation going. But of course, good things never last, and you heard the sound of the elevator, pulling both hands out from in between your legs as fast as you could, the skirt of your dress back over your thighs, a frustrated groan having escaped your lips as you had been forced to let your orgasm fade when you had been right there, almost reaching the peak.

Whoever was on that elevator was going to receive the worst treatment in the world. Or not. Placing the receiver back in place and pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket to clean your fingers you watched as Avis walk out, her red curls perfectly coiffed under a black wide rim hat with a veil wrapped under her chin, her frame dressed in a gorgeous light blue, perhaps even greyish, two-piece. Her bosom was beautifully wrapped in a top that presented ruffles at the bottom, a long skirt hiding her legs from your view, her dainty feet in five-inches heels that matched the colour of her clothes perfectly. Looking at the outfit as a whole you thought she could have got away with just wearing the top; sure, the bottom of her blouse would have ended around her thighs, the longest part could have even reached her knees, but it’s not as if that could ever be a bad thing. If you could feast on Avis’s legs the better the choice of clothes. Alas, she was a lady, and she would never wear something like that, in public anyway you suspected. Her hips swayed with each step she took, her signature red lips smiling up at you, her brown eyes surveying you through her long black eyelashes. Getting closer she noticed your dishevelled state, how your cheeks were flushed, your chest rising and falling rapidly, even a few random strands of your golden hair had escaped your ponytail. She raised an eyebrow at you, her sweet smile now a smirk.

-Good morning, Y/N. Have I interrupted something? – her voice was low and sweet as she reached your desk, your hands still holding onto the handkerchief. The sunlight that came through the window bathed her face so beautifully, like a halo of utter magnificence. Her eyes shone brightly, the deep oak-coloured orbs like molten chocolate over your body, her olive kissed skin glowing, calling out to you the same way her red lips were as she smiled, your eyes racking over them. But you were most taken by the way her usually deep red hair seemed to shine with ginger tones that complemented her features perfectly, like a field of oranges on the coast of Spain. Even her perfume this time seemed to be more citrusy. She basked in the way you were so taken with her, the way you could not take your eyes off of her body, not even for an instant. She chuckled as she bent forward a bit more, her gloved finger under your chin, forcing your eyes to gaze upon hers. – Answer the question doll.

-No, ma’am. – crap, you had forgotten to return your knickers to their usual position covering your cunt, and the fabric was digging onto your thigh as you pressed them together. Why couldn’t she have waited a few more minutes? Her eyes narrowed at your words, her forearms resting over the light wood giving you a perfect angle to see her full breasts through the top.

-I don’t like liars Y/N, so I’ll ask again, did I interrupt something?

-I… Yes. Why do you ask if you already know ma’am?

-Why wouldn’t I? Better yet, how couldn’t I? Seeing you so… horny right in front of me. Honestly girl, does that pretty mind of yours ever rest?

-No when you are in it, ma’am.

-Sweet talker. – she grabbed one of your hands, bringing your fingers to her lips, kissing the tips before putting them in her mouth, her tongue twirling around them, licking and sucking. She closed her eyes briefly, a quiet moan rumbling from her throat as she tasted you in your own fingers. When she popped them out, she simply mover her pinkie around her mouth to ensure her lipstick was still perfect as if she had not just done something so positively erotic that had you writhing in your seat dripping and boiling under your collar. It didn’t go unnoticed by her. – Did I come by too early and didn’t let you cum, doll? - You nodded at which she chuckled and moved her hand to grab your chin with a bruising strength. – Poor little Y/N. Do you want to? – you nodded once more.

-Please, mother. - You could literally spontaneously combust by how hot you were, it almost felt like you were scorching in your own skin, not to mention in between your legs and the way her body was just so fucking perfect and tempting under that outfit, her cleavage a most out of body experience as they nearly spilled out of the top from her position. Fuck you could come just be staring at them.

-Well, you can’t. Not until I say so and I have plans for you and me, so get that pretty ass of yours up from that chair and get your coat. - she had pushed her body off your desk, adjusting her gloves and hat, her hands roaming the sides of her body as her eyes locked with yours, her lips parting slightly as the tip of her tongue roamed over her teeth.

-But… Please…

-Are you trying to talk back to me, honey? – her entire demeanour changed, that playful banter she had had with you turned into a low dangerous tone that only worsened your state, her eyes staring at you hard, her palms firmly on your desk as she towered over you. – Let me remind you little girl that I am in charge here. You don’t get to plead or beg me to let you do anything, I give you permission when I see fit. Understood?

-Yes, mother.

-For what you just did I think a punishment is in order, wouldn’t you say?

-Ye… Yes, mother.

-Stand up and remove your underwear. Now.

Your legs were so shaky that you had to hold onto the edge of your desk as not to fall over, standing from your chair and lifting your skirt with your right hand, grabbing the waistband before pulling your white knickers down your legs letting the skirt fall back into place. Avis removed her gloves at the same time, freeing her slender fingers and veiny hands, those hands that you had fantasied about every time you had got in bed since Friday night. The feeling of the fabric of your dress on your bare ass was distracting, to say the least, but you had already angered Avis once and you didn’t want to make it worse. The flimsy garment was now around your fingers and unsure of what you were supposed to do with it you would have placed it on your desk if she had not extended her hand in a silent command for you to placed it on her palm. She took it, twirled it in between her fingers before she spread the garment open, thoroughly inspecting the ruined material before she turned her head towards you, still standing there waiting for her command. What an obedient little pet you could be. She brought the knickers to her face and licked them slowly, her eyes never breaking their gaze over yours, thriving on the fact that your eyes had dilated even further, and your breaths were coming in hurried puffs, your cheeks, and probably chest as well, blushing a deep red. Avis hummed deliciously as she tasted you, your legs pressed so hard together that every muscle on your thighs was absolutely tense beyond believe, the woman doing one more lap over your knickers with her tongue before she folded them and put them in a little pocket in her purse.

-If you are a good girl for mama, you will be thoroughly rewarded doll. Come and stand here, let mama see you.

Your right hand remained on the edge as you rounded the desk, coming to stand in front of her on your shaky legs. She circled you, taking in the pretty lilac dress you were wearing today, the zipper on the side she noticed as her fingers lingered a bit over your stomach, travelling around your frame, moving to your lower back, right above your buttocks but never really touching them. You smelled just delicious, her nose brushing your neck as she inhaled your essence. Each feathery touch of her fingers upon your skin left a trail of goosebumps, your nipples stiff and perky under your dress. Coming back to face you her finger traced the collar of your dress, tight around your neck, hooking it underneath the fabric and pulling you closer to her, her lips hoovering over yours. It was a miracle your feet hadn’t tripped in the foot and a half that had previously separated you.

-You should let all those marks I gave you see the sun, honey.

-What would people think, ma’am? – your voice wavered slightly, her minty breath warming your lips, her hand on your waist almost as if she knew you could collapse on her any minute, your own hand shooting to stabilise yourself on her forearm feeling her soft skin under your palm.

-That you have a very diligent partner. No need to tell them that partner is me.

She considered herself your partner. The words rang musically in your ears. One night between the two of you, a very good one if you were being honest, and she already considered herself to be that someone you would want to spend every hour of every day with. And damn, you did want her in such a way. You wanted to return home and see her sitting on the couch nursing one of her fancy martinis, the record player in the background resonating to something slow and beautiful, like her. You wanted to woo her, take her to dinner, dance with her, take her on picnics and trips to the South of Spain and every little village in Italy, to see her relaxing at the beach. You wanted to hold her hands and in the darkness of the night take her to bed, undress her, kiss every inch of her skin, to watch her sleep as the moonlight bathed her after midnight, to wake up to her sleepy grunts, watching the thin bedsheet slip off her body revealing her naked form to the gentle morning light. Your eyes locked with hers, drinking in her intense gaze, realising she might too want the same thing. Her fingers undid the first two buttons of your dress tracing the shape of your neck with her nails, smiling as your skin turned red.

-You and I are going to have so much fun today.

A yelp escaped your lips as her left hand spanked you through your dress, kneading the flesh of your ass as her right one travelled underneath the skirt, over your thigh and in between them. Your legs parted for her, her index finger sliding through your wet folds as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, hips buckling. That simple movement earned you another spank, harder than the previous one, her finger twirling around your clit for a few seconds, listening as your whimpers became more needy before pulling her hand away. You whined at the loss of contact, your peak right there, so close you could taste it but fading once more. Your eyes opened pleadingly, and you nearly begged her again, but the words never made it out through your lips as you watched her put her drenched finger in her mouth, sucking it before releasing it with a pop, grabbing her gloves from the desk. You wanted that finger in your mouth, in your cunt, you wanted to taste her all over and for her to taste you.

-Delicious. Grab your coat and put your hair in a braid, I don’t want you looking so dishevelled. Yet.

The way the material of the skirt moved around your bare flesh only fuelled your need for release, but you would not contradict Avis again. You wanted that tongue of hers on you and you would get it, even if you had to do questionable things to achieve it. Making your way to the coat rack you picked it up, throwing your arms in and tying it loosely around you before raising your arms to let your hair free before beginning to braid it. By then Avis had begun to walk towards the elevator without waiting for you, but you would not complain; her ass swayed deliciously under that tight skirt of hers and you knew she knew how much you loved it. You practically sprinted in her directions as the elevator’s doors opened, letting her enter it first and letting her exit before you as you finished tying your hair, throwing it over your shoulder, your frame always a couple of feet behind her as to not draw too much attention to you. If only the people you crossed paths with knew that you were commando under your dress because Avis Amberg had ordered you to remove your knickers, they would either faint or call you crazy, but what sweet madness it was knowing that it was true. Pushing the exit gates, you followed her into the bright sunny world outside that fucking building, because let’s be honest, it was shit having to miss such a beautiful day because one had to work, though you soon wished you had never left that fucking building. It was freezing, Avis had your knickers in her purse and your cunt would soon turn into a huge ass ice cube if you didn’t make it to her Cadillac soon.

The trek to the parking lot was both exhilarating for obvious reasons but also torture and you sighed in relief as that beautiful black car came into your plane of vision. Unlocking it Avis sat in her seat while you slipped right beside her, your arousal having diminished slightly, much to your dismay. From the corner of her eye Avis noticed that you were relaxed, far too relaxed for her liking, she had too many ideas in that pretty head of hers to have you grow cold on her, so after turning the ignition and reversing before shifting the vehicle into first gear, her hand shot out to grab your thigh, pulling your body closer to hers. Her fingers kneaded your flesh, drawing out sweet gasps from you, her voice ringing in your ears as she asked you for a cigarette. Your hands shook as you opened her purse, pulled one out and lighted it, handing it to her, but she did not take it, she smirked at you before raising an eyebrow, her silent command clicking in your brain after a moment. Your hand approached her mouth, the pads of your fingers touching her bright red lips as you placed the cigarette in between them, the carmine staining your skin as you pulled your hand back. She hummed in approval, rewarding you, or perhaps torturing you, when her hand slipped under your skirt and began to trace the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. It was positively hypnotising to see her take a drag before releasing the smoke around her gorgeous face, the cigarette resting in between two fingers of her left hand. The one under your skirt inched closer and closer to your cunt by the minute, your eyes moving from her face to her hand as if it were a tennis match. Avis’s brown eyes glanced at you every chance she could, listening to your gasps and moans.

Her own underwear was ruined already, but there would be plenty of time for you to take care of her once she had finished what she had planned for you, after all she had the house all to herself and she could do as she pleased in it. Signalling to turn left, her hand had to slip out from under your dress so she could swerve the Cadillac down Sunset Boulevard, the cigarette patiently waiting once more in between her lips, taking a long drag. The lack of her touch didn’t last for too long, as soon as the car glided down the road again, she placed her hand once more over your thigh and under the fabric. The grip you had on the seat had turned your knuckles white, eyes glued to her hand as it moved, her forearm bunching up the lilac material showing off your shapely legs until her fingers finally made contact with your dripping folds. The moan that escaped your throat was shameful, your head lulling back over the seats, but you didn’t care, not when they were moving up and down your slit slowly. Out of their own accord your legs spread to grant her better access, to which she chuckled, puffing the smoke of another drag in your direction never stopping her ministrations, quite the opposite. She gathered as much of your juices on her two fingers as she could before moving up to your clit, twirling it and rubbing it in short motions. You cursed, your breaths coming in short gasps and pants tasting the nicotine that floated in the air, eyes rolling when she pressed a little harder, grabbing her wrist to push her hand closer to you. Wrong move. Avis pulled her hand away with a disapproving hum before you could stop her, leaving you again close to the edge, refusing to touch you, not even planning on placing her hand on your thigh. Absolutely not; you thought you could tell her what to do, demanding her to please you? Then she would leave you wanting her until it drove you insane. Tears had begun to gather in the corner of your eyes at the frustration, but you would not cry because you honestly did not know whether she would like it or not. Perhaps she would end all this in an instant, and that you certainly did not want, so you swallowed thickly and closed your legs.

-I’m sorry mama. – you needed a distraction, not that the sound of her voice helped you feel any less aroused, not that the sight of her full lips wrapping around the cigarette wasn’t as erotic as she made it look, but perhaps starting a conversation could relax some of the tension in your body. - Where… Where are we going ma’am?

-I don’t want an apology Y/N. Don’t. Do. It. Again. – each word was accentuated by a hard glare your way, smoke escaping her mouth before she rolled the window down and flicked the butt out onto the road. She remained silent for a minute, ruminating in her head whether you deserved an answer to your question or not. Those pleading eyes and rosy cheek that were staring back at her were too adorable for her to keep you in the dark. Her tone wasn’t as commanding, but it definitely held an air of power that prevented you from interrupting her. - Ellen has told me that your car was beyond repair and that you have been using the bus to get to work since Saturday, so I’ve decided to do something about it.

-Som… Something about it? Avis, you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting?

-Yes, I am. Honey, I’m rich, I can spend as much as I want on whatever I want, and I want to spend it on you.

-You don’t have to.

-I know, I just told you I want to Y/N. You have been working yourself to bone at the studio. You have done everything to please my husband with your brain and you have done everything to please me with your skills. Such devotion deserves recognition.

-The raise was enough, ma’am.

-And yet you take the bus with all those strangers gawking at you, probably fantasizing about your body, about how you might sound with that pretty mouth of yours around their cocks and I for one, don’t like to share. – she braked at a red light taking the opportunity to turn her head fully towards you, her right hand grabbing your face, her fingers still smelling of your arousal, your mind hazy and rushing. As if it had ever stopped. – I’m the only one with the privilege of hearing and watching you cum. No one else.

-Of course, mother.

-If I see you faulting yourself, flirting in any way, in front of any of those men, inside or outside the studio, your punishment will be so severe you’ll have to call in sick for a week. I will have to remind you that you are my good girl, my pretty, desperate and delicious, good girl. Do I need to make myself clearer, honey?

-No, mother. I would never do that to you.

-Still, had I taken the stairs instead of the elevator I would have found you with your own fingers deep inside your cunt, pleasuring yourself. Were you thinking of me?

-Every minute of every day, Avis.

-Had I waited one more minute would have I seen you dripping onto your own hands, head lulled back, arching off the chair while you moaned my name? – you felt the huskiness in her voice in every single cell of your body, her left hand grabbing your hip with such strength you were sure she would add to the bruises she had left there the other night. God, she was so close to you, you could feel the heat radiating off her body. Watching the way you breathed her in, Avis thought of how incredibly worked up she was already when in fact you hadn’t even touched her but the way you reacted to her every word was just too intoxicating. She wasn’t sure for how long she could keep this up before her need for you took over her completely.

-Yes.

-Yes, what?

-Yes, mother. – this red light was giving you life, lasting what seemed to be hours. -Please, do I have your permission to-

-You don’t get to do anything, not yet, but perhaps an incentive might help you be mommy’s good girl. Because you want mama to reward you, don’t you?

You nodded and in the cabin of her black Cadillac Avis crashed her lips onto yours. Her soft, plump mouth pressed against yours felt like a wave of relief to you, as if you had finally returned home, your hands resting on her cheeks without a second thought before they travelled down towards her breasts, squeezing lightly, your mouth opening and letting her tongue dart inside it. At the feeling of your hands she gasped, groaning as she traced the shape of your teeth, sucking on your tongue earning a moan from you that resonated inside her body, her lips only parting from yours to breath after pulling on your lower lip, biting gently with her teeth. Her lipstick was smudged, but she did not care, she could fix it, but the sight of you with her favourite colour adorning your swollen lips made her groan wantonly once more. So, she was just as aroused as you were, good. She pushed your hands from her body and like magic the instant she turned towards the front glass the light turned green, and she quickly put the car in first gear again, continuing to drive. She did not touch again, but it was alright, the feeling of her tits spilling from your hands even through her top and that kiss, that fucking amazing kiss, could hold you off for a bit as you licked your lips trying to still get a bit of that taste that was Avis. Nicotine with a touch of something spicy and probably alcoholic topped by the carmine of her lipstick. Two minutes later you were at Packard’s own dealership, Avis parking the car in a corner before pulling the mirror down and grabbing her purse.

-As much as I love to see you like that, wipe your mouth. – you grabbed the tissue she was handing you, removing the red colour until only your own rosy lips could be seen, your eyes taking in the way she carefully removed the lipstick before applying it again, wiping with her index and pinkie fingers anything that was not utterly perfect. You could spend all day looking at her applying her makeup. Happy with the finished product she threw the tissue back in her purse, offering her palm to you and putting yours next to hers before snapping her purse closed once again, lifting her head to look at you. Her voice was serious, as if she were discussing a very important contract for the studios and yet her pupils were dilated as she looked at you. – Now, there’s a few rules that I want you to follow, firstly so you can get a proper car and secondly so I will fuck your brains out in the end. First rule, you are not to speak unless I allow you to. If I grant you permission I will nod to you, if you break this rule, I will add an hour until you can cum. Second rule, I can touch you whenever and wherever I please, so you better keep your noises to a minimum, if you don’t, the punishment will be the same; another hour. Third rule, your hands cannot touch any part of your own body or mine unless I want you to, which brings me to rule number four. You can’t cum. If you break either of them, I will have to take you to my house, tie you to a chair and have you watch me pleasure myself until you are begging me to let you worship me. Do you agree to these rules, Y/N? If you don’t, I will still get you the car, so don’t feel pressured to please me, but if you do want me to fuck you, agree.

-I do want you, everything you are willing to offer. I agree, ma’am.

-Good girl. Let us get you a car then, honey.

Stepping out of the car, she turned and bent over to grab her dark stole from the back seat, her perfect round ass up in the air. Your eyes were glued, as if it was calling you with the way it swayed and moved, her left leg lifted off the floor, bent over her ass as she finally grabbed the accessory. She had not said anything about not gawking at her body, undressing her with your eyes. If one looked for them, you could find a loophole. Standing back up and throwing the stole over her shoulders she closed the door. The sound startled you and you fought to get out of the car for a moment, your hands shaking and a little bit sweaty, practically leaping out of it, letting Avis close it before she turned and began to walk into the building. A pang of sadness graced your heart watching her move away from you. You knew that she was way above your station, that she was rich, famous, glamorous and should be way out of your league, but it hurt to be reminded this way that you could never be equals, that you had to walk a few feet behind her like the subordinate you were. You only desired to hold her hand, sex aside. Almost as if she could feel your every emotion, she turned her head over her shoulder, her deep eyes observing you with curiosity, taking note of your cast down eyes as you stared back at her, through her thick eyelashes. That curiosity turned into worry and then into understanding, a kind smile gracing her lips as she motioned for you with a gentle sway of her head to walk beside her. Your cheeks hurt form the way you smiled brightly at her, rushing to her side like a child that had been offered a lollipop. Simply being next to her was enough reward to you, not that you would mind finishing the day with her on top of you.

-If you want something from me, ask. You can break the rules if you need me to answer a question, whatever it may be. This should be enjoyable to the both of us.

-Can I hold your hand, Avis? – the question was not asked huskily or in hopes that you could get your way, no, it was genuine care that made you say it, and the surprised expression on her face was a perfect indication that no one had asked her that in a long time. One point to you, as you had managed to make Avis blush with a such an innocent and yet daring question.

-Trust me, honey, I would love it, but I can’t have people asking questions. I don’t want you to get hurt by gossip. – her now gloved finger tapped the tip of your nose, her words tainted with a gentle sadness even though her lips were smiling at you. You didn’t want her to feel that way, you wanted happy Avis, angry Avis, mad with lust Avis but never ever sad Avis.

-I understand.

-I know, you are a smart girl. How about when we are done here, we go on a walk? A private garden, or perhaps a secluded spot on a park where you can hold my hand and every bit of me as well. – her finger moved over your lips, tracing your jaw and down your neck, stopping right before reaching the swell of your breasts. It was outstanding the speed with which she could move from such an emotional moment to having you burning with desire again. - Would you like that?

-Very much, Avis.

-Then behave while we are in there. I will not reward you if you upset mommy.

With that said she turned and began to walk, but this time her steps were slower as to make sure you were beside her at all times. It made you so fucking horny and giddy that she would do this for you. Opening the glass doors for her Avis stepped inside the dealership, her commanding presence turning every single head in that place as you let the door close on its own. Every man in that building practically glided towards her, smiling and greeting her with fake smiles and disgustingly sweet words, almost as if she were a stupid little woman. It made you raise an eyebrow at their behaviour. Avis was quick to cut them short though, a smile on her lips and her voice dropping to that sugary tone that both scared you and turned you on, her fingers running over the jacket lapels of a young boy as she told them that she was not there to be convinced to buy a car, that she had an appointment with a Mr. Russell. The boy was absolutely smitten with her, and that angered you beyond believe. This was Avis’s entire personality, flirtatious, domineering, you were not worried about her, not one bit, you were worried about the ten different men that were practically dreaming of touching her, their eyes disgustingly racking over her body. You had to do something before any of them got too close for your comfort and you broke their noses, so you simply cleared your throat drawing the attention of her and the boys. You were jealous, Avis could see it in the way you stared hard at the men around her, the way you clenched your fists and gave them all a fake smile while murdering them with your eyes. It incensed her to know that someone adored her so much that they would probably be willing to fight for her, sending a wave of pleasure and want down to her core. Patting the young boy’s cheek she had addressed earlier she made her way to you, placing her hand on your lower back while smirking, pushing your body close to hers, the heat that you were radiating seeping through your coat and onto her palm. At the sight of the delectable Avis Amberg around you all those fake smiles faltered slightly, the men finally scattering back to their desks, not without sending you murderous glares first though. You returned them. That jealousy of yours demanded a reward for how wanted and desired she felt and a punishment for having stepped a little bit out of line, not that you had broken a rule, she simply wanted to. The slap that she delivered upon your left ass cheek practically echoed, making you yelp quietly and jump on the spot, her hand soothing the sting by kneading the flesh, her face close to your ear as she whispered.

-That jealousy act made mama so very wet, doll.

Fuck. You bit back a groan at her words, fingers twitching with the need to touch her, but you were not going to disappoint her and break the rules, as much as you wanted to. Your face turned to look at her, but she had already untangled herself from you, walking in between the cars that were on display, looking around without really paying any attention to them. She was going to be the death of you.  Her body swayed gracefully in between the multiple automobiles that filled the space, her hands running over the steel while glancing at your form over her shoulder. Following her around a Packard 120 she looked around, a naughty little idea taking form in her head, before resting her upper body on the trunk of the vehicle, motioning with her index finger for you to approach her. She was surely not suggestion what you though she was suggesting? True that in the secluded spot no one could see either of you, but she would not take the risk of getting caught, would she? Entering her personal space she grabbed your hands, bringing one to her face to kiss each of your fingers before licking its palm, the other one being placed on her left breast over the fabric of her top. The thrill of getting caught was utterly intoxicating and it made you even wetter; at this point you should be able to drown in your own arousal, your eyes glued to the way she was now sucking your index finger. You squeezed her breast, kneading, trying to find her nipple, but the fabric was too thick, and you could not feel her properly, so with a pleading look you moved your fingers to the hem of the neckline, asking her for permission without uttering a word. She nodded, moving your thumb into her hot mouth next, sucking and scrapping her teeth over your flesh. She gasped as your cold hand travelled underneath her outfit, raising goosebumps all over as you pushed the top of her corselette down as much as you could to free her breast. Feeling your fingers twirling and pinching her nipple had her lulling her head back, dropping your other hand as she placed her palms over the steel of the car to steady herself.

Her perfume filled your lungs as you bent over her body, using your free hand to support your weight, but you still did not break the rules, did not touch her without her permission as your nose ghosted over her long neck. A particularly hard pinch had her buckling her hips against yours enticing a gentle gasp. Your core was positively on fire, but she still did not command you any further, simply enjoying the way you expertly played with her tit. Moving your mouth towards her ear you whispered if you could touch her with your mouth, to which she nodded, feeling your tongue on her earlobe and the side of her jaw. You would have loved to take your sweet time, but you would not risk it right now, moving your lips to her collarbone, moving her top to the side to free her breast to the air of the room, your tongue circling her nipple. Her eyes had followed your every move, lulling back when you finally sucked on her tit, fighting back a moan; no need to draw any attention. The moment was disturbed though at the sound of a door opening and closing and a set of footsteps hitting the floor. Avis pushed you gently of her body, returning her breast to its initial place but not before engraving the image of her own hand squeezing it with a cheeky smirk on her lips into your brain. Two seconds later she was greeting a short bald man of blue eyes by kissing his cheeks like nothing had happened, her clothes perfectly straightened and not a strand of hair out of place. Observing the exchange, you felt that somehow this man in particular didn’t seem to be a threat, that you didn’t need to worry about Avis when he was around, not that your brain could handle much after having sucked Avis’s breast in a public space. Fucking hell, she was an exhibitionist you thought. The need for release was borderline torture now, the line between pleasure and pain thinner than ever before and she had done practically nothing to you.

-Hello Avis. I was absolutely delighted to receive your call.

-I know, I could hear you jumping in your office through the phone.

-Oh, please. – his laugh was melodious if not a bit loud, but it didn’t seem to bother Avis. – Okay, perhaps a little.

-So, what do you have for me? You know I won’t take anything less than perfection.

-Then anything from the 30s is out of the question. Oh, sorry madam, I did not see you there. – Looking over Avis’s shoulder his beady blue eyes opened wide, surprised at the fact that he had not seen you, correcting such a situation immediately. He was such a charming man, perhaps he swung for the other team, you thought. Not that it bothered you, at all, quite the opposite. He made his way towards you, taking your hand, kissing it and patting it to greet you before flashing you with a smile, his pearly white teeth blinding you for an instant. – I am assuming this is the lady that you mentioned over the phone?

-Yes. Y/N, please met Oscar Russell, one of the best dealers in Hollywood.

-Oh, Avis, you flatter me. I simply enjoy cars and seeing people in them. I’m sure you’ll agree with me Y/N.

-So, you don’t enjoy the cut that you get every time you sell one?

-I never said I did not enjoy the money either!

His joy was contagious as that laugh rang through the entire building. Avis had taken the opportunity then to stand beside you, her hand brushing your arm discreetly and yet her eyes remained on Mr. Russell, listening intently as he rambled about this car and this other one. You loved cars and would love to hear more about the ones he was talking about, but not when you were imagining Avis in the back seat of one with your head between her legs, licking her folds as you hummed at the taste of her. Your breath hurried a little at the mental image, which of course she picked up on, placing her hand on your back once more, painting lazy patterns over the fabric. Mr. Russell excused himself for a moment saying something about a catalogue, leaving you both alone once more. Avis took this impasse in the transaction to turn her head towards you while withdrawing her hand from your body, the spot where it had been now utterly cold, bringing the tip of her glove to her mouth and removing it with her teeth.  If she didn’t do something about your situation soon you might actually die you thought, because she was absolutely erotic and sensual in every single move she made, including grabbing her glove with her right hand before returning the left one to touch your lower back. Your breath hitched in your lungs when you felt her lifting the skirt of your dress, leaving your ass completely exposed to the world around you. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, and it only worsened when you felt her palm massaging and patting your flesh, that naughty hand of hers travelling between your legs to feel your dripping folds from behind. Her touch was featherlight, but it made your eyes roll into the back of your head while fighting the moan that wanted to resonate from your throat, your legs parting for her, shaking slightly. Tasting metal in your mouth you realised you had bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw out blood, but that did not matter, your entire world was Avis’s fingers sliding up and down, teasing you, building your arousal up even further.

Without so much as a warning she withdrew her hand just as Mr. Rusell returned with a pretty chatty catalogue of the latest models Packard had in stock, your dress falling back into place. Deep breaths, you thought, deep breaths or you would jump on top of Avis and fuck her without giving a shit who was in the room. Mr. Russell was flicking pages, still talking, allowing you to calm your racing heart before he handed the catalogue to you, your eyes travelling to Avis to seek her permission to grab it, which of course she granted with a pleased smirk on her lips. You were behaving so well, following all her rules, making her feel so utterly in control of you. Your shaky fingers flickered through the pages trying to concentrate on the images and the technicalities that your eyes could read, your cunt twitching at the need of Avis’s fingers inside it, inside you. After passing by the page of the Packard 120 you stopped. There, on the page, was a photograph was a most regal and luxurious car that never in a million years you would be able to afford. Avis saw the way you paused, eyes sparkling, and over your shoulder she saw what had captivated you so. Ah, yes, the Super 8 180. Not a bad line, it was certainly the type of car that Avis wouldn’t mind owning if she was not so in love with her Cadillac. You had expensive and exquisite taste, and she knew, otherwise she would not have brought you here in the first place. Having her breath so close to your neck threw your concentration out the window once more, not that your brain or words were needed. Avis took the catalogue and showed Mr. Russell the picture at which he smiled and began to rush around the place practically screaming that he should have known you would choose that one and that he had a surprise in store for the both of you. After a few minutes of running around like a chicken without a head he stood before you and Avis with a little booklet and asked you both politely to follow him to his office.

This time instead of having you follow her, Avis took your hand in hers and pulled you with her towards the east side of the building, across a white door. Damn society, damn men and damn every law that prevented Avis from showing you off at every goddamn event she desired to take you. You were her perfectly behaved girl, and you deserved a taste of the rewards she was planning on giving you, starting with her hand, that not even five minutes ago had been in your cunt, holding onto yours. Your heart leaped in your chest, eyes glued to your intertwined fingers, feeling so happy you could have cried. She pulled you gently inside Mr. Russell’s office, pointing at a chair not wnating to let go of you when you felt so perfect in her hand. You were both aroused beyond believe, but this had nothing to do with lust, this was what Ace hadn’t given to her in years, what she yearned for, the simple touch of a hand in hers, a meaning of love and devotion that she knew you felt for her. Pushing the other chair closer to yours she sat refusing to let go, her eyes on your before they turned back to Mr. Russell.

-So, the Super 8 180. I have one here in the back, brand new with every feature available and the best quality materials. It’s a two door, but I don’t think that matters, and a convertible. Now, the most amazing thing about the model that I have it’s that is a custom Darrin, just like in the picture.

-Custom? Who didn’t want it, Oscar?

-A man who died. Very sad, but it’s brand-new Avis, not even I have driven it. The wheels are clean. That car hasn’t touched the road. I swear that once you take a look at it, you’ll fall in love with it.

-Colour?

-Burgundy and the leather in light tan. You know I would not suggest it if I didn’t think it was worth your time, Avis. It’s the perfect car if you want something timeless and glamorous.

-Go and get the keys and we’ll drive it around, see how smooth it is. – it was a miracle he did not take the chair with him at the speed he ran out of the room. Avis’s eyes went straight to you, letting go of your hand as she moved her fingers up your arm, pushing her chair closer to you. – So, what do you think, a custom car?

-I trust you and Mr. Russell ma’am. If it’s good enough for you, it’s perfect for me.

God, she could eat you up alive. Avis’s lips touched your cheek in a sweet peck, removing her other glove and shoving it in her purse, her mind made up at last about what she was going to do with you exactly. Her fingers traced the hem of your dress, parting your legs gently so she could feel your smooth skin, continuing with her light pecks, her red lipstick hardly leaving an imprint, thankfully. This time she decided, she would take a bigger risk, her fingers exploring your inner thigh before moving quickly but gently in between your folds once and then twice until she plunged them inside you without warning. Your head fell back, hips buckling upwards to match her movements, lips parted in a silent moan. Her touch felt explosive, a slow pace of moving her fingers in and out at first, teasing your clit with her thumb, building your orgasm at the speed of light. You needed more, and she knew, your cheeks the same shade as her lipstick, your teeth digging onto your lips as not to make a single sound, hands holding onto the chair as not to shoot out and grab her wrist. Not again.

After admiring you she began to pump her hand faster, curling her fingers; you were almost there, a few more strokes on your clit or her fingers curling on your sweet spot and you would finally finish, but she denied you your peak. Your walls were clenching rhythmically, signalling that your orgasm would explode any second, but she did not want to see you unravelling in a simple office like this, not after what you both had done in her husband’s grand one at the studio, so she pulled them out. The urge to whine and growl with frustration was astronomical and yet you did not utter a single word, a single noise, not even when you watched her put her fingers in your mouth, tasting yourself around them as you licked and sucked them clean. Her pupils had overtaken her eyes, chest rising and falling in husky puffs, her thighs tight at the image before her. She would need to take you to a nearby hotel after this entire business was done, because she refused to carry on denying herself your body, and your tongue. Once she was satisfied with your work and you released her fingers she pecked your lips; you were so obedient, so needy and yet so well behaved, remembering the rules. You were her very very good girl. You would have to study if Avis had some sort of psychic power, because just as she relaxed back into her chair with her hands on her lap, your dress back in place, Mr. Russell returned with the car keys, gesturing for you both to stand and follow him to the back. Upon seeing you so flushed and taking rapid breaths, he approached you to ask if you were alright, Avis covering for what she had done to you by saying that you were just so excited about the car and that whenever you got this way your asthma acted up. He nodded, accepting the lie without pushing the matter any further. Your legs nearly gave up on you when you stood, Avis shooting to take your arm in the crook of hers to support you as the man held the door open for you both.

The weather outside the building wasn’t as cold as it had been when you had first arrived, perhaps due to your internal scorching temperature; you were a fucking furnace right now. But then for a moment you forgot about your dripping cunt and the feeling of Avis’s lips, only for a moment. There in the glistening sun was the most beautiful car you had ever seen, aside from Avis’s Cadillac, of course. The colour was a beautiful burgundy with a gentle pink undertone, like Mr. Russell had said, but words could not do justice to the beautiful shade of the steel, the white top contrasting beautifully. You could not take your eyes off of it. This could be your car, but if Avis liked it, it would definitely be your car, and you could not help the smile that overtook your lips, your free hand shooting to touch it, but stopping mid motion to turn your head towards the beautiful woman you had in your arm. Oh my God, you were just too cute, still asking for permission to touch the vehicle when she had clearly stated that it was only your body and hers that you were not allowed to place your hands on. Chuckling lightly, she nodded, letting go of your arm gently to inspect if your legs could support you, following closely as you placed both palms over the smooth surface. Mr. Russell was talking technical thigs about it; it’s a 3-speed manual with overdrive, he said, with hydraulic drum brakes and so on. It all sounded wonderful.

-We will take it for a spin say… for half an hour? Is that alright with you Oscar?

-You know me Avis, just bring back the car and I’ll be fine. Take it for an hour, a day if you want to see how it does at rush hour, whatever you want.

-You are a darling Oscar, but we won’t keep it long, right Y/N?

At the sound of your name you lifted your head, turning to give all your attention back to Avis, nodding at whatever she had said. Regardless of whether it was a smooth ride or not Avis would get it for you simply because the look on your face was something she wanted to see every single day of her life. Mr. Russell approached you, dangling the keys from his fingers. Before you could ask Avis for permission, she was nodding to you and almost jumping on the spot you grabbed them, opening the car, letting the smell of brand new expensive materials fill your nostrils. From her spot, Avis could not say that she was disappointed in your reaction, bent over the front seat, your ass perfectly rounded for her eyes to feast on. She licked her lips as she waved a hand over her head towards Mr. Russell not paying attention to what he was saying as he returned inside the building. With one hand on the door and another on the white top you turned your head, motioning Avis to get in, which of course she was going to do anyway. It was a dream car, no matter what the magazines said about Mercedes or Lincoln, this was certainly the best of them all and once Avis had taken the passenger seat, it was utter perfection on the face of the Earth. Even the motor sounded sweet when you turned the ignition on, pulling the lever down to reverse out of the spot and towards the road. First gear in and down Sunset Boulevard you both went again, the feeling of the suspension over each bump making Avis agree and almost sigh in relief that the ride was a smooth one indeed. Swerving it into the side streets was beautiful, the steering wheel moving in your hands like butter, the car following your every order as willingly as you were following Avis’s. At the sight of the sign that said Road 101 you were quick to merge and enter the freeway. Steeping on the gas you felt the speed in your limbs, never surpassing the limits, at least not by too many miles. Suddenly Avis’s melodious laugh filled the cabin, making you turn your head towards her for a moment before retuning them to the road.

-Do you know how cute you are? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so excited about a car in a really long time. What’s the verdict, doll?

-It is amazing, Avis. I could not imagine a car that could be so perfect for us.

-Us?

-Yes. I intend on driving it alone as much as I intend driving it with you next to me. Or do you not want me to steal you away from Hollywood every once in a while?

-Where would you take me if I let you?

-Everywhere, anywhere. Where would you want me to take you Avis?

No Mrs. Amberg like her driver would always address her whenever she decided to make use of him, in that monotone voice of his, no emotion, no feelings towards her. To you she was simply Avis, and what a very fine smooth talker you were. Her eyes took your profile in, from your nose, the lovely pink shade of your cheeks, to your jawline and beyond, every bit of you that she wanted to kiss and cherish. Looking back to the traffic ahead she saw a sign for the old road that used to be used to get to Runyon Canyon, one that no one drove in anymore and that had several secluded spots. A naughty smirk filled her lips as she turned back toward you.

-Take exit 47 and I’ll tell you where I want you to take me.

-Yes ma’am.

Signalling you merged onto the right lane and then onto exit 47, braking the car gently as you followed a curve and back onto a long empty road. At the beginning the asphalt wasn’t too bad, but a few miles into it and not even this new suspension could cover up the bumps and potholes on the road, a new sense of dread beginning to fill you, fearing you might burst a wheel or get the car stuck somewhere. That fear was cut short when Avis pointed towards some bushes big enough to house the car without scratching the paint. You braked once more, moving the vehicle into the spot until it came to a full stop, turning the engine off. The sound of your heart beating fast against your ribcage filled your ears, because it did not take a genius to understand why Avis had asked you to stop in this place where not a soul could be found for several miles around. You were sure she could hear it as she moved closer to you, her hand playing with your braid as her lips began to kiss your jaw and neck, darting her tongue to lick under your ear. The grip you had on the steering wheel was turning your entire hand white, head lulled back to grant her better access unsure if you were allowed to make sounds or not. Kissing the collar of your gown she found that as pretty as that lilac dress was it was an obstacle, and she wanted it out of the way now. Forcing your hands to relax their grip she brought them to the zipper and in one clumsy motion you pulled it down, thrashing to get out of the offending garment as fast as you could. When had you removed your coat? Trying to think back as you pulled the dress over your head and off, you remembered vaguely seeing it on the back of the chair at Mr. Russell’s office. Good, you didn’t want to have to buy a new one.

With your shoes off now as well, kneeling over that brand new leather seats you stared at your perfect Avis. Except for a baby pink brassiere, you were naked before her, and she drank you in with such fire in her eyes that you could almost burst into flames just by the way she was gazing at your body. Her hands were once more on you, grabbing your waist and pulling you to her, crashing her lips on yours. Her tongue traced your lower lip coaxing you to open your mouth, biting down on it as soon as you granted her access, feeling a slight taste of metal mixed with her saliva. It was a battle of tongues and teeth nibling at each other, parting with loud pants as she took her hat off, throwing it over the dashboard before pushing you on your back, your dress protecting the leather underneath. Her kisses were hard, her mouth sucking on your pulse point. She had expected to feel your hands on her head, to hear groans and whines filling the cabin, but as responsive as you were being you were also rigid underneath her. Oh shit, you were still following the rules. It turned her on even more seeing you so obedient still, making her groan as her mouth approached your ear, never ceasing her kisses on her journey there.

-The rules don’t apply here, honey.

Like a resort your hand immediately shot to grab her head to keep her on your neck while the other one shot to touch her breasts under the fabric of her top. The noises you were making at last were absolutely delightful, her teeth biting down on your collarbone drawing a short scream before her tongue soothed the sting, a moan vibrating through your flesh when your hand pulled her corselette down freeing her plump tits, your thumb brushing over her nipples. Her mouth travelled down the valley of your heavy breasts, pulling that flimsy see-through garment down, massaging the soft skin before putting her mouth to work on your perky nipples, alternating between hard sucks and soothing licks. Toying with you like this was maddening, you were far too worked up to last much longer, pleading with her to let you cum at last. You deserved it, after all you had followed her every direction. Spreading your legs she kissed your thighs, moving gently to the inner part, biting down on your smooth flesh and in consequence earning a loud scream that only got louder when at last her tongue made one long swipe of your absolutely drenched folds. You wanted to keep her curls intact but the way she was licking and darting her tongue in and out of you, twirling your clit expertly, was proving far too distracting for you to notice where the fuck your hand was as the one that had been on her breasts was now holding onto the door above your head for dear life. Without warning she pushed two fingers inside you, pumping them at such a speed and with such force that you were moving up and down over the seat.

-FUCK! AVIS! DON’TSTOPDON’TSTOP…

She curled them hard, her nails scratching that sweet spot inside you, making your back arch, the heat inside the cabin raising exponentially as the windows began to fog up. She was relentless in her task, pumping and sucking your clit, your moans reaching a whole new pitch, sharp and loud as you were getting close, praying that she would not stop this time. The fire in your core was all consuming, and it was just there, on the edge, waiting for the string to be pulled to explode, your nails digging hard onto Avis’s scalp not noticing whether you were hurting her or not, too lost. She made one lap with her tongue, and everything just came together to send you into outer space; her fingers pumped hard into you, curling as her mouth sucked on your overstimulated bud finally coming after you didn’t know how many hours of being edged. And it was blinding. Your body arched off the seat, legs shaking violently nearly crushing her in between them as Avis continued her ministrations at a slower pace, letting you fly high, with her name on your lips being screamed as loud as your vocal cords would let you. Your walls clenched around her fingers for over a minute, until she felt you collapse back, panting hurriedly, her fingers stopping their motion as her lips kissed your thighs to bring you down from your orgasm, patting your calf and rubbing your knee. She had drunk every drop of your salty juices, smearing her lipstick, her mouth and chin glistening under the sunlight of midday. With gentle hands she let your legs close once she pulled out, climbing on top of you, her hand pushing random strands off your forehead as she pecked your cheeks, nose, eyelids, just like you had done to her. You hummed in approval forcing your eyes to open and stare up at her through heavy eyelids, your orbs still glazed with pleasure.

-Thank you.

-No need, you deserved to be rewarded. You pleased your mama immensely.

-I did?

-Yes. You were such a good girl for mommy. – Still a bit shaky and with your cunt twitching every once in a while, you let go of the door to caress her cheek. You wondered if her lipstick was smeared over your cunt as much as it was on your neck and breasts. Biting your lip, you pulled her down to kiss her, tasting yourself on her and deep withing her mouth, a groan escaping you, gently muffled. Suddenly your hands were on her shoulders pushing her onto a sitting position on her knees, breaking the kiss and letting you perch yourself in front of her. She raised an eyebrow with curiosity.

-I believe that I must thank mommy for buying me a car.

Your hands were on her blouse, fingers searching for the button that kept those gorgeous plump breasts hidden from your sight. As soon as you found it you pulled it open, hungrily taking them in as they fought over the corselette. She was the one at a loss for words now, her eyes burning as much as her core was at the sight of you bruised and marked, naked and covered in lipstick diving to take her tits in your mouth. This wasn’t what she had planned when she had first entered the studio but she would not fucking complain. Left hand kneading her soft flesh allowed the right one to be available for other purposes, like sliding down her side, not before grabbing her ass and throwing in a gentle spank that made her gasp, her hips jerking towards you before vanishing under her skirt. You didn’t want to tease, you wanted to watch her unravelling on what you were sure would be your brand-new car soon, fingers finding the material of her knickers absolutely drenched. Her head fell forward on your shoulder at the sheer feeling of both your mouth and fingers working on her, even if you currently were only teasing her through the lace as you twirled and sucked on her right nipple.

Pushing the fabric aside you slid your index finger through her folds, feeling the nails of both her hands digging onto the skin of your back, a small price to pay. Her clit was swollen, calling out to you as you did one fist swipe over it with your thumb, her hips moving, trying to get more friction, moans muffled by your neck. One finger in and she bit down hard on the junction of your neck and shoulder, two fingers in and she was throwing her head back, your teeth biting down on one perky left nipple, making her scream both in pain and pleasure, feeling a rush of wetness over your fingers. A third one in and you began to pump in and out of her with your thumb rubbing her bud. You wanted to taste her, but her breasts were too magnificent to let go, and there would be plenty of time for you to have her against the dashboard, perhaps even with the top down, under the stars with the sounds of Hollywood far away from your ears. She was whimpering now, matching the thrusts of your hand as she got closer and closer to her own release, her walls clenching faster, fluttering around you. You weren’t sure if she would be able to take it, but she needed just a little push to send her over the edge, anyone in a five mile radius could feel just how close she was and so you pushed another finger into her, curling them deeply. The stretch stung but the wave of pleasure it brought along with it had Avis arching her back, your face pressed in between her tits as she rode your hand at a maddening pace, screaming a continuous litany of curses and pleas.

-FUCK! YESYESYES! Y/N! FUCK!

Her juices dripped all over your hand, making you freak out for a moment about the leather, only to see that your dress was underneath her, capturing it all as her cum also slid down her thighs. She fell forward after a few seconds, her head on your shoulder once more, her entire weight dumped on you now that she was coming down, the hand that had been on her breasts now running soothing circles on her back. To be honest you had not expected her to orgasm so fast, maybe denying you yours had worked her up as well. She whined at the loss when you pulled your hand out of her, displeased with how empty she felt now. She clearly needed a minute to collect her thoughts, the gentle waves of aftershock still coursing through her veins, you using the time to lick your fingers clean, closing your eyes at the taste of her. Once you felt her body rise you lifted her head to stare at her eyes.

-You alright?

-If I ever tell you that I don’t want your fingers in me, kill me.

-Avis. – you chuckled at the teasing tone and gentle smile that met you, your fingers caressing her cheeks after a quick peck on the lips. – I would never kill you; I would remind you why you love my fingers so much.

-Please do.

-Question. Did Mr. Russell really mean it when he said that he would let you take the car for as long as you wanted?

-Of course, he lets me do anything as long as I return them in perfect condition. Why?

-My dress is drenched in cum and I left my coat at his office, so I don’t think it would be appropriate to go back looking like that, or naked.

-It would be a thrilling sight though, with that round ass of yours out on display, and your perky breasts stiffening in the cold, not to mention that dripping cunt that’s always so ready for me.

-You really are an exhibitionist.

-What can I say. This is Hollywood baby. – both of your laughter filled the car for a moment. The spell was right there, your eyes locked onto hers as your faces inched closer and closer, lips meeting in the middle in a sensual kiss that had none of the roughness of before, tongues exploring, moaning quietly. Breaking apart Avis crouched towards the window behind you, her breasts dangling beautifully as she moved the lever to roll the window down a little. – So, the car, do you see anything wrong with it?

-Not really, but maybe we could try a few more, different models, see how they do once we park them in this spot.

-Dirty slut. – she slapped one of your tits gently before reaching to sit back against her door, pulling a cigarette out. – Now be honest.

-I love it.

-Good, because after what we just did, I’m going to have to buy it. As for your clothes, don’t worry. Put your brassiere back in place and drive us to my house.

-You want me to drive all that way without my dress and knickers?

-Without the dress and knickers.

-Only if you keep your top open. I want to see you exposed as I drive down Sunset Boulevard.

-Don’t you prefer to have me with my skirt bunched up around my hips? – she took a drag of her cigarette, the smoke floating around her in rivulets that vanished in the winter cold. Fuck she was devious. You didn’t let her puff out all the smoke before you were crashing your lips over hers once more, hands on her hips, breathing the nicotine in. If you could get your way you would have her just as naked as you were sitting next to you, though her idea seemed more tempting than yours.

-Skirt up and knickers off. I’ll start the engine.

[unholybacon355]

Kinktober Day 19 - Im Nana x M! Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

You can't remember who recommended this massage parlor to you, but certainly you have to thank them. This was by far the best massage of your life. Now your muscles are free of any stress and so relaxed that you feel like you could fall asleep at any moment,that is of course if it weren't for the fact that there is a naked woman on top of you.

The massage had been excellent, no one can deny that, but what came next was even better. You had paid for the full service, and boy did it live up to its promise. It was everything you had been told and more.

Things had started off easy. With the masseuse, Nana was her name as she said earlier, kneading your entire body slowly and delicately. After turning you around a couple of times and checking that she had massaged your entire body, she had dangerously brought her hands close to the waist of your boxers and had waited for your confirmation. By that time you were already on cloud nine and you immediately told her she could continue. Just seconds later she had already taken off your boxers, leaving you completely naked. That was where the extra service began.

Nana had jerked you off slowly and delicately, almost as if she were still giving you a massage. She moved her hand delicately along your shaft, going from the base to the tip and then back again and again. Up and down, down and up, back and forth without end. You were already so relaxed and willing that it didn't take long for her to make you reach your first orgasm.

When Nana knew you were about to cum, she engulfed the tip of your cock, still jerking you off, and took all of your cum in her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking every last drop while she didn't stop moving her hand. This had been the best orgasm you had had in a long time, and your masseuse still had a couple of surprises in store for the end.

Nana pulled a condom out from her clothes and put it on you with expert movements, a skill acquired thanks to doing this daily. But that wasn't all, because after that she also stripped, folding her work uniform and leaving it in a perfect pile next to the stretcher where you were lying.

Her body alone was quite a sight. Not only was her face beautiful to the point of rivaling that of well-known models, but her curves were also dangerous. Her tits were perky and firm, crowned by light brown nipples. Her belly was flat and without a gram of fat, and the flower between her legs was completely shaved. When she turned around you could see that her ass was as round and big as you had imagined, a perfect work of art.

Before you could begin to drool over her, Nana climbed onto the table and without giving you time to react, she impaled herself on your erect cock. The sensation surrounding your hard member was simply fantastic, as her walls squeezed your flesh in a delicious way. Nana was not only an expert in the art of giving massages or giving handjobs, her skills went far beyond that, and you were experiencing it firsthand.

Yes, the handjob she had given you earlier was monumental, then you needed to come up with a new word to describe what she was doing now. She was riding you, it was true, and you could see your cock was inside her vagina, but still for some reason it felt more like a blowjob. Nana was moving the muscles in her belly and vagina precisely and expertly, almost with inhuman skill, to maximize the sensations she was giving you. You for your part felt as if your cock was being sucked into her body.

But it wasn't just you who benefited from this, as you were able to hear her moans of pleasure. Despite the condom, you could feel how wet her vagina was, and you could see the pleasure on her face. Nana also enjoyed this, she loved seeing the result of her work on the faces of the countless men and women she had served. She loved seeing how they fell at her feet and how for the rest of their lives they could only dream of having sex again with someone even remotely as good as her.

You yourself could witness her talent, one that already had you on the verge of madness. It had probably not even been five minutes since Nana started riding you and she already had you on the verge of climax again. The pressure and the way she practically sucked your cock with her pussy were making you ascend to the sky, so without any fear you came inside the condom. Even though you had just cum moments ago, this load was huge, proof of the unparalleled pleasure you had been made to feel. It was endless seconds of your cock shooting thick, hot semen inside Nana, who used her expert vagina to milk every last drop of your cum. Her skill really was incredible, she was without a doubt the best at this.

When your orgasm was finally over, Nana got off of you and removed the condom, to throw it away in a nearby trashcan. Your cock couldn't miss the hermetic seal that had been her vagina, as Nana put your cock back in her mouth. This time more to clean any traces of semen from it than to get you to have another orgasm, but she practically has you in her hands so you can't help but cum again in her mouth. She doesn't protest or make any gesture of protest, she simply swallows your whole new load because Nana is used to the sensation she causes between people. Here she is like a goddess who asks for tributes in the form of pleasure and semen.

When you calm down from your third orgasm in a row and your cock is completely clean, Nana uses a towel to gently dry you off. Now you are once again clean and dry, and there are no traces of your semen anywhere.

“Thank you for choosing my services. I hope to see you again soon.” Nana says on a gentle tone and with a helpful smile on her face as she bows. “When you are ready you can go to the next room to get dressed.” she adds, pointing to the door through which you entered the room. “I hope you have a good day.” And with that, Nana leaves the room without even bothering to take her clothes. Cleaning and tidying is not her job, the only cleaning task she performs is cleaning the semen from the clients’ bodies. Nothing more.

[water-to-drink]

Be a Gladiolus in a Field of Belladonnas pt14

Cloak and Dagger of the Archons

(Summary): Finally getting tired of their helpless position the archons decide to take action into their own hands

Part 1 Last Part Next Part

✧ Masterlist ✧

(Characters): Yae Miko, Ei, Nahida, Zhongli, Venti, Furina, Mavuika,

(Tags/Warnings): Mavuika archon name might be wrong (will change it if is), Mavuika might be ooc, not proof read

(Word Count): 1.4k

A soft hum reverberates throughout the halls. The humming comes from a sly fox familiar, finally making her way to a room she slides open the shoji to reveal an empty room

“Okay Ei, it’s time to come out.” Yae announces. “Ei? You know I’m impatient, It’s been so boring without you lately.” The Miko whined

Met with silence the pink haired woman focused on sensing the familiar consciousness of her master, only to find nothing

Confused she didn’t notice a soldier walking past only to stop once he spotted her. “Ohh, Lady Yae. If you’re looking for the Shogun, she’s not here.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s not here?’ Where else would she be?”

“I don’t know, but a man from Liyue came and she left with him.” The soldier explained

“Hmm, where could she have gone?”

“Achooo!” Sneezed the purple haired archon

“Bless you.” The littlest archon said

“Thank you, Buer.”

“Hehe, the almighty Shogun sneezing, I thought I never see the day.” Venti giggled

“I don’t see it to be a laughing matter, it could be due to someone talking about me, I just wonder who.” Ei pondered

“What is the deal with this domain, Morax?” Mavuika asked the taller gentleman

“This domain is what I assume to have belonged to their Grace when they still were with us.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” Ei asked

“And why weren’t we made aware of its existence?!” Furina asked

“I apologize but I didn’t want the existence of this domain be known by that imposter.”

The archons all looked at each other with concern expressions at the mention of your doppelganger, Nahida turns to look at Zhongli

“How did you come across this domain, Morax?”

“It was right after their Grace’s death.” Zhongli began

He remembers that day as if it had happened yesterday. The skies pouring rain down onto the geo archon, as if Teyvat was itself is mourning the loss of its creator

As he kept on walking through the field, the clouds part to reveal the field has sprouted many flowers. Flowers that glitter in the sun in the same manner your blood did when spilled

The flowers tell a story of a battle that fought here, a battle that you had to fight on your own. Rage and sorrow fills the god, he falls to his knees and frantically began to rip the flowers out of the ground as tears ran down his face. He could have been there to help you, to at least protect you, but you felt like you needed to fight this battle alone

why?

Why?

WHY?!

WHY WHY WHY?!?!

Why did things have to end like this? Why wasn’t he there to stop this from happening?!

Morax wailed and wailed until his throat started hurting. When he stopped he saw a petal with a light blue aura floating above the ground

Reaching out towards the petal he was instantly transported somewhere

A domain of sorts, its walls were lined with gold and lapis lazuli embedded into them. It was massive and empty, like it had been subject to neglect, it was luxurious none the less.

A place that reminded the dragon of you and it dawned on him that this domain belonged to you, whatever the reason you abandoned it, it will be a monument to you and your greatness

Zhongli finished telling the other archons and they all had mournful looks on their faces

“I’m so sorry you had to experience that, Morax.” Mavuika consoled

“It was a very difficult time, but I rather have this domain be in my hands than anyone else’s, Aym.”

“You should be proud of the work you amassed theoughout the centuries.” Ei said as she looked at the bookshelves that reach the ceiling

“Only the best for their Grace, and might I ask do you know what’s behind that door?” Furina asked gesturing towards the door

“Unfortunately I do not. I was hoping for their Grace to know when they descended.” Zhongli explained

Venti leans in towards the door to examine the keyhole, instead of it being the standard keyhole it was circular with 4 other smaller circles extended from the larger one

“It’s a pretty odd keyhole. I’m surprised you didn’t try to bust it down through brute force.” Venti giggled. The archons looked at the elder archon who is looking down a bit shamefully. “Well I wonder what’s behind this door.”

“It might be due to them wanting to hide something.” All the archons whipped their heads towards Ei. “I remember one time when their Grace visited Inazuma they called themselves a ‘monster’ especially after ‘what they done.’ When I tried to press further they refused to elaborate.” Ei explained

“It didn’t help that their Grace was very secretive about their past. I’m pretty sure that the knowledge we have on them is already common.”

As the gods talked amongst themselves the littlest of them pondered and pondered until it dawned on her

“Maybe there’s something in the Akademiya’s secret archives.” Nahida spoke out

“Why do you did there’s something useful to us is in some place so dusty.” Venti asked as he continued on with the other archons

The gods followed as the littlest one lead them through the secret basement

“This is where the supposed belongings of their Grace.” Nahida explained as she kept walking until she stopped in front of a large door

Nahida placed her hand on the door and it lit up with a green aura before the doors open. “It should be in here.” She continued to walk

“Why do you seem uncertain about the ‘key’ being here?” Furina asked

“Oh well, I didn’t know of this place when I was imprisoned.”

“What?!” Ei, Furina, and Mavuika said in unison

After several minutes of explaining Nahida’s imprisonment by her people

“How awful, I will teach you how to use a sword to strike down those traitors!” Ei said as Mavuika nodded her head in agreement

“N-no thank you!” Nahida shot the offer down

“How about taking those snakes to trial! If they think they can imprison a god then they should have the courage to face one in court!” Furina exclaimed

“They were already taken care of.” Nahida said trying to calm the three archons down. “With the help of the traveler and their Grace they freed me from my prison. Though, I don’t have any memories of their Grace when they walked Teyvat, they try to make it up to me.”

“You’re my daughter now, I don’t care what anyone says.” Your voice rings throughout her ears causing her heart to fill with joy, visiting various places across Teyvat was already enough for her. “I want you to see the world as it is, so let’s go exploring, Nahida!” You encouraged making Nahida smile

Bringing herself back, Nahida looks up at the archons who are smiling at her

“Did that imposter know of your imprisonment?” Venti asked

The bright smile quickly fell off of Nahida’s face and the other archons already knew the answer

“How vile! Them standing by while an archon was imprisoned by her own people!” Ei clenched her fists

“We should stop stalling before we get even more sidetracked.” Zhongli said seeming stoic as ever but the others could tell his anger was steeping through by the slight tremor that could be felt on the ground

The archons decided it was best to continue and began looking through the artifacts. Many of which were obviously fake and thus toss to the side, this continued for a good few hours until one of them felt a faint presence

Ei holds up what looks to be a brooch up for the archons to get a proper look. Upon closer examination they all could see that the brooch had 4 empty slots for something circular to be slotted into them

“Is that what I think it is?” Venti asked amazed

“That is no doubt that the brooch belonged to their Grace by the faint aura it is emitting.” Zhongli confirmed

Quickly taking the petal out of his breast pocket and transporting him and the others to the domain. Ei hands the brooch to Zhongli and walks towards the door to bring it to the keyhole

It fits perfectly

Taglist:

@chuuya-brainrot @creation-magician @tartarsaucechi1de @vvyeislazzy @aludicpoet @undecidingfate @annoying-mary @randomnatics @bore2808 @esthelily @yurivision @angelamelamela @chocolatekuns @ghost-mint @mmmhyperfixation @legendaryexperthideout @lapinaenmicoche @sinsdumbdrabble @rebeccawinters @imyme20 @nymphsdomain @sun7lowxr @blackcoffex @itz-luna @flowerpesky @land-of-eternity @deathcvltcivilofficial @d4y-dr3am3r @yuriclouds @artwitch @mercy-not-merci @xyaxyn @starxvs @dreamoffireflies06 @desirabletravel

[arcadia-smith]

I'm finally publishing this. Part one is gonna be a short one.

(There are gonna be dark things happening later on).

Simon Riley x Reader

The Interpreter's Prayer.

Part 1

The bomb's whisper reached you first — a tremor through stone and soil, rippling like waves across a silent sea, before the sound ever touched the air.

Your gaze drifted across the room, finally settling on Basma Jazeem and her little ones, Sayid and Noor. They huddled in the corner like frightened birds in a storm, her lips brushing their ears with whispered words, and for a heartbeat, your eyes met hers — two women caught in the same tempest.

Basma was the key to unlocking their salvation, the wife of Nasir — a man whose soul had long since turned to ash. She'd struck a devil's bargain with the Task Force: her husband's downfall in exchange for wings to fly to American shores.

"Two hours until rescue team reaches us." Simon's voice broke through your thoughts as he settled beside you, his frame melting against the wall.

Lieutenant Riley had planted the seeds of this mission in your mind.

You speak Arabian and wear a woman's skin, he'd said, as if these were magical incantations. You'd nodded, believing Basma would open her heart to a sister rather than bunch of bulky men.

Now regret bloomed in your chest like desert flowers after rain. The abandoned building stood like a skeleton against the city's edge, while you waited for rescue and Nasir circled like a hungry wolf.

As an interpreter, you were a creature of quiet rooms and careful words, of interrogations conducted behind safe walls. The field was foreign soil, and this mission had watered those seeds of doubt.

"What stories does she tell?" Simon's voice pulled at your attention like a gentle tide. He sensed your unease like a storm on the horizon, but his faith in rescue burned bright as a lighthouse flame.

Your eyes lingered on the mother and her children, watching their faces glow in the dim light before you released a breath. "She tells them of Sinbad the Sailor, a tale of—"

"I know it by heart," Simon's words danced over yours like leaves in wind. "Mia won't sleep without it."

A smile curved your lips as you nodded. "I didn't think you knew the story."

Simon drew you close, his arm around your shoulders like a warm blanket against the night. "I'm always there, just in the doorway when you read to her. Never touched the pages myself, but those words are etched in my soul."

Words died on your tongue as another explosion shattered the air — closer now, its fury rattling windows and bones alike.

Nasir's shadow stretched longer, darker, reaching for you with smoky fingers.

Simon stood up, his hand extending toward you- a lifeline in chaos. "We need to find more secure ground." His voice carried the weight of steel, of certainty.

Basma's eyes found yours across the room, and your tongue shaped her language, Arabic flowing like water over stones. She rose like a startled deer, gathering her children close like precious gems to her breast.

Simon's rifle settled against him, an extension of will and bone. His eyes met yours one last time, a thousand words compressed into a heartbeat, before he led the way into darkness.

You became the rear guard, watching Basma and her little ones move like shadows before you, their feet whispering secrets to the floor. Your own steps fell into rhythm with their dance of survival.

The third explosion came like thunder breaking earth, so close it made the world tremble. Your heartbeat became a war drum in your ears, and your fingers found your weapon with the familiarity of an old friend.

Then- voices. Rough Arabic cut through the air like knives, each word a testament to how close Nasir's hounds had drawn. Your mind translated automatically: sweep the building... find them... alive if possible...

Simon froze ahead, his raised hand a monument in the half-light. You all became statues, breathing fear and tasting destiny on your tongues.

"Find somewhere to hide." Simon's words fell soft as snow, deadly as winter. "I'll seek an escape. Shoot if you see even a shadow move." He turned, his eyes finding yours over his shoulder- love spelled in the spaces between breaths.

Then he melted into darkness, becoming one with the shadows he'd always trusted. You guided Basma and her children in the opposite direction, each step a prayer for sanctuary.

The next explosion came like God's fury. The world tilted, spun, threw you into its chaos. Your back found ruins, and dust rained down like gray snow, coating your world in ash. Time stretched as your senses struggled through the fog- vision swimming back through murky waters, the bell in your head slowly fading to whispers.

Rising felt like climbing mountains. Your eyes searched the ruins for Basma and her little ones, hope threading through desperation like gold through stone.

One step forward sent lightning through your ankle. Your teeth found your lip, trapping pain behind them like a secret too dangerous to share.

Then- movement. Voices. Footsteps crushing debris beneath boots that had walked through nightmares. The dust parted like a theater curtain, revealing your worst fears made flesh: Nasir's men, weapons gleaming dull in the half-light.

One held Noor like a broken bird, her tears catching what little light remained.

"Where is the bitch?" English twisted through his accent like barbed wire, each word drawing blood.

Cold metal kissed your spine — a rifle's touch. Your fingers yearned for your weapon, but fate had other plans.

The rifle stock found your skull with the finality of an executioner's ax, and darkness rushed in like an old friend, wrapping you in its velvet embrace.

PART 2

[bippot]

Human Radiator

Story Summary -> It's chilly in Wabang, so Rhett is immediately at the beck and call of his girlfriend because she's cold and needs a little cowboy loving to make her feel better.

Tags -> Snow Day, Hand Jobs, Established Relationship, Menstruation, Short & Sweet, Domestic Fluff, Male Simp

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

As winter in Wabang progressed, the days got substantially shorter and the temperature monumentally dipped. The nights were fucking freezing, and even with the heating on, the town's inhabitants were in deep need of a warm duvet and fluffy socks for the slightest bit of comfort.

"Rhett! Oh loverboy, your girlfriend is on the phone," Cecilia called out to her son, her sing-song voice ringing through the Abbott household.

He groaned, although he would be lying if he said he was annoyed or anything. He was a loverboy. In every sense he was. Y/N could bring a smile to his face on his most tiring and worn days, a sparkle to his eyes on his most boring days, and a laugh when things seemed bleak or hopeless. Cecilia passed the phone over as soon as Rhett arrived with a knowing smirk. 

Rhett held the receiver up to his ear and put on a gruff and manly voice to greet, "Hey baby...whatcha wearin?" and was swiftly slapped on the arm by his mother. He winced dramatically, despite the fact that it hadn't hurt all that much.

"Why don't you come over and find out?" Y/N flirted back, a grin audible in her voice. She knew she had him wrapped around her little finger already. It always gave her such joy to watch him fall so hard because she was in the exact same position herself.

After Maria had left high and dry, it seemed like all was lost. Until Y/N came along and he was like, 'Oh, everything can be okay again'. She had turned his 'but' to a 'can' and that was all he could ask her for. Now here they were, a couple of months down the line and totally head over heels for each other.

"Gonna need some convincing," he chuckled, with absolutely no bite to his words. 

He was fully convinced already, but still loved teasing her about this. He could picture her face perfectly in his mind, pouting at him through her eyelashes, her tongue poking out between her lips while she bit at them lightly in concentration. A look that usually got him to give in to whatever she wanted.

"I'm cold and need a human radiator." It was snowing heavily outside and the temperature had fallen well below zero, so he knew that was true. Then she added, "And I miss you."

A grin overtook his face; he couldn't help it. Still, he teased, "You saw me last night."

"You don't miss me too, baby?" she said playfully. 

Even though he'd gotten used to hearing her use pet names, sometimes it did make him weak in the knees, and his heart rate skyrocketed. Her voice, low and husky with want, sent chills down his spine, making him think that the air in his room might freeze over from how frigid it suddenly felt.

"Never said that, Darlin." He heard her chuckle into the receiver. "Gimme twenty minutes, and I'll be at your door." And with that, he hung up.

As soon as he put the landline down, Rhett looked over at his mother, who was watching him with an expression of amusement. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, but she merely smirked in response. 

Cecilia was the first person in the Abbott household that had noticed the positive changes in Rhett's behaviour as soon as Y/N came onto the scene and was happy to see them. Of course, Rhett tried to hide those small hints of happiness under his rough exterior, but his mother could see through it. Easily. As far as she was concerned, he was the perfect gentleman around Y/N, and that's all she needed to know. 

"Yvette in the florist has a good deal on camellias, by the way," Cecilia pointed out and hoped that Rhett got the hint. It took him a second, but he understood.

Twenty-five minutes late, Rhett was knocking on his girlfriend's door with a bunch of flowers hidden behind his back. She opened the door with a smile and a faux annoyed, "You're five minutes late, Abbott."

He feigned hurt and replied with a fake pout. "Okay, I'll go back home then. I'll take my ass and the gift I got you right back to my own bed. Goodnight, Y/N," he joked with a wink before heading back the way he'd come. She caught his arm and tugged him inside. There was no resistance on his part; he allowed himself to be dragged into her apartment until he was pressed flush against her front, her breath hitting his cheek, and the door closed behind them. He quickly hung his hat on a hook.

"Hi," she cooed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"Hey," he replied, his hand resting firmly on her waist, his thumb rubbing circles on the soft fabric of her sides as he tilted his head to kiss her softly on the mouth. His fingers gripped the back of her sweater slightly tighter as he deepened the kiss, their mouths moving in practiced synchronicity with one another's. He felt her grip his hair, her nails digging in just slightly, eliciting a moan from his throat and the sound of pleasure being muffled by her skin against his.

Breaking apart for air, they rested their foreheads together. Rhett gazed deeply into her eyes as their breathing calmed down, both of them unable to stop grinning like fools. "Now that's what I call a welcome back kiss," he joked in a raspy voice, gently nudging his nose into hers. She giggled and shook her head, the corner of her lips quirking up at how cute he was.

"Are you gonna give me those flowers or carry on squishing them behind your back?"

"How'd you know these are for you, huh?" He brought the flowers in front of him to hover under her nose. "They could be for Ms. Tatum next door, for all you know."

"You got a thing for old ladies now?"

Rhett snorted, his hand sliding over the small of her back and squidging her closer to him. Their height difference worked in his favour at that moment, as it often did, and he smugly smirked down at her. 

Y/N simply rolled her eyes and reached up to peck him on the lips once more, slyly taking the bouquet he held from his hand to hold up for better viewing while he was distracted. "Mmmm, not bad, not bad, Mr. Abbott," Y/N hummed as she took in the beauty of the camellias. They were gorgeous, all pink and pretty with delicate petals that curled ever so slightly at the ends, and she immediately pulled away to find the vase she always used whenever he got her flowers. 

Once they were sufficiently placed in water and moved to the centre of her coffee table so she could brag to all of her friends that came to visit, 'Oh, these? My boyfriend - you know, the one who seems so gruff and somewhat grumpy at times? - he very frequently buys me flowers because, and I quote, he says, "Pretty things deserve to be surrounded by other pretty things," so yes, I love my cowboy very much.'

When she turned back around to find Rhett leaning casually against her countertop, watching her with amused eyes, she blushed furiously and happily glared, causing him to laugh aloud. "What are you looking at?" she said, trying to keep annoyance in her voice but failing miserably due to the huge smile plastered across her face.

"Am I not allowed to look at my girl? Is that a crime? Am I not allowed to stare at my pretty girl?" he asked, raising his hands defensively and taking an exaggerated step backward, as if to emphasise his point. 

She couldn't resist pulling him toward her once more and planting several kisses all along his jaw and cheek and neck and anywhere she could reach. Y/N giggled as she peppered them everywhere, sending shivers throughout his entire body and a light flush to spread on his cheeks and ears as he grinned from ear to ear and nuzzled into the crook of her neck when he could.

"You eaten?" She mumbled after a while and rested her cheek on top of his hair, closing her eyes as she inhaled the smell that only belonged to him - fresh, woodsy, slightly spicy, and warm all at once. She felt him shake his head against her shoulder. "Lemme make you something, baby."

Without waiting for a response, she gave him a quick forehead kiss and moved to her fridge. "Leftover lasagna sound good?" she called over her shoulder, bringing it out as soon as she heard his hum of agreement and the distinct sounds of him shuffling closer to her. 

As soon as he reached her, his arms were around her waist and his chin on her shoulder, watching as she reheated his food for him. "You're too good to me, Darlin."

"I would argue that you're too good to me, and I'm just trying to repay the favour." Her hand came up to card through his hair absentmindedly, and her lips curled upwards. "You need to let me spoil you once and a while." 

A smile crept across his face at that, and she continued, "Need to take care of my pretty boy."

Every time she called him that, he became a mess of emotions, his chest growing warm and his heart racing. His eyes fell shut briefly as he leaned further into her touch, the smell of her perfume invading his senses, his heart beating rapidly as he tried to calm himself down. It wasn't fair, he thought to himself. 

How unfair was it that her scent could still affect him this way? That her touch still made his heart ache and his blood run hotter than it normally would when she was so close to him? But he wasn't going to deny what had happened. He had gone too far to stop himself from falling for her, and he wasn't about to start denying the feelings that he harboured anymore.

"Love you, baby," he admitted sheepishly, almost shyly into the fabric of his shoulder. The tone in which he had said the words was different somehow. More vulnerable and raw; far too desperate in its honesty for his liking.

"Ah, so we're saying it while we're awake now?"

"I knew you weren't asleep! You little shit!"

She giggled loudly in his ear as he tickled her sides playfully, making her head fall backwards and accidently bump into his chin. Quickly turning around to cradle the point of impact, Y/N kissed the bump and then wrapped her arms around his neck as she looked straight into his eyes, searching his for any traces of doubt. 

When she was assured that he was fully committed, she leaned forward and captured his lips again, a soft and tender kiss between lovers, mumbling against his mouth, "Love you too, handsome."

It was hard for Rhett to pull away once the food was ready, but he was starving. The compromise was that Y/N had to sit on his lap as he ate, her fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and humming along to the radio. Once he swallowed a large bite of pasta down and wiped his mouth, he turned to look at her expectantly, a soft look etched on his features. 

"Say it again."

"I love you."

His expression softened even further. "Again?" he prompted. "Please?" She smiled and nodded, repeating the sweet declaration to him again and again throughout his meal, making sure he got every last word memorised by heart. 

And when he was finished, she rose gracefully from the table, picked his plate up, and carried it over to the sink, placing them in the dishwasher with a flourish before coming back to urge, "You just gonna sit there or are you gonna follow me to bed?" she asked, twirling around on her heel and holding her hand out to him. 

He moved so fast to follow behind her, catching up with her and lifting her into his arms as she giggled. They soon reached her room, where he laid her on the bed, his body hovering above hers for a moment before she pulled him into a tight hug, her face tucked into his shoulder. 

They stayed like that for a long while, both of them content to just hold each other, basking in the warmth of their bodies and the duvet wrapped around them. The silence was only broken by occasional whimpers and groans as they moved against one another slowly, languidly, teasing one another and savouring the closeness without breaking the comfortable cocoon they created.

"Do you want to watch a movie or anything?" she finally asked him, breaking the quietness surrounding them and sliding her hands under his shirt to brush her hand up and down his spine lazily.

"Whatever you want, Darlin." 

He sounded out of it and completely lovesick, as if he were intoxicated by her touch or the way her voice made him feel warm inside, and sighed into her neck when she started to trace random patterns into his skin with her nails with the one hand and searching through Netflix with the other. Rhett watched the way her eyes scanned the options, her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth slightly in concentration, and her brow furrowed in confusion every so often until suddenly, a bright grin lit up her face as she found what she was looking for.

"17 Again?"

"Yup."

Because she'd picked such a good film, he shifted onto his side so he could watch too, propping his head up with one arm as his free hand trailed lazily up Y/N's stomach. The movie had barely begun when the woman beside him shifted closer and snaked one of her legs over his thighs and tugged lightly on his shirt, her hand moving underneath to press against his bare skin, her thumb rubbing circles on his hip bone.

A quarter of the way through, she had to get up from the bathroom, and he made a big stink about it. He was grumbling and whining for her entire pee break, only removing the pout from his face when she returned to their previous position and snuggled back it.

"Thank god, I was getting cold, doll."

Then, as they reached the midway point, she placed an (at first) innocent kiss on his neck and only spiced it up when he let out a groan, his head dropping back against the pillows. He could hardly focus on the film as Y/N nibbled softly at the skin on the exposed part of his throat, his breathing increasing as her hand moved lower and lower until they dipped beneath his underwear. 

Yet she didn't take his cock into her hand. No, she teased the area's surrounding it with featherlight touches. "God, baby, please," he groaned quietly as she worked the sensitive flesh, his head rolling back and forth involuntarily.

A low giggle escaped his lips as she pressed a kiss on his cheek and repeated, "Please, what?"

"Oh doll, don't ask stupid questions," he said breathlessly, unable to hold himself back as she dragged her lips to his pulse point and sucked gently on it, smiling wickedly when he squirmed and bit his bottom lip to stifle a moan of pleasure. "Touch me, baby."

She complied immediately, sliding her hand slowly and deliberately down the length of his shaft before wrapping her fingers around him completely and squeezing tightly, causing a muffled groan to escape his lips and him arching up into her touch with a strangled whimper. The sound only encouraged her to go faster and harder, his head dropping back and his eyelids fluttering closed.

"Feel good, pretty boy?" She whispered, her voice sending shivers down his spine, her breath caressing his heated skin deliciously. 

Rhett wanted to reply to her, but instead, he moaned incoherently when she circled her thumb over his tip. He gripped the sheets so tightly that his knuckles were almost white and his whole body felt tense, his mind filled with nothing more than her touch and the pleasurable sensation coursing through every nerve. His breath grew more ragged and uneven, his whole body taut with restrained desire, sweat beading on his forehead as he struggled to hold back his release.

When she felt the first surge course through his body, she cooed, "Come on, handsome. Let go." 

As he released, his body jerked violently, the sudden release leaving him gasping for air and the tension ebbing away from his frame as it did so. Y/N grinned wickedly as he rolled onto his back, his chest rising and falling heavily as he gasped and caught his breath. 

"Good boy, baby."

Rhett glanced at her with hooded eyes as she brushed her fingers soothingly through his hair. "How do you do that to me?" He breathed in disbelief, staring at her forlornly as though she were the sun shining from the heavens.

"Do what, gorgeous?" 

"Turn me into your bitch." 

While that statement was true, she laughed brightly at his choice of words before raising her hand to her lips to lick the remnants of him from her skin, causing him to groan and squeeze at her thigh in frustration. She was doing exactly what he needed - taking care of him, loving him unconditionally - and she was doing it whilst looking so goddamned sexy. And it wasn't fair! It was all his fault that he wasn't in control of his own body when she did that, not that he ever really wanted to be in control, because it made him happy just being able to watch her do whatever the hell she pleased.

Yet when he tried to repay the favour, she stopped his hand. "I'm okay, baby," she told him with a smile, pushing his hand off of her thigh and resting it atop her stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair, sighing deeply as she focused her attention back onto the movie.

"What's up with you?" he asked curiously, tilting his head to catch her gaze.

"Time of the month."

At that, his eyebrows shot upwards. She chuckled softly and shook her head, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. 

"What? Why didn't you say? I could've gotten aspirin. Could've gotten chocolate. Hot water bottle. A bunch of shit to make you feel better. Are you in pain? Need anything?"

Admittedly, she was in a little pain, but the comfort between them was already more than enough to calm her down. "Rhett, my love, I am fine." Her fingers danced gently along his jawline and across his cheek as she continued to talk. "Besides, you've been working hard today too, remember? You deserve some time to yourself, darling."

"Are you sure? If you need something, I can go get it."

Eyes softening, she cupped his cheek tenderly, watching the small creases form between his brows with a frown as concern settled into them. "Baby, all I need is a few tampons and my big, strong Teddy bear of a boyfriend. I've got both of those, so I'm more than okay." His worried expression melted when she smiled, leaning forward to place a lingering kiss on his cheek. "Just relax, sweetheart. Watch Zac Efron be charming with me."

So, he did. He followed her wishes. He pulled her back onto his chest, holding her close and letting his cheek drop down to rest on her hair, placing a peck on it every now and again until she fell asleep curled up against his body. As always, they fell fast asleep like that, curled up together, their arms and legs tangling as they slept peacefully in each other's embrace. And unlike the many inhabitants of Wabang that were single, they were perfectly warm and snug.

Plus, they would stay that way for longer than either imagined, as when Rhett woke up early the next morning to get ready for another day on the ranch, he very quickly found himself snowed in. There was no way he was passing up this opportunity to spend the entire day as Y/N's human radiator and certified pillow for the rest of the snowstorm.

*Click here for my masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

Top Gun taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt, @adriansboyfriend, @live-love-be-unique

[little-mouse-gardens]

Random idea that came my mind awhile back, rambled about this on discord but-*plops this here* I am rattling this around in my brain

Tw : mentions of violence, yandere behaviors, blood

I was Thinking about elderitch forest god Donnie basically making this cottagecore dreamscape for researcher reader so he can keep them by his side.

For reader, a researcher and selected member of a team that would be sent to go out and find some ancient ruins and study the wildlife in an unexplored forest, It was just supposed to be a simple trip to study the wildlife and old ruins in an unexplored part of the forest. Nothing more.

However, readers team didn’t seem to read the signs near the entrance……nor did they feel the same set of eyes burning into their backs like reader began to feel the second they stepped foot over the old stone gates that led into the forest.

The silence in the forest is almost deafening…everything in the forest-hell the forest itself seems to have all eyes on them. Watching their every move or trying to train themselves on every word they whispered to eachother.

Reader even seems to pick up how, for lack of a better term, kind the forest is towards them compared to their friends.

A lot more rare wildlife seems to suddenly approach them out of nowhere. They stand in one spot for a few minutes and when they start to walk they notice how a trail of flowers seems to follow right behind them with every step. Their favorite flowers too.

Maybe, every so often, they may catch a glimpse of Donnie’s smiling face every so often. His smile is seemingly so soft for that brief moment. So soft. Warm. Welcoming, and almost loving if reader manages to get a better look before they blink and He’s gone again.

He’s been lonely for a long time, and the moment he set eyes on reader while they were carefully saving some wild ducklings stuck in the middle of a river or scolding their team for breaking some rare plants, he’s head over heels in love.

Their smile…their laugh, the way they care about his forest and the creatures within it. How respectful they are to his old monuments and they ignored their teams complaints about stopping so they could fix one of his statues they’d bumped into.

In his mind he finally found the one. He wouldn’t be lonely anymore. He’d have someone to share all the love he could give with. He would give reader so much love and attention, he’d do everything he could to make them happy.

…which reminded him that he needed to take care of their little…friends first after he spotted them walking off to find some place to camp.

When nightfall comes…..everything goes down hill so fast. A storm hits. During the panic of being chased by wild animals and avoiding falling trees, reader whips their head around to look for their missing friend and ends up getting knocked out by a tree branch.

Everything is a blur from there. Screams, roaring and snarling of animals, soft whispers against their temple as their ears rang. The feeling of being scooped and cradled to someone’s chest. The scent of blood in the air.

By the time readers up they are in a completely different space. The sound of soft music is playing when their eyes flutter open and the feeling of warm fluffy blankets surround them.

They don’t even remember exactly what happened-all reader knows is that when they woke up they found themselves bundled up in the comfiest cottage they’ve ever seen and to the soft sound of his voice. They turn and spot a particularly peculiar sight. A mutant softs-hell turtle wearing nicely embroidered sweater, shorts and an apron that read ‘genius chef’ on the front on lavender stitching.

Before they can even say a word he’s already glancing over his shoulder at them with a warm smile and nice tray of their favorite comfort foods in hand. This loving look on his face as she sets the tray down on their lap and helps reader sit up, “well, good morning start light. I was worried you’d got caught up in the rain again” he says, nothing but warmth and tenderness in his tone as he fluffs their pillows and lifts the lid off of the delicious smelling soup, “here, my darling, I made you some nice warm vegetable soup to help chase that nasty cold away”

readers mind is so fuzzy…that they don’t even register him calling them darling until they’re halfway through eating the meal he made or the ring that’s been slipped onto their finger.

However everything about him feels so…familiar. Very brief memory’s of them and Donnie going out on picnic dates and working on the garden out in the backyard.

This wave of familiarity seems to wash over them as they relax into the pillows and they give him a shy, “oh….sorry about that, you know how I get when I get focused with gardening”

Donnie just chuckles and sits himself on the edge of the bed next to reader to make sure they like the food he made them. His heart practically jumping for joy as he looks at that sweet smile on their face.

Sure he may have….replaced a few memories of theirs with a few that would keep them with him

But hey….in his mind, what they don’t know won’t hurt them right?

After all, their friends can’t wander his forest forever in search of place they will never be able find.

[suddencosmology]

A lorepost constructed while fighting Shadow of the Erdtree's Final Boss

I have thoughts. This started when I was born, but these particular thoughts began during my first playthrough of Elden Ring as a set of notes to keep track of events. With Shadow of the Erdtree (and me smashing my head against a brick wall), this section on the Shattering War expanded.

Repeatedly dying to the wrath of heaven gives you time to think, and now that I own the gate of calcified bodies, I must share them.

Fact

Quote

Conjecture

(Sword Monument, Altus)

The First Defense of Leyndell

A sovereign alliance rots from within

Traces yet remain of bloody conspiracy

(Direct translation) The battle of the First Defense of Leyndell

A sovereign alliance, from within collapses,

becoming a defeated army

A blood plot, these are the traces

Sword Monument refers to both Blood and Rot, suggesting involvement of Malenia and Mogh.  Who is in the alliance?  Translation suggests the attackers.

There's nothing I've found to shed more light on this idea, and so I have no extrapolation.

(Sword Monument, Altus)

The Second Defense of Leyndell

The Fell Omen stacks high the corpses of heroes

Yet the Erdtree remains unshaken

(Direct translation) The battle of Leyndell's Second Defense

The shunned ogre,

piles the champions' corpses 

The Golden Tree is unshaken

Margit the Fell appears on the battlefield.

Omen can be found in open Altus.  Given the location of the Shunning Grounds, they most likely originated there.  But did they escape, or did they follow Margit?  One group is found at a campsite not far from the Leyndell war camp.  More, alongside Misbegotten, are found at the Minor Erdtree within the outer wall, engaged in prayer.  A third group wanders the hill of abandoned treasure carriages, but near that is the Perfumer's Ruins, where lives an Omenkiller.  One must be present due to the other, but who?

Promotional art shows Radahn attacked by the Fell Omen.  Opening cutscene shows army w/ Trolls attacking Leyndell.  Beyond pulling carts,Trolls are found primarily in Limgrave, but one guards the gate of Redmane Castle, and another overlooks Sellia's gate, both in Caelid.  

Unlikely to be Carian: Carian Trolls wear helmets and tabards.

Alliance between Godrick and Radahn?

(Sword Monument, Liurnia)

This marks Malenia's southward march

The Blade of Miquella and her Cleanrot Knights

Grant her wings never to be clipped

(Direct Translation) Malenia's southward march monument

Miquella's Blade, the Noble Rot knights

The wings that are never hindered

Why did the march start here?  Leyndell and the Haligtree are both north.  Or does it mean that here her march turned south?  Were she chasing Radahn out of Altus, her first stop would've been the land of his birth.  Once certain he had not retreated there and/or recieved no aid, her path would have gone South.

(Sword Monument, Limgrave)

Godrick the Golden, humiliated

Having tasted defeat by the Blade of Miquella

Now on his knees, begging for mercy

(Direct Translation) Golden Godrick, a humiliating battle

To Miquella's Blade, a total defeat

Grovelling, begging for forgiveness

Either Malenia defeated Godrick here, or if he and Radahn sieged Leyndell, then perhaps he groveled rather than face Malenia again.

(Sword Monument, Caelid)

The Battle of Aeonia

Radahn and Malenia locked in stalemate

Then, the scarlet rot blooms

(Direct translation) Aeonia Battle

Radahn, Malenia come to a draw

The Scarlet Rot flower blooms to full glory

Here occurs the fated battle that ended the Shattering.  Malenia blooms in a bid to destroy Radahn, and whispers in his ear the following:

(Young Lion's Helm)

"Miquella awaits thee, O promised consort."

In the aftermath, Miquella heals Redmane Freya of the Scarlet Rot.

(Cleanrot Knight Finlay Spirit Ashes)

Finlay was one of the few survivors of the Battle of Aeonia, who in an unimaginable act of heroism carried the slumbering demigod Malenia all the way back to the Haligtree. She managed the feat alone, fending off all manner of foes along the way.

Malenia is "slumbering" after Aeonia.  With the presence of Miquella in Caelid, it suggests Miquella was responsible for halting the bloom of the Rot Goddess, Saint Trina sending Malenia into a deep, long slumber.  Perhaps an eternal one, until Millicent and her sisters arrive, each carrying a part of Malenia cast aside in Aeonia.  

And as each of them blooms, the Goddess begins to stir, and the Tarnished is but the unlucky fool forced to slay her.

Above is but connecting dots, but there are still questions unanswered.

Morgott calls all the demigods traitors.  Did he know of Ranni's part in the Night of Black Knives?  Or was her and Caria's inaction during the Shattering treachery enough?

If we follow the Radahn-Godrick alliance, those two are on the list for certain.

Rykard's rebellion was open and clear-cut.

Why the twins, though?  Betrayal, or like Ranni, was their disappearance/retreat to the Haligtree after Aeonia the cause?

For Radahn, why did he and Malenia clash? 

His lore paints him as glory-hunter, raised on tales of his father and Lord Godfrey proving their might in the field of battle.  A naive prince born in an era of peace, hungering for a war to prove his mettle.

He clearly sought to be Elden Lord, but perhaps not with Miquella as his God.  Or perhaps the war was a sort of elaborate courting ritual, demanding he face the full strength of Miquella's ideals and followers.  Or crueler, the promise was meant to be an impossible request, one to goad Malenia into combat and prove to all the Red Lion deserved the title of Strongest.

Whatever the case, it seems Malenia warred as a way to force him into compliance, and when he would not yield, she Bloomed.  

This either suggests she knew of the Secret Rite scroll we find in the DLC, and that perhaps the entire war was an extension of Miquella's plan, or perhaps just a final barb, given to a man worthy of no honor or glory.

The Unalloyed's presence in Caelid would be his compassion, or his moral calculus (such that could convince him puppeting both Radahn and Mogh would be for the Greater Good), could not allow the Scarlet Rot to spread.

The other option is that, again, Radahn broke his promise to Miquella, Malenia's march was in pursuit of vengeance, Miquella arrived too late to stop them from destroying each other, and his ascension was in turn a reaction to losing his promised consort and his sister.  In this charitable perspective, his original plan was the Haligtree, watered with his blood and fully absent of gods, shelter to all.  A throne of unalloyed gold, sadly abandoned when his hopefuly ideals clashed with cold reality.

Either way, we come to Mohg.  Why Mogh?  Again we turn to the moral calculus.  Miquella needed a guardian while he slept, and without his loyal Blade, turned to the next most dangerous demigod.  And also, the more expendable.

Of the others: 

Messmer was already in the Land of Shadow.

Rykard was a heretic and possibly a snake-god at the time.

Morgott had assumed regency of Leyndell.

Ranni was either dead, missing, running Caria, and/or definitely couldn't be trusted with the plan.

Godwyn was a cancerous corpse fused to the Erdtree.

Miquella needed a body for his Lord.  The closer in relation, the better.  And it needed to be someone who wouldn't be missed.

Mohg's Dynasty was small, heretical, slightly obsessed with blood, deeply tied to an Outer God, and possibly already involved in the whole murder and kidnapping thing.

An easy choice.

Either way, little suggests Mohg somehow knew a way to reach the Land of Shadow.  The closest connection is the Formless Mother's foothold with the Bloodfiends.

More likely, Miquella had the power and knowledge to reach it himself, and his ascension was delayed until both Mohg and Radahn were properly dead.

A lord's soul delivered, and a body to host it.

And so the enchanted followers and a lone Tarnished followed him into that hidden realm.

Of the two interpretations, I ask both myself and the reader, this: which is the more tragic?

That the good-natured promises of salvation are built on lies, deceit, and manipulation.

Or that the dreams of someone good and kind and loving have corroded into cruelty.

[tgrailwar-zero]

You decided to go to the memorial.

HEULWEN: "Here. I finished processing the data."

She handed you a few flowers, before turning back to the memorial. It hadn't changed- it was nice, but small. A stone effigy of a sword, a mantle carved out of rock to appear like it was billowing. You looked down at the flowers.

Irises, daffodils, tulips, roses… it was a wide variety.

Neither of them spoke. They just stood by the monument, and kept to themselves.

Maybe they were praying. Maybe they were simply giving their thanks. Maybe they were simply lost in their own thoughts.

Neither of them wept, but you could feel their empathy. Dying for another's sake was not something that many people had the capacity to do. By all means, self-preservation would be seen by many as the more reasonable option, and yet here you were, looking at the monument of someone who had prioritized the safety of the many over his own life.

Still… he was a soldier. A Servant. A warrior, a fighter, a blade. Someone who was willing to lay down his life in order to keep others safe. The carnage would have been worse if he wasn't present, that's what they said. Part of you knew that as a certainty… without a wall of defense, without a stalwart defender, you would have reawoken to more graves.

Walls fell, certainly, but that didn't mean that everything was lost.

You doubted that he would have hatred and curses in his heart when he perished. He wasn't one who burned, he was one that shone. Despite the regrets he had, it was about moving forwards.

Even if he wasn't here. To hold your arm before you ran into danger, or scold you for some mess, or quietly think of ways to make a cleaner path for you.

You stood there, without heroes by your side. Just you, preparing yourself to pick up the pieces and put together a new group, maybe from the remnants of your old one, maybe a new one, maybe a little bit of both…

…If they all had even survived. You were their lifeline, their Master. They could connect themselves to the land's leylines, or find a new leader, but that was never an instantaneous process. And if they had survived, who knew what they were doing or thinking now… they had moved on from this place, certainly. War raged on, and an even bigger war loomed over the Solar Cell.

Either way, you couldn't stop. There was too much to get done.

Heaven knows nobody else was standing still. Yesterday was treasured, today is precious, and tomorrow is valuable.

Your momentum had been slowed, certainly, but not stopped. A second-- no, a third chance. You didn't know how many of these you had. How many lifelines were there. You had to treat it as something precious, and even though you had things to get done, that didn't mean that you couldn't stop and smell the roses every so often.

So, it was perfectly fine for you to spend some time here. At least for a little while.

[breezybangtanbebe]

3D: JJK💋 Part One

A/N: Jungkook is in a closed triad with Janelle, the bubbly brown skinned bookworm with alluring eyes and luscious hips, and Katya , the semi alt bartending vixen with copper toned curls and a silver tongue.

Tags: jungkookxOC’s in closed traid/polyamorous relationship. Sex (raw and protected), oral (female and male recieving), threesome. Some fluff and mild plot because theyre loveds afater all 😌✨

4k words

The smell of cherry bomb body oil, weed and sex coated the air. Notably Jungkook's favorite combo, and he was a coni'sour of scents.

Incense.

OG Kush.

Shea Butter.

Pussy.

ESPECIALLY, Pussy.

Every woman was different based on various factors of diet and hygiene of course but there was a distinct musk that Jungkook found intoxicating. So much so, that his tongue licked at the air before curling over his top lip, his eyes rolling back as he savored everything.

Katya's pussy bloomed like the flower it smelled like, sucking his length in loudly as he drove himself deeper.

"Ah..ah..ah..shit..." she huffed against the bed, her gold ringed fingers fisting the crumpled sheets. From behind her, a tatted hand comes over her tawny waistline to squeeze her flesh, pulling her back to bounce against his dick.

"Oh fuck —- like that. Just like that.." she cried, Jungkook chuckling sharply through his nose.

"Hmm? like this Kitty?" He rasps, his eyes dropping to the silver piercings denting her dimples of Venus. He snaps his hips a bit harder, forcing gusts of air to jut from Kat's lungs.

"Look at you gripping my dick like you love it..My pussy? hmm? This is mine?" He taunts her with a heckling grin in his voice.

Normally, Katya would resist his need to dominate and make him really work for it. She'd deny his claims and make him prove it, ultimately ending in a mess of both of them. But today she didnt have the fight in her. She just wanted to cum again and again so she'd have an excuse to binge eat whatever was in the snack cabinet.

Sex burns hella calories after all.

"Shut up and just fuck me.." she muttered into the sheets. Jungkook grunts at her brash response, only happy to oblige as he lifted one leg up and planted his foot for balance, commencing to plow into her even harder and faster.

"Yes..yes...yesss.." she mewls, tearful eyes rolling back. Jungkook grunts as he kicked up his rhythm , his jaw slack and his brow crinkled as Katya tried to lift her head from the bed.

"Oh fuck yes..dont stop!"

"Uh uhn..down.." Jungkook shakes his head and he further enforces the demand by getting hold of her by her hair, a wavy knot of copper tangled in his fingers, pinning her head down to the mattress.

The pounding continues for another minute straight, Kat's inevitable undoing on loud and messy loop as Jungkook sought out to prove his point repeatedly.

The loud and messy sex is muffled effectively behind the door, far off at the end of the hall on the east side of the apartment.

Janelle is blissfully unaware as her key turns the front door's lock and she enters on tired feet, grimacing as she crossed the threshold.

Today was shit.

Everyone was rude.

Minor inconveniences felt monumental.

And her uterus felt like it had been doused in gasoline and tossed in a dumpster fire.

And her air pods just fucking died on her!

The telltale downward beeps further dampening her mood and muting the lofi she'd been on the whole walk home.

Today was shit, as previously stated, and it seemed to only get shittier.

"Fuck!"

Jungkook's voice is heard from the end of the hallway and based on his tone, Janelle assumed he was gaming or something. Her tummu fluttered at the sound since it confirmed he was home.

She just wanted to curl up under her man, sniff his neck while he rolled her a blunt and forget about the day she'd endured.

That was exactly what she needed.

Setting her keys and bag on the kitchen counter, Janelle shook her week old silk press out from its messy bun on her way towards the growing sound of her partner's voice ready to dump her troubles on him.

When she opened the door however, she's pinned by two sets of wide and surprised eyes at her sudden appearance in the doorway..

Her boyfriend of a few years, Jungkook. The tall and pretty idiot with dream boat hair, fuck boy tatts, abs for days and a toothy smile.

Although he wasn't smiling now..

"Nell.." he stammers, frozen where he was looming over the freckle faced ginger whose head was hanging off the side of his bed.

"Youre home early." He states the obvious , furrowing his brow as he's still nestled deep inside of Kat, both of them regarding Janelle with equal concern while not separating.

"Hey Jelly Belly.." Kat , her girlfriend of less than a year , greets her with a smile as sweet at the nickname spoken and Janelle mustered a weak smile in return.

"Hey Kat. Hey babe...I didnt mean to interrupt.." she begins, already about to close the door and leave them to it.

"Its fine/You didnt.." both canoodlers chime in tandem, shooting eachother a scorned look before putting the spotlight on the woman simpering in the doorway.

"Did you have good day at least? You look sad.." Jungkook goes on to ask and from the way Janelle's bottom lip trembles and her hesitance to answer, it was clear.

"Aww Belly.." Kat sits up on her elbows, pushing Jungkook back so that he has no choice but to pull out. His dick sheathed in cream-covered latex drooped under its weight, and he immediately begins pulling the condom off.

"Did you wanna talk about it?" he lifts his brows earnestly.

Watching the two of them scrambling to get away from eachother as if they weren't just engaged in what she knew was very intense sex, Janelle's blank expression gave little away as she shook her head.

"Naw. Im just gonna go lay down. Yall carry on..." she says.

There wasn't any room for a response since she hurried from the room, closing the door behind her to leave a half dressed Jungkook with a semi poking at his boxers and a topless and messy-headed Kat exchanging dubious and guilty looks.

Nearly a year ago...

"So who's in charge here? You or her.." Katya pointed her half eaten french fry between the couple sitting across from her in the booth.

The post rush buzz in the old-school-themed burger joint was supposed gave the three of them the space and comfort to have conversations such as this. Katya was fresh off from work with aching ankles from bartending all night. A gig she found to be her niche after her meager attempts at typical 9 to 5's flopping. It wasnt odd for her to get offers out for a late dinner and night cap post shift, with these two specifically, but tonight's meeting was different than the others for many reasons.

Janelle takes a sip from her soda through a straw, her pretty eyes lifting through her ebony bangs at the copper-headed redbone across from her. Beside her, Jungkook chewed lazily with his arm stretched over the back of the red tufted booth behind his girl's head. He glances at Janelle expectedly as he rached for one of her fries, the two of them smirking knowingly. She gives him a little nod and he returns it before speaking.

"No one's in charge of anyone." Jungkook muffles over his food, adding the stolen fry to the pile in his mouth. Janelle nods in agreement, swallowing her sip of soda and pushing her cup aside.

"Yeah, come on Kat. You know us. Theres no heirarchy here. He's with me and Im with him." she insists. Katya narrows here eyes at them both, still using her fry as a stylus drawing an accusatory figure eight between the two of them.

And she did know them. Mostly in passing at first. Jungkook frequented the outside of her bar with his gorgeously loud group of friends on their bikes with their tattoos and growling engines like mating calls on a Saturday night. She rarely paid them much mind.

At least until he brought those tattoos inside, flashing her with that stupid pierced smile before asking for a drink. Through small talk they became mildly aquainted, nothing unusal or overly flirtatious. Something Katya found intriguing until it became clear to her that Jungkook was taken.

Janelle was nothing like who Katya imagined Jungkook would date. With the sweet and innocent face of a baby doll but the body that most women show to the doctor as an example of what they want, Jungkook's girlfriend was opposite of him in almost every way. Flawless brown skin and shoulder length yaki textured tresses that swayed as she moved. Minimal make up apart from her NYX lip liner and Fenty Gloss Bomb'd lips that caught Kat's eye immediately.

No tatts. No piercings other than in her ears. Dressing in shades Kat never observed her man donning. Bright and bubbly and way out of his league if you asked her.

She stuck out among the grunge when she entered the bar behind Jungkook the first night she saw her, intriguing her even more...

"Mmhmm...So now yall want to add me to the mix, right? Not just on some 'one night' basis.." Kat finishes what she assumed Janelle was going to say, popping the pointer fry in her mouth.

Kat normally wasnt this straightforward on her dates, despite being a naturally shrewd individual, but this date felt like more like an interview from the way Jungkook and Janelle sat across from her with open eyes and ears for any questions she may have.

Proposing for someone to be a part of a nontraditional polyamorous relationship wasnt as uncommon as people liked to think. And it surely wasn't Kat's first offer.

She just didnt expect it from them.

"This was your idea wasnt it?" Kat adverts her glare to Jungkook now, making him choke on his drink mid sip.

"What? Why would you assume that?" he coughs humorously and Kat shrugs with ber elbow on the table.

"Iont know. Because its always the mans idea. You know how many bitches fake being gay just to appease their dude or keep them from cheating? How should I know this isnt that?"

"Because it isn't." Jungkook grunts, not showing anything other than amusement at Kat's demeanor. Janelle seems taken aback by the the statement however, her soft eyes widening.

"No one is faking anything, first of all.." she shakes her head, her pout pulling Kat's attention back to her. She lifts her brows at the implication, looking Janelle up and down with even more interest and a smirk.

"Oh?" she mirths.

"And I'd never cheat on Nell. This is something she suggested..." Jungkook cuts in, Kat's eyes jumping back to him.

"Hmmph..I have a hard time believing that but ok.." the ginger shrugs, leaning back on her side of the booth. Finding the skepticism a little vexing, Janelle scoots closer to the table to assume the position Kat had just been in with her elbows and forearms resting on the table.

"Its true. And the part about it being my idea is too. Look, Jungkook and I have been together a while. We get eachother. Likes and dislikes. Bad habits and pet peeves. Fantasies and ambitions. He's legit my best friend."

Janelle pauses to look over at her boyfriend, who just gives her a smile that told Kat the feeling was mutual.

"I know it's probably hard to explain but...I brought up the idea of opening our relationship up a little and Jungkook was hesitant because he never considered being with anyone else. And neither did I but, I dont want one of our needs for something different to seperate us when we could experience it together. Or at least with some level of understanding between eachother."

"So is this about sex or..." Kat cuts in, still wanting to get to the root of the situation. Janelle grimaces lightly in thought, her eyes lifting towards the ceiling breifly.

"Eh..yes and no. The companionship aspect is relevent here too. We're not just looking for someone else to have sex with. Sexually, we have zero complaints when it comes to eachother, but that's not to say theres things we're not open to try..."

Kat sits with both of her arms resting on the back of the booth, her short legs tucked underneath her comfortably. Her hard expression softens the longer she listened to Janelle.

She had a nice voice. Soft and slightly raspy. Easily the most placating tone Kat had ever heard. She'd listen to her read a grocery list and be this invested.

"...Point is..We know you and you know us. We both find you attractive and Im comfortable with coming to you with this. But Kat, if youre not interested, that's fine. And Im sorry if this makes you uncomf..." Janelle pauses when Kat shushes her, one black coffin nail lifted.

"Hush babe. Im interested for sure. In you more than him..." the nail tilts in Jungkook's direction.

And that was saying something because he was most definitely her type. From the charcoal tinted tattoos, broad shoulders and chest, height, and urban style of dress. But something about his girl made her tongue water in ways she didnt want to say out loud just yet.

"Youre cute though , so No offense." she adds.

"None taken." Jungkook smirks and she continues.

"I just wanna make sure this is a legit arrangement where all parties are on board and participating on their own free will. I dont want you feeling weird or imposed upon by my presence. Because Im not sure if you knew but Im alot to handle."

"Im not worried. Are you babe?" Janelle smiles over at her partner with expectant eyes, and its too damn sweet and enthusiastic for the context of their conversation.

Even Jungkook's eyebrows go up in surprise at his girlfriend's bold response.

He picks up his drink again, smirking around his straw as he shakes his head in amazement and disbelief. He takes a quick draining sip that gurgles the ice cubes,setting it back down.

"Yeah..Im not worried at all either, Kitty Kat."

The unsolicited nickname makes Kat's eye twitch, and something else deep between her legs. She hated it and could already see that Jungkook was going to be an issue. Unlike Janelle, who seemed to be the more accommodating of the two despite her calling the shots.

She regards him with a lifted brow and Jungkook mereley smirks back at her with a challenge in his eyes that made her want to come across the table.

Kat mirrors his expression, licking her top teeth sexily before lifting her chin.

"Ok. Im in."

A few knocks at the bathroom door were followed by its creaking hinges and Janelle opens her eyes just as two guility faces peaked through the steam.

Feeling rather sticky from being outside all day, Janelle decided to soak her stress away in a steaming bath of essential oils and relaxing fragrance. Her face had been scrubbed of her make up and outside exposure, her straightened hair pulled up into a knot on top of her head. She knew the sweat from her scalp would have her roots reverting but she didnt care.

The sharp pains in her pelvis had just began to subside,  but she knew this was just the beginning considering her cycles in the past.

She says nothing as her partners approached, her expression tired and stoic as she turned her head to face them.

"You alright?" Jungkook is first to speak, stepping ahead of Kat to sit on the toilet lid. He was fully dressed now, the only evidence of his activies being the way his messy hair.

Kat stands near the sink, leaning her hop against the counter in her crumpled gym shorts and bralette.

The bubbled water ripples gently at Janelle's slow nod, a weak smile gracing nude lips.

"Yeah..just tired. And sore."

"Period?" Kat scrunches her nose in disdain, folding her arms over her chest. Janelle nods again.

"I think so. Im not bleeding but the cramps are just over the top today. I popped two pain pills an hour ago and its barely taking off the edge."

"So thats why you left work early? Damn...Why didn't you call me? I could have came to get you." Jungkook scolds her, knowing the distance bewteen her job and their apartment wasnt small. He was generally the one taking her on the back of his bike when he was available.

Janelle gives him a weak smirk.

"Well I called but..." her eyes go to Kat breifly before continuing.

"I think you were busy." she cringes, sinking lower into the water as realization slaps them both in the face.

Yeah, they were busy.

Busy fucking.

All while their sweet little succulent was in need, calling both of their phones before ultimately deciding to hoof it 5 blocks before her manager changed his mind about letting her leave early.

Jungkook's head dropped, smacking his face into his palm.

"Shit..Im sorry babe...really." he mutters, guilt-eating him from the inside out. Kat steps towards the tub, dropping to her knees to come closer to Janelle's level.

"Yeah sorry Belly. Our phones must have been on vibrate or something.." she pouts guiltily. Jungkook shakes his head in disagreement.

"Even then, we should have been more aware. What if it was an emergency?" he directs his fussing at Kat, who turns to him sharply.

"No shit Sherlock. You were the one who could have been the most aware considering the fact that it's your responsibility to pick her up. So dont blame me.."

"Im not blaming you." Jungkook rolls his eyes.

"Sounds like you are.." Kat seethes and Jungkook is ready to continue arguing when Janelle slaps the water in frustration.

"Stop fighting! Damn..Its fine. Im not dead. It not the first time Ive had to walk somewhere in my life and it wont be the last. Plus it was early...You could have just as well been asleep and missed my calls so..its no big deal. Shut it.."

In the way she always did, Janelle effectively ends the bickering between her overprotective boyfriend and her vigilant girlfriend with the simplest reasoning.

They still glowered at eachother resentfully, as it they werent just doing loud and raunchy sex with eachother 30 minutes ago.

Jungkook sticks his tongue out st Kat childishly before dismissing her presence, returning his full attention to Janelle.

"Ok but Im still sorry. It wont happen again, I promise." he assures her. The stress melts from her face at his unnecessary apology.

"I know babe. It's ok, foreal. Im just glad I'm not at work anymore. Everybody was unusually more rude and aggravating today than normal. I think im just gonna stay in this weekend. I know yall wanted to go out tonight but I dont think im gonna make it. It hurts to walk. Hurts to stand..." she trails off.

Kat reaches over and dips her arm into the water to rub Janelle's thigh in empathetically, resting her chin on the edge of the tub.

"Awww Belly. I hate seeing you like this. Makes me sad.." she pouts.

"Same. Yeah we're definitely not going anywhere tonight. I'll just tell Tae to sell those tickets he copped for us. There was a show I wanted to take yall to but fuck it." he shrugs casually. Kat looks at him over her shoulder, her normal frown nonexistent at the knowledge of his plans.

"You got tickets to see Bad Omen's?" her voice is small, most likely her attempt at not seeming too excited. Knowing her favorite band was in town for one night with no available tickets had her in her feelings all week, and learning that Jungkook got the hook up on tickets anyway made her wish she'd been a little nicer to him.

Just a little.

Janelle looks to Kat's hopefull face and wilts with guilt.

"Awww no. Kat was so sad she couldnt get those tickets. You guys should just go. I'll be ok.." she insists, resting her hand on Kat's under the water. Both Jungkook's and Kat's snap towards Janelle.

"What? No..." Kat begins.

"Yeah, that wouldnt be right. You wanted to see them too." Jungkook adds.

Janelle shrugs her shoulder.

"Only because of you and Kat. I know like..one song. That was yalls thing. I wouldn't be upset if you went." she locks eyes with both of them.

Theres a moment a silence in the bathroom as Kat and Jungkook considered her words, neither of them feeling comfortable with her suggestion to leave her behind.

"Nell.." Jungkook frowns, his eyes forlorn and in avid disagreement. Janelle just shakes her head.

"Just go. Both of you. I'll be fine, I promise. Tell me all about it. Kat, record if they do my song, record some for me?" she squeezes Kat's hand with the gentle ask and Kat's pouted lips twisted in conflict.

"Please?" she lifts her brows, giving the world's most irresistible set of puppy eyes anyone had ever seen.

With s reluctant smile of her own, Kat nods slowly.

"Of course Belly. I'll record the whole thing." she ensures her.

Feeling satisfied with the agreement, Janelle smiles tiredly at Kat before releasing her hand.

"Good. Its settled then. Now if y'all don't mind, talking is starting to make my head hurt and I want to soak a little bit longer.."

"Say less.." Jungkook is first to stand, gesturing for Kat to follow him with a irrefutable look in his eye. For once, Kat doesnt protest and she nods before leaning to kiss Janelle's wet temple.

"Let us know if you need anything, Ok?"

Janelle nods, beaming weakly at Kat's show of affection before speaking.

"I will. Now get out." she smiles and the two do just that, Jungkook following behind Kat. He gives Janelle one last look with fondness as well as melancholy in his gaze before shutting her back in her steamy candle lit oasis.

In the hallway, Kat taps Jungkook on his chest with the back of her hand to get his attention.

"Hey..Are we seriously gonna go to that show and leave her here in pain?" she whispers roughly so Janelle had no chance of hearing them.

Jungkook kisses his teeth, glancing at the door breifly before shaking his head.

"Fuck no...I just wasnt about to argue with her. I might go to the store though. Get her some shit to help her feel better.."

"Ok good because I was gonna say..."

"Hell naw." he chuckles.

Jungkook's about to walk away when Kat stops him again. He lifts his brow curiously at her soft grip on his forearm.

"Why didnt you tell me you got those tickets? You knew I was trying to get them.." Kat says lowly, not quite in a whisper.

Jungkook smirks at the question.

"I know. I was planning to surprise you with em. You know Tae works security at that venue sometimes so he pulled some syrungs for me." he shrugs nonchalantly.

Kat's peircing eyes thaw instantly, the corners of her mouth perking up in a smile.

"You asshole..I could kiss you. I didnt know you liked me that much." she perts her lips, nudging Jungkook's pec with her fist. His nose crinkles with his smile, feeling a tiny bit of satisfaction at effectimg Kat this way. He reaches up to pinch her chin between his thumb and index finger affectionately.

"Aww. Come on now. You know me better than that Kitty Kat.." he teases.

At the sound of the dreaded pet name, Kat's smile vanishes and she snatches her chin from his hold.

"aand you just had to ruin it.." she grimaces but Jungkook merely grins as he leaned in for a chaste kiss, pecking Kat's pout loudly.

"You'll be ok." He slides in cheekily, giving her ass a smack and squeeze before they go their separate ways towards their respective quarters.

[eclipsedrgn]

He loves me

Pair: 2k12 Leonardo x Rise! Reader

Summary: At the final battle against Kraang, you sacrificed your life to save the Turtles only for you to end up with another version of them.

Warning: Angst with happy ending

Part 1

RISE OF THE TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES - P.O.V

The blue bandana turtle gasps awake as another nightmare filled his dreams, it's been happening for quite some time, the same dream. His brothers, father, Amelia and (Y/n) fighting the Kraang then it fades to (Y/n) tearily saying goodbye to them as the portal shuts. Amelia has been there for him every step of the way, but lately she's been having her own problem above ground and couldn't be with him.

Groaning, Leo turns to his side to see the clock, it was only five am, other than Raph who was probably training or Donnie working on an invention no one would be bothering him. But he stood up anyway and walk out of his room, to his surprise, his brothers sat there in the TV room with a gloomy look on their faces.

Ah yes.

It is (Y/n)'s third death anniversary.

Every year the brothers go to the same spot where you were perish, the same time as the battle ended and leave flowers. Since your death Draxum has been searching for a spell to bring you back, perhaps you were still alive on the other side but as time became hours, days, months and eventually three years have passed.

Draxum knew you were gone.

"Hey Leo" Raph greeted, "Ready to go?"

"Is everyone ready?" Leo asks.

Raph nodded, "Dad and the others went ahead, we three waited for you. We know how much this has been hitting you, even though years have gone by"

Leo chuckled darkly, "It should've been me"

"Leo..." Mikey sighs, "I should've been able to open the portal like Casey said future me did. But I didn't. I couldn't"

"We have to accept that (Y/n)'s dead. She couldn't have survive that dimension without any needs" Donnie pointed out.

"Let's just go" Leo groans as they journey their way to your final resting place.

Arriving there, Leo saw the rest of his family as his eyes starts tearing up. A little monument for you and the flowers you favored laid there, light pink candles lit up in your honor as the family said their prayers.

"We defeated the Kraang, three years ago today" Splinter says as everyone looks at him. "But we also lost an alley, our friend, my daughter"

"I still remember the way she looked at me" Amelia says her voice cracks as tears gather in her eyes. "She told me "I love you all" as the portal closes"

"I-I just wished I could've done something-"

"BUT YOU DIDN'T" Leo shouts, done with everything, done with his girlfriend constantly reminding him she could've help. But nothing. "For three years you say that, you stood there and watch her die. And you have the audacity to tell us she loves us as you stood there. J-Just shut up"

"Leonardo" Splinter warns, shocked at his son's temper.

"I barely sleep, I barely eat, every time I close my eyes I see her haunting my dreams!" Leo cries.

"Bro, relax-" Mikey says placing his hands on the blue clad's shoulder. "She wouldn't want this"

"Every year..." Donnie mutters.

This was a first of Leo snapping at Amelia, the passed two years he's screamed his feelings to his brothers but never Amelia, he didn't want to make her feel bad.

But did she really have to repeat those words?

Every fucking year.

"I j-just want to f-forget about her" Leo cries as he collapses into Mikey's shoulder.

Raph sighs looking up to the sky when he sees something weird, "Uh guys? Is the sky suppose to have purple triangles?"

They looked at the red clad weirdly before looking up, seeing the exact things he's described.

A flash of white and their screams was the last thing people heard.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

2k12 TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES - P.O.V

3 long years since the death of Master Splinter, the defeat of the Shredder and the mumified Shredder... for some reason...

The Turtles has completed their mission, the Foot Clan now under Karai is on their side, the Mightly Mutanimals are their partners for missions and the Kraangs officially gone from earth.

They're lives became rather peaceful.

Donatello invented what he calls a T-munization, a watch that helps mutants blend with the human world. The Turtles uses it to go on dates, walk around during the day and even went to school.

Raphael welcomed Mona Lisa to earth a year ago after she decided to move in with him, leaving her life in space behind. Wearing the watch, Mona is a latina woman with beautiful dark brown curly hair and dakrish golden eyes. Currently, she's in university earning her degree in fashion, something she sound fasinating when moving to earth.

Donatello completely moved on from April when he met Hailey, a complete opposite personality from Donnie. Hailey is a half white, half asian girl with blonde hair and pink highlights, her blue eyes slightly brighter than Leo's. She's a fun, active and hyper girl but extremely smart. Currently, she's finishing her double degree in Mathematics and Biology.

Michelangelo was in a relationship with Renet, but the long distance and her constantly not reaching out to him got him sad and thought she wasn't worth the time anymore. The two mutually broke up and now he's dating Katherine or Kat for short, a short white girl with blonde hair and blue eyes with a dazzling personality matching Mikey's. She's an athlete focusing on volleyball.

Lastly, the leader in blue Leonardo. Trying to work things out with Karai didn't work in his favor. It was too weird knowing she was related to Splinter, though even if she didn't care, it was like he was disrespecting his sensei.

Then he met, you.

(Y/n).

The girl who fell from the skies.

Leo saved you as you fell from one of the kraang portals that appeared out of nowhere, you were battered and bruise, Donnie totally thought you were a goner.

Then you took a breath.

They rushed you to the lair to care for you, when you woke up, you were completely unfaze to them. That's when they learn you weren't from their universe but another universe of them. Thanks to Donnie's technology and skills you were able to live in their world like you've been born there and lived there, you were sad knowing Splinter has passed on but happy as you gained a new family.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Today was the third year in this new world, you were walking in the streets on New York holding your nephew's hand as he giggles and squeals every time he steps on the puddle. It was slightly raining out today and you thought you'd give your girl a break from motherhood and decided to take you nephew, Alex for ramen.

You entered through the alleyway and lifted the manhole, carefully carrying your nephew you climbed down. You hummed listening to him babbling as you entered the lair, you called out for Leo as he greeted you with a kiss when another kraang portal opens.

Leo places his arms out to you, covering you in case you were sucked in when a familiar bunch of people landed on the living room groaning in pain. You placed your hand on Leo's arm, the other holding Alex tightly.

"Everyone okay?" Raph shouts rushing out of the kitchen with Mona following.

"We heard a crash- who is that?" Hailey asks following Mona out once she saw a pile of people in the living room.

"GUYS, GUYS THERE'S A KRAANG- Oh nevermind" Donnie paused seeing the pile.

You placed Alex down as you patted Leo's arm in comfort, you appraoched the pile of people and mutants stopping closely by them.

You muttered, "You're here"

[akariarda]

Aging

Due to the resulting problems, Garmado and Wu find themselves in a situation where they compare their aging with the aging of others.

Request from ao3!

"Garmadon!!" Wu yelled panicly as he ran through the halls of the monastery. "Brother.."

"What's wrong, Wu?" Garmadon asked semi-interestedly, continuing to strike his target with his katana.

"We have a problem.." Wu tried to catch his breath.

"Yes?" Garmadon raised an eyebrow, now seeming a bit more interested. Nervously.

"The Serpentine are rising up again and causing chaos in Ninjago City." Garmadon frowned at that.

"But we recently made a deal with their king!"Garmadon angrily said.

~~~~~~~~

"Who are you?" The Serpentine Guard asked Wu and Garmadon.

"We are here to speak with your king," Garmadon replied firmly. "He has broken some of our deals."

"Enter." The guard grumbled and let Wu and Garmadon stand before the Serpentine throne.

"King Mambo VII." Wu solemnly replied.

"You mean Mambo VIII." The young Serpentine turned and looked at them.

"You are not the king!" Garmadon said confusedly as he studied his face.

He resembled him, but not too much.

"Of course I am! And who are you?" The Serpentine king asked.

"I am Wu. This is my brother Garmadon and we are the sons of the First Spinjitzu Master! We come because of a breach of the deal we made with..."

"I don't remember you from our ancient legends." Mambo VII looked confused at Garmadon and Wu.

"My king...." an older Serpentine arrived and whispered something in his ear.

"Oh, of course.. So you are the old story my father tells." Mambo VIII looked at them thoughtfully. "But how do you look so young?"

"What old story?" Wu looked puzzled at Mambo VIII. "That was just... "

"40 years ago!" Garmadon interrupted.

"Just?" Mambo VIII looked angrily at Wu and Garmadon.

"Well, I don't know what kind of creatures you are when 40 years is just... But the deal is no longer valid." Mambo VIII slammed his fist on the throne.

"I demand to see King Mambo VII immediately!" Garmadon said angrily.

"My father is on his deathbed.." Mambo VIII sighed sadly.

"Why?" Wu asked worriedly.

"Because of old age, you fools! And now get out of here before I make you die with him."

~~~~~~

"Maybe we should focus on the Elemental Masters.." Wu sighed as he and Garmadon sat on a bench in the park.

"If they are still capable..." Garmadon sadly lowered his head.

"Why are you like this, Garmadon?" Wu looked at his brother with big eyes. "They are more than capable.."

"Look over there, brother." Garmadon cut Wu off abruptly. "Do you remember forty years ago when we sat on this same bench?"

"Yes."

"Look there, do you see that monument."

"They added something new!" Wu noticed happily.

"Now remember those kids who forced us to play with them.."

"I remember them." Wu smiled. "They were so cute.."

"What do you think they are now?" Garmadon spoke seriously.

"They probably have their own children or are busy with work. Either way, they are fully grown." Wu sighed thoughtfully.

"Now do you see that all those old children are now older than us?" Garmadon looked at Wu.

"But that means we will never be able to bond with anyone.." Tears filled Wu's eyes. "Everyone will leave, and we have to stay and watch them die.."

"I'm sorry, brother." Garmadon said, putting his hand on Wu's shoulder. "Maybe one day, Wu, you and I will find someone worth growing old for.

But until then, we must protect Ninjago, the land of our ancestors. Our land.. They only live here for a short time so they are not able to protect it properly..

~~~~~~

"She was a good friend." Wu sighed and placed a flower on the former majestral leader's grave.

He noticed a couple in their thirties smiling and talking. When he thought that thirty years ago he and Garmadon were the same and likely will be for another thirty years..

And they will age..

"You got lost in thoughts again." Garmadon lightly elbowed Wu.

"I am Maya." Some woman presented themselves to them. "The new master of water. And behind me stood the Elemental masters. You called us."

"Are you all new?" Garmadon asked as he apologized when he saw the look on Maya's face. "I mean, we haven't met yet..."

Garmadon nervously scratched behind his ear.

"I feel like we already know each other!"

"Master of ice!" Wu exclaimed in amazement. "You look... different."

"I've aged a bit." The Master of Ice smiled. "And look at you! Still so young!"

~~~~~~~

"Wu.." Garmadon said as he quietly entered the monastery.

"Yes?" Wu peeked his head out of the training hall.

"Do you remember when we were talking a few months ago about finding someone worth growing old for?"

"Do you have someone in mind?" Wu asked, biting his lip.

He knew who he was talking about. The same woman he thought about every day.. Misako

~~~~~~

"I have to confess something to you." Garmadon sighed.

He and Misako were sitting on a bench in the park. On that bench where he and Wu sat through the years.

"You look like you're about to tell me you robbed a bank." Misako smiled at Garmadon.

"I.."

"Did something happen, Garmadon.." Misako looked at him with concern.

"Can you imagine watching people around you grow old and die while you remain eternally as you are.." Garmadon said in one breath.

"Yes.." Misako said confused and thoughtful.

"Now imagine that your father is the First Spinjitzu Master, a dragon and Oni hybrid, and that you are over thousands of years old.."

"You are over a thousand years old!" Misako shouted, palely looking at Garmadon.

"If you are.." Garmadon swallowed.

"It actually makes sense." Misako said, smiling. "I just can't imagine that in a few decades you and Wu will probably not even remember me.."

"No!" Garmadon quickly said. "For some people, it is worth growing old and dying with them. And I am sure that for the first time ever, I have found such a person."

Saying that, he smiled and took a flower, placing it behind her ear.

"Don't tell me." Misako sweetly smiled.

[nettedtangible]

The first chapter to my new fic Burn It All is now up on Ao3

The fic is Jegulus first war canon divergence

check it out here or read the first chapter below :D

***

The first time they’d tackled boggarts in class, everyone had thought it was a bit of a laugh.

Regulus had been in third year, sat in his Defence Against the Dark Arts class when Professor Kettleburn had come stumping in on his wooden leg, announcing to the rather timid new Defence Professor- a Professor Merry-something- that the groundskeeper- Hagrid- had caught a boggart hiding out in his cauldron. The man had robustly proclaimed that Dumbledore had considered it a good learning opportunity for the Defence students and without further preamble had levitated in a bulky chest, setting it at the head of the class with a loud thump. The students had drawn closer, leaning over their desks to get a better view, drawing in a collective breath of alarm when the thing had shaken and rattled against the flagstones.

“Wands out then,” the Defence Professor had said in an attempt at self-assured command. Regulus had pursed his lips, unimpressed. There had been a monumental scraping and within seconds, the desks and chairs had been carelessly shoved to the side, a sizeable swathe of floor left open in front of the wooden chest.

Kettleburn had given the briefest of descriptions as to what – in fact – a Boggart was, before thumping away with just as much ceremony as his arrival. Professor Merry-weather? Merry-flower?- Regulus couldn’t remember- had then followed up by giving a much longer, and much less comprehensive account of the creatures. She had showed them the spell and given them their instructions and waved her wand at the lock all before the students had much of a chance to comport themselves at all.

Chaos had reigned. Regulus leaned against the back wall, twirling his wand idly in his hand, watching his classmates run around like headless horsemen for the better part of the period. The Boggart had begun to target students, assuming the form of a vampire, a snarling wolf-like beast, and a truly horrific pantomime figure that one of the half-blood Ravenclaws informed him was a muggle ‘party clown.’ Some students ran up valiantly, brandishing their wands with laughter bubbling in their throats, ready to take on whatever fear may be thrown at them. Regulus shook his head in disgust, Gryffindors.

Eventually the pandemonium had reached a fever pitch, sending the majority of the present students into fits of nervous laughter, which was particularly exacerbated when one Gryffindor boy forwent his wand altogether and took a mighty swing, punching the Boggart- now something called a ‘zombie’- right across the face. Two of his friends jumped into action beside him and all three attempted to tackle the Boggart, landing on a heap amongst themselves as the creature transformed.

“Now really-” Professor Defence shouted, brandishing her wand uselessly. “Single file. Single file. How many times do I have to say it.”

“How about once more,” Regulus muttered, causing Barty next to him to snort with laughter, always delighted whenever Regulus deigned to engage in something as undignified as sarcasm. 

All the laughter in the room seemed to have confused the thing, subdued it somewhat. Ironically, the opposite effect was seeping through the students, the infectious excitement and adrenaline-fuelled mania only redoubling in intensity. Barty was in his element, dancing through the throng and stirring the pot any which way he could. Regulus thought he even saw the boy taking bets on people’s fears. He shook his head with a slight nose exhale. The Regulus equivalent of a laugh.

“Alright, alright, alright!” the Professor yelled above the clamour. “Single file, while it’s confused.”

The class haphazardly obliged, clumping together in the middle of the room as the Professor ushered them forward in turn. Most students had no issues with the creature, despite the utter lack of instruction or any proper teaching really, the charm was simple enough and the energy in the classroom was doing the bulk of the legwork.

“Stebbins, really!” the Professor cried, affronted as one of the Hufflepuff boys had turned the Boggart from some terrifying form of Medusa to another, rather less clothed and more voluptuous version of Medusa.

“I’m facing my fears Professor,” the boy implored, smirking as he received down-low high fives behind his back from several of his peers.

“Everyone needs to have a turn, keep the line coming. You three at the back, participation please.” Regulus sighed, looking between Evan and Pandora. Barty was somewhere in the thick of the line, dolling out sickles.

“What’ll yours be then?” Evan asked him as the three had pushed off from the wall, joining the back of the line reluctantly. Regulus had shrugged, trying his hardest to keep well stored images from bursting forth in his mind. His mother with a raised wand. His father with a raised wand. Sirius, bloody and cowering. He cleared his throat.

“I know what yours’ll be,” Pandora taunted, giving her brother a shove, causing the boy’s face to fall and pale as he shot her a minute head shake. She laughed viciously at his panic.

"Gentlemen,” Barty had emerged from the crown, purse full. “Merlin, everyone is so predictable, I won at least six bets.”

“How nice,” Regulus drawled, his calm demeanour more fastly held on than ever, as if some internal version of himself had run around in a panic, stapling the inside of his face to his skull.

“Merlin the Gryffindors are thick,” Evan smirked, hand over his forehead as the Boggart took on three of their red-clad peers at once, wands, yet again, seemingly forgotten. Pandora laughed musically, her tinkling voice at odds with the underbelly of ruthless cruelty Regulus knew the girl to possess. Really she ought to be in Slytherin, he thought. Though she did look beautiful in blue.

“This is perhaps the most useless class we’ve ever had,” Regulus sighed, resuming his wand twirling, “at least Binns says something mildly interesting every few hours.” Barty snorted next to him.

“You’re the only one that’d know.” Regulus thinned his lips, almost a smile.

“HA!” cried a girl at the front of the room, a burst of gold light exploding out of her wand and blasting the Boggart to smithereens.

“Well,” Professor Useless said a few minutes later, dusting off her robes and looking extremely flustered, “now you all know how to tackle a Boggart,”

Regulus sighed, raising his eyes slightly to the ceiling.

“I don’t get it,” one of the Hufflepuff boys- Stebbins- said as they all traipsed out of the classroom, half of them splitting off to Potions and the other half to Charms, “I thought boggarts were supposed to be some sort of big deal. They’re not scary at all.”  

“I thought it was a right laugh,” smirked one of the Gryffindor boys- the one who’d thrown a punch. Several of his cackling friends jumped on his back, extoling his heroics. Regulus took a deep breath and finally tucked his wand away, ignoring his friends as they animatedly discussed the events of the lesson.

***

No one thought they were much of a laugh anymore.

Regulus was in sixth year now, and it had been three years since Hogwarts had played host to a Boggart of any sort. Now, Professor Sinistra had found one lurking in the Astronomy tower and it had been brought into the Defence classroom for practice.

‘Brushing up,’ McGonagall had called it as she announced the joint session. The younger year levels had already had their turns with it- supposedly in a much more orderly fashion than the infamous third years of 1974.

The fifth-year students had had an entire afternoon devoted to it; their new Defence Professor Broadbranch having hinted it would come up in their O.W.L.s. Now the sixth and seventh years were crowded up in the classroom together, McGonagall at the head, ensuring things ran smoothly. Perhaps she remembered which class it had been that caused the notorious Boggart episode in the first place.

“Single file,” she instructed in a clipped tone, meeting no resistance. Broadbranch reminded them all of the charm and the wand movement, instructing them to plan ahead for their humorous transformations. Regulus sighed, leaning against the wall at the very back.

“I don’t know why we’re bothering with this,” came an obnoxious drawl from somewhere to his left, “this is first year stuff.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, always nearer the surface whenever his brother was involved.

“Stop whinging Pads,” came the dry voice of Remus Lupin, towering mildly over his friends as he helped a couple of other students with the wand movement, showing them how to flick their wrists.

“I just think we all have better things to do,” Sirius responded roundly, causing his other two insipid friends, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew to laugh sycophantically. Regulus looked away, irritated.

“Mm, like that prank you were planning to pull in the fourth-floor girls’ lavatories?” Lupin responded blandly. Regulus didn’t have to look to know Sirius was smirking.

“Black you fucking bastard,” one of the muggleborn girls yelled at his brother and Regulus had to keep the ghost of a smile from alighting his face, “you know that’s the only loos with decent mirrors around here.” Sirius laughed gallantly, spinning the girl around in a circle under his arm.

“Don’t worry MacDonald, I wasn’t going to harm the mirrors.”

“Oh really, what were you going to do then knucklehead?”

“He was going to have all the taps spout unstemmable Manegro potion,” Lupin supplied, a twinkle in his eye that Regulus hadn’t noticed before. The red-head- Evans- next to them groaned.

“Fucking Manegro, hair growth potion? You absolute bastard Sirius.” The boy in question threw back his head in a laugh.

“It wears off after a few hours,” he smiled winningly, earning himself several arm slaps from several different girls.

“I- am- not- walking- around- with- hair- sprouting- out- of- my- face.” Evans smacked him with every word. Regulus bit his lip slightly to hide the smile, looking away instantly when he caught eyes with James Potter. Ah fuck. He chanced a glance back, infuriated to see the Potter boy was still looking at him, amusement lurking behind his eyes. Regulus turned roundly away, straightening his posture and tuning out the annoying conversation.

“Everyone’s will definitely have changed,” Pandora was saying to Barty, who was dropping some sickles between his hands. “No one will still be afraid of the same things they were at thirteen.”

“Care to make a wager?” the boy replied, eyebrow raising in challenge. Regulus leaned back against the wall, utterly disinterested.

“Attention,” McGonagall called out over the heads of the students. Many, like Regulus, were bored, or seemed to feel as though they had something better to do. Others, like his insufferable brother, were simply taking the opportunity to mill about with their friends.

“Now, you’re all N.E.W.T. students and you all know what you’re doing so this shouldn’t take long. It’s a quick brush up for each of you. Dumbledore thought it prudent in these… troubled times.” A whisper flew around the room at her words. Ah yes. The war.

It never seemed to be truly out of sight these days, hanging about their existence like a cloak disappearing behind a door. Never really there, never really gone. There had been several attacks in the last few weeks alone. And more to come, as Regulus knew for a fact, though didn’t have anywhere to put that information, merely storing it away in the neat filing cabinet of thoughts he had arranged in his brain.

It had been coming on for a while now, the attacks, the escalations. Regulus could see it in the way his parents’ behaviour changed at home. It wouldn’t be long until he was asked to take the Mark. He could feel it. He was entirely unsure as to what he would say when the time came. His shoulders hunched inward slightly. Knowing better than he did himself his lack of choice in all matters.

“One at a time please. Potter, Evans, as head boy and girl you can start us off and oversee the line.” Professor McGonagall instructed before pointing her wand at the rattling telescope cabinet. Regulus straightened up off the wall, looking over to the front of the room in a slight panic, trying to shake the encroaching thoughts from his mind. What would his Boggart be? he thought, feeling rather frantic in some deep, unaccessed place in his chest. Would it be Sirius under the cruciatus curse? Would it be his mother, his father? Voldemort himself? Regulus had only ever seen the man in person once, at his cousin Bellatrix’s gala in the summer. It had been rather less of a gala and more of war rally, and Regulus had hung back from the throng on that occasion as well, but he’d seen more than enough of Voldemort to send a chill right down his spine to the soles of his feet.

He was snapped from his reverie by a scream. It was Lily Evans, staring at some corpses, Regulus presumed her family members. Potter was taking her into his arms as she sobbed profusely, passing her to two of the Gryffindor girls who had rushed forward to comfort her.

The rest of the lesson proceeded much like this. Each person stepped forward with grim determination set on their faces, or else raised hands of fearful trembling, and each person was greeted with much the same thing. Disfigured family members. Family members being tortured. Inferi. Dementors. Once a little girl, hanging from a noose, swinging as if from a tree. The girl who conjured that Boggart had had to be escorted from the room by Broadbranch. McGonagall stood at the head of the class through it all, mouth a thin line, face set in a stony mask. Potter was taking it upon himself to move the line along, offering each student to face the Boggart a hand on the shoulder or a hug. Regulus once again fought the urge to roll his eyes at the performance of it all.

Nobody thought Boggarts were funny anymore.

When Sirius stepped forward, Regulus actually leaned to the side, angling for a better look in spite of himself. The Boggart transformed and he blinked, looking into his own face, staring blankly back at him. On his arm rested a blood-red Dark Mark.

“Riddikulus,” Sirius said, sounding almost bored, and the Boggart-Regulus turned into child Regulus, half stuck through thin air. Regulus remembered it as the time he’d gotten stuck in one of the magical doorways of the Black manor and Sirius had laughed himself silly before even attempting to help him. They’d found his arm on the fifth floor eventually. Sirius let out the slightest chuckle before moving aside, Potter placing a steading hand on his shoulder that was immediately shrugged off. Sirius looked utterly unconcerned, though Regulus could see clearly his hands were shaking- badly.

A few more students were next. And it was a lot of dead relatives. And tortured loved ones. Remus Lupin saw his three friends dead on the ground. Sirius stared down at his own corpse, wide eyed. Lupin had simply hitched in a breath, casting McGonagall a defeated glance and a shrug before murmuring “Riddikulus,” and causing party hats to appear on each of his dead friends’ heads. At this not Lupin, but Sirius, had barked out a genuine laugh, running to slam a hug into his friend. McGonagall said nothing about the commotion, she was still looking down at the behatted bodies of her three students.

“I think we’d all have a cracking party in the afterlife,” Potter called out heartily, sweeping an arm out to his friends. “Everyone’s invited of course!” A few watery laughs echoed out in response.

“What are you gonna see Reg?” Dora asked him in an undertone as they shuffled forward in line. Regulus shrugged, still staring at his dead brother on the ground, gone in an instant and replaced with somebody else’s dead brother.

“I have no idea,” he murmured truthfully, panic seizing his insides at the words. He didn’t like feeling this out of control. He didn’t like not knowing. It churned around inside him. His Boggart could be anything- and at this point he was half hoping it was Voldemort, that at least wouldn’t be novel, they’d had him a couple times already.

The Slytherins approached last, all congregated together at the back of the line. Regulus barely paid any attention as his peers took their turns, his mind sharply spiralling in abject terror.

Barty was up, playing with the Boggart and the only one who seemed to be having any sort of genuine fun with the exercise. Ironically, the only one who likely had any real chance of defeating the thing as he cackled and forced it to transform again and again. Regulus could do nothing but watch, wide-eyed and frozen in fear. He was next. What was it going to be? Whatever it was, everyone would see. Sirius would see. His breaths began to come shorter, and his heart thudded wildly in his chest. He noticed, vaguely, that Barty was still taunting the thing, the thought registering dimly that perhaps his best friend was attempting to finish it off before it got to be his turn. He didn’t have the ability to feel gratitude against the mounting panic right now. He also noticed, slightly less vaguely and more sharply- adding to the terror- that James Potter was watching him intently from behind his ridiculous glasses. Regulus forced his face into something calmer, colder. He would not betray his fear in front of all these people. In front of Potter. He simply wouldn’t allow it. Despite his façade, however, his insides were clamouring against his rib cage, a mess of organs and guts and muscle and flesh, pounding at bone doors, desperate to get out. He felt like a caged animal, wounded and violent, twisting and turning against frozen metal bars, searching for an escape, even if that meant going through himself.

Barty was excused by McGonagall. His way was open. He stepped forward, breaths shallower than ever. Potter stood to the side, entirely too close. He wanted to scream at him to get away. To give him space. But he certainly wouldn’t be able to open his mouth at the moment even if he tried. He turned to the Boggart, some strange and unholy amalgamation from Barty’s ministrations and saw it begin to spin, churning sickeningly before his eyes. He flinched. He couldn’t help it. He flinched away, eyes screwed shut against the truth. And then, all of a sudden, he was on the ground and the Boggart was shifting between two unrecognisable forms.

“Potter, what the fuck,” he hissed at the boy who had knocked him to the ground. Potter scrambled back, rubbing his neck.

“Ah, shit,” he said, smirking slightly, “sorry Reg.”

Regulus blanched at being called ‘Reg’, by James fucking Potter of all people, and opened his mouth to spit back an insult to find it was filled with hair. Whipping his face around in confusion, Regulus brought his hands up, touching his skin, every inch of which was now covered in rapidly growing black curls.

“I don’t know what happened Professor, I just tripped,” Potter was imploring to an enraged McGonagall, who was reminding him of his place as head-boy and stripping points along with a detention.

“The bottle must’ve broken in my pocket when I fell,” Potter smiled self-effacingly, rubbing his neck. “Self-conscious about my hairline, you know.”

Regulus noticed Sirius staring stonily at the boy, felt confusion bubble up at this unexpected turn of events.

“Crouch, stop whatever you’re undoubtedly doing and take Mr. Black to the hospital wing,” McGonagall instructed sharply, causing Barty to twirl from where he was overseeing the distribution of winnings.

“Certainly Professor,” the boy said smoothly, smile slightly too wolfish to be charming as he hauled Regulus to his feet and got him out the door.

“Potter is such a fucking prat,” Regulus spat as his hands ran through the curls on his face, grown to the length of the hair on his head. Barty laughed next to him.

“Yeah but he got you out of it, didn’t he. Silver linings, right?” Regulus paused for a second. Potter had gotten him out of tackling the Boggart. His mouth thinned slightly. Perhaps it was worth a face full of hair after all.

One thing, however, was for absolute certain. James Potter would have to pay.

[sleekervae]

Wicked Games ❅ 22

Masterlist

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x socialite!fem!reader

Summary: sable's emerging realization

Warnings: bridal boutiques (idk they could be lol)

Word Count: 2,524

The bridal boutique was a vision of elegance, with rows of gleaming white gowns and glittering accessories reflecting the soft golden light from the chandeliers above. The scent of fresh flowers mixed with the subtle hum of laughter and conversation, creating an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation. Sable sat quietly in one of the plush velvet chairs, her eyes drifting over the room as her sister, Selene, stood on the pedestal in the center of it all, the undeniable focus of everyone’s attention.

Selene twirled gently in the full-length mirror, admiring the gown she was trying on—a stunning white ball gown, adorned with delicate lace and intricate beadwork that shimmered as she moved. The dress fit her perfectly, the bodice hugging her waist before cascading into a sea of fabric that pooled elegantly around her feet. The look on Selene's face said everything—she was enchanted.

"Well?" Eleanor asked, standing off to the side, her posture regal as she watched her daughter with an approving smile. Her sharp eyes, always so critical, softened in this moment. She could tell Selene had found the dress.

Sable couldn't help but smile, too. The dress was breathtaking—everything she knew her sister would want. Even surrounded by Selene's friends, with their Capitol-esque names and dazzling personalities, Sable’s attention was solely on her sister. She could see the way Selene's face lit up, how she swayed lightly in the gown as if imagining herself walking down the aisle.

"It’s perfect," one of Selene’s friends cooed, her voice sweet and full of admiration. "You look like a dream, Selene."

Another chimed in, her manicured fingers delicately adjusting one of the lace sleeves. "Absolutely divine. It's like it was made for you."

Selene’s eyes sparkled as she met her sister’s gaze through the mirror. There was a silent exchange between them—one that spoke of their history, their bond, and the path that had brought them both here. Sable, ever the quieter of the two, offered her sister a small but knowing smile. She could tell how much this moment meant to Selene.

"You love it, don’t you?" Sable asked softly, though she already knew the answer.

Selene turned, the fabric of the dress swirling around her like a cloud, her smile growing even wider. "I do," she said with a breathless laugh, her excitement palpable. "I absolutely do."

Sable watched her sister, so full of joy and hope for the future, and though the warmth of the moment was infectious, there was a tiny flicker of something deeper within her—a mix of pride and a strange sense of distance. It was as if she were watching from the edge of something monumental, one foot in and one foot out.

Eleanor couldn’t hide the awe in her voice as she gazed at Seline in her wedding gown. “I'm so proud of you, Seline,” she murmured, a note of disbelief in her tone as she took her eldest's hand “Both of you,” she turned to Sable, taking her hand as well, "You've both come so far, chosen so well, I couldn't be happier,"

That was the first time in a long time Sable had heard those words come from her mother: "I'm proud of you". Sable watched as her mother’s pride practically radiated through the room. Seline, glowing in her reflection, twirled slightly, her gown catching the light. The reality of it all struck Sable in that moment, sharp and sudden. Seline would soon be off to begin her life with Lassen—everything was perfect for them. The engagement had been so seamless, so romantic. Lassen had proposed just six months into their relationship, and now, with the wedding only a few weeks away, it all seemed like the dream ending their family had hoped for.

Sable, standing to the side, couldn’t help but let her thoughts drift. Six months. The same amount of time she’d known Coriolanus. Yet, the terms of their "proposal" were far from romantic. The bargain they’d struck had been rooted in strategy, survival, mutual ambition—nothing like the fairytale romance Seline and Lassen shared.

She glanced at her sister, noting the way Seline beamed as she admired herself in the gown. The look in her eyes, the unspoken joy, was something Sable couldn't ignore. Deep down, it stirred something in her—a desire she hadn’t allowed herself to fully confront before.

Her mind wandered back to Coriolanus. Their arrangement had never been about love or tenderness. But now, as everything around her felt wrapped in the warmth of her sister’s love story, Sable couldn’t help but wonder if she wanted something more, if she allowed herself to want more.

Phillip Hanover stood in the dim light of his study, methodically organizing his scattered papers, vials, and notes. His hands moved with purpose, but his mind was elsewhere, simmering in frustration over the political outcome. Coriolanus Snow had won—through survival, not merit—and Phillip found the thought intolerable. He was a man of logic, of science, and nothing about this victory made sense. Yet, despite his seething resentment, there was one small comfort: Sable was safe. The relief of seeing her unharmed, after the chaos of the gala, softened the sting of his disappointment.

He was still organizing vials and notes when the sharp, calculated knock echoed through the quiet room. Phillip straightened, setting a stack of papers aside before crossing to the door. When he opened it, Volumnia Gaul stood there, flanked by her usual contingent of silent, expressionless handlers. Her cold eyes swept over the room before they landed on Phillip with a predatory gleam.

“Dr. Hanover,” she greeted, her voice laced with a dangerous politeness. “I trust everything is ready?”

Phillip nodded, stepping back to allow her and her entourage inside. “Of course, Dr. Gaul. I’ve been expecting you.”

Gaul moved with an eerie grace as she crossed the threshold, her handlers trailing behind like shadows. She glanced around the room with vague interest before turning her sharp gaze back to Phillip. “I hope there are no complications. We are expecting perfection from your product.”

“There are no complications,” Phillip replied confidently, moving toward a locked drawer in the corner of his lab. He retrieved a small, glass vial—clear, with no visible signs of its lethality. To the untrained eye, it was nothing more than water, but Phillip knew the deadly potential it held. Or so he believed.

What he didn’t know, what he couldn’t have imagined, was that Sable had already switched the true poison for a harmless dupe. In the heat of their shared desperation and the meticulous planning behind her and Coriolanus’s plot, she had taken the vial and replaced it with ordinary water, ensuring that whatever Volumnia Gaul received would be utterly useless.

Phillip handed the vial to Gaul with a practiced air of confidence, his chest swelling slightly with pride. “Here it is,” he said, the faintest hint of satisfaction in his tone. “Everything you asked for.”

Gaul took the vial, holding it up to the light as her lips curled into a faint, calculating smile. For a moment, she inspected it in silence, her fingers delicately turning the small bottle as if admiring its simplicity. Then, with a sharp nod, she handed it off to one of her handlers, who immediately tucked it into a secure case.

"Very good," Gaul said, her eyes never leaving Phillip. “You’ve done well, Dr. Hanover. Our partnership is most appreciated, though you understand that there are certain expectations in place should your product not meet its promises.”

Phillip met her gaze, unflinching. “I assure you, there will be no disappointments.”

Gaul’s smile widened slightly, though it never reached her eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel, her entourage moving with swift efficiency to follow her. Phillip watched them leave, a sense of triumph washing over him. Everything had gone according to plan—or so he believed.

Coriolanus straightened his cuffs, the silver gleam catching the soft morning light filtering through the penthouse windows. Each movement was deliberate, a return to control after a week of unpredictability. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror—pale but steady, focused. The poison had nearly claimed him, but now, dressed in his usual tailored suit, he felt like himself again, ready to face the world that eagerly awaited his return.

The sound of the front door closing behind Sable pulled him from his thoughts. She walked in, carrying a few glossy bridal magazines in one hand and a delicate bouquet of white flowers in the other. He caught the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes before she masked it with a smile.

"How was it?" Coriolanus asked as he adjusted his collar. He glanced at her through the mirror, noting the subtle tension in her shoulders.

Sable set the flowers down on the coffee table with unusual care, her fingers lingering on the petals. "Fine. Seline is happy," she replied, her voice lighter than her expression. "She's already fussing over bridesmaid dresses, too,"

Coriolanus turned to face her, studying her closely. He could sense the undercurrent of her unease, how rattled she still was after everything. "You don’t seem excited about it."

She shrugged, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s not that. It’s just… I've been thinking a lot,” she stopped herself, biting her lip.

“About what?” he finished, his voice quiet but pointed. He crossed the room to her, his fingers brushing lightly over the magazines she’d discarded.

Sable looked up at him, her eyes betraying the storm she’d been holding back. “Everything,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Not just the... what we did last week. But everything we've done,"

He reached out, resting a hand on her arm, his touch grounding her. “We came out on the other side, Sable. We won,"

Sable's voice faltered as she looked at Coriolanus, her gaze softening in a way that felt different, like she was pulling back a veil of her own making. "You won," she pointed out, "But this…our arrangement, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I thought I could handle it, but after everything…"

Coriolanus watched her, his brow furrowed. "What are you saying?"

She stepped closer, the space between them narrowing, but it didn’t feel intimate—it felt fragile. “I don’t want it to be transactional anymore. You don’t have to keep your end of the deal, Coriolanus. You don’t have to marry me.”

His breath caught in his throat. “What? Where is this coming from?” His hand tightened slightly on her arm, not possessive, but enough to let her know he was still there.

“I wanted security,” she admitted, her voice shaking as her words flowed. “I wanted a way out of the life I had. And I thought that… this bargain—was a way for both of us to get what we wanted.”

Coriolanus said nothing, his eyes steady on hers, waiting for her to finish.

“But now…” she trailed off, taking a breath before continuing. “After everything, after almost losing you—" her voice cracked, "I can’t just pretend like my feelings haven’t changed. That I haven’t changed."

He blinked, the weight of her words settling into him, the clarity of her vulnerability cutting through the transactional nature that had governed so much of their relationship. His chest tightened, and for the first time in a long while, he was speechless.

Sable ran her hand through her hair, pacing in a small circle, clearly flustered. "I don’t want a bargain anymore, Coriolanus. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me something.”

“I don’t feel that way,” he replied, but his voice was quieter than he intended. His throat tightened with the uncertainty her words stirred in him.

“You don’t have to,” she whispered, coming to a stop in front of him. "I don't want you to."

He stared at her, seeing her in a new light—not as someone he’d outmaneuvered or strategized with, but as someone who had given far more than he’d realized. Her fragility caught him off-guard. His chest tightened with something unfamiliar, and he reached out, gently cupping her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

"Sable..."

“We’re not competitors," she whispered, "I've gotten comfortable with you. Not because we made a deal, but because we’ve walked through the fire together. We lead two different lives, different ideals—" her voice broke, "And I won’t make you keep up with me. You've got the whole country to keep up with, after all,"

He held her gaze for a long moment, her words settling deep in him. Something inside him shifted—something beyond ambition, beyond strategy. For the first time, he truly considered what it would mean to be with her not out of obligation, but out of choice.

He exhaled slowly, his thumb still tracing the outline of her cheek. "I want to be beside you, Sable. Not because I have to." His voice was low, steady. "Because I choose to."

Sable’s breath hitched, her eyes glistening as she stared up at him, crossing her arms over her chest, "Do you mean that?"

Coriolanus nodded, the weight of his own words still sinking in. For so long, every decision he made had been calculated, a step toward his ultimate ambition. But now, standing there with Sable, he felt a rare clarity—a realization that there were other paths he could walk, paths not entirely driven by power and strategy.

"I do," he answered, his voice firm yet softened by the truth of it. "But that doesn't mean I’m abandoning everything I’ve worked for."

Sable’s expression faltered briefly, but she swallowed her hesitation, nodding. "I would never ask you to." She stepped closer, the tension still evident in her posture, but there was a quiet acceptance in her eyes. "But will you do me favour, at least?"

"Sure,"

"Stay here," she told him, "]The inauguration isn't until next week," her fingers grazed the material of his collar, "I think the people will be fine fir just a while longer,"

For a moment, Coriolanus hesitated. His mind instinctively flickered to the plans still in motion, the maneuvers he needed to make in the days ahead. But in that instant, those ambitions felt distant—far removed from the gravity of this moment with her. Her hands were firm but gentle on his chest, lulling him into her presence.

He gave a small smile, cupping her cheek with his hand. "I’ll stay."

Sable’s breath hitched as she let her shoulders drop, sinking into Coriolanus’s touch. His arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her, as if his mere presence could absorb the tension that had wound tightly in her since the chaos of the gala. She closed her eyes, leaning her head against his chest, her heart pounding with the relief she hadn’t yet allowed herself to feel.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Coriolanus didn’t need to plan or plot. The world outside could wait. There was no strategy to unfold, no game to win—just the quiet, grounding comfort of being beside her. His fingers brushed her hair gently, his other hand resting against her back as he held her close.

For now, ambition could wait.

[schmergo]

So I know there are over 430 sites in the National Parks System but only 63 official National Parks. The rest have designations like National Monuments, National Historic Sites, and all that jazz. But sometimes you hear about one of these lesser parks jumping up the ranks to become a National Park.

Now, I know a lot of bureaucracy goes into determining the qualifications for these categories, but a little fantasy makes life on this cold unfeeling space rock more bearable, so I like to imagine these promotions happen because the landscape just… got cooler.

Picture a young park ranger making his rounds at Chattahoochee National Forest, making sure there are no fires or anything, when he steps into a familiar clearing and freezes in place. He takes off his sunglasses and stares like Sam Neill in Jurassic Park. A 4-mile long, 5,000 foot deep canyon has opened up overnight. “Well, that’s gonna mess with the Ruby Falls trail,” he whispers.

That evening when he gets back to his cabin, he hops on his Park Ranger group chat, ready to share the good news. Turns out his friend Steve in Arizona got there first.

“New waterfall just dropped.”

“What?”

“Yeah, there’s a huge waterfall in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.”

“That should definitely promote it from lame National Monument status, right?”

“I don’t know, did you hear about the Ohio redwood?”

“Is that just what it sounds like?”

“Yeah, a 300 foot redwood tree grew in the backyard of the James A. Garfield National Historic Site and they didn’t upgrade that one.”

“Okay, but historic parks don’t really have that upward mobility, Steve. Like, it’s not gonna get more historic.”

“A giant redwood in Ohio is pretty historic! I heard it’s all politics. They already made Cuyahoga Valley a National Park and they’re not gonna do another Ohio one so soon.”

The ranger vaguely remembers another interesting story that had been rumbling around the group chat. “Becca, how are those crystals coming along?”

A few months before, his colleague Becca had been giving a tour at Blanchard Springs Caverns in Ozark National Forest when she stumbled upon a hither-to unseen chamber in the caverns filled with hundreds of iridescent flower-shaped crystals that gently sang in four-part harmony when water dripped onto them.

“Oh yeah, some higher-ups from NPS came by and took some notes, but they said keep an eye on the crystals and let them know if they multiply into the thousands or if we identify any incidents of missing body parts regrowing after rubbing one of the crystals.”

“That seems like overly harsh criteria.”

“That’s what I said. Apparently Carlsbad Caverns has one that can regrow kidneys. But only kidneys for some reason.”

“That’s weird. New River Gorge became a National Park and it’s way less cool than your crystals.”

“It’s my understanding there were some classified elements at play.”

The young ranger leans back and takes a deep pull from his Gatorade. He knows what “classified” means for the NPS. Those darn sasquatches.